Kitabı oku: «Adrift on the Pacific: A Boys [sic] Story of the Sea and its Perils», sayfa 11

CHAPTER XXX
ON THE FLYING PROA

At last the friends who had been left on Pearl Island three years before, and whose hearts had been bowed with despair more than once, saw the atoll gradually fade from view, until the top of the tallest palm-tree dipped out of sight in the blue Pacific and vanished from view forever.

“It seems hardly possible,” said Abe Storms, when at last his straining vision could detect no shadow of the spot, “that we have been rescued. I’m so full of joy and hope at the prospect before me that it is hard work to restrain myself from shouting and jumping overboard.”

“What is your idea in jumping overboard?” asked Sanders, with a laugh, in which Inez Hawthorne joined.

“Merely to give expression to my exuberance of joy; after I should cool off, I would be cooler, of course.”

Captain Bergen, to the grief of his friends, showed no signs of mental improvement, though his hallucination took a different form. Instead of being talkative, like he was the day before, he became reserved, saying nothing to any one, not even to answer a simple question when it was put to him. He ensconced himself at the stern in such a position that he was out of the way of the man with the steering oar, where he curled up like one who wished neither to be seen nor heard.

“Humor his fancies,” said Sanders, “for it will only aggravate him to notice them. It was the same with Redvignez and Brazzier that I was speaking about last night.”

“Redvignez and Brazzier?” repeated Inez; “where did you ever see them?”

“I sailed a voyage with them once from Liverpool, and I was telling Mr. Storms last night that I saw them both so frightened without cause that their minds were upset for a while. And may I ask whether you know them?” asked the young man, with a flush of surprise, addressing the girl.

“Why, they and a negro, Pomp, were the three mutineers who were the means of our staying on the island. They tried to kill the captain and mate, but–”

“She saved us,” broke in Storms, who thereupon gave the narrative told long ago to the reader, omitting the attempt that was made upon his own life by cutting the hose-pipes which let the air down to him, inasmuch as that would have caused the telling of the pearl fishing also.

Fred Sanders listened with great interest, for he had known the men well, and it may as well be stated that the danger to which the scoundrels were exposed, as referred to by him, was that of being executed for mutiny; and, as it was, the part of Sanders himself was such that he would have been strung up at the yard-arm in short order had it not been his extreme youth, which pleaded in his favor.

Since Storms and his companions had revealed some things that might have been better concealed, so Fred Sanders himself felt he had hinted at a little story which was likely to injure his standing in the eyes of those toward whom he was playing the part of the good Samaritan.

The proa was arranged as comfortably as possible, Inez Hawthorne being given a place in front, where a sort of compartment was made for her, by means of stretching awnings of cocoa-matting and a portion of the reserve fund of lateen on hand. The others disposed themselves so that she was left undisturbed whenever she chose to withdraw to her “state room,” as Captain Fred Sanders facetiously termed it.

The two natives had little to say, and they obeyed orders like the veritable slaves they were. There could be no doubt they understood the management of the proa to perfection, and the strange craft spun through the water with astonishing speed.

Mr. Storms deposited his valise, with its valuable contents, forward, where he seemed to bestow little attention on it, though, as may well be supposed, it was ever present in his thoughts, and quite often in his eye.

Several times in the course of the day they caught sight of sails in the distance, but approached none; for, as Sanders said, the all-important thing now was to make the most speed possible, while the opportunity remained to them. There was a freshening of the breeze and a haziness which spread through the northern horizon that caused some misgiving on the part of all, for the proa would be a poor shelter in case they were overtaken by one of those terrific tempests they had seen more than once.

Toward the middle of the afternoon something like a low bank of clouds appeared to the left, or in the west, which, being scrutinized through the glasses, proved to be a low-lying island. Sanders knew of it, and said they passed it still closer on their way to the atoll.

It was also an atoll like that, but much smaller in size, and, of course, uninhabited. It might do for a refuge in case of the coming of a violent storm, while in the vicinity; but otherwise it would only be a loss of time to pause at it. The fact that such a place existed so near them caused something like a feeling of security upon the part of Mate Storms, such as comes over one on learning he has a good friend at his elbow in face of some coming trouble.

