Chapter Ten.
We plunder the French barque.
As my feet touched the barque’s deck, I flung a lightning glance about me to gather as much information as possible, not knowing but that at any moment such knowledge might be of priceless value to me. The craft was somewhat bigger than I had at first set her down to be, being of fully four hundred, or maybe four hundred and fifty, tons measurement. Looking for’ard to the swell of her bows, I saw that she must evidently be of a motherly build, which accorded well with the fact that she had lost steerage-way long before such had been the case with the brig. Her decks were in a very dirty and untidy condition, looking as though they had not been washed down, or even swept, for at least a week, and they were lumbered up with quite an unusual number of spars and booms. Yet she was evidently a passenger ship, for the cabin under her full poop was brilliantly lighted up, and through its open door I caught a glimpse of several men and women so attired as to at once proclaim their status on board; moreover, the quarter-deck was also occupied by a group of men and women, evidently passengers, with two or three sailorly-looking men among them, over whom a party of O’Gorman’s people were mounting guard, the remainder being stationed on guard over the fore-scuttle, down which I presumed the barque’s crew had been driven.
My attention was almost instantly attracted toward the little party on the quarter-deck, and especially toward a grey-haired man in uniform, whom I imagined might be the skipper. I advanced toward the party, with a bow, and said, in French:
“I wish to speak to the captain of this vessel: may I ask if he happens to be among you?”
The old gentleman in uniform at once advanced a pace and, acknowledging my salute by raising his gold-laced cap, answered:
“I am he. And I demand to know, monsieur, by what right you and your crew of ruffians have dared to run aboard me in this outrageous fashion, driving my crew below, stationing a guard athwart my decks, and frightening my passengers very nearly out of their senses. Are you pirates, or what?”
“Monsieur,” answered I, “there is nothing to be gained by attempting to deceive you, and I will therefore at once say that I fear you will find that you have fallen into the hands of pirates. The big man beside me is their captain, while I, and a young lady aboard the brig, have the misfortune to be their prisoners. I shall probably not be afforded an opportunity to explain to you the unfortunate situation of the young lady and myself; but as soon as I became aware of the intention of these men to board you I prepared a letter which will explain everything—it is unfortunately written in English, but that, I am sure, will prove no obstacle to you. This letter I will presently endeavour to pass, unobserved, to one of you; and if you will kindly act in accordance with the request set forth therein, you will very greatly oblige two most unhappy people.”
“Monsieur,” said the Frenchman, “I will gladly do anything in my power to help you; but as to effecting your rescue—” he glanced expressively at O’Gorman and his companions, and shrugged his shoulders in a way that very clearly indicated his helplessness.
Here O’Gorman cut in. “Well, what has the ould chap got to say for himsilf?” he demanded.
“Why,” answered I, “you heard what he said. He wants to know what we mean by boarding his ship in this outrageous fashion and driving his crew below.”
“Ask him what is the name of his ship, where he is from, and where bound to,” ordered the Irishman.
I put the questions; and the skipper answered:
“This is the Marie Renaud, of and from Marseilles, for Bourbon, with a general cargo.”
I translated, turning to O’Gorman—and slightly away from the group of Frenchmen—to do so; and while I was speaking a hand touched mine—which I held, clenched, behind my back, with the letter, folded small, within it—while a voice murmured in my ear:
“Your letter, monsieur?”
I opened my fingers, and felt the missive gently abstracted.
“Thank God for that opportunity!” thought I fervently, as O’Gorman said:
“Ask him if he has plenty of provisions and water aboard.”
I at once saw the villain’s game: he was going to replenish the brig’s stores by plundering the barque, thus rendering it unnecessary to touch at any port. So, while translating the question to the French skipper, I took it upon myself to very tersely mention my suspicions, and to recommend the adoption of any precautionary measures that might suggest themselves.
“The bulk of my stores is stowed in the after hold,” answered the French skipper, “but there is about enough in the lazarette to carry us to Cape Town. If they can be persuaded to be satisfied with what is there only, we shall come to no great harm.”
“You hear?” said I, turning to O’Gorman again, quite certain, by this time, of his inability to understand a single word of French; “they are very short of provisions, having only sufficient in their lazarette to carry them to Cape Town.”
