The Strange Adventure Of James Shervinton

CHAPTER X

However, we were not to see Makin Island, for about midnight the wind chopped round to the north—right ahead—and by daylight we had to reef down and keep away for the south point of Apaian, in the hope that by running along the east coast for a few miles we might get shelter. But we found it impossible to anchor owing to the heavy sea running; neither could we turn back and make for our former anchorage, which was now exposed to the full strength of the wind and sweep of the sea. We certainly could make the passage at the north end of Tarawa—near the Island of the Bloody Eye—and run into the lagoon, where we should be in smooth water; but we did not want to go back to Tarawa, under any circumstances—my own pride, quite apart from my companions’ feelings, would not let me entertain that idea for an instant. To attempt to beat back round the south point of Apaian, and get into Apaian Lagoon would be madness, for the sea in the straits was now running mountains high, owing to a strong westerly current, and the wind was steadily increasing in violence; and even had it not been so, and we could have got inside easily, would either Lucia or myself have cared to avail ourselves of its security. For Bob Randall, the trader there, would be sure to board us, and Bob Randall, one of the straightest, decentest white men that ever trod in shoe leather, would wonder what Mrs. Krause was doing in Jim Sherry’s boat! He and I had never met, but he knew both Krause and Mrs. Krause. No, I thought, that would never do.

All this time we were hugging the land as near as we could, first on one tack, then on the other, hoping that the weather would moderate, but hoping in vain, for the sky was now a dull leaden hue, and the sea was so bad, even in our somewhat sheltered situation, that we were all more or less sea-sick. I got my chart and studied the thing out. Sixty miles due south of us was Maiana Lagoon—a huge square-shaped atoll, into which we might run, and have the boat plundered by the natives to a certainty. That was no good. No, if the gale did not moderate, there was but one course open to me—to run before it for Apamama, a hundred and thirty miles to the S.S.E., which meant two hundred and sixty miles of sailing before we laid a course for the N.W. And then the delay. We might be tied up by the nose in Apamama Lagoon for a week or more before we could make another start. I rolled up the chart, wet and soddened as it was with the rain beating on it, and angrily told Tematau, who was steering, to watch the sea, for every now and then the boat would plunge heavily and ship a caskful or two of water over the bows.

“We are in a bad place here, master,” he replied, quietly; “‘tis the strong current that raiseth the high sea.”

I knew he was right, and could not but feel ashamed of my irritability, for both he and Tepi had been watching the boat most carefully, and I there and then decided what to do, my ill-temper vanishing when I saw Mrs. Krause and Niâbon bailing out the water which had come over the hatch coamings into their cabin.

“This is a bad start for us, Lucia,” I said cheerfully; “we can’t dodge about here under the lee of the land with such a sea running. I am afraid that there is no help for us but to make a run for it for Apamama. What do you think, Niâbon?”

She looked at me with a smiling face, and rising to her feet steadied herself by placing her hands on the after-coaming of the hatch. Her thin muslin gown was wet through from neck to hem, and clung closely to her body, and as her eyes met mine, I, for the first time in my life, felt a sudden tenderness for her, something that I never before felt when any woman’s eyes had looked into mine. And I had never been a saint, though never a libertine; but between the two courses, I think, I had had as much experience of women as falls to most men, and I had never yet met a woman who seemed to so hold and possess my moral sense as did this semi-savage girl, who, for all I knew, might be no better than the usual run of Polynesian girls with European blood in their veins. But yet at that moment, I felt, ay, I knew, though I could not tell why, that she was not what she might well have been, when one considered her past environment, and her lonely unprotected situation—that is, lonely and unprotected from a civilised and conventional point of view; for with the wild races among whom she had dwelt since her infancy, she had always met with full, deep, and ample protection, and love and respect—and fear.

“Thou art the captain, Simi,” she said in Samoan, “and thou alone canst guide us on the sea. And I think, as thou dost, that we must sail before the storm to Apamama; for when the wind comes suddenly and strong from the north, as it has done now, it sometimes lasteth for five days, and the sea becomes very great.”

“‘Tis well, Niâbon,” I answered, with a laugh, meant more for Lucia than for her; “we shall turn the boat’s head for Apamama, and lie there in the lagoon in peace till the gale hath died away.”

