Tom Wallis: A Tale of the South Seas

Under the five oars-Tom tugging manfully at the bow, though still panting with his previous exertions-the boat soon cleared the entrance to the little rocky cove, which, during the old convict days, had been made into a fairly safe boat harbour-the only one, except an unfrequented beach under Pilot's Hill, for many miles along the coast. Five minutes after the oars had touched the water she was fairly racing seaward, for she was in the full run of the ebbing tide as it swept through the sandbanks and reefs which lined the narrow bar. Then, as the water deepened, and the current lost its strength, Foster shielded his eyes with his hands from the blazing sun, and looking ahead, tried to discern the approaching boat.

'I can't see her anywhere!' he exclaimed presently; 'easy there, pulling. Perhaps she's in a line with Kooringa Rock, and we won't see her for another half-hour yet. Jump up, Combo, and take a look ahead.'

Combo, a huge, black-bearded fellow, with a broad much-scarred chest, showed his white teeth, drew his oar across, and sprung upon the after thwart. For two or three seconds he scanned the sea ahead, then he pointed a little to the northward of Kooringa Rock.

'I see um,' he said with a laugh; 'he long way yet-other side Kooringa-two fella mile yet, I think it;' then he added that the people in the boat had ceased pulling, and that she seemed to be drifting broadside to the southward with the current.

Old Foster nodded. 'That'll do, Combo, my boy. You've eyes like a needle. I can't see for the sun blaze right ahead. Give it to her, lads;' then he kept away a point or two to the southward, so as to pass close under Kooringa Rock, against the grim, weed-covered sides of which only the faintest swell rose and fell, to sway the hanging masses of green and yellow kelp to and fro. At any other time Tom's eyes would have revelled in the sight, and at the swarms of fish of all colours and shapes which swam to and fro in the clear water around the rock, or darted in and out amongst the moving kelp; but now his thoughts were centred solely on the boat's present mission-they were going to rescue what would most likely prove to be shipwrecked people-perhaps foreigners who could not speak English! Oh, how beautiful it was! And every nerve and fibre in his body thrilled with pleasure, as, with the perspiration streaming down his face, he watched his oar, and listened for the next word of command from the old sailor.

For a brief minute or two, as the boat passed along the base of the towering dome above, the fierce sun was lost, and Tom gave a sigh of relief, for although he had thrown off all but his shirt and trousers, his exertions were beginning to tell upon him, and he looked with something like envy at the smooth, naked backs of Combo and his sooty companions, who took no heed of the sun, but whose dark eyes gazed longingly at the white masses of breeding gulls and boobies which covered the grassy ledges near the summit of the rock. Then out again into the dazzling glare once more, and Foster gave a cry-'Avast pulling! There she is, close to, but pulling away from us!'

Tom jumped up and looked, and saw the strange boat. She was not more than half a mile away, and he could see the people in her quite plainly; she was again heading towards the entrance to the bar.

'Give way, lads,' said Foster; 'they're only pulling three oars to our five, and we'll soon be within hailing of 'em. They can't make any headway against the ebb, when they get in a bit further, and are bound to see us afore many minutes.'

The crew-black and white-needed no encouragement, and without a word bent to their oars again, and pulled steadily on for less than a quarter of an hour; then Foster stood up and hailed with all the strength of his lungs; but still the three oars of the strange boat were dipped steadily though slowly, and she still went on.

'They're not looking this way,' muttered the old man to Combo and his listening companions; then Combo himself, drawing in a deep breath, stood up and sent out a long, loud Coo-ee-ee!

As the strange weird cry travelled over the waters, Foster and his companions watched intently, and then gave a loud hurrah! as they saw the rowers cease, and figures stand up in the other boat; then presently there came back a faint answering cry, and they saw an oar was up-ended, as a sign that they were seen. It stood thus for a few seconds, then was lowered, and the strange boat slewed round, and began pulling towards them.

'Steady, now steady,' said Foster, warningly, to his crew, who began pulling with redoubled energy. 'Go easy; we'll be alongside in no time now. Master Tom, in with your oar, and come aft here. Take out a couple of those bottles of water, and keep 'em handy, but put the others out o' sight until I tell you. There's a power o' men in that boat, I can see, and I know what happens to a man perishin' o' thirst, when he gets his lips to water, and has no one to stand by him and take a turn in his swallow.'

Tom stumbled aft pantingly, and did as he was bid, and then, looking up, he saw the other boat was not a hundred yards away, and appeared crowded with men. Then followed a wild clamour of voices and cries, as the two boats touched gunwales, and a strange, rugged figure, who stood in the stern, cried out to Foster-

'Thank God, you are a white man! Have you any water? – ours was finished last night.'

'Enough to give you all a small drink,' replied Foster, quickly, as he handed the bottles over to him one by one, 'but we shall be ashore in another hour. Now, sir, tell some of your men to get into my boat as soon as they've had a drink.'

