II. The Proud Goat of Aloysius Pankburn

by Jack London

　　IQuick eye that he had for the promise of adventure, prepared always forthe unexpected to leap out at him from behind the nearest cocoanuttree, nevertheless David Grief received no warning when he laid eyes onAloysius Pankburn. It was on the little steamer _Berthe_. Leaving hisschooner to follow, Grief had taken passage for the short run acrossfrom Raiatea to Papeete. When he first saw Aloysius Pankburn, thatsomewhat fuddled gentleman was drinking a lonely cocktail at the tinybar between decks next to the barber shop. And when Grief left thebarber's hands half an hour later Aloysius Pankburn was still hangingover the bar still drinking by himself.Now it is not good for man to drink alone, and Grief threw sharpscrutiny into his pass-ing glance. He saw a well-built young man ofthirty, well-featured, well-dressed, and evidently, in the world'scatalogue, a gentleman. But in the faint hint of slovenliness, inthe shaking, eager hand that spilled the liquor, and in the nervous,vacillating eyes, Grief read the unmistakable marks of the chronicalcoholic.After dinner he chanced upon Pankburn again. This time it was on deck,and the young man, clinging to the rail and peering into the distanceat the dim forms of a man and woman in two steamer chairs drawn closelytogether, was crying, drunkenly. Grief noted that the man's arm wasaround the woman's waist. Aloysius Pankburn looked on and cried."Nothing to weep about," Grief said genially.Pankburn looked at him, and gushed tears of profound self-pity."It's hard," he sobbed. "Hard. Hard. That man's my business manager. Iemploy him. I pay him a good screw. And that's how he earns it.""In that case, why don't you put a stop to it?" Grief advised."I can't. She'd shut off my whiskey. She's my trained nurse.""Fire _her_, then, and drink your head off.""I can't. He's got all my money. If I did, he wouldn't give me sixpenceto buy a drink with."This woful possibility brought a fresh wash of tears. Grief wasinterested. Of all unique situations he could never have imagined such aone as this."They were engaged to take care of me," Pankburn was blubbering, "tokeep me away from the drink. And that's the way they do it, lollygaggingall about the ship and letting me drink myself to death. It isn't right,I tell you. It isn't right. They were sent along with me for the expresspurpose of not letting me drink, and they let me drink to swinishnessas long as I leave them alone. If I complain they threaten not to let mehave another drop. What can a poor devil do? My death will be on theirheads, that's all. Come on down and join me."He released his clutch on the rail, and would have fallen had Griefnot caught his arm. He seemed to undergo a transformation, to stiffenphysically, to thrust his chin forward aggressively, and to glintharshly in his eyes."I won't let them kill me. And they'll be sorry. I've offered them fiftythousand--later on, of course. They laughed. They don't know. But Iknow." He fumbled in his coat pocket and drew forth an object thatflashed in the faint light. "They don't know the meaning of that. But Ido." He looked at Grief with abrupt suspicion. "What do you make out ofit, eh? What do you make out of it?"David Grief caught a swift vision of an alcoholic degenerate puttinga very loving young couple to death with a copper spike, for acopper spike was what he held in his hand, an evident old-fashionedship-fastening."My mother thinks I'm up here to get cured of the booze habit. Shedoesn't know. I bribed the doctor to prescribe a voyage. When we get toPapeete my manager is going to charter a schooner and away we'll sail.But they don't dream. They think it's the booze. I know. I only know.Good night, sir. I'm going to bed--unless--er--you'll join me in a nightcap. One last drink, you know."IIIn the week that followed at Papeete Grief caught numerous and bizarreglimpses of Aloysius Pankburn. So did everybody else in the littleisland capital; for neither the beach nor Lavina's boarding househad been so scandalized in years. In midday, bareheaded, clad onlyin swimming trunks, Aloysius Pankburn ran down the main street fromLavina's to the water front. He put on the gloves with a fireman fromthe _Berthe_ in a scheduled four-round bout at the _Folies Bergeres_,and was knocked out in the second round. He tried insanely to drownhimself in a two-foot pool of water, dived drunkenly and splendidly fromfifty feet up in the rigging of the _Mariposa_ lying at the wharf, andchartered the cutter _Toerau_ at more than her purchase price and wasonly saved by his manager's refusal financially to ratify the