Under Dewey at Manila/Chapter 13
CHAPTER XIII
AN ISLAND NOT ALTOGETHER DESERTED
"Hurrah! here we are on land once more! How good it feels to put one's foot on old Mother Earth after being on shipboard so long!"
It was Larry who uttered the words. He and a number of others had received permission to go ashore, to take a tramp around previous to filling the water-casks. In the party were Tom Grandon and Cal Vincent, and both were armed, the one with a rifle, and the other with a shotgun, ready to bring down anything in the shape of game which might appear.
"I enjoy the shore myself, Larry," answered Luke Striker, who was trudging along beside the boy, up the beach strewn high with shells and bits of broken coral. "But the cap'n says as how we must keep our eyes peeled for natives. Some of 'em ain't none too friendly in these parts."
"It looks as if there wasn't a human soul in sight or hearing outside of our own party, Luke. Just listen; there is nothing to be heard but the booming of the surf and the cries of the tropical birds."
"You don't reckon that a native who was an enemy would come on to you blowing a fish-horn, do you?" answered the Yankee sailor, disdainfully. "No, sirree; he would come as sly as a cat figurin' on catchin' a mouse. It's their way, so I've heard, although I allow as I never yet met an enemy out in these parts, and I spent several years here."
The sun had come out strong and hot, and the whole party were glad enough to avail themselves of the shade that the tall bushes and stately palms afforded. Soon the strip of beach came to an end. Beyond was a series of rocks, one apparently toppled upon another, and all thickly overgrown with trailing vines. The boatswain, who was in front, came to a halt.
"This channel ends here," he said. "I don't know about cuttin' through yonder reefs!" and he pointed to the rising rocks.
"Oh, let us go ahead," cried Larry. "See, the rocks seem to lead to the top of the island. If we once get up there, we'll be able to look all around and down on the other side. Come on."
The boatswain demurred, but Striker, Vincent, and the others were with Larry, and so they began to mount the rocks,—a difficult undertaking, as they realized long before the top of the elevation was gained. One had to push the other, holding on to the vines in the mean time, and Hobson suffered a slip and a tumble which for several minutes deprived him of his breath. His clothing was much torn, especially his trousers, and at this the Englishman grumbled not a little.
"It's just my luck!" he said. "If I had a wife to sew 'em' up, it would not be so bad, but when we get back to the Columbia, it will be myself who can set down with the wearisome needle, and nobody else."
"Never mind, Hobson," laughed Larry. "I won half of those trousers at the swimming match, and I'll give you my leg if Striker will give you his."
"Since one leg will do me small good, seeing I'm not stumping on a cork yet, he can have the leg," answered the Yankee. "It's a heap sight better nor cuttin' 'em in half with the shears, as Captain Ponsberry suggested, when the parson wanted to know who was to get the prize."
At the remembrance of this bit of pleasantry on Captain Ponsberry's part, the whole party laughed, and on they went again in improved humor. Larry and Striker were slightly in advance, and seeing the end of the elevation just ahead, the boy made a dash to reach it first.
"Here we are, and well worth the climb!" he exclaimed, as he gazed around. "What a beautiful view! I wish one of us had borrowed the captain's spyglass."
A grand panorama was spread before and around them. On the opposite side of the elevation the slope was more gradual, and here tall grass, wild flowers, and shrubs grew in endless profusion, the flowers in all the gorgeous colors of the rainbow, and giving forth such a rich scent that it was almost sickening. Half way down the hill a large spring gushed from under a heavy rock, forming a tiny stream leading into the ocean beyond. On the left and the right were thick forests, principally of teak wood, ending in a series of coral reefs stretching forth from the island proper for the distance of quarter of a mile.
"Don't see any natives," remarked Vincent, who had followed Larry and Striker. "Do you?"
Striker was staring at a small clearing to the northwest. "Am I mistaken or is that a hut over there?" he questioned, pointing with his long forefinger in the direction.
All of the party took a long look. Larry and Striker were of the opinion that it was a hut, while the others thought it must be nothing but a peculiar formation of brush.
"Certainly there are no natives in sight," said Hobson. "Now we have come so far we might as well go down, and sample that spring as we pass."
This was agreed to, and after a brief breathing spell they set off, Larry and Striker again in the front. Going down had looked easy, but they got many a tumble and were glad enough to rest again when the spring was gained.
"It's mighty good water, but we can't bring the casks up here," remarked Vincent, as he swallowed a goodly portion of the cooling liquid. "The cap'n or some one of us will have to locate another spring nearer the ship."
