CHAPTER TWENTY THREE.
BEFORE THE CAPTAIN.
Bosun Jones was right in his hint. The captain forgot all about Don'soffence as soon as he was comfortable and rested. He had struck out inhis hasty irritation, but his anger soon passed, and had the matter beenbrought to his notice again, he would have laughed, and said that it wasthe boy's nature to resent being struck, and that he would make thebetter sailor.
The time passed pleasantly enough in the beautiful harbour, and everyday a boat went ashore with a surveying or exploring party, all of whomwere examined and cross-examined by their messmates on their return, asto the habits of the New Zealand savages, and many a yarn was inventedabout the Maoris' acts.
Both Don and Jem found their messmates rough, but good-tempered enough,and the days glided by rapidly; but the opportunity was never given Donfor joining one of the exploring parties. In every case he was told hewas too much of a boy.
"Never mind, Mas' Don. You'll grow into a man some day," Jem used tosay.
The Maoris were quite friendly, and the very stringent rules made atfirst were relaxed. The officers and men who went ashore were alwaysarmed, and limits were placed to the number of savages allowed to visitthe ship; but the boarding netting was dispensed with, and it was notdeemed necessary to double the sentries.
More than once parties of men were allowed on shore, and upon theseoccasions Don and Jem encountered the tattooed Englishman.
"Haven't made up your minds to come and join us?" he said, laughing; andDon shook his head.
"Ah, well! I won't persuade you, my lad. P'r'aps you're best where youare. But if you do make up your mind, come to me."
"How should we find you?" said Jem, who was careful to acquire knowledgethat might be useful.
"Ask the first man you see for Tomati Paroni, and he'll bring you tome."
"Tomati Paroni," said Don thoughtfully; "is that New Zealand for Tom--Tom--?"
"Tom Brown," said the chief, laughing. "They have all sorts of Englishwords like that."
The country was so beautiful, and the shore presented so manyattractions, that the officers kept a strict watch over the men for fearof desertion; but there was something which acted more as a deterrentthan anything that the officers could say or do, and that was the reportthat the natives were cannibals.
"Lots of 'em would desert," Jem said one night, as he lay in his hammockso close to Don's that they touched, "only--"
"Well, only what?" said Don.
"They say they'd rather stick on board, and be roasted and basted by thecaptain and officers, than by the blacks."
"They're not blacks, Jem; and I don't believe about the cannibal work."
"Well, they arn't blacks certainly, Mas' Don; but I'm pretty suspiciousabout the other thing. I once thought as Tomati was laughing at us, butit's all true. Why, what d'yer think I see only yes'day?"
"Numbers of things. But what in particular?"
"Why, one of the big chiefs who come ashore in that long canoe. Youknow; the one with a figure-head with its tongue sticking out?"
"Yes; I know."
"Well, he'd got a flute."
"What of that? Men have flutes at home. Uncle Josiah had one."
"What was it made on?" whispered Jem.
"Box-wood, with ivory mountings."
"Well, this chiefs flute was of ivory altogether--I mean, of bone."
"Well?"
"Guess what bone it was."
"How can I tell?"
"Bone of a man's leg, Mas' Don; and he killed the man whose bone itwas."
"How do you know?"
"Why, Tomati telled me."
"Yes, but it might not be true; perhaps the man was boasting."
Don was wearied out with a long day's work, and soon dropped off asleep,to be roused up by the men to take the morning watch.
Jem and he rolled unwillingly out of their hammocks, and went on deck,to find all dark; and soon after, cold and uncomfortable, they wereleaning over the bulwarks together, talking as they scanned the smoothblack sea, and the faint outlines of forest and mountain along thesilent shore.
"This is what I hate in being a sailor," grumbled Jem. "No sooner haveyou got comfortably off to sleep, and begun giving your mind to it, thanyou're roused up to keep some watch."
"Yes, it is wearisome, Jem."
"Wearisome's nothing to it. I was dreaming, Mas' Don, when they routedus up."
"So was I, Jem."
"What was you dreaming about, Mas' Don?"
"Home."
"Hah!" said Jem, with a sigh; "so was I. Wonder what my Sally's doingnow."
"Sitting down to tea, Jem."
"What! In the middle of the night?"
"It's the middle of the afternoon now, perhaps, Jem, on the other sideof the world."
"Dessay it is, sir, if you says so; but I never can understand that kindof talk. Say, my lad, how dark it is! Why if four or five of thosegreat war canoes liked to come out now, with a lot of fighting menaboard, they could take this here ship before we could cry JackRobinson. Look yonder. Isn't that one stealing out from behind thatisland?"
