Produced by David Widger

"THE GALLANT, GOOD RIOU", and JACK RENTON

From "The Tapu Of Banderah and Other Stories"

By Louis Becke

C. Arthur Pearson Ltd.

1901

"THE GALLANT, GOOD RIOU"

This is a true story of one of Nelson's captains, he of whom Nelson
wrote as "the gallant and good Riou"--high meed of praise gloriously won
at Copenhagen--but Riou, eleven years before that day, performed a deed,
now almost forgotten, which, for unselfish heroism, ranks among the
brightest in our brilliant naval annals, and in the sea story of
Australia in particular.

In September, 1789, the _Guardian_, a forty-gun ship, under the command
of Riou, then a lieutenant, left England for the one-year-old penal
settlement in New South Wales. The little colony was in sore need of
food--almost starving, in fact--and Riou's orders were to make all haste
to his destination, calling at the Cape on the way to embark live stock
and other supplies. All the ship's guns had been removed to make room
for the stores, which included a "plant cabin"--a temporary compartment
built on deck for the purpose of conveying to Sydney, in pots of earth,
trees and plants selected by Sir Joseph Banks as likely to be useful to
the young colony--making her deck "a complete garden," says a newspaper
of the time. Friends of the officers stationed in New South Wales sent
on board the Guardian great quantities of private goods, and these were
stored in the gun-room, which it was thought would be a safer place than
the hold, but, as the event proved, it was the most insecure.

The ship arrived at the Cape of Good Hope in November, and there filled
her decks with cattle and provisions, then sailed again, her cargo being
equal in value to about £70,000. On December 23rd--twelve days after
leaving the Cape--what is described as "an island of ice" was seen. Riou
gave orders to stand towards it in order to renew, by collecting lumps
of ice, the supply of water, the stock of fresh water having run very
low in consequence of the quantity consumed by the cattle.

The Public Advertiser of April 30, 1790, describes what now happened. As
the ship approached the island, the boats were hoisted out and manned,
and several lumps collected. During this time the ship lay to, and on
the ice being brought on board she attempted to stand away. Very little
apprehension was at this time entertained of her safety, although the
enormous bulk of the island occasioned an unfavourable current, and in
some measure gave a partial direction to the wind. On a sudden, the
base of the island, which projected under water considerably beyond the
limits of the visible parts, struck the bow of the ship; she instantly
swung round, and her head cleared, but her stern, coming on the shoal,
struck repeatedly, and the sea being very heavy, her rudder broke
away, and all her works abaft were shivered. The ship in this situation
became, in a degree, embayed under the terrific bulk of ice, for its
height was twice that of the mainmast of a ship of the line, and the
prominent head of the berg was every moment expected to break away and
overwhelm the ship. At length, after every practicable exertion, she was
got off the shoal, and the ice floated past her. It was soon perceived
that the _Guardian_ had six feet of water in her hold, and it was
increasing very fast The hands were set to the pumps, others to find
out the leaks, and they occasionally relieved each other. Thus they
continued labouring unceasingly on the 24th, although on the 23rd not
one of them had had the least rest The ship was at one period so much
relieved that she had only two feet of water in the hold; but at this
time, when their distress wore the best aspect, the water "increased in
a moment to ten feet." Then the ship was discovered to be strained in
all her works, and the sea running high, every endeavour to check the
progress of a particular leak proved ineffectual. To lighten the ship,
the cows, horses, sheep, and all the other live stock for the colony
were, with their fodder, committed to the deep to perish.

