A Son Of The Sun, Page 3

  Half an hour afterward his weary eyes were rewarded by a glimpse of twolights.

  "There they are, Jacobsen. I'll take the wheel. Run down thefore-staysail and stand by to let go. Make the niggers jump."

  Aft, the spokes of the wheel in his hands, Griffiths held the coursetill the two lights came in line, when he abruptly altered and headeddirectly in for them. He heard the tumble and roar of the surf, butdecided it was farther away--as it should be, at Gabera.

  He heard the frightened cry of the mate, and was grinding the wheel downwith all his might, when the _Willi-Waw_ struck. At the same instanther mainmast crashed over the bow. Five wild minutes followed. All handsheld on while the hull upheaved and smashed down on the brittlecoral and the warm seas swept over them. Grinding and crunching, the_Willi-Waw_ worked itself clear over the shoal patch and came solidly torest in the comparatively smooth and shallow channel beyond.

  Griffiths sat down on the edge of the cabin, head bowed on chest, insilent wrath and bitterness. Once he lifted his face to glare at the twowhite lights, one above the other and perfectly in line.

  "There they are," he said. "And this isn't Gabera. Then what the hell isit?"

  Though the surf still roared and across the shoal flung its sprayand upper wash over them, the wind died down and the stars came out.Shoreward came the sound of oars.

  "What have you had?--an earthquake?" Griffiths called out. "The bottom'sall changed. I've anchored here a hundred times in thirteen fathoms. Isthat you, Wilson?"

  A whaleboat came alongside, and a man climbed over the rail. In thefaint light Griffiths found an automatic Colt's thrust into his face,and, looking up, saw David Grief.

  "No, you never anchored here before," Grief laughed. "Gabera's justaround the point, where I'll be as soon as I've collected that littlesum of twelve hundred pounds. We won't bother for the receipt. I've yournote here, and I'll just return it."

  "You did this!" Griffiths cried, springing to his feet in a sudden gustof rage. "You faked those leading lights! You've wrecked me, and by--"

  "Steady! Steady!" Grief's voice was cool and menacing. "I'll trouble youfor that twelve hundred, please."

  To Griffiths, a vast impotence seemed to descend upon him. He wasoverwhelmed by a profound disgust--disgust for the sunlands and thesun-sickness, for the futility of all his endeavour, for this blue-eyed,golden-tinted, superior man who defeated him on all his ways.

  "Jacobsen," he said, "will you open the cash-box and pay this--thisbloodsucker--twelve hundred pounds?"

  Chapter Two--THE PROUD GOAT OF ALOYSIUS PANKBURN

  I

  Quick eye that he had for the promise of adventure, prepared always forthe unexpected to leap out at him from behind the nearest cocoanuttree, nevertheless David Grief received no warning when he laid eyes onAloysius Pankburn. It was on the little steamer _Berthe_. Leaving hisschooner to follow, Grief had taken passage for the short run acrossfrom Raiatea to Papeete. When he first saw Aloysius Pankburn, thatsomewhat fuddled gentleman was drinking a lonely cocktail at the tinybar between decks next to the barber shop. And when Grief left thebarber's hands half an hour later Aloysius Pankburn was still hangingover the bar still drinking by himself.

  Now it is not good for man to drink alone, and Grief threw sharpscrutiny into his pass-ing glance. He saw a well-built young man ofthirty, well-featured, well-dressed, and evidently, in the world'scatalogue, a gentleman. But in the faint hint of slovenliness, inthe shaking, eager hand that spilled the liquor, and in the nervous,vacillating eyes, Grief read the unmistakable marks of the chronicalcoholic.

  After dinner he chanced upon Pankburn again. This time it was on deck,and the young man, clinging to the rail and peering into the distanceat the dim forms of a man and woman in two steamer chairs drawn closelytogether, was crying, drunkenly. Grief noted that the man's arm wasaround the woman's waist. Aloysius Pankburn looked on and cried.

  "Nothing to weep about," Grief said genially.

  Pankburn looked at him, and gushed tears of profound self-pity.

  "It's hard," he sobbed. "Hard. Hard. That man's my business manager. Iemploy him. I pay him a good screw. And that's how he earns it."

  "In that case, why don't you put a stop to it?" Grief advised.

