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CHAPTER XXIV
THREE YEARS

Three years have passed, and still Captain Bergen, Mate Storms and Inez Hawthorne are upon the lonely Pearl Island in the South Sea.

Could they have believed when they left Boston that they would be doomed to such an imprisonment, it may well be doubted whether they would have made the voyage, even if assured of the vast fortune which thereby came into their hands.

The three years had been dismally monotonous to them, and their courage had been tried to the utmost, for there had been times when both agreed that they would probably stay there until released by death, and then they fell to speculating as to which would be the last one to survive. According to human logic, it would seem that that lot would fall to Inez, and their hearts sank at the thought of her being left to perish in the lonely spot.

When the coat fluttering from the top of the mast was blown away by the gale, Captain Bergen climbed up and nailed another in its place, grimly remarking that it looked as if they were going down with their colors flying.

It was surprising what was done by Mate Storms, whose ingenuity was almost incredible. With the material at his command, he kept Inez clothed in a tasteful manner.

She wore dresses and shoes which fitted her well, and her hat was renewed with extraordinary skill, from material obtained from the palm-trees.

Those three years, although of indescribable weariness at times, were marked by some startling incidents, and by many worthy of record. The great object of Storms was to educate Inez, and he did his utmost in that direction, assisted by the bright intellect of the girl and her own ardent desire to explore the wonders of knowledge.

There were few facilities in the way of furniture, considered so indispensable in these later days. He had no pens or ink, and only a Bible in the way of books. He had some blank paper and a single lead pencil, which were utilized to their fullest extent. For a slate or blackboard, he used the beach, as did Archimedes of the olden time.

Selecting a place where the water had left it hard and smooth, Storms, with a sharp-pointed stick, made his characters and gave his instruction in the mysteries of mathematics.

It would sound incredible were we to say that, during those three years, the dwellers on the lonely atoll had never descried a sail; and such was not a fact, for there are few shores on this globe where a human being can bury himself so long from sight of the white-winged birds of commerce. They had seen many ships, but it looked very much as if they themselves had not been seen, nor had their presence been suspected by any of them.

“The idea of our being so nervous lest some one should get here ahead of us,” remarked Storms, more than once, “when we might have delayed our coming a dozen years without any danger from that cause.”

They had discovered the cloud-like picture of the canvas sail as it came up over the horizon, and their hearts swelled as it expanded and came closer. But all hope faded again when it grew less in the distance and finally passed from view altogether.

This had happened repeatedly, and more than once Captain Bergen had laboriously made his way up the smooth mast to the very top, where he swung his hat wildly; but it must have been that the little island in the South Seas possessed slight interest in the eyes of the navigators who occasionally drifted in that direction, for had they seen the signal of distress, or caught sight of the man frantically waving his hat from the top, they would have learned what its meaning was.

The greatest dejection which took possession of the couple was when they, through the glass, saw the Stars and Stripes fluttering from the mizzen of the ship which came the nearest and then made off again. The sight of that most beautiful banner in the world was like a glimpse of their distant New England home, and they seemed to feel the cool breeze fanning their hot brows as it bore steadily toward them.

When it went over the convex sea out of sight, Captain Bergen covered his face with his hands and wept, and when, after awhile, he looked up again, he saw the tears on the cheeks of Abe Storms, who stood motionless and gazing silently off upon the deep, as if he expected the vessel would come back to them. It was a severe blow, and it was a long time before they recovered from it.

The exact age of Inez Hawthorne when she became, by an extraordinary turn of the wheel of fortune, the protégée of the two sailors, was, as given by herself, six years, but both the captain and mate were confident that she was fully one, if not two years older.

Now, at the termination of the period named, she was a girl as fully developed mentally and physically as one of a dozen years, and she was growing into a woman of striking beauty. She was still a child, with all the innocence and simplicity which distinguished her at the time she was taken from the deck of the steamer Polynesia, but in a few years more, should she be spared, she would become a woman.

