CHAPTER III
"THE BURNING OF THE SOUTH SEAMAN"
The night passed without incident, and dawn found the Ocmulgee jogging along with the yards just off the backstays.
The wind had steadied down to a fair south-west breeze; the sea was much quieter, and matters were looking up all round.
Broncho was taught to steer, and Jim fished indefatigably, but beyond catching a huge molly-mawk, which had swooped on the bait, he had not had much success.
Tari, however, the skilled harpooner, had managed to spear several dolphins, and dolphin stew made a welcome addition to the poor fare.
So the days passed.
Except for Lobu, the madman, who caused some anxiety by his queer behaviour, all hands were pulling together well.
Tari proved to be invaluable. He had a soft, gentle nature and worked like an ox, his disfigured countenance aglow with beaming good temper.
He cooked, he steered, he was ready for everything and toiled away unceasingly with wonderful endurance. The man was untiring in his efforts to please, and Jack especially he seemed to take to.
"You my pleni," he had announced to that worthy in his soft Polynesian tones.
Pleni means "friend," and has a peculiar sentimental significance in the South Seas, and after this announcement Tari waited upon Jack like a slave.
This behaviour seemed to impress the cowpuncher greatly, and about the third day on board he commented on it to the rolling-stone.
"That 'ere Tari, whom you-alls say by his tattooing is a big chief, behaves as if he's your nigger, Jack, an' he shore hungers to please you. You sartinly has his affections roped, tied down, an' with your brand on to 'em that-away. I watches him eyein' you with them big antelope orbs o' his same as if you're some kind o' god, an' it's plumb touchin' as a spectacle."
"That's the custom, Broncho, in the South Seas. The natives are like affectionate dogs, and when a man announces that he is your pleni it means that from then on you are his first consideration in this world," replied Jack. "It's a far, far stronger affection than that which lovers hold to one another in the Society and Marquesas groups, passionate though they are."
"Wall, I reckon a pagan Kanaka shore calls the turn that-away on redskins. Tari's a different breed entire to them yellow snakes. I ain't never seen the redskin's eye I'd trust, but Tari's I'd jest as soon stack upon as any white man's."
"How do you like the Ocmulgee's tobacco?" asked Jack, as he lit his pipe behind his hands.
"For smokin' it'll about run in double harness with tea, which same is puttin' it some mild; but for chewin' it makes me as peevish as a sick infant, it's that rank, an' shore gives a gent a ja'ndiced view of life."
During this conversation they were seated round the cabin skylight in the first dog-watch.
Suddenly Lobu, who as usual was engaged in mysterious confidence with his black baby-god, sprang to his feet, and with a wild cry seized Tari's harpoon, which was resting up against the fife-rail; then, before any one of them could make a move, he had the weapon poised for a terrific lunge at Jack.
Like a wild thing, Jim, who was steering, flung himself in front of his hero. At the same moment, Tari, making a wonderful shot with a belaying-pin, which he had snatched from the rail, dashed the harpoon to the deck, and before the infuriated madman could pick up his weapon, all hands had scattered for safety.
"He's running amuck! Look out for yourselves!" roared Jack, as he dodged round the companion.
Broncho made a break for the tryworks, whilst Jim, springing on to the main fife-rail, went hand-over-hand up the port lower-topsail sheet.
Foaming at the mouth and jerking forth queer, wild guttural cries, Lobu, with weapon raised on high, hurled himself round the companion after Jack; but the fleet-footed Britisher was too quick for him.
Foiled here, he suddenly turned and launched his weapon at Jim, who was swarming up the purchase with the agility of a monkey.
Nothing but a sharp roll of the ship saved the boy, and the harpoon stuck quivering in the mainmast.
Meanwhile, Broncho, with the ready resource of a frontiersman, had seized the coil of line from a boat tub, and hastily making a running bowline, crept up behind the unsuspecting Kanaka.
Lobu now stood hesitating, and gazing stupidly up at Jim above him.
With a quick twist of the wrist the rope snaked from the cowboy's hand, and the loop dropped neatly over the insane man's head and shoulders. With such an expert at roping and throwing as Broncho, it was but a moment before Lobu lay on the deck, securely bound and helpless.
"My! That was close!" panted Jim, as he slid down to the deck.
"Jim, shake!" said the rover, breathing deeply and with the smallest tremble in his voice. "I won't forget what you did to-day as long as I live."
The boy blushed vividly with pleasure, and stammered out something which was quite unintelligible, whilst Broncho said heartily:
"Good for you, son! It shore were a clean strain play o' yours, an' plumb full o' sand as the Mohave desert."
Then Tari came in for congratulations and thanks, and the way Jack gripped his hand made the Islander beam with pleasure and wince with pain.
"Fine shootin', Tari, as ever I sees," commented Broncho. "Black Davis is plumb childlike with a belayin'-pin compared to you."
