IV
Gadgett’s schooner, the Bertha Mason, came into the lagoon that night under a full moon lifting in the east. Blood and Harman had not gone to bed, and they were treated to a lovely sight which left them unimpressed.
Nothing could be more perfect in the way of a sea picture than the schooner fresh from the sea spilling her amber light on her water shadows to the slatting of curves and the sounds of block and cordage, moving like a vision with just way enough on her to take her to her anchorage.
Then the lagoon surface reeled to the splash of the anchor, the shore echoes answered to the rumble-tum-tum-tum of the chain, and the Bertha Mason swung to her moorings, presenting her bow to the outward-going current and her broadside to that of the Heart.
“Blast the blighters!” said Harman. Then the two went below to their bunks.
Next morning there were salutations across the water from one schooner to the other. The fellows on the Bertha Mason were at work early getting the shell on board, and the Chinese crew of the Heart were busy fishing. During the day there was little communication between the two vessels, and at night there was no offer of the Bertha Masonites to come aboard, yet it was their duty to pay first call as the Heart was a visitor.
“They’re a stand-off lot,” said Harman. “They’re turnin’ up their noses. I s’pose, because we have a crew of chinkies. Well, they can keep to themselves, for all I care. When’re we goin’ to put out?”
“I don’t want to leave before them,” said Blood. “Besides, there are repairs to be done, and we want to fill up with water. They won’t keep us long.”
Harman said nothing. He wanted to be off, but he felt as Blood did; his enmity against the Gadgett crowd made him want to hold on, pretending to care nothing, and that enmity was increased next morning. The Bertha Mason, dragging her anchor a bit on the strong incoming current, came near to foul the Heart. Hartman used language to which came a polite inquiry as to how he was off for wheelbarrows.
“Gadgett’s told,” said he to Blood, after making suitable answer to the query. “They’re laffin at us. The yarn will be all over Sydney now; they’ll be tellin’ it in N’ York before they’ve done with it. We’ll have to change our names and sink the Heart to clear ourselves. Well, I’m goin’ off fishin’. Gadgett said there was good fishin’ from the rocks on the other side of the island. I can’t stick here doin’ nuthin’. The deck’s burnin’ my feet.”
He rowed ashore with lines and fish that the Chinese had caught for bait. It was five o’clock in the evening, and the Bertha Mason, her cargo stowed, was preparing to leave when he returned.
Blood was down below when Harman came tumbling down the companionway. He was flushed, and looked as though he had been drinking, though his legs were steady enough, and there was no smell of alcohol.
“Blood!” shouted Harman. “We’re made! Where’s your pocketbook? Gimme it! Come on, haste yourself; come with me and try to look like a fool. Gimme the pocketbook, I tell you, and don’t ask no questions; I’m fit to burst, and there’s no time. They’re handlin’ the sails on that bathtub. Up with you and after me!”
He seized the pocketbook, which had fifteen hundred dollars in it, the remains of their money, and rushed on deck, followed by Blood.
The boat was still by the side, with two Chinamen in her. They got in and rowed to the Bertha Mason.
Next moment they were on the deck of the Bertha, facing Gadgett.
“Mr. Gadgett,” said Harman, “when you talked of having put down oyster spat in the lagoon, did you mean pearl-oyster spat?”
“Of course,” said Gadgett, scenting vaguely what was coming.
“And will them oysters have pearls in them by next Christmas?”
“Of course they will,” replied the other. “Not every oyster, but most of them will.”
“You talked of selling the remains of the lease of the place,” said Harman. “Well, we’ve come to buy. What would you want for it?”
“Two thousand dollars,” said Gadgett. They went below to bargain, and in five minutes, anxious to be done with the fools and get away, Gadgett came down to five hundred dollars.
He knew well that not only was the place stripped by him, but that lately it had been giving out. Oysters are among the most mysterious denizens of the sea, and shell lagoons “give out” for no known reason. The oysters cease to breed—that is all. Gadgett would have sold the remains of his lease for five dollars, for five cents, for a cent. He would have given it away—to an enemy.
He got five hundred dollars for it and reckoned that he had crowned his luck.
Harman went below and examined the lease. It included all rights on the island above and underground, and all rights to sea approaches and reefs.
Gadgett had a government stamp for the new contract. He was a man who always foresaw, and in five minutes Harman and Blood found themselves in possession of Matao for a term of forty-four years, with an option of renewal for another twenty years on a year’s notice.
Then Harman, with this in his pocket, came on deck, followed by Blood, and as they stood saying good-bye to Gadgett the fellow in command began giving the order to handle the throat and peak halyards.
As they rowed off, the jib was being set, and when they reached the Heart, the sound of the windlass pawls reached them, and the rasp of the anchor chain being hove short.
“What is it?” said Blood, who knew Harman too well to doubt that they had got the weather gauge on Gadgett.
“Wait till they’ve cleared the lagoon—wait till they’ve cleared the lagoon!” said the other. “I’m afraid of thinkin’ of it lest that chap should smell the idea and come back and murder us. Oh, Lord, oh, Lord! Will they never get out?”
The anchor of the Bertha Mason was now rising to the catheads; she was moving. As she passed the reef opening, she ran up her flag and dipped it, then the Pacific took her.
“Come down below,” said Harman.
Down below, not a word would he say till he had poured out two whiskies, one for himself and one for Blood.
Then he burst out:
“It’s a guano island. Yesterday, when I went fishin’, I took notice of signs, then I prospected. All the top part is one solid block of guano—nuff to manure the continent of the States. That chap has been sittin’ five years on millions of dollars and playin’ with oyster shells. Oh, think of Rafferty—and the wheelbarrows! Think of his long, yellow face when he knows!”
“Are you sure?” said Blood.
“Sure—why, I’ve a workin’ knowledge of guano. Sure—o’ course I’m sure! Come ashore with me, and I’ll show you.”
They went ashore, and before sunset Harman had demonstrated that even on this side, where the deposit was thinnest, the store was vast.
“Think of the size of the place,” said he, “and remember from this to the other side it gets thicker. Fifty years won’t empty it.”
The sea gulls of a thousand years had presented them with a fortune beyond estimation, and Blood for the first time in his life saw himself a rich man—honestly rich.
Their joy was so great that the first thing they did on returning to the Heart was to fling the whisky bottle into the lagoon.
“We don’t want any more of that hell stuff ever,” said Blood. “I want to enjoy life, and that spoils everything.”
“I’m with you,” said Harman, “not to say I’m goin’ to turn teetotal, for I’ve took notice that them mugs gets so full of themselves they haven’t cargo room for nuthin’ else. But I don’t want no more drunks—not me.”
During the next fortnight, with the help of the wheelbarrows and agricultural implements, they took in a cargo of guano. Then they sailed for Frisco.
I never heard exactly the amount of money they made over their last sea adventure, but I do know for a fact that Rafferty nearly died from “mortification” and that Blood and Harman are exceedingly rich men.
Blood turned gentleman and married; but Billy Harman is just the same, preferring sailormen as company and taking voyages to his island to sniff the source of his wealth and for the good of his health.
Billy is the only man I have ever known unspoiled by money.