by Jack London
"Where's the island?"
"It's a long way from here."
"Name it."
"Not on your life, Captain Grief. You're making an easy half-million outof this. You will sail under my directions, and when we're well to seaand on our way I'll tell you and not before."
Grief shrugged his shoulders, dismissing the subject.
"When I've given you another drink I'll send the boat ashore with you,"he said.
Pankburn was taken aback. For at least five minutes he debated withhimself, then licked his lips and surrendered.
"If you promise to go, I'll tell you now."
"Of course I'm willing to go. That's why I asked you. Name the island."
Pankburn looked at the bottle.
"I'll take that drink now, Captain."
"No you won't. That drink was for you if you went ashore. If you aregoing to tell me the island, you must do it in your sober senses."
"Francis Island, if you will have it. Bougainville named it BarbourIsland."
"Off there all by its lonely in the Little Coral Sea," Grief said. "Iknow it. Lies between New Ireland and New Guinea. A rotten hole now,though it was all right when the _Flirt_ drove in the spikes and theChink pearler traded for them. The steamship _Castor_, recruiting labourfor the Upolu plantations, was cut off there with all hands two yearsago. I knew her captain well. The Germans sent a cruiser, shelled thebush, burned half a dozen villages, killed a couple of niggers and a lotof pigs, and--and that was all. The niggers always were bad there, butthey turned really bad forty years ago. That was when they cut off awhaler. Let me see? What was her name?"
He stepped to the bookshelf, drew out the bulky "South PacificDirectory," and ran through its pages.
"Yes. Here it is. Francis, or Barbour," he skimmed. "Natives warlike andtreacherous--Melanesian--cannibals. Whaleship _Western_ cut off--thatwas her name. Shoals--points--anchorages--ah, Redscar, Owen Bay,Likikili Bay, that's more like it; deep indentation, mangroveswamps, good holding in nine fathoms when white scar in bluff bearswest-southwest." Grief looked up. "That's your beach, Pankburn, I'llswear."
"Will you go?" the other demanded eagerly.
Grief nodded.
"It sounds good to me. Now if the story had been of a hundred millions,or some such crazy sum, I wouldn't look at it for a moment. We'll sailto-morrow, but under one consideration. You are to be absolutely undermy orders."
His visitor nodded emphatically and joyously.
"And that means no drink."
"That's pretty hard," Pankburn whined.
"It's my terms. I'm enough of a doctor to see you don't come to harm.And you are to work--hard work, sailor's work. You'll stand regularwatches and everything, though you eat and sleep aft with us."
"It's a go." Pankburn put out his hand to ratify the agreement. "If itdoesn't kill me," he added.
David Grief poured a generous three-fingers into the tumbler andextended it.
"Then here's your last drink. Take it."
Pankburn's hand went halfway out. With a sudden spasm of resolution, hehesitated, threw back his shoulders, and straightened up his head.
"I guess I won't," he began, then, feebly surrendering to the gnaw ofdesire, he reached hastily for the glass, as if in fear that it would bewithdrawn.
IV
It is a long traverse from Papeete in the Societies to the Little CoralSea--from 100 west longitude to 150 east longitude--as the crow fliesthe equivalent to a voyage across the Atlantic. But the _Kittiwake_ didnot go as the crow flies. David Grief's numerous interests divertedher course many times. He stopped to take a look-in at uninhabited RoseIsland with an eye to colonizing and planting cocoa-nuts. Next, he paidhis respects to Tui Manua, of Eastern Samoa, and opened an intrigue fora share of the trade monopoly of that dying king's three islands. FromApia he carried several relief agents and a load of trade goods to theGilberts. He peeped in at Ontong-Java Atoll, inspected his plantationson Ysabel, and purchased lands from the salt-water chiefs ofnorthwestern Malaita. And all along this devious way he made a man ofAloysius Pankburn.
That thirster, though he lived aft, was compelled to do the work of acommon sailor. And not only did he take his wheel and lookout, and heaveon sheets and tackles, but the dirtiest and most arduous tasks wereappointed him. Swung aloft in a bosun's chair, he scraped the masts andslushed down. Holystoning the deck or scrubbing it with fresh limesmade his back ache and developed the wasted, flabby muscles. Whenthe _Kittiwake_ lay at anchor and her copper bottom was scrubbed withcocoa-nut husks by the native crew, who dived and did it under water,Pankburn was sent down on his shift and as many times as any on theshift.