The question now was, what was to be done with Lobu, who lay on the deck panting and spent, and apparently sane enough again, though rolling his eyes in wide alarm.
"I believe he thinks we are going to cook and eat him," observed Jack. "The Marquesans always used to eat the captured amongst their enemies."
"I'm feelin' some hungry myself," asserted Broncho, with his slow, quiet drawl, which always grew slower and more serious the lighter and more flippant the remark he was making happened to be.
This was the way with the cowboy. On serious or more important subjects he assumed a lightness and indifference in his speech which he was very far from feeling, whilst he brought out a joke with more solemnity than a Chancellor of the Exchequer introducing the budget.
"We'll shore have to skin him," he went on. "Eating a gent unskinned when he's tattooed that-away would give folks delusions that they're consumin' of boa-constrictors, which same is liable to give palp'tations round the cartridge-belt to a gent who's been used to beans, salt pig, an' air-tights, bein' some rich an' high-flung as an edible."
Jack and Tari proceeded to have a long consultation together in the Marquesan dialect, at the end of which the former turned to the others and said:
"Tari wants us to set him loose. He says he'll watch him closely, and give us warning if he looks like having another fit of man-hunting. What do you say, boys?"
"Wall, you can bet your moccasins I'm goin' to pack 'round a six-shooter in future. That 'ere Lobu springs his little game on us that headlong an' sudden, an' puts sech fervor into it, that he comes near callin' a show-down on the crowd; an' in the event of his scoutin' off on the war-path again, I reckon I'll plant some lead amongst his idees, an' sober him some," pronounced Broncho.
"He don't look any too safe," said Jim, as Lobu, having recovered his breath, began to scowl and mutter to himself.
"I'm an Apache if he ain't hungerin' to begin his butchery again," drawled Broncho; "he's shore due to inaug'rate a holycaust if we turns him loose."
"Heart no bad! Head bad!" said Tari sadly.
"Mebbe, son, mebbe. But he ain't sedentary enough to go skallyhootin' 'round onfettered; he's a heap too vivid an' high-sperited, an' is liable to crease one of us mavericks."
"Better put him in the forepeak and clap the hatch on over him," proposed Jack.
"He's cert'nly too apparent on the scenery where he is," declared the cowboy.
Jack's idea was finally acted on. Lobu and his ebony idol were relegated to the forepeak, and once more serenity prevailed.
With sunset the wind died down considerably, and the long swell caused the Ocmulgee to roll heavily.
Night descended. The sky became one sparkling mantle of stars, and the sea, in heavy black ridges, lumbered in from the westward, slow and dignified, the last relics of the Roaring Forties.
At each lurch of the vessel her canvas thumped against the masts and rigging, giving forth a sound like the cracking of an Australian stockwhip.
The dark form of the cowboy at the wheel swayed slowly backwards and forwards across the glittering moonlight as the vessel rolled.
The flare of the galley fire peeped forth forward in shafts of yellow light. The silent decks were striped with cold moonbeams and inky shadows, weird and eerie-looking, the great whale-jaws at the companion giving a grotesque appearance to the after part of the barque.
Occasionally the top of a roller would slop in through a port, and ripple across the sloping deck like a stream of shining silver.
Reclining on the locker which ran round the cabin skylight lay Jack Derringer, pipe in mouth, lazily watching his beloved stars.
Forward the Kanaka Tari could be seen flitting backwards and forwards across the shaft of light from the galley, busily engaged in gathering fuel from the fore 'tween-decks.
Presently he went forward, and lifting the hatch of the forepeak, looked down into the gloom, where lay the poor madman.
As he bent over the hatch a heavy volume of smoke poured forth, enveloping his face and causing him to cough.
Hastily withdrawing his head he rushed aft, crying in his strange, broken English:
"Shippe burn! shippe burn! Lobu settee fire shippe!"
Up jumped Jack, quick to think and quick to act.
"Leave the wheel, Broncho, there's not enough wind to hurt. You, Jim and Tari, get the quarter-deck buckets forrard. Follow me, Broncho—sail-locker, spare t'gallants'l."
Short and sharp came the words, and Jack was gone.
In an incredibly short space of time Broncho and the rover reappeared with the sail on their shoulders.
Meanwhile, Tari and Jim had succeeded in hauling the senseless form of Lobu out of the forepeak, and were hard at work throwing water on to the smother of smoke.
It was a slow process, however, as the water had to be drawn over the side, there being no pump on board.
Rapidly the sail was dipped overboard and spread out.
"Pass it down to me, boys," called Jack; and before any one could divine his intention, he had descended the ladder into the midst of the smoke.
With hurried hands the sail was lowered down after him, and for a few minutes it looked as if the fire was going to be smothered.
With redoubled vigour they turned to the buckets, and, in a constant stream, the water was sent sousing down.