John Williams, boatswain of the _Guardian_, wrote to his parents in
London, and told them about the disaster, and although we have no doubt
he was handier with the marline-spike than with his pen, some of his
badly spelled letter reads well:--

"This axident happened on the 23rd of December, and on the 25th the
boats left us with moast of the officers and a great part of the seamen.
The master-gunner, purser, one master's mate, one midshipman, and a
parson, with nine seamen, was got into the longboat and cleared the
ship. The doctor and four or five men got into a cutter and was upset
close to the ship, and all of them was drowned. As for the rest of the
boats, I believe they must be lost and all in them perished, for wee was
about six hundred leagues from any land. There was about fifty-six men
missing; a number drowned jumping into the boats; the sea ran so
high that the boats could scarce live. The commander had a strong
resulution, for he said he would sooner go down in the ship than he
wold quid her. All the officers left in the ship was the commander, the
carpenter, one midshipman, and myself. After the boats left us we had
two chances--either to jump or sink. We cold just get into the sailroom
and got up a new forecourse and stuck it full of oakum and rags, and put
itt under the ship's bottom; this is called fothering the ship. We found
some benefit by itt for pumping and bailing we gained on hur; that gave
us a little hope of saving our lives. We was in this terable situation
for nine weeks before we got to the Cape of Good Hope. Sometimes our
upper-deck scuppers was under water outside, and the ship leying like
a log on the water, and the sea breaking over her as if she was a rock.
Sixteen foot of water was the common run for the nine weeks in the hold.
I am not certain what we are to doo with the ship as yet. We have got
moast of our cargo out; it is all dammaged but the beef and pork, which
is in good order. I have lost a great dele of my cloaths, and I am
thinking of drawing of about six pound, wich I think I can make shift
with. If this axident had not hapned I shold not have had aney call for
aney. As for my stores, there is a great part of them thrown overboard;
likewise all the officers stores in the ship is gone the same way, for
evry thing that came to hand was thrown ovarboard to lighten the ship.
I think that we must wait till ordars comes from England to know what we
are to do with the ship."

The chronicles of the time also relate how at daylight on Christmas
morning, when the water was reported as being up to the orlop deck
and gaining two feet an hour, many of the people desponded and gave
themselves up for lost. A part of those who had any strength left,
seeing that their utmost efforts to save the ship were likely to be in
vain, applied to the officers for the boats, which were promised to be
in readiness for them, and the boatswain was directly ordered to put the
masts, sails, and compasses in each. The cooper was also set to work to
fill a few quarter-casks of water out of some of the butts on deck, and
provisions and other necessaries were got up from the hold.

Many hours previous to this, Lieutenant Riou had privately declared to
his officers that he saw the final loss of the ship was inevitable, and
he could not help regretting the loss of so many brave fellows. "As
for me," said he, "I have determined to remain in the ship, and shall
endeavour to make my presence useful as long as there is any occasion
for it." He was entreated, and even supplicated, to give up this fatal
resolution, and try for safety in the boats. It was even hinted to him
how highly criminal it was to persevere in such a determination; but
he was not to be moved by any entreaties. He was, notwithstanding, as
active in providing for the safety of the boats as if he intended to
take the opportunity of securing his own escape. He was throughout as
calm and collected as in the happier moments of his life.

At seven o'clock the _Guardian_ had settled considerably abaft, and the
water was coming in at the rudder-case in great quantities. At half-past
seven the water in the hold obliged the people below to come upon deck;
the ship appeared to be in a sinking state, and settling bodily down; it
was, therefore, almost immediately agreed to have recourse to the boats.
While engaged in consultation on this melancholy business, Riou wrote a
letter to the Admiralty, which he delivered to Mr. Clements, the master.
It was as follows:--

     "H.M.S. Guardian, Dec. 25, 1789.

     "If any part of the officers or crew of the _Guardian_
     should ever survive to get home, I have only to say their
     conduct, after the fatal stroke against an island of ice,
     was admirable and wonderful in everything that relates to
     their duty, considered either as private men, or in His
     Majesty's service. As there seems to be no possibility of my
     remaining many hours in this world, I beg leave to recommend
     to the considération of the Admiralty a sister, who, if my
     conduct or service should be found deserving any memory,
     their favour might be shown to, together with a widowed
     mother.

     "I am, &c,

     "Phil. Stephens, Esq."

