Fighting a headwind, it took the remainder of that night and most of the next morning before they had drawn close enough to the island to look for a suitable anchorage.
The sea-surrounded strip of lava and earth could not have been more than ten miles long, and three or four miles across at its widest point. A narrow sandy beach was lined with coconut palms, but inland the island rose to a rugged height of over 2,000 feet of volcanic rock. With the storm now played out, Robbie could feel the tropical heat rising in the air. But there was still sufficient wind to carry them around to the northern side of the island. They dropped anchor about four furlongs out in a small natural harbor. If another typhoon sprang up, it offered little protection against the ship being blown to bits. But if the calm held, it should afford them what they needed.
Robbie wasted little time. There was work to do, and he was anxious to explore this tiny piece of the world he was seeing for the first time. He had been to the Philippines, but never to any of her outer northern islands. One of the two remaining launches was lowered and half the crew embarked, including Robbie, Digger, Overlie, Newly, Drew, Jenkins, and Pike. The thought of leaving Lackey aboard, walking the decks with a captive audience, was not without humor, thought Robbie as they pulled away from the Tiger’s side. The small craft heaved up and down over the swells, but with each mighty pull on the oars, the island drew closer by degrees.
“Is it deserted?” asked Drew.
“Was twenty years ago,” said Pike. “Or so we thought.”
“We’ll find out soon enough,” added Robbie. “But most of these islands have native tribes on them. Perhaps we’ll encounter some locals.”
They beached the boat on the warm, white sands. All seven men—even those who never allowed their emotions to show—stood still for a moment in a kind of awe. An intense quiet hung over the place, broken only by the dreamlike rustle of the leafy tops of the coconut palm trees towering a hundred feet overhead. A gentle breeze played across the beach, and it was impossible to imagine that only yesterday the same typhoon that had crippled their ship must have raged over this peaceful setting. Visual reminders of the storm lay strewn about, however—broken palm branches, scattered driftwood thrown ashore by the crashing waves, and one entire coconut tree fallen on the sand. But there was no sound now, as if the storm had washed all life from the island.
Robbie felt strangely as if they were the only living creatures left in the world. The only sound was the gentle lapping of the ends of the waves against the sand, set in harmony against the breezes in the trees. Several of the men glanced back at the anchored ship, as if to assure themselves that they had indeed not been utterly abandoned and left to Crusoe’s fate.
Suddenly a flurry of sharp screams and great chattering pierced through the silence. Even Digger’s stern countenance paled momentarily.
“Nothin’ but monkeys!” he said, as much to ease his own mind as the others’. Almost immediately several of the noisy creatures appeared, swinging in the trees. And directly after the appearance of the monkeys, out of the undergrowth stepped six or eight islanders.
The launch crew had by necessity come ashore armed, having no idea what dangers might be encountered in the untamed tropics. At the first stirring of the dense growth lining the shore, Pike and Digger and Newly shouldered their weapons.
“Keep those down!” ordered Robbie instinctively, notwithstanding that he was speaking to his own captain.
The natives were smaller in stature than the intruders to their tiny isle, though their bare, bronzed torsos revealed sinewy muscles. Their bodies stood tensed for fight if necessary, and their eyes were fierce and distrustful. Each carried some primitive weapon—a bow, a spear, a hand-hewn axe. For a tense moment they stood dead in their tracks, some thirty feet from the crew, each of the two groups of men sizing up the capabilities of the other.
Whether they were friendly or hostile could not be told from a quick glance. But Robbie wanted no bloodshed. He knew Pike’s attitude of superiority all too well toward races and origins other than his own. A quick glance in Pike’s direction confirmed Robbie’s fears; the man’s knuckles were white from the tight grip on his rifle, and his lip was curled in disdain. He would have to act quickly before some stupid accident turned this chance encounter into a brutal slaughter.
Hastily Robbie stepped forward with his hands extended in a gesture of friendship.
“We mean you no harm,” he said. Though he doubted they could understand him, they could not mistake the friendly inflection of his voice. Under his breath, back toward the crew, he said, “Put down those guns!”
The men, standing behind him now, did not move until Pike added, “Go on—do as he says!” Instantly they relaxed their weapons.
One of the islanders stepped toward Robbie. His black hair was peppered with gray, and his sun-darkened face, lined and creased, projected an image of great venerability. His spear lowered and he held it perpendicular to the ground. He spoke a few words in his own language, not exactly a friendly welcome, but neither in the tone of a war cry.
“We must make repairs on our ship,” said Robbie, gesturing with his hands to add meaning to his words as best he could. “We need only a few days, and then we will leave peacefully.”
Seeming to gather at least a hint of Robbie’s meaning, the islander gestured with his hands, making the unmistakable sign of a gun, then furiously shaking his head.
“Yes . . . of course,” Robbie replied with several exaggerated nods. He pulled his sidearm from his belt and threw it in the sand beside him. Turning toward Pike, he said, “He didn’t ask, skipper—he told us!”
Reluctantly Pike tossed down his rifle, and the others quickly followed suit. The islander barked an order and one of his men scurried forward, none too pleased, by the look on his face, to have to draw so close to these suspicious white aliens, and gathered up the weapons.
