Part 27 (1/2)
”Scraggsy, old stick-in-the-mud,” said Mr. Gibney, laying an affectionate hand on the skipper's shoulder, ”you're nothin' of the sort. You're a fightin' tarantula, and n.o.body knows it better'n Adelbert P. Gibney. I've seen you in action, Scraggsy.
Remember that. It's all right for you to say you're a man of peace and advise me and McGuffey to keep out of the track of trouble, but we know that away down low you're goin' around lookin' for blood, and that once you're up agin the enemy, you never bat an eyelash. Eh, McGuffey?”
McGuffey nodded; whereupon, Captain Scraggs, making but a poor effort to conceal the pleasure which Mr. Gibney's rude compliment afforded him, turned to the rail, glanced seaward, and started to walk away to attend to some trifling detail connected with the boat falls.
”All right, Gib, my lad,” he said, affecting to resign himself to the inevitable, ”have it your own way. You're a commodore and I'm only a plain captain, but I'll follow wherever you lead. I'll go as far as the next man and we'll glom that black coral if we have to slaughter every man, woman, and child on the island. Only, when we're sizzlin' in a pot don't you up and say I never warned you, because I did. How d'ye propose intimidatin' the natives, Gib?”
”Scraggsy,” said the commodore solemnly, ”we've waged a private war agin a friendly nation, licked 'em, and helped ourselves to their s.h.i.+p. We've changed her name and rig and her official number and letters and we're sailin' under bogus papers. That makes us pirates, and that old _Maggie_ burgee floatin' at the fore ain't nothin' more nor less than the Jolly Roger. All right!
Let's be pirates. Who cares? When we slip into M'galao harbour we'll invite the king and his head men aboard for dinner. We'll get 'em drunk, clap 'em in double irons, and surrender 'em to their weepin' subjects when they've filled the hold of the _Maggie II_ with black coral. If they refuse to come aboard we'll sh.e.l.l the bush with that long gun and the Maxim rapid-fire guns we've got below decks. That'll scare 'em so they'll leave us alone and we can help ourselves to the coral.”
Scraggs's cold blue eyes glistened. ”Lord, Gib,” he murmured, ”you've got a head.”
”Like playin' post-office,” was McGuffey's comment.
The commodore smiled. ”I thought you boys would see it that way.
Now to-morrow I'm going ash.o.r.e to buy three divin' outfits and lay in a big stock of provisions for the voyage. In the meantime, while the carpenters are gettin' the s.h.i.+p into shape, we'll leave the first mate in charge while we go ash.o.r.e and have a good time.
I've seen worse places than Panama.”
As a result of this conference Mr. Gibney's suggestions were acted upon, and they contrived to make their brief stay in Panama very agreeable. They inspected the work on the ca.n.a.l, marvelled at the stupendous engineering in the Culebra Cut, drank a little, gambled a little. McGuffey whipped a bartender. He was ordered arrested, and six spiggoty little policemen, sent to arrest him, were also thrashed. The reserves were called out and a riot ensued. Mr. Gibney, following the motto of the syndicate, i.e.,
All for one and one for all-- United we stand, divided we fall,
mixed in the conflict and presently found himself in durance vile. Captain Scraggs, luckily, forgot the motto and escaped, but inasmuch as he was on hand next morning to pay a fine of thirty pesos levied against each of the culprits, he was instantly forgiven. Mr. Gibney vowed that if a United States cruiser didn't happen to be lying in the roadstead, he would have sh.e.l.led the town in retaliation.
But eventually the days pa.s.sed, and the _Maggie II_, well found and ready for sea, shook out her sails to a fair breeze and sailed away for Kandavu. She kept well to the southwest until she struck the southeast trades, when she swung around on her course, headed straight for her destination. It was a pleasant voyage, devoid of incident, and the health of all hands was excellent.
Mr. Gibney took daily observations, and was particular to make daily entries in his log when he, Scraggs, and McGuffey were not playing cribbage, a game of which all three were pa.s.sionately fond.
On the afternoon of the twenty-ninth day after leaving Panama the lookout reported land. Through his gla.s.ses Mr. Gibney made out a cl.u.s.ter of tall palms at the southerly end of the island, and as the schooner held lazily on her course he could discern the white breakers foaming over the reefs that guarded the entrance to the harbour.
”That's Kandavu, all right,” announced the commodore. ”I was there in '89 with Bull McGinty in the schooner _Das.h.i.+n' Wave_.
There's the entrance to the harbour, with the Esk reefs to the north and the Pearl reefs to the south. The channel's very narrow--not more than three cables, if it's that, but there's plenty of water and a good muddy bottom that'll hold. McGuffey, lad, better run below and tune up your engines. It's too dangerous a pa.s.sage on an ebb-tide for a sailin' vessel, so we'll run in under the power. Scraggsy, stand by and when I give the word have your crew shorten sail.”
Within a few minutes a long white streak opened up in the wake of the schooner, announcing that McGuffey's engines were doing duty, and a nice breeze springing up two points aft the beam, the _Maggie_ heeled over and fairly flew through the water. Mr.
Gibney smiled an ecstatic smile as he took the wheel and guided the schooner through the channel. He rounded her up in twelve fathoms, and within five minutes every st.i.tch of canvas was clewed down hard and fast. The sun was setting as they dropped anchor, and Mr. Gibney had lanterns hung along the rail so that it would be impossible for any craft to approach the schooner and board her without being seen. Also the watch on deck that night carried Mauser rifles, six-shooters, and cutla.s.ses. Mr. Gibney was taking no chances.
CHAPTER XXII
”Now, boys,” announced Commodore Gibney, as he sat at the head of the officers' mess at breakfast next morning, ”there'll be a lot of canoes paddling off to visit us within the hour, so whatever you do, don't allow more than two of these cannibals aboard the schooner at the same time. Make 'em keep their weapons in the canoes with 'em, and at the first sign of trouble shoot 'em down like dogs. It may be that these precautions ain't necessary, but when I was here twenty years ago it was all the rage to kill a white man and eat him. Maybe times has changed, but the harbour and the coast looks just as wild and lonely as they ever did, and I didn't see no sign of missionary when we dropped hook last night. So don't take no chances.”
All hands promised that they would take extreme care, to the end that their precious persons might remain intact, so Mr. Gibney finished his cup of coffee at a gulp and went on deck.
The Kandavu aborigines were not long in putting in an appearance.
Even as Mr. Gibney came on deck half a dozen canoes shot out from the beach. Mr. Gibney immediately piped all hands on deck, armed them, and nonchalantly awaited the approach of what might or might not turn out to be an enemy.
When the flotilla was within pistol shot of the schooner Mr.
Gibney stepped to the rail and motioned them back. Immediately the natives ceased paddling, and a wild-looking fellow stood up in the forward canoe. After the manner of his kind he had all his life soused his head in lime-water when making his savage toilette, and as a result his shock of black hair stood on end and bulged out like a crowded hayrick. He was naked, of course, and in his hand he held a huge war club.