At first glance Jack saw that the main cabin of the Centurion was fitted up with a luxuriousness not common to mere trading schooners. A silver hanging lamp of elaborate design, silk curtains at the stern ports, book-cases filled with handsomely bound volumes and the thick carpets on the floor, clearly indicated that whoever had occupied it had been above the class of the rough and ready South Sea trader.
In one corner stood a desk as handsome in its appointments as the rest of the furniture. But it had been roughly dealt with. The front had been smashed in, drawers pulled out and papers and documents scattered about all over the cabin floor. The door to a sleeping cabin leading off the main apartment was open. Within was the same disorder. Even mattresses had been ripped open in a hunt for something, the nature of which the boys could not guess.
Mr. Jukes hastily rummaged through the contents of the desk, selecting some papers, casting aside others as worthless, and gathered up on his hands and knees those on the floor. Then every cabin was searched and in each the millionaire took a few papers, but the look of anxiety on his face did not change, and the boys judged he had not found what he was in search of.
“Not a solitary clue,” he exclaimed with a heavy sigh as, dust-covered and perspiring from his exertions, he sank down at the long dining table in the main cabin. For a time he appeared lost in thought and the others stood about silently. To Jack it was almost awe-inspiring, to see this over-mastering man of affairs, who bullied whole corporations into his way of thinking, sitting there in the cabin of the derelict schooner utterly at a loss, and apparently defeated. At length Mr. Jukes spoke. His first words were a surprise:
“I suppose you all have heard of my brother, Jerushah Jukes?” he asked.
“The traveler and explorer?” asked Captain Sparhawk. “I guess every one in America knows of him, Mr. Jukes.”
Paying no attention to the captain’s reply, the millionaire went on.
“The papers reported some months ago that he had set out for Central Africa.”
“I read the account,” said Jack, “but——”
Mr. Jukes waved his hand. The boy fell into an abashed silence; in a second the millionaire had changed once more from a crushed, defeated human being into Jacob Jukes, millionaire and king of commerce.
“He did not go to Africa,” he said. “Instead, his destination was the South Pacific. He chartered this schooner, the Centurion, and the last I heard of him was when he set sail from San Francisco. If no news of him was received within a certain time I promised him to come in search of him. You see,” he added with a simplicity new from him, “he was my younger brother and I promised my mother on her death-bed always to look after him.”
There was a pause. In the silence of the long-deserted cabin they could hear the dismal creak of the neglected rudder and the bang-banging of the swinging spars above.
“We were poor then, miserably poor, and my mother never lived to see the rise of our fortunes, for as I advanced in business I helped my brother up, too. But his bent was not for finance. He had a streak of the adventurous in him. But I put it to paying purpose. I seldom lose on any venture.” Unconsciously as it seemed, the hard vein in Jacob Jukes had cropped out again. “I decided to put my brother on a paying basis. The results were good. Concessions in South America, gold mines in Alaska, and certain South African enterprises were put through, largely through his instrumentality.
“And now, to get down to the present time. The Centurion was chartered to obtain for Mrs. Jukes, who has a craze for expensive and rare jewelry, the ‘Tear of the Sea,’ the most famous pearl of the South Seas. I had obtained information of its whereabouts in the Pomoutou Archipelago through means which are not important to relate here. I thought that an expedition to purchase the ‘Tear of the Sea’ and, incidentally, other pearls, would be a good investment and keep my brother, who was getting restless, in occupation.
“In the meantime, however, a dishonest employee managed to get wind of what was about to take place and furnished the information to a firm of European jewelers with agents in New York and all over the world. From that moment, I rushed through the Centurion’s expedition with all possible speed, for I knew the conditions of competition in the Pacific. There is little more law among pearl traders than there is north of fifty-three. My brother knew this as well as I did and realised the necessity for haste. Moreover, we knew that the European firm was anxious to obtain, for a royal customer, the very pearl that I was after. In addition, this firm was known as one of the most unscrupulous in gaining its ends, and maintained, in the South Pacific, a system of spies and bullies which brought most of the pearl hunters’ prizes into their hands. Ugly stories have been told of their methods of gaining their ends—and—and I am afraid the fate of the Centurion will have to be added to the black list.”
“There is nothing in the papers to show what happened to your brother, sir?” asked Captain Sparhawk presently.
“Nothing. They are merely formal documents, ship’s papers, clearance bills and so forth. There is no memorandum relating to the pearl in any way.”