Captain Bergen and Mate Storms were honest, conscientious men, and Christians, and they performed their full duty in that most important respect to Inez Hawthorne. Never passed a day in which Storms did not read, in an impressive voice, from the great Book of all books, and the sublime passages, the wonderful precepts, the divine truths and the sacred instruction from that volume were seed which fell upon good ground and bore its fruit in due season.

If ever there was a good, pure, devout Christian, Inez Hawthorne became one, and her greatest desire, as she repeatedly expressed it, was that she might go out in the great world among all people, and do her utmost to carry the glad tidings to them.

“The time will come,” replied Abe Storms, when he listened to these glowing wishes. “God never intended you should live and die upon this lonely island when there is such need for missionaries like you. I don’t see that we are of much account, but I believe He has something for us, too, and we shall be given the opportunity to do it.”

“Ah,” said the skipper, with a sigh, “you have been saying that for three years, and the sails that come go again and care nothing for us. I am beginning to believe we are to stay here for the rest of our lives, and that I am to be the first one to take the long, last sleep that awaits us all.”

CHAPTER XXV
AN ARRIVAL

When Captain Bergen was inclined to become pessimistic, the mate treated it lightly, for he feared the strong sailor would break before long from sheer homesickness.

It was fortunate that neither had any family, the mate being one of those who are without any close living relative, while the captain had a sister in New England, and his aged mother was in San Francisco, living with a nephew, of whom she was very fond.

Thus the three years passed away, and the second era in their lives approached. There was something curious in the fact that all the inhabitants of the lonely Pearl Island had lost their reckoning. No two could agree on the day of the week, and when they compromised on one, which was called Sunday, and observed as such, they were much in doubt whether they were right, and, as it afterward proved, they were not.

One afternoon, when the sun had hardly passed the meridian, the mate and captain were stretched upon the beach under the shade of a palm-tree, and looking out upon the sea, over which they had come to this desolate spot so long before. The day was cooler than usual, and a steady breeze blew, rendering the position of the friends in that respect as pleasant as they could wish, though their weary, homesick feeling was telling upon them. Both the ragged sailors were thinner, and there was a yearning, far-away look in their eyes, especially in those of the captain, which presaged the approach of insanity or death at no distant day, unless a change were made in their condition and surroundings. This lamentable state was partly due, no doubt, to the diet to which they had been subjected for many months.

Inez, who seemed happy everywhere and at all times, was busying herself in the cabin, where she could find plenty to do; and ever and anon the sound of her voice could be heard, as she sang some snatch of song, which came through the mist of memory from her infancy.

“I tell you what it is,” said Captain Bergen, in his low, determined voice, “this thing cannot continue much longer.”

“You are no more weary of it than I, Jack; but show me the way in which it can be ended.”

“We’ve got to take the risk. The tender there is large enough to carry us and a good supply of provisions–that is, enough water, to last several days. We can rig some sort of sail, and, in less than a week, by keeping to the northwest, we shall reach some inhabited island, unless we should be picked up before that time, which I consider quite likely.”

“I’ve thought a good deal of it, Jack,” said the mate, in a voice of equal seriousness. “We have been restrained heretofore by the fear that it would endanger too greatly the safety of Inez, and mainly by the feeling that we couldn’t stay here long without assistance being summoned by that signal fluttering up there. And yet, three years have come and gone,” continued the mate, “and not a living soul has come to us. There have been hundreds of days within this long period when we might have embarked on board the little boat and safely made our way to some other port, but we could not know it, and the result is–here we are.”

“And the situation is very different from what it was when we first landed, for it is now a choice between staying here with the certainty of miserably perishing–every one of us–and of starting boldly out upon an unknown sea, as it may be called, with the chances between life and death about even.”

“You have stated the case correctly,” assented Mr. Storms; “and though it is your place to command, yet as you have deferred to me, I give you my promise that to-morrow we shall begin rigging the best sort of sail we can, and at daylight on the next day we will start for whatever port Providence directs us.”