"Look at yourself," Grief said. "You are twice the man you were when youcame on board. You haven't had one drink, you didn't die, and the poisonis pretty well worked out of you. It's the work. It beats trained nursesand business managers. Here, if you're thirsty. Clap your lips to this."
With several deft strokes of his heavy-backed sheath-knife, Griefclipped a triangular piece of shell from the end of a huskeddrinking-cocoa-nut. The thin, cool liquid, slightly milky andeffervescent, bubbled to the brim. With a bow, Pankburn took the naturalcup, threw his head back, and held it back till the shell was empty. Hedrank many of these nuts each day. The black steward, a New Hebrides boysixty years of age, and his assistant, a Lark Islander of eleven, saw toit that he was continually supplied.
Pankburn did not object to the hard work. He devoured work, nevershirking and always beating the native sailors in jumping to obey acommand. But his sufferings during the period of driving the alcohol outof his system were truly heroic. Even when the last shred of the poisonwas exuded, the desire, as an obsession, remained in his head. So itwas, when, on his honour, he went ashore at Apia, that he attempted toput the public houses out of business by drinking up their stocks intrade. And so it was, at two in the morning, that David Grief found himin front of the Tivoli, out of which he had been disorderly thrown byCharley Roberts. Aloysius, as of old, was chanting his sorrows to thestars. Also, and more concretely, he was punctuating the rhythm withcobbles of coral stone, which he flung with amazing accuracy throughCharley Roberts's windows.
David Grief took him away, but not till next morning did he take himin hand. It was on the deck of the _Kittiwake_, and there was nothingkindergarten about it. Grief struck him, with bare knuckles, punched himand punished him--gave him the worst thrashing he had ever received.
"For the good of your soul, Pankburn," was the way he emphasized hisblows. "For the good of your mother. For the progeny that will comeafter. For the good of the world, and the universe, and the whole raceof man yet to be. And now, to hammer the lesson home, we'll do it allover again. That, for the good of your soul; and that, for your mother'ssake; and that, for the little children, undreamed of and unborn, whosemother you'll love for their sakes, and for love's sake, in the leaseof manhood that will be yours when I am done with you. Come on and takeyour medicine. I'm not done with you yet. I've only begun. There aremany other reasons which I shall now proceed to expound." The brownsailors and the black stewards and cook looked on and grinned. Far fromthem was the questioning of any of the mysterious and incomprehensibleways of white men. As for Carlsen, the mate, he was grimly in accordwith the treatment his employer was administering; while Albright, thesupercargo, merely played with his mustache and smiled. They were menof the sea. They lived life in the rough. And alcohol, in themselves aswell as in other men, was a problem they had learned to handle in waysnot taught in doctors' schools.
"Boy! A bucket of fresh water and a towel," Grief ordered, when he hadfinished. "Two buckets and two towels," he added, as he surveyed his ownhands.
"You're a pretty one," he said to Pankburn. "You've spoiled everything.I had the poison completely out of you. And now you are fairly reekingwith it. We've got to begin all over again. Mr. Albright! You know thatpile of old chain on the beach at the boat-landing. Find the owner, buyit, and fetch it on board. There must be a hundred and fifty fat
homs ofit. Pankburn! To-morrow morning you start in pounding the rust off ofit. When you've done that, you'll sandpaper it. Then you'll paint it.And nothing else will you do till that chain is as smooth as new."
Aloysius Pankburn shook his head.
"I quit. Francis Island can go to hell for all of me. I'm done with yourslave-driving. Kindly put me ashore at once. I'm a white man. You can'ttreat me this way."
"Mr. Carlsen, you will see that Mr. Pankburn remains on board."
"I'll have you broken for this!" Aloysius screamed. "You can't stop me."