agreement.He bought out the old blind leper at the market, and sold breadfruit,plantains, and sweet potatoes at such cut-rates that the gendarmeswere called out to break the rush of bargain-hunting natives. For thatmatter, three times the gendarmes arrested him for riotous behaviour,and three times his manager ceased from love-making long enough to paythe fines imposed by a needy colonial administration.Then the _Mariposa_ sailed for San Francisco, and in the bridal suitewere the manager and the trained nurse, fresh-married. Before departing,the manager had thoughtfully bestowed eight five-pound banknotes onAloysius, with the foreseen result that Aloysius awoke several dayslater to find himself broke and perilously near to delirium tremens.Lavina, famed for her good heart even among the driftage of SouthPacific rogues and scamps, nursed him around and never let it filterinto his returning intelligence that there was neither manager nor moneyto pay his board.It was several evenings after this that David Grief, lounging underthe after deck awning of the _Kittiwake_ and idly scanning the meagrecolumns of the Papeete _Avant-Coureur_, sat suddenly up and almostrubbed his eyes. It was unbelievable, but there it was. The old SouthSeas Romance was not dead. He read:WANTED--To exchange a half interest in buried treasure,worth five million francs, for transportation for one to anunknown island in the Pacific and facilities for carryingaway the loot. Ask for FOLLY, at Lavina's.Grief looked at his watch. It was early yet, only eight o'clock."Mr. Carlsen," he called in the direction of a glowing pipe. "Get thecrew for the whale-boat. I'm going ashore."The husky voice of the Norwegian mate was raised for'ard, and half adozen strapping Rapa Islanders ceased their singing and manned the boat."I came to see Folly, Mr. Folly, I imagine," David Grief told Lavina.He noted the quick interest in her eyes as she turned her head and flunga command in native across two open rooms to the outstanding kitchen. Afew minutes later a barefooted native girl padded in and shook her head.Lavina's disappointment was evident."You're stopping aboard the _Kittiwake_, aren't you?" she said. "I'lltell him you called.""Then it is a _he?_" Grief queried.Lavina nodded."I hope you can do something for him, Captain Grief. I'm only agood-natured woman. I don't know. But he's a likable man, and he may betelling the truth; I don't know. You'll know. You're not a soft-heartedfool like me. Can't I mix you a cocktail?"IIIBack on board his schooner and dozing in a deck chair under athree-months-old magazine, David Grief was aroused by a sobbing,slubbering noise from overside. He opened his eyes. From the Chiliancruiser, a quarter of a mile away, came the stroke of eight bells. Itwas midnight. From overside came a splash and another slubbering noise.To him it seemed half amphibian, half the sounds of a man crying tohimself and querulously chanting his sorrows to the general universe.A jump took David Grief to the low rail. Beneath, centred about theslubbering noise, was an area of agitated phosphorescence. Leaning over,he locked his hand under the armpit of a man, and, with pull and heaveand quick-changing grips, he drew on deck the naked form of AloysiusPankburn."I didn't have a sou-markee," he complained. "I had to swim it, and Icouldn't find your gangway. It was very miserable. Pardon me. If youhave a towel to put about my middle, and a good stiff drink, I'll bemore myself. I'm Mr. Folly, and you're the Captain Grief, I presume,who called on me when I was out. No, I'm not drunk. Nor am I cold. Thisisn't shivering. Lavina allowed me only two drinks to-day. I'm on theedge of the horrors, that's all, and I was beginning to see thingswhen I couldn't find the gangway. If you'll take me below I'll be verygrateful. You are the only one that answered my advertisement."He was shaking pitiably in the warm night, and down in the cabin, beforehe got his towel, Grief saw to it that a half-tumbler of whiskey was inhis hand."Now fire ahead," Grief said, when he had got his guest into a shirtand a pair of duck trousers. "What's this advertisement of yours? I'mlistening."Pankburn looked at the whiskey bottle, but Grief shook his head."All right, Captain, though I tell you on whatever is left of my honourthat I am not drunk--not in the least. Also, what I shall tell you istrue, and I shall tell it briefly, for it is clear to me that you area man of affairs and action. Likewise, your chemistry is good. To youalcohol has never been a million maggots gnawing at every cell of you.You've never been to hell. I am there now. I am scorching. Now