Anyway, though the mate became gloomy and sallow-looking as the days went by, Ulysses got redder in the face and even perceptibly fatter. It would have pleased the devoutest hearts could they have seen the modest decorum of Mango Pango's private cabin on the cuddy's port side. Ulysses had made the cabin-boy fix it up in quite artistic style. A little German bronze mirror swung to and fro by the small port-hole, pictures of Biblical subjects decorated the low roof and walls, and all the niceties that a maid might require were to be found in the quickly extemporised apartment.

It must be admitted that the first few days were monotonous and quite unromantic. For a bit of a wind came up and made the _Sea Foam_ heave and lurch. This instability caused poor Mango Pango suddenly to rush from her chamber and groan with anguish as she knelt by the port-side scuppers. She was terribly seasick. Ulysses would give a ponderous, sympathetic wink as she rushed back to her bunk and closed the door of her cabin. Then the little Papuan cabin-boy, Tombo Nuvolo, would stand sentinel just by the saloon port-hole to see that no one quizzed or came near the modest maiden's abode. But Mango Pango soon recovered from her illness, and attired in her pretty blue robe, scarlet and yellow ribbon in her ma.s.s of coral-dyed hair, came out on deck to bask in the hot sunshine.

When Hillary sat down by her side and told her that the _Sea Foam_ was bound for New Guinea, and that Ulysses and he were going in search of Gabrielle Everard, she opened her pretty eyes and mouth in unbounded astonishment and said: "Awaie!-Wearly! Going in searcher of poor Gabberlel who ams in New Ginner! Never!" And then, while she lifted her hands and uttered her quaint Samoan exclamations (she was born in Apia, Samoa) Hillary told her as much about the reason of the voyage and of all they had heard about Rajah Macka as he thought advisable.

Mango Pango was a real blessing to the apprentice; she was so full of childish vivacity, song and laughter that she dispelled his gloomy thoughts and made him quite cheerful at times. "Thank heaven that she was fool enough to be persuaded to come on this extraordinary venture,"

thought Hillary, as the girl performed a native step-dance while he fiddled, and didn't appear to trouble about her position in the least.

Samuel Bilbao would stand by, his mighty viking moustachios rippling to the sea-breeze as he sang some romantic strain and gazed admiringly on the dancing Mango Pango, who revelled in his praise. Heaven knows what Bilbao's alleged harem of island Penelopes would have thought could they have seen their absent Ulyssess' ma.s.sive gallantry and the glance of his eyes as Mango danced by the galley amidships. It is true that several of the sailors made eyes at Mango Pango when Ulysses was having his afternoon nap in the late captain's cosy bunk. And it must be confessed that she didn't seem to take the sailors' advances as though she thought them amiss. But still, she behaved with considerable propriety, and only very slyly blew surrept.i.tious kisses back to the aged bottle-nosed boatswain, Jonathan Snooks, who looked at the dusky maid and said more with his eyes than he should have done, considering that he had a wife in Shanghai and two more in 'Frisco!

What a voyage it was! Hillary thought of England, of his home. "What would the mater, the governor, my sisters and Uncle William think could they see me sailing across the coral seas to rescue a white girl from the heathen temple of a Papuan Rajah?" He would incline his eyes from the sky-line and look back on the deck of the _Sea Foam_ to convince himself of the reality of it all.

"Don't stand there mooching about with that mournful look on yer ugly mug!" yelled Samuel Bilbao, as he stood there, nearly seven feet high, watching Mango Pango's five feet five inches dancing exquisitely beneath the shaded awning that he'd ordered to be rigged up by the cuddy's private deck. Then he yelled for the cook, demanding that worthy's presence aft to play the accordion and make up the _Sea Foam's_ scratch orchestra for a song and dance. Ulysses began to play his bone clappers (he was a crack hand at the clappers). And it was a sight worth seeing as the crew stood obediently in a semi-circle, opened their bearded mouths and exercised their big, hoa.r.s.e-throated voices to the full extent as they all roared the chorus of old Malayan sea-chanteys till far into the night. And if the pretty Samoan maid, Mango Pango, couldn't dance like a sea-faery, or mermaid, on the _Sea Foam's_ deck, under the full brilliance of the tropic moon, then no one on the seas ever will be able to do so.