“That has put new life into me, Abe. I feel now as I did three years ago, when we first caught sight of those pearls. I am ten years younger. I prefer a bold stroke for life to a weak submission to fate, with this dismal waiting for help to come to us. By the great horn spoon! a thousand such pearl banks as we cleaned out wouldn’t tempt me to spend another year on this hated island–”

At this instant the voice of Inez was heard, excitedly calling to them, and while they rose to the sitting position and looked inquiringly in that direction, she was seen to spring through the open door of the cabin, and to come running toward them on the beach, bareheaded and with her long, yellow hair streaming in the wind.

“What can be the matter with her?” exclaimed the captain, rising to his feet. “What is she saying?”

“Hark!”

The distance was so short that the girl was at their side a second or two later. She was laughing, and uttering something in her excitement, which, until that moment, they did not understand.

“Who ever saw any one so stupid?” she called out, cheerily. “What are your eyes for? Why don’t you look out to sea?”

The two obeyed, and an exclamation of amazement escaped both, for there, while they had lain on the beach talking in such disconsolate tones, and looking dreamily out upon the ocean, a craft had been steadily approaching, and neither of the two saw it.

At the furthest, it was no more than a mile distant, and, since it was heading straight in toward the atoll, the chances were a hundred to one that the signal of distress had been seen, and the lonely island at last was going to have a visitor.

Captain Bergen muttered something about the “great horn spoon,” under his breath, while Storms said nothing, but gazed steadily at the craft, upon which his hopes were so suddenly and strongly fixed. It might be that the hearts of all three bounded with hope at this sight of a vessel, but the hope was mixed with apprehension, for the sailors saw it was not the sort of vessel for which they had been praying so long.

Instead of a gallant ship, with the Stars and Stripes streaming from the fore, it was what is termed a flying proa, which is the name applied to the narrow canoes used principally in the Ladrone Islands. They are about thirty feet long, three feet wide, and are steered by a paddle at either end. The sail is lateen, with a boom upon one mast; the prow and stern curve to a high point, and the depth being considerably greater than the width, the proa would, if unsupported, capsize instantly, but a hollow log or heavy-pointed spar rests on the water, parallel with the windward side, and, being secured in place, acts as an outrigger and removes the danger of overturning. The same name is applied to the boats used by the Malays, and which are propelled by both oars and sails.

But the one which greeted the astonished eyes of Storms and Bergen had its huge lateen sail spread, and was moving with great velocity, for the proas of the Indian and Pacific oceans are probably the fastest boats in the world. It rode the waters like a bird, and would soon enter the lagoon within the island, for there could be no doubt that the men on board had seen not only the signal, but the persons themselves who were waiting for them.

Inasmuch as a couple of men were discernible with the naked eye on the proa, it followed that the latter must descry the three individuals who were standing out in full view upon the shore of the island.

“How about this?” asked Captain Bergen, stepping to the side of his mate, and speaking in an undertone. “Shall we rejoice or not?”

“It’s uncertain,” was the dubious reply. “Those boats generally carry the vagabonds of the ocean, and the last motive which, as a rule, brings them to a spot like this is humanity.”

“Where’s your glass?”

“I declare, I never thought of that–I was so surprised!”

Storms carried it with him always, and he now brought it to bear upon the singular-looking craft approaching. It was so close inshore that, with the aid of the instrument, he was able to see everything distinctly, especially as the boat at that moment bore off a little and then headed toward the entrance again.

So far as could be ascertained, there were three persons on the boat, and the captain reached the same conclusion after using the glass.

“If that’s the case,” said Captain Bergen, “we haven’t anything to fear from them, for, with our guns and ammunition, we can hold our own against a dozen South Sea Islanders.”

“There may be others concealed about the craft, but I incline to think not. However, it’s best to be prepared. So let’s get to the house and make ready to receive them–whether they come as enemies or friends.”

The suggestion was a prudent one, and the two men hurried up the beach in the direction of the cabin, while Inez remained to watch the proa. The men examined their rifles and saw they were loaded and ready for instant use, and then, bearing one apiece, they came forth again. As they did so, something like a shadow seemed to shoot through the trees, and, looking toward the lagoon, they saw the cause. The proa had entered the quiet waters within, and was coming to rest as gracefully as a sea gull stops in its flight.

