School Days

by Ruskin Bond

  Neil got down all right, but as soon as he reached the ground something went wrong. He couldn't help it. He just couldn't.

  'Steady now, old fellow,' father said after a while. Tears made him feel awkward.

  'A man who is a man may weep,' said Sher Bahadur.

  But Neil stopped crying.

  'Drink this, Neil.' He drank the burning stuff from a flask, and choked. The heat went through him. The coolies cut a pole to carry the panther.

  'Take the rifles, Sher Bahadur. I'll carry old Toby.'

  Which his father did, and they climbed past bamboos sounding in the rain and up sliding scree, and here was the ledge where Toby had killed himself for you, and on towards home.

  Father stopped in the darkness. 'Are you all right, Neil?'

  'Yes.' Neil was warmer again, but he was not all right.

  Jim Mackenzie did not always understand his moody, hotheaded son; he understood now. 'Sher Bahadur,' he said in Nepalese. 'Oh, brother! Did Toby die well?'

  'As one brave soldier for another,' said Sher Bahadur. 'And few old warriors may die thus.'

  Argosy, December 1959

  The Phantom Pirates

  Rick Ferreira

  Two boys in search of adventure meet with the legendary pirates of the West Indies. A spooky tale from Trinidad and Tobago. . . .

  EVERY STUDENT ON TOBAGO KNEW THE LEGEND OF CAPTAIN Skull and his band of bloodthirsty pirates.

  It told how once, about two centuries ago, Tobago had been the Captain's favorite island in the West Indies. With its sheltered bay, it provided a safe place for him to hide his ship. . . then, unmolested, the pirates could bury their stolen treasure, deep in the white sand of the beach, just beyond the tumbling blue waves of the Caribbean Sea.

  The Captain himself had been a fearsome sight to behold! Over his head he always wore a black hood. On it there had been the outline and features of a grinning skull, painted white, with the Captain's crazed black eyes gleaming through the eye-slits. . . .

  So ran the legend.

  Christopher and Jonah had heard it all ever since they could remember. And the other part, too - the part that the boys had always scoffed at - that on the first night of each full moon, Captain Skull and his crew returned to the beach to dig up their treasure chests, then to check by moonlight the gold and silver coins, the gem-stones and the pearls, big as a pigeon's eggs. And they were furious if their treasure had been disturbed. Apparently, if there was one thing Captain Skull and his pirates couldn't stand, it was thieves!

  Tonight, with the gigantic full moon riding high and clear above the sea and the coconut palms, Christopher and Jonah had decided that the time had come to investigate the old legend, once and for all. They both felt brave enough and, anyway, it was just an old island tale. . . .

  But when the big alarm clock with the double copper bells woke them up with its racket, it was well after midnight. So the boys argued breathlessly, racing along in the moonlight, heading for the clump of coconut trees and the winding path that led steeply down to the beach.

  'You set that clock, not me,' Jonah protested.

  'Hold it, Masta Chris. . . I drop my piece of sugarcane!' Jonah's thin legs braked to a halt while his eyes searched the ground, almost day-bright by the light of the moon.

  'How can you think of chewing sugarcane now?' And Christopher's pyjama clad legs kept on racing. 'We're already too late. See you on the beach, glutton!'

  'Found it!' Jonah cried, hitching up the old shorts he slept in. Then he was back in his stride, racing after Christopher.

  Being twelve-year-old was the only thing the boys had in common. Blonde, chubby Christopher was English, and Tobago had been his adopted home since he was two and his widowed father had taken up the post of Medical Superintendent on the island. Jonah was a native, and he was shiny black and a compulsive eater. But he was still the thinnest twelve-year-old in Tobago.

  The boys raced on through the warm night, through the sad signing of the coconut trees, and the sound of the sea grew louder as they came nearer. They reached the headland together, breathless and gasping, with Jonah sucking noisily away on his stick of sugarcane. They were just about to plunge down the familiar steep path to the beach, when they stopped. Utterly frozen - like two gilded statues in the moonlight - they stood, while their eyes stared unblinking at the scene on the beach below.

  For the pirates were there!