“Is that all?” demanded the Irishman. “Thin, be jabers, I’m sorry for thim, for there’s a good manny miles bechuxt here and Cape Town, and I’m afraid they’ll be mortial hungry before they get there. For I’m goin’ to help mesilf to everything ateable that the barque carries, and so ye may tell the skipper—bad cess to him for a mismanagin’ shpalpeen! Whoy didn’t he lay in stores enough to carry him to the ind of his v’yage? And ye may tell him, too, to start all hands to get those stores on deck in a hurry; our own lads will have enough to do in lookin’ afther everybody, and seein’ that none of the Frenchies thries to play anny tricks wid us.”
I translated the gist of these remarks to the French captain, and at the same time gave him a hint to exhibit a proper amount of righteous indignation over the robbery; which he did to perfection, wringing his hands, rumpling his hair, and pacing the deck with the air of a madman while he poured out anathemas enough upon O’Gorman and his gang to sink the entire party to the nethermost depths of perdition. Meanwhile, the French crew, under the supervision of the mates—with Price watching the operation to see that a clean sweep was made of the lazarette—went to work to pass the stores on deck; and in less than an hour everything that the lazarette had contained was safely transferred to the brig, and stowed away.
While this operation was in progress, O’Gorman made a tour of the various cabins, compelling the unfortunate passengers to turn out their trunks before him, and appropriating the whole of their cash, jewellery, weapons, and ammunition, together with as much of their clothing as happened to take his fancy. As he executed his self-imposed task with considerable deliberation, those passengers whose turn was still to come had plenty of time to meditate upon their coming despoilment, and one of them—the individual who had so kindly relieved me of my letter—took it into his head to do me a good turn. Withdrawing quietly to his cabin, he presently reappeared with a mahogany case, to which he unostentatiously directed my attention, immediately afterwards laying it carelessly down in a dark corner of the cabin.
Then he came and stood close beside me, and murmured in my ear:
“A brace of duelling-pistols, with a full supply of ammunition, monsieur. Since apparently they must go, I would rather that they should fall into monsieur’s hands, if possible. He may perhaps find them useful some time in the future.”
“A thousand thanks, monsieur,” returned I, in a whisper. “Should we ever meet again I will endeavour to repay your kindness with interest.”
Then, watching my opportunity, I possessed myself of the case of pistols, made my way on deck with them, and—thanks to the bustle of trans-shipping the stores—managed to slip on board the brig with it and convey it, undetected, to my own cabin. Having done which, I spoke a reassuring word or two to Miss Onslow—who had retired to her own cabin—lighted a pipe, and sauntered up on deck again with the most careless demeanour imaginable.
It was long past midnight by the time that O’Gorman had finished rifling the barque, by which time he had secured all the provisions out of the unfortunate craft’s lazarette, had taken four brass nine-pounder guns, two dozen stand of muskets, the same number of cutlasses and boarding pikes, together with a considerable quantity of ammunition, had emptied one of the barque’s water-tanks, and had robbed them, in addition, of their two best boats—fine twenty-seven feet gigs—with their whole equipment. Then, the weather still being stark calm, he compelled the Frenchmen to hoist out their remaining two boats and to tow the brig clear of and about a mile distant from the barque. Before that moment arrived, however, the French skipper contrived to get a hurried word with me.
“Monsieur,” he said, “the contents of your letter have been communicated to me; and permit me to say that you and Mademoiselle Onslow have the heartiest sympathy and commiseration of myself and my passengers in your most unpleasant situation. But, monsieur, I fear I cannot possibly help you in the way that would doubtless be most acceptable to you—namely, by receiving you on board my ship. The scoundrels who hold you in their power would never permit it; and even were it possible for you and mademoiselle to slip aboard, unperceived, and secrete yourselves, your absence would be quickly discovered, it would be guessed what had become of you, and the pirates would assuredly give chase and recapture you—for the barque, fine ship though she be, certainly is a trifle slow—and who knows what vengeance the wretches might wreck upon us for having presumed to abet you in your attempt to escape them? You will perceive, I am sure, that my duty to my passengers forbids my exposing them to such a risk. But I shall now call at Cape Town, to replace what those villains have taken from me; and you may rest assured that I will not only report the act of piracy that has been perpetrated upon me, but I will also make known the unfortunate situation of yourself and mademoiselle, so that your countrymen may be enabled to take such steps as they may see fit to effect your rescue.”
