Blown to Bits: The Lonely Man of Rakata, the Malay Archipelago by R. M. Ballantyne (red novels TXT) 📖

“Just so, lad. See!—there’s a boat puttin’ off already: the king, no doubt.”

He was right. Mr Ross, the appointed governor, and “King of the Cocos Islands,” was soon on deck, heartily shaking hands with and welcoming Captain Roy as an old friend. He carried him and his son off at once to breakfast in his island-home; introduced Nigel to his family, and then showed them round the settlement, assuring them at the same time that all its resources were at their disposal for the repair of the Sunshine.

“Thank ’ee kindly,” said the captain in reply, “but I’ll only ask for a stick to rig up a fore-topmast to carry us to Batavia, where we’ll give the old craft a regular overhaul—for it’s just possible she may have received some damage below the water-line, wi’ bumpin’ on the mast and yards.”

The house of the “King” was a commodious, comfortable building in the midst of a garden, in which there were roses in great profusion, as well as fruit-trees and flowering shrubs. Each Keeling family possessed a neat well-furnished plank cottage enclosed in a little garden, besides a boat-house at the water-edge on the inner or lagoon side of the reef, and numerous boats were lying about on the white sand. The islanders, being almost born sailors, were naturally very skilful in everything connected with the sea. There was about them a good deal of that kindly innocence which one somehow expects to find associated with a mild paternal government and a limited intercourse with the surrounding world, and Nigel was powerfully attracted by them from the first.

After an extensive ramble, during which Mr Ross plied the captain with eager questions as to the latest news from the busy centres of civilisation—especially with reference to new inventions connected with engineering—the island king left them to their own resources till dinner-time, saying that he had duties to attend to connected with the kingdom!

“Now, boy,” said the captain when their host had gone, “what’ll ’ee do? Take a boat and have a pull over the lagoon, or go with me to visit a family I’m particularly fond of, an’ who are uncommon fond of me!”

“Visit the family, of course,” said Nigel. “I can have a pull any day.”

“Come along then.”

He led the way to one of the neatest of the plank cottages, which stood on the highest ridge of the island, so that from the front windows it commanded a view of the great blue ocean with its breakers that fringed the reef as with a ring of snow, while, on the opposite side, lay the peaceful waters and islets of the lagoon.

A shout of joyful surprise was uttered by several boys and girls at sight of the captain, for during his former visit he had won their hearts by telling them wild stories of the sea, one-half of each story being founded on fact and personal experience, the other half on a vivid imagination!

“We are rejoiced to see you,” said the mother of the juveniles, a stout woman of mixed nationality—that of Dutch apparently predominating. She spoke English, however, remarkably well, as did many of the Cocos people, though Malay is the language of most of them.

The boys and girls soon hauled the captain down on a seat and began to urge him to tell them stories, using a style of English that was by no means equal to that of the mother.

“Stop, stop, let me see sister Kathy first. I can’t begin without her. Where is she?”

“Somewhere, I s’pose,” said the eldest boy.

“No doubt of that. Go—fetch her,” returned the captain.

At that moment a back-door opened, and a girl of about seventeen years of age entered. She was pleasant-looking rather than pretty—tall, graceful, and with magnificent black eyes.

“Here she comes,” cried the captain, rising and kissing her. “Why, Kathy, how you’ve grown since I saw you last! Quite a woman, I declare!”

Kathy was not too much of a woman, however, to join her brothers and sisters in forcing the captain into a seat and demanding a story on the spot.

“Stop, stop!” cried the captain, grasping round their waists a small boy and girl who had already clambered on his knees. “Let me inquire about my old friends first—and let me introduce my son to you—you’ve taken no notice of him yet! That’s not hospitable.”

All eyes were turned at once on Nigel, some boldly, others with a shy inquiring look, as though to say, “Can you tell stories?”

“Come, now,” said Nigel, advancing, “Since you are all so fond of my father, I must shake hands with you all round.”

The hearty way in which this was done at once put the children at their ease. They admitted him, as it were, into their circle, and then turning again to the captain continued their clamour for a story.

“No, no—about old friends first. How—how’s old mother Morris?”

“Quite well,” they shouted. “Fatterer than ever,” added an urchin, who in England would have been styled cheeky.

“Yes,” lisped a very little girl; “one of ’e doors in ’e house too small for she.”

“Why, Gerchin, you’ve learned to speak English like the rest,” said the captain.

“Yes, father make every one learn.”

“Well, now,” continued the captain, “what about Black Sam?”

“Gone to Batavia,” chorused the children.

“And—and—what’s-’is-name?—the man wi’ the nose—”

A burst of laughter and, “We’s all got noses here!” was the reply.

“Yes, but you know who I mean—the short man wi’ the—”

“Oh! with the turned up nose. I know,” cried the cheeky boy; “you means Johnson? He hoed away nobody know whar’.”

“And little Kelly Drew, what of her?”