Captain Sparhawk knitted his brows. For a minute he appeared lost in deep thought.
“Do you mind telling us the name of that firm, sir?” he asked at last.
“There is nothing we can prove against them,” said the millionaire. “They work without their hands showing in any of their ugly transactions. Their name, however, is F—— & Freres.”
“Of Amsterdam?” queried the captain.
“The same. They have practically a monopoly of the pearl trade of Europe.”
“I know that, sir,” said the captain, clenching his hands. “They tried to work their tricks on a ship-mate of mine who went a-pearl trading. But, sir, to change the subject, did you ever hear of ‘Bully’ Broom?”
The millionaire shook his head.
“I have; and have good cause to remember him,” said the captain. “But none of that at this time. Sir,” he continued earnestly, “your brother may be as safe and sound as we are. He may have the pearl. But if neither of these things have happened, Bully Broom is the man to look for if we have to hunt him all over the Pacific. I’ve sailed these seas and know that ‘Bully’ Broom did F—— & Co.’s dirty work for them. He calls himself a trader, but, like lots of others doing business under that name in these waters, ‘Pirate’ would be a sight better name for him.”
“And you think that this man ‘Bully’ Broom, as you call him, has something to do with this mysterious disappearance of my brother?” asked Mr. Jukes, who had listened with deep attention, willing to hear of any clue, however slight.
“I ain’t dead sure,” said the captain, “but it’s my impression that if the firm you spoke of was after this ‘Tear of the Sea,’ then ‘Bully’ Broom knows where Jerushah Jukes is,” and he brought his lean, gnarled fist down with a thump on the table.
The old ginger came back into Mr. Jukes’ eyes, the wonted crisp authority into his voice as he snapped out:
“That being the case, we’ll find ‘Bully’ Broom.”
“No matter where we have to go?” asked Captain Sparhawk, raising his eyebrows.
“We’ll scour the whole Pacific if necessary. But nobody of the Sea Gypsy’s crew need accompany her against his will. All I ask is that they remain till we can touch at some civilised port, such as Papeiti or Honolulu and ship a man in his place. Do you boys wish to stick?”
“To the finish,” came from Jack, and Raynor, standing beside him, nodded his assent.
As for Captain Sparhawk, he simply reached out one of his brown hands toward the millionaire, who clasped it, and said:
“I’m with you till the bottom drops out of the ship.”
“Thank you, Sparhawk. It’s what I expected of you all,” said Mr. Jukes quietly, but his voice shook.
Thus, in the desolated cabin of the derelict Centurion, there was ratified a bargain that was to lead the boys into strange seas and stranger adventures.
The lads stood on the stern deck of the Sea Gypsy, gazing behind them. On the horizon hovered a tall, black column of smoke. It marked the last resting place of the Centurion, for Mr. Jukes, after ransacking the cabin of everything associated with his brother, had decided to burn the derelict, which, if she had drifted into the paths of navigation, might have proved a dangerous menace.
“Well, Billy, the mystery is solved at last,” said Jack.
“Yes, and in a way I’d never have guessed in a thousand years. Mr. Jukes must be very fond of his brother. It’s a new side of his character to me.”
“Same here,” agreed Jack. “While he has always been just and kind, I thought him a regular man of business, with ice-water instead of red blood in his veins, and his heart in his enterprises only.”
“Just goes to show that you are liable to run up against a streak of sentiment when you least expect it,” said Raynor.
“I see now why an embargo was put on the wireless,” said Jack presently.
“I can’t figure it out. I should have thought he would have used it to try and locate the Centurion.”
“I guess he figured that if he did so, some ship might pick up the message and it would reach the ears of that Amsterdam firm and they would find out about this expedition in search of Jerushah Jukes.”
“Perhaps that’s it. But there’s one thing sure and certain, Jack.”
“And that is——?”
“That we can’t do much without coal.”
“Jove, that’s true; I’d forgotten that. What rotten luck! Where is the nearest coaling place?”
“Papeiti, in Tahiti, I reckon.”
“How close are we to that port now?”
“Well, to-day’s reckoning puts us in Latitude 29 degrees, 49 minutes.”
“I’ll have to look at the map, but that makes it quite a run.” The second mate came bustling up to Raynor.
“The skipper and Mr. Jukes want to see you in the captain’s cabin,” he said.
“Do you know what about?” asked Raynor.
“Coal, I think. How much have you got to keep those old tea-kettles of yours chugging?”
“Precious little since your gang on deck let that deck-load be washed overboard,” grinned Raynor, as he hurried off.
The consultation lasted a long time. But at length Raynor returned with the news that, for as long as possible, full speed was to be made with the coal in hand, and that then canvas would be spread, for the Sea Gypsy was schooner rigged and in addition carried a big square sail on her foremast.
For two days good time was made, but when Raynor, with a rueful face, announced that only a few shovelfuls more coal remained in the bunkers, they were still many weary sea-miles from their destination. However, sailors are proverbially inclined to make the best of things. The Sea Gypsy’s canvas was bent, and under a spanking breeze they glided, at a fair speed, over the sparkling waters, while in the engine room the fires were drawn and the engines grew cold.
But a steam vessel, while she will behave fairly well under canvas, is not designed for sail and makes an astonishing amount of what sailors call “lee-way,” that is, the wind, if it blows a’beam, constantly drives her side-ways, or crab-fashion, of a direct course, so that for every mile she makes in a forward direction a considerable amount of lee-way has to be deducted. For this reason all hands looked forward to a long and tedious voyage before the highlands of Tahiti were sighted.
Now that there was no doubt as to the fate of the Centurion, and no danger of her being captured, the Sea Gypsy’s wireless was set to work again. But they were traveling a lonely tract of the Pacific, and no answer came to Jack’s messages, nor did he “listen in” on any outside conversations.
Captain Sparhawk was in hopes of encountering an English, French or German cruiser, for all those nations keep war craft in these Pacific waters to watch out for pearl pirates and other law-breakers, but the wireless failed to pick any up, although Jack worked it assiduously.
For two days the favoring breeze that was helping the crippled Sea Gypsy along held. Then there fell a flat calm, and the glass began to drop ominously. Captain Sparhawk went about with a grave face. Jack gathered from a few remarks the reserved seaman had let fall, that he expected another hurricane. Situated as she was, the Sea Gypsy’s predicament would be a serious one if such a tornado as the one she had safely weathered were to strike her now. The sailors stood about in little knots discussing the situation and casting anxious glances at the horizon. Mr. Jukes and the captain and officers spent long hours on the bridge in careful consultation.
Before the sun set, the question as to whether or no the Sea Gypsy was in for a second fight with the elements was definitely settled. Thunder and lightning deafened and blinded the voyagers. Rain descended as only tropical rain can, flooding the decks and blinding the look-outs and the officers on the bridge. The Sea Gypsy’s canvas was reduced, only enough being kept on to keep her from literally rolling her hull under the towering water mountains.
The crew clawed their way about the decks by holding fast to life-lines which Captain Sparhawk had ordered stretched when the storm broke. Raynor, coming on deck to report that all was well below, met Jack on his way back to the lower regions of the ship.
“Well, old fellow, this is a corker and no mistake,” he observed, raising his voice in order to make it audible above the frantic battle noises of the storm.
“It’s the worst yet,” Jack agreed.
“And it will be worse than ever before it gets better, according to the way Captain Sparhawk put it when I reported to him,” said the young engineer.
“Hullo, what’s that?” exclaimed Jack suddenly.
“We hit something,” shouted Raynor. “Look at the watch running forward.”
“Storm or no storm, I’m going forward to see what’s up,” ejaculated Jack, and, followed by Raynor, he hurried toward the bow where several of the oil-skin coated crew were already clustered.
It was a fight every inch of the way, but at last they reached the bow and found the sailors bending over the recumbent form of a youth.
“What has happened? What did we strike?” asked Jack of one of the sailors.
“Struck a small boat,” was the reply. “How it ever lived in this sea is a wonder. This fellow was in it.”
“Is he all right?”
“No; about half dead,” rejoined the third mate. “Carry him aft, men, and put him in one of the spare cabins. With care he may pull through. I’m going to notify the captain,” and he hurried off.
Several men picked up the form of the rescued one. Jack suddenly saw his face, pale as death, with his wet hair hanging over his forehead.
“Great guns, Billy!” he gasped.
“What is it? What’s the matter? Do you know him?” queried Raynor.
“Know him? I should say so. So do you. It’s Harvey Thurman.”
“Impossible.”
“Not at all. Take a look at him yourself.”
“By George, you are right. What a strange happening,” declared Raynor, after taking one glance at the youth the crew were bearing off.
“What in the world can he be doing in this part of the ocean in a small boat?” wondered Jack.
“I’ve no idea. We’ll have to wait till he comes to, if he ever does. I remember hearing now that he had got a job on a Pacific steamer. Perhaps it had been wrecked and he was a castaway.”
“Possibly,” agreed Jack. “I’m glad we saved him, although he has made a lot of trouble for us in the past.”
As readers of “The Ocean Wireless Boys and the Naval Code” will recall, it was Harvey Thurman who was assistant wireless man on the Columbia and whose dislike of Jack and Billy resulted in his joining their enemies in an effort to discredit them. After the stolen code was recovered, Thurman was not, like the rest engaged in the rascally business, sent to prison, but was allowed to go free at the boys’ behest, as they believed he had been badly influenced more than anything else.
“So you know him?” said Captain Sparhawk, as they all stood in the cabin to which Thurman had been taken and restoratives were administered to the unfortunate youth.
“Indeed we do,” said both boys, and they told the captain something of their experiences.
“He is not a desirable character then?” said the captain.
“I wouldn’t say that,” said Jack. “We thought he was influenced by bad companions. But at any rate he had no liking for us. Is he going to get better?”
“I think so. See, he is opening his eyes.”
Thurman’s face, under the influence of the restoratives, had become suffused by a faint flush of color. He looked wildly about him. As his gaze rested first on Jack and then on Raynor he looked like a sleeper newly awakened from a night-mare.
“Gracious, am I dreaming?” he gasped.
“No, my lad,” said the captain, “but you had a close call from going into a sleep from which you never would have awakened.”
“But Ready and Raynor! What are they doing here?”
“Oh, we’re solid enough. Nothing ghostly about us,” Jack assured him, extending his hand. “Congratulations on your narrow escape from death, and—and we’ll let bygones be bygones.”
“I never meant to be really bad,” said Thurman weakly.
“Say no more about it,” advised Billy. “But tell us how you came to be adrift in such a fearful storm in that dinky little boat.”
“Better let him eat some soup first,” said the captain, taking a steaming bowl from the steward, from whom he had ordered it for the relief of the castaway, “he’s half starved.”
The way in which Thurman gulped down the grateful food showed that this statement was no exaggeration.
“That’s the first food I’ve had in two days,” he declared. “You see, when the Galilee, that was the schooner I was on board of, sank in the storm some days ago, I escaped in the boat. We launched two altogether, but I guess the other one was lost.”
“Begin at the beginning,” suggested Jack.
“All right then. It was this way, Ready: After my—er—my little trouble with you I came west. I got a job as assistant wireless man at a lonely station on one of the Caroline Islands. But I couldn’t stand the life and resigned. No regular steamers touch there, so I got passage on the Galilee, a little trading schooner for Papeiti. She sprang a leak and sank, and there was only a loaf of bread and a few cans of meat in the boat when I shoved off from the sinking hulk. It was all I had time to put in. What happened after that till you bumped into me and saved me is like a bad dream. I guess I was crazy most of the time. I never expected to be saved, and—and I guess it has been a good lesson to me.”
“If it has made you resolve to reform, it will not have been wasted,” said Jack. And he then told Thurman something about themselves. Captain Sparhawk promised that as soon as Thurman was stronger he would find a job for him, for the boys’ old enemy was penniless, having left his wallet behind him in his haste at fleeing from the sinking schooner.
All that night the tempest raged with unabated fury. At times it seemed as if the yacht must go to pieces, so sadly was she wrenched and buffeted by the giant combers. There was little sleep for any on board that night and the day broke wildly on a worried, harried-looking crew. Shortly before noon the foresail tore away from the bolt ropes, and split with a noise like the explosion of a cannon. This accident was almost immediately followed by a shout from the lookout.
“Land, ho!”
This cry, ordinarily one hailed with delight by sailors, was not thus received on the Sea Gypsy. Captain Sparhawk had been unable to get an observation during the days of storm, and what with this, and the heavy lee drift made by the yacht, he had no idea of his whereabouts.
At the shout all hands clambered to points of vantage to see what islands they could be approaching. As the Sea Gypsy rose dizzily on the top of a great wave Jack saw, with a flash of alarm, that they were headed straight for a large island dotted with tropical verdure and tall, wind-bent palms about which rocks bristled menacingly like hungry fangs awaiting to penetrate the Sea Gypsy’s stout hull.
Critical moments followed. Captain Sparhawk navigated the Sea Gypsy among the rocks with marvelous seamanship. Time and again a shout of dismay went up from the sailors as the yacht almost grazed some huge black rock or scraped a coral reef. But the passage was negotiated with safety, and finally the sea-battered yacht lay snug and safe in the lee of the island and all hands drew a long breath of relief.
“Let go the anchor,” came the command, and the cable roared out of the hawser holes with a savage shout, as if of joy, at the ship’s delivery.
“Where under the sun are we?” asked Mr. Jukes of Captain Sparhawk, as soon as these maneuvers had been completed.
“I have no more idea than you, sir,” was the reply. “But it looks to me as if this island must be one of the Pamatous.”
“One of the pearl islands?” asked the millionaire.
“The very same. But I cannot be sure. Islands are sown pretty thickly in this part of the Pacific.”
“Are the Pamatou people cannibals?” asked Jack.
“I don’t think so,” said the captain, “but before I send a boat ashore I am going to deal out arms to the landing party. We want to run no risks. I shall also put a guard on the ship, for these savages are great thieves and they might see a chance for some piratical tricks in our dilemma.”
“The machine gun will come in handy then,” said Mr. Jukes.
“Yes, indeed, sir. I’ll give orders to have it mounted at once in a conspicuous place so if any of the gentry ashore have any rascally designs they can see we’re ready for them with a dose of cold lead.”
Jack, after some difficulty, secured permission for himself and Raynor to go ashore with the landing party. Mr. Jukes, who remained on board, was unwilling that they take the risk of a hostile attack, but at last he yielded, and the boys, in high glee, buckled on cartridge belts and selected rifles from the ship’s armory.
“Keep the rifles in the bottom of the boat,” ordered the captain, as they shoved off, “and don’t use them unless you absolutely have to.”
Although the place where they lay was sheltered, the storm was still howling and shrieking above the island and the sea ran rather high. The inclement weather, no doubt, explained why no natives had so far been seen.
A landing was successfully made in the surf, the men leaping from the boat and dragging her ashore, waist-deep in water. Dense foliage, among which could be seen the huge fronds of the banana, and broad-leaved breadfruit trees grew almost down to the dazzlingly white beach. Further back great palms, laden with cocoanuts, towered majestically above the tropic growth.
“There seems to be no sign of a village here,” said the captain.
“Perhaps it is on the other side of the island,” suggested Jack.
“Well, we’ll tramp along the beach and see what we can find,” decided the man in command of the “expedition.”
Four men were told off to guard the boat, with orders to fire three shots if anything out of the way occurred. The party in search of the village was to signal in the same way if anything untoward happened and they needed help.
“Shall we carry the rifles?” asked Jack.
“Yes; but try to conceal them as much as possible,” counseled the captain.
They set off along the beach, walking briskly, for the sand was firm and hard. Looking back at the anchored yacht, they could see the glitter of the machine-gun with a man stationed beside it. The gun was trained on the shore ready for instant use against any possible attack. After traversing a short distance they came in sight of what appeared to be a pathway. The condition of it showed that it was much traveled and probably it formed the high road to the village.
Captain Sparhawk decided to follow it. In single file the adventurers advanced along the track which wound in and out, dodging trees and rocks in a manner peculiar to most savage trails whose makers would rather go round an obstacle than clear it out of the way. There was a gloomy sky overhead and the wind boomed dolefully among the palms, making a noise like sheets of rain falling as their big fan-like leaves rustled and scraped against each other.
A hundred rods or so from the coast they found themselves in a ravine which towered up steeply on each side of the track. This canyon appeared to penetrate the centre of the island, the interior of which was hilly.
“I guess the village, if there is one, must be clear round the other side of the island,” said Billy Raynor, between bites at a banana he had picked from a bush at the side of the trail. Others of the party were munching on oranges and a fruit the captain called a “custard apple,” the latter a large, brown-colored “apple,” filled with a yellow paste that looked and tasted like custard.
“There’s one thing certain, the high cost of living need never worry these fellows,” remarked Jack.
“Not if they’re content to be vegetarians,” said Billy.
“They don’t need to be that,” said the captain, “the seas hereabouts teem with fish—and look there!”
There was a rush and a clatter of falling stones just ahead of them as a flock of goats, half-wild creatures, with wonderfully agile legs, leaped up the sides of the canyon and then, at a safe height, stood gazing down at the invaders of the island.
“These South Sea islanders prefer goat’s meat to anything except pork,” said the captain; “in fact, the cannibals pay the doubtful compliment to human flesh of calling it 'long pig.’”
This mention of cannibalism made the boys feel rather uncomfortable. Although the captain reassured them and they knew that the horrible practice of eating human flesh had all but died out in the South Seas, except in some remote islands, they did not know but the one they were exploring might prove to be one of the latter. It was just as their minds were busy with these disquieting thoughts that Jack gave a sharp exclamation and came to a halt.
The fronds of a banana tree had parted suddenly in front of the lad who was in advance of the party.
Between the green leaves a hideous face, daubed with red and white paint, suddenly glared out at the boy and then, as swiftly, vanished.
So quickly had this happened that none of the others had seen it. But Jack quickly apprised them of his discovery.
“If the man’s face was painted, would that mean he was on the war-path?” asked Billy rather nervously.
“Not necessarily,” rejoined the captain, “but still, he might be hostile. On feast days the natives paint themselves up and that may have been the reason for his decorations.”
“Ugh! He was hideous enough to stop a clock or scare a locomotive off the track,” exclaimed Jack.
“The village must be near at hand,” said the captain presently. “Let us press on.”
They had reached the end of the ravine now, having crossed almost the entire island. The path widened and others branched off from it. But they stuck to the main thoroughfare and in a few moments came in sight of a native village lying not far back from the shore and amidst a grove of magnificent palms.
The rhythmical throbbing of tom-toms reached their ears and they could see natives dancing in their peculiar swaying manner to the sound of the skin drums. Suddenly the dancing ceased. The natives in a swarm, among them the man with the painted face, descended on the travelers. Many wore flowers in their hair and others added to these decorations by brass rings in their noses and ear-rings composed of old china door knobs. The men were remarkably handsome and the women pretty.
After the first uncertainty as to their reception, there was no doubt of their friendliness as they pressed about. Several of them could talk English and the captain soon learned that they were indeed on one of the Pamatou group, as he had surmised. The village, which was celebrating a feast day, was one of two on the island occupied by pearl fishers. The natives were civilized; schooners and ships frequently touching there. To the south of them they said were “bad men,” meaning cannibals, and the boys were glad they had not landed on one of them.
Nothing would do but that the white men must sit down and partake of the feast which was just ready. The boys stuffed themselves with roast pork, goat-meat, sweet potatoes, yams, roasted bread-fruit, fish and fruit. They washed this down with cocoanut milk. During the meal, a young Pamatouan attached himself to each of the boys. Each of these lads was about sixteen and wore, like most of the rest, a single white garment, although some of the natives sported trousers, and a few even had shoes—which they carried in their hands!
The two lads, who had thrust their services on Jack and Billy, informed them that they were their friends and would be so all the time the Sea Gypsy lay at the island. They waited on the amused boys hand and foot, not letting them do anything. Jack’s acquisition was called Bolabola; Billy’s savage servitor was called, so he said, Anai. Each could speak a little English and they informed the boys that they were “their friends for always.” From the captain the lads learned that this is a common custom among the islanders who value the friendship of a white man highly, and think it an honor and a credit to wait on him. He suggested giving them some little presents. Jack presented Bolabola with a pocket-knife and Billy gave Anai a fountain pen, having nothing else with him. Anai promptly stuck the pen through a big hole bored in the lobe of his ear and capered about delighted with his new ornament.
When it came time to go back to the ship, the friendly natives could not hear of the adventurers trudging back on foot. A great war canoe was launched and paddled by fifty strapping natives, singing musically, and so they were paddled round the island in state. On their arrival at the ship, the boat which had been left under guard was signalled to return, and presents of calico, straw hats, cheap cutlery and glass beads and fish-hooks and lines,—the latter highly prized,—were dealt out from the yacht’s stores. The natives swarmed all over the ship and it was hard to induce them to leave at all. As for Bolabola and Anai, they refused to go till they had extracted promises from their “friends,” Jack and Billy, to visit them ashore and visit a pearl cave they knew of along the coast.
This exactly suited the boys, and their delight, when Mr. Jukes decided to stay at the island for some days, was unbounded. The reason for the decision to remain there was arrived at after the millionaire had held a consultation with Captain Sparhawk. Tahiti was not far off, and that night Jack was ordered to raise the wireless station on the French island and find out if a small vessel could not be despatched at once with coal to replenish the Sea Gypsy’s exhausted bunkers.
The next morning Jack had the satisfaction of informing Mr. Jukes that the details had been arranged and that a small tramp steamer might be expected to come to their relief in a few days. The expense was considerable, but this did not appear to bother Mr. Jukes, who chafed at the delay in his search for the survivors, if any there were, of the Centurion.
Two days later, following the arrival at the island of the coal ship—a small, rusty tramp steamer—the boys set out for the village to meet their friends, who had swum out to the ship almost daily, despite the sharks, to see the white youths. As they left the yacht they saw Thurman, who had been put to work in the crew, laboring with the other blackened “hands” at getting the fuel on board.
“He doesn’t look as if he liked his job much,” said Jack.
“He ought to be glad he’s alive,” supplemented Billy Raynor. “I wonder if he has really mended his ways or if it was just the effect of his scare that made him promise to reform.”
“Impossible to say,” replied Jack, “but time will show, I guess.”
The boys found their friends on the beach with a long, cranky-looking canoe, paddled with wonderfully carved paddles. In the canoe were bananas, roast pork and other delicacies; also several empty cocoanut shells.
“What are those for?” asked Jack, looking at the latter.
“We put um pearl in them if so be we get any,” grinned Anai.
“Do you really think we’ll get any?” asked Billy.
“No can say. Think cave good place. You ready?”
“Whenever you are,” said Jack, taking his place in the canoe, while Billy followed his example. The two native lads shoved off and sprang on board with wonderful agility, driving the canoe through the surf and up onto the summit of a huge wave, where it hung poised for an instant like a bird. The next moment they had shot with powerful strokes through the rollers and were out beyond the danger line of the surf.
They passed through a noisy fleet of fishers, all of whom greeted them, and then the canoe was headed for a green headland some distance down the coast. The sun glowed fiercely overhead, the surf boomed unceasingly on the beach and the reef beyond, the water hissed along the sides of the canoe as the two athletic young natives urged forward amid shouts.
Looking over the side, Jack could see the coral bottom as clearly as if an inch instead of many feet of water separated it from the frail canoe. It was almost as if they were floating in the air. Fish of brilliant colors darted about and once a dark, sinister shade appeared beneath the canoe. The Kanaka boys shouted and beat the water with their paddles. The dark shadow melted away.
“Him very bad shark,” said Anai. “White men call him tiger shark. Worst kind of all shark.”
“I’d hate to bathe around here,” observed Jack.
“Oh, him all right, most generally scare him away, kick, splash, makee big noise, he go 'way.”
“Yes, but suppose he refused to be scared,” objected Billy.
“Then maybe he takee off leg, arm, maybe swallow you all up.”
The long, curved point soon hid the fishers in front of the village from view. Rounding it, they found themselves skimming along a coast of surpassing beauty. Steep, majestic cliffs arose from the clear water and long green creepers from the forest above trailed over them.
At last the prow of the canoe was turned and the boys saw that the furious paddlers were heading at top speed for the cliffs.
“Hey, stop that, you’ll smash the canoe!” cried Jack, as, without any diminution of speed, the canoe was urged with wild shouts from the paddlers right at the rocky escarpment.
“They’ve gone crazy,” exclaimed Billy, “they——”
He did not conclude what he was going to say. Instead, he set up a cry of alarm as the prow of the canoe was hurled at the cliff at a spot where a regular curtain of lianas and other forest trailers depended from above.
Swish, whoosh, went the canoe, as it shot through the parasites and creepers. The boys instinctively ducked their heads. Instead of being dashed to destruction against the cliff, the frail craft had been guided into this singular cave, one of many along the coast, through the greenery portal. Both the Kanaka boys set up a shout of laughter at the expense of Jack and Billy, who looked rather sheepish at their late alarm.
They were in a dark passage that led into an inner water cave filled with an eternal sunless twilight that was very refreshing to them after the heat and glare outside. The canoe shot through the passage and into the cave itself, the boys uttering a shout of admiration the while.
“Look,” said Anai, pointing upward.
Overhead was a marvelously perfect, natural dome, with a large hole in the centre through which shafts of sunlight fell into the cave and were reflected from the water with a greenish light.
“Look,” ordered the Kanaka boy again.
The boys obeyed and gazed over the side of the canoe. Below them, through several feet of crystal-clear water, they could see bowers of coral, white and pink, with fish darting in and out of the chinks and crossing prismatically, while others hung motionless as if suspended, fanning the water incessantly with their gauzy fins. It was the most wonderful water picture the boys had ever seen.
“We eat. Then we go get pearls,” decided Anai.
The boys, whose appetites had been sharpened by the trip, were not averse to this, and they made a hearty meal. After it the two native boys produced leaves in which betel nuts had been carefully wrapped up and offered them to Jack and Billy, both of whom declined them. But Anai and his friend began chewing the spicy nuts with great zest.
A canoe-length from where they floated a clear rill of water stole noiselessly down from above, mingling its sweet waters with the sea. After demolishing their betel nuts, the chewing of which is a well-nigh universal custom in the South Seas, the two native boys stood erect and then bound their long black hair in knots on the top of their heads.
Then, with a shout, they balanced gracefully for a second on the edge of the canoe and plunged over. They floated for a minute or two and then dived, after inhaling immense breaths. To the boys, watching the divers through the clear water, it looked as if they were literally climbing down, head first, through the pellucid depths.
Then they saw both the Kanaka lads wrenching oyster shells from their hold on the coral with furious energy. It seemed impossible that they could stay under water as long as they did, but at length, even their wonderful endurance gave out and, laden with shells, they shot back to the surface.
Reaching the canoe, the two divers hung almost exhausted on the outrigger, regaining their breath after they had thrown several oysters into the canoe, which the boys opened eagerly, but only two small pearls rewarded them. The two Kanaka boys showed plainly the stress of the long time they had stayed down. Their eyes were bloodshot and their faces suffused. Their veins stood out on their bodies like cords.
The boys begged them not to go down again, but they insisted.
“How often do you mean to dive?” asked Billy.
“One, maybe two, three time,” said Anai.
“Nobody can dive more than three time,” declared the other. “Him bad if dive too many time. Makee much sick.”
“I should think so,” said Jack. “I wouldn’t have thought it possible for any one to stay down so long. It’s wonderful.”
The next two dives yielded three more pearls from a dozen or more oysters. None of them were of any great value but the two divers insisted on presenting them to the boys.
“Me try get you very good pearl some udder day,” promised Anai, and his companion nodded to show that he meant to help in the enterprise.
“Hullo, what’s that?” asked Jack suddenly, after they had chatted and rested for some time and began to think about returning. There was a booming sound in the air and the waters of the cave began to become agitated, rocking the canoe dangerously.
Overhead, through the dome, they could see that the sky had darkened.
“Me think storm come. Better get out of here,” said Anai, looking troubled. “Him bad time of year for storms.”
“Goodness, I should say so,” declared Jack. “We’ve been in two bad ones already.”
“That’s how we got blown here,” added Billy.
“We thinkee that good storm blow you here, white boys,” said Anai.
The sky grew darker, and every now and then a big roller entirely filled the mouth of the cavern, blinding them with spray. Having spent its fury, these great waves retired with a concussion that was deafening, dragging the canoe with fearful velocity toward the mouth of the cave by its suction. At such times they only saved themselves from being swept out to sea by grasping the hanging curtain of creepers and vines. Anai and his companion baled the canoe with a big shell, but the boys felt that their position was an awkward and even a dangerous one.
Another great wave burst, sealing up the cave as if it was an air-tight compartment, and making the waters of the cavern boil and seethe furiously. The pressure of air caused by the sudden rush of water affected the boys’ ears as if they had been suddenly placed in a caisson.
“This is terrible,” cried Jack.
“Something will have to be done,” said Billy. “We can’t last in here much longer.”
“Are we in danger, Anai?” asked Jack.
“We in very bad fix; but we getee out all right,” the Kanaka assured him, stopping his bailing.
“They’ve got some plan in their head,” decided Jack, and sat down in the bottom of the cranky, frail canoe to see what the next move was to be. It was a startling one. The two youths seized their paddles and then, as the next wave receded, they shot out of the mouth of the cave like a bomb from a mortar, before either Jack or Billy could guess their intention or stop what seemed sheer madness on the Kanakas’ part, and placed all their lives in grave danger. Outside they found themselves in the teeth of a howling gale. Spray blinded them, flying over them in sheets.
Nothing more was said, nothing seen. The air was darkened with flying spume. It seemed impossible that the canoe could live a minute.