Although the castaways were the wildest-looking beings ever seen out of a picture-book, they still preserved discipline, and one of them at once began sharing out the water to the others, whilst the man who was steering, with his hands shaking with excitement, poured out a little into a tin mug, handed the rest back to Foster with an imploring look, and then sank on his knees in the bottom of the boat beside a small, crouched-up figure clothed in a dirty calico shirt. As Tom bent over to look, he saw that it was a child-a little girl about five or six years of age. She put her hand out to the mug, and with her eyes still closed drank it eagerly.

'No more, sir, just now!' cried Foster warningly to the man, who, with a great sob of joy, and the tears streaming from his haggard and sun-blackened face, had extended his hand for the bottle, 'no more just now for the little one. Pass her into my boat, and get in yourself; but first take some of this,' and he poured out a full drink.

The officer took it, drank half, and then returned it. 'Is that all that is left? Are you sure that we are safe? For God's sake keep what is left for my child!'

'Ay, ay, sir. Have no fear. In another hour we shall be ashore. But hand me the little one, sir-pass me a tow-line here, some o' you chaps; an' you, Combo, an' Fly, an' the other chap, put on all your beef, and pull with all your might… Tom, you sit down there with the captain, an' hold the babby… Never fear, sir, he'll hold her safe, God bless her, dear little mite! … Cheer up, sir; food an' rest is all she wants, an' all you an' these other poor chaps want… Pull, Combo, my hearty; pull, Fly; send her along as she never went before.'

Tom, unheeding the excitement of those around him, as a tow-line was passed from the other boat and made fast, and Combo and his two black companions, aided by one of the castaway sailors, bent to their oars and tautened it out, was gazing into the face of his charge, who lay quietly breathing in his arms, whilst her father, weak and exhausted as he was, was telling old Foster his story of disaster and death. It was the first time in Tom's life that he had ever held 'a baby'-as he mentally termed the little girl-in his arms, and under any other circumstances his youthful soul would have recoiled from such a position with horror. But presently, as she turned her face to his, and said in a thin, weak voice, 'Give me some water, please,' he began to shake at the knees, and feel frightened and intensely sympathetic at the same time.

'Only a little, Master Tom; only a mouthful at a time;' and old Foster, his face aglow with excitement, handed him the bottle of water and mug, and Tom carefully poured out about a wine-glassful, and put it to the lips of what, to his mind, seemed more like a dying monkey, with a wig of long black hair, than a real human child.

As the boats drew near the little boat harbour under Pilot's Hill, even the exhausted seamen in the one which was being towed gave a faint cheer, shipped their oars, and began to pull. The sea was still glassy smooth, for it was in November, when a calm would sometimes last for three days and more, only to be succeeded by a black north-easterly gale.

Standing on the shore awaiting the boats were nearly every one of Mr. Wallis's people, who were presently joined by some few of the townspeople, who had heard of something being afoot at the Beach House, as the Wallis's place was called.

'Jump out, Master Tom,' cried Foster, as the leading boat touched the soft, yielding sand, 'and give the baby to Kate. She'll know what to do.'

Tom, his chest swelling with a mighty dignity, surrendered his charge to its father for the moment, leaped out of the boat, and then held out his arms again for it, as if he had been used to carrying babies all his life; and Kate Gorman, a big-boned red-headed Irishwoman, splashed into the water with eyes aflame, and whipped the child away from him, and then, followed by the other women, and cuddling the now wondering child to her ample bosom, she pushed through the rest of the people, and strode up the grassy hill, leaving Tom bereft of his dignity and importance together.

Food and drink in plenty had been brought by the women, as Foster had ordered, and the famished seamen, after satisfying themselves, lay down upon the sweet-smelling grass above high water, to stretch and rest their cramped and aching limbs, before setting out to walk to Beach House along the edge of the cliffs, for there was no other way. And then there came to Tom the proudest moment of his life, when old Foster, who was sitting on the grass with the dark-faced, haggard man whom he had addressed as 'Sir,' beckoned him to come near, and, rising to his feet, said-

'An' this, captain, is Master Tom Wallis, sir, the master's son. I sarved with his mother's father, an'-'

The captain stretched out his hand to the boy, and grasped it warmly, as Tom hung his head and shuffled his feet, his face a deep red the while with delight.

'An' now, Master Tom,' resumed old Foster, throwing back his chest and trying to speak with great dignity, 'there's a great responsibility on us until your father comes home. Do you think you can find him at Cape Kooringa, and tell him to come back as quick as possible, inasmuch as there is a party of sufferin' and distressed seamen a-landed at his door, one of which is a infant, and needs medical aid at once?'

