“I’ll ask him,” began Bob, then the one-eyed seaman entered and touched his brow.
“Cap’n’s compliments, Mr. Judson,” he said in his ever-respectful way, “and he wants you to send this here message.”
“All right, Birch,” and Mart took the note. “Just a moment! Did you ever hear of the Pirate Shark?”
For a moment both boys were frightened by the effect of those words. The old seaman whirled about, his one black eye blazing weirdly and his face contorted. Then he collected himself with a little laugh.
“Beg pardon, sir. That there word ‘pirate’ allus gets me, ’count of a brush I oncet had with pirates in the Sulu Sea. Why, sir, I’ve heard summat o’ that there fish; they say he’s a monster shark with a black fin, that he’s a man-eater, an’ haunts the pearl fisheries. Beggin’ your pardon, sir, but where might you have heard of him?”
“Oh, we just heard some of the men talking,” answered Bob carelessly, and Birch touched his forelock again and was gone. For a second time the boys’ eyes met.
“Holly, this doesn’t look right to me,” said Mart finally, his gray eyes hard. “Birch knows more’n he said. That explanation of his don’t go down with me, not a bit! I wouldn’t wonder if there was such a fish—right where we’re going, too!”
“By juniper!” Holly’s face was troubled. “Of course, it’s likely; such a fish would hang around the pearl beds, ’cause that’s where he’d most likely meet up with divers. If he’s a man-eater, he’d do that. The story sticks together pretty well, Mart! Of course we’ve got to remember that sailor yarns generally are stretched.”
“Well, you lay low,” cautioned Mart, reaching for his key and sending out a crashing spark in call, over and over. Then he leaned back and waited for an answer. “We can’t go to your dad with this, and anyway, Bob, there ain’t much behind it. Here—I’ll tell you! Mebbe that shark is there, and old Jerry got the dynamite to have some fun with on his own hook. If there was any wreck or treasure, he’d have kept his mouth shut.”
“That sounds more like it, Mart. Still, he’s a talkative old guy, and he likes us a heap, you in particular. There’s somethin’ queer about it, though. Jerry said that Dailey—the leathery old scoundrel—had sailed with him before; then there was that talk between him and Swanson. And have you noticed anythin’ queer about the way those men hang together?”
Mart sent him a quick look, as he adjusted his headpiece.
“Huh? Well, I’ve noticed that they obey Swanson a heap quicker than they do Peters. Peters got mad yesterday an’ knocked that grinnin’ Yorke galley-west! But they’re old men, Bob.”
“That’s just it,” returned Holly earnestly. “So’s Jerry old, and Swanson ain’t a spring chicken by any means. They hang together, that’s all. And remember, Jerry was the one that signed ’em all on. I’ll get dad to mention the Coralie one o’ these days.”
“Well, you go slow,” cautioned Mart again. “Hello—there’s a call—” he leaned forward. “TTY—that’s the Tenyo Maru. She’s just out o’ San Francisco, so she can relay a message, I guess. Golly, your dad’s keepin’ close watch on the stock market!”
He grinned as he sent out the message and Bob watched the blue spark leaping in fascinated silence. After all, this story of the Pirate Shark was a wild fancy, and these were the prosaic days of wireless and steam power; the whole tale was doubtless one of those strange and utterly improbable yarns that some intoxicated sailor cooks up and other sailors improve upon and embellish. At least, that was the opinion of the two boys as they left the wireless house and joined Captain Hollinger, who had just come to take the bridge. Mart wished they had not made Jerry that promise, however.
CHAPTER V
WHAT HAPPENED AT HONOLULU
Back in Honolulu Bay lay the Seamew, and here at Waikiki were Captain Hollinger, Bob, and Mart, spending two days at the great Moana Hotel. For Waikiki is the great seaside resort of Honolulu—throbbing with motor cars, gay with villas and stately with hotels; trolley cars running to the city brought out the tourists and surf-bathers, as well as everyone in Honolulu who could get a day off to go on a picnic.
To Mart it was wonderful in the extreme. Captain Hollinger was busy with his cables and letters, for after leaving Honolulu he would not be in touch with business or friends for three weeks or a month, except by wireless. So the two boys were seeing the sights by themselves, more or less, which did not detract from their enjoyment a bit.
