The Quest of the Golden Pearl

CHAPTER VI.—IN THE THICK OF IT. An ominous flapping of the cutter's sails confirmed the captain's words. During the half-hour over which this conversation extended the wind had gradually died away until scarcely a movement of the warm night air could be felt. The cutter, losing her headway, rolled lazily to the motion of the long, glassy swell. Consulting his watch, Don announced it to be three o'clock. “This 'ere's the lull at ween the sea-breeze an' the land-breeze,” observed the captain complacently, working the tiller from side to side as if trying to coax renewed life into the cutter. “How-somedever, it hadn't orter last long. Stow my sea-chest!—we'll turn in an' catch a wink o' sleep atween whiles. Here, Master Jack, lad! take a turn at the tiller, will 'ee?” Settling himself in the captain's place, with instructions to call that worthy sea-dog should the wind freshen, Jack began his first watch. Becalmed as they were, the tiller was useless, so he let it swing, contenting himself with keeping a bright look-out. But soon he concluded even this to be an unnecessary precaution. Not a sail was to be seen on the moonlit expanse of ocean; and even had a score been in sight, there would still have been no danger whatever, in the absence of wind, of their interfering with the cutter. In fine, so secure did he consider their position, and so soporific an influence did the comfortable snoring of Don and the captain exercise upon him, that in a very short time his head sank upon his breast, and he fell asleep. He had slept soundly for perhaps an hour, when a cold, touch upon the cheek startled him into consciousness. Rousing himself, he found Bosin at his elbow. The monkey for some reason had left his masters side, and it was his clammy paw, Jack now perceived, that had awakened him. It almost looked as if the monkey had purposely interrupted his slumber. But what had roused the monkey? Jack rose to his feet, stretched himself, and looked about him. The night was, if anything, more breathlessly calm than when he had relieved the captain. Upon the unruffled, deserted sea the moonlight shimmered with a brilliancy uncanny in its ghostliness. From the cutter straight away to and around the horizon not an object, so far as he could make out, darkened the surface of the water, except under the cutter's larboard bow, where the moon-cast shadow of the sail fell. He fancied he saw something move there, close under the bow where the shadow lay blackest. The next instant it had disappeared. “All right, Bosin, old chap,” said he, stroking the monkeys back; “a false alarm this time—back to your quarters, old fellow!” The monkey, as if reassured by these words, crept away to his master's side, whilst Jack resumed his seat, and again dozed off. Not for long, however. It was not the monkey this time, but a sudden and by no means gentle thud against the cutters side that roused him. Awake in an instant, he sprang to his feet with a startled exclamation. Close under the cutter's quarter lay a canoe, and in the canoe there stood erect a native, with what appeared to be a boathook poised above his head. All this Jack took in at a glance. “Boat ahoy! Who's that?” he cried sharply, his hand instinctively seeking the knife at his belt. For answer came a savage, muttered imprecation; and the boathook, impelled with all the strength of the native's muscular arms, descended swiftly through the air. Starting aside, Jack received the blow' upon his left arm, off which the heavy, iron-shod weapon glanced, striking the gun'le of the boat with a resounding crash. “The lascar!” muttered Jack between his teeth, as he stepped back a pace and whipped out his knife in anticipation of a renewal of the attack. But the lascar, baffled in his attempt to take his enemy by surprise, did not repeat the blow. Instead, he drew off, and with all his strength drove the iron point of the boathook through the cutter's side below the water-line. “By Heaven!” cried Jack, as he perceived his intention, “I'll soon settle scores with you, my fine fellow.” Springing lightly upon the gunle, at a single bound he cleared the few yards of open water intervening between the cutter and the canoe, and with all the impetus of his leap drove the knife into the lascar's shoulder up to the very hilt. The lascar went overboard like a log. The canoe overturning at the same instant, Jack followed him. The noise of the scuffle having roused the sleepers, all was now wild commotion on board the cutter; Captain Mango roaring out his strange nautical oaths, and stumping hither and thither in search of something with which to stop the leak; Don shouting wildly at Jack, as he hastily threw off shoes and coat to swim to his assistance. Before either well knew what had actually happened, Jack was alongside. “What's the matter? Are you hurt?” Don inquired anxiously, giving him a hand over the side. “Hurt? No, not a scratch,” said Jack lightly, scrambling inboard, and proceeding to wring the water from his dripping garments. “A narrow squeak, though. That lascar villain has got his knife back, anyhow.” “Who?” cried Don in amazement; for, amid the confusion, neither he nor the captain had seen the native. “The lascar. What else do you suppose I went over the side for? I dozed off, you see, captain,” said Jack, as the old sailor came stumping up with extended hand, “and that lascar dog, who must have seen us sail and paddled after us, stole a march on me, and tried to crack my nut with a boathook. Lucky for me, he ran his canoe against the side and woke me up. Got on my feet just in time to dodge the blow. Then he smashed the boathook through the side. By Jove! I forgot that. We must stop the leak, or we'll fill in no time.” “Stave my quarter!” roared the captain, detaining him as he was