From beneath the loose jacket Pungarin drew forth a small, richly chased, metal casket. Placing it on the table he opened it, and, turning it upside down, poured from it a little cataract of glittering jewellery.
“Ha! My friend,” exclaimed his companion, “you have got a prize. Where did you find it?”
“I might answer, ‘What is that to you?’ but I won’t, for I wish to keep you in good humour till our business is concluded. Here, then, are the facts connected with the case. Not long ago some Englishmen came out to Hong-Kong to dive to a vessel which had been wrecked on an island off the coast. My worthy agent there, Dwarro, cast his eyes on them and soon found out all about their plans. Dwarro is a very intelligent fellow. Like yourself, he has a good deal of the sneaking robber about him. He ascertained that the wreck had much gold coin in it, and so managed that they hired his boat to go off to it with their diving apparatus. Somewhat against their will he accompanied them. They were very successful. The first time they went on shore, they took with them gold to the value of about twenty thousand pounds. Dwarro cleverly managed to have this secured a few hours after it was landed. He also made arrangements to have a fleet of my fellows ready, so that when more gold had been recovered from the wreck they might surround them on the spot and secure it. But the young Englishman at the head of the party was more than a match for us. He cowed Dwarro, and cleverly escaped to land. There, however, another of my agents had the good fortune to discover the Englishmen while they were landing their gold. He was too late, indeed, to secure the gold, which had been sent on inland in charge of two Chinamen, but he was lucky enough to discover this casket in the stern-sheets of their boat. The Englishmen fought hard for it, especially the young fellow in command, who was more like a tiger than a man, and knocked down half a dozen of our men before he was overpowered. We would have cut his throat then and there, but a party of inhabitants, guided by one of the Chinamen, came to the rescue, and we were glad to push off with what we had got. Now, Moses, this casket is worth a good round sum. Dwarro wisely took the trouble to make inquiries about it through one of the Chinamen, who happened to be an honest man and fortunately also very stupid. From this man, Chok-foo, who is easily imposed on, he learned that the casket belongs to a very rich English merchant, who would give anything to recover it, because it belonged to his wife, who is dead—”
“A rich English merchant?” interrupted Moses, “we Jews are acquainted pretty well with all the rich English merchants. Do you know his name?”
“Yes; Charles Hazlit,” answered the Malay.
“Indeed! Well—go on.”
“Well,” said Pungarin, abruptly, “I have nothing more to say, except, what will you give for these things?”
“One thousand pounds would be a large sum to offer,” said the Jew, slowly.
“And a very small one to accept,” returned Pungarin, as he slowly gathered the gems together and put them back into the casket.
“Nay, my friend, be not so hasty,” said Moses; “what do you ask for them?”
“I shall ask nothing,” replied the Malay; “the fact is, I think it probable that I may be able to screw more than their value out of Mr Hazlit.”
“I am sorry to disappoint your expectations,” returned the Jew, with something approaching to a sneer, as he rose; and, selecting one from a pile of English newspapers, slowly read out to his companion the announcement of the failure of the firm of Hazlit and Company. “You see, my good friend, we Jews are very knowing as well as sharp. It were better for you to transact your little business with me.”
Knowing and sharp as he was, the Jew was not sufficiently so to foresee the result of his line of conduct with the Malay rover. Instead of giving in and making the best of circumstances, that freebooter, with characteristic impetuosity, shut the steel box with a loud snap, put it under his arm, rose, and walked out of the place without uttering a word. He went down to the beach and rowed away, leaving Moses to moralise on the uncertainty of all human affairs.
Favouring gales carried the Malay pirate-junk swiftly to the east. The same gales checked, baffled, and retarded the schooner Fairy Queen on her voyage to the west.
“Darling Aileen,” said Miss Pritty, recovering from a paroxysm, “did you ever hear of any one dying of sea-sickness?”
“I never did,” answered Aileen, with a languid smile.
Both ladies lay in their berths, their pale cheeks resting on the woodwork thereof, and their eyes resting pitifully on each other.
“It is awful—horrible!” sighed Miss Pritty at at the end of another paroxysm.
Aileen, who was not so ill as her friend, smiled but said nothing. Miss Pritty was past smiling, but not quite past speaking.
