The Brassbounder: A Tale of the Sea

  XV

  ''OLY JOES'

  "She'll be one o' them 'oly Joes; them wot cruises among th' Islandswi' tracks an' picter books for th' bloomin' 'eathens!"

  "'O--ly Joes! 'Oly Joes b' damn," said Martin. "'Oly Joes isschooners same's mission boats on th' Gran' Banks! ... 'Oly Joes!She's a starvation Britisher, that's wot _she_ is; a pound an' pintruddy limejuicer by th' set o' them trucks; sailor's misery in thempainted bloomin' ports o' her."

  The subject of discussion was a full-rigged ship, standing upright inmid-Pacific, with all her canvas furled; looking as she might be inQueenstown Harbour awaiting orders. The south-east trades had blown usout of the tropics, and we held a variable wind, but there was nothingin the clean, fresh morning to cause even a Killala pilot to clew up,and the strange sight of an idle ship in a working breeze soon drew allhands from work and slumber, to peer over the head rail, to ventdeep-sea logic over such an odd happening.

  One of the younger hands had expressed an opinion, and Martin, who heldthat "boys an' Dutchmen should only speak when spoke to," wasscornfully indignant.

  "'O--ly bloomin' Joe! ... 'Ow should she be an 'oly Joe, me young'know-all'? Wot d'ye know 'bout 'oly Joes, anyway?"

  "Well! ... 'eard as 'ow they clews up at eight bells o' a Saturd'ynight an' prays, solid on, till they sets tawps'ls, jack-easy, ov aMonday mornin'!"

  The laugh of derision sent him shamefaced to the fo'cas'le, and wetalked about till there was a call for all hands to haul courses up andstand by to work ship. We hauled sharp up to windward, and, as we drewon, we saw what was the matter, and the sight caused our Old Man todive below to his charts, cursing his wayward chronometer.

  We saw the loom of a low island, scarce raised above the sea, with thesurf breaking lightly, and the big ship piled up, all standing, on theverge of the weather reef. She looked to be but lately gone on, forher topsides were scarce weather-beaten. The boats were gone from herskids, and the davit tackles, swinging lubberly overside, told that hercrew had left her. Aloft, she seemed to be in good trim, and her sailswere as well stowed as if she were lying in the Canning Dock with hernose against the Custom House. We lay-to for some time with our ensignapeak, but saw no sign of life aboard of the wreck, and when we fired acharge from our signal-gun (a rusty six-pounder), only a few sea-birdsrose at the report. We were about to bear off on our course again whenwe saw two sail rounding the reef from the west side, and beating out.

  There was but a light breeze, and they were some time in reaching us.One was a large boat with barked canvas, going well and weatherly, butthe other, plainly a ship's lifeboat, hung heavy in the wind, andpresently her crew lowered sail and came at us under oars. The bigboat reached us first, her steersman taking every inch out of thefickle breeze. Plainly these were no deep-water sailor-men, by the waythey handled their boat. Smart, wiry men, they had no look ofcastaways, and their light cotton clothes were cleanly and in order.As they sheered alongside they hailed us in clear, pleasant English:one shouted, in face of our line of wondering seamen, a strange seasalutation:

  "God bless you, Captain Leish! Are you long out?"

  "Blimy," said the bo'sun, "th' young 'un wos right after all. 'OlyJoes they be!"

  "Mebbe 'oly Joes, but them ain't sailormen," muttered Martin sullenly;"them's Kanakas!"

  Neither was quite right, for the boatmen were Pitcairn Islanders, andthey were soon on deck greeting us in the friendly way of men fromafar. Their leader went aft to the Old Man, and the rest remained totell us of the wreck, in exchange for what scant knowledge we had ofaffairs.

  The island was called Oeno. The ship was the _Bowden_, of Liverpool.She had gone ashore, six weeks back, in a northerly wind, with all sailon her: chronometer was twenty miles out: a bad case, the whole bottomwas ripped out of her, and her ruined cargo of grain smelt abominably;two of their men were already sick. Ugh! ... The crew of the ship hadmade for Pitcairn, ninety miles to the southward; they might be therenow. They (the Islanders) had now been three weeks on the reef,salving what they could. There was not much: they were all pretty sickof the job, and wanted to get back to Pitcairn. Perhaps the Captainwould give them a passage; it was on the way?

  As we stood about, the Old Man and the leader of the Islanders came outof the cabin, and talked with the others. All wanted to get back toPitcairn, and, the Old Man agreeing to give them a passage, we hoistedthe smaller boat on our davits, towed the other astern, and were soonon our way towards Pitcairn.

  When we got the ship in fair sailing trim, we had a rare opportunity oflearning something of the Island and its people. Discipline was, forthe time, relaxed, and but for working ship, in which the Islandersjoined us, we had the time to ourselves. In the shade of the greatsails, we stood or sat about, and our decks showed an unusual animationin the groups of men colloguing earnestly--strangers met by the way.

