It must be admitted that the first few days were monotonous and quite unromantic. For a bit of a wind came up and made the Sea Foam heave and lurch. This instability caused poor Mango Pango suddenly to rush from her chamber and groan with anguish as she knelt by the port-side scuppers. She was terribly seasick. Ulysses would give a ponderous, sympathetic wink as she rushed back to her bunk and closed the door of her cabin. Then the little Papuan cabin-boy, Tombo Nuvolo, would stand sentinel just by the saloon port-hole to see that no one quizzed or came near the modest maiden’s abode. But Mango Pango soon recovered from her illness, and attired in her pretty blue robe, scarlet and yellow ribbon in her mass of coral-dyed hair, came out on deck to bask in the hot sunshine.
When Hillary sat down by her side and told her that the Sea Foam was bound for New Guinea, and that Ulysses and he were going in search of Gabrielle Everard, she opened her pretty eyes and mouth in unbounded astonishment and said: “Awaie!—Wearly! Going in searcher of poor Gabberlel who ams in New Ginner! Never!” And then, while she lifted her hands and uttered her quaint Samoan exclamations (she was born in Apia, Samoa) Hillary told her as much about the reason of the voyage and of all they had heard about Rajah Macka as he thought advisable.
Mango Pango was a real blessing to the apprentice; she was so full of childish vivacity, song and laughter that she dispelled his gloomy thoughts and made him quite cheerful at times. “Thank heaven that she was fool enough to be persuaded to come on this extraordinary venture,” thought Hillary, as the girl performed a native step-dance while he fiddled, and didn’t appear to trouble about her position in the least. Samuel Bilbao would stand by, his mighty viking moustachios rippling to the sea-breeze as he sang some romantic strain and gazed admiringly on the dancing Mango Pango, who revelled in his praise. Heaven knows what Bilbao’s alleged harem of island Penelopes would have thought could they have seen their absent Ulyssess’ massive gallantry and the glance of his eyes as Mango danced by the galley amidships. It is true that several of the sailors made eyes at Mango Pango when Ulysses was having his afternoon nap in the late captain’s cosy bunk. And it must be confessed that she didn’t seem to take the sailors’ advances as though she thought them amiss. But still, she behaved with considerable propriety, and only very slyly blew surreptitious kisses back to the aged bottle-nosed boatswain, Jonathan Snooks, who looked at the dusky maid and said more with his eyes than he should have done, considering that he had a wife in Shanghai and two more in ’Frisco!
What a voyage it was! Hillary thought of England, of his home. “What would the mater, the governor, my sisters and Uncle William think could they see me sailing across the coral seas to rescue a white girl from the heathen temple of a Papuan Rajah?” He would incline his eyes from the sky-line and look back on the deck of the Sea Foam to convince himself of the reality of it all.
“Don’t stand there mooching about with that mournful look on yer ugly mug!” yelled Samuel Bilbao, as he stood there, nearly seven feet high, watching Mango Pango’s five feet five inches dancing exquisitely beneath the shaded awning that he’d ordered to be rigged up by the cuddy’s private deck. Then he yelled for the cook, demanding that worthy’s presence aft to play the accordion and make up the Sea Foam’s scratch orchestra for a song and dance. Ulysses began to play his bone clappers (he was a crack hand at the clappers). And it was a sight worth seeing as the crew stood obediently in a semi-circle, opened their bearded mouths and exercised their big, hoarse-throated voices to the full extent as they all roared the chorus of old Malayan sea-chanteys till far into the night. And if the pretty Samoan maid, Mango Pango, couldn’t dance like a sea-faery, or mermaid, on the Sea Foam’s deck, under the full brilliance of the tropic moon, then no one on the seas ever will be able to do so.
Even the remorseful, bilious chief mate opened his mouth, mumbling a belated melody when Ulysses put forth his long arm and conducted the chorus of—
“For I went down South for to see my Sal,
Singing Polly-wolly-doodle all the way.”
Then he inclined his massive, curly head and, gazing sideways into Mango Pango’s delighted eyes, he continued bellowing forth in such tones that the startled sea-birds far out of the night gave a frightened wail:
“Fare thee well, fare thee well,
Fare thee well, my Faery Fay;
For I’m off to Lousianna for to see my Susiannah,
Singing Polly-wolly-doodle all the way!”
So did Samuel Bilbao pass his spare time on board the Sea Foam. There were only one or two cases of insubordination amongst the crew. Ulysses discovered that they’d had several stand-up fights on grog nights. And he was in a fearful rage when he heard of it. For if he had one weakness, it was his mad love of being umpire at a stand-up fight.