about to rush aft. “The leak's stopped, lad; but blow me if ever I hear'd anything to beat this 'ere yarn o' your'n, so spin us the rest on it.” “That's soon done,” resumed Jack. “When I found the fellow wouldn't give me a fair show, I boarded him, captain, and treated him to a few inches of cold steel. He won't trouble us again, I reckon!” Scarcely had he finished speaking when Don gripped his arm and pointed to where, a dozen yards away, the bottom of the canoe glistened in the moonlight. A dark object had suddenly appeared alongside the overturned skiff. Presently a surging splash was heard. “Shiver my keelson if he ain't righted the craft!” roared the captain, snatching up one of the muskets as the lascar was seen to scramble into the canoe and paddle slowly away. Don laid a quick hand upon the old sailor's arm. “Let the beggar go,” said he. “He'll never reach land with that knife in him.” “Maybe not, lad,” replied the captain, shaking off the hold upon his arm and taking the best aim he could, considering the motion of the boat. “Bloodshed's best awoided, says you. Wery good; all' the best way to awoid it, d'ye mind me, is to send yon warmint to Davy Jones straight away. Consequential, the quality o' marcy shan't be strained on this 'ere occasion, as the whale says when he swallied the school o' codlings.” And with that he fired. The lascar was seen to discontinue the use of his paddle for a moment, and then to make off faster than before. The old sailor's face fell. “Spike my guns, I've gone and missed the warmint!” said he. “Howsomedever, we'll meet again, as the shark's lower jaw says to the upper 'un when they parted company to accomidate the sailor. An' blow me, lads, here comes the wind! “Ay, here's a master excelleth in skill, An' the master's mate he is not to seek; An' here's a Bjsin ull do our good will, An' a ship, d'ye see, lads, as never had leak. So lustily, lustily, let us sail forth! Our sails he right trim an' the wind's to the north!” It was now five o'clock, and as day broke the cutter, with a freshening breeze on her starboard quarter, bore away for the island, now in full view. When about a mile short of it, however, the captain laid the boat's head several points nearer the wind, and shaped his course as though running past it for the mainland, which lay like a low bank of mist on the horizon. In the cuddy Puggles was busy with preparations for breakfast, whilst Don lolled on the rail, watching the shore, and idly trailing one hand in the water. “Hullo! what's this?” he exclaimed suddenly, examining with interest a fragment of dripping cloth that had caught on his hand. “Jack, come here!” Jack happened to be forward just then, hanging out his drenched clothes to dry upon an improvised line, but hearing Don's exclamation, he sprang aft. Somehow he was always expecting surprises now. “Look here,” said Don, rapidly spreading out the soaked cloth upon his knee, “have you ever seen this before?” “Not likely!—a mere scrap of rag that some greasy native——” Jack began, eyeing the said scrap of rag contemptuously. But suddenly his tone changed, and he gasped out: “By Jove, old fellow, it's not the handkerchief, is it?” “The very same!” replied-Don, rising and hurrying aft to where the captain stood at the tiller. “I say, captain, you remember my telling you how I tied a handkerchief round that bag of pearls? Well, here's the identical 'wipe.' with my initials on it as large as life. Just fished it out of the water.” For full a minute the old sailor stared at him open-mouthed. Then: “Flush my scuppers,” roared he, “if this 'ere ain't the tidiest piece o' luck as ever I run agin. We've got the warmint safe in the maintop, so to say, where he can't run away—shiver my main-brace if we ain't!” “Thanks to your clear head, captain,” said Don. “It certainly does look as if he had come straight to the island here.” “We'll purty soon know for sartin; we're a-makin' port hand over fist,” rejoined the captain, bringing the cutter's head round, and running under the lee of the island. This side, unlike the wind-swept seaward face, was thickly clad in jungle, above which at intervals towered a solitary palm like a sentinel on duty. No traces of human habitation were to be seen; for a rocky backbone or ridge, running lengthwise of the island, isolated its frequented portion from this jungly half. Midway between the extremities of this ridge rose two hills: one a symmetrical, cone-shaped elevation, clad in a mantle of jungle green; the other a vast mass of naked rock, towering hundreds of feet in air, and in its general-outline somewhat resembling a colossal kneeling elephant. As if to heighten the resemblance, there was perched upon the lofty back a native temple, which looked for all the world like a gigantic howdah. “D'ye see them elewations, lads?” cried the captain, heading the cutter straight for what-appeared to be an unbroken line of jungle. “A. brace o' twins, says you. Wery good; atween 'em lies as purty a leetle cove as wessel ever cast anchor in—slip my cable if it ain't!” “Are you sure you're not out of your reckoning, captain?” said Jack, scanning the shore-line with dubious eye. “It's no thoroughfare, so far as I can see.” “Avast there! What d'ye say to that, now?” chuckled the captain, as the cutter, in obedience to a movement of the tiller, swept round a tiny eyot indistinguishable in its mantle of green from, the shore itself, and entered a narrow, land-locked creek, whose precipitous sides were completely covered from summit to water-line with a rank growth of vegetation. “Out with the oars, lads! a steam-whistle couldn't coax a wind into the likes o' this place, says you.” The oars run out, they pulled for some distance through this remarkable rift in the hills, the cutter's mast in places sweeping the overhanging