It was the evening of their first day ashore, and the captain had gone over to the cable office. The boys, after dinner, had wandered around through the crowds, avidly watching everything, from the Portuguese women selling fruit, to the phosphorescent surf rolling in across the reef in the moonlight.
Finally they turned in at the big gateway of the Japanese Inn, tired and thirsty and with curiosity somewhat satisfied. A Japanese waiter, dressed in his white garments, received them smilingly and led them in through the building to the lanai, or veranda, opening on the beach.
They passed between the tables, where sat every kind of people—millionaire tourists, common sailors, magnificently gowned women, natives, townfolk—and finally dropped into chairs at a small table set among the palms and looking out on the sea. The place was set aside by itself, out of the glare of electric lights, and the two boys sighed contentedly as the music blared out inside and their little waiter bobbed respectfully.
“Mebbe you have some whiskey?” he queried with bland innocence. Bob grinned.
“No, thanks,” chuckled Mart. “Nothing in that line for us. Plain ice cream and melon for me.”
“Same here,” nodded Bob. The little waiter bobbed again and was gone.
“Golly, ain’t this quiet an’ restful!” breathed Mart. “This place is just like fairyland to me, Holly. I’d like to stay here a week instead of two days!”
“Oh, we got enough ahead of us,” laughed the other happily. “By juniper, this place is crowded! He must have stuck us off here in the corner because we didn’t look like good spenders, eh?”
At this juncture the little Japanese returned with their melon and ice cream, which he set down rather superciliously. Mart, who had been paid off that day, in common with the rest of the crew, handed him a dollar.
“Here, keep the change, and don’t come back for a while. We won’t order any more, and we’re going to stay right here, savvy?”
The little waiter bowed low, grinned cheerfully, and vanished behind the palms that hedged in their table. Both boys were rather glad to be out of the crowd, however; they could hear perfectly, could get occasional glimpses of the people around them, and out beyond them the white surf broke and maintained its low thunder as the tide came in.
Mart, who believed in “resting while the resting was good,” as he termed it, leaned back comfortably after his melon had vanished, and listened to the orchestra. Bob was too excited to keep quiet, however; he was taking peeps through the encircling palm branches, commenting on the curious jumble of people all about, and wishing that his father had been able to come with them.
“There’s a couple o’ British officers from the warship in the harbor, Mart!” he cried hastily. “There go those Chinese who were chattering away at the table next to us—wonder who’ll take their place?”
Mart grinned easily, taking no interest. Suddenly he saw Bob lean forward, as if unbelieving his own eyes; a flush came into the eager lad’s face, then he breathed a single incredulous gasp.
“By juniper!”
“What’s the matter now?” queried his chum unconcernedly.
“By juniper!” exclaimed Bob again, more slowly. Then he leaned forward, watching. “Look, Mart! Of all the nerve!”
His tone roused Mart, who leaned over the table, glancing through the same opening which Bob was utilizing. A waiter stood over the table just on the other side of the palms, pulling back the chairs; slouching into their places were three men. Mart’s eyes opened at sight of them, for they were no other than
old Jerry Smith, the one-eyed seaman Birch, and Yorke, the old seaman with the twisted, leering mouth that was always smiling horribly. Mart chuckled.
“Well, what about it, Holly? Haven’t they as much right here as we have?”
“But the nerve o’ them!” Bob straightened up, his blue eyes flashing angrily. “Seamen like them comin’ out here to Waikiki as if they were millionaires!”
“Well, I’m no millionaire myself,” rejoined Mart quickly. “Judging from the crowd, everybody’s welcome here that’s got the price to pay, Bob. You’re no better than anyone else, are you?”
“I didn’t mean that!” retorted his chum, flaring up. “And you know it. Only it seems funny. Huh! look at that!”
Mart looked again, and saw Jerry fling a gold piece to the waiter. The crew had been given their wages up to date, he knew, so there was nothing strange in this, but when the quartermaster carelessly waved the waiter to keep the change, it did look queer.
“Well, boys,” and the thin clear voice of old Jerry pierced to them, “here’s a health to the old crowd, and a quick passing to the PirateShark! Pity all the boys ain’t here.”