And then we wore ship, and in another hour were racing before the gale under the jib and an extemporised foresail of a mat lashed to two short oars, the lower one fast to the deck, and the upper one, eighteen inches or so higher, to the mast stays. This lifted the boat beautifully, and made her steer ever so much easier than had I tried to run her with a close-reefed mainsail, for the lopping seas would have caught the boom, and either capsized us or carried the mast away, and yet I had to keep enough canvas on her—jib and mat foresail—to run away from the toppling mountains of water behind us. I had never had such an experience before, and hope I may never have one like it again. Every few minutes we would drop down into a valley as dark as death, with an awful wall of blackness astern, towering over us mountain high, shaking and wavering as if it knew not the exact spot whereunder we, struggling upward, lay helpless in the trough, awaiting to be sent to the bottom if we failed to rise on the first swelling outlier of the black terror astern.

How we escaped broaching to and foundering in that wild gale will always be a wonder to me, for the boat, although she did not ship much water, seemed so deadly sluggish at times that looking astern made my flesh creep. All that night we went tearing along, and glad enough we were when day broke, and we saw the sun rise. The wind still blew with great violence, but later on in the morning the sky cleared rapidly, and at nine o’clock, to our delight, we sighted Apamama a little to leeward, distant about eight miles, and in another hour we raced through the north passage and brought-to in smooth water under the lee of two small uninhabited islands which gave us good shelter. From where we were anchored we could see the main village, which was six miles away to the eastward, and I quite expected to see visitors coming as soon as the wind fell sufficiently to permit of boats or canoes beating over to us, and determined to give them the slip if possible, and get under way again before they could board us and urge me to come and anchor on the other side, abreast of the village.

My reasons for wishing to avoid coming in contact with the people were shared by my companions, and were based on good grounds.

The ruler of Apamama, King Apinoka, was, although quite a young man, the most powerful and most dreaded of all the chiefs of the islands of the mid-Pacific, and he boasted that in time he would crush out and utterly exterminate the inhabitants of the surrounding islands unless they submitted to him, and for years past had been steadily buying arms of the best quality. He had in his employ several white men, one of whom was his secretary, another was a sort of military instructor, and a third commanded a small but well-armed schooner, and it was his (the king’s) ambition to possess a steamer, so that he could more easily and expeditiously set out on his career of conquest. The revenue he derived was a very large one, for the island contained hundreds of thousands of coco-nut trees, and all day long, from morn till night, his subjects were employed in turning the nuts into oil or copra, which he sold to trading vessels. A thorough savage, though he affected European dress at times, he ruled with a rod of iron, and he had committed an appalling number of murders, exercising his power and his love of bloodshed in a truly horrifying manner. For instance, if one of his slaves offended him, he would have the man brought before him and order him to climb a very tall coco-nut tree which grew in front of the king’s house and throw himself down. If the poor wretch hesitated, Apinoka would then and there shoot him dead; if he obeyed, and threw himself down, he was equally as certain to be killed by the fall—sixty feet or more. Wherever he went he was surrounded by his bodyguard, and his haughty and domineering disposition was a general theme among the white traders of the Pacific Islands. To those captains who supplied him with firearms he was liberal to lavishness in the favours he conferred; to any who crossed him or declined to pander to him, he would be grossly insulting, and forbid them to ever come into the lagoon again.

His house was a huge affair, and contained an extraordinary medley of articles—European furniture, sewing machines, barrel organs, brass cannon and cannon-balls, cuckoo clocks, bayonets, cutlasses, rifles, cases and casks of liquor, from Hollands gin to champagne, and fiery Fiji rum to the best old French brandy. His harem consisted of the daughters of his most notable chiefs, and occupied a house near by, which was guarded day and night by men armed with breechloaders, who had instructions to shoot any one who dared to even look at the king’s favourites.

And yet, strangely enough, the very people over whom this despot tyrannised were devotedly attached to him; and many trading captains had told me that he was “a real good sort when you got to know him.” One of these men a few years later conveyed Apinoka and five hundred of his fighting-men to the neighbouring islands of Euria and Axanuka—two of the loveliest gems of the mid-Pacific—and witnessed the slaughter of the entire male population, Apinoka sparing only the young women and the strongest children, keeping the former for himself and his chiefs, and the children for slaves. As might have been expected, there were always plenty of renegade and ruffianly white men eager to enter into his service, in which they could give full fling to their instincts of rapine and licentiousness.