listen."My mother is alive. She is English. I was born in Australia. Iwas educated at York and Yale. I am a master of arts, a doctor ofphilosophy, and I am no good. Furthermore, I am an alcoholic. I havebeen an athlete. I used to swan-dive a hundred and ten feet in theclear. I hold several amateur records. I am a fish. I learned thecrawl-stroke from the first of the Cavilles. I have done thirty milesin a rough sea. I have another record. I have punished more whiskey thanany man of my years. I will steal sixpence from you for the price of adrink. Finally, I will tell you the truth."My father was an American--an Annapolis man. He was a midshipman in theWar of the Rebellion. In '66 he was a lieutenant on the _Suwanee_. Hercaptain was Paul Shirley. In '66 the Suwanee coaled at an island in thePacific which I do not care to mention, under a protectorate which didnot exist then and which shall be nameless. Ashore, behind the bar of apublic house, my father saw three copper spikes--ship's spikes."David Grief smiled quietly."And now I can tell you the name of the coaling station and of theprotectorate that came afterward," he said."And of the three spikes?" Pankburn asked with equal quietness. "Goahead, for they are in my possession now.""Certainly. They were behind German Oscar's bar at Peenoo-Peenee. JohnnyBlack brought them there from off his schooner the night he died. He wasjust back from a long cruise to the westward, fishing beche-de-mer andsandalwood trading. All the beach knows the tale."Pankburn shook his head."Go on," he urged."It was before my time, of course," Grief explained. "I only tell whatI've heard. Next came the Ecuadoran cruiser, of all directions, in fromthe westward, and bound home. Her officers recognized the spikes. JohnnyBlack was dead. They got hold of his mate and logbook. Away to thewestward went she. Six months after, again bound home, she dropped in atPeenoo-Peenee. She had failed, and the tale leaked out.""When the revolutionists were marching on Guayaquil," Pankburn took itup, "the federal officers, believing a defence of the city hopeless,salted down the government treasure chest, something like a milliondollars gold, but all in English coinage, and put it on board theAmerican schooner _Flirt_. They were going to run at daylight. TheAmerican captain skinned out in the middle of the night. Go on.""It's an old story," Grief resumed. "There was no other vessel in theharbour. The federal leaders couldn't run. They put their backs to thewall and held the city. Rohjas Salced, making a forced march from Quito,raised the siege. The revolution was broken, and the one ancient steamerthat constituted the Ecuadoran navy was sent in pursuit of the _Flirt_.They caught her, between the Banks Group and the New Hebrides, hoveto and flying distress signals. The captain had died the daybefore--blackwater fever.""And the mate?" Pankburn challenged."The mate had been killed a week earlier by the natives on one of theBanks, when they sent a boat in for water. There were no navigatorsleft. The men were put to the torture. It was beyond international law.They wanted to confess, but couldn't. They told of the three spikes inthe trees on the beach, but where the island was they did not know. Tothe westward, far to the westward, was all they knew. The tale now goestwo ways. One is that they all died under the torture. The other is thatthe survivors were swung at the yardarm. At any rate, the Ecuadorancruiser went home without the treasure. Johnny Black brought the threespikes to Peenoo-Peenee, and left them at German Oscar's, but how andwhere he found them he never told."Pankburn looked hard at the whiskey bottle."Just two fingers," he whimpered.Grief considered, and poured a meagre drink. Pankburn's eyes sparkled,and he took new lease of life."And this is where I come in with the missing details," he said. "JohnnyBlack did tell. He told my father. Wrote him from Levuka, before he cameon to die at Peenoo-Peenee. My father had saved his life one rough-housenight in Valparaiso. A Chink pearler, out of Thursday Island,prospecting for new grounds to the north of New Guinea, traded for thethree spikes with a nigger. Johnny Black bought them for copper weight.He didn't dream any more than the Chink, but coming back he stopped forhawksbill turtle at the very beach where you say the mate of the_Flirt_ was killed. Only he wasn't killed. The Banks Islanders heldhim prisoner, and he was dying of necrosis of the jawbone, caused by anarrow wound in the fight on the beach. Before he died he told the yarnto Johnny Black. Johnny Black wrote my father from Levuka. He was at theend of his