“What dreadful noises occur on board ships,” she said, after a long pause; “such rattling, and thumping, and creaking, and stamping. Perhaps the sailors get their feet wet and are so cold that they require to stamp constantly to warm them!”
Aileen displayed all her teeth and said, “Perhaps.”
At that moment the stamping became so great, and was accompanied by so much shouting, that both ladies became attentive.
A few moments later their door opened violently, and Mr Hazlit appeared with a very pale face. He was obviously in a state of great perturbation.
“My dears,” he said, hurriedly, “excuse my intruding—we are—attacked—pirates—get up; put on your things!”
His retreat and the closing of the door was followed by a crash overhead and a yell. Immediately after the schooner quivered from stem to stern, under the shock of her only carronade, which was fired at the moment; the shot being accompanied by a loud cheer.
“Oh horror!” exclaimed Miss Pritty, “my worst fears are realised!”
Poor Miss Pritty was wrong. Like many people whose “worst fears” have been engendered at a civilised fireside, she was only beginning to realise a few of her fears. She lived to learn that her “worst fears” were mere child’s play to the world’s dread realities.
Her sea-sickness, however, vanished as if by magic, and in a few minutes she and her companion were dressed.
During those few minutes the noise on deck had increased, and the shouts, yells, and curses told them too plainly that men were engaged in doing what we might well believe is the work only of devils. Then shrieks of despair followed.
Presently all was silent. In a few minutes the cabin door opened, and Pungarin entered.
“Go on deck,” he said, in a quiet tone.
The poor ladies obeyed. On reaching the deck the first sight that met them was Mr Hazlit standing by the binnacle. A Malay pirate with a drawn sword stood beside him, but he was otherwise unfettered. They evidently thought him harmless. Near to him stood the skipper of the Fairy Queen with the stern resolution of a true Briton on his countenance, yet with the sad thoughtful glance of one trained under Christian influences in his eye. His hands were bound, and a Malay pirate stood on either side of him. He was obviously not deemed harmless!
The decks were everywhere covered with blood, but not a man of the crew was to be seen.
“You are the captain of this schooner?” asked Pungarin.
“Yes,” replied the prisoner, firmly.
“Have you treasure on board?”
“No.”
“We shall soon find out the truth as to that. Meanwhile, who is this?” (pointing to Mr Hazlit.)
The captain was silent and thoughtful for a few moments. He was well aware of the nature of the men with whom he had to do. He had seen his crew murdered in cold blood. He knew that his own end drew near.
“This gentleman,” he said, slowly, “is a wealthy British merchant—well-known and respected in England. He has rich friends. It may be worth your while to spare him.”
“And this,” added the pirate captain, pointing to Aileen.
“Is his only child,” answered the other.
“Your name?” asked Pungarin.
“Charles Hazlit,” said the hapless merchant.
A sudden flash of intelligence lit up for a moment the swarthy features of the pirate. It passed quickly. Then he spoke in an undertone to one of his men, who, with the assistance of another, led the captain of the schooner to the forward part of the ship. A stifled groan, followed by a plunge, was heard by the horrified survivors. That was all they ever knew of the fate of their late captain. But for what some would term a mere accident, even that and their own fate would have remained unknown to the world—at least during the revolution of Time. The romances of life are often enacted by commonplace people. Many good ships with ordinary people on board, (like you and me, reader), leave port, and are “never again heard of.” Who can tell what tales may be revealed in regard to such, in Eternity?
The Fairy Queen was one of those vessels whose fate it was to have her “fate” revealed in Time.
We cannot state with certainty what were the motives which induced Pungarin to spare the lives of Mr Hazlit and his family; all we know is, that he transferred them to his junk. After taking everything of value out of the schooner, he scuttled her.
Not many days after, he attacked a small hamlet on the coast of Borneo, massacred most of the men, saved a few of the young and powerful of them—to serve his purposes—also some of the younger women and children, and continued his voyage.
The poor English victims whom he had thus got possession of lived, meanwhile, in a condition of what we may term unreality. They could not absolutely credit their senses. They felt strangely impelled to believe that a hideous nightmare had beset them—that they were dreaming; that they would unquestionably awake at last, and find that it was time to get up to a substantial and very commonplace English breakfast. But, mingled with this feeling, or rather, underlying it, there was a terrible assurance that the dream was true. So is it throughout life. What is fiction to you, reader, is fact to some one else, and that which is your fact is some one else’s fiction. If any lesson is taught by this, surely it is the lesson of sympathy—that we should try more earnestly than we do to throw ourselves out of ourselves into the place of others.
