Part 17 (1/2)

”What's what?” said Samuel Bilbao, as he flashed his lantern in the direction of the mate's pointing finger. ”Why, it's a derned old tom cat!” said Ulysses as he flashed his bull's-eye lantern on a monster fluffy black cat. It looked at them all with its green, flas.h.i.+ng eyes that had so frightened the mate and yawned! It was the s.h.i.+p's cat. There it lay, as plump as might be, and all round it were the bones of mice and rats that had evidently made the beast decide to stop on its old s.h.i.+p in preference to going ash.o.r.e to catch the fierce, sharp-beaked c.o.c.katoos that swarmed on the isle.

As soon as the mate had taken a pull at his bra.s.s whisky flask and recovered his self-possession they continued their search. Bilbao went down into the main hold. Hillary and the mate held the taut rope as he swung himself down, down into those inky depths. After a deal of hunting and swearing Ulysses yelled out: ”Haul me up!” In a few moments his curly head appeared above the rim of the hatchway. Then he uttered a tremendous oath that harmonised with the look of disgust on his face. He had discovered that someone had been there before them and had evidently searched the hulk in a most drastic fas.h.i.+on, for they had emptied the hold and had cleared off almost every movable article of value. All Ulysses managed to find was one case of Ba.s.s's pale ale, a pair of the late skipper's sea-boots and a few mouldy articles of clothing under the bunks in the forecastle.

”By thunder, let's clear out of this!” said Ulysses as he looked into the eyes of the sallow mate and breathed his disappointment. Samuel Bilbao had really thought that at last he'd come across a prize. It was only natural he should think that a s.h.i.+p sailing across the South Seas should have some kind of valuable cargo on board. So many times had he sat in grog shanties and listened to wonderful tales told by old sailors who had found ”treasure troves” lying about on the reefs of uncharted isles of the Southern Seas.

”Blimey! waiting all day long to search a bloomin' wryck hon an hiland, and only faund a five-s.h.i.+lling case of Ba.s.s's ale-and sour at that-and a bob's worth of old clothes,” groaned the c.o.c.kney boatswain, as he expectorated viciously over the mate's head. They were standing on the sh.o.r.e again, almost ankle-deep in the s.h.i.+ning coral sands. Bilbao and the two sailors who had watched on the sh.o.r.e while the search was on were looking up at the rigging, and the huge listed funnel when they received a shock.

”G.o.d in heaven, what's that!” said the mate so suddenly that everyone instinctively turned to make a bolt from some unspeakable horror.

Even Ulysses looked a bit startled as they all stood stiff, like chiselled figures, staring inland. There, before their eyes, not three hundred yards away, on a little hill, a dark figure was jumping about, whirling and waving its hands.

”Holy Moses!” said one.

”Gawd forgive me sins!” breathed another.

”It's a phantom of the seas-a n.i.g.g.e.r phantom,” wailed the mate.

The figure was certainly a dark man, and perfectly nude; he was quite visible, for the moon was just coming up over the horizon to the south-west, sending ghostly fires on the wreck's broken masts and torn rigging and canvas.

”It's Macka!-gone mad! He's got Gabrielle Everard somewhere back there in those palms!” gasped Hillary.

”No!” said Samuel Bilbao before he had recovered from his astonishment and realised the obvious absurdity of the young apprentice's remark.

”Why, it's a maniac Kanaka!” said Bilbao, who had started coolly to walk up the sh.o.r.e so that he could discern the features of the leaping figure, that was still waving its hands and behaving generally like a frenzied lunatic.

”What the 'ell's the matter with ye?” roared Bilbao.

Still the figure danced, and only the echoes of Ulysses' big voice and the screech of disturbed c.o.c.katoos in the banyans responded.

In a moment the dark figure had bolted. In another moment Ulysses, Hillary, the boatswain and the two sailors had joined in the chase, all rus.h.i.+ng like mad after the flying figure. Only the sorrowful mate stood still on the sands just by the wreck, his loose clothing flapping over his shrunken figure as though he was some mysterious scarecrow left there by the late crew.

Hillary led the way in that chase, Bilbao following just behind, yelling forth mighty bets as to the winner, his big, sea-booted feet stirring the silvery sands into clouds of moon-lit sparkle as he thundered behind the apprentice.

”It's Macka! It's Macka Rajah!” Bilbao roared, as he stopped a second and held his stomach, that heaved with a mirth which seemed considerably out of place at such a time. Suddenly the flying figure fell down. The white men, who were rus.h.i.+ng down a steep incline, could not stay themselves, and in a moment they had all fallen on top of the gasping, terrified figure.

”O papalagi! Talofa! No kille me! Me nicer Samoan mans. Me s.h.i.+pwreck; savee mee!” yelled the frightened native, as he felt the full weight of the white men on his rec.u.mbent form. There was something so appealing and sincere in his voice and broken English that they all realised in a moment that the poor devil was not to blame for his lonely position on the island.

When all was safe, and they had led the trembling Samoan castaway back to the sands, the chief mate breathed a sigh of relief and gave the poor castaway a drink from his whisky flask.

It turned out that he was a Samoan sailor, one of the crew of the wreck that lay on the reefs. She had left Apia about six months before, bound for the Bismarck Archipelago, and had run ash.o.r.e in a typhoon. The German crew had taken to the boats whilst the Samoan sailor had lain ill under the palms (just like Germans). And so he had awakened to find himself alone on the island.

”Where's all the cargo, and the skipper's property?” said Bilbao, as a great hope sprang up in his breast, for he thought that perhaps the native had taken them off the wreck and hidden them on the island. Then the native told them that about two moons after the wreck had been lying on the sh.o.r.e a fleet of canoes sighted her and came out of their course to the islands.

”They came one day, again next days and next days, for a longer times,”

said the castaway.

It appeared that Tampo, the Samoan, for that was his name, was too frightened to show himself to the Malabar natives, who toiled from sunrise to sunset in robbing the wreck of her cargo. The poor native well knew that many of the natives of the isles in the coral seas were inveterate cannibals. And he didn't feel inclined to take any risk of being cooked and eaten. He preferred to hide in the tropical growth till a white man's s.h.i.+p sighted him or the wreck. And certainly he was wise in taking this course.

The castaway was delighted when Ulysses said: ”Come along, old Talofa, get yer traps together, pack yer fig-leaf up and come aboard.”