Steve Brown's Bunyip, and Other Stories — John Shaqi
Steve Brown's Bunyip, and Other StoriesBarry, John Arthur
General
Steve Brown's Bunyip, and Other Stories
Barry, John Arthur
Australia -- Fiction; Sea stories; Short stories
‘It’ll be a junk, I’m thinkin’!’ he said presently, after working away
for a while with his glass; ‘an a muckle ane at that. She’s fetchin’ a
breezie wi’ her, whilk’s a comfort.’
Some of the long-nailed aristocrats were lounging about the poop. They
needed no glass to make out the approaching vessel. Gathering in a
group, they cackled noisily, pointing and gesticulating among
themselves.
Then, coming up to the captain, one—it was his Christian
friend—plucked him by the arm and uttered laconically, with extended
digit, ‘Prat!’
‘Weel, Johnnie,’ replied old M‘Cracken coolly, as he gathered the
other’s meaning, ‘pireet, or no pireet, gin he come a wee closer,
we’ll just pepper the hide o’ him wi’ cauld airn.’
Without more ado, the Chinaman dived into his cabin and in a minute or
two reappeared with a most hideous idol and a bundle of perfumed
paper. Placing the thing right under the skipper’s nose, he lit a yard
of paper and began to screech an invocation. As of good Presbyterian
stock, M‘Cracken was irritated and shocked.
‘Mon, mon,’ he exclaimed, ‘what wad ye be at! Hae ye niver been tauld
that a’ graven eemages is an abomination in the sicht o’ the Lord? An’
I thocht ye was a Christian.’ So saying, he seized the joss and flung
it far overboard into the silvery water, just rippling under the
coming breeze. The worshipper uttered a yell of dismay. But there was
no time to lose, and, rushing below, he brought up another god, ten
times as hideous as the first one, and, descending to the main deck,
aroused the ship with his devotions.
Then arose the sound of a multitude waking in fear—an impressive sound
and a catching. Up the open hatchways from the steaming, fœtid ’tween
decks they streamed in hundreds, like disturbed ants, with cries of
alarm and grief, and strong callings upon their gods. In a minute the
ship was alive with lights burning before idols of every description.
A thousand half-naked figures crouched cowering from the break of the
poop right for’ard. Aft, a handful of rugged Scotch seamen gazed
quietly at the black spot over the water. Presently the two little
guns were crammed half up to the muzzle with powder and grape, and
placed each in a socket cut out for it after leaving Singapore. The
remainder of the weapons were, with a stock of ammunition, divided
amongst the crew. Hot irons were put in the galley fire; and the
skipper, having thus placed his ship in a thorough state of defence,
felt complacent, and half-inclined to shorten sail, wait for the
pirates to come up, and then give them a lesson. Old seaman though he
was, he was a new hand in these Eastern waters.
Confiding his notion to the second mate, who was also carpenter, also
sailmaker, a grizzled ancient shellback of much experience and endless
voyaging, the other laughed aloud, but not mirthfully.
‘If,’ said he, ‘yon’s a “prat,” as Johnnie there ca’s it, we’ll a’ be
meat for the fishes afore the sun’s risen!’
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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