     "E. RIOU.

With the utmost difficulty the boats were launched. After they were got
afloat and had cleared the ship, with the exception of the launch they
were never afterwards heard of; the launch with nine survivors was
picked up by a passing vessel ten days after she left the wreck, her
people reduced to the last extremity for want of food and water.

Among the survivors was the parson mentioned by the boatswain. This was
the Rev. Mr. Crowther, who was on his way as a missionary to the penal
settlement. The Rev. John Newton, of Olney (poet Cowper's Newton), had
got Crowther the appointment, at "eight shillings per diem, of assistant
chaplain of the settlement," and Newton, writing to the Rev. R. Johnson,
chaplain of Sydney, tells how he heard of the loss of the Guardian, "and
the very next morning Mr. Crowther knocked at my door himself." Then Mr.
Newton writes a letter which shows that Mr. Crowther had had enough of
the sea. "It is not a service for mere flesh and blood to undertake. A
man without that apostolic spirit and peculiar call which the Lord alone
can give would hardly be able to maintain his ground. Mr. Crowther,
though a sincere, humble, good man, seems not to have had those
qualifications, and therefore he has been partly intimidated by what he
met with abroad, and partly influenced by nearer personal considerations
at home, to stay with us and sleep in a whole skin." But after his
experience it was not to be wondered at that he preferred to stay at
home and sleep in a whole skin.

Meanwhile Riou, in spite of a ship without a rudder, and with the water
in her up to the orlop deck, succeeded, as the boatswain's letter shows,
after a voyage of nine weeks, in bringing his command to the Cape. A
letter from Capetown, written on March 1, 1790, tells us she arrived
there "eight days ago in a situation not to be credited without ocular
proofs. She had, I think, nine feet of water in her when she anchored.
The lower gun-deck served as a second bottom; it was stowed with a very
great weight equally fore and aft. To this, and to the uncommon strength
of it, Captain Riou ascribes his safety. Seeing an English ship with a
signal of distress, four of us went on board, scarcely hoping but with
busy fancy still pointing her out to be the _Guardian_, and, to our
inexpressible joy, we found it was her. We stood in silent admiration
of her heroic commander (whose supposed fate had drawn tears from us
before), shining through the rags of the meanest sailor. The fortitude
of this man is a glorious example for British officers to emulate. Since
that time we have gone on board again to see him. He is affable in
his manners, and of most commanding presence.... Perhaps we, under the
influence of that attraction which great sufferings always produce, may,
in the enthusiasm of our commendation, be too lavish in his praise; were
it not for this fear I would at once pronounce him the most God-like
mortal I ever viewed. They were two months from the time the accident
happened until they reached this place. Every man shared alike in the
labour; and not having at all attended to their persons during the
whole of that dismal period they looked like men of another world--long
beards, dirt, and rags covered them. Mr. Riou got one of his hands
crushed and one of his legs hurt, but all are getting well. None of his
people died during their fatigues. He says his principal attention
was to keep up their spirits and to watch over their health. He never
allowed himself to hope until the day before he got in here, when
he made the land. Destitute of that support, how superior must his
fortitude be! He has this morning, for the first time, come on shore,
having been employed getting stores, &c., out to lighten the ship. He
wavers what to do with her--whether to put Government to the expense
of repairing her here (which would almost equal her first cost, perhaps
exceed it) or burn her. Most likely the last will be resolved on."

The ship was in such a state that she was condemned by the experts at
the Cape, but Riou, bearing in mind the distressed state of the colony
of New South Wales, did not rest until he had sent on in other vessels
all the stores he could collect.