Tom's face beamed. 'I can saddle a horse an' be at the cattle camp at Cape Kooringa long before sunrise. Is there any other message, Mr. Foster?'

'Yes; tell your father that there are thirteen men, includin' the captain, and one infant child. Name of captain Raymon' Cashall, name of ship Bandolier. Ran ashore on the south end o' Middleton Reef, on a certain date, slipped off again and foundered in deep water. One boat, with chief mate and seven men, still a-missin'. Can you remember all them offishul details, Tom?'

'Yes, Mr. Foster,' said Tom, who had before this heard the old sailor use similarly impressive language when occasion demanded it.

'Then, as soon as you gets to the house, and before you saddles your horse and goes off in pursooance of your dooty, I rekwests that you will rekwest Kate Gorman to send some person (Mrs. Potter's boy will do) to meet me and the captain and his distressed and sufferin' seamen, with two or more bottles of brandy, and some water, the key of the lazarette being in my room. Please tell your father that these are sufferin' an' distressed seamen, with an infant as mentioned, with no clothes, the ship having gone down sudden soon after strikin', the second mate an' the captain's wife havin' died through bein' drownded when the ship struck an' washed overboard by a heavy sea, with two men, a Bengalee steward, another man name unknown, and a native nurse girl.'

With this rapidly delivered and puzzling message beating kink-bobs in his already excited brain, Tom started off, hot-foot. The 'lazarette' he knew to mean the cellar-Foster was fond of using the term. Kate Gorman had lived with them ever since Jack's birth.

Kate, red-fisted, red-haired, and honest-hearted, met the boy at the door, her rough freckled face beaming with smiles, though her red-hot tongue had a minute before been going unusually fast, as she rated and bullied the under-servants for being slow in bringing 'hot wather and flannels for the blessed child.'

'The brandy shall Misther Foster have widin twinty minutes by the grace av God, for I'll bust open the dure av his lazzyrett widout trapasin' about for his ould keys. But not a step shall ye move yoursilf till ye've aten and dhrunk somethin' afore ye go ridin' along to Kooringa, an' the black of the night a comin' on fast.'

And then the big Irishwoman, bustling and bristling with importance, yet speaking in a low voice on account of the 'swate blessed choild'-who lay slumbering on a bed that in Kate's eyes was for ever sacred-hurried first to the kitchen, and then to the stables, and, before he knew it, Tom's horse was ready saddled, and a huge dinner steaming and smoking placed before him.

'I can't eat, Kate,' he said; 'it is no use my trying. I want to get to Kooringa Cape to-night. I promised Foster.'

Kate bent down and clasped him in her arms.

'An' God go wid ye, Tom, me darlin'. Shure there's no danger, tho' 'tis a lonely ride along the beach. An', Tom, darlin', me swate, ask your father to hurry, hurry, hurry. For tho' I've niver borne a child meself, 'tis plain to me it is that the little one that lies a slapin' in your own mother's bed, will niver, niver wake in this world, unless some strathegy is done. An' there's no docther widin fifty mile av Port Kooringa; but the masther is full av docthorin' strathegy. So away ye go, Tom, an' all the blessin's av God go wid ye.'

So Tom, with a thrill of exultation and pride, led his horse down the hill to the shore, and springing into the saddle, set off at a steady trot along the long curving beach, towards the grey loom of Kooringa Cape, fifty miles away.

CHAPTER III

HOW TOM LIT A FIRE ON MISTY HEAD, AND WHAT CAME OF IT

Restraining his desire to put his horse into a gallop, Tom went steadily along for the first eight or ten miles, riding as near as possible to the water's edge, where the sand was hard, though by this time the tide was rising, and he knew that in another hour he would have to leave the beach entirely and pick up a cattle-track, which ran through the thick scrub, a few hundred yards back from high-water mark. Although the sun was still very hot, a south-easterly breeze had sprung up, and its cooling breath fanned the boy's heated face, and gave an added zest to the happiness of his spirits, for he was happy enough in all conscience. Here was he, he thought, only thirteen years of age, and the participator in the rescue of a shipwrecked crew, the full tale of whose disaster had yet to be told. Where, he wondered, did the Bandolier sail from, and whither was she bound, when she ran ashore at Middleton Reef? Oh, how heavenly it would be to-morrow, when he, and his father, and Jack were back at home, listening to the story of the wreck! And what strange-looking, tattooed sailors were those with the reddish-brown skins, and the straight jet-black hair like Red Indians? South Sea Islanders, of course! but of what Islands? And how long would they stay at Port Kooringa? Oh, how beautiful it would be if they could not get away for a long time, so that he might make friends with them all! Perhaps some of the brown men with the tattooed arms and legs would teach him to talk their language, and tell him about their island homes, where the palm trees grew thickly on the beaches, and the canoes floated upon the deep blue waters of the reef-encircled lagoons! Perhaps Captain Casalle might take a liking to him, and-he bent over his saddle and flushed with pleasure at the mere thought-and take him away when he got another ship. Oh, he did so hope that his father and the captain would become friends; then it would be so much easier (the 'it' being his father's consent to his becoming a sailor).