CHAPTER XXVI
THE FLYING PROA AND ITS COMMANDER

The lateen sail of the proa descended with a rattle and bang, the man at the oar gave it several vigorous sweeps, and the strange-looking but astonishingly swift craft came to rest almost in the same position that the schooner Coral occupied three years before.

“Helloa, there! How are you? How long have you been here?”

When it is stated that this hail came from aboard the proa, it is unnecessary to say that our two friends were surprised, for they supposed that the visitors were natives, who at the best could not speak more than a few words of broken English.

This astonishment was turned to literal amazement when they saw that the speaker was a Caucasian like themselves, one of the two standing at the prow, and looking out upon them with a smiling countenance. There was no mistaking the ruddy, sunburned face, the curling hair, and the regular, European features of the young man, whose expanded smile showed a set of white, even teeth, and he seemed to enjoy their astonishment after hearing his words.

It was curious that they had failed to notice him before, inasmuch as his dress was dissimilar from the others, he having the usual tarpaulin hat and the broad trowsers of the American and English sailor. It was plain, too, that he was scarcely a man, being, in fact, a boy, who by some strange means was adrift in this part of the world.

As soon as the proa was within reach of land, the youth sprang ashore, and, walking straight up to Captain Bergen, extended his right hand to him and his left to Mr. Storms, shaking both warmly, while, as he spoke, he looked from the face of one to the other.

“How long have you been in this place? Judging from your clothes and looks, I should say about twenty years? Do you want to emigrate? Where are you from? What are your names? How came you here? My name is Fred Sanders, and I’ve been knocking about among the South Sea Islands for the last five years.”

There was no resisting the jolly good-nature of the young man, who had a habit of laughing heartily, when no one else could see anything to laugh at, and whose high spirits always infected others with whom he came in contact. But it would not have required much study for any one to discover that he was a wild, reckless youth, who had probably run away from home, and taken to bad ways from a natural inclination in that direction.

While this interview was going on, Inez Hawthorne was absent, she having withdrawn at the suggestion of her friends, though of course the visitors knew of her presence, from having seen her on the beach.

Captain Bergen replied to the greeting of his friend:

“We have been here full three years. If I’m not mistaken, it is three years and two weeks this very Thursday.”

“Then that’s just where you are mistaken!” broke in Fred Sanders, with his ringing laugh, “for it so happens that to-day isn’t Thursday, by a long shot!”

“Of course not,” Mr. Storms hastened to say. “I don’t know how many arguments I have had with the captain to prove he was wrong, and that this is Friday–”

And Fred threw back his head and roared louder than ever.

“It’s a toss up between you. I don’t wonder that you got muddled when you were forced to stay in such an outlandish place as this so long. I think I would have got mixed myself.”

“Pray tell me what day of the week it is.”

“This is Tuesday afternoon, with a half-dozen hours of daylight left to you yet.”

While this brief conversation was going on, the two natives were upon the boat, waiting as if for permission to land. They sat as meekly as children, in a partly crouching position, intently watching, with their glittering black eyes, the three figures before them. They appeared to listen with absorbing attention to the words, as if they understood them–which they did not, excepting so far as they were interpreted by the vigorous gestures.

Inez Hawthorne, as we have stated, had withdrawn to the house, when requested to do so by her teacher, but her curiosity led her to step forth and look upon the parties and listen to the conversation–the distance being so short that she could hear all that was said. The natives saw her, and so did Fred Sanders, who occasionally glanced over the shoulders of the two men with whom he was talking, in a way which they understood. The visitors could not fail to be greatly interested in her, but Fred refrained for a time from referring to the girl.

Mate Storms explained that the craft in which they came to this portion of the world was wrecked, and that three of the crew were lost, and the captain, mate and a single passenger saved. Since then they had looked in vain for the coming of some friendly sail; plenty enough, however, having appeared, only to depart again and leave them in greater depths of gloom than before.

