VICTIM OF SOLITUDE.

Auckland Star, Volume LIX, Issue 141, 16 June 1928, Page 16 (Supplement)

VICTIM OF SOLITUDE.

A SMUGGLING TRAGEDY. SIX WEEKS MAROONED. WHAT THE GULLS SAW.

(By J.M.)

If giving a dog a bad name were the same thing as hanging him, then the master and owner of the 150-ton topsail schooner Flare had long since danced 011 thin air at the end of a hempen rope. At it was he was very much alive on this twentieth day of December, 180—. His huge red-bearded figure on the poop dominated the small world arouud him, lending even to liis trim little vessel an air of grim lawlessness. Eastward to Papeete and northward to the Solomons he was known simply as "The Smuggler," and on an ocean where fewskippers obeyed any laws but their own, the simple title was a thousand times more impressive than the hair-raising aliases that many less prominent persons delighted in.

Homeward bound from Noumea, whither she had taken a cargo of sav.n timber, beef and biscuits, the little Flare made a glorious picture as she heeled over to a fresh northerly breeze. Her shapely hull was painted a dazzliiip white, but whiter were her bellying sails, stretched aloft on well scraped and varnished spars. Far to the westward, a blue line on the horizon, lay the New Zealand coast, whence the wind brought the rich damp smell of the bush, and the Smuggler was examining this distant coastline through a long telescope. Then, satisfied with his position, he spoke to the man at the wheel and roared an order to the watch. The yards were braced round ever so little, the sheets hauled in a trifle, and the course altered a few points towards the land. The Depot. Early that same evening the Flare lay at anchor off one of the outermost of that scattered group of rocks known as the Noises. Her hatch covers were oil' and in the gig that normally hung over the stern a couple of the crew were ferrying to the shore numerous small kegs of French brandy, bought cheaply in Noumea, but subject to a heavy duty on entering New Zealand. Under the supervision of the mate, a burly German, the cargo was rapidly transferred to the shore, where the smuggler himself superintended the hiding of it in a deep- cleft in the rock, shaded by a few stunted tea-tree bushes. Lighted by the bright moonlight, the men worked quickly and quietly, speaking, as from habit, only in low monosyllables, while above them the gulls protested noisily at the disturbance of their night's rest.

Dawn was near at hand when the shore gang returned to the ship to enjoy a. well-earned breakfast of biscuits and hot coffee, which most of them took seated on the hatch combings, the better to watch a dialogue then in progress on the poop. The Smuggler was talking earnestly to a youth who was making his first voyage in the ship as supercargo. His presence had hitherto been regarded as something of a joke, and something of. a grievance among the crew. Born of a good family in England, had run away from a famous public school to seek adventure and accounted himself lucky to be taken on, shortly after his arrival in Auckland, by the notorious skipper of the Flare. Such motives were viewed with mingled disgust and amusement by all aboard, save only the Smuggler himself, who seemed, strangely enough, to take an almost paternal interest in the lad. To this "outsider," then, the Smuggler was disclosing his plan, and, incidentally, explaining his first real job as a smuggler. With her hold innocent of contraband the Flare would go into Auckland to allay the suspicions of the revenue and then, on pretence of making a trip to one of the coastal ports, return to pick up her cargo. The supercargo s duty would be to guard the island until his return against inquisitive and thievish fishermen or fellow smugglers so unscrupulous as to raid another's depot. Plenty of provisions, several blankets, fishing lines and a rifle and ammunition were, therefore, lowered into the boat, and the smuggler accompanied the newly appointed ruler ashore to his tiny kingdom. There he pointed out a niche where a fire could be lighted at night without the glare being seen, and, with a final glance at the provisions to see that nothing had been omitted, took his seat again in the sternsheets of the boat. A few minutes later, it was hoisted to its place, and the clank of the cable as it rattled up to the windlass, came clearly to the ears of the watcher on the island. Then the canvass was set and the ship stood away towards' the mainland, close-hauled to a fresh offshore breeze. The big figure on the poop waved a farewell that meant to inspire confidence, but the only other man who troubled to look back, a grizzled old Finn whose nationality had gained him a reputation as a warlock, shook his head doubtfully and muttered under his breath.