jungle; until at last a spot was reached where a side ravine cleft the cliff upon their left, terminating at the water's edge in a strip of sandy beach, thickly shaded with cocoa-nut palms. “Stow my cargo!” chuckled the captain, as he ran the cutter bow-on into the sand, “a nautical sea-sarpent himself couldn't smell us out here, says you. So here we heaves to, and here we lies until——swabs an' slush-buckets, what's this?” For the captain had already scrambled ashore, and as he uttered these words he stooped and intently examined the sand at his feet. In it were visible recent footprints, and a long trailing furrow that started from the water's edge and ran for several yards straight up the beach. Where the furrow terminated there lay a native ballam . Jack was first to espy the canoe. Guessing the cause of the captain's sudden excitement, he ran up the sands to the spot where the rude vessel lay. The ballam was still dripping sea-water; and in it, amid a pool of blood, lay a sailors sheath-knife. “The lascar!” he shouted, snatching up the blood-stained weapon, and holding it out at arms length, as Don and the captain hurried up; “we've landed in his very tracks!” CHAPTER VI.—IN THE THICK OF IT. E ither the lascar's wound had not proved as serious as Jack surmised, or the fellow was endowed with as many lives as a cat. At all events, he had reached land before them, and in safety. “Sharks an' sea-sarpents!” fumed the captain, Stumping excitedly round and round the canoe. “The warmint had orter been sent to Davy Jones as I ad wised. Howsomedever, bloodshed's best awoided, says you, Master Don, lad; an' so, shiver my keelson! here we lies stranded. What's the course to be steered now, I axes? That's a matter o' argyment, says you; so here's for a whiff o' the fragrant!” Bidding his servant fetch pipe and tobacco, the captain seated himself upon the canoe and fell to puffing meditatively, his companions meanwhile discussing the situation and a project of their own, with many anxious glances in the direction of the adjacent jungle, where, for anything they knew to the contrary, the lascar might even then be stealthily watching their movements. “Shiver my smokestack! d'ye see that, now?” exclaimed the captain at last, following with half-closed eye and tarry finger the ascent of a perfect smoke-ring that had just left his lips. “An' what's a ring o' tobackie smoke? says you. A forep'intin' to ewents to come, says I. A ring means surrounded, d'ye see; an'—grape-shot an' gun-swabs!—surrounded means fightin', lads!” “Fun or fighting, I'm ready, anyhow!” cried Jack, flourishing his knife. “Ay, ay, lad; an' me, too, for the matter o' that,” replied the old sailor, presenting his pipe at an imaginary foe like a pistol; “but when our situation an' forces is beknownst to the enemy, we're sartin to be surprised, d'ye mind me. An' so I gets an idee! “Go palter to lubbers an' swabs, d'ye see? 'Bout danger, an' fear, an' the like; A tight leetle boat an' good sea-room give me, An' it ain't to a leetle I'll strike!” “Out with the idea then, captain!” cried Don. “Shiver my cutlass, lads!—we must carry the war into the camp o' the enemy, dye see'. Wery good, that bein' so, what we wants, d'ye mind me, is a safe, tidy place to fall back on, as can't be took, or looted, or burnt, like the cutter here, whiles we're away on the rampage, so to say.” “Why not entrench ourselves on the hill just above?” suggested Jack. “Stow my sea-chest!—the wery identical plan I perposes,” promptly replied the captain. “An' why? you naterally axes. Because it's ha'nted, says I.” “Because it's what?” cried the two young men in chorus. “Haunted?” “Ay, the abode o' spurts,” continued the captain. “There's a old ancient temple aloft on yon hill, d'ye see, as they calls the 'Ha'nted Pagodas'—which they say as it's a tiger-witch or summat inhabits it, d'ye see—an' shiver my binnacle if a native'll go a-nigh it day or night!” “Admirable! But what about the cutter, captain?” said Don. The captain sucked for a moment at his pipe as if seeking to draw a suitable idea therefrom. “What o' the cutter? you axes,” said he presently. “Why, we'll wrarp her down the crik a bit, d'ye see, an' stow her away out o' sight where the wegitation's thickish-like on the face o' the cliff; copper my bottom if we won't!” “The stores, of course, must be carried up the hill,” said Jack, entering readily into the captain's plans. “We should set about the job at once.” “Avast there, lad! What's to perwent the jungle hereabouts a-usin' of its eyes? I axes. The wail o' night, says you. So, when the wail o' night unfurls, as the poic says, why, up the hill they goes.” This being unanimously agreed to, and Puggles at that moment announcing breakfast, our trio of adventurers adjourned to the cutter. “Captain,” said Don, after delighting the black boy's heart by a ravenous attack upon the eatables, “like you, I've got an idee—Hullo, you, Pug! What are you grinning at?” “Nutting, sa'b,” replied Puggles, clapping his hand over his mouth; “only when marster plenty eating, he sometimes bery often one idee getting. Plenty food go inside, he kicking idee out!” “Just double reef those lips of yours, Pug, and tell us where do your ideas come from?” said Jack, laughing. “Me tinking him here got, sar,” said Puggles, gravely patting his waistband, at which the old sailor nearly choked. “And a pretty stock of them you have, too, judging by the size of your apple-cart!” said his master, shying a biscuit at his head. “Well, as I was saying, captain, I have an idea——” “Flush my scuppers!” gasped the old sailor, swallowing a brimming pannikin of coffee to clear his throat. “Let's hear more on it then, lad.” “Well, it's this. Jack and I are going over to the town—where the temples are, you understand—to see if we can't sight old Salambo. A