HERE were close on fifty pearls in the section of bamboo Sneddon kept spliced to his belt day and night. A number of them were practically valueless, because, for some reason as obscure as many another in the Islands, the natives had the notion firmly wedged in their wooden heads that a pearl meant five shillings, whether it was worth nothing or a young fortune.
This was annoying, but, with a substantial balance still on the right side of the scales, it is a pity to shatter cherished illusions, even when they belong to a South Sea Kanaka.
At all events, some of the pearls were worth anything from five to fifty pounds, and the whole represented four months of a blood-sweating, heart-breaking nightmare to Ellis.
This was because Sneddon had run coolies most of his life, and had won the reputation of being the best nigger-driver in "the group." He spared neither himself nor his "labour," and now that he had retired from the sugar estates to "make money out of other people instead of for them," as he put it, he seemed to have overlooked the fact that he was no longer running coolies.
Ellis had told himself this not less than ten times daily, and the thought of finally correcting his partner's error was all that bad kept him alive for the past four months.
When, as a steerage steward, he had deserted the steamer at Nomi, Ellis was an undersized denizen of city wharves, with a pallid face, a weak mouth, and cunning eyes; and now he was a wreck, and the last four months had done it—Sneddon had done it.
He sat now on a bollard, staring at the mud bank that had gripped the bows of the Saluka for twelve mortal hours of mosquitoes, wilting heat, indescribable smells, and again mosquitoes. But these things meant nothing to Ellis. He was too anæmic to attract mosquitoes or render heat unduly trying, and, as for smells, he had lived amongst a varied assortment from infancy. Only one thing mattered, and that was Sneddon.
The eternal sun rose out of the mangroves, and in answer to sounds of movement below, Ellis darted to the bulwarks and pretended to be studying the prospects of getting the motor-boat off the mud. A moment later Sneddon's bullet head appeared over the hatch coaming.
"Still fast?" he jerked out.
"Yes," said Ellis; "but I think"
"There's a sight too much thinking aboard here," boomed Sneddon. "Why don't you get on with it?"
"But what can we do?"
"It's always 'What can we do?'" mimicked the other. "Ease her off." He yawned, stretched his enormous arms, and proceeded to divest himself of his trousers. "Get over the side, up to your neck in stinking mud, that's what—and lively!"
Ellis lowered himself into the warm ooze and sank to his thighs.
"Now!" prompted Sneddon at his side.
"She moves!" squealed Ellis excitedly.
"And no thanks to you," grunted his partner. "Put a bit of beef into it. Keep her going, keep her"
The Saluka slid clear, and the two men clambered aboard, caked with mud. Sneddon fell to scraping himself with a -spike.
"What's that?" he demanded suddenly.
It was the Saluka's lugsail, that Ellis had unearthed from the hold with the vague idea of using it instead of the broken-down engine. He stared at it foolishly, without answering.
"What's it for?" pursued the inexorable Sheddon.
"I thought" began Ellis, but Sheddon cut him short. The sight of the sail seemed to fill him with cold rage.
"See here," he threatened, shaking the marline-spike in Ellis's face, "you came in with me to run the engine, didn't you? Said you could run any old thing, didn't you?"
Ellis moistened his lips and nodded.
"And I believed you. You looked dirty enough, to me. Why have I dragged you along, nursed you like your own mother, when I could have had a man who can work his weight? Because you could run an engine. Well, run it. D'you get me?"
"The magneto"
"Mag nothing!" Sheddon pointed the marline-spike accusingly at the lugsail. "And get that rag out of my sight. We're a motor-boat—savvy? A motor-boat, not a wind-jammer!"
He ceased abruptly. Sheddon had a disconcerting habit of cutting himself short at unexpected moments and reducing his conversation to bare essentials.
"You go below," he ordered with unnatural quietness, "and if that junk pile ain't running in half an hour from now, you'll hear about it."
There was nothing to be said. There never was when Sheddon spoke like that. Ellis went aft and vanished down the grimy hatch. Beside the engine he sank on his knees, and for a moment remained rigid, with a spanner tightly grasped in his hand and his teeth clenched.
"I'll fix 'im!" be muttered. "I'll fix 'im, see if I don't!"