Neither did he forget the behaviour of certain convicts. In a letter
to the Admiralty he wrote: "Permit me, sir, to address you on a subject
which I hope their Lordships will not consider to be unworthy their
notice. It is to recommend as much as is in my power to their Lordships'
favour and interest the case of the twenty convicts which my duty
compelled me to send to Port Jackson. But the recollection of past
sufferings reminds me of that time when I found it necessary to make use
of every possible method to encourage the minds of the people under my
command, and at such time, considering how great the difference might
be between a free man struggling for life and him who perhaps might
consider death as not much superior to a life of ignominy and disgrace
I publicly declared that not one of them, so far as depended on myself,
should ever be convicts. And I may with undeniable truth say that, had
it not been for their assistance and support, the _Guardian_ would never
have arrived to where she is. Their conduct prior to the melancholy
accident that happened on December 23rd last was always such as may be
commended, and from their first entrance into the ship at Spithead they
ever assisted and did their duty in like manner as the crew. I have
taken the liberty to recommend them to the notice of Governor Phillip;
but I humbly hope, sir, their Lordships will consider the service done
by these men as meriting their Lordships' favour and protection, and I
make no doubt that should I have been so fortunate as to represent
this in proper colours, that they will experience the benefit of their
Lordships' interest."

The prisoners were pardoned, and the Secretary of the Admiralty wrote to
Riou--

"I have their Lordships' commands to acquaint you that their concern
on the receipt of the melancholy contents of the first-mentioned letter
could only be exceeded by the satisfaction they received from the
account of your miraculous escape, which they attribute to your skilful
and judicious exertions under the favour of Divine Providence....
Their Lordships have communicated to Mr. Secretary Grenville, for his
Majesty's information, your recommendation of the surviving convicts
whose conduct, as it has so deservedly met with your approbation, will,
there is every reason to hope, entitle them to his Majesty's clemency."

[This story of the gallant behaviour of these twenty prisoners does not
stand alone in the convict annals of Australia. There were many other
instances in which convicts behaved with the greatest heroism. Many of
the earlier explorers, such as Sturt, received most valuable aid from
prisoners who were members of their expeditions; and in the first
days of the colony both Phillip and Hunter were quick to recognise
and personally reward or recommend for pardon to the Home Government
convicts who had distinguished themselves by acts of bravery.]

When Riou returned to England he was promoted to post-captain's rank,
and at Copenhagen, in 1801, he commanded the _Amazon_. Perhaps we may
be forgiven for reprinting from Southey's "Nelson" an account of what he
did there. "The signal" (that famous one which Nelson looked at with his
blind eye), "the signal, however, saved Riou's little squadron, but
did not save its heroic leader. The squadron, which was nearest the
commander-in-chief, obeyed and hauled off. It had suffered severely in
its most unequal contest. For a long time the _Amazon_ had been firing
enveloped in smoke, when Riou desired his men to stand fast, and let
the smoke clear off, that they might see what they were about. A fatal
order, for the Danes then got clear sight of her from the batteries,
and pointed their guns with such tremendous effect that nothing but
the signal for retreat saved this frigate from destruction. 'What will
Nelson think of us!' was Riou's mournful exclamation when he unwillingly
drew off. He had been wounded in the head by a splinter, and was sitting
on a gun, encouraging his men, when, just as the _Amazon_ showed her
stern to the Trekroner Battery, his clerk was killed by his side,
and another shot swept away several marines who were hauling in
the main-brace. 'Come, then, my boys!' cried Riou, 'let us die all
together!' The words had scarcely been uttered before a raking shot cut
him in two. Except it had been Nelson himself, the British Navy could
not have suffered a severer loss."

JACK RENTON

Some yarns of an exceedingly tough and Munchausen-like character have
been spun and printed by men of their adventures in Australian waters
or the South Seas, but an examination of such stories by any one with
personal knowledge of the Pacific and Australasia has soon, and very
deservedly so, knocked the bottom out of a considerable number of them.
Yet there are stories of South Sea adventure well authenticated, which
I are not a whit less wonderful than the most marvellous falsehoods that
any man has yet told, and the story of what befell John Renton is one
of these. A file of the _Queenslander_ (the leading Queensland weekly
newspaper) for 1875 will corroborate his story; for that paper gave the
best account of his adventures in one of their November (1875) numbers,
and the story was copied into nearly every paper in Australasia.