I had never seen Apinoka nor any of his European hangers-on, and had no desire to make his or their acquaintance, so I anxiously watched the weather and had everything ready to get under way the moment we could do so with safety. But though it was smooth enough inside the lagoon, the wind continued to blow with undiminished violence, and even had it moderated there was such a terrific sea tumbling in through the narrow passage, that it would have been a most risky undertaking to have attempted to beat out against a head wind, with such a heavy, sluggish boat. Had I known what was to happen I should have risked it ten times over.

At noon, whilst we were having our midday meal, Tematau, who was standing for’ard, scanning the eastern shore of the atoll, said he could see a boat coming towards us, beating up under a reefed mainsail and jib.

“It is one of Apinoka’s boats, Simi,” said Niâbon, “for there is no trader in Apamama; the king will let no one trade here.”

“Well, we can’t help ourselves,” I said, as I looked at the boat through my glasses; “she is beating up for us—there is no doubt about that. I daresay we shall get rid of them when they find out who we are.”

Niâbon shook her head, and by their faces I saw that both Tepi and Tematau did not like the idea of our awaiting the coming boat.

“What can we do?” I said, with childish petulance. “We cannot go to sea in such weather as this, and get knocked about uselessly.”

“Master,” said big Tepi gravely, “may I speak?”

“Speak,” I said, as I handed my glasses to Lucia—“what is it?”

“This master. These men of Apamama be dangerous. No one can trust them; and they will be rude and force themselves upon us, and when they see the many guns we have on board they will take them by force, if thou wilt not sell them at their own price.”

“Let them so try,” I said, in sudden anger at the thought of a boatload of King Apinoka’s crowd of naked bullies coming on board and compelling me to do as they wished: “I will shoot the first man of them who tries to lay his hand on anything which is mine.”

Tepi’s black eyes sparkled, and all the fighting blood of his race leapt to his cheeks and brow, as he stretched out his huge right arm.

“Ay, master. And I too desire to fight. But these men will come as friends, and their numbers and weight will render us helpless in this small boat. Is it not better that we should hoist the anchor and run before the wind to the south passage, gain the open sea, and then come to anchor again under the lee of the land until the storm is spent?”

His suggestion was so sensible that I felt annoyed and disgusted with myself. Of course there was a south passage less than ten miles distant, and we could easily run down to it and bring to outside the reef, and either lay-to or anchor in almost as smooth water as it was inside. But I would not let Lucia or Niâbon think that I had forgotten about it; so I spoke sharply to poor Tepi, and told him to mind his own business. Did he think, I asked, that I was a fool and did not know either of the south passage or my own mind? And so I let my vanity and obstinacy overrule my common sense.

“Get thy arms ready,” I said to Tematau and Tepi, “and if these fellows are saucy stand by me like men, I shall not lift anchor and ran away because Apinoka of Apamama sendeth a boat to me.”

Now, I honestly believe that these two men thought that there would be serious trouble if I was so foolishly obstinate as to await the coming boat, when we could so easily lift anchor, rip down the lagoon, and be out through the south passage and in smooth water under the lee of the land in less than an hour; but at the same time they cocked their eyes so lovingly at the Sniders and Evans’s magazine rifles which Niâbon passed up to me that I knew they were secretly delighted at the prospect of a fight.

Niâbon said something in a low voice to Lucia, who then spoke to me, and said nervously—

“Please do not think I am a coward, Mr. Sherry. But do you not think it is better for us to get away?”

“No, I don’t,” I answered so rudely that her face flushed scarlet, and her eyes filled with tears; “I shall stay here if fifty of King Apinoka’s boats were in sight.” And as I spoke I felt a strange, unreasoning fury against the approaching boat.

I picked up an Evans rifle—we had two on board—filled the magazine, handed it to Niâbon, told her to lay it down in the little cabin, out of sight, with the other arms—three Snider carbines, my breechloading shotgun, and three of those rotten pin-fire French service revolvers—the Lefaucheux. My own revolver was a Deane and Adams, and could be depended upon—the Lefaucheux could not, for the cartridges were so old that twenty-five per cent, of them would miss fire. Years before, at a ship chandler’s shop in Singapore, I had bought twenty of these revolvers, with ten thousand cartridges, for a trifling sum, intending to sell them to the natives of the Admiralty Islands, who have a great craze for “little many-shooting guns,” as they call repeaters; but the cartridges were so defective that I was ashamed to palm them off as an effective weapon, and had given all but three away to various traders as curiosities to hang upon the walls of their houses.

