She merely nodded and pa.s.sed into the hold. The dim, yellow glow of the lanterns was fading in the growing daylight, making the surroundings more gloomy and depressing than even the half-light. She moved from bed to bed with noiseless steps, performing various little services for the sufferers. One man, who knew that he was dying, asked her to write down and witness his last will and testament--a curiously pathetic doc.u.ment--and for another she wrote a letter that was to be posted at the first port the ship touched. In a far corner she found a man making feeble efforts to undo the front of his shirt. He was too weak to speak, and, wondering what he wanted, the girl unb.u.t.toned it to find a small silver crucifix suspended from a piece of string round his neck.

Divining his need, she placed it in his hand, and the coa.r.s.e, misshapen fingers closed over the Symbol; thus he died.

Soon afterwards the Captain entered and pa.s.sed between the beds, stopping to ask each of the patients how he was getting on, and giving a cheery word of encouragement to everyone. At last he reached the bed where Dora Fletcher stood over the dead figure, whose fingers still clasped the little silver crucifix.

"H'm," he grunted, "another loss. Anything to report?"

In a few words the girl described the condition and progress of the various patients. At the conclusion Calamity nodded, but made no comment.

"I should like to ask you a favour, Captain," she said quietly.

"A favour? Well, what is it?" he demanded in a tone that was the reverse of encouraging.

"Do you think you could give this poor fellow"--she indicated the dead man on the bed--"a Christian burial? I--I think he would have wished it."

A look of mingled surprise and annoyance came into the Captain's face as he glanced at the unconscious figure.

"The man's dead, isn't he?"

"Yes, of course," answered the girl, puzzled by the question.

"Then what difference can it make to him how he's buried?" demanded Calamity, and, without waiting for an answer, walked away.

Later on that day Mr. d.y.k.es urged the request again at Miss Fletcher's desire.

"I can't make distinctions," replied the Captain. "The man's got to take his chance of paradise with the rest. I'm not going to give him an unfair advantage over the others. Besides, this is a cheerful ship, and I don't intend to depress the living by reading burial services over the dead. They'll get their proper ratings without my a.s.sistance."

So that evening the corpse, sewed up in canvas and weighted with a piece of pig-iron, was cast over the side without ceremony.

Early on the following morning the look-out upon the foc'sle head reported land on the starboard bow.

The news brought the men rushing on deck at once, for the sight of land to sailors at sea is always an interesting event, savouring of adventure, women, and wine. The news was immediately reported to the Captain, who hurried on to the bridge and scrutinised the seeming cloud for some time through the gla.s.ses which Smith, who was on watch, handed to him.

"H'm," grunted Calamity, "an island."

"One of the Palau Group I should say, sir."

"Which means that it's German--eh?"

"_Was_ German, sir," corrected the second-mate.

"There's no knowing; among so many scattered islands it's quite possible that one or two may have been overlooked by our cruisers."

"Maybe, sir," answered Smith doubtfully.

Calamity again focussed the gla.s.ses on the dark smudge in the dim distance. As he had just pointed out to the second-mate, it was quite possible that some of the small islands which went to make up what was once called the Bismarck Archipelago had escaped official annexation.

This seemed the more probable since two German vessels, the gunboat and the commerce-destroyer, were apparently still at large in these waters.

Both ships, particularly the former, would require a coaling station not too far away, and what more likely, therefore, than that there should be one hidden away among these innumerable islands?

The _Hawk_ slowly bore down upon the land, but her speed was now so reduced that night had set in before those on board were able to get a really good view. By the following morning, however, they found themselves within a mile of it, and its palm-fringed beaches could be seen plainly from the deck. There was nothing about the island to excite wonder or interest, save that it just happened to be dry land amidst a boundless waste of blue waters. Numbers of such islands, many of them far larger, were to be met with in these lat.i.tudes.