As the afternoon advanced, and the proa bounded forward before a strong, steady breeze, Storms thought the occasion a good one to obtain some sleep, with a view of keeping awake during the coming night, and he assumed an easy position, where, his mind being comparatively free from apprehension, he soon sank into slumber.

This left Inez Hawthorne with no one to talk to excepting Fred Sanders, who seemed in better spirits than usual. When they had discussed the voyage, and he had given her as good an account as he could of the island toward which they were hastening, and after she had answered all his questions as best she could, she turned upon him and asked:

“How long did you say you had spent in these islands?”

“As nearly as I can recollect, it is about five years.”

“And, as you are now seventeen, you must have been only twelve years old when you first came here.”

“That agrees with my figuring,” said Sanders, with a nod of his head. “You can’t be far out of the way.”

“Where did you live before that?”

“Well, I lived in a good many places–that is, for two years. I was on the Atlantic and on the Pacific and–well, it would take me a good long while to tell of all that I passed through. I may as well own up to you, Inez, that it was a wild, rough life for a man, even without taking into account the fact that I was a boy.”

“Then you went to sea when you were only ten years old?”

“That also coincides with my mathematical calculations,” replied Sanders, somewhat embarrassed, for he saw they were approaching delicate ground.

“Then before you were ten years of age?”

“I lived at home, of course.”

“And where was that?”

“You will excuse me, Inez, from answering that question. I have reasons for doing so. Let me say that I stayed at home for the first ten years of my existence, and was as bad a boy as can be imagined. I fell into the worst kind of habits, and it was through the two men–Redvignez and Brazzier–whom I’ve heard you speak of, that I was persuaded to go to sea with them, when I ought to have been at home with my father.”

“Is your mother living, Mr. Sanders?”

The youth turned his head away, so she could not see his face, and when he moved it back and spoke again there was a tear on his cheek, and he replied, in a voice of sadness:

“My mother is in heaven, where her son will never be.”

Inez was inexpressibly shocked.

“Why, Mr. Sanders, what do you mean by that?”

“A better woman than she never lived, nor a worse boy than I. You can’t understand, Inez. You are too young and too good yourself to realize what a wretch I was. I deliberately ran away from home seven years ago, and have never been within a thousand miles of it since, and I never expected to do so, until within the last day or so; somehow or other, I’ve fallen to thinking more than before.”

“Have you a father?”

“I don’t know. I think he is dead, too, for I was enough to break his heart, and I have never heard of him since. I hadn’t any brothers or sisters when I came away. I’m all that’s left, and now there is a longing coming over me to hunt up my father again before he dies, that is–if–he–isn’t–already–gone!”

It was no use. Fred Sanders, the wild, reckless youth, who had passed through many a scene that would have made a man shudder, suddenly put his hands to his face, and his whole frame shook with emotion. The memories of his early childhood came back to him, and he saw again the forms of those who loved him so fondly, and whose affection he returned with such piercing ingratitude. Conscience had slept for many years, but the gentle words of Inez had awakened its voice again. The goodness of the girl, who was already like a loved sister to Sanders, had stirred up the better part of his nature, and he looked upon himself with a shudder, that one so young as he should have committed his many transgressions.

No wonder that he felt so pressed down that he cried out in the bitterness of his spirit that heaven was shut from him. It was hard for Inez to keep back the sympathizing tears herself when she witnessed the overwhelming grief of the strong youth.

The latter sat silent for some minutes, holding his face partly averted, as if ashamed of this evidence of weakness–an evidence which it is safe to say he had not shown for years, young as he was.

Ah, there were memories that had slumbered long which came crowding upon the boy–memories whose import no one on board that strange craft could suspect but himself, and whose work was soon to appear in a form and with a force that neither Inez Hawthorne nor Mate Storms so much as dreamed of.

CHAPTER XXXI
A STRANGE CRAFT

“I tell you a boy who uses his mother bad is sure to suffer for it some time. I’ve seen so many cases that I know there’s such a law that governs the whole world. I thank heaven that I never brought a tear to my mother’s eyes.”

