cipher to be ordered about by the captain and the mates, and be fed with food worse than merely coarse. A quick dash into the jungle, a throw of the dice with fate in a gamble in which to lose meant death, resulted in his bruised vanity being satiated by the respect of black men and women and the wielding of a little power, both of which had been denied him all his life and would be denied him while he lived among his kind.
Towards the end of the year affairs had not progressed with the youthful settlers on Sandwich Island. There is no evidence that they did very much developmental work, and what they had done and had been done for them had been costly. A large proportion of their trade goods had been expended on land purchase, on services, and on native fruits and other things. Pilbrow still suffered more from malaria than did either of the other two, and when by chance a small steamship put in for water he decided to return on her to New Zealand. Intending to return with further supplies of trade goods when he had recruited his health, Pilbrow left Sandwich Island on the Wainui, taking with him the title deeds of the land bought from the natives. He did not return, however, and many years passed before Cobbold saw him again in Australia.
4.
So Pilbrow left in the Wainui; Cobbold and Wetherall remained at Sou'-West Bay on Sandwich Island. On the threshold of his eighteenth year, Francis Cobbold elected to carry on in the face of great difficulty, ill health, and the unfriendly savages who coveted their goods and probably their bodies.
Relations with the natives became steadily worse. Constant bickering between the Mali men and the men of Vila frequently ended in armed demonstration in support of some trumped-up grievance. Arguments would be carried on between pacifiers on the one side and excited savages on the other, when a thoughtless act or an undiplomatic word would provoke violence with only one result.
Further weeks passed. With the passage of time, the hopelessness of making good became even clearer. It was impossible to hire the natives, who would not work for others in their own territory. It was impossible to obtain labour from another island because Cobbold had no way of recruiting and transporting them to his plantation.
The time arrived when he was compelled to face the fact that to grow cotton successfully was impossible. Every day he looked for a ship to call and take them back to Levuka. Bouts of malarial fever continued to take a toll of his strength.
One day, when wandering along a native path through the jungle hoping to acquire a pigeon, he suddenly came to a clearing in which were set up many carved figures and images - objects which proved that this was a native ceremonial ground. Impelled by curiosity, he examined the place with thoroughness, and in a cavity beneath one of the carved figures he found a nest of fresh eggs. Into his mind leapt a picture of poor Wetherall's wasted face, and he marked the place in order to find the eggs on his return.
Continuing out of the clearing, he followed another native path until he happened to disturb a wild sow and a litter of well- grown pigs. He had a mental image of his earlier years in Suffolk - and the gun practice on the river Deben now proved of worth.
This was a red-letter day for Cobbold, and he set off back to the house with the carcase of the pig over one shoulder. Securing the nest of eggs inside his hat, he went on homeward slowly and with repeated halts on account of his weakened state of body, at last reaching the house where Wetherall's smile of delight at the good things he had brought was reward enough for the effort.
Fortunately for them, Cobbold had to make a trip to the nearby creek for fresh water, so the eggs were not cooked immediately. He had returned with the water and was in the process of lighting a cooking fire when a mob of excited, clamorous savages, gesticulating and waving their weapons, appeared from beyond the house enclosure. It was clear that they wanted, metaphorically, only the lifting of an eyelid for the excuse to rush the house and commit murder.
Not understanding the reason behind the demonstration, the two lads crossed the enclosure to meet the natives and to find out calmly the cause of this unneighbourly show of force. It took some time before they could pacify the visitors sufficiently to learn that, by taking the eggs from the ceremonial ground, Cobbold had committed an act of sacrilege; only by returning the eggs and making many presents from their dwindling supplies was reparation made.
Even so, relations remained very strained. Incident followed incident, making life both unpleasant and filled with anxiety. Cobbold began to realise that a determined attack on their goods and on their lives would not be delayed much longer. It would only take the rash discharge of a gun for the savages to surround the house enclosure and cause bloodshed. The prospect of open warfare became ever more certain, and even if Wetherall and he did not run the risk of being murdered separately, if it should come to a siege of the house he was the only one out of a garrison of two who could properly handle a firearm.
The 1871 New Year came in. Francis Cobbold did not dare to leave the enclosure to hunt along the jungle paths, where he would be an easy target for any bowman. Months passed after the departure of Pilbrow before another ship called at Sou'-West Bay for water and, observing her to be a topsail schooner, Cobbold hurried to Wetherall to say that he thought by the cut of her she was Captain Wetherall's ship, the Margaret Chessel.
The visit to Sandwich Island by the Margaret Chessel was indeed opportune, for the two lads were in poor physical condition through the ravages of fever and an unbalanced diet. Despite frequent doses of quinine, their legs were swollen to twice their normal size and if a pit were made in the flesh with a finger tip it would remain for several minutes.
Together, they watched the ship sail up the Bay, the crowding terrors of the jungle at last beaten back by the prospect of relief from what really had become a siege. They saw the splash of water at the ship's bow when her anchor was let go, and they watched a small boat being lowered and in it three men make for the shore.
When the boat grounded on the beach, the steerman sprang out to meet them and to announce himself as Mr O'Neill, one time a Lieutenant in the Navy, and now super cargo of the Margaret Chessel.
5.
Within a few minutes the two lads were transported to the ship on which father and son were happily reunited. Beside the cook and two Fijian natives, there was Lance O'Neill, and his brother, who kept his eyes focussed on the house ashore. Old Captain Wetherall's mahogany-tinted face revealed concern for his son's physical condition. About sixty years of age, he was stocky and fat and satisfied with a life which offered him command of a ship at a low salary. For the command of such a ship he was ideally suited, not being very intelligent and content to obey his owners' orders without question. O'Neill, the super cargo, was entirely different from the Captain, however. Tall and slim, he was a well-born Irishman without nerves and with plenty of grey matter. These men comprised the entire crew of the ship.
The two lads had had a hard time since they were landed at Sandwich Island, but the crew of the Margaret Chessel had experienced a harder time. In the matter-of-fact manner of a man long accustomed to lurid experience, Captain Wetherall recited his adventures since leaving Levuka, O'Neill standing by, sometimes stern of expression, sometimes revealing a twinkle in his merry eyes.
The Margaret Chessel had made the island of Ambrym, in the New Hebrides, her first port of call on a voyage to recruit black labour for the Fijian plantations. On going ashore at Ambrym, the mate and two oarsmen had been immediately set upon and killed by natives. The remainder of the crew under O'Neill had at once set off in another small boat, taking what miserable firearms the ship possessed. The natives, however, instead of offering battle, fled into the jungle, and O'Neill and his companions buried the three dead men before returning to the ship with the first boat.
The Margaret Chessel next called at the island of Api where, just before her arrival, the Colleen Bawn had met with disaster and all her crew killed. At this island, O'Neill and two of the crew went ashore in a boat to recruit labour. They induced a number of natives to volunteer, and when the wages and conditions of employment had been settled, they brought off one full boatload and returned for the second load.
On deck were the cook, the two Fijians and the Captain, Lance O'Neill being down below with a bout of malaria. He had been an officer in the Army, and he was amusing himself by sharpening his old regimental sword when,