The captain nodded.
And the little bight just around the point on this side, its a rotten anchorage, isnt it?
No anchorage. All coral patches and shoals, and a bad surf. Thats where the Molly went to pieces three years ago.
Grief stared straight before him with lustreless eyes for a full minute, as if summoning some vision to his inner sight. Then the corners of his eyes wrinkled and the ends of his yellow mustache lifted in a smile.
Well anchor at Gabera, he said. And run in close to the little bight this side. I want you to drop me in a whaleboat as you go by. Also, give me six boys, and serve out rifles. Ill be back on board before morning.
The captains face took on an expression of suspicion, which swiftly slid into one of reproach.
Oh, just a little fun, skipper, Grief protested with the apologetic air of a schoolboy caught in mischief by an elder.
Captain Ward grunted, but Denby was all alertness.
Id like to go along, Mr. Grief, he said.
Grief nodded consent.
Bring some axes and bush-knives, he said. And, oh, by the way, a couple of bright lanterns. See theyve got oil in them.
VAn hour before sunset the Wonder tore by the little bight. The wind had freshened, and a lively sea was beginning to make. The shoals toward the beach were already white with the churn of water, while those farther out as yet showed no more sign than of discoloured water. As the schooner went into the wind and backed her jib and staysail the whaleboat was swung out. Into it leaped six breech-clouted Santa Cruz boys, each armed with a rifle. Denby, carrying the lanterns, dropped into the stern-sheets. Grief, following, paused on the rail.
Pray for a dark night, skipper, he pleaded.
Youll get it, Captain Ward answered. Theres no moon anyway, and there wont be any sky. Shell be a bit squally, too.
The forecast sent a radiance into Griefs face, making more pronounced the golden tint of his sunburn. He leaped down beside the supercargo.
Cast off! Captain Ward ordered. Draw the headsails! Put your wheel over! There! Steady! Take that course!
The Wonder filled away and ran on around the point for Gabera, while the whaleboat, pulling six oars and steered by Grief, headed for the beach. With superb boatmanship he threaded the narrow, tortuous channel which no craft larger than a whaleboat could negotiate, until the shoals and patches showed seaward and they grounded on the quiet, rippling beach.
The next hour was filled with work. Moving about among the wild cocoanuts and jungle brush, Grief selected the trees.
Chop this fella tree; chop that fella tree, he told his blacks. No chop that other fella, he said, with a shake of head.
In the end, a wedge-shaped segment of jungle was cleared. Near to the beach remained one long palm. At the apex of the wedge stood another. Darkness was falling as the lanterns were lighted, carried up the two trees, and made fast.
That outer lantern is too high. David Grief studied it critically. Put it down about ten feet, Denby.
VIThe Willi-Waw was tearing through the water with a bone in her teeth, for the breath of the passing squall was still strong. The blacks were swinging up the big mainsail, which had been lowered on the run when the puff was at its height. Jacobsen, superintending the operation, ordered them to throw the halyards down on deck and stand by, then went forard on the lee-bow and joined Griffiths. Both men stared with wide-strained eyes at the blank wall of darkness through which they were flying, their ears tense for the sound of surf on the invisible shore. It was by this sound that they were for the moment steering.
The wind fell lighter, the scud of clouds thinned and broke, and in the dim glimmer of starlight loomed the jungle-clad coast. Ahead, and well on the lee-bow, appeared a jagged rock-point. Both men strained to it.
Amboy Point, Griffiths announced. Plenty of water close up. Take the wheel, Jacobsen, till we set a course. Get a move on!
Running aft, barefooted and barelegged, the rainwater dripping from his scant clothing, the mate displaced the black at the wheel.
Hows she heading? Griffiths called.
South-a-half-west!
Let her come up south-by-west! Got it?
Right on it!
Griffiths considered the changed relation of Amboy Point to the Willi-Waws course.
And a-half-west! he cried.
And a-half-west! came the answer. Right on it!
Steady! Thatll do!
Steady she is! Jacobsen turned the wheel over to the savage. You steer good fella, savve? he warned. No good fella, I knock your damn black head off.
Again he went forard and joined the other, and again the cloud-scud thickened, the star-glimmer vanished, and the wind rose and screamed in another squall.
Watch that mainsail! Griffiths yelled in the mates ear, at the same time studying the ketchs behaviour.