"I can give you another licking," Grief answered. "And let me tell youone thing, you besotted whelp, I'll keep on licking you as long as myknuckles hold out or until you yearn to hammer chain rust. I've takenyou in hand, and I'm going to make a man out of you if I have to killyou to do it. Now go below and change your clothes. Be ready to turnto with a hammer this afternoon. Mr. Albright, get that chain aboardpronto. Mr. Carlsen, send the boats ashore after it. Also, keep your eyeon Pankburn. If he shows signs of keeling over or going into the shakes,give him a nip--a small one. He may need it after last night."
V
For the rest of the time the _Kittiwake_ lay in Apia Aloysius Pankburnpounded chain rust. Ten hours a day he pounded. And on the long stretchacross to the Gilberts he still pounded.
Then came the sandpapering. One hundred and fifty fathoms is ninehundred feet, and every link of all that length was smoothed andpolished as no link ever was before. And when the last link had receivedits second coat of black paint, he declared himself.
"Come on with more dirty work," he told Grief. "I'll overhaul the otherchains if you say so. And you needn't worry about me any more. I'm notgoing to take another drop. I'm going to train up. You got my proudgoat when you beat me, but let me tell you, you only got it temporarily.Train! I'm going to train till I'm as hard all the way through, andclean all the way through, as that chain is. And some day, Mister DavidGrief, somewhere, somehow, I'm going to be in such shape that I'll lickyou as you licked me. I'm going to pulp your face till your own niggerswon't know you."
Grief was jubilant.
"Now you're talking like a man," he cried. "The only way you'll everlick me is to become a man. And then, maybe--"
He paused in the hope that the other would catch the suggestion.Aloysius groped for it, and, abruptly, something akin to illuminationshone in his eyes.
"And then I won't want to, you mean?"
Grief nodded.
"And that's the curse of it," Aloysius lamented. "I really believe Iwon't want to. I see the point. But I'm going to go right on and shapemyself up just the same."
The warm, sunburn glow in Grief's face seemed to grow warmer. His handwent out.
"Pankburn, I love you right now for that."
Aloysius grasped the hand, and shook his head in sad sincerity.
"Grief," he mourned, "you've got my goat, you've got my proud goat, andyou've got it permanently, I'm afraid."
VI
On a sultry tropic day, when the last flicker of the far southeast tradewas fading out and the seasonal change for the northwest monsoon wascoming on, the _Kittiwake_ lifted above the sea-rim the jungle-cladcoast of Francis Island.
Grief, with compass bearings and binoculars, identified the volcano thatmarked Redscar, ran past Owen Bay, and lost the last of the breeze atthe entrance to Likikili Bay. With the two whaleboats out and towing,and with Carl-sen heaving the lead, the _Kittiwake_ sluggishly entered adeep and narrow indentation. There were no beaches. The mangroves beganat the water's edge, and behind them rose steep jungle, broken here andthere by jagged peaks of rock. At the end of a mile, when the white scaron the bluff bore west-southwest, the lead vindicated the "Directory,"and the anchor rumbled down in nine fathoms.
For the rest of that day and until the afternoon of the day followingthey remained on the _Kittiwake_ and waited. No canoes appeared. Therewere no signs of human life. Save for the occasional splash of a fish orthe screaming of cockatoos, there seemed no other life. Once, however, ahuge butterfly, twelve inches from tip to tip, fluttered high over theirmastheads and drifted across to the opposing jungle.
"There's no use in sending a boat in to be cut up," Grief said.
Pankburn was incredulous, and volunteered to go in alone, to swim it ifhe couldn't borrow the dingey.
"They haven't forgotten the German cruiser," Grief explained. "And I'llwager that bush is alive with men right now. What do you think, Mr.Carlsen?"
That veteran adventurer of the islands was emphatic in his agreement.
In the late afternoon of the second day Grief ordered a whaleboat intothe water. He took his place in the bow, a live cigarette in his mouthand a short-fused stick of dynamite in his hand, for he was bent onshooting a mess of fish. Along the thwarts half a dozen Winchesters wereplaced. Albright, who took the steering-sweep, had a Mauser within reachof hand. They pulled in and along the green wall of vegetation. At timesthey rested on the oars in the midst of a profound silence.
"Two to one the bush is swarming with them--in quids," Albrightwhispered.