A sudden silence fell on the group, and solemn eyes were turned on sister Kathy, who was evidently expected to answer.

“Not dead?” said the captain earnestly.

“No, but very very ill,” replied the girl.

“Dear Kelly have never git over the loss of her brother, who—.”

At this point they were interrupted by another group of the captain’s little admirers, who, having heard of his arrival, ran forward to give him a noisy welcome. Before stories could be commenced, however, the visitors were summoned to Mr Ross’s house to dinner, and then the captain had got into such an eager talk with the king that evening was upon them before they knew where they were, as Nigel expressed it, and the stories had to be postponed until the following day.

Of course beds were offered, and accepted by Captain Roy and Nigel. Just before retiring to them, father and son went out to have a stroll on the margin of the lagoon.

“Ain’t it a nice place, Nigel?” asked the former, whose kindly spirit had been stirred up to quite a jovial pitch by the gushing welcome he had received alike from old and young.

“It’s charming, father. Quite different from what you had led me to expect.”

“My boy,” returned the captain, with that solemn deliberation which he was wont to assume when about to deliver a palpable truism. “W’en you’ve come to live as long as me you’ll find that everything turns out different from what people have bin led to expect. Leastways that’s my experience.”

“Well, in the meantime, till I have come to your time of life, I’ll take your word for that, and I do hope you intend to stay a long time here.”

“No, my son, I don’t. Why do ye ask?”

“Because I like the place and the people so much that I would like to study it and them, and to sketch the scenery.”

“Business before pleasure, my lad,” said the captain with a grave shake of the head. “You know we’ve bin blown out of our course, and have no business here at all. I’ll only wait till the carpenter completes his repairs, and then be off for Batavia. Duty first; everything else afterwards.”

“But you being owner as well as commander, there is no one to insist on duty being done,” objected Nigel.

“Pardon me,” returned the captain, “there is a certain owner named Captain David Roy, a very stern disciplinarian, who insists on the commander o’ this here brig performin’ his duty to the letter. You may depend upon it that if a man ain’t true to himself he’s not likely to be true to any one else. But it’s likely that we may be here for a couple of days, so I release you from duty that you may make the most o’ your time and enjoy yourself. By the way, it will save you wastin’ time if you ask that little girl, Kathy Holbein, to show you the best places to sketch, for she’s a born genius with her pencil and brush.”

“No, thank you, father,” returned Nigel. “I want no little girl to bother me while I’m sketching—even though she be a born genius—for I think I possess genius enough myself to select the best points for sketching, and to get along fairly well without help. At least I’ll try what I can do.”

“Please yourself, lad. Nevertheless, I think you wouldn’t find poor Kathy a bother; she’s too modest for that—moreover, she could manage a boat and pull a good oar when I was here last, and no doubt she has improved since.”

“Nevertheless, I’d rather be alone,” persisted Nigel. “But why do you call her poor Kathy? She seems to be quite as strong and as jolly as the rest of her brothers and sisters.”

“Ah, poor thing, these are not her brothers and sisters,” returned the captain in a gentler tone. “Kathy is only an adopted child, and an orphan. Her name, Kathleen, is not a Dutch one. She came to these islands in a somewhat curious way. Sit down here and I’ll tell ’ee the little I know about her.”

Father and son sat down on a mass of coral rock that had been washed up on the beach during some heavy gale, and for a few minutes gazed in silence on the beautiful lagoon, in which not only the islets, but the brilliant moon and even the starry hosts were mirrored faithfully.

“About thirteen years ago,” said the captain, “two pirate junks in the Sunda Straits attacked a British barque, and, after a fight, captured her. Some o’ the crew were killed in action, some were taken on board the junks to be held to ransom, I s’pose, and some, jumping into the sea to escape if possible by swimming, were probably drowned, for they were a considerable distance from land. It was one o’ these fellows, however, who took to the water that managed to land on the Java shore, more dead than alive. He gave information about the affair, and was the cause of a gun-boat, that was in these waters at the time, bein’ sent off in chase o’ the pirate junks.

“This man who swam ashore was a Lascar. He said that the chief o’ the pirates, who seemed to own both junks, was a big ferocious Malay with only one eye—he might have added with no heart at all, if what he said o’ the scoundrel was true, for he behaved with horrible cruelty to the crew o’ the barque. After takin’ all he wanted out of his prize he scuttled her, and then divided the people that were saved alive between the two junks. There were several passengers in the vessel; among them a young man—a widower—with a little daughter, four year old or so. He was bound for Calcutta. Being a very powerful man he fought like a lion to beat the pirates off, but he was surrounded and at last knocked down by a blow from behind. Then his arms were made fast and he was sent wi’ the rest into the biggest junk.

“This poor fellow recovered his senses about the time the pirates were dividin’ the prisoners among them. He seemed dazed at first, so said the Lascar, but as he must have bin in a considerable funk himself I suspect his observations couldn’t have bin very correct. Anyhow, he said he was sittin’ near the side o’ the junk beside this poor man,