All that night the calm continued, and when at midnight Barry came on deck, he found the ship had drifted in so close to the land that the breaking surf on the reef was plainly to be heard—not more than three miles away, and too close to be regarded with indifference with such a strong current, and in a dead calm.
He had almost decided to lower and man one of the whale-boats and begin towing the brig to the eastward so as to clear the southern horn of the projecting reef, when he heard the sound of oars through the darkness, and then came a loud hail.
"Ship ahoy, there!"
"Hallo, who are you?" he cried.
"White trader from Ponapé."
"All right, come alongside." Hastily calling the captain, Barry showed a light in the waist to the advancing boat, and in a few minutes she came alongside. She was manned by a crew of semi-nude, woolly-haired Solomon Islands natives, and was steered by a big, rough-looking white man with a flowing red beard.
Jumping on board he shook hands with Rawlings and Barry and introduced himself.
"I'm Bill Warner; these chaps here are my Pleasant Island boys. I've had a —— row and fight with the Ponapé natives, and had to clear out to save my —— skin. Where are you bound to, captain? Give me and my boys a passage. I don't care where the hell you're going to, so long as I git somewhere away. And, say, mister, give me suthin' to drink."
Rawlings smiled pleasantly. "Certainly, Mr. Warner. Come below, and let your men come on deck. They are not dangerous, I hope."
The moment the new arrival heard Rawlings' voice he stared, and then gave a hoarse, snorting laugh as he again grasped the captain's hand.