Pankburn listened a moment longer and took the bet. Five minutes laterthey sighted a school of mullet. The brown rowers held their oars. Grieftouched the short fuse to his cigarette and threw the stick. So shortwas the fuse that the stick exploded in the instant after it struck thewater. And in that same instant the bush exploded into life. There werewild yells of defiance, and black and naked bodies leaped forward likeapes through the mangroves.
In the whaleboat every rifle was lifted. Then came the wait. A hundredblacks, some few armed with ancient Sniders, but the greater portionarmed with tomahawks, fire-hardened spears, and bone-tipped arrows,clustered on the roots that rose out of the bay. No word was spoken.Each party watched the other across twenty feet of water. An old,one-eyed black, with a bristly face, rested a Snider on his hip, themuzzle directed at Albright, who, in turn, covered him back with theMauser. A couple of minutes of this tableau endured. The stricken fishrose to the surface or struggled half-stunned in the clear depths.
"It's all right, boys," Grief said quietly. "Put down your guns andover the side with you. Mr. Albright, toss the tobacco to that one-eyedbrute."
While the Rapa men dived for the fish, Albright threw a bundle oftrade tobacco ashore. The one-eyed man nodded his head and writhed hisfeatures in an attempt at amiability. Weapons were lowered, bows unbent,and arrows put back in their quivers.
"They know tobacco," Grief announced, as they rowed back aboard. "We'llhave visitors. You'll break out a case of tobacco, Mr. Albright, and afew trade-knives. There's a canoe now."
Old One-Eye, as befitted a chief and leader, paddled out alone, facingperil for the rest of the tribe. As Carlsen leaned over the rail to helpthe visitor up, he turned his head and remarked casually:
"They've dug up the money, Mr. Grief. The old beggar's loaded with it."
One-Eye floundered down on deck, grinning appeasingly and failing tohide the fear he had overcome but which still possessed him. He was lameof one leg, and this was accounted for by a terrible scar, inches deep,which ran down the thigh from hip to knee. No clothes he wore whatever,not even a string, but his nose, perforated in a dozen places and eachperforation the setting for a carved spine of bone, bristled like aporcupine. Around his neck and hanging down on his dirty chest was astring of gold sovereigns. His ears were hung with silver half-crowns,and from the cartilage separating his nostrils depended a big Englishpenny, tarnished and green, but unmistakable.
"Hold on, Grief," Pankburn said, with perfectly assumed carelessness."You say they know only beads and tobacco. Very well. You follow mylead. They've found the treasure, and we've got to trade them out of it.Get the whole crew aside and lecture them that they are to be interestedonly in the pennies. Savve? Gold coins must be beneath contempt, andsilver coins merely tolerated. Pennies are to be the only desirablethings."
Pankburn took charge of the trading. For the penny in One-Eye's nose hegave ten
sticks of tobacco. Since each stick cost David Grief a cent,the bargain was manifestly unfair. But for the half-crowns Pankburn gaveonly one stick each. The string of sovereigns he refused to consider.The more he refused, the more One-Eye insisted on a trade. At last, withan appearance of irritation and anger, and as a palpable concession,Pankburn gave two sticks for the string, which was composed of tensovereigns.
"I take my hat off to you," Grief said to Pankburn that night at dinner."The situation is patent. You've reversed the scale of value. They'llfigure the pennies as priceless possessions and the sovereigns asbeneath price. Result: they'll hang on to the pennies and force us totrade for sovereigns. Pankburn, I drink your health! Boy!--another cupof tea for Mr. Pankburn."
VII
Followed a golden week. From dawn till dark a row of canoes restedon their paddles two hundred feet away. This was the deadline. Rapasailors, armed with rifles, maintained it. But one canoe at a time waspermitted alongside, and but one black at a time was permitted to comeover the rail. Here, under the awning, relieving one another in hourlyshifts, the four white men carried on the trade. The rate of exchangewas that established by Pankburn with One-Eye. Five sovereigns fetcheda stick of tobacco; a hundred sovereigns, twenty sticks. Thus, acrafty-eyed cannibal would deposit on the table a thousand dollars ingold, and go back over the rail, hugely-satisfied, with forty cents'worth of tobacco in his hand.
"Hope we've got enough tobacco to hold out," Carlsen muttered dubiously,as another case was sawed in half.
