Complete Works of L. Frank Baum, page 719
Concerning these curious names there is a serio-comic story which I will briefly relate.
A number of years ago, while Uncle Naboth Perkins was sailing an old tub he and my father jointly owned on a voyage from New Zealand to San Francisco, he encountered somewhere in the South Seas a native canoe drifting upon the waves. It seemed at first to be vacant, but as it passed close to the lee of the slow-going sailing vessel the seamen noticed something lying flat in the bottom of the dugout. They threw a grappling hook and drew the little boat alongside, when they discovered two black men lying bound hand and foot and senseless from lack of food and water. How many days they had drifted about in that condition no one could tell, least of all the poor victims. Being hoisted aboard the bodies were laid side by side upon the deck and Uncle Naboth, who was the only excuse for a physician there was aboard, examined them and found that both were still alive. But the condition of the poor fellows was exceedingly precarious. Had they not possessed such stalwart frames and splendid constitutions they would have been dead long before.
So Uncle Naboth brought out the ship’s medicine chest and found it rather shy of restoratives. Aside from calomel and quinine, neither of which seemed appropriate for the case, the only remedies the chest contained were two bottles of homeopathic pills — one of nux vomica and the other of bryonia.
My uncle pondered a time between these unknown medicines and decided to give one black the nux and the other the bryonia, hoping thus to save at least one of the disabled castaways. So a course of treatment began. Both were liberally fed brandy and water and one was given six pills of nux vomica and the other six pills of bryonia, the doses being administered every hour. Mr. Perkins became intensely interested in the results, and that no mistake might be made he labeled one black boy “Nux” and the other “Bryonia.”
“Nux” regained consciousness first, and while the amateur physician was regretting that he had not fed them both the same dope “Bryonia” opened his eyes to the world again.
I have always suspected the brandy and water really did the job, but Uncle Naboth was so proud of his medical skill that he will never admit that possibility.
“It’s a doctor’s duty to guess,” he has said more than once referring to this occasion, “an’ I managed to guess right because I only had two medicines an’ both of ‘em was recommended to kill or cure. The doggone little sugar pills must’ a’ had extract o’ magic in ‘em; that’s what I think.”
Anyhow, Nux and Bryonia got well and regained their strength, and more grateful fellows never lived. Neither could understand a word of English, while their own language was a puzzle to all the crew; but they were quick to observe and ready to undertake any work that lay at hand.
Not knowing where to drop the castaways, nor wishing to delay the voyage because of two black men, my uncle decided to carry them along with him, and their intelligence and devotion so won him that before the voyage ended he prized Nux and Bryonia more than all the rest of the crew put together. They gradually picked up a word of English here and there until they were able to make themselves understood, and in time they learned to speak it fluently. But they had never a word to say of their experiences or past life and we really knew little about their antecedents.
The following year we had another ship in which I sailed my first voyage with Uncle Naboth, and Nux and Bryonia watched over me so faithfully — saving my life on one important occasion — that I learned to regard them both very highly and a friendship was formed between us that time has only strengthened. So of course when we built our fine new ship the Seagull, Nux and Bry became fixtures in it as much as we were ourselves, and I must admit that no owners ever had more faithful or capable servants.
Bryonia was the taller of the two, although both were stalwart fellows, and perhaps he was a bit more shrewd and active than Nux. He became our cook, learning the art with amazing rapidity, and I am positive that no ship’s cook ever lived who was his superior. Nux, a jolly good-natured fellow who was strong as an ox, was our steward and cared for the after cabin perfectly. They did other tasks when occasion required, and the two have accompanied me in more than one hair-raising adventure, proving themselves plucky, intelligent and true to the bone. Somehow we had all come to depend greatly upon our black South Sea Islanders, and they in turn were very fond of us — especially of Uncle Naboth and myself.
It so happened that this was the first voyage since they were picked up that had taken us to the South Seas. We had been to Alaska, to Panama, to Egypt, China and Yucatan, but the fortune of commerce now led us for the first time into the South Pacific. When first we headed for Australia I had said to them; “Well, boys, you’re going somewhere near your native land on this voyage.”
They exchanged a quick glance, but said nothing in reply. They seemed neither overjoyed nor sorry, but accepted this journey with the same calm philosophy they had the others. In mentioning the incident to Uncle Naboth he said:
“I don’t see why our going through the South Seas should make any difference to them. Why, Sam, the South Pacific has a million little islands in it, none of which amounts to a row of pins. Nux and Bry were natives of one of these dinky islands an’ I guess they had a hard, wild life of it judging from the condition they was in when I found ‘em. My pickin”em up was great luck for the pair an’ no mistake. They’re civilized Injuns, now, an’ their life on shipboard is luxury compared to what they used to have. Besides we’ve treated ‘em well an’ they’ve grown fond of us; I doubt if we landed plump on their native island they’d ever leave the ship an’ go back to their old life.”
“I should hope not!” I exclaimed. “How old do you think they are, Uncle Naboth? Whenever I ask them they shake their heads and say they do not know.”