Like Harry Bluff, John Renton "when a boy left his friends and his home,
o'er the wild ocean waves all his life for to roam." Renton's home was
in Stromness, in the Orkneys, and he shipped on board a vessel bound to
Sydney, in 1867, as an ordinary seaman, he then being a lad of eighteen.
When in Sydney he got about among the boarding-houses, in sailor-town,
and one morning woke up on the forecastle of the _Reynard_ of Boston,
bound on a cruise for guano among the South Pacific Islands.

Renton had been crimped, and finding himself where he was, bothered no
more about it, but went cheerfully to work, not altogether displeased at
the prospect of new adventures, which would enable him to by and by go
back to the old folks with plenty of dollars, and a stock of startling
yarns to reel off. He was a steady, straightforward lad, though somewhat
thoughtless at times, and resolved to be a steady, straightforward man.
The vessel first called into the Sandwich Islands, and there shipped a
gang of Hawaiian natives to help load the guano, then she sailed away
to the southward for McKean's Island, one of the Phoenix Group, situated
about lat. 3? 35' S. and long. 174? 20' W.

On board the _Reynard_ was an old salt known to all hands as "Boston
Ned." He had been a whaler in his time, had deserted, and spent some
years beachcombing among the islands of the South Seas, and very soon,
through his specious tongue, he had all hands wishing themselves clear
of the "old hooker" and enjoying life in the islands instead of
cruising about, hazed here and there and everywhere by the mates of the
_Reynard_, whose main purpose in life was to knock a man down in order
to make him "sit up." Presently three or four of the hands became
infatuated with the idea of settling on an island, and old Ned, nothing
loth, undertook to take charge of the party if they would make an
attempt to clear from the ship. The old man had taken a fancy to young
Renton, and the youngster, when the idea was imparted to him, fell in
with it enthusiastically; for he was exasperated with the treatment he
had received on board the guanoman--the afterguard of an American guano
ship are usually a rough lot The ship was lying on and off the land,
there being no anchorage, and before the plan had been discussed more
than a few hours, the men, five in all, determined to put it into
execution.

A small whaleboat was towing astern of the vessel in case the wind
should fall light and the ship drift in too close to the shore. It was
a fine night, with a light breeze, and there was, they thought, a good
chance of getting to the southward, to one of the Samoan group, where
they could settle, or by shipping on board a trading schooner they might
later on strike some other island to their fancy.

By stealth they managed to stow in the boat a couple of small breakers
of water, holding together sixteen gallons, and the forecastle bread
barge with biscuits enough for three meals a day per man for ten days.
They managed also to steal four hams, and each man brought pipes,
tobacco, and matches. A harpoon with some line, an old galley
frying-pan, mast, sail and oars, and some blankets completed the
equipment For they took no compass, though they made several attempts to
get at one slung in the cabin, and tried at first to take one out of the
poop binnacle; but the officer of the watch on deck was too wide awake
for them to risk that, and the cabin compass was screwed to the roof
close to the skipper's berth; and so the old man who was their leader,
old sailor and whaler as he was, actually gave up the idea of taking a
compass, and these people without more ado, one night slipped over the
side into the whaleboat, cut the painter, and by daylight the boat was
out of sight of land and of the ship. They were afloat upon the Pacific,
running six or seven miles before a north-east breeze and expecting
to sight land in less than a week, and were already anticipating the
freedom and luxury of island life in store for them.

Three days later it fell calm, and they had to take to the oars. The sun
was intensely hot, the water a sheet of glass reflecting back upon them
the ball of fire overhead. Now and again a cats-paw would ripple across
the plain of water, but there were no clouds, there was no sight of
land. They kept on pulling. For three, for four days--a week--for ten
days--they tugged at the oars, except when a favouring breeze came. The
water was reduced to a few pints, the food to a few days' half-rations.
Their limbs were cramped so that they could not move from their places
in the boat, their bodies were becoming covered with sores; and the wind
had now died away entirely, the sea was without a ripple, and for ever
shone above them the fierce, relentless sun.

