The Bungalow Boys in the Great Northwest

“On deck here, Zeb. We’ll be makin’ a landfall soon.”

It seemed to Tom that Lake’s voice, too, was subdued and quiet. It held almost a quaver. But he had little time for noticing these things, for, as they emerged from the cabin – with Mr. Chillingworth, who was now almost recovered – there came a sudden electrifying hail:

“Land ho!”

“Where away?” came Lake’s roar from above.

“Two points off’n the sta’bo’d bow,” came back the answer from somewhere forward.

As the castaways, excited by the sensation that the end of their strange voyage was in sight, sprang up the companion stairs, Tom noted one thing.

The cabin was empty of life. At the foot of the stanchion, to which the Chinaman had been tied, the ropes which had bound him lay in an untidy tangle. But the man himself was gone, nor did they ever see him again.

CHAPTER XVIII.

THE ISLAND

But the sight that greeted Tom’s eyes as he emerged on deck speedily drove all other thoughts from his mind. The wind had died down, and, although a heavy swell was still running, the sea was by no means rough. Across the gray waves, not more than a mile or so from the schooner, was visible the outlines of a rocky island.

Under the pall of gray sky, and surrounded by the leaden, sullen seas, it looked a dismal spot of land. So far as Tom could make out, it was craggy and mountainous in the extreme. On the side by which they were approaching it, the island was wooded down almost to the water’s edge.

Tom found the professor at his elbow. He began to talk to him at once. There was no fear of any one overhearing them. The crew and the leaders of the gang were far too busy scanning the island. In the lee rigging Simon Lake hung by one arm, while, with his free hand, he held a pair of glasses to his eyes.

“What land do you suppose that is?” asked Tom, as the schooner plunged onward toward it.

The professor thought a moment before answering. It was evident he was making some sort of mental calculation. At last he spoke, and by this time Mr. Chillingworth was one of the group about him.

“I should judge it to be one of the group of islets found to the southward of the Queen Charlotte group,” he replied. “They are scattered pretty thickly through these waters, and, as they are seldom visited except by whalers short of water or seal poachers, they would naturally afford an ideal place for men plying the trade that you have informed me Lake is engaged in.”

“I agree with you,” said Mr. Chillingworth, in a low, hopeless sort of tone. “Once on one of those islands and the chance of our ever being heard of again is so remote as to be among the impossibilities. Great heavens, my poor wife – ”

He broke off with a groan. The professor, after a quick glance about him to make sure they were not overheard, laid a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“Brace up, sir,” he said. “I have by no means given up hope yet. At all events, once on land we shall have more of a chance to get away than we would have on board this schooner.”

His tone seemed to cheer the despondent rancher considerably. He glanced gratefully at the philosopher and then said:

“You are right, professor. It is foolish to give way like this when we ought to be bending our energies in other directions. I shall complain no more.”

“That’s right,” said the professor heartily. The next instant he turned, as Monday plucked his sleeve.

“What is it, Monday?” he asked.

“Boss, me at dese island once in whaler, Tuesday he here, too. Long time ago,” said the Kanaka, an excited light burning in his eyes. “Boss, we tell you something ’bout dese island. Him very queer island. Back in dem hills, across dem hills, dey – ”

“Hush,” cautioned the professor. “Not another word now, my man. Here comes the head of this rascally collection of law-breakers.”

Monday subsided instantly. A vacant look crept into his eyes, which an instant before had been dancing excitedly. His companion also relapsed into apparent listlessness. In many ways these natives of the South Seas were fully the equal of any white man in their quick perception and keen insight. They were quite as much in possession of the facts concerning Lake and his crew as were the rest.

As the professor’s sharp eye had noted, Lake had clambered down from the rigging a few minutes before. His face bore a satisfied look as he came toward the castaways.

“Waal, thar’s your future home,” he grinned, as he approached the little group.

“Perhaps you can tell us if I am correct in my assumption that the island is one of the Queen Charlotte group off the coast of Canada?” inquired the professor, adjusting his spectacles and turning to Lake.