The speaker was Captain Bergen, who was talking to Fred Sanders while the two sat together on the proa, near midnight succeeding the conversation mentioned between Inez and the youth Fred.

The latter might have believed, as he had jocosely remarked, that he had captured a small party of missionaries, who were making a dead set at him; but his feelings had been touched in a most tender manner, and he had done more thinking during the last few hours than in all his previous life.

The only one on the proa who was on duty was Fred, who held the steering-oar in place, while the curiously-shaped vessel sped through the water. The sea was very calm and the wind so slight that they were in reality going slower than at any previous time, and the task of guiding the boat was hardly a task at all.

Fred sat looking up at the stars half the time, with his memory and conscience doing their work. His two men had lain down, and were asleep, for they were regular in all their habits, and he had seen nothing of Inez since she had withdrawn to her “apartment.”

Mate Storms kept up a fragmentary conversation with the young captain until quite late, when he withdrew, and Fred was left with himself for fully two hours, when Mr. Bergen crept softly forth and took a seat near him, even getting in such a position that he would have been very much in the way had any emergency arisen. The captain was disposed to talk–somewhat to Fred’s dislike–for he was in that mood when he desired to be alone; but he was also in a more gracious and charitable temper than usual, and he answered the old captain quite kindly.

“You’ve a good deal to be thankful for,” said he, in reply to the remark above given. “But my mother has been in heaven for many a year.”

“She is fortunate, after all,” said the captain, with a sigh, and a far-away look over the moonlit sea.

“Yes, a great deal more fortunate than her son will ever be.”

“It all depends on you, young man,” said the captain, severely. “Heaven is reached step by step, and there’s no one who cannot make it. If you haven’t started in the right direction, now’s the time to do so.”

Fred Sanders may have assented to this, but he was silent, and he, too, looked off over the sea as if his thoughts were running in a new and unaccustomed channel. “My mother must be a very old woman by this time,” added the captain, after a minute or more of silence, during which nothing but the rushing of the water was heard.

“How old is she?” asked Fred.

“She must be close on to eighty; and I think she’s dead, for she was very feeble when I saw her, three years ago, in San Francisco. But I’m going to see her very soon; yes, very soon–very soon.”

“It’s a long way to ’Frisco,” ventured Fred, mildly; “but I hope you will have a quick voyage.”

“I am not going to wait till we get there.”

“How are you going to manage it, then?”

“This way. I’m coming, mother!”

And Captain Jack Bergen sprang overboard and went out of sight.

“Heavens! what was that?” exclaimed Mate Storms, leaping forward from where he had been dozing upon his couch.

“The captain has jumped overboard!” was the horrified reply of Fred Sanders, who was bringing the proa around as fast as he could.

Without another word, Mate Storms made a bounding plunge after him, leaving the young captain to manage the craft as best he could. The latter uttered a sharp command which brought the crew to their feet in an instant, and, in an incredibly short space of time, the proa came around, and, scarcely losing any headway, moved back toward the spot where the demented man had sprung into the sea, which was now a long distance astern.

It was a startling awaking for Abram Storms, who did his utmost for his unfortunate captain. The mate was a splendid swimmer, and, plunging forward with a powerful stroke, he called to his friend again and again, frequently lifting himself far out of the water, when on the crest of a swell, and straining his eyes to pierce the moonlight about him, hoping to catch sight of the figure of the captain, who was also a strong swimmer. But if he had jumped overboard with the intention of suicide, it was not to be supposed he would continue swimming. The mate, however, was hopeful that in that awful minute when he went beneath the waters, something like a realizing sense of what he had done would come to him and he would struggle to save himself.

But, alas, for poor Captain Jack Bergen, who had journeyed so many thousand miles, and had endured such a long imprisonment upon a lonely island! He sent back no answering shout to the repeated calls of his mate, whose eyes failed to catch sight of his gray head as he rose and sank for a brief while on the water.

