"We'll get pepper at Stallapoo if there's any to be had anywhere on the coast," the second mate said confidently. "I've been there before. Perhaps Pa' Mahmud is still the rajah."
"You know him?" Scott asked, wishing for the thousandth time that he knew the coast and had more knowledge of the trade. As it was, he was heavily dependent on Fox. The man so far had given no indication of being anything other than a competent officer and seaman, but the captain could not entirely dismiss from mind Captain Rousseau's impression of him.
"Aye, sir," Fox said a little importantly. "He's quite a big man on the Pepper Coast, is Pa' Mahmud; and I'm certain he'll have pepper ready for sale."
"I guess he'll be decked-out in yellow, too," Peary said in a rancid voice.
"Probably," Fox said shortly. "I wouldn't make too much fun of it, if I were you. Only big men can wear it."
The first officer made a derisive noise. "Big men, my arse! Like Suran, I suppose. Now that I know what these brown sons-of-bitches are really like, I know how to handle them. I'll drive them just like I would a passel of niggers."
Fox mopped the bald top of his head. "Don't make that mistake, man. It's not a good idea to bat them around. They're proud and they have long memories. Besides, it won't be long before everybody in Stallapoo knows what we did to Suran."
"So much the better, eh, captain?" Peary asked.
Scott looked up from Fox's crude chart of the coast. "Maybe. Still, I don't want trouble. We've come out here to pick up a profitable cargo." He paused, frowning. "As of now, both of you, don't ever let more than one native boat at a time come close alongside; don't permit more than a half-dozen Malays aboard at a time, and see to it they're unarmed; and keep ten armed men in the ship all the time we're at anchor. I know just enough about the Malays not to trust them."
"Deck there!" bawled the lookout. "Town on th' starb'd bow."
"That'll be Stallapoo," Fox said.
"According to this chart of yours, we'd better anchor well offshore," Scott said.
"That's right, sir. The anchorage is about a mile and a half off the town. You can't go any closer on account of the coral heads and mud flats."
"Very well, gentlemen. You may go."
Fox went first, mopping his sweaty face and pate. Peary lingered. "Aren't you taking a lot of advice off him?" he asked, nodding toward the cabin door.
Scott smiled slightly. "I have to. I don't know this coast and neither do you."
Peary hesitated. "To tell you the truth, Scott, I don't trust him."
Scott looked up, frowning. "What do you mean?"
Peary shrugged. "Last night he didn't say anything about knowing this native ruler. Today he says he does."
"I didn't give him much opportunity last night, I suppose. I didn't feel like talking. Anyway, that's hardly grounds for suspicion. Don't you have any better reason?"
"Yes, I do. My father doesn't wholly trust him. Neither does Captain Rousseau. John Lloyd sold them on him, you know, and Lloyd himself hardly knows the man."
"I know," Scott said impatiently, "I know. But I've watched him closely without finding anything to criticize in him. He's a good officer, and he fought as well as any of us yesterday."
"Oh, I'll give the devil his due, all right. But you mark my words, Scott."
When Peary had followed the second mate on deck, Scott stared out the cabin window, looking at the land on the starboard beam. Viewed from a few miles offshore, the thousand-mile-long island was almost incredibly beautiful, and at a distance not unlike Hispaniola, Jamaica and Cuba. In the first hour of light, clouds capped the volcanic inland mountains and dense white mist hung over the damp jungle that ran down the slopes to the narrow fringe of white beach. Now, toward noon, massive cumulus clouds were building up over the land mass and starting to drift lazily in the brilliant blue sky.
Scott actually gave little thought to Peary's words. Officers living together in cramped quarters for long periods of time were apt to become the best of friends or the worst of enemies. So far there was no indication that Fox disliked his fellow mate, although he had been a little sour about Peary's comment on royal yellow. Scott ran his hand through his hair and yawned, thinking suddenly that the cabin was intolerably close. Putting on his cap, he rose and went on deck, mounting to the poop.
He was not surprised to see Forbes and Dorcas Russell forward with Fox, who was pointing toward Stallapoo. He smiled tolerantly. Miss Russell was a good-looking woman, no two ways about it; and he rather imagined Fox was building himself up as an authority on the coast. By comparison with me he is, too, Scott thought, sobering. I've got to start learning.
Nearing Stallapoo under shortened sail, Scott ordered a leadsman into the chains and put Fox at the wheel. The water, which had been all clear blue and green, now was streaked in places with brown from mud flats and occasional coral heads were visible closer inshore.
"Picking up the Russells was a bit of luck," Fox said after awhile. "I mean, it's nice to have new faces aboard. I never met a woman like her before."
Scott grunted. For the time being he was too concerned with the venture to think much about Miss Russell.
"Most women in Spanish countries—nice women, I mean—lead pretty sheltered lives," Fox went on. "I think Russell's given her her head a good bit of the time. He's sort of a scholar, you know. Doesn't have too much common sense, I'd say. But she has."
Scott paced the poop nervously, eying a dozen proas of various sizes putting out from the town.
"By the mark seven," droned the leadsman. . . . "And a quarter seven. . . . Deep eight. . . . And a half seven. . . ."
"Water's deeper than I remembered," Fox commented. "You know, sir, I'm a man who knows his own mind. I'm ready now to take Miss Russell on for life. She's a lady, if you follow me, besides being smart."
"Mark three," called the leadsman.
Scott stopped beside the wheel.
"Mark twain!"
"Getting damned shallow, Mr. Fox."
Fox held the course. "It'll be shallow in spots until we reach the anchorage in the roadstead."
"Deep six. . . . And a half six. . . . Mark five. . . . And a quarter six. . . . Mark twain!. . ."
Scott looked closely at the helmsman, but said nothing. Then he stared thoughtfully at the proas, which were congregating in the roadstead. "As soon as we anchor, Mr. Fox, make clear my orders. We're taking no chances."
"Let me talk to Pa' Mahmud," Fox said. "I'll fix everything."
Each manned by from two to two dozen loinclothed men, most of them wearing creeses, the small sailing craft from Stallapoo started swarming about the Caroline the moment she began losing way. They came nearer as soon as she dropped her hooks.
Peary fingered the butt of his pistol. "A mighty lot of them are armed."
Fox looked at him rather scornfully. "Most Malays would rather go naked than go without their creeses. Hell, these people are friendly."
Scott studied the grinning and smiling brown faces and felt inclined to agree; but he had not forgotten the recent lesson learned from Suran.
Fox glanced at Dorcas and her father, who were standing apart from both officers and sailors, then stepped forward, swaggering just a little. He liked being the center of attention. Then he began speaking, and Scott noticed that some of the smiles and grins disappeared. I wish I could palaver with them myself, he thought enviously; I like to know exactly what's being said.
Finally one boat laid alongside, the half-naked native at the tiller looking up attentively and talking with the second officer.