The Second String by Nat Gould (moboreader txt) 📕

He fired the gun, and the sound had a marvellous effect upon the blacks. Some of them dropped down on their knees on the beach, others turned and fled into the bush; as for the swimmer Phil had intended hitting, he dived and did not come up until he reached shallow water, when he scrambled out and ran after the others.

"It's strange they have never heard a gun fire before, this harbour is evidently unknown; we have discovered something during our trip, at any rate; I think we'll call it Redland Bay," said Phil.

Jack laughed, he thought it would be something to boast of on his return to England if a newly discovered harbour was named after him.

The blacks were evidently thoroughly frightened for they saw no more of them.

"It seems curious, they have no boats," said Hake Moss, "they can never have been out to sea. I expect always go round the place on land."

"They have canoes hidden somewhere, depend upon it," replied Phil. "There's plenty of fish here and they are generally clever fishermen."

The boats reached the farther side of the bay, and they spent a lively hour or two turning turtle. The huge ungainly creatures seemed to be too lazy to move, and their weight was enormous. Phil Danks said it was quite unusual to see them on the beach in the day time as they generally crawled out of the water at night. It was evidently a favourite breeding place, for the females were there in abundance, and thousands of eggs were to be found.

"The male turtle has more sense," said Phil, "I have never seen one out of the water."

To Jack Redland and his friend, the turning of turtle was a novel experience. Some of them were so heavy that it took their united efforts to throw them on their backs, and once in that position they were helpless. The silvery sand was soon covered with turned turtle, about fifty of them being at the mercy of their captors.

"What are we to do with the beggars?" asked Jack. "We cannot take the lot on board, it would swamp the boats."

"We will take as many as we require, and turn the remainder over again, if they are left on their backs, they will never get on their feet again, and will rot in the sun. Hundreds of them are destroyed in this way by natives and divers who seem to do it out of pure devilment."

"What a shame," said Harry Marton. "I say, Jack, some of our city aldermen would smack their lips over this sight."

"Yes, turtle is cheap enough here, whatever it may be in London," he replied laughing.

"See this fellow," said Danks, kicking one with his boot. "It's what they call a hawk bill, they are not fit to eat, but tortoise-shell is obtained from them and that makes them valuable. The others are green turtle. They are all right."

"How much do you think this one weighs?" asked Jack, pointing to a larger one than most of the others.

"It will not be far off three hundred pounds weight," answered Phil.

Jack gasped in astonishment, he had no idea they were so heavy.

"The bulk of them average at least a couple of hundred pounds I should say," remarked Hake Moss.

It was no easy matter to get them into the boats, but they succeeded after some difficulty, and the dinghies were almost level with the water.

"We had better put all the turtle in one dinghy and tow her back," said Jack.

"A good idea, we will," replied Phil, and they set to work again until the boat was filled, they then turned the other turtles over, and were about to row back to the schooners, when a screeching attracted their attention and they saw large flocks of birds hovering about the tops of the rocks.

"Melton birds and gulls," said Phil, "we may as well have some fresh eggs now we are about it; I reckon there'll be enough to satisfy a whole fleet over there," and he pointed to a long stretch of sand in which hundreds of them were settling.

It was a curious sight to see these thousands of birds on the sands, and they did not appear to be at all frightened of the visitors to their haunt. They got out of the dinghies again and walked towards them. On their approach a few of the birds rose and whirled around, uttering hoarse cries. But the greater number remained still on their nests, or walked slowly about amongst the stones.

Jack was amused at them, and as he walked, he had frequently to push them out of the way with his foot.

There were thousands of eggs, and they filled two large sacks with them, choosing those which were apparently freshly laid. It was not difficult to tell them as they were perfectly clean, and had a peculiar sticky feel, quite unlike the eggs that had been sat upon.

"Are the birds fit to eat?" asked Jack.

"Melton birds are not bad, the others are no good, a man must be fairly on the verge of starvation to tackle them," replied Moss.

"There does not appear to be much fear of starving here," laughed Jack.

"Perhaps not, but the diet would soon become monotonous," replied Harry.

It was time to return to the schooners, as they had been absent all day, and it was not advisable to leave them for a longtime. It was tedious work running out of the bay, and rather dangerous, as the tide was much lower and here and there sharp pieces of coral stood out of the water. Had one of the boats struck on such a projection it would have speedily ripped open the bottom, or the side.

Phil Danks, however, was a careful steerer and navigated them into the open sea, the dinghy in tow having one or two narrow escapes.