  In stature the Islanders were perhaps above the average height, litheand wiry, and but few were darker-skinned than a Spaniard or Italian.They spoke excellent English (though, among themselves, they had a fewodd words), and their speech had no unnecessary adjectives. They had agentle manner, and no ill language; sometimes our rough ship talkraised a slight protest; a raised hand, or a mild, "Oh, Sir!" Theirleader, who was Governor of the Island, was a man in the prime of life,and, though dressed in dungarees and a worn cotton shirt, barefootedlike the rest, had a quiet dignity in his manner and address thatcaused even our truculent Old Martin to call him Sir. There was oneoutlander among them, a wiry old man, an American whaleman, who hadbeen settled on the Island for many years; he it was who steered theboat, and he knew a little of navigation.

  Their talk was mostly of ships that had visited the Island, and theyasked us to run over the names of the ships that were at 'Frisco whenwe left; when we mentioned a ship that they knew, they were eager toknow how it fared with her people. They had fine memories. They couldname the Captain and Mates of each ship; of the whalers they had theparticulars even down to the bulk of oil aboard. They seemed to take apleasure in learning our names, and, these known, they let pass noopportunity of using them, slipping them into sentences in the oddestmanner. They themselves had few surnames--Adams, Fletcher, Christian,and Hobbs (the names of their forefathers, the stark mutineers of the_Bounty_)--but their Christian names were many and curious, sometimesdays of the week or even dates. They told us that there was a childnamed after our Old Man, who had called off the Island the day after itwas born, five years ago; a weird name for a lassie! In one way theIslanders had a want. They had no sense of humour. True, they laughedwith us at some merry jest of our Irish cook, but it was the laugh ofchildren, seeing their elders amused, and though they were evercheery-faced and smiling, they were strangely serious in their outlook.

  We had light winds, and made slow progress, and it was the afternoon ofthe second day when we saw Pitcairn, rising bold and solitary, on thelee bow. The sun had gone down before we drew nigh, and the Islandstood sharp outlined against the scarlet and gold of a radiant westernsky. Slowly the light failed, and the dark moonless night found uslifting lazily to the swell off the north point. The Islanders mannedtheir boats and made off to the landing place. It was clock calm, andwe heard the steady creak of their oars long after the dark had takenthem. We drifted close to the land, and the scent of trees, lime andorange, was sweetly strange.

  The boats were a long time gone, and the Old Man was growing impatient,when we heard voices on the water, and saw, afar off, the gleam ofphosphorescence on the dripping oars. We heard the cheery hail, "The_Florence_, ahoy!" and burned a blue light to lead them on.

  There were many new men in the boats, and they brought a cargo of fruitand vegetables to barter with us. The Old Man heaved a sigh of reliefwhen he learned that the _Bowden's_ crew were disposed of; they hadtaken passage in a whaler that had called, nine days before, on her wayacross to Valparaiso--a 'full' ship.

  In odd corners the bartering began. Cotton clothes were in mostdemand; the
y had little use for anything heavier. A basket of ahundred or more luscious oranges could be had for an old duck suit, anda branch of ripening bananas was counted worth a cotton shirt in areasonable state of repair. Hansen had red cotton curtains to hisbunk, full lengths, and there was keen bidding before they were takendown, destined to grace some island beauty. After the trade inclothing had become exhausted, there were odd items, luxuries to theIslanders, soap, matches, needles, thread. There was a demand forparts of old clocks--Martin it was who had a collection; they told usthat there was a man on the island who was a famous hand at putting upand repairing such battered timepieces as we had to offer. They hadsome curios; rudely carved or painted bamboos, and sea-shells cunninglyfashioned into pin-cushions, with Pitcairn in bold black letters, justas one might see "A Present from Largs." These were the work of thewomen-folk, and showed considerable ingenuity in the way the shellswere jointed.

  Although they seemed to have a good idea of the value of the trifles weoffered, there was no 'haggling,' and latterly, when trade slackened,it came to be, "Sir! if you like this, I will give it to you, and youwill give me something."

  There was no cheating. Those of our crew who would glory in 'bilking'a runner or a Dutchman were strangely decent, even generous, in theirdealings. When we were called away to brace the yards round, stock wastaken on both sides; the Islanders had their boats well laden, and ouronce trim deck was strewn with a litter of fruit and vegetables, likethe top of Bell Street on a busy morning.

  Light was breaking into the east when we laid the yards to a gentlebreeze, and shortly the Islanders, with a great shaking of hands and"God bless you," got aboard their boats and sheered off. We were nowto leeward of the Island, and the light showed us the bold woodedheights, high cliffs, steep to the water's edge, and the small housesscattered apart among the trees. Astern the boats had hoisted sail,and were standing inshore, leaning gently to the scented land breeze.The ''oly Joes' were singing together as they sailed; the tune was anold familiar one that minded us of quiet Sabbath days in the homeland,of kirk and kent faces, and, somehow, we felt that it was we who werethe 'bloomin' 'eathens,' for their song was 'Rock of Ages,' and it hada new sound, mellowed by distance and the water.