bit of reconnoitring may be of use to us later, you see.” “A-goin'—over—to—the—town!” roared the captain in amazement, separating the words as though each were a reluctant step in the direction proposed. “Scuttle my cutter, lads! ye'll have the whole pack o' waimints down on ye in a brace o' shakes!” “You won't say so when you see us in full war-paint,” retorted Jack, as he and Don rose and disappeared in the cuddy. In the course of half an hour the cuddy door was thrown open, and two stalwart young natives, in full country dress, confronted the old sailor. With the assistance of Puggles and the captain's “boy,” not to mention soot from the cuddy pots, the two young fellows had cleverly “made up” in the guise of Indian pilgrims. At first sight of them, the captain, thinking old Salambo's crew were upon him, seized a musket and threw himself into an attitude of defence. “Blow me!” he roared, when a loud burst of laughter apprised him of his mistake, “if this ain't the purtiest go as ever I see. Scrapers an' holystones, ye might lay alongside the old woman himself, lads, an' him not know ye from a reglar, genewine brace o' lying niggers. What tack are ye on now, lads? I axes.” “Off to the town, captain,” replied Don, “to search for old Salambo among his idols. That is, if you'll let Spottie here come with us as pilot.” “Spottie” was the nickname with which they had dubbed the captain's black servant, whose face was deeply pitted from smallpox. “Right, lads; he's been here afore, an' knows the lay o' the land; so take him in tow, and welcome,” was the captain's hearty rejoinder. “An' stow your knives away amidships, in case of emargency like; though blow me if they ever take ye for aught but genewine lying niggers!” Concealing their knives about their persons in accordance with this advice, they launched the lascar's ballam upon the creek—which the captain assured them expanded a little further inland into a broad lagoon, too deep to ford—and so set out.. The paddle had been removed; but as the creek appeared to have nowhere, in its upper reaches at any rate, a greater depth than half-a-dozen feet, the boathook served admirably as, a substitute for propelling the canoe. “What's the line for, Spottie?” Jack asked, seeing their guide throw a coil of small rope into the canoe, which he afterwards boarded in person and shoved off. “Turkle, sar,” replied Spottie. “Plenty time me catching big turkle asleep on sand. He no come in ballam , so me taking rope to tow him astern. Him bery nice soup making, sar,” said Spottie, who had always an eye to anything. Little as they guessed it then, this line was to play a more unique and serviceable part in the day's adventures than that indicated by the soup-loving Spottie. The creek, as the captain had intimated, presently expanded into a lagoon fully a quarter of a mile wide, and so shallow in parts that the canoe almost touched the amber-coloured sands over which it passed. Arrived at the further side, they drew the canoe upon the beach, and continued their route to the town by way of a steep jungle-path, which, in the course of some fifteen minutes' hard climbing, led them to the crest of the rocky ridge. Here they paused a moment to look about them. To the left lay Haunted Pagoda Hill; on their right the colossal Elephant Rock; and, nestling at its base, the native town, with its sea of dun roofs and gleaming white temples. The stirring ramp of tom-toms, and the hoarse roar of the multitude, floated up to them as they stood contemplating the scene. “Now for it!” cried Jack, heading the descent. “We'll soon be in the thick of it, anyhow.” A few minutes more and they stood on the outskirts of the town. “Make for the chief temple, Spottie,” said Don to their guide; “and whatever you do, don't call us sahib or sir. We're only pilgrims like yourself, you understand. And say, Spottie, do you know old Salambo, the shark-charmer, when you see him?” By a nod Spottie intimated that he did. “Good! He's the chap we're after, you understand. Keep a sharp look-out, and if you happen to get your eye on him——” “Or on a lascar with a knife-wound in his shoulder,” put in Jack. “Just pull my cloth, will you?” concluded Don. Again the trusty Spottie nodded, and at a signal led the way into the main-street, where they immediately found themselves in the midst of a noisy, surging crowd of natives. So perfect was their disguise, however, that Don could not detect a single suspicious glance directed towards them. The natives who thronged the street were, to a man, heading for the temples. Into these, if nothing was seen of the shark-charmer outside, Don was resolved to penetrate. As no English foot is ever allowed—in Southern India, at least—to cross the threshold of a Hindu shrine, this was a step attended with tremendous risk. Detection would mean fighting for their lives against overwhelming odds. “We'll do it, however,” said Don resolutely. “The temple's the place to look for him, since he's a priest, and in this disguise the pearls are worth the risk.” That this was also Jack's opinion was plain from the resolute, nonchalant manner in which he pressed forward. Owing to the congested state of the thoroughfare, progress was necessarily slow. They were more than an hour in gaining the open maidan in which the street terminated. In the centre of this open space lay a sacred tank, flanked, on that side nearest the Elephant Rock, by a vast semicircle of temples. Midway in this line stood the chief temple. Here, if at all, the shark-charmer would most likely be found. But to reach the chief temple was no easy task. Vast crowds of pilgrims surrounded the sacred tank, awaiting their turn to bathe in its stagnant green waters. At last, after much elbowing and pushing, they reached the steps of the chief temple. Thus far they