Over she pressed, and lee-rail under, while he measured the weight of the wind and quested its easement. The tepid sea-water, with here and there tiny globules of phosphorescence, washed about his ankles and knees. The wind screamed a higher note, and every shroud and stay sharply chorused an answer as the Willi-Waw pressed farther over and down.
Down mainsail! Griffiths yelled, springing to the peak-halyards, thrusting away the black who held on, and casting off the turn.
Jacobsen, at the throat-halyards, was performing the like office. The big sail rattled down, and the blacks, with shouts and yells, threw themselves on the battling canvas. The mate, finding one skulking in the darkness, flung his bunched knuckles into the creatures face and drove him to his work.
The squall held at its high pitch, and under her small canvas the Willi-Waw still foamed along. Again the two men stood forard and vainly watched in the horizontal drive of rain.
Were all right, Griffiths said. This rain wont last. We can hold this course till we pick up the lights. Anchor in thirteen fathoms. Youd better overhaul forty-five on a night like this. After that get the gaskets on the mainsail. We wont need it.
Half an hour afterward his weary eyes were rewarded by a glimpse of two lights.
There they are, Jacobsen. Ill take the wheel. Run down the fore-staysail and stand by to let go. Make the niggers jump.
Aft, the spokes of the wheel in his hands, Griffiths held the course till the two lights came in line, when he abruptly altered and headed directly in for them. He heard the tumble and roar of the surf, but decided it was farther away as it should be, at Gabera.
He heard the frightened cry of the mate, and was grinding the wheel down with all his might, when the Willi-Waw struck. At the same instant her mainmast crashed over the bow. Five wild minutes followed. All hands held on while the hull upheaved and smashed down on the brittle coral and the warm seas swept over them. Grinding and crunching, the Willi-Waw worked itself clear over the shoal patch and came solidly to rest in the comparatively smooth and shallow channel beyond.
Griffiths sat down on the edge of the cabin, head bowed on chest, in silent wrath and bitterness. Once he lifted his face to glare at the two white lights, one above the other and perfectly in line.
There they are, he said. And this isnt Gabera. Then what the hell is it?
There they are, he said. And this isnt Gabera. Then what the hell is it?
Though the surf still roared and across the shoal flung its spray and upper wash over them, the wind died down and the stars came out. Shoreward came the sound of oars.
What have you had? an earthquake? Griffiths called out. The bottoms all changed. Ive anchored here a hundred times in thirteen fathoms. Is that you, Wilson?
A whaleboat came alongside, and a man climbed over the rail. In the faint light Griffiths found an automatic Colts thrust into his face, and, looking up, saw David Grief.
No, you never anchored here before, Grief laughed. Gaberas just around the point, where Ill be as soon as Ive collected that little sum of twelve hundred pounds. We wont bother for the receipt. Ive your note here, and Ill just return it.
You did this! Griffiths cried, springing to his feet in a sudden gust of rage. You faked those leading lights! Youve wrecked me, and by
Steady! Steady! Griefs voice was cool and menacing. Ill trouble you for that twelve hundred, please.
To Griffiths, a vast impotence seemed to descend upon him. He was overwhelmed by a profound disgust disgust for the sunlands and the sun-sickness, for the futility of all his endeavour, for this blue-eyed, golden-tinted, superior man who defeated him on all his ways.
Jacobsen, he said, will you open the cash-box and pay this this bloodsucker twelve hundred pounds?
Chapter Two THE PROUD GOAT OF ALOYSIUS PANKBURN
IQuick eye that he had for the promise of adventure, prepared always for the unexpected to leap out at him from behind the nearest cocoanut tree, nevertheless David Grief received no warning when he laid eyes on Aloysius Pankburn. It was on the little steamer Berthe. Leaving his schooner to follow, Grief had taken passage for the short run across from Raiatea to Papeete. When he first saw Aloysius Pankburn, that somewhat fuddled gentleman was drinking a lonely cocktail at the tiny bar between decks next to the barber shop. And when Grief left the barbers hands half an hour later Aloysius Pankburn was still hanging over the bar still drinking by himself.
Now it is not good for man to drink alone, and Grief threw sharp scrutiny into his pass-ing glance. He saw a well-built young man of thirty, well-featured, well-dressed, and evidently, in the worlds catalogue, a gentleman. But in the faint hint of slovenliness, in the shaking, eager hand that spilled the liquor, and in the nervous, vacillating eyes, Grief read the unmistakable marks of the chronic alcoholic.
