Commodore Junk

“Why, who wants to do anything? Unless a man was in Ireland, where could he be better than he is here, with iverything a man could wish for but some more powder and a wife. Eh! Master Jack, ye handsome young rascal, that’s what ye’re always thinking about.”

“Jack” gave him an angry look, and coloured.

“Look at him!” cried Dinny. “There’s tell-tales. Niver mind, lad, it’s human nature, and we’re all full of it, and a good thing, too. Now come and get some cocoa-nuts, for the powder’s growing very low and we shall have to take to pig hunting instead of shooting when its done.”

“Jack” hesitated, and then, as if suddenly making up his mind, accompanied the Irishman to the nearest grove where the cocoa palms grew close down to the sea.

Here Dinny rolled up the sleeves of his coarse and ragged shirt, and climbed one tree as a lad does a pole; but the fruit when he reached it was immature, and he threw only one of the great husks down.

“We don’t want dhrink, but mate,” said Dinny, selecting another tree, and beginning to climb; but the day was hot, there was a languid feeling induced by the moist atmosphere, and Dinny failed three times to reach the glorious green crown of leaves where the nuts nestled, and slid down again, sore in body and in temper.

“A failure, Dinny!” said Jack.

“Failure! yes. Can’t ye see it is?” said the Irishman sourly, as he bent down and softly rubbed the inner sides of his knees. “Here, I’m not going to do all the climbing. You have a turn.”

“Jack” shook his head.

“No skulking!” cried Dinny; “fair-play’s a jool, me lad, so up you go. Ye’re younger and cleverer wid yer arms and legs than I am. Why, ye ought to go up that tree like a monkey.”

“Jack” shook his head and frowned.

“No,” he said, “I’m no climber. Let’s go back.”

“Widout a nut, and ready to be laughed at? Not I, me lad. Now, then, I shall have to tak ye in hand and mak a man of ye. Up wid ye.”

He caught the youth by the arm, and drew him, half-resisting, toward the tree.

“No, no, Dinny. Nonsense! I could not climb the tree.”

“Bedad, an’ ye’ve got to climb it!” cried Dinny. “Now, thin, take howld tightly, and up you go.”

“Loose my arm,” said Jack, speaking in a low voice, full of suppressed anger.

“Divil a bit. Ye’ve got to climb that three.”

“Loose my arm, Dinny,” said Jack again.

“Ye’ve got to climb that three, I tell ye, boy. Now, thin, no skulking. Up wid ye.”

“Jack” hung back, with the colour deepening in his cheeks, and a dark look in his eyes, which Dinny could not interpret and, half in anger at the lad’s opposition, half in playful determination, he grasped the youth firmly, and forced him toward the tree.

In an instant Jack flung himself round, with his eyes flashing, and before the Irishman could realise what was coming he went staggering back from the fierce blow he received in his chest, caught his heels against the husk of an overgrown nut, and came down heavily on the sand.

Dinny was an Irishman, and he had received a blow.

“Bad luck to ye, ye arbitrary young divil!” he cried, springing up. “It’s a big bating ye want, is it, to tache ye manners! thin ye shall have it.”

Jack trembled with indignation and excitement, but not with fear, for his cheeks were scarlet instead of pale. A blow had been struck, and he knew that no Irishman would receive one without giving it back with interest, and the only way out of the difficulty was to run, and he scorned to do that.

Quick as lighting he snatched a knife from his pocket, threw open the blade, and held it across his chest, half turning from his assailant, but with the point so directed that, if Dinny had closed, it could only have been at the expense of an ugly wound.

“Look at that now!” cried Dinny, pausing with hands raised to grip his adversary; “and me widout a bit o’ shtick in me fist. Ye’d shting, would ye, ye little varmint! Put down yer knoife and fight like a man. Bah!” he cried contemptuously, as his anger evaporated as rapidly as it had flashed up, “ye’re only a boy, and it’s no dishgrace to have been hit by one o’ yer size. I could nearly blow ye away. There, put away yer knoife and shake hands.”

A hail from the cluster of trees which they made their camp, and Bart and Abel came into sight.

Jack closed his knife with a sigh of relief, and dropped it into his pocket.

“An’ ye won’t shake hands?” said Dinny, reproachfully.

“Yes, I will, Dinny,” cried Jack, warmly, holding out his hand; “and I’m sorry I struck you.”

“That’s handsome, me lad,” cried the Irishman, gripping it tightly. “I’m not sorry, for it don’t hurt now, and I’m glad ye’ve got so much fight in ye. Ye’re a brave lad, and there’s Irish blood in ye somewhere, though ye’re ignorant of the fact. Hallo, captain! what ye’re going to do?”

Abel strode up with Bart at his side, looking curiously from one to the other.

“I want to have a talk with you two,” said Abel, throwing himself on the sand. “Sit down.”

“Did he see?” said Jack to himself, as he took his place a little on one side.

“A talk, and widout a bit o’ tobacky!” said Dinny, with a sigh. “What is it, captain, dear?”

“Bart and I have been thinking over our position here,” said Abel, “and we have determined to go.”

“To go!” said Dinny. “Why, where would ye foind a bether place?”

“That has to be seen,” said Abel; “but we can’t stay here, and we want to know where the nearest port to which we could sail and then get ship for home.”

“Get ship for the prison, ye mane!” cried Dinny, indignantly. “They’d send the lot of us back, and in less than a month you and Bart there would be hoeing among the bushes, young Jack here would be thried and punished for helping ye to escape, and as for me – well,” he added, with a comical grin, “I don’t, know what they’d do with me, but I’m sure they wouldn’t give me my promotion.”

“But we shall starve if we stay here,” said Abel, sternly.

“And is it shtarve wid you two such fishermen? Get out wid ye! Let’s build a hut before the rainy time comes, and settle down. Here’s as foine an estate as a gentleman need wish to have; and some day wan of us ’ll go for a holiday to Oireland or Shcotland, and persuade four illigant ladies to come wid us and be married; and what more could a boy wish for then, eh, Masther Jack? What do you say, Bart?”

“That we must go,” said Bart, gruffly.

“Let’s think it over first,” said Dinny. “At all events ye can’t go for months to come; for ye’d be taken for eshcaped prisoners at wanst; so, as we’ve got no vittles, let’s tak the boat and go out and catch some fish.”

Abel frowned, and seemed disposed to continue the discussion; but everyone else was silent, and he rose slowly, ready enough, from old associations, to obey a command. So the little party walked slowly down toward where the boat lay hidden, ready to row it out to the edge of one of the weed-hung reefs, where fish were plentiful; and in spite of the roughness of their hooks and lines a pretty good dish could always be secured.

They had reached the end of the ravine, where the trees and bushes grew thickly, and Jack, who was first, was in the act of passing out on to the sands of the little bay, when a great hand seized him by the shoulder, and he was dragged back.

His hand went to his pocket again in the instinct of self-defence, for it seemed to be a repetition of Dinny’s attack; but, turning sharply, he found that it was Bart who had dragged him back among the trees, and stood pointing seaward, where the solution of their difficulty appeared in, as it were, a warning to escape; for at about half a mile from the shore a white-winged cutter was coming rapidly toward the little bay; and as she careened over they could see that she was occupied by at least a dozen men.

“Quick, the boat!” cried Abel, excitedly.

“Are ye mad!” cried Dinny. “They could see us, and would be here before we could got round the point.”

“Right,” growled Bart.