In a few minutes they resumed the journey. The object Striker had pointed out was now in plain view, and they saw that it was indeed a hut, and no small one either. The shelter was at least eight feet wide by fifteen feet long, and seven feet high at its lowest end. It contained a window on the side towards them, and beneath this was a rude bench made of a tree slab set upon flat stones. More than this, as they came closer, they discovered a stone fireplace in front of the hut, upon which rested an iron pot and several very rusty tin dishes.
"Somebody's camp!" cried Striker. "And a white man's—I'll wager a month's pay. But he ain't been here for a long while, not by the general look of things."
"No, I don't believe a soul has been near this place in a year," said Hobson. "Why, look at the spider webs; they tell the tale without anything else. Hullo, look there!"
He pointed to the side of the hut, where, on a projection, hung a dilapidated sailor's jacket, much the worse for exposure to the wind and weather. Beneath the jacket, half buried in the mud, rested a sailor's hat.
"That settles it," muttered Striker. "Whoever lived here is either dead, or else some friendly ship chanced along and took him off."
"I wonder if he left anything behind him?" put in Larry, after a pause. "Let us take a look into the hut."
"Beware of spiders and centipedes," said Vincent, warningly. "Those creatures in these parts are not to be trifled with." And he broke off a bush branch with which to clear the doorway.
"Oh! Look out!"
Several uttered the words simultaneously, and on the instant there was a wild scattering in every direction. Bang! went Tom Grandon's rifle, but the shot failed to hit its mark. The weapon was hurled to the ground, and the mate of the Columbia did not stop running until he was knee-deep in the surf before the hut—to which all of the others had led the way.
For from the interior of the shelter had glided a huge snake, brown in color, with black spots and yellow rings, and a long oval head, in which were set a pair of beady, angry eyes. The reptile was all of twelve feet in length, and thicker than a man's arm, and it came forth so rapidly and unexpectedly that for the moment every one in the party was paralyzed with fear. It reached to within a yard of Larry before the lad saw it, and the backward leap the youth made would have done credit to a skilled acrobat.
"That must be a boa constrictor!" cried Striker, who had been the first to lead the way into the water.
"I wonder if he can swim?" queried another of the sailors. "If he can, we aren't safe here."
"Of course he can swim," answered Grandon. "I tried my best to hit him, but I guess I didn't make it. Cal, why don't you go at him?"
The last words had scarcely left the mate's mouth when the boatswain opened fire with the shotgun, aiming directly at the upraised head of the snake, that had paused on the rim of the sea, as if undecided whether or not to undertake an aquatic pursuit. Vincent was very nervous, and the shot, instead of hitting its object, scattered on the sands a yard away.
"Missed!" grunted Hobson. "Reckon, Cal, you couldn't hit the broad side of a house with a Gatling gun."
"He is moving away, anyhow," returned Vincent, as the great snake turned and slowly glided towards the brush behind the hut.
"Give him another shot!" cried Striker, "Load 
The Boatswain Opened Fire with the Shotgun Page 130
"I—I let it fall," answered the mate of the Columbia, sheepishly. "There it is near the fireplace."
"Better go in and get it," went on the Yankee sailor, facetiously.
"Well—I—I'll wait a bit. I don't want to be bit or hugged to death. Give him a dose of shot, if you can hit him."
By this time the shotgun was loaded again, and now Striker took it. The great snake had reached the bushes and was lying with its head concealed, but the lower half of its shiny body exposed. Taking careful aim, the Yankee sailor fired, and an instant later the reptile was seen to turn and twist in every direction, slashing the bushes as with a flail. It had been struck fairly, but the shot was by no means a fatal one. It remained in view fully half a minute, then crawled further into the brush, where they heard it continue its thrashing.
"There, I don't think he'll bother us much more," remarked Striker, as he handed the shotgun back to Vincent. "Tom, you can get your rifle now, if you want it."
The mate hated very much to make the move, but not willing to show too much cowardice, he waded ashore slowly and with extreme caution. Securing the weapon, he rushed back to the others, but the snake did not show itself again.
"Well, this looks as if we were in a pickle," remarked Larry, who, it must be said, was as cool as any of them—although this is not saying a great deal. "Here we are, and our ship on the other side of the island, and nothing to do but to tramp through that brush and over those rocks, and perhaps stir up another of those snakes. I've heard they often travel in pairs."
"No! no! you don't catch me cutting through the brush again!" ejaculated Hobson. "That bloody reptile was too much for me. Ugh! my blood is running cold yet. If I was to meet him in the bushes, I'd die, I know I should, and I'm no more of a coward than most men at that."
At these words each of the little party looked at the others. It was truly an uncomfortable situation in which to be placed. What was best to be done?