“He says he loved Bill very much,” said Moors, “and has searched the beach and the hospital and even the lock-up without finding him. Says he even waited alongside the Nipsic for an hour.”
“Half my men are named Bill,” said Kimberly; “but I fear his Bill is numbered with the rest of our brave fellows who went down last night. Moors,” he went on, “take the lad below, and give him any little thing he fancies in the store.”
Amatua did not know what might happen next, but he bravely tramped beside Mr. Moors, prepared to face the worst. He felt dizzy and faint when they got below, and Mr. Moors popped him up on the counter, and asked him whether he would prefer candy or some marbles. “The great chief-captain said thou wert a brave boy, and should have a present,” said Mr. Moors.
Amatua shook his head. Somehow he had lost interest in such trifles. “Thank his Majesty the admiral,” he said, “but an aching heart takes no pleasure in such things. With thy permission I will go out and look again for Bill. Perhaps, if I change my mind, I will come back and choose marbles,” he added cautiously; and with that he scrambled off the counter and made for the door.
“Oh, Bostock,” cried Moors to a naval officer lounging on the front verandah, “if you have nothing better to do, just take this kid along with you. He’s crazy to find a sailor named Bill, and he isn’t sure but that he was drowned last night. He must be pretty well cut up if he won’t take any marbles.”
Bostock stopped Amatua, and took his hand in his own. “We’ll go find Bill,” he said.
Again was the search begun for Bill, along the main street; in the alleys, and through the scattered native settlements behind the town as far as the Uvea huts, at Vaimoso, and the slums of the Nieué Islanders. Bostock let no seaman pass unnoticed; a heavy fatigue-party coming back from work on the wrecks—sixty men and four officers—were lined up at his request, and Amatua was led through the disciplined ranks in search of Bill. Even the Nipsic was boarded by the indefatigable Bostock and the weary little boy; and although repairs were being rushed at a tremendous pace, and every one looked overdriven and out of temper, the huge ship was overhauled from top to bottom. From the grimy stoke-hole, where everything dripped oil and the heat was insupportable, to the great maintop where men were busy at the rigging; from the crowded quarters of the seamen to the sodden and salt-smelling mess-room, in which the red came off the cushions like blood, the pair made their way in search of Bill.
Bostock led the boy back to land, and said good-bye to him at the corner of the Apia Hotel. He tried to raise his spirits, and atone for their failure to find Bill, by the present of a shilling. Amatua accepted it with quiet gratitude, although the gift had not the cheering effect that Bostock desired. The little fellow was sick at heart, and all the shillings in the world could not have consoled him for the loss of Bill. The naval officer followed him with his eyes as he trudged sorrowfully home. He, too, had lost a lifelong friend in that awful night.
Amatua gave up all hope of ever seeing Bill again, as time slipped away and one day melted into another. He made friends with Bostock, and spent many a pleasant hour in the company of that jovial officer, following him about everywhere like a dog; but for all that he did not love him as he had loved Bill. Those were exciting times in Apia, and there was much to amuse and distract a little boy. In the day Bill often passed from his thoughts, for the incessant panorama life had now become almost precluded any other thought; but at night, when he awoke in the early hours and heard the cocks calling, then it was that his heart turned to Bill and overflowed with grief for his lost friend.
Two days after the storm—two as men count, but centuries in Amatua’s calendar—the British ship Calliope returned to port, strained and battered by that terrible hour when she had pitted her engines against the gale and taken her desperate dash for freedom.