When the blacks saw the boat load of turtle, they gave vent to their joy and danced about the deck.

"You'll see how they gorge themselves to-night," said Phil, "it is enough to make a man cry off turtle for ever to watch them."

"Then I propose we leave them to it," said Jack. "I do not want to spoil my appetite."

The cargo was hauled on board, and the schooners were soon under weigh, Harry Marton remaining on the "Heron" for the night.

There was very little breeze, and the movement was scarcely perceptible. It was a glorious night, the sun shining on the water and illuminating the coast line. The air was pure and cool, and as Jack Redland sat alone at the stern of the schooner, his thoughts commenced to wander to a far different scene thousands of miles away.

He wondered what Sir Lester and Winifred were doing, and what she would have thought of such an experience as he had just gone through. What a contrast it all was to the beautiful Sussex landscape over which he had so often looked from The Downs. Here he was on a pearling schooner, nearing the northernmost point of Australia, and yet his mind was very far away, and his memory lingered over the sights and sounds of Brighton, and the hum of the racecourse. Certainly he was dozing, yet he was half awake; he knew he was smoking, and that the wreaths from his pipe were curling away in the wake of the schooner, and yet he fancied he scented the smell of new mown hay, and in a dim sort of light saw banks covered with primroses and hedgerows budding green, the trees opening out their leaves, the birds nesting, others teaching their young to fly. It mattered not that primroses and new mown hay did not harmonise, it was what he felt and saw, jumbled together in a delightful tangle from which he made no effort to extricate himself.

Now he was on Lewes racecourse and felt the wind whistle past his face, and buzz in his ears, as he made a desperate effort to land Topsy Turvy first past the post. He heard the shouts of the crowd, the roar of the excited backers, and then the next moment he knew he had won, and Sir Lester was congratulating him, and better than all, Winifred was there, all smiles. He heard Job Seagrave's sonorous voice, and smiled in his half awake land of dreams.

He was sitting down on a primrose bank and a gypsy stood looking at him. He held out his hand and she read his fate, he was to claim his own at last. He saw a fair young girl with arms outstretched pleading for him to stay and not venture forth upon his mad quest. He felt her warm form as he pressed her to him, snatched a kiss, and hurried away.

His pipe dropped, and the noise startled him from his reverie. He sat up and looked around wonderingly, hardly realising his whereabouts. A moment ago he was in Sussex, now he was in reality coasting in North-West Australia, and the little schooner was making good headway.

It had been a pleasant enchantment while it lasted; we should be very lonely, very dissatisfied with the ordinary duties of life if we had no dreams.

He looked round and smiled as he saw Harry Marton and Phil Danks fast asleep in their comfortable chairs. Let them sleep on, he was contented with his little romance, he would go through it all over again now he was wide awake.

What if this pearling venture turned out a failure? It was merely a start, the first step on the voyage to wealth and Winifred. If it was not a success he would lose nothing, except time, and that was precious; he could not ask her to wait too long, he had not asked her at all, at least not in words. He must hustle, as an American friend told him, if he meant to get ahead of his fellow men. He smiled as he thought it would be a difficult job to make Phil Danks hustle, the skipper of the "Heron" was a man who made time his slave, not his master, and he looked contented on it.

Pearls; he would at any rate secure some for Winifred even if he had none for himself. He remembered she was fond of pearls, and had a very old chain of them left her by her grandmother. If he had his will the depths of the sea should give up pearls of great price for her gratification, and he would send her them as a token he had not forgotten her. That was a good idea, the first fine pearls he had as his share of the venture should be sent direct to her. Would it look like bribery, a gift to induce her to wait for him, and not regard offers from others with favour? He thought not, she would understand her old playmate wished to prove he was loyal, and would be glad he remembered she loved pearls.

But the pearls were as yet at the bottom of the sea, and he was on the schooner, and they were dawdling along at a very slow pace, quite in keeping with their aldermanic repast on Redland Bay turtle. If he did nothing else the name of that bay would abide for ever as a memory of his trip to the land of chances and dashed hopes.

There was the Great Tom mine, he wondered how that had turned out. Sir Lester's five hundred was sunk in it, he hoped it would bring him luck. Supposing the shares went up to two pounds, that would be a thousand, and he had heard that a great financier once said any man ought to be able to make a fortune with a capital of a thousand pounds. Then he suddenly recollected that same financier, who had made millions, came to a terrible end, the only way out of his trouble being death by his own hand. It was not