SERIAL COMPETITION

Southland Times, Issue 21097, 31 May 1930, Page 22

SERIAL COMPETITION

THE TERROR OF THE SOUTH SEAS. The clash of glasses, rough voices, snatches of sea chanties, oaths and other kindred noises proclaimed to any passerby that this crazy building on the banks of the Thames, was a tavern, and a tavern where sailors of the Seven Seas were want to gather when on leave. The creaking signboard that stood outside, proclaimed to the world that this was the "Sea Lion” tavern, and the noise that came from within also proclaimed to the world that the owner, though he claimed he had lost, a leg in the service of King George, sold the best beer and wine in that disreputable part of London. Then above the other voices rose one louder and more insistent.

“I tell you I’ve seen her,” it said, forcibly, “Well I remember it! There we was, without a drop of water, a sick captain; cookhouse, cook, and half our men gone; no instruments, going Lord alone knows where, and getting madder and wilder as the sun grew hotter. There we was, I ses, when I sees a sail away astern. We was going, for the breeze was strong, but that there ship walked up to us as if we was a weakkneed kitten. Walked up to us, sent a shot over, then ran along side. Hundreds of ’em, dark fellows they was, came over, and started to pull down our flag. We couldn’t fight—what chance did a dozen sick men have?—but when I saw a bowlegged son of a gun apullin’ down our flag, I let fly pretty slick. The ball got ’ini fair, and over he went, then they shot all my mates there and then, bound me, and let. me go in a cockelshell boat! My Guns, if ever I get the cap’n of that there pirate, I’ll swing him, that. I will! A merchant picked me up two days later, and here I am, but I’m going South agen’, that I am. Spike me guns, but I'll show the lubber, I will, see if ” There was a sudden commotion outside, the lights went out, oaths were freely exchanged, tables and chairs upset, but above all the clamour rose the one word, “The Press! The Press!”

In a moment (he press gang were in and a free 'light ensued. Some escaped, many went down to the heavy pistol butt blows, and others were victorious, until, when more pressers arrived, they were defeated. The Press Gang was elated. Most, of the taverns had had wind of their coming, and, as yet, they had ten surly prisoners only, but here, at the “Sea Lion,” they had pressed forty-four men. Right gladly they marched back to the wharves, bundled the prisoners into boats, and rowed slowly off through the dusk over the dimly lit waters to the various frigates and gun ships that lay at. their moorings close by. By far the most men went, to a ship lying out in midstream, including the seaman who had come in contact with the pirate. Here let me state that the pirate mentioned was called the Terror of the South Seas. Few of the sailors whose ships this pirate had captured lived to tell the tale. Truly he was a barbarian, a creature with no human feelings, for had not an Indiabound merchantman, blown .far off her course into the South Seas, called for water at an island, and found the crew of a sister ship, bound to short stakes, dead from starvation! And had not sailors been found, hanging feet upwards from coconut palms, or adrift on a raft without footl or water, or hopelessly floating in wickerwork cages half submerged, held up by bladders of air? Always the crews, but never the ships. The pirate, having dealt with the crew, took the ship in tow, and where that ship went no one could tell. Vague Aumours of a pirate flying the Jolly Roger, with vessels in tow, had been told by various sailors, but. the tales, vivid as they were, may or may not have been true. At anyrate, his depredations continued, and more ships were posted missing that had sailed to the South Seas, never to return. But the Admiralty was waking up, for two seventy gun frigates, which were on the way to India had not returned, and, allowing for storms, it seemed as if the Terror of the South Seas had two more captures to his name. Then, a month later, a merchantman limped into port, and the talc told by those sailors was very terrible indeed. It was a pitch black night in October, low storm clouds were scudding across the sky, and the barometer said that a bad storm was coining. Already heavy breakers were rolling on, and the ship, all snug for the coming storm, was scudding peacefully on. Then, above the creaking of ropes and stays, the splashing of the water against the ship’s sides, and various other noises, came the roar of guns, and the astonished merchantman drew up to witness a battle between a seventy gun frigate and a ship painted as black as Erebus, but whose flag, also black, had the pirate design, the skull and crossbones, in white, that, by the addition of some substance, glowed phosphorescently in the night. Before the merchantman could decide on entering the light or not, there came a “Huzza” from the enemy ship, and almost immediately, the frigate started sinking. For a few minutes she rolled sluggishly in the trough of the waves, then she suddenly disappeared, and the pirate shot off into the gloom, unaware that the merchantman had been just beside her when she sank the frigate. It was the merchantman’s duty to look for survivors, however, and look she did, but only one man, who was found clinging to a spar, was saved. Judge their surprise when the sailor was found stripped to the waist, and various designs, including the Skull and Bones drawn on his chest with a knife. He was well nigh dead from exhaustion and loss of blood, and when he had recovered enough to relate his story, the inhuman and fiendish cruelty of the pirate was revealed. As evening approached, the frigate, with her sister ship had been peacefully sailing over a calm sea when a strange ship 4 had been sighted low down on the horizon. The other frigate had gone off on pursuit, and when nearly out of sight two more ships had appeared, and in a few moments the frigate was fighting three antagonists, all of whom flew the pirate flag. Of course the other went to her assistance, blit one of the enemy, a large ship of nearly one hundred guns, tacked to meet her. The frigate kept her off, however, until, her sister ship defeated, another pirate came up, and at last the British ship was boarded, and, killing the captain and some others, the enemy drove the crew into the fo’c’sle. Here they were bound, stripped to the waist, and slowly tortured. Apparently, from the pirates’ talk, the other frigate crew had been lashed to the rigging and the ship set on fire, while the crew were slowly burnt to death.

