Chapter Fourteen.
Attacked by Chinese Pirates.
The destruction of the apes accomplished, I returned with avidity to the task of felling the cedar trees on East Island and splitting the trunks into planks for the completion of the cutter—for I had by this time entirely abandoned the hope of rescue by a passing ship.
It was about three weeks later that, emerging on a certain morning from my bedroom, and stepping out to the veranda to scan the offing, according to custom, before beginning the regular routine of the day, my gaze was instantly arrested by an object poised on the very verge of the horizon, some twelve miles distant. Showing up almost black against the vivid hues of the early morning eastern sky it was yet too small to be capable of identification by the unassisted eye. I therefore darted back into the house, and procuring the telescope brought it to bear upon the stranger; and as I focused the image of that distant object in the lenses of the instrument I experienced a moment of most bitter disappointment. For when my gaze first fell upon that tiny speck the thought instantly leapt to my mind that at long last the moment of our deliverance had arrived; whereas a moment or two later my telescope revealed to me the disconcerting fact that the craft in sight, and heading straight for the group, was a Chinese junk!
It may be that certain of my readers will wonder why the approach of a Chinese junk to the group should cause me such acute disappointment, and they may perhaps ask the question: “Is not a Chinese junk as capable as any other vessel of rescuing shipwrecked people and conveying them back to civilisation?” To this question I would reply: “Yes, undoubtedly, under certain circumstances.” But let me explain the proviso implied in that reply.
Had the boy Billy and I only been concerned I would have trusted ourselves aboard the junk; but—there was the treasure to be considered, and I was not altogether ignorant concerning the character and reputation of Chinese sailors. There may be, and probably are, Chinamen who are as honourable, upright, and honest as the average Englishman, but my experience, such as it has been, is that they are not to be found aboard a junk. The Chinese seaman is, as a rule, drawn from the lowest stratum of his people, and among such men the moral sense, if not absolutely lacking, is very nearly so. They are barbarian, and all their instincts are primitive. Honour and honesty are words that have no meaning for them; they are, before all things else, intensely acquisitive, and if they want a thing they will take it if they can, and woe betide the owner if he resists them. In a word, the Chinese seaman is by instinct a pirate, and a cruel, bloodthirsty one at that; hence my feeling of disappointment at the sight of that junk; for how could I hope that our treasure would remain inviolate if placed in the power of such men as I have endeavoured to describe? They would cut our throats without scruple in order to possess themselves of the contents of our chests, the very appearance of which was irresistibly suggestive of treasure. It took me not a moment to determine that, rather than expose ourselves to such possible risks, we would have nothing whatever to do with the junk if we could avoid it.
But could we? The junk was heading straight for the group, running before a light easterly breeze which would probably give her a speed of about three knots, and in the course of the next three hours she would be close enough to enable her crew to see the bungalow, the existence of which it was impossible to conceal, built as it was high up on the hill-side with a passage through the reef immediately opposite it. Was it at all reasonable to suppose that any craft would sail past the group without calling to investigate? There was, of course, the possibility that the junk in sight might be perfectly harmless, and that if she entered the lagoon it would be merely to satisfy curiosity and perhaps to obtain a little fruit or to replenish her stock of fresh water; and, if so, well and good. But if not—if her crew happened to be composed of such ruffians as I have endeavoured to picture, what then? Could I hope that they would be satisfied merely to come up to the bungalow, ask a few questions in pidgin English, and depart, leaving us unscathed? To suppose any such thing would be—to say the least of it—foolishness. The probability was that they would attack us, sack the place, carrying away everything that took their fancy, including the treasure-chests, murder Billy and me, and burn down the house out of sheer love of destruction.
These reflections, which have taken me so long to record, flashed through my mind upon the instant following my recognition of the character of the stranger; and realisation of the danger that possibly threatened us naturally led up to the question: How was that danger to be averted? Could Billy and I alone hope to put up a successful defence against an attack by perhaps thirty or forty determined men? For, let Chinamen be what they may in other respects, they are not easily daunted by a sense of personal danger, especially if animated by the hope of plunder. Then in a moment there came to me the memory of Bowata and the natives of Cliff Island. They had been most profuse in their expressions of gratitude for the help which we had afforded them from time to time, and had repeatedly declared their eagerness to find an opportunity to give practical demonstration of that gratitude: here was their opportunity; and all that was needed was to make them aware of it. I took another long look at the junk, and came to the conclusion that she could not reach the lagoon in much less than four hours, which would allow me time to make a single trip in the boat to Cliff Island, get into touch with Bowata, secure his assistance, and return to Eden with my dusky reinforcements. I decided to do so, and, without waiting for breakfast, at once started for the cove—and the boat.