Gabrielle of the Lagoon: A Romance of the South Seas

by W. H. Myddleton

It would be a mass of wearying detail to tell all that occurred before Ulysses secured the Sea Foam so that they might sail straight for the coast of New Guinea without the charge for her hire unduly diminishing his private exchequer. It is sufficient to say that Ulysses made the very best of his old friendship with the chief mate of the Sea Foam. And perhaps it will enlighten the reader a good deal to know that the chief mate came ashore that night and had a long private conversation and multitudinous mixed drinks with Bilbao in Parsons’s grog bar. Hillary stood aside as the two men spoke in very low undertones and Ulysses poked the mate in the ribs and showed him a handful of gold. Then the mate began to get jovial and gave Ulysses a receipt for several of the golden coins. Of course it was none of Hillary’s business as to how the Sea Foam was to be hired. Ulysses had taken that part of the job on, and as an innocent girl’s very life was at stake, what might appear to be a shady transaction in getting hold of the schooner was only a necessary part of the day’s work, so far as Ulysses was concerned. He chuckled inwardly to see the mate’s delight over the bribe he’d given him. But his success with the mate of the Sea Foam was as nothing when he discovered that the Sea Foam’s skipper was a terrible drunkard; and to make things easier still the skipper himself came into that very bar and, seeing Ulysses flush of cash, swallowed several good strong nips of rum at his expense.

“No, never!” said Skipper Long John (for such was the Sea Foam captain’s name), as good old Samuel Bilbao spun his mighty yarns, telling of the wondrous deeds in his seafaring career. Still the skipper continued to drink, so that when at last he fell down on the floor of Parsons’s saloon bar after drinking his nineteenth rum no one was surprised. What may have been the surprising matter of the whole business was this: That same skipper was arrested that same night for using bad language and insulting two Polynesian girls on the beach! No one saw the girls who had been so grossly insulted; all that was known about the matter was that the skipper was seen staggering about the beach that night, trying to hire some natives to paddle him out to his schooner, when he was suddenly seized from behind by two Herculean-framed members of the native police and taken off to the Bougainville calaboose (jail). It was rumoured long after that he was fined fifty dollars or two weeks’ solitary confinement. How the poor old skipper took his hard luck is not known. Anyway, one can rest assured that he never dreamed that Samuel Bilbao knew the head of the native police force in Rokeville, and that whilst he languished in jail that worthy chuckled with delight over the success of his scheme; and the head of the native police was mightily pleased with the bribe he had received from Samuel Bilbao! So was the schooner secured.

It may seem wonderful how the thing was done. But the civil authorities in those parts and the owners in Sydney can vouch for it that the Sea Foam, with Samuel Bilbao on board as captain, sailed out of Bougainville harbour at midnight on 10th February, and no one knew for what port she had sailed.

Hillary half wondered if he was in the throes of some marvellous dream as he stood on the Sea Foam’s deck just before she sailed. Ulysses was walking about the deck shouting orders to his willing crew. And the crew were singing their chanteys cheerfully as they thought over the conviviality of their new skipper, who had so generously primed them up with the best Jamaica rum. Not one tear was shed when they heard that their late skipper, Long John, had broken his leg and was lying helpless in the tin-roofed hospital at Silbar, in Bougainville. For such was the sad news Ulysses imparted when he had mustered them on deck and told them that he and the chief mate had orders to sail at once. There was not the slightest need to tell them verbally that he was henceforth their captain. The old boatswain saw the imperative command of those eyes and saluted the new skipper, and every man on board instinctively straightened his backbone. In a moment Ulysses had cast off his faded coat and pants and old boots. None wondered when he appeared on deck in the late captain’s best sea-going clothes, and on his head the brass-bound, badged peak-cap that he had found in the skipper’s large sea-chest. Everything went well. The south-west trades were blowing steadily; no night could be more favourable for setting sail and clearing the harbour. “Set to! Haul the anchor up!” he roared.

When Hillary heard the rattling of the chain and saw the men aloft fisting the sail he rubbed his eyes. “It’s another hopeless dream,” he said.

Ulysses all this time was leaning over the gangway, peering down into the gloom, as he tugged at a rope. And as Hillary watched he saw that he was pulling something up that dangled in space; he had distinctly heard a musical voice that he was astonished to recognise. “Hold hard! Gently there, you son of a gun!” yelled Ulysses, as the deck-hands and the boatswain stood by grinning from ear to ear. And still three of the crew and Ulysses hauled carefully at the taut tackle, as they repeatedly looked over the vessel’s side. “God damn it, slew her up! Mind her starboard leg! Over! Over there! Right-o! Up she comes! Gently, lads; gently does the trick! Let go!”

“God in heaven!” gasped Hillary, for out of the basket hauled up from the outrigger canoe that had just arrived alongside, plomp! down on the deck jumped pretty Mango Pango!

Hillary did not dream. There she stood, her pearly teeth visible by the light of the oil lamp in the gangway, her eyes sparkling as she laughed with glee, like some happy child. Ulysses had persuaded her to bolt from her mistress’s kitchen and accompany him on that voyage out to New Guinea.

“Well, I’m blest! He can do anything he undertakes,” said Hillary to himself, as he realised why Bilbao had chuckled so much when the two of them had last said good-bye to Mango Pango.

Before the moon was well up the Sea Foam had sailed, disappearing silently out of Bougainville harbour, bound for the great unknown, so far as the crew were concerned. Not a soul aboard the Sea Foam slept that night. When everything was snug aloft, and they were tacking before a steady breeze for the coral seas, Ulysses called all hands aft and served out rum. Several of the crew were Britishers, three were Kanakas, one a Jap and the other a nondescript nigger. The crew wondered what was going to happen next when they saw Ulysses at the cuddy table and Mango Pango installed at the head. And they too joined in the songs and laughter, as the glasses clinked and the late skipper’s champagne disappeared. It was only the mate who did not seem to appreciate the wild hilarity on board. He was a bilious-looking fellow and looked terribly nervous as Ulysses roared at the top of his voice. The mate had already regretted his share in the scheme that had cast his late skipper into jail and installed Ulysses in his stead. He was unable to persuade himself that he would be acquitted by any jury when they learnt that he had sailed under the jovial orders of Captain Samuel Bilbao. Bilbao had smacked him on the back and sworn that everything would be all right. “You’ve nothing to worry about; all you’ve got to do is to say that I came aboard this ship and proved my legitimate right to install myself as the new skipper.” Saying this, Ulysses tried to ease the mate’s mind by pulling from his pocket the late skipper’s pocket-book and papers, also a note-of-hand that was presumably written in the late skipper’s handwriting. This note stated that the care of the Sea Foam was to be given over to Captain Samuel Bilbao, who had instructions to sail at once. Such was the whole scheme, so far as Hillary could make it out. Anyway, though the mate became gloomy and sallow-looking as the days went by, Ulysses got redder in the face and even perceptibly fatter. It would have pleased the devoutest hearts could they have seen the modest decorum of Mango Pango’s private cabin on the cuddy’s port side. Ulysses had made the cabin-boy fix it up in quite artistic style. A little German bronze mirror swung to and fro by the small port-hole, pictures of Biblical subjects decorated the low roof and walls, and all the niceties that a maid might require were to be found in the quickly extemporised apartment.