The Chivalry of Captain Eckles

The Chivalry of Captain Eckles

by

Frank L. Packard, Lachine, P.Q., Canada.

From the Fonds of Frank L. Packard; also published first in New Story Magazine, v3 #3, January 1912.

12000 words

This story also appeared in Sea Stories magazine. I did quite a bit of work recovering the Sea Stories of A. Hyatt Verrill, nearly a decade ago with the assistance of a student librarian, since graduated. Verrill Over Seas was one such product. Another, Red Peter and Other Stories. Small world!/drf

I.

The Galway, of the M & G Line, was a tramp, frowsy of funnel, rusty of plate, a wanderer inveterate, whose comings and goings recognized neither schedule nor sea. China, the Persian Gulf or the North Atlantic, it mattered little to Messrs. MacNeil and Gleeson, the owners, who directed their letters to agents and skippers from a cobwebby office in Liverpool where their boats went or what they carried, so that they went somewhere and carried something—with profit. Therefore, there should be no cause for amazement that, on a certain afternoon pertinent to this tale, the position of the Galway was some fifteen degrees south of the equator in the neighborhood of the Fiji Islands.

In the cabin, Captain Eckles, who besides being a very fat and a very stubby little man was possessed of other tendencies—of which more hereafter—mopped at his pudgy face and bald head with an already damp handkerchief, for it was intensely hot, and fixed his round little eyes on Mr. Simpson, his chief officer.

“Tact and diplomacy, Mr. Simpson,” said he, pushing the bottle that lay between them across the table, “is what gives a man a pull over his follows that haven’t got it, as I’ve done my best to impress on you. Now, as I was saying, without showing my mind and what’s passing in it, I takes time to study the situation.”

“Straight from the shoulder every time, that’s me!” announced Mr. Simpson. “Have the codgers in here, sir, an’ screw any situation there may be out of ‘em, though I’ll say I can’t see where any situation comes in. Soft dealin’s only makes ‘em suspicious—they isn’t used to it.”

Captain Eckles sighed. “Mr. Simpson,” said he, “as a chief officer there’s none better than yourself, as I’ve had occasion to remark before and have told the owners time and again, but the astute handling of a delicate situation is not in your line.”

Mr. Simpson sniffed reminiscently.

“Now, this picking up of them two lonely Frenchies a half hour back,” continued the skipper, disposing of a neat four-fingers. “has furnished me food for thought. Putting two and two together and making deductions, which is a habit I’ve come by through cultivation and reading, I’ll say they ain’t shipwrecked from any vessel and that they ain’t been adrift more’n forty-eight hours or so, as you might think at first thought.”

“Go on, sir,” said Mr. Simpson resignedly, being very well acquainted with his commander. “How d’ye make that out?”

“Well,” said Captain Eckles impressively, “the boat they was in was a native shore craft.”

“Oh!” said Mr. Simpson.

“And the water they had left in their cask wasn’t hardly touched, Mr. Simpson.”

“No, sir; it wasn’t,” said Mr. Simpson with some sarcasm, that went over the captain’s head. “Blimy! I believe you’re right, sir.”

“I am,” said the fat little skipper pompously, “And now, having posteriorized the facts so’s we’ll know if they’re lying, I’ll ask you to pass the word for them to come aft.”

Mr. Simpson complied by sticking his head out of the port doorway, and, bellowing through his hands, succeeded in attracting the attention of Martin, the second officer, on the bridge, who relayed the message to the forecastle.

Mr. Simpson had barely resumed his seat when a scuffle of feet sounded along the deck and two very dark, sunburned, unkempt and half-clothed individuals, one tall and the other short, presented themselves in the doorway.

“Come in, my men,” invited the skipper affably. “Now then, let’s hear your yarn.”

The taller burst at once into voluble and excited French.

“Here,” interrupted Mr. Simpson, “give it lip in English. Don’t you lingo English?”

The speaker shook his head and turned appealingly to his companion.

“Spik Engleesh ver’ bad,” said the other.

“So you do,” said Captain Eckles heartily; “but that can’t be helped, so go ahead, where’d you come from?”

The man pointed quickly out through the doorway to where, far down on the horizon, a faint-blurred line was just discernible.

“That island out there?” inquired the skipper.

“Oui,” said the man.

Captain Eckles nodded his head. “You see, Mr. Simpson,” said he, “that’s what comes of taking forethought. We knows they’re telling the truth and are to be depended upon.” He turned to the man again. “Very good, my man. So far, it’s straight and ship-shape. And now what’s the cause of you two being out here in a cranky, leaky craft, and showing distress signals?”

Both men answered at once—in French. Their words tumbled out in wild excitement, their arms, gesticulating, performed many pantomimes. The taller evidently being possessed of greater staying power, finally terminated the medley.

“Des femmes, mon Dieu!” he gasped.

Captain Eckles strained face lighted intelligently.

“Femmes Mr. Simpson,” he translated importantly, “is French for ladies, I—”

“Oui, oui, oui!” burst out the English speaking Frenchman. “Yes, yes, ladees, capitaine—oh, mon Dieu!”

There was no mistaking either man’s distress. Captain Eckles looked from one to the other, then at Mr. Simpson and back again at the two men.

“Now look here,” said he earnestly, “you pay attention to me and we’ll get to the bottom of this. I used to speak French, I did, but I ain’t brushed up on it for some time, however, using my head, I never talked to any foreigner yet I couldn’t get the drift of what he said. So there’s ladies ashore there, eh? And judging from the way you looks and acts, you mean they’re in trouble?”

The two consulted together and the shorter addressed Captain Eckles painstakingly.

“We come wiz boat pour—pour—how you say?—sauver—save.”

“Save!” ejaculated the skipper, “Well, why didn’t you bring ‘em along with you, then? Bring ladies along, see?”—Captain Eckles made eloquent gestures, jabbing his thumb first into the chest of one then into the chest of the other, and then, stretching his arm shorewards, he crooked it and drew it toward him as though to bring the entire island bodily alongside the Galway.

“Non, non, non!” cried the little Frenchman fiercely. “Keel dem! “

“Killed!” gasped the rotund skipper weakly, starting back, his eyes popping. “Killed! Good Lord, Mr. Simpson, did you hear that? There’s been a rising of the natives and a massacre. I know I’d get to the bottom of this and that things weren’t all on the surface. These two‘ll be the survivors. All dead, eh?” said he, nodding in sympathetic understanding at the Frenchmen.

The taller was scowling in a wicked, harassed manner; the shorter shook his head vehemently.

“Dead; non, non. You ne comprenez pas. Mon Dieu! To keel, vous savez.”

“My word!” roared Mr. Simpson suddenly, at which both men jumped back in alarm. “You’re a sweet pair of holystonin’ ducks, you is! Why don’t you spit it out fair an’ square an’ tell us what you’re talkin’ about, instead of chatterin’ like chimpanzee apes?”

“Mr. Simpson,” said Captain Eckles with dignity, “I’ll thank you to hold your tongue. They’re doing the best they knows how without being bullied. I can understand ‘em, if you can’t.”

“Oh, very good, sir,” subsided Mr. Simpson ungraciously. “Handle ‘em the way you likes.”