“I ain’t sayin’,” was the sullen rejoinder. “It’s enough fer yer ter know thet we’re bound fer thet island, and ye’re a mighty lucky lot not to be at the bottom of the sea at this minnit. I tell yer I hed a hard time persuading Zeb Hunt and ther crew not ter finish yer off.”

Tom shuddered at the rascal’s calm tone. He spoke without the slightest concern. As he gazed at the rapacious face of the leader of the Chinese runners, Tom did not doubt that the unfortunate Chinaman at that moment reposed where, according to Lake, Zeb Hunt and the crew would have liked to see them.

As the schooner drew closer to the island, Tom perceived what Lake had noticed through the glasses some time before. This was, that on the beach, flying from a tall, white flagstaff, was a square of red bunting. What this meant he was presently to find out in an odd manner.

Lake and Hunt went below as the schooner approached the island. Their heads were close together in deep consultation as they entered the companionway. Tom wondered what they could be discussing – the fate of the castaways likely.

The island, seen at closer range as the schooner drew nearer, appeared even more uninviting than it had from the distance. Tall, bare hills, rock-ribbed and cloven with deep crevasses, ran back from its shores, piling up to a mass of rugged peaks and inaccessible-looking precipices. At the foot of these hills – or rather mountains in miniature – was a dense growth of dark, melancholy looking trees, of dark green and blackish foliage. These Tom learned later were mostly pine trees and other conifers.

It was the part of the island immediately about the flagstaff, though, that interested him the most. Here quite a clearing seemed to have been made in the dense forest, and a cluster of rough huts could be seen, with several figures moving about. Against the dark background the red flag floated out like a flame.

While the others stood in a group at the rail watching all this, Tom retired to a seat on the edge of the cabin skylight. As it had grown warm with the dropping of the wind, one of the sections of the light was open, and through it the voices of Hunt and Lake drifted up from the cabin as they sat talking.

“We won’t be able to lose much time, cap,” Tom could hear Zeb say; “the red flag is up and that means that the steamer has called with another load of Chinks and gone away again. The sooner we run them through the better, more especially as Chillingworth is out of the way.”

“Why, thar’s no hurry, is thar?” inquired Lake. “I’d like a bit of a run ashore thar to git my head in shape again. Then, too, thar’s thet gold back in ther hills. I mean ter sic’ that professer onter thet, Zeb.”

“You still think thet’s gold-bearing rock, then?”

“I’m sure uv it. Ef only it is, we’ll get rid of this crew uv ours, Zeb, and you and I ’ull chuck this Chink running business and settle down ter mining. It’s not so dangerous, an’ almost as profitable.”

“Well,” came Hunt’s voice, “I’ve only one thing ter say, pervisions is short, an’ ef ther steamer has landed another bunch of Chinks, the less time we keep ’em ashore the better. Then, too, this wife of Chillingworth’s is bound ter kick up a turribul rumpus when she finds her husband is gone. All things considered, I say let’s get the job over and done with, as quick as possible.”

“I dunno but what ye’re right,” rejoined Lake, “and – ”

But here the noise of the crew, as under the orders of Zeb’s assistant, a little bow-legged fellow, with a fringe of beard under his chin, they began to work the schooner on another tack, drowned all other sound.

Tom arose from his seat, not wishing to court discovery by remaining there longer. He felt that he had overheard an important conversation, though. In the event of Lake’s and Zeb’s having to make a quick run back to the coast, perhaps it would be possible in some way to smuggle themselves on board, or at least work out some plan to get back to their own people. Then, too, there had been some hope in what the Kanaka had said. Evidently he and his companion knew something about the island which was of high importance to persons in their position.

Altogether Tom felt quite heartened compared to his despondency of a short time before.

By dinner time the schooner had been worked quite close to the island, and when they came on deck after the meal they found that not more than a few hundred yards separated her from the shore. While they had been down in the cabin she had slipped in through a passage in a sort of reef that extended from the shore. She now lay in deep, calm water, scarcely moving. As Zeb shouted the command and the anchor rattled and roared to the bottom of the lagoon, several boats put off from the shore and came toward them.

Tom looked toward the rough, precipitous shores with a strange mingling of excitement and apprehension. What lay in front of them on that island? Was it to prove the scene of their indefinite imprisonment in practical slavery to Lake and his crew?