  "I can't. She'd shut off my whiskey. She's my trained nurse."

  "Fire _her_, then, and drink your head off."

  "I can't. He's got all my money. If I did, he wouldn't give me sixpenceto buy a drink with."

  This woful possibility brought a fresh wash of tears. Grief wasinterested. Of all unique situations he could never have imagined such aone as this.

  "They were engaged to take care of me," Pankburn was blubbering, "tokeep me away from the drink. And that's the way they do it, lollygaggingall about the ship and letting me drink myself to death. It isn't right,I tell you. It isn't right. They were sent along with me for the expresspurpose of not letting me drink, and they let me drink to swinishnessas long as I leave them alone. If I complain they threaten not to let mehave another drop. What can a poor devil do? My death will be on theirheads, that's all. Come on down and join me."

  He released his clutch on the rail, and would have fallen had Griefnot caught his arm. He seemed to undergo a transformation, to stiffenphysically, to thrust his chin forward aggressively, and to glintharshly in his eyes.

  "I won't let them kill me. And they'll be sorry. I've offered them fiftythousand--later on, of course. They laughed. They don't know. But Iknow." He fumbled in his coat pocket and drew forth an object thatflashed in the faint light. "They don't know the meaning of that. But Ido." He looked at Grief with abrupt suspicion. "What do you make out ofit, eh? What do you make out of it?"

  David Grief caught a swift vision of an alcoholic degenerate puttinga very loving young couple to death with a copper spike, for acopper spike was what he held in his hand, an evident old-fashionedship-fastening.

  "My mother thinks I'm up here to get cured of the booze habit. Shedoesn't know. I bribed the doctor to prescribe a voyage. When we get toPapeete my manager is going to charter a schooner and away we'll sail.But they don't dream. They think it's the booze. I know. I only know.Good night, sir. I'm going to bed--unless--er--you'll join me in a nightcap. One last drink, you know."

  II

  In the week that followed at Papeete Grief caught numerous and bizarreglimpses of Aloysius Pankburn. So did everybody else in the littleisland capital; for neither the beach nor Lavina's boarding househad been so scandalized in years. In midday, bareheaded, clad onlyin swimming trunks, Aloysius Pankburn ran down the main street fromLavina's to the water front. He put on the gloves with a fireman fromthe _Berthe_ in a scheduled four-round bout at the _Folies Bergeres_,and was knocked out in the second round. He tried insanely to drownhimself in a two-foot pool of water, dived drunkenly and splendidly fromfifty feet up in the rigging of the _Mariposa_ lying at the wharf, andchartered the cutter _Toerau_ at more than her purchase price and wasonly saved by his manager's refusal financially to ratify the agreement.He bought out the old blind leper at the market, and sold breadfruit,plantains, and sweet potatoes at such cut-rates that the gendarmeswere called out to break the rush of bargain-hunting natives. For thatmatter, three times the gendarmes arrested him for riotous behaviour,and three times his manager ceased from love-making long enough to paythe fines imposed by a needy colonial administration.

  Then the _Mariposa_ sailed for San Francisco, and in the bridal suitewere the manager and the trained nurse, fresh-married. Before departing,the manager had thoughtfully bestowed eight five-pound banknotes onAloysius, with the foreseen result that Aloysius awoke several dayslater to find himself broke and perilously near to delirium tremens.Lavina, famed for her good heart even among the driftage of SouthPacific rogues and scamps, nursed him around and never let it filterinto his returning intelligence that there was neither manager nor moneyto pay his board.

  It was several evenings after this that David Grief, lounging underthe after deck awning of the _Kitt
iwake_ and idly scanning the meagrecolumns of the Papeete _Avant-Coureur_, sat suddenly up and almostrubbed his eyes. It was unbelievable, but there it was. The old SouthSeas Romance was not dead. He read:

  WANTED--To exchange a half interest in buried treasure, worth five million francs, for transportation for one to an unknown island in the Pacific and facilities for carrying away the loot. Ask for FOLLY, at Lavina's.

  Grief looked at his watch. It was early yet, only eight o'clock.

  "Mr. Carlsen," he called in the direction of a glowing pipe. "Get thecrew for the whale-boat. I'm going ashore."

  The husky voice of the Norwegian mate was raised for'ard, and half adozen strapping Rapa Islanders ceased their singing and manned the boat.