“Blast that Swanson!” growled the one-eyed Birch evilly. “He kep’ Jimmy Dailey an’ Borden in his watch—”
“Shut up!” snapped out Yorke, with a leer around. Jerry laughed softly.
“Perfectly safe, Yorke, perfectly safe! Best place to talk is in the middle of a crowd, as old Bucko Tom used to say. You mind old Bucko Tom, boys? Fish tell no tales—”
“Stow that jaw o’ yours,” exclaimed Yorke again. “I say it ain’t safe.”
The two boys looked at each other. Bob’s eyes were burning, and Mart knew his own cheeks were flushed.
“Lay low,” he said softly, his hand on Bob’s wrist. “There’s somethin’ going on here, Holly. Remember when Swanson an’ Jerry met, the night we sailed?”
Bob nodded excitedly, and Mart pressed him back out of sight. The young wireless operator was more deeply alarmed than he showed, and had no scruples about listening. They were not intentionally spying, and even if they had been, he would have thought little of it.
He remembered the strange things that had already chanced—the evident acquaintance between Swanson and the rest of their crew, the significant conversation between the first mate and the quartermaster, the tales about Jerry’s former life. Then there was this toast to the PirateShark! What did it all mean? And Bucko Tom—that was the man Jerry had “got” according to Swanson’s talk that first night. What was going on here beneath the surface? Could these old men really have all been part of a pirate crew in other days?
“That’s what it looks like,” concluded Mart under his breath, as he outlined his thoughts to Bob. Then he repressed his chum’s answer, for old Jerry’s voice was once more reaching them, soft and gentle as ever.
“The mystery o’ the sea, lads, wave after wave, wi’ the fish down below and us up above. Now, how’ll we make out with it? Singapore?”
“Singapore nothin’!” growled Birch, his one eye blazing darkly. “No British investigations for me, Shark Smith! No, I say let’s go up to Saigon or one o’ them there French ports.”
Yorke leered, his twisted mouth grimacing. “Birch is right, Shark. Keep away from the Britishers. You lads mind the time when the Coralie put into Sarawak—”
“None of that, Yorke, none o’ that!” warned Jerry, his voice piercing like a knife. “We ain’t back in ’Frisco now, remember that. Keep names out of it, lads.”
Mart thrilled excitedly as he caught a glance from Bob. Inwardly he determined to find out more about this mysterious ship Coralie.
As if they had taken caution, the three old men leaned over the table and spoke in whispers, Yorke’s twisted mouth leering, and Birch’s one black eye flaming across the table at the gentle, white-haired quartermaster. Mart noticed that they seemed to pay him deference, and he did most of the conversing, but so softly that no word reached the startled boys. Then the three rose, and Birch spoke in a louder voice.
“Well, Shark Smith’s got a head on him, lads! That’s the thing to do—wait. Joe Swanson won’t leave his old mates in a hole, neither. Wait—that’s the word!”
All three lurched off, but Bob gazed over at his chum in wild surmise.
“Mart, there’s somethin’ wrong, by juniper! What’s in the wind?”
“Search me, Holly. Of course it looks queer—but they’re all old men. I wouldn’t be s’prised if old Jerry was off his head, mumbling like he does. As far as being pirates goes, that’s all foolishness; pirates ain’t old men like them, and besides, piratin’ is gone out of style these days.”
“I guess that’s true, Mart. They’re all old men, for a fact, and I’ve noticed that Borden complains of rheumatism pretty bad. Pirates don’t have rheumatism, in any book I ever read. Still, they’re a queer gang—Birch with his one eye and Yorke with that silly-lookin’ twisted mouth of his.”
“Yes, they’re queer,” agreed Mart thoughtfully. “I tell you, Holly, let’s go back and put it up to your dad. He said he’d have more time to give us, now, and he’s a mighty square sort of man.”
“Yes, but we promised Jerry to keep quiet!” objected Bob hastily.
“Well, we don’t have to say anythin’ about the Pirate Shark, do we? That ain’t what’s on my mind, anyhow. I’m thinking about what they said about getting to Singapore or Saigon, and about the Coralie and the Melbourne, and all that. If they’re a gang of pirates, we want to know it. And your dad’s level-headed, Holly.”