The boy could not but think that the outlook appeared as sombre as the leaden skies, the drab, rocky hills, and the sullen, gray sea outside the reef. But he determined to put a brave face on it, and began to watch, with some interest, the boats pulling toward them.

CHAPTER XIX.

THE ROCKING STONE

It is not our intention to detail all that happened during the first week of the castaways’ stay on the island. Soon after the schooner anchored they were landed in boats and found themselves in the midst of a strange community indeed. As had appeared from the sea, the collection of huts – roughly built of driftwood and roofed with anything that came handy – ran almost down to the margin of the sea. Behind them were great thickets of thorny, straggly brush, in places higher than a man’s head. This, they learned afterward, was considered to be impenetrable. Rumor about the camp had it, though, that Simon Lake and his mate had managed to traverse it, and had formed paths among the dense growth which were only known to themselves. However that might be, nobody ever appeared to enter it for any purpose.

The camp, or collection of shanties, therefore, was to all intents and purposes, an island within an island. The great shed or barn-like structure which Tom had noted from the sea was, so it now transpired, a sort of detaining shed for the Chinamen until they could be shipped south to the States. It was fitted with numerous bunks and rough cooking places of brick, made from a kind of sun-dried clay. When the party from the schooner came ashore it was occupied by some hundred or more Chinese, who came curiously to the doors and gaped at the newcomers till some of Lake’s men roughly drove them back.

As for Tom, he could not but admire the system which the rough New Englander seemed to have instilled into the working of the affairs of the island. There was, it appeared, a regular division of labor, the men taking it in turns to go south with the Chinese and to stay and guard the island and receive the steamer when it came from the north with a fresh installment of yellow men. In this way Lake had effectually succeeded in silencing all grumbling over unequal division of tasks.

Lake himself was in absolute command of everything and everybody. It could be seen that his rough crew feared as well as admired him. As everywhere where several men are gathered together, some of the islanders were of a better sort than others. With one of these fellows Tom soon struck up an acquaintanceship. He was a man who had been with Lake on sealing cruises and had in this way drifted into his present life. He confided to Tom that he would be glad to get out of it, but that Lake had made them all swear, under threat of terrible penalties, never to desert the band.

We have not referred to our party as prisoners, for in the literal sense of the word they were not. As will have been seen, there was no need to surround them with the constant guard and surveillance that Lake’s gang would have been compelled to exercise elsewhere.

Indeed, every one of them realized bitterly that they were more effectually in captivity than if they had been encompassed by stone walls and iron bars. From the bleak, barren islet there was literally no chance of escape, unless they had sought freedom by utilizing an airship. True, the schooner lay at anchor in the little bay, and they were a numerous enough party to have worked her, for both the Kanakas were expert seamen. But the beach was patroled day and night, and, although there was nobody on board the schooner to repel them, yet she was, to all intents and purposes, as inaccessible as if she had swarmed with men and guns.

True to his word, Lake had set them all to work. Hitherto he had kept a sort of rough set of accounts. It now became Mr. Chillingworth’s duty to tabulate and assort these and enter the various transactions of Lake’s unusual “business” in different books. Then, too, the provisions of so considerable a party called for a good deal of bookkeeping. The rancher welcomed the work, however, and plunged into it with avidity. It kept him from thinking, he explained.

As for Tom, employment of an unique sort was found for him. It has been mentioned that Zeb Hunt had complained of a shortage of provisions. It was, in fact, the case that food on the island was scarce and daily diminishing. At the time the party landed the men were already beginning to grumble. Lake’s presence at first had the effect of quieting them, but within a few days the discontented mutterings broke out afresh.

It was this condition of things that occasioned Tom’s employment in a strange occupation for such a place. The Bungalow Boy was appointed by Simon Lake storekeeper and purveyor of provisions. He had a hut provided for him in which he kept his stock – all the provisions on the island. These he doled out three times a day, giving to each man his exact portion. It was no sinecure of a position, either. Tom, who, of course, was in no way responsible for the arrangement or for the shortage of food, had to meet many black looks and insolent threats as he gave each man his share, and no more, in the measures Lake had provided for the purpose.