Then, when the torturing was over, the pirates swarmed out, the boarding irons were released, and a cannonade of red hot shot was poured into the frigate, and she slowly sank. But not before one of the bound sailors had cut himself free with a piece of broken bottle, and staggered up the hatchway,- just as the waves washed over the doomed frigate.

After a frantic struggle the engulfing waters released him, and he floated round until the merchantman picked him up. That then, was the terror of the South Seas. Well then, who was the other pirate? Was it the same man? For there were two pirates. One cruel, ruthless and diabolical, the other, chivalrous, who always said “Necessity, Gentlemen,” did not torture the crews, did not kill unless in a fair fight, and, as far as could be shown, always let the ship go its way once the wealth had been removed. Often, when the ship was leaving port, a message was received, telling the Captain when and where to expect attack, and warning him to show little fight if he valued his life. The warning, however, was scarcely heeded, for what captain would submit willingly to a pirate? But his warning was always true, his ship or ships mostly seventy-gun ships of English design, were always ready at the exact time and spot, and even if the ship did leave her course to evade the pirate, it always found the quarry in the maze of islands, the natives of which seemed on friendly terms with the pirate, which cannot be said for The Terror of the South Seas, for the natives hated and feared that ruthless sailor or pirate. Then, when the quarry was defeated and the ship boarded, the crew were huddled into the fo’c’ele, men

were left, to watch, and the captain asked to show the pirate all over the ship. If he did not, the pirate captain merely smiled and said “Indeed, sir, I am very sorry to trouble you, but if you fall in with another pirate, sir, you may wish you had obeyed me!” With that he went off, and his fast sailer was gone; the merchantman set off again rejoicing, and, then probably another apparent merchantman would come up. Then the guns would flash, the merchantman would be boarded, the captain killed, the ship ransacked, the crew probably tortured, and the ‘Terror of the South Seas,” would sail off, leaving a merrily blazing hulk on the waters.

(To be continued.) —Cousin Peter Ferguson (15) Underwood. PASS THE MUSTARD. —Chapter I.— In the good old days, when magic was as common as roast pig, and fiery dragons sneaked around the world, seeking whom they might devour, there lived in the beautiful city of Babalonia, a powerful and much loved king. The people of Babalonia were one of the happiest and most contented races in the world, for they had such a wise and thoughtful monarch." « Now there came one day to the palace of King Felix, a poor traveller, who turned out to be the King's long lost brother, Bisanio. These two brothers had quarrelled many years ago, and had parted with bitter words. Felix had become king of the city and Bisanio had built himself a cottage in the heart of the mountains, where he studied black magic,, and became in league with an evil genii, who had sworn to be his servant.

