Stand up, Randall, he said.
The half-caste peaked and socketed his oar, and looked at the officer.
I refuse, sir, he said quietly.
Then come aft here, cried Frewen quickly, with hot anger in his tones.
No, sir, I will not. I said I would neither lift iron nor steer a boat again, was the dogged reply.
There was no time to lose. Giving the steer oar to the man pulling the after-tub oar, the officer sprang forward and picked up the harpoon just in time, Randall jumping aft smartly enough, and taking the tub mans oar. Ten seconds later Frewen had buried his harpoon up to the socket in the whale, and the line was humming as the boat tore through the water. Then, still keeping his place, he let the whole of one tub of line run out, and then hauled up on it and lanced and killed his fish quietly. Cheyne apparently took no notice, though his heart sank within him when Frewen came aft again, and looked at him with mingled anger and reproach.
Some one of the boats crew talked of what had occurred, though Frewen said nothing; and that night Cheyne was placed in irons by Kellers orders. At the end of a week he was still manacled and almost starving, but he steadfastly refused to do boatsteerers duty. Then the captain no longer placed any check on himself, and he swore that he would either make the half-caste yield or else kill him. And he did his best to keep his word.
Nearly a month passed, and then, at Frewens suggestion, all the officers waited on the captain and begged him to release the unfortunate man; otherwise there was every prospect of the crew mutinying.
Is he willing to turn to again? he asked.
Not as boatsteerer, replied Frewen.
Then he shall stay where he is, was the savage retort.
Five or six days later Frewen went to Cheyne, who was now confined in the tween decks, and implored him to give in.
Very well, sir. To please you I will give in. But I mean to desert the first chance.
So do I. I am sick of this condition of things. There are three other men besides yourself in irons now.
Who are they, sir?
Willis, Hunt, and Freeman. (The two latter belonged to his own boat, and had been ironed because they had refused to eat some bad beef. Frewen himself had told Keller that it was uneatable, and again angry words passed between them.)
Cheyne was released and resumed his old place in Frewens boat, and the officer then sounded the rest of his men, and found they were eager to leave the ship. So he made his plans, and he and Cheyne quietly got together a small supply of provisions and a second breaker of water.
They waited till the ship was well among the Friendly Group, and Upolu Island was three hundred miles to the north, and then were given the needed opportunitywhen the mates boat was destroyed by the big bull whale, which was then struck by Cheyne.
Boys, shouted Frewen to his crew, as the boat tore through the water, Im not going to kill this whale awhile. Hell give us a long run, and is taking us dead to windward, away from the ship. But before it gets dark Ill give him a bomb.
He successfully carried out his intention. Just as darkness was coming on he hauled up on his line and fired a bomb into the mighty creature; it killed it in a few seconds. Then they lay alongside of the floating carcase, spelled half an hour, had something to eat, and then Cheyne, who had a sense of humour, wrote the scrawl to Keller and tied it round the whift pole.
Now, lads, cried Frewen, up sail! It is a fine dark night, and we should be forty or fifty miles away by daylight.
And so, whilst the Casilda burnt flare after flare throughout the night, the adventurers were slipping through the water merrily enough, oblivious of the cold rain squalls which overtook them at midnight, as they headed for Samoa.
CHAPTER III
When Frewen allowed Cheyne to write the pencilled note to Captain Keller, he did so with a double purpose, for he and Cheyne had carefully thought out and decided upon their plans. In the first place, the dead whale would convince the ships company that he and his boats crew had done the square thing, by killing and leaving for their benefit the best and largest whale that had yet been taken, and that although they were deserting (and consequently losing their entire share of the profits of the cruise so far, which would be divided with their former shipmates) the rich prize they were leaving to the ship would prove of ten times the value of the boat in which they had escaped. In the second place he wished to put Keller on a false scent by naming Savage Island (or Nine, as it is generally known) as their destination; for Keller knew that the island was a favourite resort of runaway sailors, but that a suitable reward offered to the avaricious natives would be sure to effect the capture and return to the ship of any deserters from the Casilda.