“I’m beginning to see light,” said the fat skipper importantly. “‘To kill’ he says. He means they ain’t killed yet, but they’re going to be. What’s happened is this. The natives have risen, as I said, but they ain’t succeeded yet with their murder and riot. Now those two—ah, I have it! Mr. Simpson, what’s ‘man’ in French?”

“How should I know?” said Mr. Simpson sourly. “I never made no pretense to being rusty in French.”

Captain Eckles mopped at his brow for inspiration.

“Man. Man, you know, Man there?” he inquired, pointing shorewards again.

The Frenchman strove desperately to understand—the effort resulting in an impotent shrug of his shoulders.

“Wait!” cried Captain Eckles suddenly. “I knew it’d come, While I’ve been talking I’ve been thinking, Mr. Simpson, which is a habit, you’ll take note, that’s a good one. Um! That’s the word—um! Um ashore there? White um?” he demanded of the Frenchman.

“Homme?” repeated the Frenchman quickly.

“That’s it, my hearty!” beamed the skipper, “Um there:”—waving his hand toward the island, “White um?”

“Sacre damn! Oui, oui; yes, yes!” shrieked the short Frenchman, shaking his fist in the air.

“There,” Mr. Simpson, you see!” exclaimed the skipper triumphantly. “When I goes after a thing I gets it, for if there’s any one thing I prides myself on it’s pertinacity, and the handling of a matter with aplum.”

“I supposes that French,” sniffed Mr. Simpson.

“It is, Mr. Simpson,” returned Captain Eckles witheringly. “And it means doing a thing delicate and with tact and diplomacy. But we’re wasting precious time. The rest of their crowd’s ashore with the women, which accounts for these chaps putting to sea in a perilous craft to hail the first vessel as passed for help. It’s clear enough for any one to see, once they gets on the right track.” He turned to the Frenchmen, who were eyeing the Galway’s officers anxiously while they talked excitedly to each other. “Now then,” said he soothingly patting them on the shoulders as he decanted from the bottle, and, taking a drink himself, pressed one upon the two, “now then, understands, I does, and I’ll say you’ve acted noble. Furthermore, you’ve come to the right shop, you have. I’m a British ship and a British skipper, and what can be done I’ll do, according as all British seamen has done before me. Now you go for’ard”—motioning them to the door—“and rest up a spell and put your trust in Captain Henry Eckles, which is me.”

If the Frenchmen did not grasp the significance of the words, they at least did not fail in appreciation of the skipper’s very evident sympathy and friendliness. They grasped his hands and shook them, then they shook each other’s, and the relief that shone from their faces and exuded from their tones as they backed out of the cabin was very real.

“What I likes about foreigners is their gratitude,” announced the skipper, facing Mr. Simpson. “They makes it a pleasure to do ‘em a favor.”

Mr. Simpson’s response was an enigmatical grunt.

“And now, Mr. Simpson,” said the skipper, “we’ll alter course and stand in for the island.”

Mr. Simpson squinted incredulously at his commander.

“Blimy!” said he. “You don’t mean it, Captain Eckles.”

“I do, Mr. Simpson,” replied Captain Eckles. “And being skipper and my mind being made up I’m not to be otherwise persuaded.”

“But what for?” persisted Mr. Simpson. “Along of what was said by them there geezers, that there’s no understandin’ an’ which I wouldn’t believe on oath, not likin’ the looks of ‘em for all their bally gratitude?”

“I understood ‘em, Mr. Simpson,” returned the skipper severely; “and to my way of thinking there’s none so dense as them as wants to be. As for believing them, ‘tain’t a case of taking their say-so, having proved by deduction, as I’ve said, that they’re telling the truth and are to be depended upon.”

“An’ how about the owners, Captain Eckles, an’ a-puttin’ of the Galway, us bein’ loaded with a valuable cargo, in jeopardy? How about that?”

“Mr. Simpson,” said Captain Eckles, drawing himself up, “I knows my duty to the owners, none better; but first I knows my duty to my fellow creatures, and I’m sorely disappointed in a chief officer of mine and a British seaman turning a deaf ear to the cries of women in distress. Five years we’ve sailed together and from example I’d hoped better of you, Mr. Simpson.”

“Oh, that’s all right,” said Mr. Simpson, scowling. “Straight from the shoulder every time, that’s me, an’ if you wants to run the benighted scrouger ashore, or get your neck twisted when you gets there, or mix up in some giddy mess account of trustin’ in a couple of squiffy-faced foreigners, I‘ll say straight it’s your own lookout bein’, as you’ve remarked, skipper—only don’t say I didn’t warn you, Captain Eckles.”

“Mr. Simpson,” said Captain Eckles with finality, reaching for the bottle, “I’ll ask you to be so good as to proceed to the bridge and request Mr. Martin to work in toward the island, quarter-speed, while I has a look at the charts”

Mr. Simpson got up and went to the doorway.

“Oh, very well, sir,” he growled, as he went out, “if you will have it.”

II.

Mr. Simpson, black of face, lantern jaws protruding, swung his six feet of muscular body up the starboard bridge ladder, and, throwing etiquette to the winds, stalked to the engine-room indicator, grasped the handle none too gently and crashed it over to “quarter-speed.”

“Hello!” called Martin, the second officer, who had the watch, advancing from the other end of the bridge. “I say, what’s up, Mr. Simpson?”

Mr. Simpson did not answer immediately. He was scowling over the weather-cloth down onto the lower forward deck, from whence arose the shrill, excited voices of the two Frenchmen, their arms waving, shoulders shrugging, while around them, evidently trying vainly to understand, was grouped in a curious, perplexed and jabbering circle the Galway’s crew.

“Below there!” bawled Mr. Simpson suddenly. “Stow that ratty pair of caterwaulin’ cats in the foc’sle an’ let ‘em sleep it off! An’ as for the rest of you, you measly galoots, if you ain’t got anything to do, I’ll find something for you”—Mr. Simpson was not in an angelic mood.

“Aye, sir”—a half dozen voices promptly floated up to the bridge in chorus.

“Port!” snapped Mr. Simpson abruptly at the quartermaster.

“I say, you know,” repeated Martin, “what’s up?”

“Up!”—Mr. Simpson choked, and leading the second to the port end of the bridge pointed to the distant island. “That!” said he. “We’re a bally humanitarian relief expedition, we are—an’ all on account of them Frenchies that the Old Man has figured out is come from what’s goin’ to be a massacre ashore.”

“Holy sailor!” ejaculated Martin. “Is he drunk, would you say, Mr. Simpson?”

“Hot with rum,” said Mr. Simpson bitterly. “He’s no more than mellow with that, though he’s on the outside of half a bottle since eight bells an’ he’s showin’ some effects. It’s his overlastin’ tact an’ diplomacy an’ astuteness an’ plums, whatever that is, that an’ bein’ a gullible ass generally as is forever gettin’ hisself an’ us into trouble, as you well know.”

“And what happened, Mr. Simpson? And how did he find out where they came from? I didn’t know the Old Man spoke French.”

“Then you’ve missed somethin’, Mr. Martin,” said Mr. Simpson with exquisite sarcasm, ‘“What took place was like this”—and Mr. Simpson launched into a fervid narration of what had transpired in the cabin.