had seen nothing of Salambo. As they had already made the entire circuit of the tank, there was nothing for it but to seek him in the sacred edifice itself. Spottie led the way, since for him there was absolutely no risk. Following close upon his heels, past the hideous stone monsters which flanked the entrance, the mock pilgrims found themselves in the temple court. Here the crush was even greater than without. They had now reached the crucial point of their adventure. A single unguarded word or action on their part, and each man of these teeming thousands would instantly become a mortal enemy! Don strove to appear unconcerned, but his pulses throbbed madly at the mere thought of detection. As for Jack, the careless poise of his right hand at his belt showed him to be on his guard, though he looked as cool as a sea-breeze. Over the heads of the multitude, on the opposite side of the court, could be seen an inner shrine, where offerings were being made. Selecting this as his goal, Don began to edge his way slowly but steadily towards it, closely followed by Spottie and the undaunted Jack. Suddenly he felt a hand tugging at his cloth. Unable to turn himself about in the crush, he twisted his head round and caught Spottie's eye. By a quick, almost imperceptible movement of hand and head, the black directed his attention towards the left. Looking in the direction thus indicated, Don saw, but a few yards away, the portly person of the shark-charmer. By dint of persistent pushing, he presently succeeded in approaching so near to his man that, had he so wished, he could have laid a hand upon his shoulder. The shark-charmer was evidently bent upon gaining the inner shrine at the opposite side of the court. Inch by inch he pummelled his way through the dense crowd, unconscious that the sahibs whom he had robbed were dogging his steps. Once when he turned his head his eyes actually rested upon Don's face. But he failed to recognise him, and so went on again, greatly to Don's relief. Then of a sudden the limit of the crush was reached, and they emerged upon a comparatively clear space immediately in front of the shrine. This the shark-charmer crossed without hesitation, but Don hung back, uncertain whether it would be prudent to venture further. However, seeing a group of natives about to approach the shrine with offerings, he joined them, and in company with Jack ascended the steps. The shark-charmer had already disappeared within. Fumbling in his cloth for some small coin, to present as an offering, Don crossed the threshold, and was in the very act of penetrating the dimly lighted, incense-clouded chamber just beyond, when a guarded exclamation from Jack caused him to glance quickly over his shoulder. Following them with the stealthy tread of a panther was a swarthy, evil-looking native. “The lascar!” said Jack, in a low, breathless whisper. “Back, old fellow, for your life! Once in the crowd, we're safe.” Back they darted towards the entrance, but the lascar, anticipating this manouvre, was on his guard. As Jack dashed past, the cunning spy thrust out his foot and sent him sprawling on the flagstones. Don, hearing the noise, turned back to his friend's assistance, and by the time Jack regained his feet the lascar had reached the entrance mid raised the hue-and-cry. “This way!” cried Don, making for a narrow side door, as the lascar's shouts began to echo through the precincts of the temple. “Get your knife ready, he's raised the alarm!” Through the door they dashed, only to find themselves in the court, hemmed in on every side. The frenzied cries of the lascar continued to ring through the enclosure; but, fortunately for the mock pilgrims, so vast was the concourse of natives, and so deafening the uproar, that only those nearest the shrine understood, his words, while even they failed, as yet to penetrate the clever disguise of the intruders. This gave them time to draw breath, and look about them. Close, on their left Jack's quick eye discovered an exit, about which the crowd was less dense than elsewhere. The great doors stood wide open, disclosing a narrow street. Between this exit and the spot where they stood at bay, a number of sacred bulls were quietly feeding off a great heap of corn which the devotees had poured out upon the flags of the court. All this Jack's eyes took in at a glance. A roar, terrific as that of ten thousand beasts of prey, burst from the surging multitude. The lascars words were understood. Glancing quickly over his shoulder, Jack saw that this man, from his place upon the steps of the shrine, was pointing them out. Another instant, and their disguise would avail them nothing; the maddened, fanatical crowd would be upon them. “Don,” he said, in rapid, husky tones, as he grasped his friend's hand for what he believed to be the last time, “there's but one chance left us, and that's a slim one. You see the door on our left, and those bulls? Do you take one of the two big fellows feeding side by side, and I'll take the other. Use your knife to guide the brute, and with God's help——” A tremendous roar of voices and a thunderous rush-of feet cut his words short. “Now for it, old fellow!” With one swift backward glance at the furious human wave sweeping down upon them, they darted towards the bulls, of which the two largest, accustomed to the daily tumult of town and temple, were still composedly feeding, their muzzles buried deep in the mound of corn. Before the animals had time to lift their heads, the mock pilgrims were on their backs and plying knives and heels upon their sleek flanks. Bellowing with pain and terror, the bulls, with tails erect and heads lowered, charged the throng about the doorway, bowling them over in all directions like so many ninepins. Before the infuriated crowd in their rear understood the meaning