Poor Miss Pritty and Aileen learned this lesson. From that date forward, instead of merely shaking their heads and sighing in a hopeless sort of way, and doing nothing—or nearly nothing—to check the evils they deplored, they became red-hot enthusiasts in condemning piracy and slavery, (which latter is the grossest form of piracy), and despotism of every kind, whether practised by a private pirate like Pungarin, or by a weak pirate like the Sultan of Zanzibar, or by comparatively strong pirates like the nations of Spain and Portugal.
In course of time the pirate-junk anchored at the mouth of a river, and much of her freight, with all her captives, was transferred to native boats. These were propelled by means of numerous oars, and the male captives were now set to work at these oars.
Mr Hazlit and his daughter and Miss Pritty were allowed to sit idle in the stem of one of the boats, and for a time they felt their drooping spirits revive a little under the influence of the sweet sunshine while they rowed along shore, but as time passed these feelings were rudely put to flight.
The captives were various in their character and nationality, as well as in their spirits and temperaments. These had all to be brought into quick subjection and working order. There were far more captives than the pirates knew what to do with. One of those who sat on the thwart next to the Hazlits had been a policeman in one of the China ports. He was a high-spirited young fellow. It was obvious that his soul was seething into rebellion. The pirate in charge of the boat noted the fact, and whispered to one of his men, who thereupon ordered the policeman to pull harder, and accompanied his order with a cut from a bamboo cane.
Instantly the youth sprang up, and tried to burst his bonds. He succeeded, but before he could do anything, he was overpowered by half a dozen men, and re-bound. Then two men sat down beside him, each with a small stick, with which they beat the muscles of his arms and legs, until their power was completely taken away. This done, they left him, a living heap of impotent flesh in the bottom of the boat, and a salutary warning to the rebellious.
But it did not end here. As soon as the poor fellow had recovered sufficiently to move, he was again set to the oar, and forced to row as best he could.
The voyage along the coast, and up a river into which they finally turned, occupied several days. At first, on starting, Aileen and her companions had looked with tender pity on the captives as they toiled at the heavy oars, but this deepened into earnest solicitude as they saw them, after hours of toil, gasping for want of water and apparently faint from want of food. Next day, although they had lain down in the bottom of the boat supperless, the rest had refreshed most of them, and they pulled on with some degree of vigour. But noon came, and with it culminated the heat of a burning sun. Still no water was served out, no food distributed. Mr Hazlit and his party had biscuit and water given them in the morning and at noon. During the latter meal Aileen observed the native policeman regarding her food with such eager wolfish eyes that under an impulse of uncontrollable feeling she held out her can of water to him. He seized and drank the half of it before one of the pirates had time to dash it from his lips.
Presently a youth, who seemed less robust than his comrades, uttered a wild shriek, threw up his hands, and fell backwards. At once the pirates detached him from his oar, threw him into the sea, and made another captive fill his place. And now, to their inexpressible horror, the Hazlits discovered that the practice of these wretches—when they happened to have a super-abundance of captives—was to make them row on without meat or drink, until they dropt at the oar, and then throw them overboard! Reader, we do not deal in fiction here, we describe what we have heard from the mouth of a trustworthy eye-witness.
In these circumstances the harrowing scenes that were enacted before the English ladies were indeed fitted to arouse that “horror” which poor Miss Pritty, in her innocence, had imagined to have reached its worst. We will pass it over. Many of the captives died. A few of the strongest survived, and these, at last, were fed a little in order to enable them to complete the journey. Among them was the native policeman, who had suddenly discovered that his wisest course of action, in the meantime, was submission.
At last the boats reached a village in one of those rivers whose low and wooded shores afford shelter to too many nests of Malay pirates even at the present time—and no wonder! When the rulers and grandees of some Eastern nations live by plunder, what can be expected of the people?
The few captives who survived were sent ashore. Among them were our English friends.
Chapter Fifteen.
Sudden and bad News induces sudden and good Action
About this time there hung a dark cloud over the pagoda in Hong-Kong. Even the bright eyes of Molly Machowl could not pierce through this cloud. Rooney himself had lost much of his hopeful disposition. As for Edgar Berrington, Joe Baldwin, and David Maxwell, they were silently depressed, for adversity had crushed them very severely of late.