rope--cancer. My father, ten years afterward, when captain ofthe _Perry_, got the spikes from German Oscar. And from my father, lastwill and testament, you know, came the spikes and the data. I have theisland, the latitude and longitude of the beach where the three spikeswere nailed in the trees. The spikes are up at Lavina's now. Thelatitude and longitude are in my head. Now what do you think?""Fishy," was Grief's instant judgment. "Why didn't your father go andget it himself?""Didn't need it. An uncle died and left him a fortune. He retired fromthe navy, ran foul of an epidemic of trained nurses in Boston, and mymother got a divorce. Also, she fell heir to an income of something likethirty thousand dollars, and went to live in New Zealand. I was dividedbetween them, half-time New Zealand, half-time United States, until myfather's death last year. Now my mother has me altogether. He left mehis money--oh, a couple of millions--but my mother has had guardiansappointed on account of the drink. I'm worth all kinds of money, but Ican't touch a penny save what is doled out to me. But the old man, whohad got the tip on my drinking, left me the three spikes and the datathereunto pertaining. Did it through his lawyers, unknown to my mother;said it beat life insurance, and that if I had the backbone to go andget it I could drink my back teeth awash until I died. Millions in thehands of my guardians, slathers of shekels of my mother's that'll bemine if she beats me to the crematory, another million waiting to be dugup, and in the meantime I'm cadging on Lavina for two drinks a day. It'shell, isn't it?--when you consider my thirst.""Where's the island?""It's a long way from here.""Name it.""Not on your life, Captain Grief. You're making an easy half-million outof this. You will sail under my directions, and when we're well to seaand on our way I'll tell you and not before."Grief shrugged his shoulders, dismissing the subject."When I've given you another drink I'll send the boat ashore with you,"he said.Pankburn was taken aback. For at least five minutes he debated withhimself, then licked his lips and surrendered."If you promise to go, I'll tell you now.""Of course I'm willing to go. That's why I asked you. Name the island."Pankburn looked at the bottle."I'll take that drink now, Captain.""No you won't. That drink was for you if you went ashore. If you aregoing to tell me the island, you must do it in your sober senses.""Francis Island, if you will have it. Bougainville named it BarbourIsland.""Off there all by its lonely in the Little Coral Sea," Grief said. "Iknow it. Lies between New Ireland and New Guinea. A rotten hole now,though it was all right when the _Flirt_ drove in the spikes and theChink pearler traded for them. The steamship _Castor_, recruiting labourfor the Upolu plantations, was cut off there with all hands two yearsago. I knew her captain well. The Germans sent a cruiser, shelled thebush, burned half a dozen villages, killed a couple of niggers and a lotof pigs, and--and that was all. The niggers always were bad there, butthey turned really bad forty years ago. That was when they cut off awhaler. Let me see? What was her name?"He stepped to the bookshelf, drew out the bulky "South PacificDirectory," and ran through its pages."Yes. Here it is. Francis, or Barbour," he skimmed. "Natives warlike andtreacherous--Melanesian--cannibals. Whaleship _Western_ cut off--thatwas her name. Shoals--points--anchorages--ah, Redscar, Owen Bay,Likikili Bay, that's more like it; deep indentation, mangroveswamps, good holding in nine fathoms when white scar in bluff bearswest-southwest." Grief looked up. "That's your beach, Pankburn, I'llswear.""Will you go?" the other demanded eagerly.Grief nodded."It sounds good to me. Now if the story had been of a hundred millions,or some such crazy sum, I wouldn't look at it for a moment. We'll sailto-morrow, but under one consideration. You are to be absolutely undermy orders."His visitor nodded emphatically and joyously."And that means no drink.""That's pretty hard," Pankburn whined."It's my terms. I'm enough of a doctor to see you don't come to harm.And you are to work--hard work, sailor's work. You'll stand regularwatches and everything, though you eat and sleep aft with us.""It's a go." Pankburn put out his hand to ratify the agreement. "If itdoesn't kill me," he added.David Grief poured a generous three-fingers into the tumbler andextended it."Then here's your last drink. Take it."Pankburn's hand went halfway out. With a sudden spasm of resolution, hehesitated, threw back his shoulders, and straightened up his head."I guess I won't," he