John Corwell, Sailor And Minor; and, Poisonous Fish by George Lewis Becke (good books to read for 12 year olds txt) 📖

eyes and slept.

The Malay waited patiently. One by one the remaining native fires on the shore went out; and, presently, a chill gust of air swept down from the mountains, and looking shoreward he saw that the sky to the eastward was quickly darkening and hiding the stars--a heavy downpour of rain was near.

He drew his kriss from its tortoiseshell sheath and felt the edge, made a gesture to the crouching tigers for'ard, and then stepped lightly along the deck to the open cabin door; the other four crept after him, then stopped and waited--for less than a minute.

A faint, choking cry came from the cabin, and then Selak came out, his kriss streaming with blood.

"It is done," he whispered, and pointing to the poop he sprang up.

"Hi, there! what's the matter?" cried Totten, who had heard the feint cry; and then, too late, he drew his pistol from his belt and fired--as Selak's kriss plunged into his chest. Poor Harris was slaughtered ere he had opened his eyes.

Spurning Totten's body with his naked foot, Selak cursed it. "Accursed Christian dog! Would I could bring thee to life so that I might kill thee again!" Then, as he heard the rushing hum of the coming rain squall, and saw that the shore was hidden from view, as if a solid wall of white stone had suddenly arisen between it and the ship, he grinned.

"Bah! what does it matter? Had it been a cannon instead of a pistol it could scarce have been heard on the shore in such a din."

Ordering the bodies of the two seamen to be thrown overboard, Selak, the most courageous, entered the cabin, took a couple of muskets from the rack, and some powder and ball from the mate's berth, and returning to his followers, bade them bring the boat alongside.

"Throw the woman after them," he cried to Nakoda, as the boat pushed off into the darkness, just as the hissing rain began. "We shall return ere it is dawn."

Nakoda would have sprung over the side after the boat, but he feared the sharks even more than Selak's kriss; so running for'ard, he crept into his bunk and lay there, too terrified to move.

* * * * *


Mallet and Corwell, with the natives, worked hard till near sunset, and then ceased.

"There's nearly five ounces in that lot, Mallet," said the captain, pointing to two buckets of wash-dirt. "Let us have a bathe, and then get something to eat before it is too dark."

"The natives say we ought to get back to the house, sir, instead of sleeping here tonight. They say a heavy storm is coming on, and we'll be washed out of the camp."

"Very well, Mallet I don't want to stay here, I can assure you. Tell them to hurry up, then. Get the shovels and other gear, and let us start as quickly as possible. It will take us a good three hours to get back to the house."

By sunset they started, walking in single file along the narrow, dangerous mountain-path, a false step on which meant a fall of hundreds of feet.

Half-way down, the storm overtook them, but guided by the surefooted natives they pressed steadily on, gained the level ground, and at last reached the house about ten o'clock.

"Now that we have come so far we might as well go on board and give my wife a surprise," said Corwell to Mallet. "Look, the rain is taking off."

"Not for long, sir. But if we start at once we may get aboard afore it starts again."

Two willing natives, wet and shivering as they were, quickly baled out a canoe, and in a few minutes they were off, paddling down towards the sea. But scarce had they gone a few hundred yards when another sudden downpour of rain blotted out everything around them. But the natives paddled steadily on amid the deafening roar; the river was wide, and there was no danger of striking anything harder than the hanging branch of a tree or the soft banks.

"I thought I heard voices just now," shouted Mallet.

"Natives been out fishing," replied Corwell.

As the canoe shot out through the mouth of the river into the open bay the rain ceased as suddenly as it began, and the _Ceres_ loomed up right ahead.

"Don't hail them, Mallet. Let us go aboard quietly."

They clambered up the side, the two natives following, and, wet and dripping, entered the cabin.

Corwell stepped to the swinging lamp, which burnt dimly, and pricked up the wick. His wife seemed to be sound asleep on the cushioned transom locker.

"Mary," he cried, "wake up, dearest. We---- ... Oh my God,Mallet!"

He sprang to her side, and kneeling beside the still figure, placed his hand on the blood-stained bosom.

"Dead! Dead! Murdered!" He rose to his feet, and stared wildly at Mallet, swayed to and fro, and then fell heavily forward.

As the two natives stood at the cabin door, gazing in wondering horror at the scene, they heard a splash. Nakoda had jumped overboard and was swimming ashore.

*****


Long before dawn the native war-drums began to beat, and when Selak and his fellow-murderers reached the mouth of the river they ran into a fleet of canoes which waited for them. They fought like the tigers they were, but were soon overcome and made prisoners, tied hand and foot, and carried ashore to the "House of the Young Men." The gold was taken care of by the chief, who brought it on board to Corwell.