of this unexpected manoeuvre, the mock pilgrims were in the street. It was a side street, fortunately, separated from the densely-packed maidan by a high brick wall, and but few natives were about. Those who followed them out of the temple, too, they soon distanced, for their ungainly steeds made capital time. But now a new, if less serious, danger menaced them. Apart from the difficulty of clinging to the round, arched backs of the bulls, once started, the maddened animals could not be stopped. Fortunately, they took the direction of the hill-path. On they tore, bellowing madly, and scattering showers of foam and sand right and left, until, in an amazingly brief space of time, they reached the outskirts of the town. Here, as if divining that their services were no longer required, the bulls stopped abruptly, shooting their riders off their backs into the sand with scant ceremony. “Regular buck-jumpers!” groaned Jack, rubbing his lacerated shins ruefully. “Glad we're safe out of it, anyhow.” “So am I. But I wonder where Spottie is?” said Don, fanning himself with the loosened end of his turban. Jack started up. “Never once thought of Spottie since we entered the shrine,” cried he. “Come, we must go back and look him up.” Their uneasiness on Spottie's account, however, was at that instant set at rest by the precipitate appearance on the scene of Spottie himself. Seeing his masters charge the crowd on the bulls' backs, he had extricated himself from the crush, and followed them with all possible speed. “Dey coming, sar!” he panted, as he ran up, “Lascar debil done fetching plenty black man!” And there swelled up from the street below a tumult of voices that left no doubt as to the accuracy of his statement. CHAPTER VII.—“FUN OR FIGHTING, I'M READY, ANYHOW!” D ey coming, sar!” groaned Spottie; and even as he spoke the leaders of the mob came tearing round the corner. “Is it fight or run, Don?” said Jack quietly, adjusting his turban with one hand and laying the other significantly upon his knife. “No two ways about that! We could never stand against such odds; so we'll run first and fight afterwards.” “And reverse the old saying, eh?” laughed Jack. “I should dearly love to have a whack at them; but if you say run, why—run it is, so here goes!” Shaking his fist at the howling mob, he sprang up the steep hill-path, followed closely by Don. Spottie had already made good use of his legs, but they soon caught him up, whereupon Jack seized the terrified native by the arm and dragged him over the brow of the ridge. Down the further side they dashed, breathing easier now, for their movements were here well concealed by the dense jungle through which the pathway ran. As they emerged panting upon the sandy shore of the lagoon, a yell from the hill behind told them that their pursuers had gained the crest of the ridge. At the same instant Don pulled up abruptly, and being too much out of breath to speak, pointed in the direction of the canoe. Beside it stood a couple of natives, who, on seeing them, turned and fled towards the jungle. “The tall fellow!” shouted Jack. “Stop him! He's got the boathook!” The boathook was their only means of propelling the canoe. That gone, they were practically at the mercy of their enemies. After the flying natives they dashed, Jack leading. He quickly came up with the hinder-most, whom he dealt a blow that stretched him senseless in the sand. But the fellow who carried the boathook was long of leg and fresh of wind; while Jack was still a dozen yards in his rear, he gained the jungle and disappeared. “No good!” groaned Jack, as he relinquished the pursuit and turned back. “There's nothing for it but to fight. I say, Don, what's up?” Don lay sprawling in the sand. “Tripped over that lazy beast,” said Don, picking himself up and aiming a kick at an enormous turtle which was already heading for the water. “Him bery nice soup making, sar!” cried Spottie, rubbing his brown hands unctuously. But just then a fierce tumult of voices, rolling down from the jungle path, put other thoughts than soup into Spottie's pate. “The rope! Fetch the rope, Spottie!” cried Jack, throwing himself on the turtle's back. Don dragged him off. “Come away!” cried he. “There's no time to fetch that beast along. Are you out of your senses?” Jack's only reply was to snatch the rope from Spottie's hands, rapidly reeve a running knot at one end, and slip the loop around the body of the giant chelonian, which had by this time reached the water's edge. All this had occupied much less time than it takes to relate. The shouts of the mob now sounded ominously near. Without loss of time the canoe was launched, and at once Jack's purpose became apparent. Seating himself in the bow of the canoe, he drew in the slack of the rope until the turtle was within easy reach, and, holding it firmly so, prodded it with his knife. This was a cruel act, but the stern necessity of the moment outweighed all other considerations. The turtle at once began making frantic efforts to escape from its tormentor; and as its weight could not have been less than three or four hundred pounds, and its strength in proportion, it easily and rapidly drew the canoe through the water. In a few minutes they were a stone's throw from shore—and not a moment too soon, for at that instant the mob of natives rushed out of the jungle path, and finding themselves outwitted, gave utterance to a furious howl of disappointment and rage. The canoe, thanks to the efforts of the turtle, was soon so far from shore that Jack considered it safe to alter their course and steer for the creek. No sooner did he do so than the natives set off at a run in the same direction. “Dey there canoe got, maybe,” observed Spottie, who had now recovered from his fright. “In that case we may have some fun yet,” laughed