The second officer listened with attention.

“Well,” said he, when Mr. Simpson had finished, “do you know, I’m half inclined to believe that the skipper has the right of it. I’ve a book in my chest below dealing with the ethnologicality and other grounds of these parts, and from what I’ve read the natives are remarkable ugly both as to nature and looks, some of ‘em being untamed and cannibalistic in their ideas as some of the whites who’ve started trading stations on the islands have learned to their cost. I’ll lend you the book, Mr. Simpson, if you like.”

Mr. Simpson glared. “Blimy!” said he, in profound disgust. “Blimy, if you ain’t got the makin’s of another Captain Eckles in you, Mr. Martin!”

And then, before the second could reply, Mr. Simpson turned sharply toward the quartermaster. The Galway by this time had come around in a slow half circle, and, at right angles to her former course, was pointing her nose for the island. “Steady!” he rapped out. “Keep her as she goes.”

“As she goes. sir,” responded the quartermaster.

“An’ now, Mr. Martin,” remarked Mr. Simpson, starting for the head of the ladder, “if you don’t run on a reef while the Old Man is nosin’ around with his chart, you keep her as she is till you hears from him, the same bein’ his orders which I takes no responsibility for. An’ if the time hangs anyways heavy on your hands, you might get the skipper up here an’ talk over them ethygologics of yours a bit.”

Having to some extent relieved his feelings with this fling, Mr. Simpson descended to the deck, and, it being his watch off, retired to his cabin by way of washing his hands of the affair. Where he deposited himself on his bunk, and, though with no preconceived notion of doing so, indeed, rather the reverse, fell promptly, sailor fashion, into a doze.

Two hours later, he was awakened by the sudden cessation of the ship’s vibration, followed presently by the splash of the anchor and the rumbling of chain through the hawser pipe. Mr. Simpson went hurriedly on deck. It was growing dusk, but there was still light enough to show him a dark, tree-fringed shore line not a quarter of a mile from where the Galway lay. Mr. Simpson’s lips pursed up into a whistle, and then his eyes strayed forward as the skipper’s voice, hailing the bridge, came to him.

“Mr. Martin, I’ll ask you to pass the word for Mr. Simpson.”

“I’m here, sir,” announced Mr. Simpson, walking forward.

“Yes; so you are,” admitted the skipper, surveying his chief officer with a gravity approaching that of an owl. “So you are, Mr. Simpson.”

Captain Eckles was standing just forward of the bridge by the head of the starboard ladder leading to the lower deck. Both of his hands rested on the rail, and his face was very flushed.

“Mr. Simpson,” said he, with a slight lurch that although almost imperceptible, did not escape the chief officer’s eye, “Mr. Simpson, if there’s any one thing I prides myself on, apart from some others, it’s that of being open and above board with them that the dispensations of Providence has put under me, and, when discipline will permit it, of treating of ‘em as equals. I’ve taken thought while we’ve been working in, and, realizing the gravity of the situation, I can see it’s no more’n right that the hands should have an insight into what they’re enlisted on before we begins eventualities. So I’ll thank you, Mr. Simpson, to call the watch below and assemble the crew while I explains the casus belli to ‘em, as they say in matters of this kind.”

Simpson stared at his commander for a moment, then, with a snort, he stalked to the rail. There was no need, however, to call the watch below. To the last man, the crew of the Galway was at the ship’s side, their eyes glued on the land, while they scratched their heads and argued the pros and cons, strategic and otherwise, of what should have brought their present position to pass. Mr. Simpson’s hands went to his mouth trumpetwise.

“For’ard there, you star-gazin’ apes!” he bellowed politely. “Now then, you swine, muster aft here, an’ look slippy about it! The—”

“That’ll do, Mr. Simpson,” interposed the skipper severely. “That’s no kind of language to address to them as are mabbe about to sacrifice their lives in a noble cause.”

“Oh, Lord!” choked Mr. Simpson.

With a scuffle of feet, the fifteen men on the Galway’s articles, barring the engine-room crew, assembled at the foot of the ladder and raised expectant faces to their commander. Captain Eckles cleared his throat, grasped firmly with one hand at the rail, waved the other in an oratorical and embracing gesture and looked down upon them impressively.

“My men,” said he solemnly, and with a somewhat suspicious thickness of utterance, “some of you is Yankees and some of you is British, which you ain’t responsible for, but one end all I’m proud to say, having picked ‘em looking to that end, the crew of my ship is Anglo-Saxon to a man, which is the blood that’s made all foreigners sit up and take notice the world over.”

“’Ere, ’ere! You bet!” said the crew, in a mixture of Cockney and New York.

“Furthermore,” continued Captain Eckles, “it’s a well-known fact, though the Frenchies, who I’ll admit fair and square is very polite, think different, we hasn’t our equals when it comes to chivalry and the cries of helpless women rings in our ears. Now these Frenchies that has come aboard here this afternoon has set us an example that is an honor to ‘em, having committed a noble and heroic act, though we doesn’t need no example when it comes to the performance of duty, it being born in our race.” Captain Eckles paused and narrowed up his round, little eyes, searching the group below him. “Where is them Frenchies?” he demanded.

“Snoozin’ for’ard, sir,” said one of the hands. ‘Shall we haul ‘em out, sir?”

“No,” said the skipper. “There’s time enough for that when I’m through. I’ve no doubt they’re fair done with the hardships they’ve suffered, which is to their credit.”

“An’ what has they been an’ gone an’ done, sir?” inquired another member of the crew.

“You mustn’t interrupt, Jenkins,” said Captain Eckles. “I’m coming to that in time.”

“Why don’t you wait till to-morrow?” suggested Simpson pleasantly. “Mabbe the massacre ‘ll be over by then.”

“Mr. Simpson, that’s disrepect,” sputtered the skipper, wheeling unsteadily and glaring at the chief officer, “And if it wasn’t that I intend leaving you in command of the Galway, I’d send you to your cabin under arrest, I would. As a confidant and a right hand man, which is the first duty of all chief officers, Mr. Simpson, you’re a broken reed, biblically speaking.” He turned again to the crew. “Now then,” said he, “filling in the bare facts, than which in their harassed condition and being by nature Frenchies no more was to be expected from ‘em, what’s took place is this. The natives ashore has risen and has bottled up the women and them as is defending ‘em with the ultimate purpose of massacring ‘em and I makes no doubt of eating ‘em, being cannibals by birth. Then these two we picked up volunteers to reach the shore, does so gallantly, puts out in a boat in the hopes of meeting a vessel and giving the news, which they does. Now, I asks no man to go where I doesn’t go myself, and I asks no man to go unwilling. What I calls for is volunteers and I appoints the port watch as a landing party to avoid any partiality and the picking of one man out over another, knowing as how you’re all eager to go after an act like that by foreigners which—”

A wild and despairing shriek, followed instantly by another, terminated the skipper’s flow of eloquence with emphatic abruptness. The crew turned as a man, and Captain Eckles’ jaw dropped. Just outside the forecastle alleyway stood the two Frenchmen, and upon their whitened faces as they gazed shorewards was pictured unmistakable terror and anguish, for a moment they stood there, then, turning, they ran madly back and disappeared in the forecastle.