began, then, feebly surrendering to the gnaw ofdesire, he reached hastily for the glass, as if in fear that it would bewithdrawn.IVIt is a long traverse from Papeete in the Societies to the Little CoralSea--from 100 west longitude to 150 east longitude--as the crow fliesthe equivalent to a voyage across the Atlantic. But the _Kittiwake_ didnot go as the crow flies. David Grief's numerous interests divertedher course many times. He stopped to take a look-in at uninhabited RoseIsland with an eye to colonizing and planting cocoa-nuts. Next, he paidhis respects to Tui Manua, of Eastern Samoa, and opened an intrigue fora share of the trade monopoly of that dying king's three islands. FromApia he carried several relief agents and a load of trade goods to theGilberts. He peeped in at Ontong-Java Atoll, inspected his plantationson Ysabel, and purchased lands from the salt-water chiefs ofnorthwestern Malaita. And all along this devious way he made a man ofAloysius Pankburn.That thirster, though he lived aft, was compelled to do the work of acommon sailor. And not only did he take his wheel and lookout, and heaveon sheets and tackles, but the dirtiest and most arduous tasks wereappointed him. Swung aloft in a bosun's chair, he scraped the masts andslushed down. Holystoning the deck or scrubbing it with fresh limesmade his back ache and developed the wasted, flabby muscles. Whenthe _Kittiwake_ lay at anchor and her copper bottom was scrubbed withcocoa-nut husks by the native crew, who dived and did it under water,Pankburn was sent down on his shift and as many times as any on theshift."Look at yourself," Grief said. "You are twice the man you were when youcame on board. You haven't had one drink, you didn't die, and the poisonis pretty well worked out of you. It's the work. It beats trained nursesand business managers. Here, if you're thirsty. Clap your lips to this."With several deft strokes of his heavy-backed sheath-knife, Griefclipped a triangular piece of shell from the end of a huskeddrinking-cocoa-nut. The thin, cool liquid, slightly milky andeffervescent, bubbled to the brim. With a bow, Pankburn took the naturalcup, threw his head back, and held it back till the shell was empty. Hedrank many of these nuts each day. The black steward, a New Hebrides boysixty years of age, and his assistant, a Lark Islander of eleven, saw toit that he was continually supplied.Pankburn did not object to the hard work. He devoured work, nevershirking and always beating the native sailors in jumping to obey acommand. But his sufferings during the period of driving the alcohol outof his system were truly heroic. Even when the last shred of the poisonwas exuded, the desire, as an obsession, remained in his head. So itwas, when, on his honour, he went ashore at Apia, that he attempted toput the public houses out of business by drinking up their stocks intrade. And so it was, at two in the morning, that David Grief found himin front of the Tivoli, out of which he had been disorderly thrown byCharley Roberts. Aloysius, as of old, was chanting his sorrows to thestars. Also, and more concretely, he was punctuating the rhythm withcobbles of coral stone, which he flung with amazing accuracy throughCharley Roberts's windows.David Grief took him away, but not till next morning did he take himin hand. It was on the deck of the _Kittiwake_, and there was nothingkindergarten about it. Grief struck him, with bare knuckles, punched himand punished him--gave him the worst thrashing he had ever received."For the good of your soul, Pankburn," was the way he emphasized hisblows. "For the good of your mother. For the progeny that will comeafter. For the good of the world, and the universe, and the whole raceof man yet to be. And now, to hammer the lesson home, we'll do it allover again. That, for the good of your soul; and that, for your mother'ssake; and that, for the little children, undreamed of and unborn, whosemother you'll love for their sakes, and for love's sake, in the leaseof manhood that will be yours when I am done with you. Come on and takeyour medicine. I'm not done with you yet. I've only begun. There aremany other reasons which I shall now proceed to expound." The brownsailors and the black stewards and cook looked on and grinned. Far fromthem was the questioning of any of the mysterious and incomprehensibleways of white men. As for Carlsen, the mate, he was grimly in accordwith the treatment his employer was administering; while Albright, thesupercargo, merely played with his mustache and smiled. They were menof the sea. They lived life in the rough. And alcohol, in themselves aswell as in other