“Where are you from?” asked the captain, putting the question directly to the young man.

“I’m an American, born in New England, and am seventeen years old, and it is a long time since I have seen my home.”

“How came you in this part of the world?”

“Why not here as well as anywhere else?” asked Fred Sanders, in reply. “I left home when I was only ten years of age, and have knocked about the world ever since.”

“But you are now among the Paumotu Islands.”

“Where I have been for a good while. Some time, perhaps, I will give you the whole history, but it is too long to tell now.”

It was apparent, from the manner of the boy, that he wished to conceal some facts of his previous life, and neither the captain nor mate pressed him–for, in truth, it was of no special interest to them, their all-absorbing subject of mental anxiety being as to how they were to get away from the hated place.

“Where are you directly from?” asked Mr. Storms.

“From an island, the name of which I have never heard in English, though its native name is something like Wauparmur.”

“Inhabited, of course?”

“Yes. There are four or five hundred natives and their families. The island is a dozen miles in extent, is very fertile, and has several native towns. At one place is a good harbor, and nearly always some foreign vessel is there. Sometimes I have seen three or more, and when I left, four days ago, a trading-ship from Boston had arrived.”

“Oh!” exclaimed Abe Storms. “So near and yet so far!”

“I think it will probably stay a week longer, for they are doing a good trade with the islanders.”

“You have awakened a hope that is really painful,” said Captain Bergen, while the pale face of Mr. Storms showed he was affected fully as profoundly.

“I don’t know why it need be painful,” said the young man, in his off-hand manner, which was so captivating; “for we were going on a little cruise, when we caught sight of your signal flying, and we put in to find out what the trouble was.”

“And are you willing to take us off?” asked Storms, who, while he felt the question was unnecessary, was still trembling with anxiety lest something should prevent their going.

“Will we take you off?” asked Fred, with a ringing laugh. “That’s a pretty question to ask us, when we came for the express purpose of doing so. Of course, we’ll take you straight away to the island we came from, and, of course, we’ll put you in the way of getting back to Boston as soon as possible, and we only regret that we hadn’t the chance to get here three years sooner, so as to save you this dreary waste of time.”

Tears came to the eyes of both the men, and, as Captain Bergen took the hand of the youth, he said:

“We will thank you forever, and will pay you well.”

It was an unfortunate speech, and the cooler-headed mate would never have uttered it.

It might result in no harm; but why let the reckless youth know that they possessed the ability to pay him well? It would be time enough to present him with some of their valuable pearls after reaching Wauparmur, when no possible complication could result from Sanders knowing that these two ragged sailors were very wealthy men. But the words had been said, and could not be recalled, though a vague uneasiness shot through the mind of Abe Storms when he saw a sudden flash of the dark eyes of the youth, who said, in the cheeriest of voices, slapping the captain on the shoulder with a vigor that staggered him:

“Who talks of paying one for doing his simple duty? If you or your friend repeats that insult, there will be war between us; and then–excuse me, but ain’t you joking when you talk of paying well? For, begging pardon again, you don’t look like millionaires with a very heavy bank account.”

Storms trembled, but he could not restrain the captain.

“Of course, we wouldn’t insult you, but you will be remembered; and though we are not very extravagant in the way of dress, and don’t look like very wealthy men, yet I can promise you you shall be well recompensed, and, what is more, we can carry out the promise, too, in a way that will open your eyes.”

Having uttered these compromising words, Captain Bergen laughed in a way which alarmed the mate still more; for there was a peculiarity in his friend’s actions which he had never noticed before.

“I know we are dressed very poorly,” added the captain, “and we wouldn’t be very popular in a drawing-room, but if you set us down as poor men you will make a great mistake. Won’t he, Abe–eh, boy?”

And he facetiously punched the astonished and grieved mate in the side, and danced about as if he had perpetrated the best joke of his life.

Just then Storms caught the eye of Fred Sanders, and he significantly tapped his own forehead to signify that the captain was not exactly right, mentally. And, when he did so, the kind-hearted mate spoke the truth.