“Mister Jenkins,” said Mr. Simpson in a velvety voice, with a side glance at the skipper, “Mister Jenkins, be so kind as to take a couple of your fellow-gentlemen with you an’ escort them bally heroes out here will you!”

Captain Eckles mopped at his bald head, and as his jaw slowly closed a look of mingled amazement and perplexity settled upon his features, while a sound approximating a hiccough escaped his lips. Martin, the second officer, hung over the weather-cloth of the bridge, and, Mr. Simpson, catching sight of him, grinned derisively. The crew shuffled awkwardly, dividing their glances between their commander on the main deck and the forecastle head, from whence, presently, Jenkins emerged followed by two pitiful, abject figures, chattering shrill as magpies, who were being hustled along by two sailors in no more ceremonious a manner than was incident to a firm grasp on the nape of their necks and the slack of their trousers. Arraigned before Captain Eckles at the foot of the ladder, where they were surreptitiously kicked by the front rank of the crew, they made plain by incoherency that their longings for the shore were not intense.

“My word!” remarked Mr. Simpson. “A sweet pair of gallant jossers, they is! I hopes now, Captain Eckles, you’re satisfied. I warned you before that there was no stock to put into what they said, even if you’d understood ‘em, an’ this proves it.”

“And you’re wrong, Mr. Simpson,” said the skipper, puffing out his fat cheeks triumphantly as his look of perplexity suddenly vanished. “You’re wrong, Mr. Simpson, though I’ll admit for the moment I was taken aback. I over-rated ‘em, I did, judging ‘em as Yankees or Britishers under like circumstances and not making allowance for ‘em being foreigners. Instead of coming out to get help, they’ve sneaked away to save their own precious hides, they has, instead of standing by those in peril as they should; but that don’t in nowise alter my position, and with persuasion of a sort, though harshness is more in your line than mine. Mr. Simpson, they’ll still do to act as guides. And what’s more, Mr. Simpson, if you knew beans about logic you’d see two things from this here denooment.”

“French an’ logic I leaves for others,” submitted Mr. Simpson, with some irony.

“Which is as it should be—in some ways you’ve a head on your shoulders, Mr. Simpson,” retorted the skipper. “Now the first of the two things is this. The island, as you’ll mabbe have noted coming along this afternoon, is down on the chart as some twenty miles in length. ‘T’ain’t in reason to suppose that these two Frenchies knows more’n a bit of the shore, and what bit is that, Mr. Simpson, I asks you? Why the bit nearest there they was located. So when they comes on deck sudden and sees land and recognizes it, that’s the point, Mr. Simpson, recognizes it, what does it prove? It proves that we’ve brought up close to the seat of operations.”

“Blimy!” ejaculated Mr. Simpson, a grudging note of admiration in his tones. “Blimy, that’s as reasonable a thing as I’ve heard you say, sir.”

“Ah!” said the skipper. “I’m glad you’re beginning to see sense. Now the other thing is this. From the way they’re taking on”—Captain Eckles paused to gaze critically at the cringing, terrified, hand-wringing Frenchmen; and renew his own grip on the rail—“things ashore must be worse than ever I’d thought they were, for even foreigners don’t show the white feather like that without there’s something pretty bad back of it. And deductions being of no service to a man unless he can see far enough ahead of his nose to apply ‘em, I’ve decided I’ll change my tactic’s according, and instead of landing in force I’ll go ashore quiet and get the lay of things, taking them two Frenchies to show the way and two hands to look after the Frenchies.”

“And it’s my opinion, Captain Eckles, an’ I says it again,” returned Mr. Simpson, “that you’ll get yourself into a rare pickle, you will. I only hopes you comes out of it alive.”

“I’m not to be deterred on that account, Mr. Simpson,” replied the skipper throwing back his shoulders. “My mind’s made up, and seeing my duty and women in distress I does it.” He waved his hand at the crew. “Now then, that’ll do. You’re dismissed till I’ve made a my rayconysawnce and formulated the plan of attack, all except you, Jenkins, and you, Miller, who’ll go along with me and the Frenchies; which same Mr. Simpson, I’ll ask you to see stowed in the dingy, while I makes final preparations.”

“Oh, very good, sir, if you’re set on it,” growled Mr. Simpson, as the skipper retired to his cabin—and he bawled an order to lower away the boat.

This accomplished, the Frenchmen, kicking, squealing, protesting, pleading, were swung, much after the fashion of meal sacks, over the side and deposited on the boat’s bottom, where they were held in subjection by the brawny Jenkins, assisted by Miller, who, sitting, forward at the oars, occasionally flourished one in their faces as he waited for Captain Eckles.

Mr. Simpson surveyed the proceedings in grim silence, and as grimly watched the skipper emerge from his cabin a few minutes later and roll magnificently down the deck, wiping his lips the while with the back of his hand.

“Mr. Simpson,” said the skipper, halting before the chief officer, “I’m not blinding myself to the fact that there’s some risk that’s not to be avoided in what I’m undertaking, and though you’re a broken reed and I’m sadly disappointed in you, as I’ve said, I’ll ask you to keep a sharp lookout and stand by to send a supporting party after me, as they say, so be if I signals.”

“Yes, sir,” said Mr. Simpson contemptuously.

“A broken reed,” said Captain Eckles sorrowfully, as he took his fat, lumpy body laboriously over the side, “a broken reed, that’s what I has to depend upon.”

Mr. Simpson leaned over the rail and stared after the boat. “My word!” he muttered bitterly. “An’ that’s the kind as has ships, an’ me with a certificate these five years goin’ on six, an’—”

“I say, you know Mr. Simpson”—it was the second officer at his elbow— “we ought not to have let the Old Man go. I’m afraid he’s had a little too much and—”

“Of course, he has,” said Mr. Simpson petulantly. “Anyone with half an eye could see that; else he wouldn’t be doin’ what he’s a-doin’ of, would he?”

“But he’ll get into trouble and—”

“Of course, he will,” agreed Mr. Simpson. “He always does, don’t he?—an’ never profits by it! An’ how was we to stop him? He’s skipper, an’ he would go.”

“I hope he ain’t killed before he gets back,” said Martin.

“Gammon!” returned Mr. Simpson rudely. “Though I made the same remark to him myself, by way of discouraging of him, to my mind it’s all moonshine an’ the bally uprisin’ is in his eye.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” said Martin dubiously.

“No,” grunted Mr. Simpson disgustedly, as he started down the deck, “No; I don’t suppose you are, Mr. Martin. You an’ the Old Man are a pair, as I’ve remarked before.”

III.

Upon the Galway as she lay at anchor fell the serene peace of the tropical night. A faint breeze off shore brought its soft lullaby from the gently stirring tree-tops, and kissed the water into tiny ripples that lapped musically at the Galway’s sides.

Aboard, the crew in subdued, expectant excitement augmented the anchor watch by their full strength, lounging in little knots about the forward deck, their voices rising in a continual and monotonous hum.

Aft, the thick, rope-size end of a Manila glowed red as Mr. Simpson, puffing savagely, his hands thrust deep in his trousers’ pockets, paced the main deck, stepping occasionally to cock his ear shorewards or grunt disdainfully at some remark of Martin’s, who was chatting anxiously by the chartroom beneath the bridge with Mr. MacVeagh, the chief engineer.