men, was a problem they had learned to handle in waysnot taught in doctors' schools."Boy! A bucket of fresh water and a towel," Grief ordered, when he hadfinished. "Two buckets and two towels," he added, as he surveyed his ownhands."You're a pretty one," he said to Pankburn. "You've spoiled everything.I had the poison completely out of you. And now you are fairly reekingwith it. We've got to begin all over again. Mr. Albright! You know thatpile of old chain on the beach at the boat-landing. Find the owner, buyit, and fetch it on board. There must be a hundred and fifty fathoms ofit. Pankburn! To-morrow morning you start in pounding the rust off ofit. When you've done that, you'll sandpaper it. Then you'll paint it.And nothing else will you do till that chain is as smooth as new."Aloysius Pankburn shook his head."I quit. Francis Island can go to hell for all of me. I'm done with yourslave-driving. Kindly put me ashore at once. I'm a white man. You can'ttreat me this way.""Mr. Carlsen, you will see that Mr. Pankburn remains on board.""I'll have you broken for this!" Aloysius screamed. "You can't stop me.""I can give you another licking," Grief answered. "And let me tell youone thing, you besotted whelp, I'll keep on licking you as long as myknuckles hold out or until you yearn to hammer chain rust. I've takenyou in hand, and I'm going to make a man out of you if I have to killyou to do it. Now go below and change your clothes. Be ready to turnto with a hammer this afternoon. Mr. Albright, get that chain aboardpronto. Mr. Carlsen, send the boats ashore after it. Also, keep your eyeon Pankburn. If he shows signs of keeling over or going into the shakes,give him a nip--a small one. He may need it after last night."VFor the rest of the time the _Kittiwake_ lay in Apia Aloysius Pankburnpounded chain rust. Ten hours a day he pounded. And on the long stretchacross to the Gilberts he still pounded.Then came the sandpapering. One hundred and fifty fathoms is ninehundred feet, and every link of all that length was smoothed andpolished as no link ever was before. And when the last link had receivedits second coat of black paint, he declared himself."Come on with more dirty work," he told Grief. "I'll overhaul the otherchains if you say so. And you needn't worry about me any more. I'm notgoing to take another drop. I'm going to train up. You got my proudgoat when you beat me, but let me tell you, you only got it temporarily.Train! I'm going to train till I'm as hard all the way through, andclean all the way through, as that chain is. And some day, Mister DavidGrief, somewhere, somehow, I'm going to be in such shape that I'll lickyou as you licked me. I'm going to pulp your face till your own niggerswon't know you."Grief was jubilant."Now you're talking like a man," he cried. "The only way you'll everlick me is to become a man. And then, maybe--"He paused in the hope that the other would catch the suggestion.Aloysius groped for it, and, abruptly, something akin to illuminationshone in his eyes."And then I won't want to, you mean?"Grief nodded."And that's the curse of it," Aloysius lamented. "I really believe Iwon't want to. I see the point. But I'm going to go right on and shapemyself up just the same."The warm, sunburn glow in Grief's face seemed to grow warmer. His handwent out."Pankburn, I love you right now for that."Aloysius grasped the hand, and shook his head in sad sincerity."Grief," he mourned, "you've got my goat, you've got my proud goat, andyou've got it permanently, I'm afraid."VIOn a sultry tropic day, when the last flicker of the far southeast tradewas fading out and the seasonal change for the northwest monsoon wascoming on, the _Kittiwake_ lifted above the sea-rim the jungle-cladcoast of Francis Island.Grief, with compass bearings and binoculars, identified the volcano thatmarked Redscar, ran past Owen Bay, and lost the last of the breeze atthe entrance to Likikili Bay. With the two whaleboats out and towing,and with Carl-sen heaving the lead, the _Kittiwake_ sluggishly entered adeep and narrow indentation. There were no beaches. The mangroves beganat the water's edge, and behind them rose steep jungle, broken here andthere by jagged peaks of rock. At the end of a mile, when the white scaron the bluff bore west-southwest, the lead vindicated the "Directory,"and the anchor rumbled down in nine fathoms.For the rest of that day and until the afternoon of the day followingthey remained on the _Kittiwake_ and waited. No canoes appeared. Therewere no signs of human life. Save for the occasional splash of a fish orthe screaming of cockatoos, there seemed no other life. Once, however, ahuge