"No, Jem; I see nothing but shadow."
"Then p'r'aps it arn't; but I'm always thinking I see 'em coming outfull of men."
"Fancy, Jem."
"So it is, I s'pose. Know how long we're going to stop here, Mas' Don?"
"No, Jem. Getting tired of it?"
"Tired? Ay, lad. I want to go home."
That morning, about a couple of hours after the watch had been relieved,Don was on deck, when he saw one of the long war canoes, with itshideously carved prow and feather-decorated occupants, come sweepingalong close to the shore and dash right away at great speed.
"Wish we was in her," sighed a voice at his ear.
Don turned sharply, to find Jem gazing longingly after the flashingpaddles of the canoe, one of which was waved at him as they passed.
"What for, Jem?"
"To get away from here, Mas' Don. Wish you'd alter your mind. I wantto see my Sally once more."
"Here, you two! This way," said a severe voice; and the stern-lookingmaster came up. "This way. The captain wants a word with both of you."
"The captain?" began Don, as his old trouble flashed into his mind.
"That will do. Now then, this way," said the master sternly; and he ledthem to the quarter-deck, where the captain was standing, with a coupleof the officers by his side, and, a little distance in front, Ramsden,the sinister-looking seaman who, since the night they were pressed, hadalways seemed to bear the two Bristolians ill-will.
Don and Jem saluted, and stood before their officer, who looked themover searchingly, his eyes resting on theirs in a fierce, penetratingway that was far from pleasant.
Then, turning from them contemptuously, he signed to Ramsden to comeforward.
"Now," he said sharply, "repeat what you told me just now."
"Yes, sir. I had to go below yes'day evening when, as I was going along'tween the 'ammocks, I hears the word _desert_ and I was that tookaback, sir, I--"
"Ah! You are the sort of man who would be took aback on hearing such aword," said the first lieutenant, with a sneer.
"Yes, sir," said Ramsden.
"Let him speak," said the captain, scowling to hide a smile.
"Soon as I heard that word _desert_, I felt stopped short like; and thenI heard voices making plans for going ashore."
"What did they say?"
"Can't rec'lect what they said exactly, sir; only as one talked about aboat, and the other about a canoe. It was Lavington as asked about thecanoe; and just now, sir, they was watching a canoe that went by, andthey exchanged signals."
"Yes, I saw them watching that canoe," said the captain, fixing his eyeson Jem.
"Yes, sir; and one of the chiefs waved a paddle to them."
The captain nodded, and Ramsden was going on with his charge, when hewas stopped.
"That will do, my man," said the captain; "I
know quite enough. Nowlook here," he continued, turning to Don and Jem, "I am compelled tobelieve what this man says, for I saw enough to corroborate histestimony; but I will give you an opportunity for defending yourselves.Is what he says true?"
Don's lips parted to say it was only about half true; but a feeling ofagonised shame checked his words. There was too much truth in it forhim to make a bold denial, so he remained silent; and Jem, taking hiscue from his companion, was silent too.
"Come," said the captain, "I like that. There is honesty in it, mylads; and as you are both young, and pressed men, I will not be sosevere as I might for such an offence as yours."
"Didn't commit no offence," said Jem sturdily.
"Silence, sir! Now then, you know, I suppose, that though we are livinga peaceful life out here, these are war times, and the punishment ofdeserters is--death."
Jem started, but Don did not stir.
"Now you are both very young, and you have worked so well, and with somuch promise of making yourselves sailors, that I should be sorry foryou--either of you--to be guilty of such a mad trick as desertion. Ifyou tried it, you would almost certainly be retaken, and--the punishmentmust follow. If, on the other hand, you escaped, it would be into thesavage country before you, where you would fall into the hands of someenemy tribe, who would kill you both like dogs. I daresay you haveheard what takes place afterwards, when the Maori tribes have takenprisoners?"
Jem shuddered, but Don made no sign.
"Ah! I see you know," continued the captain, "so I need say littlemore. I am satisfied that you will neither of you be guilty of such anact of madness as you contemplated, especially now that I tell you thatI stop at nothing which the law gives me power to do for thepreservation of the discipline of my ship. These two lads," he said,turning to give an order, "will be placed in irons for the present."
He made a sign, and the two prisoners were taken below deck, and placedin irons.
"Better than being hung, my lads," said the armourer gruffly; and soonafter they were alone, with a sentry on duty not far from where theywere seated.