The Nameless Island.

by Percy F. Westerman.

CHAPTER I

THE HURRICANE

The _San Martin_, a single-screw cargo steamer of 3050 tons, was on her way from Realejo to Tahiti. Built on the Clyde twenty years back, this Peruvian-owned tramp was no longer in her prime. Since pa.s.sing out of the hands of her British owners, neglect had lessened her speed, while the addition of various deck-houses, to suit the requirements of the South American firm under whose house-flag she sailed, had not increased her steadiness.

Captain Antonio Perez, who was in command, was a short, thick-set man of almost pure Spanish descent, swarthy, greasy, and vain--combining all the characteristics, good, bad, and indifferent, of the South American skipper. As part owner of the _San Martin_ he was glad of the opportunity of adding to the vessel's earnings, so he had willingly agreed to take five pa.s.sengers as far as Tahiti.

The five pa.s.sengers were Mr. McKay, his son Andrew, Terence Donaghue, Fanshaw Ellerton, and Quexo; but before relating the circ.u.mstances in which they found themselves on board the _San Martin_, it will be necessary to introduce them to our readers.

Mr. McKay, a tall, erect Queenslander, of Scottish descent, had, through the death of a near relative, migrated from Australia to one of the Central American republics in order to test the possibilities of an estate which had been left him, before putting it into the market.

Andrew McKay, or Andy, as he was called, was a well-set-up young fellow of nineteen, broad-shouldered and straight-limbed, with a fine head surmounted by a crop of auburn hair.

Terence Donaghue, the son of an Irish Canadian, was about Andy's age, and was on a visit to the McKays. He was impulsive both in manner and speech, high-spirited, and good-natured.

Fanshaw Ellerton, a lad of sixteen, was supposed to be serving his apprenticeship on board the _Tophet_, a barque of 2200 tons, of the port of Liverpool. He was in reality a deserter--but in circ.u.mstances beyond his control.

Taking advantage of general leave being granted to the crew of the _Tophet_, Ellerton had gone "up-country," and, before he actually realised it, he found himself besieged in Mr. McKay's ranch of San Eugenio.

One of those revolutions that occur in many of the South Central American states had broken out, and the rebels, thinking that Mr.

McKay's house and estate would prove an easy and profitable prize, promptly attempted to take and plunder San Eugenio.

In spite of a vigorous defence, it seemed as if numbers would gain the day, till Quexo, a mulatto lad on the ranch, contrived to steal through the rebels' lines and bring timely aid, but not before Mr. McKay had been severely wounded.

But, so far as his Central American affairs were concerned, Mr. McKay was practically ruined, and he took steps to return to Queensland with the least possible delay.

Andy, of course, was to accompany him, while Terence arranged to go as far as Tahiti, whence he could take steamer to Honolulu and on to Victoria, British Columbia.

"Never mind, old chap," exclaimed Andy, when Ellerton made the startling yet not altogether unexpected discovery that the _Tophet_ had sailed without him. "We've stuck together through thick and thin these last few days, and it seems as if we have been chums for years. I know the governor will be only too glad to have you with us, and no doubt you can pick up your ship at Sydney."

Nor did Mr. McKay forget Quexo's devotion; and, to the mulatto's great delight, he was engaged as servant at the--to him--princely salary of five dollars a month.

A fever-stricken coast was no place for a wounded man, hence Mr.

McKay's anxiety to sail as soon as possible; and since ten days or more would elapse before one of the regular line of steamers left for Honolulu, pa.s.sages were booked on the Peruvian tramp steamer _San Martin_.

"What a scratch crew!" remarked Terence, pointing at the swarm of olive-featured Peruvians who were scrubbing down decks with the aid of the ship's hose.

"But even they have one advantage over most of the crews of the mercantile marine," replied Ellerton. "They are all of one nationality. Take the _Tophet's_ crew--there are only eight British seamen before the mast; the rest are Germans, Finns, and Swedes."

"That is a crying scandal," interrupted Mr. McKay, who was resting in a deck-chair a few feet from the head of the p.o.o.p-ladder. "England, the princ.i.p.al carrier of the world, has to rely upon foreigners to man her merchant ships. And the reason is not far to seek," he added.

The _San Martin_ was in the Doldrums. Not a ripple disturbed the surface of the ocean, save the white wake of the steamer as she pounded along at a steady nine knots. Overhead the sun shone fiercely in a cloudless sky.

"How deep is it here?" asked Terence, leaning over the rail.

"Do you know, Ellerton?" asked Mr. McKay.

"No, sir; I had no opportunity of examining a chart."

"It's approximately three thousand fathoms. Between the Galapagos and the Marquesas is a vast sunken plateau. Sunlight never penetrates these great depths; probably all is dark beyond two hundred fathoms."

"And are there fish or marine animals in the bed of the ocean?"

"No one knows. Possibly there are some marine animals capable of withstanding the enormous pressure, for it may be taken for granted that at three thousand fathoms the pressure per square inch is about three tons."

"Is it always calm in the Doldrums?" continued Terence, for he had never before "crossed the line."

"Often for weeks at a stretch. What's your experience of these, Ellerton?"

"Three weeks with the canvas hanging straight down from the yards. If you threw anything overboard it would be alongside for days. I can a.s.sure you, Terence, that I am jolly glad we're on board a steamer."

"How did you get out of it?" continued the young Canadian, eager for further information.

"By one of the frequent and sudden hurricanes that spring up in the belt of the calms; but even that was looked upon as a slice of luck."

Thus the days pa.s.sed. Conversation was the chief means of pa.s.sing the time, although the lads derived considerable amus.e.m.e.nt from their efforts to teach Quexo English.

Reading was out of the question, for the ship's library consisted of only a few Spanish books of little interest to Mr. McKay and Andy, while to Terence and Ellerton they were unfathomable.

On the evening of the fourth day there was an ominous change in the weather.

The sun, setting between high-banked, ill-defined clouds, gave out bright copper-coloured rays that betokened much wind at no distant date; while from the south-east a long, heavy swell, although far from land, gave further indications of change.

"How is the gla.s.s, Captain?" asked Mr. McKay, as Captain Perez emerged from the companion and began to make his way for'ard to the bridge.

The captain shrugged his shoulders.

"Low, senor. I like it not."

"What an admission," exclaimed Mr. McKay, as the officer mounted the ladder. "Fancy a British skipper replying like that! Here, Andy, you are not shaky on the pins like I am; just present my compliments to Captain Perez and ask him to tell you how the barometer stands. I'm rather curious on that point."

"You appear to have a good knowledge of seamanship, sir," remarked Ellerton, as young McKay made his way to the bridge.

"Well, I must confess I have," admitted Mr. McKay. "Years ago I spent some months on a pearl-fisher in Torres Strait; but that's a long story. Some day, perhaps, I'll tell you more about it."

"Seven hundred and forty millimetres--a fall of twenty-two millimetres in eight hours," announced Andy, reading the figures from a slip of paper, on which he had noted the captain's reply.

"By Jove!" exclaimed Mr. McKay. "That's equivalent to a trifle over 29.1 inches. We're in for something, especially with that deck cargo,"

as he pointed to the towering baulks of mahogany which were stowed amidships.

"Are they doing anything for'ard?" he continued.