And so with such thoughts as these chasing quickly through his imagination, he was at last recalled to the present by the sound of splashing about his horse's feet, as the spent rollers sent every now and then thin, clear sheets of water swashing gently up the sand.

'Come, Peter, old chap,' he said, patting his willing horse on the neck, 'we must get up out of this on to the track, it's getting too soft;' and jumping off, he led the animal straight up over the loose, yielding sand which lay between the water's edge and the fringe of the scrub. Taking a drink from his canvas water-bag as he reached the end of the sand, he mounted again, and was soon riding along the track, which ran through a forest of native apple, whose thick umbrageous canopies of dark green shut out the sunlight so effectually, that the sudden transition made it appear as if he had moved from light to semi-darkness. From the leafy crowns of the trees, and stretching across or hanging in giant loops upon the ground, or swinging high above, was a network of great snaky vines, black, brown, and mottled, and so full of water that, as Tom well knew, he had but to cut off a four-foot length to obtain a full quart of the clear though astringent liquid. Now and then, as his horse's shoeless feet disturbed the loose carpet of fallen leaves, a frightened wallaby would bound away with heavy thumping leaps into the still gloomier shadows on the left, or down towards the ocean, whose softened and lulling murmur sounded as if the shore on which its waves curled and broke were miles and miles away, instead of scarce more than a stone's throw; though now and then, when the sea breeze rustled the dome of green above, it sang its never-ending song in louder tone. Sometimes there came a whirr of wings, as with harsh screaming notes a flock of green and golden parrakeets, intent upon feeding on the ripe wild apples, would flash by, and their cries perhaps be answered by the long-drawn-out note of a stock-whip bird.

The end of the first belt of scrub at last, and Tom emerged out into the open again-a wide stretch of dried-up swamp, along the seaward margin of which the track led in a waving line of white, hardened clay. Far back on the other side were clumps of tall, melancholy swamp gums, and beyond these the thickly timbered spurs of the coast range, standing out clearly and sharply in the blaze of the sinking sun.

'Come, Peter, my boy, it's getting cooler now, and you shall have a drink when we get to the Rocky Waterholes, behind Misty Head;' and Peter, tough old stock horse, to whom fifty miles, with such a light weight and easy-handed rider as was Tom, was a matter of no hardship, shook his clean-cut head, and giving an answering snort, set off at a steady swift canter, glad to be free of the curse of pestering flies, which in the sunlight hung about his nostrils, and crept into the corners of his big black eyes. An hour later, and just as the sun had sunk, a blazing ball of yellow, behind the purpling range, Tom drew rein at a spot known as the Rocky Waterholes-a series of small deep pools of limpid water at the back of a headland, whose high bold front rose stark from the sea. He had still five and twenty miles to ride before reaching the cattle-camp at Kooringa Cape, where he expected to find his father and Jack-unless, indeed, he met them returning driving the missing cattle, which was hardly likely, without they had met with them near a great fresh-water swamp at the back of Misty Head. Anyway, he thought, he would give Peter a bit of a spell for half an hour. If his father and Jack were already returning, they would be almost sure to stop at the Rocky Waterholes, and wait till the tide fell again-which would be towards dawn-instead of trying to drive the cattle along the track through the scrub in the darkness, and run the risk of some of them breaking away, and being lost.

Leading Peter up to one of the Waterholes, he let him drink his fill, and unbuckling the ends of the bridle, turned the animal adrift to feed upon the sweet grass and juicy 'pig-face' growing lower down. Then a sudden inspiration came to Tom. He would light a fire on the top of Misty Head; it would only take a few minutes, and if his father and Jack happened to be near, they would be sure to come and see who had lit it, and thus he could not possibly miss them.

The landward side of the head was mostly covered with a dense thicket, resembling the English privet, but as it did not reach higher than his waist, Tom forced his way through, and with some difficulty reached the summit-a little cleared space less than half an acre in extent, and free of scrub, but covered with coarse, dry grass about a foot high, swaying and rustling to the wind, which as the sun set had freshened. Lower down, on both sides, were a number of thick, stunted honeysuckles; and feeling his way very cautiously-for a slip meant a fall of two hundred feet or more into the sea below-Tom began to collect some of the dead branches, and then returned with them to the top. Once he had lit a fire, he would have light enough to show him where to find a thicker log or two, for there were many dead honeysuckles about, he knew, as the place was familiar to him. Pulling up some of the dried grass, and placing some twigs on the top, he struck a match and lit the heap. It blazed up crisply, and in a few minutes he could see his surroundings clearly.