It had just gone six bells in the first watch, which is to say about eleven o’clock, when the Galway was electrified out of its painful nervous tension into buzzing activity by a hail from forward.

“Boat comin’ off shore, sir!” piped the anchor watch his voice shrill with excitement.

“Right!” responded Mr. Simpson, and his tone, though gruff, betrayed unmistakable relief. “Now then, for’ard there, put a clapper on your tongues!” he added, striding to the rail to listen.

Here Martin joined him.

“Lord!” exclaimed the second, as they caught the splash of oars, “that’s a joyful sound. I don’t mind admitting I was beginning to get worried about the Old Man for all we haven’t heard any disturbance from the shore.”

Mr. Simpson’s voice boomed over the water. “Ahoy, there!” he bawled. “Is that you, Captain Eckles?”

The rowing stopped, and Jenkins’ voice answered:

“Beggin’ your pardon, sir, it’s me, sir, an’ Miller.”

“And where’s the skipper?” demanded Martin anxiously.

“The Lord knows, sir; we doesn’t,” said Jenkins. “Him an’—”

“Come aboard here,” ordered Simpson brusquely.

“Aye, sir,” responded Jenkins, “that’s what we’re a-tryin’ to do of, sir. That’ll do, you, Miller. Way enough”—the boat grated against the Ga1way’s side.

A moment later, both men swung aboard, and, while Miller formed the center of a circle of his mates who crowded excitedly about him, Jenkins came up the ladder to the main deck to make his report.

“Now then,” said Mr. Simpson, “give it lip. What’s this about not knowin’ where the skipper is? An’ where’s them there two Frenchies?”

“We doesn’t know where they is either, sir,” replied Jenkins earnestly; “though I passes you my word, sir, we done our best.”

“Well then, go on,” suggested Mr. Simpson impatiently. “Begin where you landed, an’ keep your jaw as close-hauled as possible.”

“Yes, sir,” said Jenkins respectfully, “We lands an’ stands them two Frenchies on their feet on the beach, an the skipper he talks earnest to ‘em in French—”

“In French, Jenkins?” inquired Mr. Simpson sarcastically.

“Well, sir; me nor Miller couldn’t make head or tail of what was goin’ on, save supposes it was French. After a bit them two geezers kind of cools down an’ talks to each other, like they was gettin’ over their fit, an’ Captain Eckles he says to me an’ Miller, ‘They’ve collected their unstrung nerves,’ he says, ‘an’ they’ll show us the way. ‘Marshay,’ says he to them, ‘an’, Jenkins, you an’ Miller fall in behind me an’ if you makes any noise it’s all up with us.’ So we proceeds quiet into the woods which gets thicker an’ pitch black, sir, as we goes along, the two Frenchies leadin’ an’ the skipper next with his revolver, which we is afraid ‘ll go off an’ kill us everytime he trips over the underbrush which he does frequent.

“I dunno how far we proceeds, sir, nor how long we is at it, but all of a sudden we hears a crash an’ the skipper sings out, ‘Oh, Lord, they’ve bolted they have, an’ I don’t dares to fire my revolver at ‘em on account of givin’ our position away to the enemy. Go after ‘em, Jenkins, an’ you, Miller, an’ bring ‘em back,’ he says, ‘or it’ll be the worse for you.’ ‘An’ which way has they gone?’ says I. ‘Port,’ says he, ‘an don’t give the beggars a mile lead while you’re talkin’ about it.’

“We hears ‘em breakin’ twigs an’ branches an’ me an’ Miller plunges after ‘em. It was cruel hard goin’, sir, so black you couldn’t see your hand afore your face, an’ the trees so thick you’d run slap against ‘em every step. I’m black an’ blue, I am, sir, with it, an’ so’s Miller.

“We nearly got the scrougers once, sir, just missin’ of ‘em by Miller a-comin’ a cropper over me. We kecps on a-chasin’ of ‘em followin’ by the sounds, though after that we realizes that by reason of ‘em growin’ less they’re gettin’ away from us, an’ after a spell we doesn’t hear them at all, an’ it not bein’ any more use we gives up an’ starts back for the skipper.

“But what with twistin’ an’ turnin’ an’ not bein’ able to see a thing, sir, we doesn’t know where we left him. We doesn’t dare to hail loud account of the skipper’s order an’ what might happen from it, so we thrashes around an’ keeps on tryin’ to find him half the night, sir, singin’ out cautious to which there aren’t no reply, an’ then we knows he an’ us is lost. Then Miller an’ me talks it over between us, an’ I shins up a tree to get the bearin’s of the ocean, an’ we finally makes our way down to the beach, an’ finds the boat, an’ puts off an’ you hails us, sir.”

“Hunph!” grunted Mr. Simpson. “An’ is that all, Jenkins? You didn’t hear anything ashore, or see any signs of trouble?”

“No, sir; not a bloomin’ thing, sir. I hopes we done right, sir.”

“You have,” said Mr. Simpson graciously. “You’ve shown more sense by comin’ back than I’d give you credit for. That’ll do now. Jenkins, you can go for’ard.”

“Yes, sir; thank you, sir,” said Jenkins.

“Good Lord!” ejaculated Martin, as Jenkins disappeared along the deck, “What’ll we do! The Old Man’s all alone and lost in the jungle.”

“He is,” agreed Mr. Simpson, with some complacency. “He’s all by his wild lone in the wild woods, as that there fellow Kipling says, an’ it serves him proper, it does, the silly ass. It’s too bad you ain’t with him, Mr. Martin, to discuss them ethygologics. As it is, bein’ prevented by the limitations of nature from climbin’ a tree, he’ll have a chance, he will, to sillyquize on plums an’ tact an’ diplomacy, an’ brush up his French a bit till it gets light.”

“And get murdered and killed,” said Martin miserably.

“My eye!” jeered Mr. Simpson. “Didn’t I tell you that bally uprisin’ was all rot, an’—”

“What’s that!” cried the second officer tensely.

Forward and aft, an awed hush fell suddenly upon the Galway; forward and aft, officers and men, as though struck dumb held their voices, straining ears and eyes shorewards, as from up the beach about a mile from where the Galway lay, and apparently a short distance inland, a red glow burst over the tree-tops and wild, unearthly, blood-curdling cries, intermingled with the basting of tom-toms, floated weirdly down to them.

“My word!” gasped Mr. Simpson, and he stared for a moment into Martin’s face that even in the darkness showed a sickly pallor.

“It’s,—Martin, It’s—”

“Mr. Martin,” broke in Mr. Simpson, recovering himself, “I knows what’s passin’ in your mind, an’ you needn’t say it. Straight from the shoulder every time, that’s me, an’ when I’m wrong I admits it, fair an’ square I admits it. An’ I’ll say now that mabbe the Old Man isn’t as far wrong as I thought he was, an’ I takes back what I said, seein’ that no doubt he’s in a tight hole at the present moment, for, lost or not, he’d find his way into trouble so be there was any within fifty miles of him.”

“Which is handsome of you,” responded the second. “But what’s to be done?”