butterfly, twelve inches from tip to tip, fluttered high over theirmastheads and drifted across to the opposing jungle."There's no use in sending a boat in to be cut up," Grief said.Pankburn was incredulous, and volunteered to go in alone, to swim it ifhe couldn't borrow the dingey."They haven't forgotten the German cruiser," Grief explained. "And I'llwager that bush is alive with men right now. What do you think, Mr.Carlsen?"That veteran adventurer of the islands was emphatic in his agreement.In the late afternoon of the second day Grief ordered a whaleboat intothe water. He took his place in the bow, a live cigarette in his mouthand a short-fused stick of dynamite in his hand, for he was bent onshooting a mess of fish. Along the thwarts half a dozen Winchesters wereplaced. Albright, who took the steering-sweep, had a Mauser within reachof hand. They pulled in and along the green wall of vegetation. At timesthey rested on the oars in the midst of a profound silence."Two to one the bush is swarming with them--in quids," Albrightwhispered.Pankburn listened a moment longer and took the bet. Five minutes laterthey sighted a school of mullet. The brown rowers held their oars. Grieftouched the short fuse to his cigarette and threw the stick. So shortwas the fuse that the stick exploded in the instant after it struck thewater. And in that same instant the bush exploded into life. There werewild yells of defiance, and black and naked bodies leaped forward likeapes through the mangroves.In the whaleboat every rifle was lifted. Then came the wait. A hundredblacks, some few armed with ancient Sniders, but the greater portionarmed with tomahawks, fire-hardened spears, and bone-tipped arrows,clustered on the roots that rose out of the bay. No word was spoken.Each party watched the other across twenty feet of water. An old,one-eyed black, with a bristly face, rested a Snider on his hip, themuzzle directed at Albright, who, in turn, covered him back with theMauser. A couple of minutes of this tableau endured. The stricken fishrose to the surface or struggled half-stunned in the clear depths."It's all right, boys," Grief said quietly. "Put down your guns andover the side with you. Mr. Albright, toss the tobacco to that one-eyedbrute."While the Rapa men dived for the fish, Albright threw a bundle oftrade tobacco ashore. The one-eyed man nodded his head and writhed hisfeatures in an attempt at amiability. Weapons were lowered, bows unbent,and arrows put back in their quivers."They know tobacco," Grief announced, as they rowed back aboard. "We'llhave visitors. You'll break out a case of tobacco, Mr. Albright, and afew trade-knives. There's a canoe now."Old One-Eye, as befitted a chief and leader, paddled out alone, facingperil for the rest of the tribe. As Carlsen leaned over the rail to helpthe visitor up, he turned his head and remarked casually:"They've dug up the money, Mr. Grief. The old beggar's loaded with it."One-Eye floundered down on deck, grinning appeasingly and failing tohide the fear he had overcome but which still possessed him. He was lameof one leg, and this was accounted for by a terrible scar, inches deep,which ran down the thigh from hip to knee. No clothes he wore whatever,not even a string, but his nose, perforated in a dozen places and eachperforation the setting for a carved spine of bone, bristled like aporcupine. Around his neck and hanging down on his dirty chest was astring of gold sovereigns. His ears were hung with silver half-crowns,and from the cartilage separating his nostrils depended a big Englishpenny, tarnished and green, but unmistakable."Hold on, Grief," Pankburn said, with perfectly assumed carelessness."You say they know only beads and tobacco. Very well. You follow mylead. They've found the treasure, and we've got to trade them out of it.Get the whole crew aside and lecture them that they are to be interestedonly in the pennies. Savve? Gold coins must be beneath contempt, andsilver coins merely tolerated. Pennies are to be the only desirablethings."Pankburn took charge of the trading. For the penny in One-Eye's nose hegave ten sticks of tobacco. Since each stick cost David Grief a cent,the bargain was manifestly unfair. But for the half-crowns Pankburn gaveonly one stick each. The string of sovereigns he refused to consider.The more he refused, the more One-Eye insisted on a trade. At last, withan appearance of irritation and anger, and as a palpable concession,Pankburn gave two sticks for the string, which was composed of tensovereigns."I take my hat off to you," Grief said to Pankburn that night at dinner."The situation is patent. You've reversed the scale of value. They'llfigure the pennies as priceless possessions and the sovereigns asbeneath price. Result: they'll hang on to the pennies and force us totrade for sovereigns. Pankburn, I drink your health! Boy!