This was as much as I could reasonably hope; and I thanked the skipper heartily for undertaking even so much as that.
In the early hours of the morning a gentle little air from the northward—that gradually strengthened to a nice working breeze—sprang up; and when I went on deck at seven bells the Marie Renaud was out of sight, and we were alone once more on the tumbling waste of waters.
From that time forward nothing of importance occurred until we arrived in the longitude of the Horn, our passage of this notorious headland being accomplished in gloriously fine weather—for a wonder—with half a gale of wind from the eastward, blowing over our taffrail, to which we showed every rag that we could set upon the hooker. The actual passage occurred in the early morning—about six o’clock, according to our dead reckoning—and upon working out the sights that I had secured after breakfast for the determination of the longitude, I found that we were thirty miles to the westward of it, and far enough south to permit of our shifting our helm for the mysterious island to which we were supposed to be bound. Accordingly, having verified my figures, and pricked off the brig’s position on the chart, I made my way up on deck, and informed O’Gorman of the state of affairs.
“So we’re actually now in the moighty Pacific, eh?” he exclaimed in high elation. “Bedad that’s good news, annyhow, and we’ll cilibrate the occasion by takin’ an exthry tot o’ grog all round, and dhrinkin’ shuccess to the v’yage. But, sthop a minute; ye want to know where ye’re to shape a coorse for, now? By the powers, misther, I’ll tell ye that same in a brace of shakes. Let me go and get the paper out o’ me chist, and I’ll soon make ye as wise as mesilf.”
The fellow hurried away for’ard, and dived below into the forecastle, from which he soon emerged again, bearing in his hand an oblong envelope. From this he carefully withdrew a paper, folded lengthwise, and, opening it, read:
“‘Latichood: Two, forty-eight, forty; south. Longitood: One hundred and forty-four, ten, ten; west. Approach island from nor’-west, and stand towards it with summit of hill bearin’ south-east half-south, which leads through the passage in the barrier reef. Then haul up to south a quarter west for the mouth of the bight’—and that’s enough: there’s no call to read the rest to ye,” he concluded abruptly.
“As you please,” answered I; “I have no desire whatever to know anything more of the matter than what is absolutely necessary to enable me to navigate the brig to the spot, and afterwards to make a civilised port in the shortest possible time. I will, however, have a look at the chart, and ascertain the particular island to which those figures of yours refer.”
“You might as well bring the chart up on deck, and let me see it: I’d loike to see just where we’re bound to, and how long it’ll take us to git there,” remarked O’Gorman.
I accordingly went below, secured the chart, together with a pencil, a pair of dividers, and a parallel ruler, and took the whole on deck. Then, spreading the chart open, I pricked off the latitude and longitude given by O’Gorman, and, to my astonishment, found that the spot was located in open water.
“I am very much afraid that your information is faulty, O’Gorman,” said I, pointing to the spot. “Do you see that? There is no island shown in your latitude and longitude. The nearest land to it is the Marquesas group, and Hiau—the nearest of them—is three hundred and sixty miles distant from your spot.”
O’Gorman stared blankly at the chart for a full minute or more, glared suspiciously at me for nearly as long; looked at his paper again, to assure himself that he had made no mistake; and finally rapped out a string of oaths in his consternation. Then he nipped his profanity short off as a comforting reflection occurred to him.
“Ah!” he exclaimed, with a sigh of relief, “but this oiland as Oi’m talkin’ about is unbeknownst, so av coorse it won’t be drawed on the chart. That’s all right, misther; you navigate the brig to that place, and you’ll find an oiland there, safe enough.”
“But, supposing that we do not,” I suggested; “supposing that your information happens to be incorrect; what then?”