“Go after him, of course,” snapped Mr. Simpson, with decision, “it ain’t to be said that I let any skipper of mine be made a juicy steak out of by any bally lot of cannibals without me liftin’ a finger to save him, an’ there ain’t any time to be lost. I’ll take half the hands an’ leave you the other half to look after the ship. What have we got for arms, Mr. Martin;”

“There’s a half dozen revolvers in the skipper’s cabin an’—”

“Get ‘em!” ordered Mr. Simpson tersely; then, raising his voice: “Now then, for’ard there!” he bellowed. “Man the two port cutters an’ look sharp. Lively, there, now, lively!”

Feet scurried, running, shuffling; voices rose and fell, gutturally, shrilly; came the creak of davit falls, the squeak of tackle blocks; a splash, another; oars rumbling into thole pins—and then silence.

“He’s taken every last revolver with him,” cried Martin breathlessly, running up to where Mr. Simpson stood .

“What!” choked Mr. Simpson; then, with unction: “Well I’m damned, I am! A bloomin’ arsenal he’s made of hisself, has he? Well, you’ve a couple, Mr. Martin, an’ so’s MacVeagh an’ so’ve I—get ‘em! An’ some of you for’ard”—he turned and shouted “pass a half dozen capstan bars into the boats—properly handled they’re not to be despised.”

A moment later, Martin having returned with the revolvers and the armament of the boats having been augmented by the somewhat ungainly clubs, Mr. Simpson dropped into the foremost cutter.

‘“Who’s cox in Number Two:” he demanded.

“Me, sir; Jenkins,” replied a voice through the darkness.

“Very good, Jenkins,” growled Mr. Simpson, “keep close behind me, an’ no slack jaw from any of you. Cast off now, an’ bend your backs to it!”

IV.

The cries, if anything, had increased in volume; the glow over the tree-tops become more lurid. Mr. Simpson’s features set grimly as he shaped his course in that direction, paralleling the shore. The tide was on the flood, and, a strong current aiding them, the boats covered the distance quickly. Landing, Mr. Simpson promptly lined up his club-armed party of eight on the beach, and served out his revolvers as far as they would go.

“Nov then, you ratty galoots,” said he, by way of inspiriting them, “what’s up, I dunno; but, whether it’s women or the skipper that’s bein’ massacred, I expects every man of you to show he’s got gizzards. Now then, follow me.”

There was a subdued cheer from the men in response, as they fell into single file behind Mr. Simpson, and crossing the stretch of sand, began to fight their way into the woods.

Jenkins description had not been distorted by imagination— it was very thick and the going was a succession of barked shins, bruised heads and elbows, stumbling feet and muffled, though none the less hearty, profanity. There was, however, no possibility of mistaking their way owing, not to Mr. Simpson’s woodcraft which consisted in sore havoc to his clothing and sorer havoc to his temper, but to the shouting, and cries that rang continuously, a deadly portent, in their ears.

Ten minutes passed, and then Simpson stepped suddenly out into what appeared to be a wide clearing. A structure of some sort loomed black ahead of him. He approached it cautiously. It was a small building either half demolished or whose erection had been rudely interrupted.

“Blimy!” muttered Mr. Simpson. “That looks bad, that does—”

“Beggin’ your pardon, sir,” broke in Jenkins, “we needn’t have come through the woods, sir. If we’d landed the other side of the point, we’d have had a clear stretch. You can see the white of the water breakin’ on the beach from here, sir.”

“So you can,” admitted Mr. Simpson in amazement. “An’ this is what’s left of one of them traders stores. But that’s not to be helped now.”

“There’s another one yonder, sir,” exclaimed one of the crew. “Over there where the trees seem to close in again just this side of where them yells are a-comin’ from.”

“Right!” said Mr. Simpson. “You’ve sharp eyes Peters. Now then, at the double!”

Along the clearing they ran pell-mell, clubs swinging, at Mr. Simpson’s heels. They halted for a bare moment at the second building, which presented no ominous aspect like the first save only for its air of desertion, then on again they went, heading in a bee-line for the cries. As they reached the forest edge, Mr. Simpson drew up and emitted a low whistle.

“Here’s a road or a path,” said he, “leadin’ right up, I takes it, to what’s goin’ on, an’ a bloomin’ streak of luck I calls it to have hit it. Mum an’ cautious now’s the word, for what we wants is to take them squiffy, blood-lettin’ heathen by surprise before we shows ‘em what’s o’clock, an’ we’re close aboard ‘em. Are you ready?”

“We is,” said the crew, grasping their capstan bars earnestly.

The path, or cutting, twisted now this way, now that, circling the heavier timber patches, but trending always in its general direction toward the shouting, yelling, tom-tom beating spot. As the Galway’s contingent made its way guardedly along, the pandemonium seemed to rise suddenly in an excess of fury, reaching its climax in an ear-splitting chorus of awful yells, and then, dying awry, an almost complete silence fell in its place.

“Holy sailor!” said Mr. Simpson through clenched teeth, halting so abruptly that the men behind almost climbed up his back. “We’re too late, we are! They’ve gone an’ done it an’ they’ve eaten the Old Man, which for all of him bein’ what he is I wouldn’t have had happened if I could have prevented it.”

“Oh, d’ye think so, sir?” asked the crew, in an awed whisper.

“Aye,” said Mr. Simpson, “they—”

Mr. Simpson stopped. Ahead, the underbrush snapped and crackled under some moving object, and there burst upon their startled ears a hoarse, hee-hawing laugh. This was repeated as it drew nearer, and yet again.

“Oh, Lord!” said Jenkins. “We’d better get out of the way, sir, an’ let it pass. I knows what that is, sir; it’s one of them wild hyenas with a tusk in his snout. The keeper at the London zoo he says they’re the savagest beast—”

“Hyenas don’t have tusks in their snouts,” corrected one of the crew. “I sees one at—”

“Shut up!” growled Mr. Simpson. He stopped a pace in advance, his big arm shot out and his fingers locked viselike upon wriggling flesh.

“Here, I say,” gurgled a voice, “take your filthy hands off my neck, will you!”

“Blimy!” gasped Mr. Simpson, starting back and letting go his hold. “it’s English, it is; an’ escapin’ from the massacre it’s gone its head with the horror of it, which accounts for his laugh.”

“Massacre?” said the voice, in bewildered tones; then, bursting into another laugh; ‘“Oh, yes; I didn’t get it at first. Massacre of the innocents, of course! Ha, ha. Ho, ho. He, he. Yes, yes, ‘pon my soul, that’s rather clever of you, you know.”

“Mad!” said Mr. Simpson pityingly. “here now, stov that. We’re friends, we are. What’s your name, an’ where did you come from?”

“Well,” said the other facetiously, “I’m a young man of twenty-eight, my name is Reginald Bertram Overholt Biggs, formerly of London, at present the agent of Messrs. Caxton and Periwinkle’s trading station back there in the clearing.”

“The one as is half in pieces?” demanded Mr. Simpson.

“Oh, no; rather not, you know!” replied Mr. Biggs coolly. “That belonged to two Frenchmen.”

“My word!” ejaculated Mr. Simpson. “Two Frenchies! We’re gettin’ on, we are.”

