The Ebb-Tide Chapter 2 - Morning on the Beach - the Three Letters

Robert Louis Stevenson (0:14)

CHAPTER II Morning on the Beach—The Three Letters The clouds were all fled, the beauty of the tropic day was spread upon Papite, and the fall of breaking seas upon the reef, and the palms upon the islet already trembled in the heat. A French man of war was going out, homeward bound. She lay in the middle distance of the port, an ant-heap for activity. In the night a schooner had come in, and now lay far out, hard by the passage, and the yellow flag, the emblem of pestilence, flew on her. From up the coast, a long procession of canoes headed round the point and towards the market, bright as a scarf with the many-coloured clothing of the natives and the piles of fruit. But not even the beauty and the welcome warmth of the morning, not even these naval movements, so interesting to sailors and to idlers, could engage the attention of the outcasts. They were still cold at heart, their mouths sour from the want of steep, their steps rambling from the lack of food, and they strung like lame geese along the beach in a disheartened silence. It was towards the town they moved, towards the town when smoke arose, where happier folk were breakfasting, and as they went their hungry eyes were upon all sides, but they were only scouting for a meal.

A small and dingy schooner lay snug against the quay, with which it was connected by a plank. On the forward deck, under a spot of awning, five Kanakas who made up the crew were squatted round a basin of fried face, and drinking coffee from tin mugs. Eight bells. Knock off for breakfast! cried the captain with a miserable heartiness. Never tried this craft before. Positively my first appearance. Guess I'll draw a bumper-house..

He came close up to where the plank rested on the grassy quay, turned his back upon the schooner and began to whistle that lively air — the Irish washerwoman. It caught the ears of the Kanaka seamen like a preconcerted signal. With one accord they looked up from their meal and crowded to the ship's side, fey in hand and munching as they looked. Even as a poor brown perennium bear dances in the streets of English towns under its master's baton, even so but with how much more of spirit and precision, the captain footed it in time to his own whistling, and his long-morning shadow capered beyond him on the grass. The Kanaka smiled on the performance. Herrick looked on heavy-eyed, hunger for the moment conquering all sense of shame, and a little farther off but still hard by, the clerk was torn by the seven devils of the influenza.

The captain stopped suddenly, appeared to perceive his audience for the first time, and represented the part of a man surprised in his private hour of pleasure. Hullo, said he.

The Canuckers clapped hands and called upon him to go on. No, sir, said the captain. No eat, no dance. Savvy? Poor old man, returned one of the crew. Him no eat? Lord, no, said the captain. Like him too much eat. No got.. All right, me got, said the sailor. You tom here. Plenty toffee, plenty fae. Nothin man. Him tom too. I guess we'll drop right in, observed the captain, and he and his companions hastened up the plank. They were welcomed on board with a shaking of hands. Place was made for them about the basin, a sticky demijohn of molasses was added to the feast in honour of company, and an accordion brought from the forecastle and significantly laid by the performer's side.

Ariada! said he lightly, touching the instrument as he spoke. And he fell, too, on a long savoury fey, made an end of it, raised his mug of coffee, and nodded across at the spokesman of the crew. Here's your health, old man. You're a credit to the South Pacific, said he. With the unsightly greed of hounds they glutted themselves with the hot food and coffee, and even the clerk revived and the colour deepened in his eyes. The kettle was drained, the basin cleaned. Their entertainers, who had waited on their wants throughout with the pleased hospitality of Polynesians, made haste to bring forward a dessert of island tobacco and rolls of pandanus leaf to serve as paper, and presently all sat about the dishes puffing like Indian satchems.

What a man has breakfast every day! He don't know what it is! observed the clerk. The next point is dinner, said Herrick, and then with a passionate utterance, I wish to God I was a Kanaka! There's one thing sure, said the captain. I'm about desperate. I'd rather hang than rot here much longer.. And with the word, he took the accordion, and struck up Home Sweet Home. Oh, drop that! cried Herrick. I can't stand that!. No more can I, said the captain. I've got to play something, though. Got to pay the shot, my son.. And he struck up John Brown's body in a fine, sweet baritone. Dandy Jim of Carolina came next, Roarin the Bold, Swing Low Sweet Chariot, and The Beautiful Land followed. The captain was paying his shot with usury, as he had done many a time before, many a meal had he bought with the same currency from the melodious-minded natives, always as now to their delight. He was in the middle of $15 in the inside pocket, singing with dogged energy for the task when sore against the grain, what a sensation was suddenly to be observed among the crew. Tapina Tom Harry-my, said the spokesman, pointing. And the three beachcombers, following his indication, saw the figure of a man in pyjama trousers and a white jumper approaching briskly from the town. Captain Tom is coming! That's Tapina Tom, is it? said the captain, pausing in his music. I don't seem to place the brute.. We better cut, said the clerk. He's no good. Well, said the musician deliberately, one can't mostly generally always tell. I'll try it on, I guess. Music has charms to soothe the savage Tapina, boys. We might strike it rich. It might amount to iced punch in the cabin. Iced punch? Oh, my, said the clerk. Give him something hot, Captain. Way down the Suwannee River. Try dat.. No, sir. Looks scotch, said the captain, and he struck for his life into odd langsine. Captain Tom continued to approach with the same businesslike alacrity. No change was to be perceived in his bearded face as he came swinging up the plank. He did not even turn his eyes on the performer. We twi-heh piddled in de burn frim morning tide tole dine, went the song. Captain Tom had a parcel under his arm, which he laid on the house roof, and then turning suddenly to the strangers. Here you! he bellowed. Be off out of that!.