“All right, Merritt,” agreed the skipper; “I feel sure you’re right.”
“Thank you, captain,” sneered the doctor; “my fee is fifteen dollars, which I’ll trouble you for.”
Out came the skipper’s wallet on the instant and the money was paid. Not another word was exchanged between the pair, and the doctor strode off in high dudgeon.
Meanwhile Merritt had enlisted volunteers, and poor C. B. was lifted gently on to the improvised ambulance and carried down in the midst of a huge procession of natives, all looking as if they had lost their dearest friend. With the tenderest care he was placed in the boat, and presently was laid in Merritt’s cabin on board the ship with one of the hands on watch to fan him and keep off the flies, while Merritt went to break his long fast.
The captain had some difficulty in settling up with the proprietor of the store, and only succeeded in doing so by threatening him that if he did not accept the offer of five dollars for the use of his premises for the night, he would get nothing but by process of law. The money was then taken and they parted unfriends. Then the skipper, feeling considerably easier in his mind, went off to his friends of the night before and enjoyed a substantial breakfast, interesting his host, who was the American Consul, mightily in his recital of the stirring circumstances.
As soon as the meal was over, they went down to the calaboose and learned that the prisoners were in an exceedingly bad way bodily, and quite unlikely to be fit to stand their trial for some time to come. This intelligence decided the skipper on a course of action that had been hazily floating in his mind—he would ship three more harponeers (several had offered), make his season on the Japan grounds, leaving bonds for payment of the shares due to the offenders, and then call back again on his way south. In this resolve the Consul supported him heartily, and within an hour three more harponeers had been shipped, all of whom, strange to say, were Americans, who from some misfortune or another had got stranded in Oahu.
The rest of the business took very little time to clear up, and by midday all was in train for the departure of the ship, if only the authorities could be got to agree. This the Consul was able to manage by leaving the charge against the ill doers as only that of a drunken brawl, and declaring that he held all funds necessary for payment of their fines and maintenance until they could be shipped away. So expeditiously were matters settled that at sunset that evening the Eliza Adams was under weigh, stealing out of the harbour westward bound for the coast of Japan, and her skipper bearing a lighter heart than he had done for a very long time as regarded the conditions of life on board of his ship.
When all was settled and shipshape the skipper paid a visit to C. B., finding to his amazement and delight that the patient had taken a long stride towards convalescence. He was sane and cool, and was eating with good relish some boiled rice and molasses with which his nurse was feeding him. So far from being any the worse for his removal in the morning he was demonstrably better, and when the captain sat down by his side and commenced to talk with him, he turned a bright and intelligent eye upon him and listened intently to what he had to say. The captain proceeded to tell him all that had occurred in the short time that had elapsed since the uproar of the previous night, but when he described the parlous condition of the Portuguese aggressors and explained that they had been left behind in prison, C. B. looked away sad, saying—
“I do pity those poor fellows with all my heart, sir. I can’t in the least understand why they hated me so, and, of course, I feel very angry that they should have waylaid me as they did, but I expect it was the drink that did it. I really don’t believe they would have done it if they had been sober.”
The skipper gave a dissatisfied grunt as he replied—