Hillary, as time went on, was inclined to be nervous and impatient, and Mango Pango became extremely superstitious and swore that every shadow was a ghost. As for Ulysses, he roared with laughter about Solomon Island shadows, and when Mango spoke about such things he told her she was “potty.” It may have been Bilbao’s liberality with the cases of champagne that were found down in the lazaret that upset Hillary’s nervous system. And if he did take a little more than was good for him he was to be excused, for the weather was terribly muggy and hot at times. Anyhow, Bilbao often cheered him up when he was down in the mouth.
“Don’t get down in the mug, boy; we’re making headway quick enough. The Rajah and his damned ship are not so far ahead. We’ll be in New Guinea before him yet.”
But Hillary knew that Ulysses did not control the winds of heaven. And yet at times it seemed to him that these same winds were blowing in perfect sympathy with his wishes as the Sea Foam went racing before the steady breeze.
On the evening of the eighth day out from Bougainville a typhoon blew the Sea Foam leagues out of her course to the north-west. Ulysses roared forth his oaths as only he could roar, while the crew slashed away at the tackle, endeavouring to relieve the thunderous flappings of the torn sails. Two boats were washed away. The boatswain nearly wept when the huge sea came and washed Bully Beef, his pet dog, overboard.
“Lower the only boat we’ve got left to save your b—— dog,” roared Bilbao, as he stood on deck, his vandyke beard and moustache stiff, and rippling to port as the wind struck him and mountainous seas rose level with the bulwark side to windward. The chief mate, gazing aloft with sunken, socket-like eyes, seemed almost pleased with the idea that the Sea Foam might any moment turn turtle and so cut short his eternal fear about the jury’s verdict if ever his duplicity got him into the clutches of the law. He was slowly fading to a shadow through all the worry that Bilbao had brought on to his trembling shoulders. Even at that early date a decided looseness in his brass-bound reefer packet was noticeable, clearly indicating the shrinkage of his once plump form.
Mango Pango, hearing the seas beating against the schooner’s side, looked through the cuddy’s port-hole, and seeing the wild confusion, as the crew slashed at the wreckage aloft while the schooner heeled over, cried aloud: “Awaie! Awaie! O tellible matagai (storm)! O Bilbalos, saver poor Mango Pango!”
“Don’t cry, Mango, it’s all right now,” said Hillary, who had just crept into the cuddy from the deck, for he too had been taking a hand in the desperate work of that buffeted crew. In half-an-hour every man on board was thanking his lucky stars that the Sea Foam was still plunging along on her keel. Her storm-sails had been set and the taut jib-sails were just keeping her steady with head on to the seas after the first great onslaught of the elements. Though the wind had blown across the heavens with inconceivable velocity, not a cloud had smudged the face of the sky.
An hour before dawn the typhoon had quite blown itself out. Only the universal heave and tumble of the ocean swell told of the tremendous buffeting an hour before. The moon was sinking to the south-west. Ulysses, Hillary and the melancholy mate stood on the poop.
“Glad that blow’s over,” said Samuel Bilbao, as the mate’s obsequious voice echoed his own thankfulness. Then they all stared seaward, for the look-out man on the forecastle head roared out: “Land on the starboard bow!” That cry caused tremendous consternation amongst all on board. It was evident that the Sea Foam had got many leagues out of her course. The mate put it down to the typhoon, and swore that it wasn’t the fault of his navigation. Anyway, Ulysses gave him the benefit of the doubt. Even Mango Pango stood amidships on deck with the crew as they all huddled together and stared at the foam-flecked reefs of some strange isle that loomed up about a mile away to the south-south-west.
“What isle’s that, for God’s sake?” said Bilbao, as he got his chart out. For he had quite thought that he was far away from any islands.