When Fred Sanders got the proa about he guided its movements by the sound of the mate’s voice, and, in a short while, he ran alongside and assisted him on board. Nothing had been seen nor heard of the captain, and there could be no doubt now that he was gone forever. Nevertheless, the proa continued cruising around the place for fully an hour, in widening circles, until all were convinced that not a particle of hope remained, when they filled away again, and a long, last farewell was uttered to Captain Jack Bergen.

He had procured a fortune in a comparatively easy manner, and it looked for a time as if the payment was small; but the price demanded now was his life, and what more can a man give, excepting his soul?–which, most happily, was not the case with him.

During these minutes of excitement, Inez Hawthorne slept soundly, and she never knew anything of the sad occurrence until the morrow was well advanced. Her grief prostrated her for many hours, for she was a child unusually affectionate by nature, and she had been tenderly attached to the captain, who had been such a father to her.

It spread a gloom over the boat, as may be said, the only ones who showed no sorrow in their countenances being the dusky islanders, who seemed to take everything as it came along as a matter of course, and who obeyed the Caucasian captain like so many machines under the control of an engineer.

Fred Sanders was thoughtful, and, what was rather curious, had little to say to Inez during the first portion of the day. He uttered a few words of sympathy when she sought to restrain her tears, but after that he kept very much to himself, as if there was some new and important matter on his mind, as was indeed the case.

It will be remembered that the expectation was that the voyage of the proa would terminate that night by their arrival at their destination, but the delay caused by the moderate wind and the search for the lost captain led Mate Storms to feel some doubt, and he asked Captain Sanders his view of the matter.

“I can’t tell you anything about it!”

It was not these words alone, so much as the abrupt manner, which set the mate somewhat back. He had received nothing of the kind from the youth since their meeting, and it astonished him.

A hot reply rose to the lips of Abe Storms, but he suppressed it and moved away.

“I wonder whether he doesn’t feel soured at the thought that the death of the captain will prevent his getting such a large reward for his services?” said the mate to himself, who, after thinking over the matter for a few minutes longer, reached a conclusion. “We expected to reach Wauparmur Island to-night, before dark. We shall be late, but, as it is, I shall have no trouble in keeping awake the rest of the voyage, and I’ve little fear that I will not be able to protect my property as well as myself.”

With this, he moved back to the youth, and said, in a cheery voice:

“You recall, sir, that poor Captain Bergen made some promises to you about rewarding you liberally for your services. My friend was a little wild in what he said, but he was right when he declared we had the means, and I wish simply to say that his wishes and intentions in that respect, which accorded with my own from the start, shall be carried out to the letter.”

Mr. Storms immediately joined Inez, while the captain made no reply, much to the discomfiture of the mate, who said to Inez:

“What’s the matter with Sanders?”

“He is watching an object over the sea yonder. He has been expecting to discover something, and he has caught sight of it at last.”

The mate instantly produced his glasses, and leveled them in the direction the young captain was looking.

There was something, indeed.

As revealed by the instrument, it was what might be termed a double canoe, or proa–that is, two narrow canoes were joined together, side by side, and connected by a sort of framework, while an enormous lateen sail towered above them, and carried it forward with remarkable speed.

The surprised mate carefully scrutinized the strange craft, and saw that it contained a large crew, there being, as he estimated, fully twenty men on board. It was to the westward of the smaller proa, and like that was pursuing almost a northerly course, though the experienced eyes of the sailor told him that the paths of the two were converging, and that, unless changed, they undoubtedly would meet before nightfall.

The double canoe was about two miles distant, and as it rose on the crest of a swell the glass revealed the white foam which curled away from the bows, and there could be no doubt of its remarkable swiftness.

After watching this strange craft for a few minutes, Mr. Storms devoted some time to a furtive but careful study of the face of Fred Sanders, who was on the most elevated portion of the proa, and was carefully noting the course of the two vessels.

The alarming conclusion reached by Abram Storms was that the other craft contained a gang of pirates; that Fred Sanders knew them, and he was guiding his own proa by an understanding previously had with them.

And Abram Storms was right.

