A Sun of the Sun by Jack London

movement. The other two were his Kanaka cousins. All three were naked

and bloody. The arm of one Kanaka hung helpless and broken at his side.

The other man bled freely from a hideous scalp wound.

“Narii did that?” Mulhall demanded.

Grief shook his head. “No; it’s from being smashed along the deck and

over the house!”

Something suddenly ceased, leaving them in dizzying uncertainty. For the

moment it was hard to realize there was no wind. With the absolute

abruptness of a sword slash, the wind had been chopped off. The schooner

rolled and plunged, fetching up on her anchors with a crash which for the

first time they could hear. Also, for the first time they could hear the water

washing about on deck. The engineer threw off the propeller and eased the

engine down.

“We’re in the dead centre,” Grief said. “Now for the shift. It will come as

hard as ever” He looked at the barometer. “29:32,” he read.

Not in a moment could he tone down the voice which for hours had battled

against the wind, and so loudly did he speak that in the quiet it hurt the

others’ ears.

“All his ribs are smashed,” the supercargo said, feeling along Parlay’s side.

“He’s still breathing, but he’s a goner.”

Old Parlay groaned, moved one arm impotently, and opened his eyes. In

them was the light of recognition.

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148

“My brave gentlemen,” he whispered haltingly. “Don’t forget . . . the

auction . . . at ten o’clock . . . in hell.”

His eyes dropped shut and the lower jaw threatened to drop, but he

mastered the qualms of dissolution long enough to omit one final, loud,

derisive cackle.

Above and below pandemonium broke out. The old familiar roar of the

wind was with them. The Malahini, caught broadside, was pressed down

almost on her beam ends as she swung the arc compelled by her anchors.

They rounded her into the wind, where she jerked to an even keel. The

propeller was thrown on, and the engine took up its work again.

“Northwest!” Captain Warfield shouted to Grief when he came on deck.

“Hauled eight points like a shot!”

“Narii’ll never get across the lagoon now!” Grief observed.

“Then he’ll blow back to our side, worse luck!”

v

After the passing of the centre the barometer began to rise. Equally rapid

was the fall of the wind. When it was no more than a howling gale, the

engine lifted up in the air, parted its bed-plates with a last convulsive

effort of its forty horsepower, and lay down on its side. A wash of water

from the bilge sizzled over it and the steam arose in clouds. The engineer

wailed his dismay, but Grief glanced over the wreck affectionately and

went into the cabin to swab the grease off his chest and arms with bunches

of cotton waste.

The sun was up and the gentlest of summer breezes blowing when he

came on deck, after sewing up the scalp of one Kanaka and setting the

other’s arm. The Malahini lay close in to the beach. For’ard, Hermann and

the crew were heaving in and straightening out the tangle of anchors. The

Papara and the Tahaa were gone, and Captain Warfield, through the

glasses, was searching the opposite rim of the atoll.

“Not a stick left of them,” he said. “That’s what comes of not having

engines. They must have dragged across before the big shift came.”

Ashore, where Parlay’s house had been, was no vestige of any house. For

the space of three hundred yards, where the sea had breached, no tree or

even stump was left. Here and there, farther along, stood an occasional

palm, and there were numbers which had been snapped off above the

ground. In the crown of one surviving palm Tai-Hotauri asserted he saw

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149

something move. There were no boats left to the Malahini, and they

watched him swim ashore and climb the tree.

When he came back, they helped over the rail a young native girl of

Parley’s household. But first she passed up to them a battered basket. In it

was a litter of blind kittens—all dead save one, that feebly mewed and

staggered on awkward legs.

“Hello!” said Mulhall. “Who’s that?”

Along the beach they saw a man walking. He moved casually, as if out for

a morning stroll. Captain Warfield gritted his teeth. It was Narii Herring.

“Hello, skipper!” Narii called, when he was abreast of them. “Can I come

aboard and get some breakfast?”

Captain Warfield’s face and neck began to swell and turn purple. He tried

to speak, but choked.

“For two cents—for two cents—” was all he could manage to articulate.

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