This man, although he was always taciturn and often surly, was the only human being on board with whom I had the slightest desire to become better acquainted. The other men, seeing that I did not relish their company, and knowing that I was a protégé of the captain, treated me with total indifference. Bloody Bill, it is true, did the same; but as this was his conduct towards everyone else, it was not peculiar in reference to me. Once or twice I tried to draw him into conversation, but he always turned away after a few cold monosyllables. As he now leaned over the taffrail close beside me, I said to him—
“Bill, why is it that you are so gloomy? Why do you never speak to anyone?”
Bill smiled slightly as he replied, “Why, I s’pose it’s because I haint got nothin’ to say!”
“That’s strange,” said I, musingly; “you look like a man that could think, and such men can usually speak.”
“So they can, youngster,” rejoined Bill, somewhat sternly; “and I could speak too if I had a mind to, but what’s the use o’ speakin’ here! The men only open their mouths to curse and swear, an’ they seem to find it entertaining; but I don’t, so I hold my tongue.”
“Well, Bill, that’s true, and I would rather not hear you speak at all than hear you speak like the other men; but I don’t swear, Bill, so you might talk to me sometimes, I think. Besides, I’m weary of spending day after day in this way, without a single soul to say a pleasant word to. I’ve been used to friendly conversation, Bill, and I really would take it kind if you would talk with me a little now and then.”
Bill looked at me in surprise, and I thought I observed a sad expression pass across his sunburnt face.
“An’ where have you been used to friendly conversation,” said Bill, looking down again into the sea; “not on that Coral Island, I take it?”
“Yes, indeed,” said I energetically; “I have spent many of the happiest months in my life on that Coral Island”; and without waiting to be further questioned, I launched out into a glowing account of the happy life that Jack and Peterkin and I had spent together, and related minutely every circumstance that befell us while on the island.
“Boy, boy,” said Bill, in a voice so deep that it startled me, “this is no place for you.”
“That’s true,” said I; “I’m of little use on board, and I don’t like my comrades; but I can’t help it, and at anyrate I hope to be free again soon.”
“Free?” said Bill, looking at me in surprise.
“Yes, free,” returned I; “the captain said he would put me ashore after this trip was over.”
“This trip! Hark’ee, boy,” said Bill, lowering his voice, “what said the captain to you the day you came aboard?”
“He said that he was a trader in sandalwood and no pirate, and told me that if I would join him for this trip he would give me a good share of the profits or put me on shore in some civilized island if I chose.”
Bill’s brows lowered savagely as he muttered, “Ay, he said truth when he told you he was a sandalwood trader, but he lied when—”
“Sail ho!” shouted the lookout at the masthead.
“Where, away?” cried Bill, springing to the tiller; while the men, startled by the sudden cry jumped up and gazed round the horizon.
“On the starboard quarter, hull down, sir,” answered the lookout.
At this moment the captain came on deck, and mounting into the rigging, surveyed the sail through the glass. Then sweeping his eye round the horizon he gazed steadily at a particular point.
“Take in topsails,” shouted the captain, swinging himself down on the deck by the main-back stay.
“Take in topsails,” roared the first mate.
“Ay, ay, sir-r-r,” answered the men as they sprang into the rigging and went aloft like cats.
Instantly all was bustle on board the hitherto quiet schooner. The topsails were taken in and stowed, the men stood by the sheets and halyards, and the captain gazed anxiously at the breeze which was now rushing towards us like a sheet of dark blue. In a few seconds it struck us. The schooner trembled as if in surprise at the sudden onset, while she fell away, then bending gracefully to the wind, as though in acknowledgment of her subjection, she cut through the waves with her sharp prow like a dolphin, while Bill directed her course towards the strange sail.
In half an hour we neared her sufficiently to make out that she was a schooner, and, from the clumsy appearance of her masts and sails we judged her to be a trader. She evidently did not like our appearance, for, the instant the breeze reached her, she crowded all sail and showed us her stern. As the breeze had moderated a little our topsails were again shaken out, and it soon became evident—despite the proverb, “A stern chase is a long one,” that we doubled her speed and would overhaul her speedily. When within a mile we hoisted British colours, but receiving no acknowledgment, the captain ordered a shot to be fired across her bows. In a moment, to my surprise, a large portion of the bottom of the boat amidships was removed, and in the hole thus exposed appeared an immense