CHAPTER XXXII
A FRIEND AMONG ENEMIES

The double canoe, with its cumbersome lateen sail and its crew of twenty-odd pirates, had stolen down from somewhere among the Paumotu Islands, and was now gradually approaching the proa which contained Abram Storms and Inez Hawthorne.

The experience of the preceding few years, and especially of the last day or two, had given Mr. Storms an astonishing acuteness, which enabled him often to detect the truth without difficulty. The strong suspicion he now formed was that Fred Sanders was expecting the appearance of the craft, and that he was guiding his own proa in accordance with some prearranged plan. This was an alarming conclusion to reach, but Storms felt hardly a particle of doubt that he was right.

“He intends to betray us, and has intended to do so from the first.”

The New Englander took another look at the double canoe, and he saw, even in the few minutes that had passed, that they were closer together. And now that his suspicions were aroused, he detected several other little things which only confirmed all that had entered his mind. The two islanders who composed the crew were continually glancing off at their brothers, and frequently spoke in low tones, and showed by the gleam of their swarthy faces that they were on the tip-toe of expectation.

From one corner of the lateen sail, Storms now noticed that a large crimson handkerchief was fluttering in the wind.

“It is put there as a signal,” was the decision respecting that, “and doubtless signifies that they have us on board and all is going right.”

Fred Sanders was so occupied with this business that he never once suspected that he himself was being watched in turn.

“Inez,” said the mate, “go to the captain and speak a few words to him.”

“But he is so occupied that he will not wish to be disturbed.”

“Never mind about that; I wish you to go and say a few pleasant words to him. Let them be sympathetic.”

“What shall I say?”

“I can give you no further directions.”

“I am loth to do so, but if you wish it–”

“I wish it very much.”

That was enough, and the girl, with some natural hesitation of manner, advanced to the young captain, who did not notice her until she was at his elbow.

“Good-day, Captain Fred,” she said; “you have been busy so long that you must be tired, for you slept none last night.”

He looked toward her with a quick, curious expression. There was a half-smile on his face, while his forehead was wrinkled with displeasure. Inez noticed this, and would have withdrawn had she not recalled the strange earnestness with which Storms made the request for her to utter a few pleasant words to the youth. She therefore determined to carry out his wishes.

“Can’t we relieve you of your work?” continued she.

Sanders was in reality doing nothing in the way of physical labor, since the steering oar was in the hands of one of the crew, but he was absorbed in “watching things,” as the expression goes.

“I am sure there is no way in which you can relieve me,” said Fred, unbending somewhat from his reserve.

“We are in such deep water, and the wind is so fair, that there can be no danger, I suppose. But tell me, what sort of a boat is that yonder which is pursuing nearly the same course with us?”

“That–I presume,” was the hesitating response, as the young man glanced in that direction, “is one of the double canoes or proas which are often seen among these islands.”

“And who are the crew?”

“Islanders, like my own.”

“Are we going to meet them?”

“I hardly know what to answer to that,” said Fred, looking inquiringly toward the large proa again, as if he had not seen it before.

“Well, Captain Sanders, they must be pirates,” said Inez, stepping close to him, and speaking in a low, tremulous voice; “but whether they are or not, my faith in God and in you cannot be changed. I know you will do all you can for us–”

“There! there!” protested the young captain, with an expression of pain on his face, “say no more. Please go away, Inez, and leave me alone.”

“Of course I will leave you, if you do not wish me here, but gratitude would not let me keep silent. I know, from what you said last night, that you have a good heart, and henceforth conscience is to be your master and guide.”

And without looking to see the effect of her words, Inez left the captain to his own thoughts.

Abram Storms, with folded arms, was intently watching him, and he carefully studied his countenance. He was still doing so, when Inez turned her back upon Sanders. Mr. Storms noted the strange expression on the handsome countenance, and just then Sanders turned and looked straight at the man before the latter could withdraw his gaze. As their eyes met, he signaled to Storms to approach, and the latter, with no little wonderment and some misgiving, did so.

“Mr. Storms,” said he, “that double canoe off yonder has twenty-three pirates on board.”

