"And now I suppose I'll have to be converted again. Yes, h.e.l.l and d.a.m.nation, I have been converted to every religion that was ever heard of. Oh, yes, they commercialize it down here, and we all chip in to keep the bra.s.s work shining on the missionary ships."

Here Captain Kane made a hasty exit from the good ship "Pongon" and laid out a course for the Pier Hotel, saying: "Little does the world know the troubles that some people have who are trying to do their duty to their G.o.d and their King."

At half-past four in the afternoon the missionary ship dropped anchor about a cable's length off our starboard bow. Her crew were dressed in man-o'-war uniforms. They lowered a boat, and as they pulled ash.o.r.e I could see five portly-looking dames sitting in the stern. They were discussing our ship, and, from the scowling glances they gave us, I felt that we were safe in standing by to repel boarders. They cast loving glances at His Majesty's ship "Pongon," perhaps consulting as to what form of baptism would be most impressive for Captain Kane.

The crew had no desire to go ash.o.r.e this evening. The last strenuous night and a hard day's work, had left them in a rather sullen mood. Even Old Charlie and Riley were not on speaking terms. Swanson's jaw showed the mark of a belaying-pin, and he seemed quite conscious of it as he chewed his evening meal. The web-toed Russian-Finn looked as if the hum of the mosquito would be a welcome lullaby to the land of dreams.

The cook, though silent and morose, would lift his head occasionally from the dishes to listen to the natives singing their evening hymn, "Shall We Gather at the River Where Bright Angels' Feet Do Tread."

Anything with angels in it was displeasing to our cook. He even seemed to take a sudden dislike to Toby as he kicked him out of the galley door, exclaiming, "Get out of here, d.a.m.n you; I suppose they will be putting wings on you before long."

The Solomon Islands workmen, although tired from the day's work, were laughing and chatting in their native tongue as they circled around a large dishpan of Mulligan stew.

Knives and forks were not much in evidence, the natives preferring to use their hands to eat with. Although trained for centuries to eat in this manner, I must say that the cook's Mulligan stew kept them guessing. I decided that tomorrow, if perchance the cook should arise under the refining influence of a good night's rest, I would ask him to thicken the Mulligan stew in the interest of the Solomon Islanders.

The discharging of cargo was progressing satisfactorily, since we now had the deck load off, and were commencing on the hold. In a few days I had hopes of clearing from Suva and starting on our long voyage home.

CHAPTER XXIII

FIJI ROYALTY--LOCAL COLOR--VISITORS TO THE SHIP

Today I met the royal family of the Fiji Islands. The King, although old, was a very impressive figure, with his long white kinky hair and ma.s.sive bushy eyebrows. His color was that of a mulatto, a higher type than that of the native Fijians. He wore a loose white tunic cut off at the elbows, and girdled around him was what looked like a homespun sheet. This garment was twisted and tucked tight around the hips, the lower folds falling loosely above the knee; the legs were muscular and strong, and the calves bulged out as if inflated with air. The feet were ugly, long and broad, and the toes resembled those of a starfish. No matter what the angle from which one viewed them, there would always be a toe pointing towards one.

The two princesses were gaily attired in blue checked Mother Hubbards.

This long and flowing garment made them look like our North American squaws. In features they resembled the Samoan type of women.

The Prince, of stately bearing, wore a costume similar to that of his royal father, but his most distinguishing characteristic was the number twelve boots he wore. He seemed particularly interested in those ma.s.sive hides, as he told me how he came to be their proud possessor. There was no last large enough on the island, and again there was a shortage of leather, so it came to pa.s.s that some local astronomer measured the alt.i.tude of his Highness' feet, and this measure, sealed in a conch sh.e.l.l, was cast adrift and floated away to an Australian port, where it finally drifted into the hands of one of d.i.c.kens' migrating cobblers, who filled the order and waxed them together.

While discussing with the King the starry banner as it floated from the mast head of the "Wampa," my attention was attracted to the silent and lonesome figure of a man, descending the hill beyond the town. As this melancholy figure wended its way among the palms, I could make out the pea jacket and cheese-cutter cap of Captain Kane. As he approached he wore a troubled and anxious look as if in fear, but when he recognized the royal family, his expression gave way to a more pleasing one. He spat out a large chew of tobacco, and slapping the King on the shoulder, "How in h.e.l.l did you know the missionary ship was in?"

"Oh," replied the King, "we see flag on hill."