Even the remorseful, bilious chief mate opened his mouth, mumbling a belated melody when Ulysses put forth his long arm and conducted the chorus of-

"For I went down South for to see my Sal, Singing Polly-wolly-doodle all the way."

Then he inclined his ma.s.sive, curly head and, gazing sideways into Mango Pango's delighted eyes, he continued bellowing forth in such tones that the startled sea-birds far out of the night gave a frightened wail:

"Fare thee well, fare thee well, Fare thee well, my Faery Fay; For I'm off to Lousianna for to see my Susiannah, Singing Polly-wolly-doodle all the way!"

So did Samuel Bilbao pa.s.s his spare time on board the _Sea Foam_. There were only one or two cases of insubordination amongst the crew. Ulysses discovered that they'd had several stand-up fights on grog nights. And he was in a fearful rage when he heard of it. For if he had one weakness, it was his mad love of being umpire at a stand-up fight.

Excitement did not always prevail on the _Sea Foam_; sometimes the atmosphere became quite subdued. Hillary would sit for hours dreaming of Gabrielle, Mango Pango dreaming of her late mistress and Ulysses presumably thinking about his melancholy heathen kings and forlorn queens. The weather became terrifically hot. Even the crew became subdued in the heat of that tropic sea. It was only when the stars came out and a tiny breath of wind swept across the calm sea that things began to liven up on board. The sound of a faint, far-off song of England would come from the forecastle. Then Bully Beef, the boatswain's pet dog, would look through the scuppers and bark like a fiend at the mirrored stars that twinkled in the ocean as the _Sea Foam_ plopped and the rigging wailed. It was on such nights that Hillary, Mango and Bilbao would sit together and talk or sing.

One night as the sun was sinking and throwing magic colours over the western sky-line, and the hot winds flapped the sails, making a far-away musical clamour, Hillary sat by the cuddy door reading poems to Ulysses and Mango Pango. As the apprentice read out Byron's _Don Juan_, Ulysses stamped his mighty feet for an encore. Then he read them pa.s.sages from _The Corsair_, till Samuel Bilbao, with hand arched over his blue eyes, fell into a poetic mood, as Hillary's musical voice rippled off:

"She rose, she sprung, she clung to his embrace Till his heart heaved beneath her hidden face, He dared not raise to his that deep-blue eye."

And when he read out the description of Medora and Conrad's sad farewell-

"Her long fair hair lay floating o'er his arms In all the wildness of dishevell'd charms"-

Ulysses almost wept. Hillary seemed to draw the romance of the sea out of those sparkling stanzas.

"Wish we had the cove who wrote those things on this venture," said Bilbao; then he added: "Is it all true? Who wrote 'em?"

"It's all written by Byron; and it's as true as gospel!"

"Byron? Is that the cove's name? I wish we had him here; he and I would hit it well, I know," muttered Ulysses. Then he leaned forward and sang a song to Mango Pango's pretty eyes, as the youth read on. It was a strange sight to see that romantic swashbuckler of the seas so interested in all that Hillary read, and to hear his critical comments.

The highly coloured, rebellions poetry, written mostly by anaemic youth, did not appeal to Samuel Bilbao at all.

To him adventures came as a matter of course. To be on that vessel bound for New Guinea to rescue a maid in distress did not excite his emotions unduly; it was all in the day's work. Hillary often noticed this fact about Bilbao. The apprentice was astonished at the calm way he spoke of rescuing Gabrielle from the heathen's clutches; of killing Macka and sending his bleached skull, carefully packed up, to old Everard in Bougainville, as a substantial proof that he'd killed the man and rescued the daughter, and so had fulfilled the contract according to terms.