“Seen ‘em anywhere.” inquired Mr. Biggs. “A tall one and a short one.”

“We have,” said Mr. Simpson. “We picked the beggars up at sea.”

Mr. Biggs began to laugh.

“Now look here,” said Mr. Simpson, “mabbe it’s funny, an’ mabbe it ain’t; but what we wants to know is where’s our skipper, an’ what’s the moanin’ of this murder goin’ on yonder—so give it lip!”

“Murder!“ murmured Mr. Biggs. “There’s no murder yet, though I wouldn’t say but what there’ll be one or two before morning. I suppose you mean the marriage feast of His Royal Highness, King Koko.”

“Feast!” said Mr. Simpson faintly.

“Feast!” echoed the crew. “An’ is our Old Man there?”

“Yes,” said Mr. Simpson; “did you run acrost the skipper?”

“A fat little bounder with jig’s eyes and his pockets full of pistols?” inquired Mr. Biggs.

“That’s him,” said Mr. Simpson promptly; then hurriedly: “That is, mabbe it is; though I’ll ask you to preserve a civil tongue in your head when you’re referrin’ to him.”

“He’d been drinking,” said Mr. Biggs reminiscently; “and he was very set in his opinions, inquiring for some ladies in distress.”

“Jenkins,” said Mr. Simpson suddenly, “you an’ the rest of the lot stay here while I has it out with this chap.” He took Mr. Biggs’ arm and led him a few paces along the path out of earshot of the crew. “I’m beginnin’ to see light,” said he, “an’ if it’s what I thinks it is, for the sake of discipline, the less the crew knows the better.”

“By Jove!” said young Mr. Biggs. “Now, that‘s rather decent of you, you know.”

“That,” said Mr. Simpson modestly, “is as it may be. Now, what’s at the bottom of all this with you an’ the Frenchies an’ our Old Man? Spit it out, Mr. Biggs.”

“Why,” said Biggs nonchalantly, “those two Frenchmen had the beastly nerve to want to start a trading station here and get their fingers into some of old Koko’s copra. My firm would have been very much annoyed with me if they had succeeded, so it was quite out of the question—wasn’t to be thought of, you know. Violence, of course, Mr.—what did you say your name was?”

“Simpson,”

“Oh, yes, Simpson. You’re from the ‘Old Man’s’ ship, I suppose, Well, violence, besides being crude, Mr. Simpson, isn’t legal, so I introduced them to King Koko’s retiring harem, and, upon my soul, they had the insulting effrontery to the court to cut and run.”

Mr. Simpson scratched at his head and tried to make out the other’s features, but it was too dark to distinguish much more than a jauntily cocked pith helmet and a youngish face.

“Would you be loony now, by any chance.” he inquired anxiously.

“Oh, no; I think not, Mr. Simpson,” returned Mr. Biggs airily. “But perhaps you will get a more comprehensive grasp on the situation if I tell you that since the missionaries have been paying visits here the morality of the natives has progressed most astoundingly. For instance, no man is allowed more wives than one, though the female population far exceeds the male, except the king who has six that he changes each year—when he can. You see, he has to get some one to take them off his hands, marry them, you know, before he can draw new tickets in the lottery. The trouble’s been, the last few years, that there weren’t any of his male subjects of marriageable age who weren’t already spoken for, which was really a matter of great concern to his highness, he having been a little unfortunate in his last venture. However, King Koko, you must know, is a man not without optimism and the prospect of the two Frenchmen as suitors cheered him up considerably, for, of course, being of a station above the common herd and approaching that of royalty itself, it would be perfectly proper for them to have three wives apiece where he had six. So he was graciously pleased to bestow the six, three to each of the two Frenchmen.”

“To which you put him up to the a-doin’ of it of.” remarked Mr. Simpson.

“I think,” said Mr. Biggs, “it will be quite as well if we deal with this matter entirely in the abstract.”

“An’ they run away, did they?” said Mr. Simpson. “Blimy, if I sees what they did that for.”

“You must remember that you’ve never been presented at court, Mr. Simpson,” replied Mr. Biggs gently.

Mr. Simpson blinked, “Well,” said he, “I don’t know nothin’ about that, an’ I dunno as I cares. What I wants to know most is where’s Captain Eckles?”

“Captain Eckles was very keen on assisting ladies in distress, as I’ve said,” responded Mr. Biggs demurely. “Also, when he stumbled onto my house a couple of hours or so ago he was extremely domineering and exceedingly rude.”

“You—you mean,” said Mr. Simpson slowly, “you mean, you’ve turned him over to that there heathen potentate in place of one of them Frenchies?”

“Oh, no,” said Mr. Biggs pleasantly; “not at all. Captain Eckles is the most chivalrous man I ever met—I’d never think of ranking him on the same plane as the Frenchmen. The king received him as an equal, and he’s married the six.”

“Married the six!”—Mr. Simpson’s voice was a hoarse whisper from emotion.

“Yes,” said Mr. Biggs imperturbably. “It’s too bad you missed the ceremony, it was really worth while, it was just over as I left. You’ll notice peace and quiet reigns.”

Mr. Simpson’s hand came heavily down on Mr. Biggs’ shoulder. “Young man,” said he grimly, “if there’s any harm come to the skipper I’ll make monkey meat of you, I will.” he raised his voice and called to Jenkins. “Jenkins, you an’ the lot stay where you is till I gets back.”

“Yes, sir,” said Jenkins.

“Now then, Mr. Biggs, you lead the way to the skipper, an’ step lively,” ordered Mr. Simpson.

“Oh, all right, if you like,” said Mr. Biggs; “come on. Only, you’ve got your nerve with you, Mr. Simpson.”

“Eh?” said Mr. Simpson.

“Nothing,” said Mr. Biggs. “As it’s open back and front, we’ll steal around to the rear of the abode of conjugal bliss, so as not to disturb the rest of the village.”

The path ended abruptly after a very few steps, and Mr. Simpson rubbed his eyes. Flanking a huge fire of brushwood on either side was a row of huts; and around the fire, squatting on their haunches, the flickering light glistening from oiled skins, late stayers at the feast were still gorging themselves. Mr. Biggs pressed Mr. Simpson’s arm.

“It’s the first hut this way on the right,” he whispered. “You’d better make a note of the path here, for you may have to run for it if you’ve any ides of instituting divorce proceedings. Take your time now, don’t make any noise and keep in close to the trees. They can’t see us.”

Very cautiously the two men approached the hut. When with in a couple of yards of it, Mr. Biggs again pressed Mr. Simpson’s arm. “Listen!” he murmured.

From the interior came a soft cooing as of a dove-cote, interpolated by fitful bursts of wonderful and versatile profanity that lost none of earnestness from the weak and exhausted tones in which it was expressed.

“My word!” muttered Mr. Simpson. “Blimy, if that ain’t the Old Man!”

“Crawl up to the entrance,” suggested Mr. Biggs.