To this Bob agreed, being himself in no little alarm over the things he had heard and the other things he imagined. So without more ado the two boys made their way back to the hotel, and with every step their imaginations rose higher. By the time they located Captain Hollinger in the writing room, both were flushed and bursting with their tidings. When the captain saw them, he gave a startled exclamation.
“Good gracious! What’ve you boys been up to? What’s the matter?”
“Come along up to the rooms,” said Bob mysteriously. “We’ve got some news.”
Captain Hollinger followed them, with laughing questions as to their evening’s amusement, but neither boy would say a word until they were safely within their rooms. Then Mart whirled about excitedly.
“Say, Cap’n, do you know we got a bunch o’ pirates aboard the Seamew?”
“We’ve—what?”
“You bet!” added Bob hastily. “Old Jerry Smith’s the head of the gang, and Joe Swanson was with ’em on a pirate ship!”
“Look here, what’s happened to you two?” exclaimed the captain wonderingly. “Are you trying to put up a joke on me?”
“Not much,” retorted Mart, and plunged into their story. With interruptions and additions from his chum, he managed to finish it with some degree of coherence, Captain Hollinger listening without comment. When they had done, he looked at Mart soberly.
“And you honestly believe those old men are pirates, eh?”
“Well, don’t it look like it?” answered Mart stoutly.
Captain Hollinger looked from him to the excited Bob, then with a stifled shout of laughter he dropped into a chair. For a moment he gave way completely to a wild spasm of mirth, laughing as Mart had never seen him laugh before, while the two boys began to feel sheepish and uncomfortable.
“Pirates!” gasped the captain at length. “Pirates! Oh, this is rich! Old Jerry Smith—steady Joe Swanson—Wow! It’s the best joke I ever heard!”
“Well, isn’t there something in it?” queried Bob sharply. His father wiped his streaming eyes and sat up.
“Why, of course not! Can’t you hear a gang of old sailors romancing and dreaming about the things they’d like to do, without going off at half cock this way! Oh, you’ll never hear the last of this, you two!”
And he went off into another fit of laughter.
“Never mind,” and Mart grimaced sourly; “you wait and see. You ask Swanson some day if he ever sailed
on a ship called the Melbourne.”
“Of course he did!” returned the captain, to the boys’ chagrin. “She was a ship lost at sea ten years ago—he was on his third voyage then, and drifted about in an open boat for three weeks before being picked up. Don’t I know his whole record? Look here, boys. There’s not a sailor alive who hasn’t had some mighty queer experiences, and you haven’t taken that into consideration. I never heard of the Coralie, and while I admit that Jerry may have seen piratical days, and probably has, the whole thing’s absurd on the face of it. Now get off to bed, and don’t chase any more wild geese!”
None the less, Mart turned to Bob while they sought their own rooms.
“That’s all right, Holly—but you just remember one thing. Your dad didn’t know anything about that Pirate Shark yarn—”
“Oh, shut up and go to bed!” grinned Bob delightedly. “We got excited, that was all. Forget it!”
But Mart did not forget it.
CHAPTER VI
THE FAR SEAS
Honolulu Bay, with its beautiful shores and white houses with red roofs, faded out behind the Seamew one sunny morning, and the two boys, up in the chart house with the captain, began to see wild visions of what lay before them. Taking a chart, Captain Hollinger traced out their future course across the Pacific.
“You see, boys, we can take a straight course east-south-east from the Islands. That brings us here, to the Philippines, but we’ll not stop. Going right ahead under Mindanao, we’ll round up into the Sulu Sea and cut through Balabac Straits, north of Bornea. That brings us in among the coral reefs—see how thick they’re marked on the chart?—and so straight across the south China Sea to Tringanu.”
“And this here’s Kuala Besut, eh?” Mart placed his finger on the Malay coast, just inside the Redang Islands.
“Right you are, Mart! You see how the coast is low all along there, with lagoons? Wait a minute—here’s a larger chart.”
Bringing out another chart showing the Malay coasts, the captain pointed to the river mouth in question.
“You see, there’s a lagoon inside the entrance, about nine miles long, and closed in from the sea by this island. Jerry says that the lagoon makes a fine harbor, and is deep enough for the yacht. There are no hills close to the coast, but there’s plenty of jungle, and we’ll find some tigers without trouble.”
The Pirate Story Megapack: 25 Classic and Modern Tales Page 250