  "I came to see Folly, Mr. Folly, I imagine," David Grief told Lavina.

  He noted the quick interest in her eyes as she turned her head and flunga command in native across two open rooms to the outstanding kitchen. Afew minutes later a barefooted native girl padded in and shook her head.

  Lavina's disappointment was evident.

  "You're stopping aboard the _Kittiwake_, aren't you?" she said. "I'lltell him you called."

  "Then it is a _he?_" Grief queried.

  Lavina nodded.

  "I hope you can do something for him, Captain Grief. I'm only agood-natured woman. I don't know. But he's a likable man, and he may betelling the truth; I don't know. You'll know. You're not a soft-heartedfool like me. Can't I mix you a cocktail?"

  III

  Back on board his schooner and dozing in a deck chair under athree-months-old magazine, David Grief was aroused by a sobbing,slubbering noise from overside. He opened his eyes. From the Chiliancruiser, a quarter of a mile away, came the stroke of eight bells. Itwas midnight. From overside came a splash and another slubbering noise.To him it seemed half amphibian, half the sounds of a man crying tohimself and querulously chanting his sorrows to the general universe.

  A jump took David Grief to the low rail. Beneath, centred about theslubbering noise, was an area of agitated phosphorescence. Leaning over,he locked his hand under the armpit of a man, and, with pull and heaveand quick-changing grips, he drew on deck the naked form of AloysiusPankburn.

  "I didn't have a sou-markee," he complained. "I had to swim it, and Icouldn't find your gangway. It was very miserable. Pardon me. If youhave a towel to put about my middle, and a good stiff drink, I'll bemore myself. I'm Mr. Folly, and you're the Captain Grief, I presume,who called on me when I was out. No, I'm not drunk. Nor am I cold. Thisisn't shivering. Lavina allowed me only two drinks to-day. I'm on theedge of the horrors, that's all, and I was beginning to see thingswhen I couldn't find the gangway. If you'll take me below I'll be verygrateful. You are the only one that answered my advertisement."

  He was shaking pitiably in the warm night, and down in the cabin, beforehe got his towel, Grief saw to it that a half-tumbler of whiskey was inhis hand.

  "Now fire ahead," Grief said, when he had got his guest into a shirtand a pair of duck trousers. "What's this advertisement of yours? I'mlistening."

  Pankburn looked at the whiskey bottle, but Grief shook his head.

  "All right, Captain, though I tell you on whatever is left of my honourthat I am not drunk--not in the least. Also, what I shall tell you istrue, and I shall tell it briefly, for it is clear to me that you area man of affairs and action. Likewise, your chemistry is good. To youalcohol has never been a million maggots gnawing at every cell of you.You've never been to hell. I am there now. I am scorching. Now listen.

  "My mother is alive. She is English. I was born in Australia. Iwas educated at York and Yale. I am a master of arts, a doctor ofphilosophy, and I am no good. Furthermore, I am an alcoholic. I havebeen an athlete. I used to swan-dive a hundred and ten feet in theclear. I hold several amateur records. I am a fish. I learned thecrawl-stroke from the first of the Cavilles. I have done thirty milesin a rough sea. I have another record. I have punished more whiskey thanany man of my years. I will steal sixpence from you for the price of adrink. Finally, I will tell you the truth.

  "My father was an American--an Annapolis man. He was a midshipman in theWar of the Rebellion. In '66 he was a lieutenant on the _Suwanee_. Hercaptain was Paul Shirley. In '66 the Suwanee coaled at an island in thePacific which I do not care to mention, under a protectorate which didnot exist then and which shall be nameless. Ashore, behind the bar of apublic house, my father saw three copper spikes--ship's spikes."

  David Grief smiled quietly.

  "And now I can tell you the name of the coaling station and of theprotectorate that came afterward," he said.

  "And of the three spikes?" Pankburn asked with equal quietness. "Goahead, for they are in my possession now."

  "Certainly. They were behind German Oscar's bar at Peenoo-Peenee. JohnnyBlack brought them there from off his schooner the night he died. He wasjust back from a long cruise to the westward, fishing beche-de-mer andsandalwood trading. All the beach knows the tale."

  Pankburn shook his head.

  "Go on," he urged.