Suddenly Jack's head appeared, soaking wet and blackened with smoke, at the top of the ladder.
"An axe!" he gasped out. "The bulkhead's caught!"
"An axe! an axe!" repeated Jim aimlessly.
But Tari, with two bounds, reached the caboose, and snatching up the weapon with which he had lately been chopping wood, dashed forward and handed it to Jack, who once more descended, having tied a red silk handkerchief over his nose and mouth.
Then the sound of blows could be heard below, as the rolling-stone battled with the flaming bulkhead.
Suddenly the chopping ceased, the dense clouds of smoke were redoubled, and a second later flames were perceived.
Meanwhile, no signs of Jack.
The bucket gang began to grow anxious.
"Hey, Jack, cut loose outer that, or you'll get straddled," called Broncho.
In response, a faint cry as if from a long way off came floating up.
Still no Jack.
Moments passed, and it was plain to all that the fire was rapidly gaining on them.
"Come up, Jack, come up!" cried the boy wildly.
"No use, Jim," growled the cowpuncher. "You can't ride him—no, not with buckin' straps an' a Spanish bit."
No responding cry was heard this time.
"My God, where is he?" exclaimed Jim with alarm. "He'll suffocate and lose his senses if he stays down there any longer."
"I guess I'll just scout 'round an 'see how he's playin' the game. Mebbe them flames makes a winnin' against him," said Broncho leisurely, in his most indifferent tones—the very carelessness a sure sign that he was deeply anxious.
"Lemme go, lemme go!" urged Jim, his voice strained and overwrought.
"No, son, it's my bet," said the cowpuncher, as he slipped a rope's-end over his shoulders. "Now, you-alls cinch on to the end o' this, an' if I don't show up on the scenery in five minutes, just yank me out, an' don't use no mildness neither"; and down went Broncho.
A minute later he reappeared, followed by an object whom they had some difficulty in recognising as Jack Derringer.
He was black as a sweep. His clothes were in tatters and smouldering in places; most of the hair on one side of his head was singed off, and he was evidently very exhausted.
On reaching the deck he swayed unsteadily, and then toppled over in a faint.
"One o' them locoed critters who don't know when they've got enough," growled Broncho, as he soused a bucket of water over the inanimate form.
"You go to blazes!" came in faint tones from the senseless man, and two rows of gleaming white teeth appeared in the blackened countenance of the rover, as his lips curved in a smile and he slowly opened and shut one eye.
Jack was only overcome by the fumes of smoke, which had got into his lungs, and the fresh air and cold water rapidly revived him.
Presently he sat up.
"It's no use," he exclaimed. "The ship's saturated with oil, and will be in a blaze fore and aft in half an hour."
And the flames and smoke, which were now bursting through the scuttle, gave point and emphasis to his remarks.
"Which is the best of the whaleboats, Tari?" he continued.
"De starbo'd boat on de quarter."
"Well, jump's the word, boys. Hustle, we've got no time to lose. Broncho, you and Tari fill the water-breakers belonging to the boats; Jim and I will get the grub on deck."
Working with a will, they got the whaleboat over, and whilst Tari and Jim jumped into her, Jack and Broncho passed the provisions along.
She was a magnificent boat, a fine specimen of New Bedford handiwork, and held a vast amount without any overloading.
The four boat-breakers were passed in, a keg of biscuits, and enough salt horse to last close on a month with care; then a huge tarpaulin, a spare mast and sails from one of the other boats, four Winchester rifles and ammunition, whilst the three white men each buckled on a revolver and belt of cartridges.
This armament was Jack's forethought, for he knew that possibly they might find themselves amongst the Paumotu or Low Archipelago of atolls, which had got a very bad reputation and lay right in their course for either Tahiti or the Marquesas.
The sextant was not forgotten, or the chronometer; and even oilskins, blankets, and spare clothing were handed aboard. Whilst the small ship's company worked hard to provision the whaleboat, the old oil-sodden Ocmulgee was blazing furiously.
The whole of her, forward, was now a mass of flame, which with long yellow tongues went licking out to the end of the jibboom and up the tarred shrouds aloft. The foresail and topsails soon caught fire, and, with the blazing jibs and rigging, lit up the scene until the castaways were working as if by daylight.
At two bells in the first watch the fore-topmast came down with a crash, a mass of sparks like a St. Catherine's wheel; then, plunging into the sea with a loud hiss, it lay dead, a blackened, charred wreck.
By this time the main rigging had caught, and the ship was like a gigantic beacon.
"We'd better shove off clear of her at once," cried Jack, as he appeared out of the cabin entrance, his arms full of odds and ends.
"What you totin' along, Jack?" inquired Broncho, from the boat.
