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A Son Of The Sun
By
Jack London
Contents
Chapter
Two--THE PROUD GOAT OF ALOYSIUS PANKBURN..
Chapter
Three--THE DEVILS OF FUATINO
Chapter
Four--THE JOKERS OF NEW GIBBON
Chapter
Five--A LITTLE ACCOUNT WITH SWITHIN HALL.
Chapter
Seven--THE FEATHERS OF THE SUN
Chapter
Eight--THE PEARLS OF PARLAY
A
SON OF THE SUN
Chapter One--A SON OF THE=
SUN
I
The Willi-Waw lay=
in
the passage between the shore-reef and the outer-reef. From the latter came=
the
low murmur of a lazy surf, but the sheltered stretch of water, not more tha=
n a
hundred yards across to the white beach of pounded coral sand, was of
glass-like smoothness. Narrow as was the passage, and anchored as she was in
the shoalest place that gave room to swing, the Willi-Waw's chain rode
up-and-down a clean hundred feet. Its course could be traced over the botto=
m of
living coral. Like some monstrous snake, the rusty chain's slack wandered o=
ver
the ocean floor, crossing and recrossing itself several times and fetching =
up
finally at the idle anchor. Big rock-cod, dun and mottled, played warily in=
and
out of the coral. Other fish, grotesque of form and colour, were brazenly
indifferent, even when a big fish-shark drifted sluggishly along and sent t=
he
rock-cod scuttling for their favourite crevices.
On deck, for'ard,=
a
dozen blacks pottered clumsily at scraping the teak rail. They were as inex=
pert
at their work as so many monkeys. In fact they looked very much like monkey=
s of
some enlarged and prehistoric type. Their eyes had in them the querulous
plaintiveness of the monkey, their faces were even less symmetrical than the
monkey's, and, hairless of body, they were far more ungarmented than any
monkey, for clothes they had none. Decorated they were as no monkey ever wa=
s.
In holes in their ears they carried short clay pipes, rings of turtle shell,
huge plugs of wood, rusty wire nails, and empty rifle cartridges. The calib=
re of
a Winchester rifle was the smallest hole an ear bore; some of the largest h=
oles
were inches in diameter, and any single ear averaged from three to half a d=
ozen
holes. Spikes and bodkins of polished bone or petrified shell were thrust
through their noses. On the chest of one hung a white doorknob, on the ches=
t of
another the handle of a china cup, on the chest of a third the brass cogwhe=
el
of an alarm clock. They chattered in queer, falsetto voices, and, combined,=
did
no more work than a single white sailor.
Aft, under an awn=
ing,
were two white men. Each was clad in a six-penny undershirt and wrapped abo=
ut
the loins with a strip of cloth. Belted about the middle of each was a revo=
lver
and tobacco pouch. The sweat stood out on their skin in myriads of globules.
Here and there the globules coalesced in tiny streams that dripped to the
heated deck and almost immediately evaporated. The lean, dark-eyed man wiped
his fingers wet with a stinging stream from his forehead and flung it from =
him
with a weary curse. Wearily, and without hope, he gazed seaward across the =
outer-reef,
and at the tops of the palms along the beach.
"Eight o'clo=
ck,
an' hell don't get hot till noon," he complained. "Wisht to God f=
or a
breeze. Ain't we never goin' to get away?"
The other man, a
slender German of five and twenty, with the massive forehead of a scholar a=
nd
the tumble-home chin of a degenerate, did not trouble to reply. He was busy
emptying powdered quinine into a cigarette paper. Rolling what was
approximately fifty grains of the drug into a tight wad, he tossed it into =
his
mouth and gulped it down without the aid of water.
"Wisht I had
some whiskey," the first man panted, after a fifteen-minute interval of
silence.
Another equal per=
iod
elapsed ere the German enounced, relevant of nothing:
"I'm rotten =
with
fever. I'm going to quit you, Griffiths, when we get to Sydney. No more tro=
pics
for me. I ought to known better when I signed on with you."
"You ain't b=
een
much of a mate," Griffiths replied, too hot himself to speak heatedly.
"When the beach at Guvutu heard I'd shipped you, they all laughed. 'Wh=
at?
Jacobsen?' they said. 'You can't hide a square face of trade gin or sulphur=
ic
acid that he won't smell out!' You've certainly lived up to your reputation=
. I
ain't had a drink for a fortnight, what of your snoopin' my supply."
"If the fever
was as rotten in you as me, you'd understand," the mate whimpered.
"I ain't
kickin'," Griffiths answered. "I only wisht God'd send me a drink=
, or
a breeze of wind, or something. I'm ripe for my next chill to-morrow."=
The mate proffered
him the quinine. Rolling a fifty-grain dose, he popped the wad into his mou=
th
and swallowed it dry.
