one
of dreary, soul-searing repulsiveness and made a sorry jest of the
strongly stockaded trading post whose defensive armament could be
plainly seen peeping over a woven cane parapet.

"Heavens, what a dismal hole!" ejaculated Little, as the brigantine
swung slowly around the bend. "Mean t' tell me white people live here,
Barry? I wouldn't swap a shop-soiled typewriter for the whole box and
dice!"

"Sure white people live here. Why would we be coming, else?" retorted
Barry impatiently. He was scanning the buildings. Several white-clad
figures passed and repassed among the huddle of squalid huts, all
apparently bound towards the river wharf to meet the ship.

"Wonder where the Mission is," the skipper went on musingly, to himself
rather than to Little.

"I get your drift," Little grinned back. "Yes, I wonder where she lives,
too."

Something gleamed in Barry's eyes that warned against jesting on that
subject, and Little stepped aside with a shrug and watched Vandersee as
that stolid worthy piloted the ship up to the crazy wharf with
consummate skill.

An anchor dropped in mid-channel stopped her way, and the forward canvas
was hauled down. A pull to windward on the mainsheet backed the big
mainsail and drove the stern towards the dock, whereon a mob of naked
brown men awaited the casting of shore lines. The starboard quarter
grated against the piling, and the open stern windows overhung the
stringpiece for a moment. Barry was deeply interested in the probable
location of the Mission--far too deeply interested for a shipmaster
docking his ship--and Little, too, had his mind and eyes on the scene of
his imminent adventures to the exclusion of all else. Rolfe, the dour
chief mate, was where a good mate should be, on the forecastle head,
looking out for lines and fenders. Vandersee alone appeared capable of
handling his duties and giving attention to the shore at the same time.
Never relaxing his vigilance for a moment in placing the brigantine
advantageously in her berth, the burly Hollander nevertheless had an eye
open for other things. A cloud passed over his shiny face as the stern
touched; he stepped swiftly to the rail and peered over; two natives
stood by, and he sent them hurrying forward with a Low Malay expletive
that made them jump in fright. Then he peered over the side again, his
face cleared, and he returned to his post at the stern fair-lead,
shouting to his men to carry along the sternfasts. Barry tu