  Toiling away just beyond the reach of the waves, and buffeted by the winds from the sea, some were bending over a vast sea chest, it's heavy lid thrown back, while they checked its precious contents. A dozen others were using wide shovels to flatten another section of the beach. . . where presumably, another chest had been checked and reburied. They seemed surly and suspicious - and looked smelly, too, Christopher thought - and all were busy.

  All but Captain Skull.

  He was standing guard, with a hand on the head of his cutlass and a murderous-looking pistol leveled at his men. And Captain Skull looked exactly as the boys had imagined he would. Except in just one terrifying detail. Even from the height where they stood, Christopher and Jonah could see that the Captain's head was no longer hidden by the black hood with the skull bones painted in white. Christopher's teeth started rattling like a bag of marbles, and Jonah choked on his stick of sugarcane.

  For now, Captain Skull truly deserved his name. His head was a real, grinning skull of white, bleached bones!

  At that very moment the skull swung up and away from the beach, searching out the two boys bathed in moonlight, high up on the headland.

  Christopher and Jonah stood, helpless and unmoving, while the gaping eye sockets of Captain Skull stand trained on them, like a deadly double barreled shotgun. Then they watched the grinning jaws swing open. . . .

  'Blasted spies!' the Captain roared. 'Up above, lads!'

  With his cry, a hurricane of sound came rushing up from the beach: the clang of spades thrown hastily down, the thud of sea-boots pounding across the sand. Then the pirates were jostling and pushing and swearing. . . all anxious to scramble up the steep path to the headland and capture the boys. Captain Skull pointed with the cutlass he had drawn from his waistband, and the moonlight that filled his eye sockets glinted wickedly on the naked blade.

  'Up there! We need cabin boys! Get 'em both!'

  But life and motion had come back to Christopher and Jonah. A second later they had turned and were running with the speed only terror can inspire. Back through the coconut trees they raced, back along the beach road, then down the long rough lane that led to the bungalow.

  They ducked under the verandah rail, then their bare feet were slapping the wooden floor as they sped for the safety of their bedroom. Then they were in the bedroom, with the door slammed shut. Christopher tumbled headlong into his bed, and Jonah made a flying leap for the rope hammock he slept in.

  And Jonah promptly fell out. He lay on the floor and laughed, slightly hysterical and filled with relief. Christopher sat up in bed and laughed, too. But it was quite a while before the boys could fall asleep again.

  Salome woke them by throwing open the wooden shutters, and the sunlight poured into the bedroom like yellow paint from a can. Salome was Jonah's mother. She was also housekeeper to Christopher and his father, and she ran the bungalow with bustling good humor. And great firmness.

  She was firm now.

  'Why you two boys sleep so late? You talk and talk all night, I'll bet. Up, Masta Chris! Your Dad staying at the hospital for the next two nights and he said you better be good!' She trundled over to Jonah's hammock and shook it with a massive arm. 'Out of that hammock, lazybones! And Jonah, see you feed the hens before breakfast. . . .' Then Salome was gone and the wooden floor of the bedroom stopped its alarming creaking.

  The boys never disobeyed Salome.

  Ten minutes later, Jonah was throwing corn to a bunch of clucking hens, and Christopher was walking on the very beach where Captain Skull and his pirates had been so busy last night. In th
e bright sunshine, Christopher felt none of the blind terror that had made him and Jonah race so madly back to the bungalow.

  And then he saw the coin.

  It was a fat, round, gold coin, glinting in the morning sun, and lying next to a dried branch from a coconut tree. Christopher broke into a run, his blue eyes wide with surprise and delight.

  'Whoopee!' he yelled as he scooped the coin up from the sand. And though the sand was already warm, the coin felt heavy and cold, but Christopher hardly noticed that. He clutched it so tightly that his fist ached, as he raced back across the sand and scrambled up the path to the headland.

  He was completely winded when he found Jonah at the rear of the bungalow, shooing half a dozen hens back into the hen house. 'All going to lay eggs today,' Jonah said with satisfaction. The thought of anything edible always gave Jonah a warm, secure feeling. 'You look excited. What's up?'

  Christopher took a deep breath, then he opened his right hand. It was a great, dramatic moment. 'Look, Jonah! Look. . . . '

  Jonah looked. Jonah swallowed very loudly and took a step backwards. 'That there is pirate gold! The good Lord protect you now. . . .'

  'Me? Gosh! Oh, Jonah. . . I - I forgot! I was so excited.'

