“All right, sir,” said Facey.
Half an hour later, Facey, with twenty-five well-armed men, had vanished into the mangroves, while Burder and his crew lay forty yards off the shore in the second cutter, the officer devouring “Under Two Flags,” and the men smoking and yarning in the bottom of the boat. On the Stingaree two light guns were cast loose and made ready to open fire at a moment’s notice, and a lookout man was stationed in the maintop. The doctor busied himself in dismal preparation, while the captain paced the bridge with quick and anxious steps, fretting for the safety of his party ashore.
Hour after hour passed and brought never a sound from the melancholy woods. The fierce sun mounted to the zenith and sank again into the western sky. Casement was beside himself with suspense; a cup of tea served him for lunch, and he smoked one cigar after another. A deep foreboding brooded over the ship; the men sat or walked uneasily about the waist; the maintop was clustered with anxious blue-jackets; and old Quinn, the gunner, a half-crazy zealot whose religious convictions were of the extremest order, pattered off prayers beside the shotted guns. Towards five o’clock, when things were looking desperate and all began to fear the very worst, a sudden shout roused the ship, and the shore party, noisy and triumphant, were seen streaming down to the beach. A few moments later the two boats pulled slowly off to the ship, Facey’s company the richer by a black man, whose costume consisted of little more than the ropes he was bound with. A thundering cheer hailed them as they swept under the stern and drew up at the starboard gangway, and Facey was soon reporting himself on the bridge.
“I can’t tell you what a relief it is to see you,” said the captain. “I wouldn’t pass another such day for a thousand pounds!”
Facey was dog-tired, and his tattered clothes and scratched face gave evidence of a toilsome march. But he was in a boisterous good humour. He had acquitted himself with marked success, and was thankful to have brought back his party and himself safe and sound.
“Well, how did you make out?” asked the captain.
“We landed at the trader’s house,” began Facey, “followed a path that led inland, and reached some Kanaka huts. Not a soul in ’em; clean gone, every man jack. Followed along a well beaten path which led us into the next bay, bearing north-northeast half-east, keeping the liveliest lookout all the time. Three miles along we ran into another village, chock-a-block with niggers. It looked a nasty go; lots of guns and spears, and everybody pretty skittish, kind of they would and they wouldn’t! I recollected your orders and went slow; you know what I mean, sir—worked off the presents, and smoked my pipe leisurely. By and by they came round, tricky as the devil, on to make friends or to eat us alive, whichever seemed the more promising. I let out what I wanted, and bit by bit found out that all the Sunflower Bay crowd were there, even to old Jibberik, the chief—him Toombs said was the biggest scoundrel of the lot. He looked pretty sick and knew mighty well what we were after. I talked broadsides to that old man, and put it to him that he had better give up the chaps who had killed the trader than waltz back to the ship and be shot instanter himself—for somebody had to go, I said; and just as soon as I got the old codger alongside of me I gave him to understand that he was my bird, and kept my cocked pistol pointed at his belly. After no end of a fuss, and lots of frothing and loud talk, with things looking precious ugly now and again, we ended by coming out on top. Then they dragged along a young nigger named Billy, a returned labour-boy from the Queensland plantations, they said, and handed him over to me as the murderer. I thought it was more than likely they’d give us some cheap nigger they had no use for, or some worn-out old customer, as they did in Pentecost to Dewar of the Royalist; but I think this Billy was all right. A lot of niggers—Billy’s own push, I suppose—looked as black as fits and wouldn’t come round for a long time. Then I lashed the prisoner’s hands and tied him to one of our men, and talked pretty straight to Jib. I made him promise he’d bring his people back at once, and be down on the beach, himself and two others, to-morrow morning to give evidence against Billy.”
“You’ve done well, Mr. Facey,” said Casement, as his lieutenant drew to a close, “and I tell you the story sha’n’t lose when I report it to the admiral. You had better go now and get your clothes off,” he added.
Facey jumped to his feet. “I am sure I am awfully obliged to you, sir,” he said.
“Ugh, that’s all right,” said Casement, in his testy way. “What have you done with the prisoner?”