Jack, lashing the turtle with the rope's end, as if anxious to be in time for the anticipated sport. By the time the creek was reached, however, not a native was to be seen; so, congratulating themselves on having given their pursuers the slip, they reached the cutter. Here the old sailor, to say nothing of Puggles, was most anxiously watching for their return. “Shiver my mizzen!” shouted he, as they ran under the cutter's stern; “ha' ye gone an' took a mermaid in tow, lads?” “No; one of Spottie's turkles has taken us in tow, captain,” replied Jack, setting the turtle free with a slash of his knife, in spite of Spottie's protestations that the creature would make “bery nice soup.” “Ugh, you cannibal!” he added, with a glance of disgust at the black's chagrined face, “you wouldn't eat the beast after he has saved your life, would you?” “Belay there! what's this 'ere yarn about the warmint a-savin' o' your lives, lads?” sang out the captain. “Hours ago,” continued he, as the two young men, leaving Spottie to beach the canoe, scrambled on board the cutter, “hours ago I says to myself, 'Mango, my boy,' says I, 'may I never set tooth to salt junk agin if they younkers ain't all dead men afore this.' says I. Howsomedever, here ye be safe an' sound; so let's hear the whole on it, lads.” In compliance with this request Don began to relate the adventures which had befallen them since morning; but scarcely had he got fairly launched upon his narrative, when: “Sharks an' sea'-sarpents!” interrupted the captain, rising to his feet with a lurch, and pointing up the creek, “what sort o' craft's this 'ere a-bearin' down on us? I axes.” A canoe, laden to the water's edge with natives, appeared round a bend in the creek. Presently other canoes, to the number of half-a-dozen, hove in sight in rapid succession, whose occupants, perceiving their approach to be discovered, set up a shout that made the cliffs ring. “Spottie was right,” cried Jack, catching up a musket, while Don and the captain followed suit; “they've found canoes, and mean to board us.” “Fire my magazine, but we'll give 'em a right warm welcome, then,” said the captain. “Look to the primin', lads, an' hold hard when I says fire, for blow me, these 'ere old muskets kicks like a passel o' lubberly donkeys, d'ye see!” “Captain,” Don hastily interposed, “why not draw the bullets and load up with shot? The canoes are so deep in the water that a smart volley of shot right into the midst of the rascals is sure to make them flop over. We've just time to do it.” This suggestion tickled the captain immensely, and without delay the change was made. The canoes were now within easy range. “Ready, lads,” cried the captain: “We always be ready, Steady, lads, steady! We'll fight an' we'll conquer agin and agin!” Up went the muskets. At sight of them the natives rested on their oars, or rather paddles, and the canoes slowed down. “Fire!” The cliffs trembled beneath the treble report. Jack, who in his excitement had forgotten the captain's caution, went sprawling backwards over the thwarts. “Ho, ho, ho! flint-locks an' small-shot, a wolley's the thing, lads,” roared the captain, pointing up the creek as the smoke rolled, away. “We ne'er see our foes but we wants 'em to stay, An' they never see us but they wants us away; When they runs, why, we follows an' runs 'em ashore, For if they won't fight us, we can't do no more!” The “wolley” had told. Driven frantic by the stinging shot, the natives had leapt to their feet and overturned four out of the seven deeply-laden canoes, whose late occupants were now struggling in the water. “They've a softer berth of it than I, anyway,” said Jack from the bottom of the boat, as he rubbed his shoulder ruefully. “I shall get at the muzzle end of your thundering old blunderbuss next time, captain. Hullo, there's that rascally——” The remainder of the exclamation was drowned in the creek, for as he uttered it Jack took a header over the stern. “Shift my ballast, what's the young dog arter now? I axes,” cried the captain, gazing aghast at the spot where Jack had disappeared. His speedy reappearance solved the riddle. By the queue he grasped a dripping, half-naked native, whom he dragged after him to the beach. It was the lascar. “Hurrah! he's got him this time,” shouted Don, leaping out upon the sands to lend a hand in landing the prize. At first the lascar struggled fiercely for liberty; but as Jack was by no means particular to keep his head above water, he soon quieted down, and presently, with Dons assistance, was hauled out on the sands, where he fell on his knees and began whining piteously for mercy. “Your revolver, Don,” gasped Jack, with a watery side-wink at his friend. “He shall tell us what he knows of the pearls, or die like the dog he is.” Don placed the revolver in his hand, ready cocked. The lascar grovelled in the sand. “Sa'b, sa'b!” he whined, “you no shoot, me telling anyting.” “No doubt you will,” replied Jack significantly, pressing the muzzle of the weapon to his forehead; “but what I want is the truth. Now, then, has old Salambo sold the pearls yet? Come, out with it!” “He n-n-no selling, sa'b,” stammered the terrified native, shrinking as far away from the pistol as Jack's hold on his queue would permit “Where are they, then? Come, look sharp!” “He d-d-done hiding in Elephant Rock, s-s-sa'b,” confessed the lascar, apparently on the point of fainting with terror. “Don! Captain! Do you hear that?” cried Jack, half-turning, in the excitement produced by this disclosure, towards his friends. “He says old Salambo's hid the pearls in the —— ——— Phew!” He stopped, with a shrill whistle of dismay. By a quick upward stroke of his arm the lascar had sent the revolver spinning, and at the same instant wrenched himself free from his captor's grasp. Ere Jack could stir