“Perhaps they don’t; many of the savage races never keep track of their age; they think it’s bad luck to count the years. But I should judge these fellows are about twenty-five years old. Nux may be a little older, but not much.”
Perhaps it was natural that these native islanders should be a source of much curiosity to Alfonso de Jiminez and Lucia de Alcantara. They were accustomed to seeing dark-skinned races, and in Australia one meets Borneans, Samoans, the East India and native Malay tribes, Philippinos, Japs and Chinese; but such handsome and dignified blacks as Nux and Bryonia were different, indeed, and I have often thought the desert Moors the nearest approach to them of any people I have ever seen.
Our islanders wore neat uniforms of gray and gold, which rendered their appearance the more striking. They would never accept money for their service, saying they owed their lives and happiness to us and could never repay us. Moreover they declared they had no use for money. But they delighted in their uniforms, so we kept them well supplied and they wore them at all times.
The addition of five passengers to our complement did not phase Bry in the least. On the contrary it gave him a chance to cook some of the delicious dishes for which he was famous among ourselves, and so to extend his reputation. Nux had more extra work than his comrade, looking after the cabins and serving the meals; but he had a great capacity for work and made no complaint whatever.
Captain Steele had been a mariner all his life and was no stranger to the South Seas; but this course from Melbourne to the coast of Colombia, while not unknown to the charts, was strange to him and he had to put in a lot of study before he got his lines properly marked and knew exactly where to travel.
“Ye see, Sam,” he said to me one evening as I sat in his cabin watching him figure, “it would be all plain sailin’ if it warn’t fer them measley little islands — hundreds of ‘em the chart shows, an’ there’s indycations of hundreds more that ain’t been located. If we get a hair’s breadth off our course we’ll have to do a good bit of dodgin’. The spots on the chart marked islands means a lot of rocks in plain English, an’ rocks won’t do the Seagull any good if we happen to bump agin ‘em.”
“Isn’t there a way to avoid most of the islands?” I asked.
“Not that anyone knows of. The South Seas is spotted with ‘em most everywheres an’ it’s better to keep in your reg’lar course, where you know your soundin’s, than to try findin’ a clearer track over to Colombia.”
“Let’s see,” I said, tracing the chart with my finger; “our course lies directly through the Low Archipelago. What a lot of islands there are! But there seems to be plenty of room between them.”
“Certainly,” agreed my father. “Give us weather like this an’ we’ll dodge every rock in our way.”
I understood what he meant. The weather is treacherous in these seas near the equator, and it would be bad for us to encounter a storm among the rocky shoals of the islands. Just now the weather was magnificent and the sea as smooth as glass. Our engines were in fine working order and we made sufficient speed to satisfy even the restless new “owner,” Senor de Jiminez.
A piano was in the main cabin and Lucia played and sang very agreeably. Her songs were mostly those dreamy Spanish things with melody enough to haunt you long afterward, and Joe especially listened with eagerness to every note, although “Little Jim” was always on hand to turn the music. Joe couldn’t do that, not being able to read a note and he was often on duty besides; but Lucia knew he appreciated her music and whether our boy mate was in the cabin or tramping the deck overhead she played to please him more than she did Alfonso.
Now that all the hurly-burly of stowing the cargo and getting under way was over, our passengers settled down to enjoy the voyage, and it was then that the peculiar traits in their various characters became noticeable. I admit that we are all peculiar in one way or another, as some clever student of human nature has observed and recorded before my time. Perhaps, therefore, our new acquaintances were no more odd in their ways than the ordinary run of humanity.
Madam de Jiminez was as placid and contented as the day was long. She required little amusement and was no bother at all. Madam de Alcantara, on the contrary, proved fussy and exacting. She led poor Nux a dog’s life, waiting on her whims, and her daughter had no easy time of it either. Lucia was very dutiful and obedient and ran at once when summoned by her mother which was every fifteen minutes on a fair average. Yet the Senora was quite gracious to all about her and never lost her temper or said unkind things. Being as beautiful as she was gracious we had not the heart to blame her. I believe her fussiness was a nervous affliction and that the lady really had a kindly nature. Lucia was devoted to her and tenderly loved her.
This girl, the third of our female passengers, was always bright and cheery and the life of the party. She accepted Alfonso’s marked attentions with absolute indifference. Being accustomed to them she evidently considered them characteristic of the boy and to be borne with patience while in his society. Joe pleased her better; but she was not the least bit a flirt and had no thought as yet of falling in love with anyone. Her feeling for Joe was one of good comradeship.
Little Jim would have been a very decent fellow could he have modified his airs of importance and curbed his excessive vanity. He was really a bright, clever boy, and the son of a man somewhat distinguished in his own country. But the youth’s patronizing manner was intolerable, and one evening when he had joined Joe and me and we were leaning over the rail together I was obliged to “call him down” in no gentle manner.
“I don’t mind associating with you here where there is no formality, you know,” he said; “but if you ever come to Bogota you must not expect me to be quite so free with you.”