Mr. Simpson crawled—and halted. The hut had an opening at both ends, as Mr. Biggs had said, and the light from the brush fire unblushingly illuminated the interior. Upon the ground sat the pudgy, rotund skipper, and from his eyes gleamed a light that was near to that of madness. At times, he wriggled; at times, from physical inability to do anything else, he remained passive. Upon his knees there reposed two hundred pounds of unprepossessing femininity, around whose sylphine neck was affixed the skipper’s collar upside down. Two other of like intensions, who wore the cravat and cuffs of the Galway’s executive, clung affectionately to his shoulders; and yet two more, decked out in the bridegroom’s coat and waistcoat, hung tenderly to his hands; while the sixth, no less beauteous than the others, her nose ring and slender grass hobble skirt augmented by the commander’s shirt, forced morsels of food with wifely solicitude from an unappetizing mess on a plantain leaf into Captain Eckles’ mouth faster than he could spit it out.

A grin gradually widened and spread over Mr. Simpson’s face. He turned to Mr. Biggs—and the grin vanished—so had Mr. Biggs!

“My word!” communed Mr. Simpson. “He’s gone, he has, the swine. Now, here’s a bally go!” Then Mr. Simpson, after a moment’s perplexity, began to grin again. “Six of ‘em!” he confided to himself. “Oh, Lord, six of ‘em, an’ I’ll say fair an’ square I takes my hat off to them there Frenchies for runnin’, for it’s never been my bloomin’ lot to clap eyes on six uglier.”

Mr. Simpson jumped to his feet and projected himself suddenly into the hut. Startled and surprised, the women, with a chorus of squeals, let go of the object of their affections and collected in a corner.

“I’m surprised, I am, Captain Eckles, sir,” said Mr. Simpson coolly. “I’d never have thought it of you. It’s scand’lous.”

“Scandalous!” choked the skipper helplessly, as he spat and sputtered. “Scandalous! Kill ‘em, Mr. Simpson! Murder ‘em!” he pleaded fervently.

“That,” remarked Mr. Simpson, “is what them Frenchies said. Can you run, Captain Eckles?”

“I could if I had the chance,” said the skipper miserably.

“Well, you’ve got it,” said Mr. Simpson, grasping his commander by the belt and swaying him bodily to his feet. “Now then, sir, lively does it—oh, my word!”

The squeals rose into a threatening howl and upon Mr. Simpson, as he thrust the skipper through the opening, fell with fury and concert the disfranchised harem of King Koko, and for a moment it seemed that he would go down before the very weight and ferocity of the attack. They clawed furrows in his face, they tore at his hair, they pounded him, they scratched him, they bit him; and then, just as their screams found wilder echo from the natives by the fire, he managed to wrench himself free, grabbed at the skipper’s arm—and ran.

By a bare margin they reached the path in the lead, and Mr. Simpson bawled for Jenkins.

“Ahoy there, Jenkins! We’re comin’! A couple of you grab the skipper as we goes by an’ help him, for he’s fair done.”

“Aye, sir,” called out Jenkins. “An’ is the rest of us to run, sir?”

Mr. Simpson did not answer until he came up with the crew, when, without stopping, he pushed the puffing commander into the arms of two of the men and shoved them forward.

“Run!” he panted grimly. “Yes, you’re to run, Jenkins—there’s the whole bally village at our heels stirred up like a hornets’ nest.”

They ran the skipper in front, half dragged, half carried; Mr. Simpson bringing up the rear, adding his voice to the pursuing shrieks and screams as an incentive to lose no time. They dashed into the clearing, and taking advantage of the open stretch to the beach that Jenkins had discovered on the way in, headed for the water. Mr. Simpson cast a hasty glance at Mr. Biggs’ trading station as he went by—it was dark.

It was a very close race—exceedingly close. Women can not run as fast as men; but the male element of the village, though handicapped at the start, were not handicapped by a limp and helpless skipper throughout the race, and by the time the boats were launched and a stroke or two had shot them out of reach; the natives were no further behind than waist deep in the water.

Captain Eckles, gasping for breath like a fish out of water, lay weakly where he had been dumped in the stern sheets of the first officer’s cutter, and it was not until the yells and cries had somewhat subsided by reason of distance and they were nearing the Galway that he was sufficiently recovered to make any remark.

“Mr. Simpson,” said he, sitting up suddenly, “did you see anything of a white man ashore there.”

“Um?” inquired Mr. Simpson solemnly. “White um? I did, Captain Eckles; an’ it’s him you’ve to thank, for a-tellin’ of us where you was.”

“Damn him!” choked the fat little skipper, shaking his fist frantically.

“Which, if I’m not mistook,” said Mr. Simpson pleasantly, as he wiped the little rivulets of blood from his clawed face, “is what them Frenchies said, sir.”

Captain Eckles glared at his chief officer and swallowed hard.

“Mr. Simpson,” said he savagely, “hold your tongue!”

“Yes, sir,” said Mr. Simpson demurely, as the boat scraped the Galway’s side; “but for modesty’s sake, sir, put on my coat before you goes aboard.”

With an ungracious grunt, Captain Eckles wrapped the garment about his bare shoulders and waddled up the ladder.

“Get underway at once!” he snapped at Martin, who met him at the top—and disappeared into his cabin.

Half an hour later, just as it was breaking dawn and the Galway was drawing well away from the island, Mr. Simpson, who likewise had gone to his cabin, paused abruptly in his preparations for a well-earned sleep, as he caught the excited hail of Martin’s voice from the bridge, followed on the instant by the tinkle of the engine-room bells. Half dressed, he ran hastily for the deck, just as Captain Eckles, too, emerged from his cabin door.

“What’s—what’s wrong, Mr. Simpson?” inquired the skipper nervously.

“I dunno, sir,” replied Mr. Simpson.

Together they stepped to the deck—and together they halted halfway to the rail. Bobbing below in a cranky craft two men, one tall and the other short, gesticulating eloquently.

“Ladees!” screamed the shorter. “Keel dem! White homme! Sacre damn!”

“Blimy!” gasped Mr. Simpson. “Blimy, if it ain’t them there Frenchies!”

“Ladees! Sacre damn!” repeated the short, man earnestly.

Captain Eckles’ face grew very red. “D’ye—d’ye think, Mr. Simpson,” said he, “they’ve the temerity to be making fun of me?”

“I do not, Captain Eckles,” replied Mr. Simpson, with exquisite irony; “for by deduction an’ takin’ forethought, I’d say they was the truth an’ is to be depended upon, an’ is anxious to come aboard.’

“So they are,” said the skipper innocently; “and, though I’ve no cause to love ‘em, I’m nothing if not forgiving and I can feel for ‘em I can. Let ‘em come aboard.”

“See the geezers aboard, Mr. Martin,” bawled Mr. Simpson.

“But as for that forsaken ape of a trader,” said Captain Eckles suddenly puffing out his cheeks, “I knows the firm he works for and I‘ll make him sing small for it, I will. I’ll—”

“I‘ve a notion, Captain Eckles,” said Mr. Simpson blandly, “that you’d do well to do nothin’. It’s astoundin’, it is, the way news travels, an’ if it ever gets out about you havin’ committed bigamy, an’ gettin’ married to six, an’ it ever comes to Mrs. Eckles’ ears she—”

“Mr. Simpson,” said Captain Eckles hastily, “come into the cabin and have a glass before you turns in.”

The End.

[10000 words]