“Ay, but it won’t be,” he snarled back; “it’ll be correct, and we’ll find the oiland where Oi told ye. And if we don’t, why bedad it’ll be the worse for you and the gal, for we’ll cruise for it until we find it, if we has to cruise until the Judgment Day, like the Flyin’ Dutchman!”
“All right,” I said. “If the island is where you say it is, I will find it for you, never fear. If it is not—well, then it will not be found; and that is all there is about it.”
“Oi tell ye it will be found; it must be found!” shouted O’Gorman, goaded to fury at the suggestion that perhaps, after all, a dire disappointment lay in store for him. “If the oiland isn’t there, it’s somewheres thereabouts, widin a few miles more or less; and we’ve got to find it afore the hooker turns her nose towards home. Now I hopes that’s plain enough for ye.”
And, smiting the chart a mighty blow with his clenched fist, he turned on his heel and walked forward.
It need scarcely be said that after such a dogmatic statement as this I found my anxiety greatly increased; for I by this time knew the Irishman well enough to be fully aware that no mule could be more obstinate than he, and that, having once made up his mind that his island existed, he would never abandon his search until he had found it—or something that might pass for it. And I was determined that should our search prove unsuccessful, I would at once bear up for the Marquesas, and let him take his choice from among the whole group. Indeed, for a moment I felt tempted to shape as straight a course as I could for the centre of the group, without troubling to hunt for O’Gorman’s particular island at all, as I gravely doubted whether it really had an existence outside the man’s own imagination. But, on the other hand, his information was drawn from a document that, while stained and discoloured with age, had every appearance—from my casual inspection of it—of being genuine; and, if so, the island might possibly exist, although uncharted. Moreover, O’Gorman had not seized the brig and become a pirate merely to satisfy an idle curiosity as to the accuracy of the document he had produced; he was going there for a certain definite purpose; to search for something, probably; and, if so, nothing short of our arrival at that particular island would satisfy him. So, having laid off the course upon the chart, I gave it to the helmsman, and called the hands aft to trim sail.
Of our passage into the solitudes of the Pacific I have nothing to relate, save that Miss Onslow’s demeanour toward me became, if possible, more perplexing and tantalising than ever. To convey a clear and accurate idea of her varying moods it would be necessary to relate in tolerably minute detail the particulars of our daily intercourse throughout the voyage—a course of procedure which would not only expand my story far beyond its proper limits, but would also entirely alter its character—I must therefore content myself with merely stating that I believe I may, without exaggeration, assert that I never found her upon any two occasions to behave in a precisely similar manner. She appeared to regulate her treatment of me by the behaviour of the men. She had long ago abandoned that almost insolent hauteur of manner that distinguished her at the outset of our acquaintance; but if the weather was fine, the wind fair, the men upon their best behaviour—as sometimes happened—in short, if things were going well with me in other respects, she invariably kept me at arm’s-length by a certain indefinable, but none the less unmistakable, coolness, indifference, and distance of manner just sufficiently pronounced to suggest a desire to be left to herself. But in proportion as difficulties, anxieties, and vexations arose, so did her manner warm to me until there were times when it became almost caressingly tender; so that, as my passion for her grew, I sometimes felt almost tempted to feign an anxiety or a distress that did not exist, for the mere delight of finding her manner warming to me. But I take credit to myself that I always resisted the temptation, fighting against it as a thing to yield to which would be mean and unmanly on my part.
In this strange and contradictory condition of alternate peace, rendered insipid by Miss Onslow’s coolness, and anxiety converted into happiness unspeakable by the warmth and tenderness of her sympathy, I carried the brig toward the spot indicated in O’Gorman’s document; and at noon on a certain day my observations showed that we had arrived within sixty miles of it. The weather was then brilliantly fine, with a gentle breeze out from about west-north-west, that wafted the brig along over the low, long mounds of the Pacific swell at a rate of about five knots; consequently, if the island happened to be in the position assigned to it, we ought to reach it about midnight. O’Gorman’s desire to be made acquainted with our exact position daily had been growing ever since we had shifted our helm after rounding the Horn, beginning as a condition of languid curiosity, which had strengthened into a state of feverish restlessness and anxiety that, on the day in question, as soon as I had conveyed to him the customary information, found vent in an order that a man should go aloft and maintain a lookout from the topgallant yard until the island should be sighted, the remainder of the crew being set to work during the afternoon to rouse out and bend the cables, and to attend to the various other matters incidental to the approach of a vessel to a port. He also had the spare spars overhauled and suitable ones selected for the purpose of erecting tents in conjunction with the brig’s old sails, from all of which I inferred that our stay at the island—should we happen to find it—would be a somewhat protracted one.
