Suddenly she became conscious of an apparent increase in the wind, caused by an alteration in the vessel’s course, bringing her close-hauled, and like magic the whole scene changed. The ship was now running in between a wide opening in the great barrier before mentioned, where on either side of her the frowning rocks with their white crests of foam stopped abruptly in a sea of deepest blue. Ahead this lovely colour took a dozen different shades from inequality in the depth, and here and there, where a patch of coral neared the surface and the sun’s rays touched its summit through the intervening water, there was a blending of hues that would make an artist despair.
Thus, piloted with the utmost skill by the skipper, the Grampus drew near the main group of islands, sheltered as they were by all this intricate network of reefs from any roughness of water, and, finally, turning sharply to starboard, she came up into the wind behind a low bluff, and by her own impetus forged ahead into a little bay, sheltered from every wind of heaven, bordered by a snow-white beach, which, in its turn, was fringed by tropical growth of trees and shrubs of many kinds, and looking an ideal haven of rest. Midway of the bay’s semicircle, and at less than half a mile from the beach, at a hoarse shout from the skipper the anchor rattled down, its crash and roar awakening echoes that long resounded like peals of distant thunder. Then the shouts of the officers succeeded as they gave the necessary orders for furling sails and clearing up the ship generally. And in half-an-hour, when the word ‘supper’ was given, an intense hush as of the first Sabbath succeeded—a calm and peace over sea and land that fell upon Priscilla’s heart like the touch of a mother’s cool hand upon the hot brow of her ailing child.
Captain Da Silva’s officers, however, were far from enjoying a like serenity of mind. That very peace which was so grateful to an unknowing one was to them like the calm preceding the outburst of a hurricane. They looked anxiously around, precluded from consulting each other by their absurd relations, yet fearing the worst. Then the skipper, going below and summoning his unfortunate steward, had the ‘trade,’ always carried by these ships in that day for the purpose of barter among the islands, brought out and placed in readiness for conveyance on deck. His (the skipper’s) plans had long been made, but only his Portuguese accomplices on board knew anything of them. As far back as the visit to Brava he had been preparing for this event, when that load of cases of most potent liquor was brought on board. And now it was not so much the possibility of treachery on the part of the natives as the ruin of his plan of pleasure (?) which made him anxiously scan beach and bay for any sign of human life.
The sun neared the horizon, the busy fishing birds began to fly shoreward to their nests laden with the fruits of their labours, and the fresh sweetness of the coming night began to make itself felt. Then, as if at a given signal, a whole fleet of canoes came rushing round the headland into the bay, the water foaming around them under the strokes of multitudinous paddles. As they neared the ship it was to be seen that each canoe carried a green branch with streamers of white ‘tapa’ or native cloth, betokening peace, also that the still green coverts ashore had suddenly burst into life and scores of dusky female forms were hurling themselves into the water, and almost like denizens of the deep sea were rushing towards the ship. A few sharp orders from the skipper, and the Portuguese members of the crew hurried aft to assist him in the handing and distribution of his presents. They had barely got the things on deck when with yells of delight the natives reached the vessel, climbing on board everywhere like an invasion of happy children without one thought save the joyful indulgence of idle infantile curiosity. Priscilla had previously retired, being sternly ordered below by her husband as soon as the natives were seen, and in the little state-room she sat listening with mingled feelings to the hubbub prevailing on deck, not knowing what it meant.
It was well that she did not, for there was now commencing on board the Grampus one of those orgies which have done so much to hinder the spread of Christianity among these savage isles. There is no danger that I should attempt to particularise; that, I am sorry to say, has been done ad nauseam, and to what good end I am unable to see. Even the bald official records of such scenes strike a chill of horror into any decent mind, but they also leave a sense of profound gratitude that in spite of all these dire hindrances to the spread of the Gospel it does spread, it is embraced by these simple children of Nature, so apt to be influenced by the latest impression, especially if that impression be evil. Every careful reader of South Sea Island records must have noticed the frequency with which the good work of the missionaries—and, let it be said, in all justice, the good work of the honest, sober, truthful, and decent trader—has been undone by the infernal exploits of a crew of black-guards coming soon after. Also, it must have been seen how frequently the ill-usage (in the worst sense) of the confiding but undiscriminating natives by some bad ship’s crew has led to the awful massacre of the next ship’s company calling there, and the subsequent laying waste of the village of these dispensers of wild justice. In Stevenson’s ‘Wrecker’ one of the most appalling facts is stated quite dispassionately concerning the murder of Bishop Patteson, and it makes the flesh creep. Here it is:—
‘He was tried for his life in Fiji in Sir Arthur Gordon’s time, and if ever he prayed at all, the name of Sir Arthur was certainly not forgotten. He was speared in seven places in New Ireland—the same time his mate was killed—the famous outrage on board the brig Jolly Roger, but the treacherous savages made little by their wickedness’ (the italics are mine) ‘and Bostock, in spite of their teeth, got seventy-five head of volunteer (?) labour on board, of whom not more than a dozen died of injuries. He had a hand besides in the amiable pleasantry which cost the life of Patteson; and when the sham bishop landed, prayed, and gave his benediction to the natives, Bostock, arrayed in a female chemise out of the trade-room, had stood at his right hand and boomed Amens. This, when he was sure he was among good fellows, was his favourite yarn. “Two hundred head of labour for a hatful of Amens,” he used to name the tale; and its sequel, the death of the real bishop, struck him as a circumstance of extraordinary humour.’