  "It was before my time, of course," Grief explained. "I only tell whatI've heard. Next came the Ecuadoran cruiser, of all directions, in fromthe westward, and bound home. Her officers recognized the spikes. JohnnyBlack was dead. They got hold of his mate and logbook. Away to thewestward went she. Six months after, again bound home, she dropped in atPeenoo-Peenee. She had failed, and the tale leaked out."

  "When the revolutionists were marching on Guayaquil," Pankburn took itup, "the federal officers, believing a defence of the city hopeless,salted down the government treasure chest, something like a milliondollars gold, but all in English coinage, and put it on board theAmerican schooner _Flirt_. They were going to run at daylight. TheAmerican captain skinned out in the middle of the night. Go on."

  "It's an old story," Grief resumed. "There was no other vessel in theharbour. The federal leaders couldn't run. They put their backs to thewall and held the city. Rohjas Salced, making a forced march from Quito,raised the siege. The revolution was broken, and the one ancient steamerthat constituted the Ecuadoran navy was sent in pursuit of the _Flirt_.They caught her, between the Banks Group and the New Hebrides, hoveto and flying distress signals. The captain had died the daybefore--blackwater fever."

  "And the mate?" Pankburn challenged.

  "The mate had been killed a week earlier by the natives on one of theBanks, when they sent a boat in for water. There were no navigatorsleft. The men were put to the torture. It was beyond international law.They wanted to confess, but couldn't. They told of the three spikes inthe trees on the beach, but where the island was they did not know. Tothe westward, far to the westward, was all they knew. The tale now goestwo ways. One is that they all died under the torture. The other is thatthe survivors were swung at the yardarm. At any rate, the Ecuadorancruiser went home without the treasure. Johnny Black brought the threespikes to Peenoo-Peenee, and left them at German Oscar's, but how andwhere he found them he never told."

  Pankburn looked hard at the whiskey bottle.

  "Just two fingers," he whimpered.

  Grief considered, and poured a meagre drink. Pankburn's eyes sparkled,and he took new lease of life.

  "And this is where I come in with the missing details," he said. "JohnnyBlack did tell. He told my father. Wrote him from Levuka, before he cameon to die at Peenoo-Peenee. My father had saved his life one rough-housenight in Valparaiso. A Chink pearler, out of Thursday Island,prospecting for new grounds to the north of New Guinea, traded for thethree spikes with a nigger. Johnny Black bought them for copper weight.He didn't dream any more than the Chink, but coming back he stopped forhawksbill turtle at the very beach where you say the mate of the_Flirt_ was killed. Only he wasn't killed. The Banks Islanders heldhim prisoner, and he was dying of necrosis of the jawbone, caused by anarrow wound in the fight on the beach. Before he died he told the yarnto Johnny Black. Johnny Black wrote my father from Levuka. He was at theend of his rope--cancer. My
father, ten years afterward, when captain ofthe _Perry_, got the spikes from German Oscar. And from my father, lastwill and testament, you know, came the spikes and the data. I have theisland, the latitude and longitude of the beach where the three spikeswere nailed in the trees. The spikes are up at Lavina's now. Thelatitude and longitude are in my head. Now what do you think?"

  "Fishy," was Grief's instant judgment. "Why didn't your father go andget it himself?"

  "Didn't need it. An uncle died and left him a fortune. He retired fromthe navy, ran foul of an epidemic of trained nurses in Boston, and mymother got a divorce. Also, she fell heir to an income of something likethirty thousand dollars, and went to live in New Zealand. I was dividedbetween them, half-time New Zealand, half-time United States, until myfather's death last year. Now my mother has me altogether. He left mehis money--oh, a couple of millions--but my mother has had guardiansappointed on account of the drink. I'm worth all kinds of money, but Ican't touch a penny save what is doled out to me. But the old man, whohad got the tip on my drinking, left me the three spikes and the datathereunto pertaining. Did it through his lawyers, unknown to my mother;said it beat life insurance, and that if I had the backbone to go andget it I could drink my back teeth awash until I died. Millions in thehands of my guardians, slathers of shekels of my mother's that'll bemine if she beats me to the crematory, another million waiting to be dugup, and in the meantime I'm cadging on Lavina for two drinks a day. It'shell, isn't it?--when you consider my thirst."