O you want me to spin you a yarn about the cannibal pirates, eh, Master Charles? Well, maybe you’ve heard of Pekowchilee in China? No? It’s a town, then, on the lovely Hoang-Kiang River, latitude 22° north, if my memory serves. The ship was the Saucy Susan, and we had aboard a cargo of kites and curious heathen masks, both of which they’re very fond of out there; likewise tusks of ivory, bars of yellow gold, and whopping big ruby gems from the mines of Highlowchoofoo.
“Having dropped down the river, we up with our square sails, and leaving the ‘Flowery Land’ far on our weather bow, made for the Malay Peninsula, the island of Borneo being on our port quarter. Now, off these coasts lie lots of little islands infested with Dyaks. Maybe your ma’s books mention those gentry, Master Charles? No? Well, they’re a set of nasty, thieving rascals—cannibal pirates every mother’s son of them, up to all the dirtiest tricks and dodges. And I’ll tell you their little game, Master Charles. Did you ever watch a spider catch a fly?”
The boy nodded assent.
“Well, these pirates go to work in much the same way. Their web is the wide ocean when a dead calm is on, when the sun blazes down fit to roast you, and the sailors go about a-whistling for a wind. Behind each little island, maybe, there lies hidden a pirate vessel, ready to pounce out on any unfortunate ship that happens to be be calmed. When it comes up with her the crew grab their nasty long knives, and swarm aboard by hundreds, and fifty to one that ill-fated ship is never heard of again.
“Well, something less than a fortnight after leaving the mouth of the lovely Hoang-Kiang, sure enough the wind dropped, and the sails hung limp from the yards. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky; the
