Tom Wallis by Louis Becke — Read

Once clear of the dangerous expanse of reefs which surround the entrance to Noumea Harbour, the captain hauled up to the N. N. W. and ran along under the land, the brig going in gallant style, for the water was smooth and the wind fresh and steady. Before reaching Noumea, old Sam had bent his best suit of sails, and painted the ship inside and out, so that she now cut quite a respectable appearance below as well as aloft; and now, as he stood at the break of the poop, smoking a huge cigar, his fat little body swelled with pride. De Caen had expressed his admiration at the manner in which he had worked the brig out through the Dunbea Pass; also he had complimented him upon the serviceable condition and smart appearance of the four carronades and their gear generally.

This had gone to the skipper's heart, and he was struggling with two emotions -- one of which was to joke with his crew, as was usual with him when in a good temper; and the other was to treat them with dignified hauteur in the presence of the French officer. He decided upon a middle course by unbending to Tom -- he could not possibly remain silent for a whole quarter of an hour. So, calling the lad to him, he pointed out the various headlands and bays on the line of coast, with every one of which he was familiar. The day was clear and bright, with a cloudless sky of blue, and Tom could not but be enchanted by the panorama of tropical beauty which was unfolded before him as the vessel quickly opened out bay after bay and beach after beach, with a background of the loveliest green imaginable rising beyond; and here and there the curious conical-shaped and thatched roofs of a native village could just be discerned embowered in a forest of coco-nut palms.