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- 2026-01-30T20:48:15.149Z
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- 3320
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- CHAPTER XXV.
JERMIN ENCOUNTERS AN OLD SHIPMATE
During the morning of the day which dawned upon the events just
recounted, we remained a little to leeward of the harbour, waiting the
appearance of the consul, who had promised the mate to come off in a
shore boat for the purpose of seeing him.
By this time the men had forced his secret from the cooper, and the
consequence was that they kept him continually coming and going from
the after-hold. The mate must have known this; but he said nothing,
notwithstanding all the dancing and singing, and occasional fighting
which announced the flow of the Pisco.
The peaceable influence which the doctor and myself had heretofore been
exerting, was now very nearly at an end.
Confident, from the aspect of matters, that the ship, after all, would
be obliged to go in; and learning, moreover, that the mate had said so,
the sailors, for the present, seemed in no hurry about it; especially
as the bucket of Bungs gave such generous cheer.
As for Bembo, we were told that, after putting him in double irons, the
mate had locked him up in the captain’s state-room, taking the
additional precaution of keeping the cabin scuttle secured. From this
time forward we never saw the Mowree again, a circumstance which will
explain itself as the narrative proceeds.
Noon came, and no consul; and as the afternoon advanced without any
word even from the shore, the mate was justly incensed; more especially
as he had taken great pains to keep perfectly sober against Wilson’s
arrival.
Two or three hours before sundown, a small schooner came out of the
harbour, and headed over for the adjoining island of Imeeo, or Moreea,
in plain sight, about fifteen miles distant. The wind failing, the
current swept her down under our bows, where we had a fair glimpse of
the natives on her decks.
There were a score of them, perhaps, lounging upon spread mats, and
smoking their pipes. On floating so near, and hearing the maudlin cries
of our crew, and beholding their antics, they must have taken us for a
pirate; at any rate, they got out their sweeps, and pulled away as fast
as they could; the sight of our two six-pounders, which, by way of a
joke, were now run out of the side-ports, giving a fresh impetus to
their efforts. But they had not gone far, when a white man, with a red
sash about his waist, made his appearance on deck, the natives
immediately desisting.
Hailing us loudly, he said he was coming aboard; and after some
confusion on the schooner’s decks, a small canoe was launched
over-board, and, in a minute or two, he was with us. He turned out to
be an old shipmate of Jermin’s, one Viner, long supposed dead, but now
resident on the island.
The meeting of these men, under the circumstances, is one of a thousand
occurrences appearing exaggerated in fiction; but, nevertheless,
frequently realized in actual lives of adventure.
Some fifteen years previous, they had sailed together as officers of
the barque Jane, of London, a South Seaman. Somewhere near the New
Hebrides, they struck one night upon an unknown reef; and, in a few
hours, the Jane went to pieces. The boats, however, were saved; some
provisions also, a quadrant, and a few other articles. But several of
the men were lost before they got clear of the wreck.
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