For an assistant he had Professor Dingle’s boy, and for the first time in his life that youth was kept so active that he had little time to ask foolish questions. At the time Tom assumed charge of the store the main provisions left in the colony consisted of flour, coffee, oatmeal, a little bacon, and some spices and sugar. For meat the men had to depend on the fish they caught – luckily, they were plentiful. Lake had, at one time, maintained a flock of sheep and goats, but these had long since been used up.

As for Professor Dingle and the two Kanakas, no occupation had, as yet, been found for them, but they helped at numerous small tasks about the colony. In return for their services the castaways had been given a hut in the rear of the storeroom. Here they ate and slept and indulged in long talks, none of them caring to mingle with the rough characters of the colony, with the exception of Tom’s friend, whose name was Lucas Tryon. This man was always a welcome visitor, and he more than repaid what entertainment they were able to give him by the things he told them about the island and the ways and customs of its dwellers.

One morning while they were still lingering over the remains of their scant breakfast, Lake himself slouched in. His wound had now quite healed. Only a white scar remained to show where he would always carry a mark.

“Waal, perfesser,” he remarked, “ef you air ready, I reckin I’ve got a job fer you ter tackle ter-day. Come ter think uv it, ther rest uv you might come along. Zeb ’ull look arter ther store, an’ he can take care of ther kid, too.”

The professor at first demurred to this, but Lake’s manner showed that he was not to be trifled with. Whatever he had in his mind to do he evidently meant to accomplish without delay. It is a curious light on the character of Zeb Hunt that, rough, brutal man that he was, he had become seemingly much attached to the professor’s little lad and was never irritated at his endless questions. The professor, therefore, felt less reluctance to leave the lad behind them.

Soon after, with some of the rapidly lessening stock of provisions with them, the party, at Simon Lake’s heels, struck into the brush. Behind them in the little settlement were black looks which Tom could not help but notice. But he had grown so used to this in the store that he paid little attention to them. Once or twice the sullen demeanor of the men had seemed on the point of flaring out into actual mutiny, but, so far, Lake had been able to quell it. It did not occur to Tom that things were rapidly reaching a crisis.

From the camp the brush appeared to be impenetrable. But under Simon Lake’s guidance they soon found themselves on a narrow trail which wound steeply off up the overgrown hillside.

Lake said nothing, but stolidly plodded on till he reached a spot where the trail opened out into a small clearing – a natural space in the midst of the dense, rank growth.

“Sit down,” he said, motioning to some rocks which cropped out of the ground here and there. “Afore we go any farther I’m goin’ ter tell yer why I brought yer along on this cruise. Back in these mountains Zeb Hunt and I, on a hunting trip some time back, stumbled across what I believe are gold-bearing rocks. That’s what I wanted ther perfesser along fer. He’s a scientific gent, and kin tell in a minnit whether er not they be worth going arter.”

“How far is this place from here?” inquired the professor.

“Not more than an hour’s tramp by the trail I’m going’ ter take yer,” was the rejoinder. “I jes’ thought, though, that I’d stop and make it all clear to yer whar we air bound fer.”

“I fail to see what difference it makes since we are under compulsion to accompany you, anyhow,” said Mr. Chillingworth, rather bitterly.

Lake looked at him sharply.

“Waal,” he said slowly, “thar’s five of you and only one uv me. But,” and a slow smile crept over his face as he gazed at his belt in which hung two revolvers, “somehow I don’t believe it ’ud be healthy fer you ter try conclusions with me.”

As he spoke he shouldered his rifle and, changing his tone the next minute, said briskly:

“It’s for’ard, then?”

“Forward by all means,” rejoined the professor.

They all, except the silent Kanakas, echoed his words. At any rate, this adventure promised to be out of the ordinary run of things, and there was just a chance that it might prove the stepping-stone to the way of escape for which they were always on the lookout.

It must have been high noon when they emerged from the rough, rocky ground in which the brush found root and entered upon scenery of a totally different character to any they had yet encountered on the island. The denseness of the brush, which had prevented their looking about them, had concealed from them the fact that in the past hour of their march they had been rising very rapidly.