"God! God!&q=
uot;
he moaned. "I dream of a land somewheres where they ain't no quinine.
Damned stuff of hell! I've scoffed tons of it in my time."
Again he quested
seaward for signs of wind. The usual trade-wind clouds were absent, and the
sun, still low in its climb to meridian, turned all the sky to heated brass.
One seemed to see as well as feel this heat, and Griffiths sought vain reli=
ef
by gazing shoreward. The white beach was a searing ache to his eyeballs. The
palm trees, absolutely still, outlined flatly against the unrefreshing gree=
n of
the packed jungle, seemed so much cardboard scenery. The little black boys,
playing naked in the dazzle of sand and sun, were an affront and a hurt to =
the sun-sick
man. He felt a sort of relief when one, running, tripped and fell on all-fo=
urs
in the tepid sea-water.
An exclamation fr=
om
the blacks for'ard sent both men glancing seaward. Around the near point of
land, a quarter of a mile away and skirting the reef, a long black canoe
paddled into sight.
"Gooma boys =
from
the next bight," was the mate's verdict.
One of the blacks
came aft, treading the hot deck with the unconcern of one whose bare feet f=
elt
no heat. This, too, was a hurt to Griffiths, and he closed his eyes. But the
next moment they were open wide.
"White fella
marster stop along Gooma boy," the black said.
Both men were on
their feet and gazing at the canoe. Aft could be seen the unmistakable somb=
rero
of a white man. Quick alarm showed itself on the face of the mate.
"It's
Grief," he said.
Griffiths satisfi=
ed
himself by a long look, then ripped out a wrathful oath.
"What's he d=
oing
up here?" he demanded of the mate, of the aching sea and sky, of the
merciless blaze of sun, and of the whole superheated and implacable universe
with which his fate was entangled.
The mate began to
chuckle.
"I told you =
you
couldn't get away with it," he said.
But Griffiths was=
not
listening.
"With all his
money, coming around like a rent collector," he chanted his outrage,
almost in an ecstasy of anger. "He's loaded with money, he's stuffed w=
ith
money, he's busting with money. I know for a fact he sold his Yringa
plantations for three hundred thousand pounds. Bell told me so himself last
time we were drunk at Guvutu. Worth millions and millions, and Shylocking me
for what he wouldn't light his pipe with." He whirled on the mate.
"Of course you told me so. Go on and say it, and keep on saying it. Now
just what was it you did tell me so?"
"I told you =
you
didn't know him, if you thought you could clear the Solomons without paying
him. That man Grief is a devil, but he's straight. I know. I told you he'd
throw a thousand quid away for the fun of it, and for sixpence fight like a
shark for a rusty tin, I tell you I know. Didn't he give his Balakula to the
Queensland Mission when they lost their Evening Star on San Cristobal?--and=
the
Balakula worth three thousand pounds if she was worth a penny? And didn't he
beat up Strothers till he lay abed a fortnight, all because of a difference=
of two
pound ten in the account, and because Strothers got fresh and tried to make=
the
gouge go through?"
"God strike =
me
blind!" Griffiths cried in im-potency of rage.
The mate went on =
with
his exposition.
"I tell you =
only
a straight man can buck a straight man like him, and the man's never hit the
Solomons that could do it. Men like you and me can't buck him. We're too
rotten, too rotten all the way through. You've got plenty more than twelve
hundred quid below. Pay him, and get it over with."
But Griffiths gri=
tted
his teeth and drew his thin lips tightly across them.
"I'll buck
him," he muttered--more to himself and the brazen ball of sun than to =
the
mate. He turned and half started to go below, then turned back again.
"Look here, Jacob-sen. He won't be here for quarter of an hour. Are you
with me? Will you stand by me?"
"Of course I=
'll
stand by you. I've drunk all your whiskey, haven't I? What are you going to
do?"
"I'm not goi=
ng
to kill him if I can help it. But I'm not going to pay. Take that flat.&quo=
t;
Jacobsen shrugged=
his
shoulders in calm acquiescence to fate, and Griffiths stepped to the
companionway and went below.
II
Jacobsen watched =
the
canoe across the low reef as it came abreast and passed on to the entrance =
of
the passage. Griffiths, with ink-marks on right thumb and forefinger, retur=
ned
on deck Fifteen minutes later the canoe came alongside. The man with the
sombrero stood up.
"Hello,
Griffiths!" he said. "Hello, Jacobsen!" With his hand on the=
rail
he turned to his dusky crew. "You fella boy stop along canoe altogethe=
r."