“I suspected as much,” coolly replied the other.

“And a set of worse villains cannot be found in the South Seas.”

“I am sure you are quite right.”

“These two men that I have on board belong to the same crew.”

“Indeed! I hadn’t thought of that.”

“I belong to the same gang.”

“I suspected that!”

“You did, eh? Did you suspect that I was in the plot to obtain possession of your pearls?”

“I did not suspect it; I was sure of it, which is why I have carried my loaded revolver with me.”

“That wouldn’t have defeated the plan we had laid, for when twenty-three odd savages, with their spears, war-clubs and a few muskets, had stolen up to the island in the darkness, and crept silently into your cabin, what good would your guns and revolvers have done you?”

“Was that the plan?”

“That was it precisely. By some means or other, which I never could understand, rumors reached Wauparmur, months ago, that two men and a child were on an island to the south of us, and that they had an immense lot of the most valuable pearls. I cannot comprehend how it was the natives gained such knowledge, for it must have had some basis of truth, inasmuch as it proved to be true.”

“There was a proa which passed close to the island while we were opening the pearl-oysters,” said Storms. “We all saw it.”

“The rumor came from them, then,” continued Sanders, “and a party was formed to go down there, and find out whether it was true, and, in case it was, the white men were to be overcome by treachery, and their possessions in the shape of pearls taken. Since there is no more desperate and wicked member of the gang than am I, of course I was one of the first chosen.

“We started in two boats, and, as we went along, I could see difficulties in the way which never occurred to them. It was not likely you carried the pearls about with you, as a person wears his jewelry; but most likely they were buried, so that if we came down upon you and made an overwhelming attack, as was first intended, we might put you all to death, and then be unable to find where you had hidden your treasures. Besides that, I saw that it was more than probable you had firearms, with which you could successfully hold out against a large force, and it would prove no easy thing to subdue you.”

“You were correct in both your surmises,” said Storms. “We were always prepared to make a fight, and, with our guns against your spears, we would have beaten you off. The pearls, too, were carefully concealed where you never would have found them.”

“I was well convinced of that, so we resorted to strategy. I was to go with a couple of the men and bring you away, trying all the time if I could to secure the pearls, which, of course, were afterwards to be disposed of and the proceeds divided among us–the intention being that when we got you on the proa, you would be pitched overboard, for then the situation would be so changed that we could manage it without trouble. If I thought it unsafe to make the attempt, I had only to wait until reinforcements should come up; for the larger boat, knowing the course I was to take on my return, had only to be on the lookout for us, and we would be sure to descry each other.”

“And that was to be your signal that you had us aboard?” said Storms, pointing to the fluttering handkerchief.

“That’s it precisely,” assented Sanders. “But there was one force which we did not think to provide against,” added the young man, in a low voice, in which Storms detected a slight tremor.

“What was that?”

“An awakened conscience,” was the impressive answer. “And it was she who aroused the sleeper. There was something in the goodness of the girl–the faith which she showed not only in heaven but in me as well–that upset all my calculations. Then, too, she seemed to say the right words just at the right time; and you saw how I suffered.”

“Yes; and it gave me great hope; for, Fred, I distrusted you from the beginning. I saw many little things which you never supposed I nor any one else would notice. And I may add,” said the mate, with a sly twinkle, “that I endeavored always to be prepared for you.”

The face of Sanders flushed, but he added, with the same seriousness:

“Matters now are going in accordance with the program arranged days ago. The large proa yonder has been waiting for us, and we are now to keep on converging lines until we meet to-night.”

“Do you intend to follow out your agreement?”

“No; I had an awful struggle with my conscience last night, after my talk with Inez and with the poor captain, but the evil triumphed in me, despite all I could do. The fight was still going on, being renewed this morning, and I had about yielded to Satan, when she came and spoke to me. That,” said Fred Sanders, with a compression of the lips, “has settled it forever. I am now your friend, and I am ready to give up my life for the safety of you and her, hoping that heaven will take it, with my repentance, as some atonement for the many sins I have committed.”