Captain Kane explained to me that when a missionary ship puts in to Suva they raise a flag on one of the largest hills back of the town. That signals to the natives for miles around that there are big doings in Suva. Captain Kane and the royal family evidently did not have much in common, for he grabbed me by the arm and led the way to the Pier Hotel, leaving the royal family gazing and wondering if they could not have made a better bargain with the Stars and Stripes than with the Union Jack of old England.

At the Pier Hotel, Mrs. f.a.gan greeted us with a smile. As she pa.s.sed the Old Tom to Captain Kane she remarked, "Sure'n me eyes haven't rested upon you for days, Captain Kane. 'Tis sick I thought you were." Here she gave me a roguish wink.

Before replying, Captain Kane filled his b.u.mper, leaving very little room for the soda, and took a step toward the door to see if the coast were clear. Satisfied that everything was in his favor, he reached for the gla.s.s of Old Tom, and with one gulp and a gurgling sound as if running over pebbles, the Old Tom disappeared to its last resting place.

He pulled out a much worn bandana handkerchief, and wiping his mouth and beard he said to Mrs. f.a.gan, "No, I have not been sick, I have been a very busy man of late. But if this incessant singing and praying keeps up I am pretty d.a.m.ned sure I will get sick." Mrs. f.a.gan interrupted, saying: "Captain, how long are the missionaries going to remain?" "They will stay here until they have every one of us converted again," moaned the Captain.

Mrs. f.a.gan adjusted a large tortoise-sh.e.l.l comb in her hair, and straightening out her hand-embroidered flounces in her white dress, remarked, "Shur'n it's poor business we do be having when the missionary ship comes in."

"Mrs. f.a.gan," said I, "give us another drink. And won't you join us?"

"Ah, and it's seldom I ever touch it, but I will take a little drop of Burke's Irish just to be sociable with you."

After Captain Kane had three b.u.mpers of Old Tom the world had a different aspect for him; even the old gray-haired missionaries weren't so bad after all. They had to make a living like the rest of us. But at times they were objectionable, especially when the gin was awash in the bilges.

On the way down to the wharf Captain Kane promised to take me for a drive in the country, as he felt it would be a great relief to be away at least one day from the missionaries. While pulling off to the "Wampa," I was amused, as a canoe glided past me, to see a native make use of his breech-cloth for a sail. He unwound about two yards of cloth from around his waist and fastened it to two bamboo poles that were about three feet apart. After tying this calico wrapping at the top and bottom of the poles he had a square sail. The square sail with a fair wind made it easy for the native; he leaned back on his steering oar, evidently well pleased with such favorable conditions.

When I came alongside, I noticed that the crew looked me over very critically, as if wondering why I stayed away so long. As it was now one hour past grog time they wore anxious looks. A growl here and a grunt there were all that greeted me. But after each getting a jolt of Scotch, their expressions changed to a smacking of lips, and a heave-aho on the six-by-sixes.

After supper the missionary boat came alongside, and two elderly women came aboard and asked if there were any Christians among the crew. I informed these sanctified-looking ladies that I had my "doots," but would be pleased to escort them to the crew's quarters where they could make their own diagnosis. I left them to go down the scuttle hatch leading to the forecastle and beat a hasty retreat to the cabin, fearing that I might have to share some of Captain Kane's misery.

While entering in the log book the events and progress of the day, I realized from the sounds coming from the fore part of the ship, that the old ladies were making some headway with the crew. As the sound took volume, I could hear them singing, "Pull for the sh.o.r.e, sailors, pull for the sh.o.r.e, heed not the tempest's roar but bend to the oar."

The cook, putting away his clean dishes, said, "What in h.e.l.l has got into those fellows this evening?"

I told him that they were having a very sociable visit from the ladies who ran the missionary ship, and that no doubt they would be pleased to pay him a friendly visit. The cook threw the dishes to the pantry shelf, and slamming the pantry door exclaimed, "Keep them away from me; I'm in no mood to discuss religious philosophy tonight."

After giving each member of the crew a small Bible, and praying for our souls in the safe pa.s.sage home, the old missionary women shoved off for the sh.o.r.e, apparently not at all pleased with their evening's work.

If they had brought about four quarts of Scotch whiskey on board they would have had no trouble in converting the crew, for even the cook could be reconciled to any form of religion, old or new, as long as the Scotch flowed freely.