After dinner he chanced upon Pankburn again. This time it was on deck, and the young man, clinging to the rail and peering into the distance at the dim forms of a man and woman in two steamer chairs drawn closely together, was crying, drunkenly. Grief noted that the mans arm was around the womans waist. Aloysius Pankburn looked on and cried.
Nothing to weep about, Grief said genially.
Pankburn looked at him, and gushed tears of profound self-pity.
Its hard, he sobbed. Hard. Hard. That mans my business manager. I employ him. I pay him a good screw. And thats how he earns it.
In that case, why dont you put a stop to it? Grief advised.
I cant. Shed shut off my whiskey. Shes my trained nurse.
Fire her, then, and drink your head off.
I cant. Hes got all my money. If I did, he wouldnt give me sixpence to buy a drink with.
This woful possibility brought a fresh wash of tears. Grief was interested. Of all unique situations he could never have imagined such a one as this.
They were engaged to take care of me, Pankburn was blubbering, to keep me away from the drink. And thats the way they do it, lollygagging all about the ship and letting me drink myself to death. It isnt right, I tell you. It isnt right. They were sent along with me for the express purpose of not letting me drink, and they let me drink to swinishness as long as I leave them alone. If I complain they threaten not to let me have another drop. What can a poor devil do? My death will be on their heads, thats all. Come on down and join me.
He released his clutch on the rail, and would have fallen had Grief not caught his arm. He seemed to undergo a transformation, to stiffen physically, to thrust his chin forward aggressively, and to glint harshly in his eyes.
I wont let them kill me. And theyll be sorry. Ive offered them fifty thousand later on, of course. They laughed. They dont know. But I know. He fumbled in his coat pocket and drew forth an object that flashed in the faint light. They dont know the meaning of that. But I do. He looked at Grief with abrupt suspicion. What do you make out of it, eh? What do you make out of it?
David Grief caught a swift vision of an alcoholic degenerate putting a very loving young couple to death with a copper spike, for a copper spike was what he held in his hand, an evident old-fashioned ship-fastening.
My mother thinks Im up here to get cured of the booze habit. She doesnt know. I bribed the doctor to prescribe a voyage. When we get to Papeete my manager is going to charter a schooner and away well sail. But they dont dream. They think its the booze. I know. I only know. Good night, sir. Im going to bed unless er youll join me in a night cap. One last drink, you know.
IIIn the week that followed at Papeete Grief caught numerous and bizarre glimpses of Aloysius Pankburn. So did everybody else in the little island capital; for neither the beach nor Lavinas boarding house had been so scandalized in years. In midday, bareheaded, clad only in swimming trunks, Aloysius Pankburn ran down the main street from Lavinas to the water front. He put on the gloves with a fireman from the Berthe in a scheduled four-round bout at the Folies Bergères, and was knocked out in the second round. He tried insanely to drown himself in a two-foot pool of water, dived drunkenly and splendidly from fifty feet up in the rigging of the Mariposa lying at the wharf, and chartered the cutter Toerau at more than her purchase price and was only saved by his managers refusal financially to ratify the agreement. He bought out the old blind leper at the market, and sold breadfruit, plantains, and sweet potatoes at such cut-rates that the gendarmes were called out to break the rush of bargain-hunting natives. For that matter, three times the gendarmes arrested him for riotous behaviour, and three times his manager ceased from love-making long enough to pay the fines imposed by a needy colonial administration.
Then the Mariposa sailed for San Francisco, and in the bridal suite were the manager and the trained nurse, fresh-married. Before departing, the manager had thoughtfully bestowed eight five-pound banknotes on Aloysius, with the foreseen result that Aloysius awoke several days later to find himself broke and perilously near to delirium tremens. Lavina, famed for her good heart even among the driftage of South Pacific rogues and scamps, nursed him around and never let it filter into his returning intelligence that there was neither manager nor money to pay his board.
It was several evenings after this that David Grief, lounging under the after deck awning of the Kittiwake and idly scanning the meagre columns of the Papeete Avant-Coureur, sat suddenly up and almost rubbed his eyes. It was unbelievable, but there it was. The old South Seas Romance was not dead. He read: