The Coral Island - Robert Michael Ballantyne (little readers txt) 📗

a man that could

think, and such men can usually speak.”

 

“So they can, youngster,” rejoined Bill, somewhat sternly; “and I

could speak too if I had a mind to, but what’s the use o’ speakin’

here! The men only open their mouths to curse and swear, an’ they

seem to find it entertaining; but I don’t, so I hold my tongue.”

 

“Well, Bill, that’s true, and I would rather not hear you speak at

all than hear you speak like the other men; but I don’t swear,

Bill, so you might talk to me sometimes, I think. Besides, I’m

weary of spending day after day in this way, without a single soul

to say a pleasant word to. I’ve been used to friendly

conversation, Bill, and I really would take it kind if you would

talk with me a little now and then.”

 

Bill looked at me in surprise, and I thought I observed a sad

expression pass across his sun-burnt face.

 

“An’ where have you been used to friendly conversation,” said Bill,

looking down again into the sea; “not on that Coral Island, I take

it?”

 

“Yes, indeed,” said I energetically; “I have spent many of the

happiest months in my life on that Coral Island;” and without

waiting to be further questioned, I launched out into a glowing

account of the happy life that Jack and Peterkin and I had spent

together, and related minutely every circumstance that befell us

while on the island.

 

“Boy, boy,” said Bill, in a voice so deep that it startled me,

“this is no place for you.”

 

“That’s true,” said I; “I’m of little use on board, and I don’t

like my comrades; but I can’t help it, and at anyrate I hope to be

free again soon.”

 

“Free?” said Bill, looking at me in surprise.

 

“Yes, free,” returned I; “the captain said he would put me ashore

after this trip was over.”

 

“THIS TRIP! Hark’ee, boy,” said Bill, lowering his voice, “what

said the captain to you the day you came aboard?”

 

“He said that he was a trader in sandal-wood and no pirate, and

told me that if I would join him for this trip he would give me a

good share of the profits or put me on shore in some civilized

island if I chose.”

 

Bill’s brows lowered savagely as he muttered, “Ay, he said truth

when he told you he was a sandal-wood trader, but he lied when - “

 

“Sail ho!” shouted the lookout at the masthead.

 

“Where, away?” cried Bill, springing to the tiller; while the men,

startled by the sudden cry jumped up and gazed round the horizon.

 

“On the starboard quarter, hull down, sir,” answered the lookout.

 

At this moment the captain came on deck, and mounting into the

rigging, surveyed the sail through the glass. Then sweeping his

eye round the horizon he gazed steadily at a particular point.

 

“Take in topsails,” shouted the captain, swinging himself down on

the deck by the main-back stay.

 

“Take in topsails,” roared the first mate.

 

“Ay, ay, sir-r-r,” answered the men as they sprang into the rigging

and went aloft like cats.

 

Instantly all was bustle on board the hitherto quiet schooner. The

topsails were taken in and stowed, the men stood by the sheets and

halyards, and the captain gazed anxiously at the breeze which was

now rushing towards us like a sheet of dark blue. In a few seconds

it struck us. The schooner trembled as if in surprise at the

sudden onset, while she fell away, then bending gracefully to the

wind, as though in acknowledgment of her subjection, she cut

through the waves with her sharp prow like a dolphin, while Bill

directed her course towards the strange sail.

 

In half an hour we neared her sufficiently to make out that she was

a schooner, and, from the clumsy appearance of her masts and sails

we judged her to be a trader. She evidently did not like our

appearance, for, the instant the breeze reached her, she crowded

all sail and showed us her stern. As the breeze had moderated a

little our topsails were again shaken out, and it soon became

evident, - despite the proverb, “A stern chase is a long one,” that

we doubled her speed and would overhaul her speedily. When within

a mile we hoisted British colours, but receiving no acknowledgment,

the captain ordered a shot to be fired across her bows. In a

moment, to my surprise, a large portion of the bottom of the boat

amidships was removed, and in the hole thus exposed appeared an

immense brass gun. It worked on a swivel and was elevated by means

of machinery. It was quickly loaded and fired. The heavy ball

struck the water a few yards ahead of the chase, and, ricochetting

into the air, plunged into the sea a mile beyond it.

 

This produced the desired effect. The strange vessel backed her

topsails and hove-to, while we ranged up and lay-to, about a

hundred yards off.

 

“Lower the boat,” cried the captain.

 

In a second the boat was lowered and manned by a part of the crew,

who were all armed with cutlasses and pistols. As the captain

passed me to get into it, he said, “jump into the stern sheets,

Ralph, I may want you.” I obeyed, and in ten minutes more we were

standing on the stranger’s deck. We were all much surprised at the

sight that met our eyes. Instead of a crew of such sailors as we

were accustomed to see, there were only fifteen blacks standing on

the quarterdeck and regarding us with looks of undisguised alarm.

They were totally unarmed and most of them unclothed; one or two,

however, wore portions of European attire. One had on a pair of

duck trousers which were much too large for him and stuck out in a

most ungainly manner. Another wore nothing but the common scanty

native garment round the loins, and a black beaver hat. But the

most ludicrous personage of all, and one who seemed to be chief,

was a tall middle-aged man, of a mild, simple expression of

countenance, who wore a white cotton shirt, a swallow-tailed coat,

and a straw hat, while his black brawny legs were totally uncovered

below the knees.

 

“Where’s the commander of this ship?” inquired our captain,

stepping up to this individual.

 

“I is capin,” he answered, taking off his straw hat and making a

low bow.

 

“You!” said our captain, in surprise. “Where do you come from, and

where are you bound? What cargo have you aboard?”

 

“We is come,” answered the man with the swallow-tail, “from

Aitutaki; we was go for Rarotonga. We is native miss’nary ship;

our name is de OLIVE BRANCH; an’ our cargo is two tons cocoa-nuts,

seventy pigs, twenty cats, and de Gosp’l.”

 

This announcement was received by the crew of our vessel with a

shout of laughter, which, however, was peremptorily checked by the

captain, whose expression instantly changed from one of severity to

that of frank urbanity as he advanced towards the missionary and

shook him warmly by the hand.

 

“I am very glad to have fallen in with you,” said he, “and I wish

you much success in your missionary labours. Pray take me to your

cabin, as I wish to converse with you privately.”

 

The missionary immediately took him by the hand, and as he led him

away I heard him saying, “Me most glad to find you trader; we

t’ought you be pirate. You very like one ‘bout the masts.”

 

What conversation the captain had with this man I never heard, but

he came on deck again in a quarter of an hour, and, shaking hands

cordially with the missionary, ordered us into our boat and

returned to the schooner, which was immediately put before the

wind. In a few minutes the OLIVE BRANCH was left far behind us.

 

That afternoon, as I was down below at dinner, I heard the men

talking about this curious ship.

 

“I wonder,” said one, “why our captain looked so sweet on yon

swallow-tailed super-cargo o’ pigs and Gospels. If it had been an

ordinary trader, now, he would have taken as many o’ the pigs as he

required and sent the ship with all on board to the bottom.”

 

“Why, Dick, you must be new to these seas if you don’t know that,”

cried another. “The captain cares as much for the gospel as you do

(an’ that’s precious little), but he knows, and everybody knows,

that the only place among the southern islands where a ship can put

in and get what she wants in comfort, is where the gospel has been

sent to. There are hundreds o’ islands, at this blessed moment,

where you might as well jump straight into a shark’s maw as land

without a band o’ thirty comrades armed to the teeth to back you.”

 

“Ay,” said a man with a deep scar over his right eye, “Dick’s new

to the work. But if the captain takes us for a cargo o’ sandal-wood to the Feejees he’ll get a taste o’ these black gentry in

their native condition. For my part I don’t know, an’ I don’t

care, what the gospel does to them; but I know that when any o’ the

islands chance to get it, trade goes all smooth an’ easy; but where

they ha’nt got it, Beelzebub himself could hardly desire better

company.”

 

“Well, you ought to be a good judge,” cried another, laughing, “for

you’ve never kept any company but the worst all your life!”

 

“Ralph Rover!” shouted a voice down the hatchway. “Captain wants

you, aft.”

 

Springing up the ladder I hastened to the cabin, pondering as I

went the strange testimony borne by these men to the effect of the

gospel on savage natures; - testimony which, as it was perfectly

disinterested, I had no doubt whatever was strictly true.

 

On coming again on deck I found Bloody Bill at the helm, and as we

were alone together I tried to draw him into conversation. After

repeating to him the conversation in the forecastle about the

missionaries, I said, -

 

“Tell me, Bill, is this schooner really a trader in sandal-wood?”

 

“Yes, Ralph, she is; but she’s just as really a pirate. The black

flag you saw flying at the peak was no deception.”

 

“Then how can you say she’s a trader?” asked I.

 

“Why, as to that, she trades when she can’t take by force, but she

takes by force, when she can, in preference. Ralph,” he added,

lowering his voice, “if you had seen the bloody deeds that I have

witnessed done on these decks you would not need to ask if we were

pirates. But you’ll find it out soon enough. As for the

missionaries, the captain favours them because they are useful to

him. The South-Sea islanders are such incarnate fiends that they

are the better of being tamed, and the missionaries are the only

men who can do it.”

 

Our track after this lay through several clusters of small islets,

among which we were becalmed more than once. During this part of

our voyage the watch on deck and the lookout at the masthead were

more than usually vigilant, as we were not only in danger of being

attacked by the natives, who, I learned from the captain’s remarks,

were a bloody and deceitful tribe at this group, but we were also

exposed to much risk from the multitudes of coral reefs that rose

up in the channels between the islands, some of them just above the

surface, others a few