Hillary, as time went on, was inclined to be nervous and impatient, and Mango Pango became extremely superst.i.tious and swore that every shadow was a ghost. As for Ulysses, he roared with laughter about Solomon Island shadows, and when Mango spoke about such things he told her she was "potty." It may have been Bilbao's liberality with the cases of champagne that were found down in the lazaret that upset Hillary's nervous system. And if he did take a little more than was good for him he was to be excused, for the weather was terribly muggy and hot at times. Anyhow, Bilbao often cheered him up when he was down in the mouth.

"Don't get down in the mug, boy; we're making headway quick enough. The Rajah and his d.a.m.ned ship are not so far ahead. We'll be in New Guinea before him yet."

But Hillary knew that Ulysses did not control the winds of heaven. And yet at times it seemed to him that these same winds were blowing in perfect sympathy with his wishes as the _Sea Foam_ went racing before the steady breeze.

On the evening of the eighth day out from Bougainville a typhoon blew the _Sea Foam_ leagues out of her course to the north-west. Ulysses roared forth his oaths as only _he_ could roar, while the crew slashed away at the tackle, endeavouring to relieve the thunderous flappings of the torn sails. Two boats were washed away. The boatswain nearly wept when the huge sea came and washed Bully Beef, his pet dog, overboard.

"Lower the only boat we've got left to save your b-- dog," roared Bilbao, as he stood on deck, his vand.y.k.e beard and moustache stiff, and rippling to port as the wind struck him and mountainous seas rose level with the bulwark side to windward. The chief mate, gazing aloft with sunken, socket-like eyes, seemed almost pleased with the idea that the _Sea Foam_ might any moment turn turtle and so cut short his eternal fear about the jury's verdict if ever his duplicity got him into the clutches of the law. He was slowly fading to a shadow through all the worry that Bilbao had brought on to his trembling shoulders. Even at that early date a decided looseness in his bra.s.s-bound reefer packet was noticeable, clearly indicating the shrinkage of his once plump form.

Mango Pango, hearing the seas beating against the schooner's side, looked through the cuddy's port-hole, and seeing the wild confusion, as the crew slashed at the wreckage aloft while the schooner heeled over, cried aloud: "Awaie! Awaie! O tellible _matagai_ (storm)! O Bilbalos, saver poor Mango Pango!"

"Don't cry, Mango, it's all right now," said Hillary, who had just crept into the cuddy from the deck, for he too had been taking a hand in the desperate work of that buffeted crew. In half-an-hour every man on board was thanking his lucky stars that the _Sea Foam_ was still plunging along on her keel. Her storm-sails had been set and the taut jib-sails were just keeping her steady with head on to the seas after the first great onslaught of the elements. Though the wind had blown across the heavens with inconceivable velocity, not a cloud had smudged the face of the sky.

An hour before dawn the typhoon had quite blown itself out. Only the universal heave and tumble of the ocean swell told of the tremendous buffeting an hour before. The moon was sinking to the south-west.

Ulysses, Hillary and the melancholy mate stood on the p.o.o.p.

"Glad that blow's over," said Samuel Bilbao, as the mate's obsequious voice echoed his own thankfulness. Then they all stared seaward, for the look-out man on the forecastle head roared out: "Land on the starboard bow!" That cry caused tremendous consternation amongst all on board. It was evident that the _Sea Foam_ had got many leagues out of her course.

The mate put it down to the typhoon, and swore that it wasn't the fault of his navigation. Anyway, Ulysses gave him the benefit of the doubt.

Even Mango Pango stood amidships on deck with the crew as they all huddled together and stared at the foam-flecked reefs of some strange isle that loomed up about a mile away to the south-south-west.

"What isle's that, for G.o.d's sake?" said Bilbao, as he got his chart out. For he had quite thought that he was far away from any islands.

"Can't make its reckoning; must be some small island off the Admiralty Group," said the mate in a hollow voice, as he leaned over Bilbao's arm and stared at the chart. Half-an-hour after that all hands stood by the anchor, for the _Sea Foam_ was plunging dead on for the mighty burst of spray that rose high over the barrier reefs. Then they once more stared in surprise, for quite visible to the naked eye lay the wreck of a ship, a steamer, on the reefs, over which the thundering seas were still breaking. It was easy enough to see that she wasn't lying calmly at anchor, because of the great white-ridged line of curling breakers that rose and went right over her listed decks.