--another cupof tea for Mr. Pankburn."VIIFollowed a golden week. From dawn till dark a row of canoes restedon their paddles two hundred feet away. This was the deadline. Rapasailors, armed with rifles, maintained it. But one canoe at a time waspermitted alongside, and but one black at a time was permitted to comeover the rail. Here, under the awning, relieving one another in hourlyshifts, the four white men carried on the trade. The rate of exchangewas that established by Pankburn with One-Eye. Five sovereigns fetcheda stick of tobacco; a hundred sovereigns, twenty sticks. Thus, acrafty-eyed cannibal would deposit on the table a thousand dollars ingold, and go back over the rail, hugely-satisfied, with forty cents'worth of tobacco in his hand."Hope we've got enough tobacco to hold out," Carlsen muttered dubiously,as another case was sawed in half.Albright laughed."We've got fifty cases below," he said, "and as I figure it, three casesbuy a hundred thousand dollars. There was only a million dollars buried,so thirty cases ought to get it. Though, of course, we've got to allowa margin for the silver and the pennies. That Ecuadoran bunch must havesalted down all the coin in sight."Very few pennies and shillings appeared, though Pankburn continually andanxiously inquired for them. Pennies were the one thing he seemed todesire, and he made his eyes flash covetously whenever one was produced.True to his theory, the savages concluded that the gold, being of slightvalue, must be disposed of first. A penny, worth fifty times as much asa sovereign, was something to retain and treasure. Doubtless, in theirjungle-lairs, the wise old gray-beards put their heads together andagreed to raise the price on pennies when the worthless gold was allworked off. Who could tell? Mayhap the strange white men could be madeto give even twenty sticks for a priceless copper.By the end of the week the trade went slack. There was only theslightest dribble of gold. An occasional penny was reluctantly disposedof for ten sticks, while several thousand dollars in silver came in.On the morning of the eighth day no trading was done. The gray-beardshad matured their plan and were demanding twenty sticks for a penny,One-Eye delivered the new rate of exchange. The white men appeared totake it with great seriousness, for they stood together debating in lowvoices. Had One-Eye understood English he would have been enlightened."We've got just a little over eight hundred thousand, not counting thesilver," Grief said. "And that's about all there is. The bush tribesbehind have most probably got the other two hundred thousand. Returnin three months, and the salt-water crowd will have traded back for it;also they will be out of tobacco by that time.""It would be a sin to buy pennies," Albright grinned. "It goes againstthe thrifty grain of my trader's soul.""There's a whiff of land-breeze stirring," Grief said, looking atPankburn. "What do you say?"Pankburn nodded."Very well." Grief measured the faintness and irregularity of the windagainst his cheek."Mr. Carlsen, heave short, and get off the gaskets. And stand by withthe whaleboats to tow. This breeze is not dependable."He picked up a part case of tobacco, containing six or seven hundredsticks, put it in One-Eye's hands, and helped that bewildered savageover the rail. As the foresail went up the mast, a wail of consternationarose from the canoes lying along the dead-line. And as the anchorbroke out and the _Kittiwake's_ head paid off in the light breeze, oldOne-Eye, daring the rifles levelled on him, paddled alongside andmade frantic signs of his tribe's willingness to trade pennies for tensticks."Boy!--a drinking nut," Pankburn called."It's Sydney Heads for you," Grief said. "And then what?""I'm coming back with you for that two hundred thousand," Pankburnanswered. "In the meantime I'm going to build an island schooner. Also,I'm going to call those guardians of mine before the court to show causewhy my father's money should not be turned over to me. Show cause? I'llshow them cause why it should."He swelled his biceps proudly under the thin sleeve, reached for the twoblack stewards, and put them above his head like a pair of dumbbells."Come on! Swing out on that fore-boom-tackle!" Carlsen shouted from aft,where the mainsail was being winged out.Pankburn dropped the stewards and raced for it, beating a Rapa sailor bytwo jumps to the hauling part.