Delay. In Auckland matters went not at all smoothly with the master of the Flare. To commence with, the revenue officers could not believe that The Smuggler, shrewd and not too scrupulous a trader, would return from Noumea with an empty ship, and watched him accordingly. Then, it being Christmas week, the crew must go on a wild spree ashore, which resulted in a bitter quarrel between the skipper and his German mate. That worthy, in a moment of drunken rage, pointed out to a revenue officcr a case of French tobacco hidden in the lazarette, and there was an awkward court case. Enraged by the treachery, which had resulted in the infliction of a stiff fine, The Smuggler swore to "get even," and the next morning the mate was picked up on the wharf with his head split with a single blow from a piece of timber. Follovyed more tortuous inquiries by over-zealous officials, whom The Smuggler managed somehow to bluff, though everyone knew his guilt. Six weeks had slipped,.away before the Flare again left Auckland, ostensibly bound for Bay of Islands, and even then she had to go a long way on her stated course to allay the suspicions of Her Majesty's revenue cutter Kingleader, an inquisitive little vessel which was regarded as a genuine nuisance by every I good sailor in New Zealand waters. Once more it was in the still of the ev ag when the Flare dropped anchor off the islet. All quiet and desolate it looked, and when a hail failed to bring H-n answer, an uneasy hush fell upon the crew. Quickly the boat was lowered, and the men of the ehore gang dropped into their places. A harsh order from The Smuggler, as he took his seat in the stern, showed that even he was apprehensive, and the oarsmen rowed with more than their wonted strength^

On the Islet. Even the hardened seamen felt a chill in their blood that was not from the evening air as they stepped ashore. The warlock Finn, muttered to himself in his own tongue; Ribierez, the Portuguese, furtively crossed himself; while Tub), the Maori boy, slipped back to the boat and sat trembling in his place. The clear light of the early evening revealed with exaggerated clearness of detail the marks of human habitation 011 the island, but there was that about them that bespoke a ghastly horror. Torn rags of clothing, some of them bloodstained, littered the tiny beach, mingled with chunks of salt meat that had been scattered from the stove in casks. These latter had been smashed with an axe, and even the rocks bore scars that told of a maniac's fury.

With his men shrinking behind him. The Smuggler strode across to the cache of liquor, over rocks that still showed in dried blood the marks of hare feet. Smashed to pieces were all those precious kegs, almost every stave splintered. Even the tea-tree,shrubs had been hacked down, and on one hung a horrible tuft of hair. Near it lav the axe that had accompanied the provisions? its edge all chipped and gapped, and the broken handle dark with bloodstains. But its wielder was gone.

No revenue ollicer's work this. Tim men drew closer together, as they thought how the little island must have echoed to a maniac's cries, such cries as now came from the seagulls wheeling low overhead. For the first time they listened closely to the shrieks of the birds, reincarnations, as every true sailor knows, of tAose who are buried in the deep. Never shrieked gulls like these—they seemed to echo nameless horrors in their voices, mocking the frenzied cries with which a mailman had fought against the silence that had sapped his reason. High pitched and eerie, they told the story of a lost soul, who lind once gone blithely forth seeking adventure, and had found at the end the lunacy of loneliness and despair. The gulls alone had watched the obscene antics, the frenzied orgy of destruction, the final headlong rush of the bleeding, screaming thing to eternal silence in the sea. They had seen the kahawai leap terror-stricken from the horrible iifj vader of his domain, had circled I low over the churning water, and I with wind of their flying, burst the last bubbles that marked the end.

Suddenly the old Finn pointed a trembling finger skyward. "Thai's 'im," he almost sobbed. Close above their heads circled a young petjel whose plumage, even in the gathering gloom, seemed strangely fresh and new. "Thar's 'im," cried the Finn again, as the bird, screaming wildly, swooped downward until it almost brushed their heads. "'E shrieks. 'E shrieks. Alvays 'e vill stay 'ere und shriek!"

White faced and trembling, the sailors fled to the boat, even the fearless Smuggler walking as he had seldom walked before, and with many a backward glance at the ill-omened bird. Pride, and rage, and perhaps a little pity, together in his heart left little roc:n for panic. Largely it was rage, foT had he not lost a valuable cargo? And, moreover, even if there still remained a keg or two nnsmaslied, there they would remain until the Day of Judgment lmfore any of the crew would land again on that accursed isle. The Smuggler's Scots soul was sore troubled, for he feared he was leaving something to waste.