"It's some tramp steamer run ash.o.r.e," said the mate in a hollow, sepulchral voice; "a Dutch or a German boat, I think," he added, as he looked through the telescope.

An hour after Bilbao shouted: "Stand by! Let go!" and in a few moments the _Sea Foam_ swung safely at anchor in a few fathoms of water to the north-west of the strange isle.

Hillary looked mournful enough as he thought of the delay.

"Don't you worry, it's all right; besides, there's sure to be a dead calm after that blow last night, and we may just as well lie here as anywhere else, eh?" said Bilbao as he rubbed his hands with delight. For his all-embracing mind had already conjured up visions of that wreck being possibly crammed up to the hatches with chests full of gold and a valuable cargo of pearls. All day long the _Sea Foam_ lay off the island, as Ulysses stared through his telescope to see if he could discover signs of life on the derelict, or on the island. He wasn't taking any risks by going ash.o.r.e, or going on that wreck before he was quite certain that no one was about. He knew it was quite possible that the original skipper of the _Sea Foam_ had been released from the _calaboose_ by the German consulate, and that he and the missing _Sea Foam_ were already being followed up by the skipper in another hired schooner.

The sallow mate clutched Ulysses's arm and nearly dropped with fear as he too looked through the telescope. Then he wailed: "You know, Captain Bilbao, they might be after us and would just as likely be there on that island in wait, knowing what you are."

Ulysses only responded by shouting the irrelevant lines of some sea-chantey. Then he said, as he stared once more through the gla.s.s: "Must have all gone away in the ship's boats. There's no one aboard that wreck, I'll swear." His eyes brightened over his prospects.

Then he smacked Hillary on the back and shouted: "Don't be downhearted!

I'm d.a.m.ned if we haven't anch.o.r.ed off a treasure-trove wreck! You and yer pretty Gabrielle will be able to keep one of the finest seraglios in the South Seas if all goes well."

Hillary couldn't help smiling at the big man's levity as he too looked towards the derelict and watched the grandly picturesque sight of the curling breakers beating against the hulk.

Every now and again, as dawn stole over the seas, they could hear the long, low swelling roar and thunder as a big swell collided with the far-off barrier reefs.

"P'r'aps it's the _Bird of Paradise_ run ash.o.r.e, and cursed Macka's on that isle with Gabrielle, hidden in those palms," was the thought that struck Hillary. He was certainly impressionable, and if there was a peculiar construction to be placed on a commonplace incident, Hillary was just the person to do it. Even he realised the foolishness of his thoughts, for the wreck was that of a steamer, not a sailing ship.

Samuel Bilbao got terribly impatient; the long tropic day seemed endless. He was awaiting the friendly dusk of evening before he lowered the boat and went forth to overhaul the wreck.

A quarter of an hour after sunset a boat left the _Sea Foam_. In it were Ulysses, the mate, two sailors and Hillary. After half-an-hour's hard rowing they softly beached on the silver sand of the isle, just where the wreck lay.

"_Salier!_ A German steamer!" whispered the mate in subdued, frightened tone, as he slowly made out the big black letters on the grey-painted stern. Then the five of them softly walked round the sands on the sh.o.r.eward side, where the sprays and seas would no longer drench them.

All was perfectly quiet on the sh.o.r.e; only the noise of the incoming sea swell and the soughing of the high winds in the belt of mangoes and coco-palms disturbed the silence.

The derelict lay right over, her deck like a wooden wall on the sh.o.r.eward side. In a moment Ulysses, the mate and Hillary had clambered over the reefs and climbed over the listed bulwarks. There was something uncanny about the silence of the mouldy-smelling saloon as the three of them crept into it and climbed along the listed floor. Ulysses went about his job as though he had done little else all his life than search wrecks on uncharted isles in the South Seas. Flash! flash! went his lantern as he went down into the lazaret hold and began to peer into all the likely places for treasure.

"What's that, O Maker of the Universe?" wailed the mate, as he nearly fainted and fell forward so abruptly that he almost knocked Hillary off his feet.