As the boat drew near I saw that she was steered by a white man, who sailed her beautifully. He was dressed in a suit of dirty pyjamas, and presently, as the wind lifted the rim of the wide Panama hat he was wearing, I caught a glimpse of his features and recognised him—Florence Tully, one of the greatest blackguards in the Pacific, and whom I had last seen at Ponape, in the Carolines. As he saw me looking at him, he took off his hat and waved it.

“That is ‘Florry’ Tully, Jim,” said Lucia. “I have often seen him. He is the man who shot his wife—a native girl—at Yap, in the Carolines, because she told the captain of a Spanish gunboat that he had been selling arms to the natives.”

“I know the fellow too,” I said; “the little scoundrel used to be boatswain of Bully Hayes’s brig, the Leonora. Hayes kicked him ashore at Jakoits Harbour, on Ponape, for stealing a cask of rum from the Leonora, and selling it to the crew of an American whaler.”

CHAPTER XI

Five minutes later the boat, which was crowded with natives, went about like a top, and then Tully—as fine a sailor man as ever put hand to a rope—brought her alongside in such a manner that I could not but admire and envy the little blackguard’s skill.

The boat itself was kept in fine order, and was painted like all the king’s miniature fleet—white outside, and bright salmon inside. One glance at his boat’s crew showed me that they were all armed—in a flashy melodramatic style, like the Red Indians of a comic opera, each naked native having a brace of revolvers buckled to a broad leather belt around his waist, from which also hung a French navy cutlass in a leather sheath. They were all big, stalwart fellows, though no one of them was as tough a customer to deal with as our Tepi, who eyed them with undisguised enmity as he caught and made fast the line they heaved aboard.

Little Tully, red-headed, red-bearded, unwashed, and as dirty generally as a pig from his own County Down, jumped on board and extended his filthy paw to me effusively.

“Wal, now, I jest am surprised to see you, Jim Sherry,” he said with the “Down East” drawl he affected—he called himself an American—“why, we haven’t seen one another fer quite a stretch. Naow, tell me, where air you from and where air you goin’?” “From Tarawa, and bound to Taputeuea” (an island a hundred miles to the south), I replied curtly, my temper rising, as suddenly catching sight of Lucia and Niâbon, he stared rudely at the former, then grinned and held out his hand to her. She touched it coldly with ill-disguised aversion.

“Why, you too, Mrs. Krause! Wal, this is surprisin’. And where are you goin’? Where’s the boss?” “Mr. Krause is on Tarawa,” she replied quickly, “and he has chartered Mr. Sherry’s boat to take me to Drummond’s Island” (Taputeuea), “where there is a German barque loading for Samoa.” The latter part of her remark was quite true, and Tully knew it.

“That is so, the Wandrahm. She’s been lying there nigh on four months. And so you goin’ ter Samoa, eh? Wal, I wish I was goin’ there myself; but I’ve got a rosy berth here—I’m boss of King Apinoka’s fleet of trading boats, an’ live like a fightin’ cock.”

I was about to ask him to have a glass of grog, just out of mere civility and island custom, when Tematau and Tepi made a sudden movement, and turning, I saw that they were trying to prevent three or four of Tolly’s boat’s crew from coming on board.

“Tell your men to keep to their boat, please,” I said sharply. “My two men don’t understand the ways of these Apamama people, and they’ll be quarrelling presently.”

“Why, certainly, Jim,” he said, with such oily effusiveness that I longed to kick him over the side; “but there ain’t no need for your men to be scared. My crew on’y want to hev’ a bit of a gam2 with yours—thet’s all.”

He told his men to stay in the boat, but I saw him give them a swift glance, and prepared myself for the next move. Tepi was watching him keenly; Tematau went for’ard and began splitting kindling wood in a lazy, aimless sort of a way, but I knew that he, too, was ready. Still I felt that we were in a tight place—three men against ten, exclusive of Tully. However, I tried to appear at my ease, and asked him to have a drink. Niâbon passed us up a half-bottle of brandy, two tin mugs and some water.