"Tobacco, matches, bull's-eye lantern, hammer, saw, packet of nails, two towels, a housewife, fishing-lines and hooks, spy-glass, nautical almanac, chopper——"
"Ain't you forgot somethin?" broke in the cowpuncher, with gentle irony.
Lobu had already been placed in the boat securely bound. He had recovered his senses, and sat quiet and sphinxlike on the floorboards.
As they were preparing to shove off, Tari rushed forward, and presently reappeared with his beloved harpoon.
"All aboard!" now sang out Jack lightly. "Any more for the shore?"
He was a most cheery person to be shipwrecked with. His spirits rose with the danger. Desperate situations, hardships, the near approach of death, all seemed to act upon him as a tonic and instil him with an infectious gaiety.
He jumped lightly into the boat and they shoved on.
"Kaoha, nuir!" muttered Tari, as they pulled away from the burning ship.
It was a friendly farewell, for the words, roughly translated, meant, "We part in friendship!"
Jim hummed the famous chanty:
"Leave her, Johnny, leave her,
It's time for us to leave her."
"To fa,[11] old ship!" called Jack. "The luck's against you. Kismet, always Kismet!"
"Yes, the kyards is stackin' up against you, an' like many another clean-strain gent, you bucks against them without weakenin'. Finally, you cashes in, back to the wall, boots on an' your gun empty. Old Ocmulgee, I looks towards you, you're dyin' game." Thus Broncho.
It was a melancholy sight as, lying on the swell about half a cable's length off, they watched for the end.
She was now in flames fore and aft. Every rope was a thread of fire. Even where they lay to windward they could hear it roaring and hissing as it wrapped the poor old barque in its furious toils.
The sea sparkled in the reflection. The smoke fell away to leeward in a huge bank of black, blotting out the stars.
The faces of the boat's crew showed red and yellow in the glare of the fiery blast—Tari's sad and downcast, Lobu's sullen and indifferent, Jim's wide-eyed, the cowboy's keen and interested, and Jack's dreary but resolute.
In silence they watched the end, each wrapped up in his own thoughts.
Tari wistfully wondered if he would ever see his beloved island home again, with its breadfruit trees and cocoanut palms, its surf-beaten shores and rocky headlands, its sandy inlets and crystal streams; and not least, its light-hearted, flower-decked maidens. He was weary and worn with this tragic voyage, tired of this buffeting by the Fates about the rough world, and longed desperately for his own paepae-hae once more.
Jim, who had never known a paepae-hae, whose only home had been a ship's foc's'le, whose playground had been that rough one the wide world, recalled tales of open-boat experiences with a feeling half of dread for the future, half of excited anticipation, the glamour and fascination of uncertain fortune making itself felt even in his small but romantic breast.
Broncho pondered upon the strange freaks of Dame Fortune, the streaks of good and bad luck, called by some "Providence," which go to make up men's lives.
Jack stared with the bright glare of the flaming ship full in his eyes, yet saw it not. His mind was far away. His memory was crowded with strange events, perils overcome, dangers met and conquered on the battlefield, in the bush, on deep water, and on mountain top, and his courage rose high—that courage which, in conjunction with iron nerves, great strength to suffer, and absolute fearlessness of death, made the rolling-stone such a difficult man for the Fates to trample upon.
Well he knew the terrors which were likely to be before them, the terrors of an open boat alone in mid-ocean—the torments of thirst and hunger, the growing weakness of mind and body, the aching, cramped limbs, the perils of storm and calm, the gradual feeling of despair, the long days of helplessness, then the feverish senses full of distorted views as mind and body grew more diseased, and, last of all, the wild, raving delirium. Well he knew them. He gave himself a shake and braced his mind to fight the coming battle.
All night the Ocmulgee roared, hissed, and crackled. All night the yellow tongues flared in fiery coils about her.
At six bells, eleven o'clock, the mainmast went by the board; then the mizzen tottered, swayed, hung for a moment like a flaming Tower of Pisa, and then slowly, deliberately, plunged into the sea.
A smother of foam burst forth, the sparkling white enveloping the flickering yellow and extinguishing it.
In the black background of smoke the red sparks gleamed like myriads of fire-flies.
And now, as the flames broke out over the hull, the salt-incrusted timbers turned the yellow tongues into weird blue and green flares, which in all the shades of the rainbow flickered and flourished.
Still the gallant old ship floated, and it was not more than an hour before dawn when at last, being burnt down to the water's edge, the Ocmulgee had to give up the fight.
All this time the castaways lay off, waiting to see the last of the burning ship.
Suddenly Jim sprang to his feet, shouting excitedly,
"She's going! she's going!"
Slowly the Ocmulgee lifted her stern into the air; her weather-worn rudder rose dripping from the ocean; then her keel showed, foot by foot, draped with long streamers of seaweed, as if with a shroud.
She gave a heavy lurch forward, a plunge, and was gone, leaving nothing but a swirling eddy of tossing white water.