Gradually it had dawned upon them that they were lost--that perhaps they
had run past Samoa. The first eagerness of their adventure gave place
to despair, and by degrees their despair grew to madness of a more awful
kind.

On the fifteenth day there appeared to the south and east a low,
dark-grey cloud. "Land at last!" was the unspoken thought in each man's
heart as he looked at his comrade, but feared to voice his hope. And
presently the cloud grew darker and more clearly defined, and one of the
men--the next oldest to the author of all their miseries--fell upon
his weak and trembling knees, and raised his hands in thankfulness
and prayer to the Almighty. Alas! it was not land, but the ominous
forerunner of the fierce and sweeping mid-equatorial gale which lay
veiled behind. In less than half an hour it came upon and smote them
with savage fury, and the little boat was running before a howling gale
and a maddened, foam-whipped sea.

And then it happened that, ill and suffering as he was from the agonies
of hunger and thirst, the heroic nature of old "Boston Ned" came
out, and his bold sailor's heart cheered and encouraged his wretched,
despairing companions. All that night, and for the greater part of
the following day, he stood in the stern-sheets, grasping the bending
steer-oar as the boat swayed and surged along before the gale, and
constantly watching lest she should broach to and smother in the
roaring seas; the others lay in the bottom, feebly baling out the
water, encouraged, urged, and driven to that exertion by the gallant old
American seaman.

Towards noon the wind moderated, in the afternoon it died away
altogether, and again the boat lay rising and falling to the long
Pacific swell, and "Boston Ned" flung his exhausted frame down in the
stern-sheets and slept.

Again the blood-red sun leapt from a sea of glassy smoothness--for the
swell had subsided during the night--and again the wretched men locked
into each other's dreadful faces and mutely asked what was to be done.
How should they head the boat? Without a compass they might as well
steer one way as another, for none of them knew even approximately the
course for the nearest land; search the cloudless vault of blue above,
or scan the shimmering sea-rim till their aching eyes dropped from out
their hollowing sockets, there was no clue.

Twenty days out the last particle of food and water had been consumed,
and though the boat was now steering as near westward as old Ned could
judge, before a gentle south-east trade, madness and despair were coming
quickly upon them, and on the twenty-third day two of the five miserable
creatures began to drink copiously of salt water--the drink of Death.

Renton, though he had suffered to the bitter full from the agonies
of body and mind endured by his shipmates, did not yield to this
temptation; and by a merciful providence remained sane enough to turn
his face away from the water. But as he lay crouched in a heap in the
bottom of the boat, with a silent prayer in his heart to his Creator to
quickly end his sufferings, he heard "Boston Ned" and the only remaining
sane man except himself muttering hoarsely together and looking
sometimes at him and sometimes at the two almost dying men who lay
moaning beside him. Presently the man who was talking to Ned pulled out
of his blanket--which lay in the stern-sheets--a razor, and turning his
back to Renton began stropping it upon the sole of his boot, and even
"Boston Ned" himself looked with awful eyes and blood-baked twitching
lips upon the youngster.

The lad saw what was coming, and as quickly as possible made his way
forward and sat there, with his eyes fixed upon the two men aft, waiting
for the struggle which he thought must soon begin. All that day and the
night he sat and watched, determined to make a fight for the little life
which remained in him, and Ned and the other man at times still muttered
and eyed him wolfishly.

And so, on and on, these seeming outcasts of God's mercy sailed before
the warm breath of the south-east trade wind, above them the blazing
tropic sun, around them the wide, sailless expanse of the blue Pacific
unbroken in its dreadful loneliness except for a wandering grey-winged
booby or flocks of whale-birds floating upon its gentle swell, and
within their all but deadened hearts naught but grim despair and a
dulled sense of coming dissolution.