Immediately after their losses, as already detailed or referred to, stormy weather had for several weeks prevented them from resuming operations at the wreck, and when at last they succeeded in reaching the old locality, they found themselves so closely watched by shore boats that the impossibility of their being able to keep anything they should bring up became obvious. They were forced, therefore, to give up the idea of making further attempts.
“It’s too bad,” growled Maxwell one morning at breakfast, “that all our trouble and expense should end in nothin’—or next to nothin’.”
“Come, Maxwell,” said Edgar, “don’t say ‘nothing.’ It is true we lost our first great find that luckless night when we left it with Wilson, but our second haul is safe, and though it amounts only to eight thousand pounds sterling, that after all is not to be sneezed at by men in our circumstances.”
“Make not haste to be rich,” muttered Joe Baldwin in an undertone.
“Did we make haste to be rich?” asked Edgar, smiling. “It seems to me that we set about it in a cool, quiet, business-like way.”
“Humph, that’s true, but we got uncommon keen over it—somethin’ like what gamblers do.”
“Our over-keenness,” returned Edgar, “was not right, perhaps, but our course of action was quite legitimate—for it is a good turn done not only to ourselves but to the world when we save property; and the salvor of property—who necessarily risks so much—is surely worthy of a good reward in kind.”
“Troth, an’ that’s true,” said Rooney, with a wry grin, “I had quite made up me mind to a carridge and four with Molly astore sittin’ in silks an’ satins inside.”
“Molly would much rather sit in cotton,” said the lady referred to, as she presided at the breakfast-table; “have another cup, Rooney, an’ don’t be talking nonsense.”
“But it does seem hard,” continued Maxwell in his growling voice, “after all our trouble in thin venture, to be obliged to take to divin’ at mere harbour-works in Eastern waters, just to keep body and soul together.”
“Never mind, boy,” exclaimed Rooney with a successful effort at heartiness, “it won’t last long—it’s only till we get a suitable chance of a ship to take us an’ our small fortins back to ould Ireland—or England, if ye prefer it—though it’s my own opinion that England is only an Irish colony. Never say die. Sure we’ve seen a dale of life, too, in them parts. Come, I’ll give ye a sintiment, an’ we’ll drink it in tay—”
Before the hopeful Irishman could give the sentiment, he was interrupted by the sudden opening of the door and the abrupt entrance of a Chinaman, who looked at the breakfast party with keen interest and some anxiety.
“If it’s your grandmother you’re lookin’ for,” said Rooney, “she don’t live here, young man.”
Paying no attention to this pleasantry, the Chinaman closed the door with an air of mystery, and, going up to Edgar, looked him inquiringly in the face, as he said interrogatively:—
“I’s pleeceman. You’s Eggirbringting?”
“Not a bad attempt,” exclaimed Edgar, with a laugh. “I suppose that is my name translated into Chinese.”
“Took me muchee—long—time for learn him from young missee,” said the Chinaman with a hurt look.
At the mention of a young lady Edgar’s amused look changed into one of anxiety, for he had, through an English acquaintance in the port, become aware not only of Mr Hazlit’s failure, but of his sudden departure for England with his daughter and Miss Pritty, and a vague suspicion of bad news flashed upon him.
“You bring a message, I see?” he said, rising and speaking hurriedly. “Let me hear it. Quick.”
Thus invoked, the Chinaman spoke so quickly and in such a miraculous jumble of bad English, that Edgar could not comprehend him at all;—only one thing he felt quite sure of, namely, that his anxiety was well found.
“Ho! Chok-foo!” he shouted.
The domestic entered, and to him the Chinaman delivered his message, which was to the following effect:—
He was a native policeman who had been captured on the coast when in discharge of his duties. Many others had been taken by the same pirates at different times, and among them an English gentleman named Hazlit, with his daughter and a lady friend. These latter had been spared, probably with a view to ransom, at the time the crew of their vessel was massacred, and were at that moment in one of the strongholds belonging to the pirates, up one of the intricate rivers on the coast of Borneo. He, the policeman, having resolved to make his escape, and being, in virtue of his wise, wily, and constabular nature, well able to do so, had mentioned the circumstance to the young lady, and, under promise of a handsome reward, had agreed to travel and voyage, night and day, by boat or vessel, as fortune should favour him, in order to convey immediate intelligence of these facts to a youth named “Eggirbringting,” whom the young lady described as being very tall and stout, and extremely handsome.