  'But you crazy? Like me, you know the other part of the story . . . never pick up pirate money from the beach. You know that the dead pirates will come to you now to get their coin. What'll you do then?' Fearful though he was, Jonah found that he was rather enjoying himself. And no good you taking it back to the beach, either. You picked it up. . . now they must punish you!'

  Christopher listened, aghast. 'You - you think they'll come -tonight?'

  'Sure as dark!' Jonah said, then he remembered that Christopher was his friend. His best friend. 'Say! Why don't we go see Mister Hippy Harry right now? No - after breakfast! But you say nothing to my ma about your pirate money. She want to put gold on all her teeth. Any gold. Even pirate money gold!'

  Christopher managed a wan smile.

  He knew all about Salome's obsession to cover every tooth with a thin gold cap. Her wide smile was already half gold. 'Hippy Harry will know what to do, won't he, Jonah? He's so clever. He knows almost everything. What do you think?'

  'I think. . . when he knows you are in mortal danger, he'll help.' That sounded very reassuring, until Jonah ruined it all by saying: 'We got fried pork for breakfast. . . just you smell!'

  And at that moment Salome's great head came out of the kitchen window, and the sunlight caught the gold caps already in her mouth. 'You boys come in now. It's ready.'

  Jonah put a wiry arm around Christopher's shoulder. 'Anything you don't want. . . you just put on my plate, O.K. ?'

  'O.K.,' Christopher said gloomily. 'But how you can think of your belly at a time like this, I just don't know. . . .'

  The sun was a hot blaze in the sky when they finally got to Hippy Harry's shack, high in the hills above the town. The shack looked a part of the fern-covered hillside, as if it had grown out of the soil. It was ramshackle and wooden, with a thatched roof of coconut branches. It nestled deep in a small forest of towering bamboo trees.

  It looked spooky even in brilliant sunlight.

  'Masta Chris. . . you go on in and tell about the gold money. I'll just climb the mango tree at the back and bring you in—'

  'No you don't! Christopher grabbed hold of Jonah's thin arm, and together the two boys walked between the rows of giant sunflower trees up to the half-open door.

  Inside they found Hippy Harry.

  The middle-aged Englishman was tanned to a deep coppery color and he wore his thinning black hair half way down his back. Long ago he had settled for the slow, contented way of life on Tobago, but only in the last few years had 'Mister Harry' become 'Mister Hippy Harry.' It was all the same to him.

  The shack was filled with books and shells, fishing rods and piles of old newspapers - and hens. For Hippy Harry kept them, too. Except that he allowed them to cluck their way in and out the back door, to flap onto every surface, scratching away happily and unnoticed. Except when there were visitors.

  'Come on!' Hippy Harry shouted now. 'Out you go!'

  He swept two hens to the floor from the long wooden table and made room for his bare elbows among the unwashed enamel plates. 'Is it raining outside? You two look like orphans of the storm. Never saw such long faces.' He gave a huge sigh and cupped his stubbly chin. All right, let's have the story, boys. . . .'

  Christopher told him the events of last night - and the morning. Finally, he took the fat gold coin from the pocket of his jeans and laid it down before Hippy Harry.

  They all looked at it for a while in awed silence.

  At last Hippy Harry uncapped his chin and touched the coin with a finger that was none too clean. 'Right! Know what it is? Well, it's a Spanish doubloon. Old Spanish money. . . couple of centuries old. Christopher! Picking it up was bad enough, but running away with it. . . .' The long hair swished on his back as Hippy Harry shook his head. 'That's bad. Very bad!'

  'But I was excited. I - I clean forgot all about that part of the story.' Christopher couldn't help feeling annoyed that nobody understood his shock and delight on the beach. 'Even Jonah would have done the same—'

  'Not me! This boy's got brains.'

  'Simmer down, you two. Well, the thing is. . . just how do we frighten them off when they come back to reclaim the doubloon? They'll do it tonight. The moon will still be full.'

  'We thought they would,' Christopher said, gulping.

  'He in mortal danger, Mista Harry!' Jonah echoed. Jonah quite liked the phrase. He also liked the look of a bunch of bananas, dangling from a low roof-beam. He tried hard to put the bananas out of his mind. 'But I sleep in his room and I don't think it is that easy. You ask Masta Chris.'