Yet, because it was land, and suggestive of illicit pleasures, there was an air of suppressed excitement aboard the _Hawk_. Throughout the day she coasted slowly round it, but never once did a canoe or a catamaran put off to trade; indeed, not a vestige of human life was to be seen. At last, after they had nearly completed a circuit of the island, a small harbour was sighted at the eastern extremity. On a hill, overlooking the entrance, was a structure which suggested a fort, and this at once gave Calamity the idea that the gunboat which had hitherto eluded him was probably ensconced within this harbour. To "dig out" the pirate and take possession of her spoils was the first thought which occurred to him, but another and a stronger motive made him decide to enter the harbour at all costs. This was the fact that the _Hawk's_ engines were next door to useless, and, unless they could be more effectually repaired, would become entirely so. It was quite possible, he reflected, that if the island really was a German station, there would be appliances for dealing with engine-room mishaps.

So, towards sundown, he steered boldly for the harbour, even blowing the steam syren to call attention to his visit. The flagstaff on the fort, he noticed, was bare, although as the _Hawk_ drew nearer it was possible to make out an inconspicuous wireless installation.

"German without a doubt," he remarked to himself. "If it were British the Union Jack would be floating up there."

He turned to Mr. d.y.k.es and in a few words explained what he wanted done.

The _Hawk_ was to pose as a harmless American merchantman which had put in for the purpose of trying to obtain some coal. The large crew, totally out of proportion to the number required to man a peaceful "tramp," were to remain in the foc'sle, except one or two who were to lounge about the deck for show purposes. Therefore in a very few minutes the decks were deserted except for the look-out and a couple of grimy firemen who leant over the bulwarks expectorating into the water. Half an hour later, the _Hawk_ reached the mouth of the harbour and the syren emitted three ear-piercing shrieks.

The sound had scarcely died away when a boat, manned by natives and with a white man seated in the stern-sheets, put off from a small, wooden jetty beneath the fort. When within hailing distance, the man in the stern stood up and put both hands to his mouth.

"Wie heisst das schiff?" he bawled.

"Don't get you," answered Calamity; "have another try."

"Vot schip vos dot?" bellowed the other, who was evidently some sort of port official.

"This is the American steamer _Hawk_, Singapore for Valparaiso."

"Vy you no show your flarg?" inquired the official, his boat coming nearer the _Hawk_ every moment.

"Sorry; if I'd known it was your birthday, guess I'd have hoisted a bit of bunting," replied the pseudo Yankee skipper, and gave an order which resulted in the Stars and Stripes fluttering out astern.

The reply, however, did not appear to please the official.

"You 'eave-to!" he commanded. "I vant to see your papers."

Calamity rang down "Stop," the engines ceased thudding and a couple of men came out on deck and threw a rope-ladder over the side. A moment later the boat came alongside and the official, a short, fat little man, ascended the ladder with some difficulty, alighting on deck hot and breathless. Meanwhile his coffee-coloured c.o.x'n having made the boat fast to a rung of the rope-ladder, sat down and lighted a cheroot.

"You vas der Captain?" asked the newcomer of Calamity, as soon as he had recovered his breath.

"Yes."

"You must produce your papers."

"If you'll come with me, sir, I'll show them to you," answered Calamity politely, and led the way towards his cabin.

Suddenly he stopped near the after-hatch, from which a couple of the covers had previously been removed.

"Like to have a squint at the cargo?" he asked. "Guess it'll interest you."

The fussy little man looked surprised at the question, but he stepped up to the hatch, and, leaning over the combing, peered into the obscure depths below. While he was still in this convenient att.i.tude an impelling force caught him in the small of the back, and he shot downwards into the hold, alighting head foremost on a heap of sand-ballast. Then, before he had recovered sufficiently to raise a shout, the hatch-covers were promptly clapped on again and he was left there in the dark to meditate on the ups and downs of a port official's life.

Having satisfactorily disposed of this inquisitive person, Calamity returned to the bridge and the _Hawk_ began to steam slowly past the fort into the harbour. Two or three sentinels on the hill watched her progress, but they having seen her boarded by one of their officials doubtless concluded that all was well. Meanwhile Mr. d.y.k.es had managed to convince the dusky c.o.x'n in the waiting boat alongside that his master would remain on board, whereupon the man saluted, cast off the painter, and steered his boat sh.o.r.ewards.

When the _Hawk_ had rounded the bend which hid the upper portion of the harbour from view, Mr. d.y.k.es gave vent to a sudden exclamation of astonishment.

"Durned if that ain't our old bug-trap?"