Felix gave his brother a warm welcome, and knowing him to be very clever, immediately made him his chief councillor. Bisanio appeared very grateful and thanked the king profusely, but there was a cunning gleam in his little black eyes. All went well for a while, until one day the king became mysteriously ill. No one knew the cause of his illness, and the doctors were completely baffled. Nothing could save him, and poor’ King Felix gradually faded away until he was little more than a shadow. As he lay at his dying gasp, his brother Bisanio came to his bed side, and bending over, said in a cruel, triumphant voice, “Ha I’m revenged at last. Are you sorry now, Brother Felix, that you took my princess from me. Now I shall rule the kingdom, for the self-same poison which ended you, will be an excellent way to get rid of your two brats. Then I'shall have things my own way. Ha! Ha!”

King Felix turned his dim eyes on his gloating brother, “My curse is on you. If you dare harm the children in any way, a terrible fate will overtake you,” he said, then fell back, dead.

Magician though he was, Bisanio was somewhat frightened by this awful threat, but nevertheless, he decided to poison the children that very night.

The king’s children, Horatius and Helena, were well beloved by the people. Horatius, a handsome child of eight, was the kings heir, and Helena was a beautiful little girl of five.

After the king's death, Bisanio announced himself ruler, until Prince Horatius came of age. The people willingly accepted him as their monarch, for they thought •he w’as good and gentle like his lost brother. None knew what, an evil malicious tyrant he was. After the king's funeral, Bisanio betook himself to his chamber, where he shook the contents of a black box into a basin of green water, and muttered a weird spell. The sticky mixture in the basin then turninto a colourless powder, which Bisanio put carefully into an air-tight tin. “I’ll see that Horatius never grows old enough to rule the kingdom,” he muttered. “A few shakes of this powder on the faces of each of those troublesome sprats, and they’ll follow their father. Then I shall always be king. ’ —Chapter II. —

The clock chimed the hour of midnight as a stealthy figure carrying a tin of powder, crept softly along the corridor. Bisanio was on his way to poison the children of King Felix. As he reached the door of their chamber, he stooped to listen. The regular breathing of the sleeping children was the only sound that broke the deathly stillness. He turned the handle and entered, his slippered feet making no sound, as he stole towards the bed of Prince Horatius. Then he stopped, his eyes dilating with terror, for there, at the head of the Prince's bed, his arm outstretched as if in menace, was the ghostly figure of his dead brother, Felix. Bisanio’s tin of powder-crashed to the floor, his teeth chattered, and he trembled so much that his knees knocked together, while his one and only hair stood right up on end. Then as the apparition made a step towards him, he turned and fled as fast as his skinny legs could carry him, back to the safety of his own room.

Although he had received such a dreadful scare, Bisanio’s wicked designs were not altered.

One morning when the nurse went to get the children, she couldn’t find them anywhere. The whole palace was searched, but not a trace of them could be found. Their nurse was distracted. What had happened to them? Alas! no one knew. Bisanio looked very concerned, but in his inner heart he laughed. He and his wicked Genii had spirited them away to a lonely cottage in the heart of Mystery Mountain.

Bisanio now began to show himself in his true colours. He was a great miser, and taxed the people heavily. One man refused to pay him a large sum of money, so Bisanio cut off both his hands, starved him, and ended by burying him alive. After that, no one refused to pay him, but when it became known that the children were missing, the people blamed Bisanio, and, rising up, drove him from the palace, and appointed a new ruler.

Bisanio fled to his cottage in Mystery Mountain, where the children were living with a harsh old woman to look after them. He was in a towering rage, and, with the help of his evil Genii began to weave an extra strong spell. Together they worked and in three days, after a great deal of muttering and working with black magic, they at last wove the strong and evil spell that they wanted. One night they stole down towards Babalonia and let the spell loose. Then Bisanio and the evil spirit joined hands and, leaning against the gates of the city, they muttered magic words all through the night. Then when the first pale streak of dawn appeared in the east, everything in the city, from the king in his rich royal bed to the little dog that slept on the marble steps, was turned into stone; and, without a sound, the w-hole city sank slowly into the earth; and when the sun appeared in all his golden glory, he shone, not- on the great and beautiful city of Babalonia, but on a desolate desert waste. (To be continued).

-—Cousin May E. Heath (13), C/o Messrs Cameron and Finn, Tuatapere.