  'Jonah is awfully brave—' Christopher began loyally, but Hippy Harry cried: 'I've got it! They all died on the gallows - every black-hearted rogue. You do know that hanging was the punishment for piracy on the high seas, don't you boys?' Hippy Harry slapped an open palm on the pile of old newspapers on the rickety table. His sharp blue eyes swung from one boy's face to the other. 'I'm going to rig up a miniature gallows - with crossarm, dangling noose, and so on. All in bamboo and wood. Then you put the model over your bed, Chris. . . and they will take fright instead. It's like showing a crucifix to a vampire. You'll have 'em out of your room before you can say "pieces of eight".'

  Hippy Harry grinned cheerfully at both of them - as his left hand slid the coin smoothly from sight under the pile of old newspapers.

  Well, boys, I must get to work. I'll have your little charm ready in about an hour. What will you two do in the meantime?'

  Jonah had the answer.

  'We get us a few ripe mangoes!' he said promptly, and Christopher gave him a quick glance to see if he, too, had seen what Hippy Harry had done with the coin. But Jonah's mind was firmly on food. Ain't it ripe time for guavas, too? How much can we eat, Mista Harry?'

  'All you can hold!' And Hippy Harry waved cheerfully, then disappeared into the back room of the shack.

  'Glutton!' Christopher said, wandering over to the single window. There was a very fat goat eating the lower leaves of the sunflower trees, and he watched with interest.

  But he turned from the window when Jonah said: 'Now, boy - no need to get shaky at the knees!' And Christopher laughed, for Jonah was now seated at the rickety table, doing a very good imitation of Hippy Harry. With a hand on the pile of old newspapers, Jonah grinned, than he nodded wisely, 'You come to the right place, Christopher. Them ghost pirates are in mortal danger now. . .'

  And how about those sweet, sweet mangoes?' Christopher asked. He knew that the mere mention of fruit would get his friend out of the chair, through the back door and up the nearest tree.

  And it did.

  The boys climbed and ate and laughed for more than an hour. They forgot all about the coming night and its possible terrors. Then Hippy Harry called them back out of the bright heat into the cool dim
ness of the shack.

  'Well, boys. . . what do you think of it?'

  Christopher and Jonah looked at the model gallows in silence. It looked both crude and toy-like and yet, somehow, very real indeed. The thick cord that dangled from the arm of the gallows was pulled into a tight noose. And with his neck in the tight noose was the rigid figure of a pirate.

  'The figure came from a toy kit I bought last year. It adds that last finishing touch.' Hippy Harry gazed proudly at his handiwork. 'It'll do the trick, boys. You'll see. Now, have you got any kind of shelf above your bed, Chris?'

  Christopher nodded, his eyes still glued to the frightful model.

  'Jonah, is there a big battery torch up at the bungalow?'

  It was Jonah's turn to nod.

  'Good,' said Hippy Harry. 'Well, when they come, and Chris here starts yelling - that will be your cue, Jonah. You turn your torch on that shelf and keep it steady. They'll simply melt away at the sight of the gallows. Just take my word for it.'

  The two boys sighed in unison. Then Jonah said: 'You can carry my mangoes, Masta Chris. I'll hold that - that thing. . . .'

  Christopher gulped. He suddenly felt very grateful for having a friend as brave as Jonah. They said their goodbyes to Hippy Harry and went back out into the blaze of the noonday sun.

  They reached the bungalow in the early afternoon and spent the hours till dark trying to avoid Salome. But they couldn't avoid her forever. At early supper, just before sunset, she said to Christopher: 'You hear me, Masta Chris? Why you not eating your fried breadfruit? You always saying you like fried breadfruit—'

  'He got troubles,' Jonah cut in. 'But I'll have his piece, ma, after I finish mine.' All the same, Christopher noticed that Jonah, too, was off his food - for once.

  'You two keep stuffing your bellies with ripe mangoes. . . .' Salome grumbled when she finally took their plates back to the kitchen.

  Then the boys sat silent, watching the huge sun stain land and sky a deep crimson, then very slowly drop into the sea without making even a tiny splash. They stayed silent as the tropic night came alive. . . the frogs croaked, the fireflies winked and glowed, and the mosquitoes came whining out of the star-filled dark.