“You give me the mullygrubs with your talk,” said Davis. “Whenever you open your fool-mouth something happens wrong way about. This was a passenger packet, wasn’t it, and we were to sit in the saloon bein’ admired by the passengers, weren’t we? And was it Fourth Street or Fifth Street you were goin’ to open that whisky joint? And fighting is a mug’s game, according to you, whereas if we’d wiped the engine-room floor with Sellers first day instead of knuckling down to him we’d have stood on this ship as men, instead of being a hog-driven pair of roustabouts begging for scraps and emptying slush tubs. Too late now; they’ve got the better of us and know our make, which is putty, owing to you. Even with them! Why, I’ll bet twenty dollars to a nickel if you try any of your home-made tricks they’ll be even with us. Talking is all you’re good for—fighting’s a mug’s game!”
“So it is,” replied Mr. Harman. “Fool fightin’s no use; hittin’ out and gettin’ belted’s one thing, but stragety’s another, and that’s what I’m after, and if I don’t get my knife in these chaps’ ribs behind their backs and unknownst to them, you can take me home and bury me—and it won’t be long either!”
He was right.
That very evening they lifted Fuanatafi, their destination, a purple cloud in the sunset glow and a cloud of ebony by night as they lay off and on, listening to the far sound of the breakers till dawn revealed the great island in all its splendour and isolation; for Fuanatafi, like Nauru, has no harbour, just a landing beach to westward where boats can put in, razor-backed reefs keep ships a mile from the shore and make the place pretty useless for trade.
As the light broke full on the island Billy Harman, who had come on deck and was standing with Davis by the lee rail, saw away to southward another island with a peak-like summit, and to westward of that two small islets circled with moving clouds—gulls.
“Why, Lord bless my soul,” said he, “I’ve been here before, six years ago it was, and we took off a raft of turtle-shell for six cases of gin. Christopher Island was the other name they give it, and it’s head centre for all sorts of black doin’s. That island to suthard is Levisca, and it’s been blackbirded till there ain’t scarcely no Kanakas left on it. Now, I wonder what Schumways is landin’ here.”
As if in answer to his question two Chinks came aft carrying a long deal box between them, which they dumped close by the foremast.
The main hatch was open, and they could see more boxes being brought up, six in all, and each one, as it came on deck, was carried forward, the whole being stacked in one pile and covered with a tarpaulin. The engines ceased their dead-slow tramp: then came an order from the bridge and the roar and rasp of the anchor chain filled the morning air, echoing across the water and lifting the reef gulls in clanging spirals.
Schumways dropped down from the bridge and Sellers rose from the engine-room, wiping his hands with a piece of cotton waste; he had put on his coat and wore an old panama on his head ready for shore. Then at an order from Schumways the starboard quarter-boat was lowered, Harman and Davis were ordered into it, and the Captain of the Oskosh and his engineer took their places in the stern sheets.
Nothing could be more lovely than the morning light on the streets of blue water between the reefs or the view of the great island washed by the calm, ponded sea and waiting for the approaching boat, loveliness that left no trace, however, on the minds of Bud and Billy labouring at the oars, or of Schumways and Sellers smoking in the stern.