“Now,” he said triumphantly when he had finished and got the lock and bolts to work to his satisfaction, “we can stand a siege if needed, for as the ship is iron built they can’t even burn us out and that teak door would take some forcing. Also we can shore it up.”
“How about something to eat? I want my tea,” said Bastin.
“Then, my reverend friend,” replied Bickley, “take a couple of the fire buckets and fetch some water from the stream. Also collect driftwood of which there is plenty about, clean those fish and grill them over the saloon stove.”
“I’ll try,” said Bastin, “but I never did any cooking before.”
“No,” replied Bickley, “on second thoughts I will see to that myself, but you can get the fish ready.”
So, with due precautions, Bastin and I fetched water from the stream which we found flowed over the edge of the cliff quite close at hand into a beautiful coral basin that might have been designed for a bath of the nymphs. Indeed one at a time, while the other watched, we undressed and plunged into it, and never was a tub more welcome than after our long days of tempest. Then we returned to find that Bickley had already set the table and was engaged in frying the fish very skilfully on the saloon stove, which proved to be well adapted to the purpose. He was cross, however, when he found that we had bathed and that it was now too late for him to do likewise.
While he was cleaning himself as well as he could in his cabin basin and Bastin was boiling water for tea, suddenly I remembered the letter from the Danish mate Jacobsen. Concluding that it might now be opened as we had certainly parted with most of the Star of the South for the last time, I read it. It was as follows:
“The reason, honoured Sir, that I am leaving the ship is that on the night I tore up the paper, the spirit controlling the planchette wrote these words: ‘After leaving Samoa the Star of the South will be wrecked in a hurricane and everybody on board drowned except A. B. and B. Get out of her! Get out of her! Don’t be a fool, Jacob, unless you want to come over here at once. Take our advice and get out of her and you will live to be old.—Skoll.’
“Sir, I am not a coward but I know that this will happen, for that spirit which signs itself Skoll never tells a lie. I did try to give the captain a hint to stop at Apia, but he had been drinking and openly cursed me and called me a sneaking cheat. So I am going to run away, of which I am very much ashamed. But I do not wish to be drowned yet as there is a girl whom I want to marry, and my mother I support. You will be safe and I hope you will not think too badly of me.—Jacob Jacobsen.
I gave this letter to Bastin and Bickley to read and asked them what they thought of it.
“Coincidence,” said Bickley. “The man is a weak-minded idiot and heard in Samoa that they expected a hurricane.”
“I think,” chimed in Bastin, “that the devil knows how to look after his own at any rate for a little while. I dare say it would have been much better for him to be drowned.”
“At least he is a deserter and failed in his duty. I never wish to hear of him again,” I said.
As a matter of fact I never have. But the incident remains quite unexplained either by Bickley or Bastin.
VII
The Orofenans
To our shame we had a very pleasant supper that night off the grilled fish, which was excellent, and some tinned meat. I say to our shame, in a sense, for on our companions the sharks were supping and by rights we should have been sunk in woe. I suppose that the sense of our own escape intoxicated us. Also, notwithstanding his joviality, none of us had cared much for the captain, and his policy had been to keep us somewhat apart from the crew, of whom therefore we knew but little. It is true that Bastin held services on Sundays, for such as would attend, and Bickley had doctored a few of them for minor ailments, but there, except for a little casual conversation, our intercourse began and ended.
Now the sad fact is that it is hard to be overwhelmed with grief for those with whom we are not intimate. We were very sorry and that is all that can be said, except that Bastin, being High Church, announced in a matter-of-fact way that he meant to put up some petitions for the welfare of their souls. To this Bickley retorted that from what he had seen of their bodies he was sure they needed them.
Yes, it was a pleasant supper, not made less so by a bottle of champagne which Bickley and I shared. Bastin stuck to his tea, not because he did not like champagne, but because, as he explained, having now come in contact with the heathen it would never do for him to set them an example in the use of spirituous liquors.
“However much we may differ, Bastin, I respect you for that sentiment,” commented Bickley.
“I don’t know why you should,” answered Bastin; “but if so, you might follow my example.”
That night we slept like logs, trusting to our teak door