It may easily be imagined with what mingled feelings of anxiety and impatience the “tall, stout, and extremely handsome young man” listened to this narrative as it was volubly delivered by the “pleeceman” and slowly translated by Chok-foo.
When at last he was fairly in possession of all that the messenger had to relate, Edgar paced up and down the room for a few seconds with rapid strides.
“We must go into action at once, sir,” suggested Joe Baldwin.
“Of course, of course, but how? That’s the point,” exclaimed Edgar, with a look of impatient vexation. “Borneo is a long way off. There are no steamers running regularly to it that I know of. However, it’s of no use talking; let’s go at once and make inquiry. I’ll go see our consul—perhaps—”
“P’lhaps,” interrupted the messenger, “p’lhaps the pleeceman can talkee.”
“If he can, let him speak,” cried Edgar, with impatience.
“Pleece he nevir too muchee quick,” returned the man, coolly. “We knows what we’s can do. Hai, yach!”
Edgar sat down with a sharp sigh of discontent, and waited for more.
“Well?”
“Well,” repeated the policeman, “there be steam-boat here now—go for Borneo quick.”
“At once!” cried Edgar, starting up and seizing his hat, “why did you not—”
“Sh! Keepee cool, you no ’casion makes so fashion,” interrupted the policeman, who thereupon went on to explain that on his arrival in Hong-Kong he had gone at once to head-quarters, before delivering his message to Edgar, in order to make himself master of all the news about town that was worth knowing, or likely in any way to advance the interest of those whom he sought to serve. Among other things he had learned the important fact that, two days before his arrival, a small gun-boat, belonging to a certain Rajah of Borneo, and commanded by a certain Scotchman, and employed for the express purpose of hunting up and rooting out the pirates of the China seas, had put in to the port for repairs. He had hurried down to the gun-boat in time to prevent her departure, had told his story, and had just come from her to say that her captain would like much to see Mr Berrington.
On hearing this, Edgar again started up and eagerly ordered the native policeman to guide him to the gun-boat in question without another moment’s delay. He was followed, of course, by his male companions, who were nearly as much interested in the matter as himself. They were soon on the deck of the gun-boat.
It was a neat trim screw-steamer of small size, 180 tons burthen, and manned by about sixty Malays and a few Englishmen. Everything on board was as bright and orderly as if it had been a British man-of-war. Her commander received the visitors on the quarter-deck. He looked like one who was eminently well qualified to hunt up, run down, cut out, or in any other mode make away with pirates. There was much of the bull-terrier in him—solid, broad, short, large-chested—no doubt also large-hearted—active, in the prime of life, with short black curly hair, a short black beard and moustache, a square chin, a pleasant smile, a prominent nose, and an eagle eye. Indeed he might himself have made a splendid chief of the very race against which he waged “war to the knife.”
“Glad to make your acquaintance, Mr Berrington,” said the captain, holding out his hand. “The native policeman has told me all about your friends—I understand them to be such?”
“Yes—intimate friends.”
“Well, this business is quite in my way. I shall be glad to take you with me. But who are these?” he added, looking at Edgar’s companions.
“They are comrades, and might do good service if you will allow them to volunteer.”
“My crew is complete,” said the captain, doubtfully, “except, indeed, that my chief engineer is just dead, but none of your men look as if they could fill his shoes.”
“That is true, but I can fill them myself,” said Edgar, eagerly.
“Indeed!”
“Yes, I am an engineer by profession; my comrades are professional divers. We have been engaged on a wreck here for some time past.”
“Good,” said the captain; “are your dresses and apparatus at hand?”
“Some of them are.”
“Then bring them aboard at once. I leave in an hour. Just bring what you have handy. Lose no time. I will take your men also. They may be of use.”
Within an hour after the foregoing conversation Molly Machowl was left disconsolate in the pagoda under the care of Chok-foo, while the Rajah’s gun-boat was steaming out to sea with Edgar, Baldwin, Rooney, Maxwell, and Ram-stam added to her warlike crew.