"Trouble will come to us through these black men, these woolly-haired eaters of men's flesh," he said to the mate in Samoan, on the following evening. "One of them—he with the hare-lip—can speak Fijian, and this evening he was boasting to me of all that his master hath done, of the men he hath killed, not only in the islands to the south, but here in Ponapé."
"They're a bad lot, I believe, Velo," answered the mate in English, "but you and the rest of the men must try and avoid quarrelling with them."
Velo nodded. "Aye, but they are rude of speech, and will scarce move out of our way; and our men from the Gilbert Islands are quick to anger. Trouble will come."
Trouble did come, and much sooner than even Velo had anticipated.
At ten o'clock on the morning of the fifth day the calm still continued, but there was a faint, fleecy wall of cloud to the north-east which Barry knew meant wind in a few hours. Ponapé was still in sight about forty miles distant.
The ship was very quiet, for the heat was so intense that beyond washing down decks the crew had done nothing since sunrise, and the watch were lying down under the topgallant foc's'le, smoking and mending clothes. On the main-hatch was Warner's whaleboat, and sitting around her were the savage crew, chewing betel-nut and expectorating the scarlet juice in every direction. Mr. Warner himself was aft, showing Rawlings the mechanism of a Vetterli rifle. Early as was the hour he was already half-drunk, and every now and then would stagger against the rail or knock against the wheel or skylight flaps.
Presently he stumbled along the deck towards Barry, and holding the rifle in his left hand clapped the officer on the shoulder with his right.
"You're a mighty solemn-faced cuss, young feller," he said, with drunken hilarity; "have a drink with me, and don't be so —— high and mighty. I'm a damned good sort when you know me—ain't that so, Jim Rawlings?"
"A very good sort indeed," answered the captain suavely; "but a bit too convivial too early in the day."
"You be damned and let me be; don't try to put on frills, Jimmy, my boy," and still clutching Barry's shoulder he grinned insolently at Rawlings, whose dark, handsome face paled with sudden passion as he turned away with an exclamation of anger.