hand or foot, he had plunged headlong into the creek. “Let him go,” said Jack tranquilly, as the water closed over the fellow's heels; “we've got an important clue out of him, anyhow.” The captain slowly lowered the musket he had raised for a shot at the fugitive should he comet to the surface within range, and said approvingly: “Right, lad! Spike my guns, I've heard tell as how that 'ere Elephant Rock's riddled from main-deck to keelson, so to say, with gangways, and air-wents, an' sich. Howsomedever, that's matter for arter reflection, as the whale said to himself when he swallied Jonah. The warmints astarn there”—indicating that part of the creek where the occupants of the canoes had taken their involuntary bath—“the warmints astarn ha' sheered off a p'int or two; so now, lads, let's tackle the perwisions afore the wail o' night descends, an' then to work!” The “wail o' night” was not long in descending, for the sun had disappeared with the lascar. Ere they had done justice to the ample meal which Puggles set before them, and exchanged the draggled pilgrim garb for their everyday clothes, the shadows had crept silently from their hiding-places beneath thicket and cliff, and blotted out the last lingering touch of day from the bosom of the creek. Save the musical chirping of some amorous tree-frog to his mate, or the lazy swish of wings as some belated flying-fox swung slowly past, unbroken silence reigned between the darkling cliffs. In the captain's opinion, no immediate repetition of the recent attack was to be feared. But the events of the day had made it only too plain that their present position was far from being-one of security. To remain on board the cutter would be to invite daily skirmishes with the natives, which would not only deter the quest of the golden pearl, but prove a source of constant annoyance and danger. So far as the captain knew, the island afforded no safer retreat than the hill of the Haunted Pagodas. The natives of the island, he said, believed this hill to be the abode of a witch in the form of a ferocious tiger, merely to look upon which meant death. For this reason they would on no account venture near it. So upon the Haunted Pagodas they resolved to fall back without delay. But here an unforeseen difficulty arose. With the path to the summit of the hill none of the party was acquainted except the captain, and he was unwilling that the precious cutter should be entrusted to the care of any one except himself while the several journeys necessary for the removal of the stores were being made. “Shiver my main-brace!” roared he, thumping the bottom of the boat with his wooden leg after they had talked it all over. “Shiver my mainbrace! I'll go the first trip with ye, lads, an' trust the old cutter to luck.” “See here, captain,” said Jack persuasively “why not trust her to me? It's for only one trip, as you say; and besides, there's not much danger of an attack to-night. You said so yourself.” To this arrangement the old sailor finally agreed. So Don, Spottie, and Puggles loaded up with the stores and other necessaries for their proposed sojourn on the summit of the hill, and a start was made, the captain leading with musket and lantern. “Good-bye, Jack!” Don called back, as he struck into the jungle at the captain's heels. “'Fire a gun if you want help.” “All right, old fellow,” was Jack's careless reply. “Good-bye till I see you again!” 'So, with no other companion than Bosin, he was left alone to guard the cutter. And now the difficulties of the captain's party began in earnest. The path before them was, it is true, scarce half a mile in length, but so precipitous was the hillside, so overgrown the track, that every furlong seemed a league. The tangled, overhanging jungle growth not only completely shut out the rays of the moon, but by its thickness impeded their progress at every step, as though determined to guard the abode of the witch-tiger from all human intrusion. To make matters worse, they had neglected to provide themselves with an axe. “Shiver my main-brace!” the captain cried, as his wooden leg stuck fast in a tangled mass of creepers. “These 'ere land trips be a pesky sight worse nor a sea woyage, says you! Blow me! I'd ruther round the Horn in mid-winter than wade through such wegetation as this 'ere in midnight darkness! Howsomedever, the port's afore us, so up we goes, as Jonah says to the whale when he bid the warmint adoo.” Up they went accordingly, and after much stumbling and tough climbing, reached the summit and the Haunted Pagodas. Finding here a clear space and bright moonlight, they quickly relieved themselves of their loads. “An' now, lads,” cried the captain, “wear ship an' back to the cutter, says you. Fire my magazine! what's that? I axes.” Sharp and distinct upon the night air there floated up from the darkness of the ravine the report of a gun. Don felt his heart stand still with dread, then race at lightning speed. “An attack!” he cried hoarsely; “and Jack alone! Hurry, captain!—for God's sake hurry! Easier said than done. Haste only added to the difficulties of the way. It seemed to Don that he should never shake off the retarding clutch of the jungle. At last their weary feet pressed again the sands of the little beach. But now a new terror seized them. The beach was illuminated by a ruddy, fitful glow..The cutter was on fire! Don cleared the sands almost at a bound. “Jack!” he shouted, leaping the cutter's rail, and with lightning glance scanning the bottom of the boat, and then the cuddy, for some sign of his friend. “Jack, where are you? Captain, he's not here! and—my God! look at this!” Upon the bottom of the boat, showing darkly crimson in the ruddy firelight, lay a pool of blood, and beside it a discharged musket.

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