Cheynes father was an English master mariner, who, tired of a seafaring life, had settled as a trader in the beautiful island of Manono in Samoa. He there married a daughter of one of the leading chiefs, and himself attained to some considerable influence and property, but lost his life in an encounter with a rebellious clan on the island of Upolu. He left two children: Randall, a lad of sixteen, and Marie, a girl two years younger. The boy went to sea in a whaler, and at the age of twenty-four had an established reputation as one of the smartest boatsteerers in the Pacific. Only once after four years absence, had he returned to his native country, when he found that his sister, who had just arrived from Australia, where she had been educated, was about to be married to one of the few Europeans in the countrya well-to-do planter and merchant, named Raymond, and that his mother had also married again, and settled in New Zealand.
Satisfied as to his sisters future happiness, he saw her married, and again turned his face to the sea, although Raymond earnestly besought him to stay with and help him in his business. He made his way to Honolulu, and there joined the Casilda, then homeward bound, and, as has been related, he and the second officer soon became firm friends.
At the south-east point of the island of Upelu, there is a town named Lepâ, and for this place the boat was now steering. The principal chief of the district was a blood relation of Cheynes mother, and he (Cheyne) knew that every hospitality would be given to himself and Frewen for as long a time as they chose to remain at Lepâ.
After we have seen Manalio (the chief) we shall consider what we shall do, said the boatsteerer to Frewen. I expect he will not like letting us leave him, but will be satisfied when he knows that you and I want to go to my sisters place. These big Samoan chiefe are very touchy in some things.
On the afternoon of the third day out, the land was sighted, and just as the evening fires were beginning to gleam from the houses embowered in the palm-groves of Lepâ, the boat grounded on the white hard beach, and in a few minutes the village was in a pleasurable uproar, as the white men were almost carried up to the chiefs house by the excited natives, who at once recognised the stalwart Cheyne.
Manalio made his relative and Frewen most welcome, and treated them as very honoured guests, whilst the rest of the boats crew were taken possession of by the sub-chiefs and the people of the town generally, carried off to the fale taupule or town hall, and invited to a hurriedly prepared but ample repast.
On the following morning, Frewen called the whole of his boats crew together, and told them it would be best for them to separate. Each of you four men say you dont want to go to sea againnot for a long time at any rate. Well, Manalio, the chief here, wants a white man to live with him. He will treat him well, and give him a house and land. Will you stay, Hunt?
On the following morning, Frewen called the whole of his boats crew together, and told them it would be best for them to separate. Each of you four men say you dont want to go to sea againnot for a long time at any rate. Well, Manalio, the chief here, wants a white man to live with him. He will treat him well, and give him a house and land. Will you stay, Hunt?
Yes, sir, was the instant reply.
Right. And you, Freeman, Chase, and Craik, can stay here in Lepâ, and decide for yourselves which towns you will live in. In less than forty-eight hours half the chiefe on the island will be coming to Manalio for a white man. Cheyne here will give you some good adviceif you want the natives to respect you, and to get along and make money and a honest living, follow his advice.
Ay, ay, sir, assented the men.
Now, here is another matter. Cheyne and I wish to be mates, and we want the boat.
Well, I guess we have no claim on her, sir, said Hunt, turning to the others for confirmation of his remark.
Oh, yes you haveshe is as much yours as she is mine. Anyway we all have a good right to her, as we have given the ship a whale worth a dozen new boats; and, besides that, by deserting we have forfeited our lays and have put money into Captain Kellers pocket as well as into those of the crew. Now, I have a little money with metwo hundred dollars. Will you four men take a hundred and divide it, and let Cheyne and me have the boat?
Ay, ay, to be sure, they cried out in unison.
That evening Frewen and Cheyne bade Manalio and the seamen goodbye, and accompanied by four stalwart and well-armed natives, stepped into the boat, hoisted her blue jean main-sail and jib, and amidst a chorus of farewells from the friendly people set off on a forty miles trip along the coast, their destination being the town of Samatau, at the extreme north-west of the island.
For here, so Manalio had told them, Mrs. Raymond and her husband were living, the latter having purchased a large tract of land there which he was preparing for a cotton plantation.
CHAPTER IV
The boat sailed gently along the outer or barrier reef which fringed the coast of beautiful verdured Upolu, and then, as the sun sank, there shone out myriad stars upon the bosom of a softly heaving sea, and only the never-ceasing murmur of the surf as it beat against the coral barrier, or the cry of some wandering sea-bird, disturbed the warm silence of the tropic night.