"When do these men die?" he asked,

"To-day," replied Corwell huskily; "to-day, after I have buried my wife."

On a little island just within the barrier reef, she was laid to rest, with the never-ending cry of the surf for her requiem.

At sunset, Corwell and Mallet left the ship and landed at the village, and as their feet touched the sand the war-drums broke out with deafening clamour. They each carried a cutlass, and walked quickly through the thronging natives to the "House of the Young Men."

"Bring them out," said Corwell hoarsely to the chief.

One by one Selak and his fellow-prisoners were brought out and placed on their feet, the bonds that held them were cut, and their hands seized and held widely apart. And then Corwell and Mallet thrust their cutlasses through the cruel hearts.

*****



POISONOUS FISH OF THE PACIFIC ISLANDS

Many years ago I was sent with a wrecking party of native seamen to take possession of a Swedish barque which had gone ashore on the reef of one of the Marshall Islands, in the North Pacific. My employers, who had bought the vessel for L100, were in hopes that she might possibly be floated, patched up, and brought to Sydney. However, on arriving at the island I found that she was hopelessly bilged, so we at once set to work to strip her of everything of value, especially her copper, which was new. It was during these operations that I made acquaintance with both poisonous and stinging fish. There were not more than sixty or seventy natives living on the island, and some of these, as soon as we anchored in the lagoon, asked me to caution my own natives--who came from various other Pacific islands--not to eat any fish they might catch in the lagoon until each one had been examined by a local man. I followed their injunction, and for two or three weeks all went well; then came trouble.

I had brought down with me from Sydney a white carpenter--one of the most obstinate, cross-grained old fellows that ever trod a deck, but an excellent workman if humoured a little. At his own request he lived on board the wrecked barque, instead of taking up his quarters on shore in the native village with the rest of the wrecking party. One evening as I was returning from the shore to the schooner--I always slept on board--I saw the old man fishing from the waist of the wreck, for it was high tide, and there was ten feet of water around the ship. I saw him excitedly haul in a good-sized fish, and, hailing him, inquired how many he had caught, and if he were sure they were not poisonous? He replied that he had caught five, and that "there was nothin' the matter with them." Knowing what a self-willed, ignorant man he was, I thought I should have a look at the fish and satisfy myself; so I ran the boat alongside and clambered on board, followed by two of my native crew. The moment we opened the fishes' mouths and looked down their throats we saw the infallible sign which denoted their highly poisonous condition--a colouring of bright orange with thin reddish-brown streaks. The old fellow grumbled excessively when I told him to throw them overboard, and then somewhat annoyed me by saying that all the talk about them being unsafe was bunkum. He had, he said, caught and eaten just the same kind of fish at Vavau, in the Tonga Islands, time and time again. It was no use arguing with such a creature, so, after again warning him not to eat any fish of any kind unless the natives "passed" them as non-poisonous, I left him and went on board my own vessel.

We had supper rather later than usual that evening, and, as the mate and myself were smoking on deck about nine o'clock, we heard four shots in rapid succession fired from the wreck. Knowing that something was wrong, I called a couple of hands, and in a few minutes was pulled on board, where I found the old carpenter lying writhing in agony, his features presenting a truly shocking and terrifying appearance. His revolver lay on the deck near him--he had fired it to bring assistance. I need not here describe the peculiarly drastic remedies adopted by the natives to save the man's life. They at first thought the case was a hopeless one, but by daylight the patient was out of danger. He was never able to turn to again as long as we were on the island, and suffered from the effects of the fish for quite two or three years. He had, he afterwards told me, made up his mind to eat some of the fish that evening to show me that he was right and I was wrong.

A few weeks after this incident myself and a native lad named Viri, who was one of our crew and always my companion in fishing or shooting excursions, went across the lagoon to some low sandy islets, where we were pretty sure of getting a turtle or two. Viri's father and mother were Samoans, but he had been born on Nassau Island, a lonely spot in the South Pacific, where he had lived till he was thirteen years of age. He was now fifteen, and a smarter, more cheerful, more intelligent native boy I had never met.

His knowledge of bird and fish life was a never-ending source of pleasure and instruction to me, and the late Earl of Pembroke and Sir William Flower would have delighted in him.

It was dead low tide when we reached the islets, so taking our spears with us we set out along the reef to look for turtle in the many deep and winding pools which broke up the surface of the reef. After searching for some time together without success, Viri left me and went off towards the