They now found themselves in a barren sort of tableland, which looked sun-baked and drear. Its surface was seamed and cracked as if by volcanic action in the past. Almost directly ahead of them, as it appeared, towered the ragged steeple-like peaks which were such conspicuous objects from the sea.

But a closer inspection proved that, as a matter of fact, the peaks were separated from them by a gulf or chasm, which, as a remarkable natural phenomenon, merits some brief description. A few steps across the arid tableland brought them to its edge. Tom could not repress a shudder as he gazed into the fathomless rift. Seared by volcanic fires till its sides were of a reddish, angry hue, the abyss itself seemed to have likewise been the result of some tremendous convulsion of nature.

It cleft the island into two parts like a crack in a plate, for it extended clear across it from one side to the other. While they were gazing down into the depths of this horrid profundity, Monday gave a sudden cry, and pointed to a large rock of conical form which upreared itself like a huge obelisk on the edge of the precipice not far from where they stood.

“Matura Seral!” they heard him exclaim to Tuesday, who was gazing at the object with wrapped interest.

“You have seen that stone before, Monday?” asked the professor, reading aright the expression of the two South Sea natives.

“Yes, boss. Many time when here with whaler. They call him Matura Seral – in our language that mean Rocking Stone.”

“A rocking stone, eh?” echoed the professor, beaming behind his spectacles. “One of those truly interesting glacial freaks.”

He hastened forward, following Lake, who had already started for the stone, of the existence of which he seemed perfectly well aware. At any rate, it was not an unfamiliar object to him, for as he reached its side he laid one of his hands upon it, and, to the amazement of the rest, they saw the mighty mass of stone actually quiver and sway. Yet so perfectly poised was it on the edge of the chasm, where the same convulsion that had caused the rift had probably deposited it, that in the countless ages it had stood there it had not moved from its base.

“Waal, gents all,” said Lake, as they came up, “here’s whar we stop.”

“So it seems,” said Mr. Chillingworth; “but where is that gold mine you brought us here to examine?”

For reply Lake pointed across the gulf at their feet. Exactly opposite to where they stood they could now see on the wall of a precipice facing them a narrow ledge. At one end of this ledge was what appeared to be the mouth of a cave.

“Thar,” said Lake, indicating the opening; “thar’s the place.”

“How on earth do you expect to cross this gulch?” gasped the professor, looking at Lake, as if he were in doubt as to whether the fellow was in his right wits.

Lake exerted a little more of his great strength and gave the rocking stone a great shove. It bent outward and dipped over the gorge.

“Hyar’s haow we’ll cross,” he said. “It’s a bridge put hyar by either God or the Devil, but it’s come in handy fer Simon Lake.”

CHAPTER XX.

BURIED ALIVE

It was Monday who broke the silence that followed.

“Dat right, boss,” he said. “In old time me come here wid whaler we go on stone lots of time.”

“All same stone in our country,” added Tuesday.

Lake stared at them with a dropped jaw. It was plain to see he was astonished.

“You’ve crossed by this stone?” he asked sharply.

But Monday shook his head.

“No,” he said, “but some time we come here and rock on him.”

For some reason or other Bully Banjo seemed mightily relieved at this.

“Waal,” he said, “it’s a simple thing, arter all. Jes’ a matter of balance. But I tell yer it took nerve ther first time me an’ Zeb crossed over, although we knew the rock would work – at least, the sealer wot told us about ther mine told us that ther thing was safe. And now, perfesser, ef you’ve no objection, we’ll jes’ send one of yer blacks across since they’re used ter it, an’ when they land safe on the ledge it’ll give ther rest of you courage.”

“Monday, do you mind attempting this?” asked the professor. The kind-hearted scientist would rather have tried the experiment himself – risky as it seemed – than compel one of his servants to go unwillingly. But he was under no such compulsion. Monday gave a broad grin that showed his white teeth in an expression of almost childish pleasure.

“Me like go, boss,” he said.

“All right, then. Up with yer,” ordered Lake brusquely. “I don’t want ter fool away too much time hyar, but I jes’ had ter know about thet gold afore we sail.”

“Then you mean to sail soon?” asked the professor, as Monday clambered up the rough sides of the rock.