It was evident to Mr. Court at once what his commander had come into this bay for, and he was in a greater difficulty than ever. The ship was practically in possession of the natives, all uproariously good humoured, but all, liable to pass at once from riotous pleasantry to mad fury of slaughter. The only comfort he had was that no natives were allowed to invade the cabin. The foc’s’le, the half-deck, was overrun by them, and nearly all the crew had been induced to join them in their curious gambols—all the more curious that the skipper had liberally distributed his fire-water among them. Reuben, at the first descent of native men and women into the foc’s’le, had made his way on deck and into the fore-top, then along the topgallant stay he had climbed to the main-crosstrees, and in similar fashion had reached the mizen-top. Here he determined to camp until morning with some vague idea of watching over the safety of Priscilla, and at the least, descending among the natives if they should prove treacherous (?) and losing his life in her defence. From his lofty perch he looked down upon that ugly scene, and his clean soul revolted at it. But he saw to his intense satisfaction the actors therein gradually sink to slumber, overcome by fatigue, and by midnight the pale moon shone down upon heaps of sleepers in all sorts of varied attitudes, exposing shamefulnesses that the tender dark had hidden. And overwearied at last he slept also.
The morning brought tumult, a renewal of the orgies of the previous night. All work, discipline, order, seemed to be at an end. The skipper, like a maddened Bacchanal, swayed to and fro between two dusky nymphs, daughters of the paramount chief, and Mr. Court, looking at him with disgust, could take no steps. Once, indeed, finding a huge native endeavouring to force his body down through the insufficient opening of the cabin skylight, the mate almost forgot the stern control he had placed upon himself, and was just about to seize the man fiercely and hurl him away when he was seized from behind, and turning furiously to see who it was he looked into the mild but fearless eyes of Reuben, who said, ‘For heaven’s sake, sir, don’t anger them—for her sake.’ That was all, and Mr. Court’s anger died instantly away.
But none of the devoted few who throughout this terrible time retained their manliness and clean living were able to retain much hope that a final and terribly complete disaster could be avoided. And all they could do was to look helplessly on and see it coming, powerless to avert it. For the skipper, in spite of the madness of his orgies, not only kept cunning watch over his end of the ship, and allowed no native, whether male or female, to enter the cabin, but he also kept the sober ones in view also, and by this I do not merely mean those to whom he had handed out drink—his own countrymen—but those of the white men who had allowed themselves to wallow in debauchery.
The end came very suddenly, on the fourth night. All the revellers had been carrying on furiously, with but brief intervals of exhaustion, and the number of natives was greatly increased by fresh arrivals from some of the outlying islands. Several serious quarrels had broken out, and been patched up without bloodshed, and there was much murmuring among the natives because the supply of liquor seemed to be failing—at any rate, the Captain was not so free with it as he had been. More, a belief had steadily gained ground among them that something of great value was secured in that after-part of the ship into which none of them had been permitted to penetrate. Now, whether either of these causes had anything to do with the final catastrophe, or whether it was just an outburst of savagery like the mischief of petulant children, no one will ever know, but the fact remains that about midnight there was a strong smell of fire, and before any of the sleeping roysterers had awakened, tall flames upreared their terrible shapes from the main-hatch, and a roar as of some vast furnace was heard. Almost in an instant the ship was alive with men running hither and thither as if dazed, others fiercely fighting, others drawing water in buckets, and casting it into the glowing furnace of the main-hatch without the slightest appreciable effect. In the midst of it all four men kept their heads clear—Reuben, Mr. Court, Mr. Winslow, and Mr. Pease. As it was very evident at an early stage that the fire, even if attacked by competent hands, was unsubduable, and that, moreover, the natives were bent not only upon destroying the ship but the lives of every European on board, these four devoted all their energies to the means of escape. The Captain was somewhere in the midst of the yelling crowd, fighting fiercely, no doubt, his voice heard occasionally above the tumult, so that no counsel could be taken with him. And to make the confusion still more terrible, blinding columns of smoke began bursting, as it seemed, out of every crevice of the vessel. This decided Reuben that the time had come to act finally, and tearing the cabin door off its hinges by one effort of his strength, he rushed below, and seizing the half-suffocated Priscilla in his arms bore her on deck, and, half-blinded, groped his way to the port quarter boat, and placed her safely in the stern sheets. He had previously ‘racked’ the falls—that is, fastened two of the parts of each together—and had thrown the coils into the boat. Now he took a round turn round the midship thwart with both the falls, and, holding them firmly, went to both ends of the boat consecutively and cut the rackings, the boat falling a foot or so each time with an ugly jerk. Then he lowered away handsomely, feeling sure that in the hubbub on deck the rattle of the blocks would never be noticed. She took the water, he unhooked and pushed off, full of anguish of mind as to the fate of his three friends, but not knowing what to do for them without risking the helpless woman for whom he would gladly have suffered any pain or manner of death.