As to the probability of our finding the place, I was exceedingly doubtful; for although I was well aware that hitherto unknown islands were still occasionally being discovered in the Pacific, I was equally well aware that these new islands were almost invariably low, and of insignificant dimensions, being, in fact, merely coral reefs that have been gradually lifted above the surface of the ocean; whereas O’Gorman’s document contained mention of a hill, and the presence of a hill argued a probable existence of ages, and a consequently corresponding likelihood of comparatively early discovery.
But at two bells in the second dog-watch, that night, all doubt was put an end to by a sudden, startling cry from the lookout on the fore-topgallant yard of:
“Land ho; right ahead!”
I was on deck at the time, and far from expecting to hear such a cry; indeed so incredulous was I still that I quite concluded the man had allowed his imagination to run away with him, and was mistaking the shoulder of some low-lying cloud for distant land. So I hailed him with:
“Topgallant yard, there! are you quite sure that what you see is land, and not a hummock of cloud?”
“Yes, sir,” he shouted back; “I’m quite sure of it. I’ve been watchin’ it growin’ for the last quarter of a hour or more, and it haven’t changed its shape the least bit all that time; only growed the leastest bit bigger and clearer.”
Meanwhile, O’Gorman had sprung into the rigging and was by this time clawing his way over the rim of the top. Another minute, and he was on the topgallant yard, alongside the other man, peering ahead into the fast gathering dusk, under the sharp of his hand. He stared at it for a good five minutes; then, shouting down “It’s all right, mates; it’s land, and no mistake!” he swung himself on to the backstay, and came down on deck by way of it. He no sooner reached the deck than he plunged into the forecastle, from which he presently emerged again, bearing in his hand a packet that I presently recognised as his precious document. He came straight aft to me with it, and said:
“Now, misther, I want ye to get a bit of paper and write down the directions that Oi’ll read out to ye. Oi’m all right in deep wather, and wid plenty of say-room to come and go upon; but whin it comes to navigatin’ narrow channels, and kapin’ clear of the rocks, and takin’ a vessel to her anchorage, bedad I’m nowhere. So I’ll be obliged to ask ye to write down the instructions that Oi’ve got here, and then ye’ll take command of the brig until she’s safe at anchor.”
“Very well,” I said. “Are the instructions very long?”
“Two or three dozen words ’ll cover the lot,” answered the Irishman.
“All right,” said I; “fire away.” And drawing a pencil and paper from my pocket, I prepared to copy down whatever he might read to me.
“‘Approach island from nor’-west,’” began O’Gorman, “‘and stand towards it wid summit of hill bearin’ south-east, half-south; which leads through the passage in the barrier reef. Then haul up to south a quarter west, for the mouth of the bight at the bottom of the bay. Stand boldly in until ye come abreast of the big rock at the mouth of the bight, when clew up and furl everything. Follow the bight until ye reach the lagoon, when ye may anchor annywhere not closer than a dozen fadoms of the oiland. The gems’—oh, bedad, but that’s another matther intoirely,” he hastily concluded.
“The directions seem explicit enough,” said I; “and as no mention is made of any dangers to be avoided I suppose there are none. All the same, we shall need daylight for the job of taking the brig to the berth mentioned, so I shall stand on until four bells in the first watch, and then heave-to for the remainder of the night. At daylight we will fill away again and work round to the nor’-west side of the island, when, if the water happens to be clear, we shall perhaps be able to see the bottom from aloft, and thus safely pilot the vessel to her anchorage. I will con her myself from the fore-topmast crosstrees.”