Then the leader, for the graying native could be none other, looked back toward Robbie, pointed toward the sun, then stopped and laid three small sticks of driftwood side by side in the sand. His message was clear—the crew of the Sea Tiger had three days to make their repairs and be gone.
They spent the remainder of the day setting up a camp on the beach, bringing supplies from the ship, and building a hastily assembled forge. Early the next morning Robbie and the Vicar struck out into the forest to try to locate some appropriate trees that would provide wood for their needed repairs. They set out east, where the island rose in elevation, hoping to discover some hardwoods. Even an hour or two after sunrise the temperatures were stifling. Within thirty minutes they had abandoned their sweat-soaked shirts, and the sun beat relentlessly on their backs.
“If we stay out in this sun we’ll turn into natives ourselves,” said Drew.
Robbie laughed. “After three months aboard ship, our arms and backs are nearly there already!”
As they continued on, the raw primitive quiet of the place began to impress itself upon them. It was different than the hush that had met them upon their arrival on the beach. Now the jungle was filled with the movement of animals, the call of birds, even the rush of a stream in the distance. But such sounds were an intrinsic part of the quiet itself. The only alien sound was the plodding of Robbie’s and the Vicar’s heavy boots.
All at once, without warning, they stumbled into a clearing and found themselves face-to-face with a small group of native women and children. The women gasped and, clutching the children to them, shrank back, their faces filled with terror.
Again Robbie extended his hands in peace. “We won’t hurt you,” he said gently. But the women stepped back farther, clearly afraid for their lives.
The Vicar began fumbling through his pockets until he had retrieved a handful of bright coins he had picked up in Calcutta. He held them out to the women. “Go on,” he prompted when they made no move in this direction, “gift . . . for you.”
At last one of the more bold from the group stepped haltingly up and took a coin from Drew’s hand. She looked it over, seemed pleased, and smiled. Taking heart from her success, and safety, one-by-one they came up to Drew until his hand was empty. Then, like a flurry of birds, they turned and departed from the clearing.
“A nervous lot, aren’t they?” commented Drew as the two men resumed their trek.
“Yes, and it makes no sense,” said Robbie. “I’m sure we’re not the first white men they’ve seen. Their fearfulness just doesn’t conform to what I’ve heard about people in these regions.”
“Perhaps that’s the problem,” returned Drew. “Maybe they’ve had other encounters that weren’t so pleasant.”
Robbie shrugged, a puzzled furrow in his brow. Though he had a broad worldly experience, it had largely been positive. He simply had not nurtured the sort of cynicism Drew bore. But Drew had a point—something was wrong here. He could sense it, almost feel it in the hot air. There was more going on around this island than met the eye.
They made their way up a sharp ascent toward the volcanic peak Robbie had seen from the Tiger. Here they came into an area less dense with overgrown jungle, forested with a kind of mahogany. These trees towered over them branchless until, like the coconut, they spread out into a leafy canopy. The leaves above interlaced so tightly from one tree to the next that little sunlight penetrated to the forest floor. Robbie examined the trees and nodded his head in satisfaction. He had seen specimens of this type in Manila and had learned that they were strong hardwoods, extremely resilient.
“These ought to do fine,” said Robbie, breaking the long and deep silence. “We’ll bring the men back here and should be able to get all we need.”
But when Drew turned to go back, Robbie added, “I’d like to climb to the top of the peak before we return.”
Drew brushed an arm across his sweaty brow, heaved a tired sigh, and followed. They had already climbed a good deal of the way, and twenty minutes later Robbie crested a ridge, followed soon thereafter by the Vicar.
Robbie gazed around him, beholding the spectacular view of the entire island, lush and green, surrounded by the shimmering sapphire sea.
“We’re no nearer the peak than we were when we started!” exclaimed Drew.
“All I really wanted was a view from up here,” said Robbie. “I think this is just as good as we’d have from up higher.”
But when he gazed toward the east, a sight—more puzzling than beautiful at first, then alarming—met his eyes that he had not expected.
“Look,” said Robbie, pointing; “a ship.”
“Of course. It’s the Tiger, isn’t it?”
But then even before he had completed the question, Drew found his bearings, and glancing left beheld the Sea Tiger resting peacefully in the little northern harbor.
Had he been as acutely aware of such indicators as Robbie, Drew would have noticed almost immediately that it was no British vessel sitting off to the east of the little island, nor even European. It was a Chinese junk, three-masted with great bamboo sails, nearly as large as the Tiger.
“It appears we have company,” commented Drew dryly.
“Or rather, the natives do,” corrected Robbie. “This may account for the look of fear on the faces of those women, and the rather hostile reception we received on the shore.”
Robbie rubbed his chin thoughtfully. Why had the Chinese ship anchored on this eastern side of the island when a far better harbor existed just to the north? If they had only just arrived, why seemingly avoid the harbor where there was another ship present?
Something seemed to tell Robbie they were not new arrivals, however. An unsettled feeling in the pit of his stomach warned him to beware. He turned suddenly to Drew.
“Let’s get back to camp,” he said, already striding rapidly down the slope.