As he sat thus, supporting his swollen head upon his skeleton hands,
Renton saw something astern, moving slowly after the boat--something
that he knew was waiting and following for the awful deed to be done, so
that _it_ too might share in the dreadful feast.

Raising his bony arm, he pointed towards the moving fin. To him a
shark meant no added horror or danger to their position, but possibly
deliverance. "Boston Ned" and the other man first looked at the coming
shark, and then with sunken eyes again turned to Renton. Voices none of
them had, and the lad's parched tongue could not articulate, but with
signs and lip movements he tried to make the other two men understand.

No shark hook had they; nor, if they had had one, had they anything
with which to bait it. But Renton, crawling aft, picked up the harpoon,
placed it in "Boston Ned's" hands, and motioned to him to stand by.
Then with eager, trembling hands he stripped from his legs the shreds
of trousers which remained on them, and, sitting upon the gunwale of the
boat, hung one limb over and let it trail in the water.

Three times the shark came up, and thrice Ned prepared to strike, but
each time the grim ranger of the seas turned aside as it caught sight
of the waiting figure with weapon poised above. But at last hunger
prevailed, and, swimming slowly up till within a few yards of the boat,
it made a sudden rush for the human bait, missed it, and the harpoon,
deftly darted by the old ex-whaler, clove through its tough skin and
buried itself deep into its body between the shoulders.

It took the worn-out, exhausted men a long time to haul alongside and
despatch the struggling monster, which, says Renton, was ten feet in
length.

Then followed shark's flesh and shark's blood, some of the former, after
the first raw meal, being cooked on a fire made of the biscuit barge
upon a wet blanket spread in the bottom of the boat. The hot weather,
however, soon turned the remaining portion putrid, but two or three days
later came God's blessed rain, and gave them hope and life again.
They managed to save a considerable quantity of water, and, though the
shark's flesh was in a horrible condition, they continued to feed upon
it _until the thirty-fifth_ day.

On this day they saw land, high and well wooded; but now the trade-wind
failed them, and for the following two days the unfortunate men
contended with baffling light airs, calms, and strong currents. At
last they got within a short distance of the shore, and sought for a
landing-place through the surrounding surf.

Suddenly four or five canoes darted out from the shore. They were filled
with armed savages, whose aspect and demeanour warned old Ned that he
and his comrades were among cannibals. Sweeping alongside the boat, the
savages seized the white men, who were all too feeble to resist, or even
move, put them into their canoes, and conveyed them on shore, fed them,
and treated them with much apparent kindness. Crowds of natives
from that part of the island--which was Malayta, one of the Solomon
Group--came to look at them, and one man, a chief, took a fancy to
Renton, and claimed him as his own especial property.

Renton never saw the rest of his companions again, for they were removed
to the interior of the Island--probably sold to some of the bush tribes,
the "man-a-bush," as the coastal natives called them. Their fate is not
difficult to guess, for the people of Malayta were then, as they are
now, cannibals.

On August 7, 1875, the Queensland labour recruiting schooner _Bobtail
Nag_ was cruising off the island, trading for yams, and her captain
heard from some natives who came alongside that there was a white man
living ashore in a village about ten miles distant. The skipper of the
_Bobtail Nag_ at once offered to pay a handsome price if the man was
brought on board, and at the cost of several dozen Birmingham steel
axes and some tobacco poor Renton's release was effected. He told his
rescuers that the people among whom he had lived had taken a great fancy
to him, and had treated him with great kindness.

If the reader will look at a chart of the South Pacific, he will see,
among the Phoenix Group, the position of McKean's Island; two thousand
miles distant, westward and southward, is the island of Malayta, upon
which Renton and his companions in misery drifted.

End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of "The Gallant, Good Riou", and Jack
Renton, by Louis Becke
{'title': '"The Gallant, Good Riou", and Jack Renton by Louis Becke', 'source': 'Project Gutenberg', 'lang': 'en'}