Kitabı oku: «John Corwell, Sailor And Miner; and, Poisonous Fish», sayfa 4
She put her lips up to him and kissed him half a dozen times. “There, that’s a good-night and good morning three times over. Now I’m ready.”
Corwell and Mallet walked down to the boat with her and saw her get in. She kissed her hand to them and in a few minutes was out of sight.
IV
A light, cool breeze, which had set in at daylight, was blowing when Mary Corwell boarded the Ceres. Totten and Harris met her at the gangway, caps in hand. Poor Sam, their former shipmate, had died of fever a month before. They were delighted to hear that she intended to remain on board, and Harris at once told Miguel, the scoundrelly-faced Manila cook, to get breakfast ready.
“And you must have your breakfast with me,” said Mary, “and after that you must obey my orders. I am to be captain to-day.”
As she and the two seamen sat aft under the awning, at their breakfast, Selak, the leading Malay, and his fellows squatted on the fore-hatch and talked in whispers.
“I tell thee,” said Selak, “that I have seen it. On the evening of the day when the man Sam died and was buried, I was sitting outside the house. It was dark, and the Tuan Korwal thought I had returned to the ship. I crept near and listened. They were speaking of what should be done with the dead man’s share of the gold. Then I looked through the cave side of the house, and—dost remember that white basin of thine, Miguel?”
The Manila man nodded.
“The white woman, at a sign from her husband, went into the inner room and brought it out and placed it on the table. It was full to the brim with gold! and there was more in a bag!”
His listeners drew nearer to him, their dark eyes gleaming with avarice.
“Then the Tuan said, ‘None of Sam’s gold will I or my wife touch. Let it be divided among you three. It is but fair.’
“They talked again, and then Mallet said to the Tuan, ‘Captain, it shall be as you wish. But let it all go together till the time comes for thee to give us our share.’
“I watched the white woman take the basin and the bag, put them into a box, and place the box in a hole in the ground in her sleeping-room. Then I came away, for my heart was on fire with the wrong that hath been done to us.”
He rose to his feet and peered round the corner of the galley. Mary and the two seamen were eating very leisurely.
“Three of them are here now and will sleep aboard to-night. God hath given them into our hands!”
“And what of the other two?—they are strong men,” asked a wizen, monkey-faced Malay, nicknamed Nakoda (the captain).
“Bah! What is a giant if he sleeps and a kriss is swept across his throat, or a spear is thrust into his back from behind? They, too, shall die as quickly as these who sit near us. Now listen. But sit thou out on the deck, Miguel, so that thou canst warn us if either of those accursed dogs approach.”
The cook obeyed him silently.
“This it is to be. To-night these three here shall die in their sleep, silently and without a sound. Then we, all but thou, Nakoda, shall take the boat and go to the house. Both the Tuan and Mallet sleep heavily, and”—he drew his hand swiftly across his tawny throat.
“And then?” queried Nakoda.
“And then the gold—the gold, or our share of which we have been robbed—is ours, and the ship is ours, and I, Selak, will guide ye all to Dobbo in the Aru Islands, where we shall be safe, and become great men.”
“But,” muttered another man, “what if these black sons of Shaitan here of the Island turn upon us after we have slain the white men?”
Selak laughed scornfully. “The sound of a gun terrifies them. They are cowards, and will not seek to interfere with us.”
Night had fallen. The two white seamen, tired out with their day’s work, had spread their mats on the poop, and were sound in slumber. Below in the cabin, the captain’s wife lay reading by the light of a lamp; and Selak, standing in the waist, could see its faint reflection shining through the cabin door, which opened on to the main deck. Sitting on the fore-deck, with their hands clutching their knives, his companions watched him.
At last the light was lowered, and Mary closed her eyes and slept.
The Malay waited patiently. One by one the remaining native fires on the shore went out; and, presently, a chill gust of air swept down from the mountains, and looking shoreward he saw that the sky to the eastward was quickly darkening and hiding the stars—a heavy downpour of rain was near.
He drew his kriss from its tortoiseshell sheath and felt the edge, made a gesture to the crouching tigers for’ard, and then stepped lightly along the deck to the open cabin door; the other four crept after him, then stopped and waited—for less than a minute.