As he swung over =
the
rail and stepped on deck a hint of catlike litheness showed in the apparent=
ly
heavy body. Like the other two, he was scantily clad. The cheap undershirt =
and
white loin-cloth did not serve to hide the well put up body. Heavy muscled =
he
was, but he was not lumped and hummocked by muscles. They were softly round=
ed,
and, when they did move, slid softly and silkily under the smooth, tanned s=
kin.
Ardent suns had likewise tanned his face till it was swarthy as a Spaniard'=
s.
The yellow mustache appeared incongruous in the midst of such swarthiness,
while the clear blue of the eyes produced a feeling of shock on the beholde=
r.
It was difficult to realize that the skin of this man had once been fair.
"Where did y=
ou
blow in from?" Griffiths asked, as they shook hands. "I thought y=
ou
were over in the Santa Cruz."
"I was,"
the newcomer answered. "But we made a quick passage. The Wonder's just
around in the bight at Gooma, waiting for wind. Some of the bushmen reporte=
d a
ketch here, and I just dropped around to see. Well, how goes it?"
"Nothing muc=
h.
Copra sheds mostly empty, and not half a dozen tons of ivory nuts. The women
all got rotten with fever and quit, and the men can't chase them back into =
the
swamps. They're a sick crowd. I'd ask you to have a drink, but the mate
finished off my last bottle. I wisht to God for a breeze of wind."
Grief, glancing w=
ith
keen carelessness from one to the other, laughed.
"I'm glad the calm held," he said. "It enabled me to get around to see you. My supercargo dug up that little note of yours, and I brought it along."<= o:p>
The mate edged po=
litely
away, leaving his skipper to face his trouble.
"I'm sorry,
Grief, damned sorry," Griffiths said, "but I ain't got it. You'll
have to give me a little more time."
Grief leaned up
against the companionway, surprise and pain depicted on his face.
"It does beat
hell," he communed, "how men learn to lie in the Solomons. The
truth's not in them. Now take Captain Jensen. I'd sworn by his truthfulness.
Why, he told me only five days ago--do you want to know what he told me?&qu=
ot;
Griffiths licked =
his
lips.
"Go on."=
;
"Why, he tol=
d me
that you'd sold out--sold out everything, cleaned up, and was pulling out f=
or
the New Hebrides."
"He's a damn=
ed
liar!" Griffiths cried hotly.
Grief nodded.
"I should say
so. He even had the nerve to tell me that he'd bought two of your stations =
from
you--Mauri and Kahula. Said he paid you seventeen hundred gold sovereigns,
lock, stock and barrel, good will, trade-goods, credit, and copra."
Griffiths's eyes
narrowed and glinted. The action was involuntary, and Grief noted it with a
lazy sweep of his eyes.
"And Parsons,
your trader at Hickimavi, told me that the Fulcrum Company had bought that
station from you. Now what did he want to lie for?"
Griffiths,
overwrought by sun and sickness, exploded. All his bitterness of spirit ros=
e up
in his face and twisted his mouth into a snarl.
"Look here,
Grief, what's the good of playing with me that way? You know, and I know you
know. Let it go at that. I have sold out, and I am getting away. And what a=
re
you going to do about it?"
Grief shrugged his
shoulders, and no hint of resolve shadowed itself in his own face. His
expression was as of one in a quandary.
"There's no =
law
here," Griffiths pressed home his advantage. "Tulagi is a hundred=
and
fifty miles away. I've got my clearance papers, and I'm on my own boat. The=
re's
nothing to stop me from sailing. You've got no right to stop me just becaus=
e I
owe you a little money. And by God! you can't stop me. Put that in your
pipe."
The look of pained
surprise on Grief's face deepened.
"You mean yo=
u're
going to cheat me out of that twelve hundred, Griffiths?"
"That's just
about the size of it, old man. And calling hard names won't help any. There=
's
the wind coming. You'd better get overside before I pull out, or I'll tow y=
our
canoe under."
"Really,
Griffiths, you sound almost right. I can't stop you." Grief fumbled in=
the
pouch that hung on his revolver-belt and pulled out a crumpled official-loo=
king
paper. "But maybe this will stop you. And it's something for your pipe.
Smoke up."
"What is
it?"
"An admiralty
warrant. Running to the New Hebrides won't save you. It can be served
anywhere."
Griffiths hesitat=
ed
and swallowed, when he had finished glancing at the document. With knit bro=
ws
he pondered this new phase of the situation. Then, abruptly, as he looked u=
p,
his face relaxed into all frankness.
"You were
cleverer than I thought, old man," he said. "You've got me hip and
thigh. I ought to have known better than to try and beat you. Jacobsen told=
me
I couldn't, and I wouldn't listen to him. But he was right, and so are you.
I've got the money below. Come on down and we'll settle."
He started to go
down, then stepped aside to let his visitor precede him, at the same time
glancing seaward to where the dark flaw of wind was quickening the water.