Leaving the boat to the care of their native friends at eight oclock, Frewen and his comrade laid down amidships and were soon fast asleep, for the day had been a tiring one, and they needed more rest to recover from the effects of the three days they had spent on the open sea.
Soon after daylight they were awakened by the steersman, who pointed out a large, lofty-sparred vessel. She was about five miles away, and being head on, Frewen was uncertain as to her rig, till an hour later, when he saw that she was a full-rigged ship.
Not the Casilda he said to his comrade, and neither of them gave the strange vessel any further thought, especially as the wind had now died away, and, the sail being lowered, the crew bent to the oars under an already hot and blazing sun.
Shortly before noon, the boat rounded a low headland and entered a lovely little bay, embowered in thick groves of coco-palms and breadfruit trees. The new house which Raymond had built was not visible from the bay, but there were some thirty or forty native houses clustered under the shade of the trees, a few yards up from the beach, on which they noticed a ships longboat was lying.
The moment Frewens boat was seen, a strange clamour arose, and a number of natives, armed with muskets and long knives, rushed out of their houses, and took cover behind the rocks and trees, evidently with the intention of resisting his landing, and Frewen and Cheyne heard loud cries of Lèmonte! Lèmonte!
Back water! cried Cheyne in his mother tongue to the crew; then he turned to Frewen: There is something wrong on shore. Lèmonte is my brother-in-laws name, and they are calling for him. Then he stood up and shouted out
Friends, do you not know me? I am Randall. Where is my sister and her husband?
A loud cry of astonishment burst from the natives, many of whom, throwing down their arms, sprang into the water, and clambering into the boat greeted the young man most affectionately; and then one of them, commanding silence, began talking rapidly to him.
We must get ashore quickly, said Cheyne to Randall. My brother-in-law has a number of dead and dying people in his house. There has been a mutiny on board that shipbut come on, hell tell us all about it.
In another minute the boat was on the beach, and as Frewen and Cheyne jumped ont they were met by a handsome, dark-faced man about forty years of age, who grasped Cheynes hands warmly.
I never expected to see you, Randall, he said quietly, but I thank God that you have come, and at such a time, too. Where is your ship?
Three hundred miles away. But we will tell you our story another time. How is Marie?
Well. She already hears the people shouting your name. Come to the house. Then he turned to Frewen and held out his hand. My name is Raymond, and you are welcome to Samatau.
And mine is Frewen. I hope you will accept any assistance I can give.
Gladly. But I will tell you the whole story presently. I have two men dying in my house, three others wounded, and two dead.
He led the way along a shady, winding path to the house, on the wide verandah of which were seated a number of natives of both sexes, who made way for them to pass with low murmurs of Talofa, aliia, {*} to the two strangers. Then in another moment Marie Raymond stepped softly out from the sitting-room, and threw her arms round her brothers neck.
* Greeting, gentlemen.
Thank God you are here, Randall, she said, leading the way into another room. Tom will tell you of what has happened. I will return as soon as I can.
How is Captain Marston? asked Raymond, as she stood for a moment with her hand on the handle of the door.
Still unconscious. Mrs. Marston is with him. She paused, and then turned her dark and beautiful tear-dimmed eyes to Frewen: Tom, perhaps this gentleman might be able to do something. Will he come in and see?
Raymond drew him aside. Go in and see the poor fellow. He cant last longhis skull is fractured.
Frewen followed Mrs. Raymond into the large room, and saw lying on her own bed the figure of a man whose features were of the pallor of death. His head was bound up, and kneeling by his side, with her eyes bent upon his closed lids, was a woman, or rather a girl of twenty-two or twenty-three years of age. As, at the sound of footsteps, she raised her pale, agonised face, something like a gleam of hope came into it.
Are you a doctor? she asked in a trembling whisper.
The seaman shook his head respectfully. No, madam; I would I were.
He leant over the bed, and looked at the still, quiet face of the man, whom he could see was in the prime of life, and whose regular, clear-cut features showed both refinement and strength of character.
He still breathes, whispered the poor wife.
Yes, so I see, said Frewen, as he rose. Then he asked Mrs. Raymond a few questions as to the nature of the wound, and learned that in addition to a fractured skull a pistol bullet had entered at the back of the neck.