CHAPTER XXIV

A DRIVE WITH CAPTAIN KANE--RAZORBACK RAMPANT

The next day Captain Kane and I started for our drive into the island with an old battered two-seated rig. The horse, though old in years, had a look of being well taken care of, and was rather inclined to shy as he gazed at an unfamiliar palm or cocoanut tree. I hesitatingly offered to spell the Captain off, and asked him to let me drive awhile. He turned on me very angrily and said, "There is no d.a.m.ned ship that ever sailed the seas that required more careful steering than this horse does. One has got to know just how much helm to give him. If you should put it hard over and get him on the home tack all h.e.l.l couldn't stop him until he reached the stable. Oh, I know him," continued the Captain, "he has a mouth on him that will hold like the devil's claw on a windla.s.s."

As we drove through the rice fields, I noticed that Hindoos were doing the work; here and there could be seen the lazy natives asleep under the trees. "My object," said the Captain, as he coaxed the old horse past a flying turban that seemed to be coming unfastened from its wearer, "my object in taking you on this trip is to show you the result of a hurricane that happened here twelve years ago. It will not be necessary for me to discuss the velocity of the hurricane, you'll be able to judge for yourself when we pa.s.s that village ahead. But," continued the Captain, "for G.o.d's sake don't talk above a whisper while I steer Timbuctoo" (for this was the horse's name) "through the palm village.

You can see by the action of his head that he is about to make heavy weather of it."

I must say that the old horse had taken a new lease of life; he did not seem to be conscious of his c.o.c.ked ankles or the spavins or other conspicuous growths that covered his legs. With head erect, arched neck and ears pitched forward, he was not at all particular about using his front feet, but rather inclined to do the cake walk, and always waiting a chance to turn and bolt for home. This was worrying the Captain, for he said anxiously, "I have driven him many times, but never have I seen him act like this. It's these h.e.l.lish Fijian huts with their palm-covered roofs that are getting on his nerves."

Things were going along about as well as could be expected until we were about at the center of the straggling village. Then it happened that from out a palm-covered hut strolled a razorback hog, seemingly unconcerned as to our presence and not inclined to observe the rules of the road. The Captain smelled danger, as he warped an extra turn of the lines around his hands, and remarked rather nervously, "There's going to be h.e.l.l here in about a minute."

Timbuctoo felt as uncomfortable as his driver; he too sensed the danger of this razor-backed hog. Captain Kane relaxed his hold on the reins to adjust his cheese-cutter cap to a more seaworthy position. While doing so the hog stopped in front of Timbuctoo. All would even then have been well had it not been for the curiosity of this hungry-looking razorback.

I suggested to the Captain that I get out and drive the hog away. "h.e.l.l and d.a.m.nation, no," roared the Captain, "keep your seat, I will pa.s.s under his quarter."

Timbuctoo veered to starboard under the steady hand of Captain Kane.

This move was in accordance with the rules of the road, but unfortunately it proved fatal, for it exposed Timbuctoo's warty legs to the hungry hog. He evidently thought that this was a new kind of crop that did not require rooting, which, to judge from the two large rings in his nose, was a lost art with him.

Before the Captain could brace his clubby boots against the dash-board the razor-backed hog reached out with his long mouth and took hold of Timbuctoo's most conspicuous wart, which was dangling on the right hind leg. When Timbuctoo felt this smarting insult he decided not to await orders from his venerable driver. Grasping the bit in his mouth, he started full speed ahead. "There he goes," roared the Captain, "and G.o.d knows when he will stop."

Dan Patch had nothing on Timbuctoo. The cocoanut trees looked like telephone poles as one sees them while riding on the Twentieth Century Limited. "I would not care a d.a.m.n how far he would run," sang out the Captain as if shouting to a man on the topsail yard in a gale of wind, "if I had not promised to make a speech at the missionary meeting tonight."

"Let me try him, Captain?" said I.

"You try him," said he, "what in h.e.l.l do you know about animals? There is no living man could do anything with him now, he has too much d.a.m.n steam up, all we can do is to trust to luck and keep our helm in midship and let him run before it."

After running about two miles he seemed to realize that the Captain was still with him and not, as he expected, back with the razor-backed hog.

Very much disappointed, he broke into a dog trot, much to the relief and satisfaction of the Captain. As he withdrew his number tens, which had perforated through the dash-board, he said, "Well, I have never come through a storm and lost as little canvas as on this here pa.s.sage."