With several deft strokes of his heavy-backed sheath-knife, Grief clipped a triangular piece of shell from the end of a husked drinking-cocoa-nut. The thin, cool liquid, slightly milky and effervescent, bubbled to the brim. With a bow, Pankburn took the natural cup, threw his head back, and held it back till the shell was empty. He drank many of these nuts each day. The black steward, a New Hebrides boy sixty years of age, and his assistant, a Lark Islander of eleven, saw to it that he was continually supplied.
Pankburn did not object to the hard work. He devoured work, never shirking and always beating the native sailors in jumping to obey a command. But his sufferings during the period of driving the alcohol out of his system were truly heroic. Even when the last shred of the poison was exuded, the desire, as an obsession, remained in his head. So it was, when, on his honour, he went ashore at Apia, that he attempted to put the public houses out of business by drinking up their stocks in trade. And so it was, at two in the morning, that David Grief found him in front of the Tivoli, out of which he had been disorderly thrown by Charley Roberts. Aloysius, as of old, was chanting his sorrows to the stars. Also, and more concretely, he was punctuating the rhythm with cobbles of coral stone, which he flung with amazing accuracy through Charley Robertss windows.
David Grief took him away, but not till next morning did he take him in hand. It was on the deck of the Kittiwake, and there was nothing kindergarten about it. Grief struck him, with bare knuckles, punched him and punished him gave him the worst thrashing he had ever received.
For the good of your soul, Pankburn, was the way he emphasized his blows. For the good of your mother. For the progeny that will come after. For the good of the world, and the universe, and the whole race of man yet to be. And now, to hammer the lesson home, well do it all over again. That, for the good of your soul; and that, for your mothers sake; and that, for the little children, undreamed of and unborn, whose mother youll love for their sakes, and for loves sake, in the lease of manhood that will be yours when I am done with you. Come on and take your medicine. Im not done with you yet. Ive only begun. There are many other reasons which I shall now proceed to expound. The brown sailors and the black stewards and cook looked on and grinned. Far from them was the questioning of any of the mysterious and incomprehensible ways of white men. As for Carlsen, the mate, he was grimly in accord with the treatment his employer was administering; while Albright, the supercargo, merely played with his mustache and smiled. They were men of the sea. They lived life in the rough. And alcohol, in themselves as well as in other men, was a problem they had learned to handle in ways not taught in doctors schools.
Boy! A bucket of fresh water and a towel, Grief ordered, when he had finished. Two buckets and two towels, he added, as he surveyed his own hands.
Youre a pretty one, he said to Pankburn. Youve spoiled everything. I had the poison completely out of you. And now you are fairly reeking with it. Weve got to begin all over again. Mr. Albright! You know that pile of old chain on the beach at the boat-landing. Find the owner, buy it, and fetch it on board. There must be a hundred and fifty fathoms of it. Pankburn! To-morrow morning you start in pounding the rust off of it. When youve done that, youll sandpaper it. Then youll 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. Im done with your slave-driving. Kindly put me ashore at once. Im a white man. You cant treat me this way.
Mr. Carlsen, you will see that Mr. Pankburn remains on board.
Ill have you broken for this! Aloysius screamed. You cant stop me.
I can give you another licking, Grief answered. And let me tell you one thing, you besotted whelp, Ill keep on licking you as long as my knuckles hold out or until you yearn to hammer chain rust. Ive taken you in hand, and Im going to make a man out of you if I have to kill you to do it. Now go below and change your clothes. Be ready to turn to with a hammer this afternoon. Mr. Albright, get that chain aboard pronto. Mr. Carlsen, send the boats ashore after it. Also, keep your eye on 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 Pankburn pounded chain rust. Ten hours a day he pounded. And on the long stretch across to the Gilberts he still pounded.
Then came the sandpapering. One hundred and fifty fathoms is nine hundred feet, and every link of all that length was smoothed and polished as no link ever was before. And when the last link had received its second coat of black paint, he declared himself.
Come on with more dirty work, he told Grief. Ill overhaul the other chains if you say so. And you neednt worry about me any more. Im not going to take another drop. Im going to train up. You got my proud goat when you beat me, but let me tell you, you only got it temporarily. Train! Im going to train till Im as hard all the way through, and clean all the way through, as that chain is. And some day, Mister David Grief, somewhere, somehow, Im going to be in such shape that Ill lick you as you licked me. Im going to pulp your face till your own niggers wont know you.
Grief was jubilant.
Now youre talking like a man, he cried. The only way youll ever lick 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 illumination shone in his eyes.
And then I wont want to, you mean?
Grief nodded.
And thats the curse of it, Aloysius lamented. I really believe I wont want to. I see the point. But Im going to go right on and shape myself up just the same.
The warm, sunburn glow in Griefs face seemed to grow warmer. His hand went out.
Pankburn, I love you right now for that.
Aloysius grasped the hand, and shook his head in sad sincerity.
Grief, he mourned, youve got my goat, youve got my proud goat, and youve got it permanently, Im afraid.
VIOn a sultry tropic day, when the last flicker of the far southeast trade was fading out and the seasonal change for the northwest monsoon was coming on, the Kittiwake lifted above the sea-rim the jungle-clad coast of Francis Island.
Grief, with compass bearings and binoculars, identified the volcano that marked Redscar, ran past Owen Bay, and lost the last of the breeze at the entrance to Likikili Bay. With the two whaleboats out and towing, and with Carl-sen heaving the lead, the Kittiwake sluggishly entered a deep and narrow indentation. There were no beaches. The mangroves began at the waters edge, and behind them rose steep jungle, broken here and there by jagged peaks of rock. At the end of a mile, when the white scar on 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 following they remained on the Kittiwake and waited. No canoes appeared. There were no signs of human life. Save for the occasional splash of a fish or the screaming of cockatoos, there seemed no other life. Once, however, a huge butterfly, twelve inches from tip to tip, fluttered high over their mastheads and drifted across to the opposing jungle.