“If ever we come to Bogota,” I remarked, “we are liable to find you in jail or in hiding among the mountains. These petty South American revolutions take queer turns sometimes and are liable to become dangerous.”
“Petty!” he exclaimed. “Petty revolutions!”
“That is certainly what they are,” I returned. “Your country is so small and insignificant that we seldom hear of it in the big world; and your revolution is so absurdly unimportant that we never hear of it at all.”
“But you will!” he cried. “When we have won and my father is made president the world will ring with our victory.”
“Nonsense,” said I. “The newspapers in the United States will give it about an inch of space, and the people who read that inch will wonder where on earth Colombia is.”
He seemed nettled at this, and a little crestfallen.
“That inch of publicity,” I continued, “you will perhaps get in case you win. But if you lose you remain unnoticed. There are lots of Central and South American republics, and plenty of revolutions in them at all times. To be frank with you, Alfonso, the people of more important nations are weary of reading about them.”
He hardly knew what to reply, but his humiliation was of short duration. After strutting up and down the deck a few turns he rejoined us and said:
“You may sneer at Colombia — and at her great revolution — but you cannot sneer at the family of De Jiminez. We are very ancient.”
“You are, indeed,” I assented. “You have had a great many ancestors; but they are mostly dead, are they not?”
“How far back can you trace your descent?” he asked.
“As far as my father. Those before him we’ve lost track of. They are also dead, and therefore of no importance to us just now.”
“The family of De Jiminez,” he stated proudly, “is very wealthy.”
“Why mention so common a thing?” I responded. “There are thousands of big fortunes in the world. Joe Herring, who stands there beside you and is our second mate, is a millionaire; yet he lacks distinction on that account because there happen to be so many other millionaires in the world.”
He turned and stared at Joe by the light of the swinging lantern.
“You a millionaire!” he exclaimed.
“Perhaps a little better than that,” admitted Joe, quietly. “I’m a seaman and pretty nearly a man.”
“But you have money — a million?”
“My agent says it’s getting to be nearly twice that; it grows so tremendously while I’m away.”
“Then why do you sail in a ship as second mate?”
“Mainly because I love the life, and secondly because I love Sam, here,” returned Joe gravely. “The adventure and companionship give me more pleasure than to pose in a big city as a rich young kid. As a matter of fact the money is a nuisance to me.”
“Why don’t you buy a ship of your own and hire Sam to sail with you?” asked Little Jim.
“Hire Sam! Why Sam is worth more of that dreadful money than I am. I’m sure he could buy the De Jiminez estates with the bank thrown in and still be rich.”
The statement dazed Alfonso.
“Is it true? Is it possible?” he asked. “Or are you joking?”
“It is true,” said Joe. “The surprising thing is that you have not heard of the Seagull and its adventures before this. The ship has made several fortunes for its owners, and in the United States and Europe it is famous. But I suppose that in as much as we hear little of Colombians they hear little of us.”
Alfonso did not try to patronize us so extensively after this conversation, but he patronized others and I was sorry he could not remedy so great a defect in his character. His father was just as important in his way, but not so officious. A passion for display in dress and jewelry possessed the elder De Jiminez and he spent most of his spare time in changing his clothes, appearing before us in a succession of dazzling costumes that fairly made us gasp for breath. He had other jewels beside the diamonds. Sometimes he wore rubies, and sometimes emeralds; but he was never as proud as when sporting his glittering assortment of diamonds. I think he imagined their sparkle rendered him personally admirable and the envy of all beholders, and the poor man never knew we callous Americans were laughing at him.
Senor de Jiminez was very happy to have succeeded at last in accomplishing his great mission. The arms and munitions of war had been secured with great difficulty and after many disappointments. Best of all, a ship had been chartered to carry the stores to Colombia. With such reinforcements the languishing revolution would receive new impetus — sufficient, he fondly hoped, to render it successful.
CHAPTER 5
A SOUTH PACIFIC TYPHOON
Our fine weather held for five days. Then, just as we were approaching the dangerous district Captain Steele had spoken of to me, the sky lowered, a stiff breeze came out of the northwest and the waves began to pile up as only the waves of the South Pacific can.
By night it was blowing a gale; but our passengers, with the exception of Lucia and Alfonso, had taken to their berths long before this. The Seagull behaves beautifully in a storm. An ordinary gale does not disturb her coolness in the least. She merely tosses her head, takes the bit in her teeth, so to speak, and prances a trifle instead of gliding.
But this was no ordinary storm. We who had experienced all sorts of weather in our voyages were soon forced to admit that fact. The wind veered every hour or so; it blew steadily for a time and then came in gusts — ”pushes,” Uncle Naboth called them — that were exceedingly trying to both the ship and crew. We would no sooner find our sea legs on one slant of the deck when over she flopped and we had to seek a new angle to cling to. The waves were tremendous and the wind seized their curling edges and scattered them in foamy spray over the ship. The sky became black as ink; the gale roared and shrieked with maddening intensity; yet we bore it all stolidly enough for a time, confident of the staunchness of our bark and the skill of her captain.