At four bells—ten o’clock—that night, the island showed through the clear darkness upon the horizon as an irregularly-shaped pyramid, with a peak nearly in the centre of it, rising to a height which I estimated at about six or seven hundred feet. The island itself was at that time some ten miles distant, and, measured from end to end, as we then looked at it, I took it to be about four miles across. We hove the brig to, and tried a cast first with the hand lead, and then with the deep-sea lead, but got no bottom, at which I was by no means surprised, as I had already heard that many of the islands in the Pacific—especially those of coral formation—rise sheer from the very bottom of the sea.
At daybreak the next morning I was called by the steward, and, dressing, went on deck, to find that the weather was as it had been all through the preceding day, namely, a light breeze from the westward, with a cloudless sky of crystalline clearness overhead, and a long, low sluggish swell undulating athwart the gently-ruffled surface of the ocean. The island now bore about four points on our weather quarter, some sixteen miles distant; so we filled the main-topsail, got way upon the ship, and hauled up to “full-and-by,” when it was found that we should just handsomely fetch clear of the most leeward point of the land.
Viewed by the early daylight, the island presented a most attractive appearance, rising against the background of sky as a picture painted in an infinite variety of delicate purple tones of shadow, through which, with the aid of the glass, could be made out the several declivities, gorges, precipices, and ravines that went to make up the contour of the country. It was thickly wooded everywhere, seemingly from the water’s edge to within some eighty feet or so of the summit, the latter rising naked into the clear air. But attractive as it looked under the soft, subdued light of the early dawn, in the delicate monochrome of distance, and the absence of direct sunlight, it looked even more beautiful when, after sunrise, as we approached it more closely, the countless subtle variations of tint in the foliage, from this in brightest sunlight, to that in deepest, richest purple shadow, became manifest; and so powerful an impression did it make upon the men that I overheard them freely discussing the desirability of making a lengthened sojourn there.
“Yes,” said I, when O’Gorman, carried away by his enthusiasm at the beauty of the place, hinted at such a possibility, “that is all very well, and sounds very attractive just now; but has it yet occurred to you that yonder island may be peopled by a race of savages who, if we give them the opportunity, will gladly make a barbecue of all hands?”
“Phew! begorra, but Oi nivver thought of that!” he ejaculated in sudden dismay. “Oi’m obliged to ye for the hint, misther. We’ll load the guns and muskets, and make ready generally for the blagguards, if they have the impidence to be there.”
And forthwith he shambled away for’ard, unceremoniously cutting into the holiday plans that the men were busily concocting, and instructing them to load the guns and arm themselves in readiness for any emergency that might arise.
As we stood in toward the land I kept a bright lookout for smoke, for huts peeping from among the trees, for canoes hauled up on the beach, or any other indications of the presence of human life on the island, but could see nothing. At this, however, I was not very greatly surprised, for although we were on the lee side of the island, the surf was breaking so heavily all along the shore as to render it impracticable for canoes. If the island happened to be inhabited, the inhabitants would probably be found located on its weather side, which, according to O’Gorman’s document, was protected from the surf by a barrier reef, with a passage through it.
As we stood on it became apparent that the island was nearer five than four miles long—as I had estimated it to be on the previous night—that its general trend was from north-east to south-west, and that, if surveyed and laid down upon the chart, it would present a somewhat flat and irregular crescent-like plan. The barrier reef sprang from the north-east extremity of the island, sweeping seaward on the arc of a circle on its north-western side, and uniting again with the island at its south-western extremity, forming a lagoon of the same length as the island, and about three-quarters of a mile wide at its widest point. The barrier reef, in fact, constituted a magnificent natural breakwater, upon which the surf eternally broke in a loud, sullen roar of everlasting thunder, while inside it the water was smooth as a mill pond, shoaling very gradually from the reef to the shore of the island, which consisted of a narrow beach of dazzling white sand, bordered by a fringe of thousands of cocoa-nut palms, the long, plume-like branches of which swayed gently in the soft, warm morning breeze. It was on this side of the island, I concluded, that, if anywhere, traces of inhabitants would be found, and I scanned the shore carefully and anxiously through the ship’s glass in search of such; but nothing of the kind was to be seen; and I at length closed the telescope with a clash, relieved to believe that, whatever anxieties there might be awaiting me in the immediate future, trouble with hostile natives was not to be one of them.