A faint, choking cry came from the cabin, and then Selak came out, his kriss streaming with blood.
“It is done,” he whispered, and pointing to the poop he sprang up.
“Hi, there! what’s the matter?” cried Totten, who had heard the feint cry; and then, too late, he drew his pistol from his belt and fired—as Selak’s kriss plunged into his chest. Poor Harris was slaughtered ere he had opened his eyes.
Spurning Totten’s body with his naked foot, Selak cursed it. “Accursed Christian dog! Would I could bring thee to life so that I might kill thee again!” Then, as he heard the rushing hum of the coming rain squall, and saw that the shore was hidden from view, as if a solid wall of white stone had suddenly arisen between it and the ship, he grinned.
“Bah! what does it matter? Had it been a cannon instead of a pistol it could scarce have been heard on the shore in such a din.”
Ordering the bodies of the two seamen to be thrown overboard, Selak, the most courageous, entered the cabin, took a couple of muskets from the rack, and some powder and ball from the mate’s berth, and returning to his followers, bade them bring the boat alongside.
“Throw the woman after them,” he cried to Nakoda, as the boat pushed off into the darkness, just as the hissing rain began. “We shall return ere it is dawn.”
Nakoda would have sprung over the side after the boat, but he feared the sharks even more than Selak’s kriss; so running for’ard, he crept into his bunk and lay there, too terrified to move.
Mallet and Corwell, with the natives, worked hard till near sunset, and then ceased.
“There’s nearly five ounces in that lot, Mallet,” said the captain, pointing to two buckets of wash-dirt. “Let us have a bathe, and then get something to eat before it is too dark.”
“The natives say we ought to get back to the house, sir, instead of sleeping here tonight. They say a heavy storm is coming on, and we’ll be washed out of the camp.”
“Very well, Mallet I don’t want to stay here, I can assure you. Tell them to hurry up, then. Get the shovels and other gear, and let us start as quickly as possible. It will take us a good three hours to get back to the house.”
By sunset they started, walking in single file along the narrow, dangerous mountain-path, a false step on which meant a fall of hundreds of feet.
Half-way down, the storm overtook them, but guided by the surefooted natives they pressed steadily on, gained the level ground, and at last reached the house about ten o’clock.
“Now that we have come so far we might as well go on board and give my wife a surprise,” said Corwell to Mallet. “Look, the rain is taking off.”
“Not for long, sir. But if we start at once we may get aboard afore it starts again.”
Two willing natives, wet and shivering as they were, quickly baled out a canoe, and in a few minutes they were off, paddling down towards the sea. But scarce had they gone a few hundred yards when another sudden downpour of rain blotted out everything around them. But the natives paddled steadily on amid the deafening roar; the river was wide, and there was no danger of striking anything harder than the hanging branch of a tree or the soft banks.
“I thought I heard voices just now,” shouted Mallet.
“Natives been out fishing,” replied Corwell.
As the canoe shot out through the mouth of the river into the open bay the rain ceased as suddenly as it began, and the Ceres loomed up right ahead.
“Don’t hail them, Mallet. Let us go aboard quietly.”
They clambered up the side, the two natives following, and, wet and dripping, entered the cabin.
Corwell stepped to the swinging lamp, which burnt dimly, and pricked up the wick. His wife seemed to be sound asleep on the cushioned transom locker.
“Mary,” he cried, “wake up, dearest. We– … Oh my God,Mallet!”
He sprang to her side, and kneeling beside the still figure, placed his hand on the blood-stained bosom.
“Dead! Dead! Murdered!” He rose to his feet, and stared wildly at Mallet, swayed to and fro, and then fell heavily forward.
As the two natives stood at the cabin door, gazing in wondering horror at the scene, they heard a splash. Nakoda had jumped overboard and was swimming ashore.
Long before dawn the native war-drums began to beat, and when Selak and his fellow-murderers reached the mouth of the river they ran into a fleet of canoes which waited for them. They fought like the tigers they were, but were soon overcome and made prisoners, tied hand and foot, and carried ashore to the “House of the Young Men.” The gold was taken care of by the chief, who brought it on board to Corwell.
“When do these men die?” he asked,