"Heave
short," he told the mate. "Get up sail and stand ready to break o=
ut."
As Grief sat down=
on
the edge of the mate's bunk, close against and facing the tiny table, he
noticed the butt of a revolver just projecting from under the pillow. On th=
e table,
which hung on hinges from the for'ard bulkhead, were pen and ink, also a
battered log-book.
"Oh, I don't
mind being caught in a dirty trick," Griffiths was saying defiantly.
"I've been in the tropics too long. I'm a sick man, a damn sick man. A=
nd
the whiskey, and the sun, and the fever have made me sick in morals, too.
Nothing's too mean and low for me now, and I can understand why the niggers=
eat
each other, and take heads, and such things. I could do it myself. So I call
trying to do you out of that small account a pretty mild trick. Wisht I cou=
ld
offer you a drink."
Grief made no rep=
ly,
and the other busied himself in attempting to unlock a large and much-dented
cash-box. From on deck came falsetto cries and the creak and rattle of bloc=
ks
as the black crew swung up mainsail and driver. Grief watched a large cockr=
oach
crawling over the greasy paintwork. Griffiths, with an oath of irritation,
carried the cash-box to the companion-steps for better light. Here, on his
feet, and bending over the box, his back to his visitor, his hands shot out=
to the
rifle that stood beside the steps, and at the same moment he whirled about.=
"Now don't y=
ou
move a muscle," he commanded.
Grief smiled,
elevated his eyebrows quizzically, and obeyed. His left hand rested on the =
bunk
beside him; his right hand lay on the table.
His revolver hung=
on
his right hip in plain sight. But in his mind was recollection of the other
revolver under the pillow.
"Huh!"
Griffiths sneered. "You've got everybody in the Solomons hypnotized, b=
ut
let me tell you you ain't got me. Now I'm going to throw you off my vessel,
along with your admiralty warrant, but first you've got to do something. Li=
ft
up that log-book."
The other glanced
curiously at the log-book, but did not move.
"I tell you =
I'm
a sick man, Grief; and I'd as soon shoot you as smash a cockroach. Lift up =
that
log-book, I say."
Sick he did look,=
his
lean face working nervously with the rage that possessed him. Grief lifted =
the
book and set it aside. Beneath lay a written sheet of tablet paper.
"Read it,&qu=
ot;
Griffiths commanded. "Read it aloud."
Grief obeyed; but
while he read, the fingers of his left hand began an infinitely slow and
patient crawl toward the butt of the weapon under the pillow.
"On board the
ketch Willi-Waw, Bombi Bight, Island of Anna, Solomon Islands," he rea=
d.
"Know all men by these presents that I do hereby sign off and release =
in
full, for due value received, all debts whatsoever owing to me by Harrison =
J.
Griffiths, who has this day paid to me twelve hundred pounds sterling."=
;
"With that
receipt in my hands," Griffiths grinned, "your admiralty warrant's
not worth the paper it's written on. Sign it."
"It won't do=
any
good, Griffiths," Grief said. "A document signed under compulsion
won't hold before the law."
"In that cas=
e,
what objection have you to signing it then?"
"Oh, none at
all, only that I might save you heaps of trouble by not signing it."
Grief's fingers h=
ad
gained the revolver, and, while he talked, with his right hand he played wi=
th
the pen and with his left began slowly and imperceptibly drawing the weapon=
to
his side. As his hand finally closed upon it, second finger on trigger and
forefinger laid past the cylinder and along the barrel, he wondered what lu=
ck
he would have at left-handed snap-shooting.
"Don't consi=
der
me," Griffiths gibed. "And just remember Jacobsen will testify th=
at
he saw me pay the money over. Now sign, sign in full, at the bottom, David
Grief, and date it."
From on deck came=
the
jar of sheet-blocks and the rat-tat-tat of the reef-points against the canv=
as.
In the cabin they could feel the Willi-Waw heel, swing into the wind, and
right. David Grief still hesitated. From for'ard came the jerking rattle of
headsail halyards through the sheaves. The little vessel heeled, and through
the cabin walls came the gurgle and wash of water.
"Get a move
on!" Griffiths cried. "The anchor's out."
The muzzle of the
rifle, four feet away, was bearing directly on him, when Grief resolved to =
act.
The rifle wavered as Griffiths kept his balance in the uncertain puffs of t=
he
first of the wind. Grief took advantage of the wavering, made as if to sign=
the
paper, and at the same instant, like a cat, exploded into swift and intrica=
te
action. As he ducked low and leaped forward with his body, his left hand
flashed from under the screen of the table, and so accurately-timed was the
single stiff pull on the self-cocking trigger that the cartridge discharged=
as the
muzzle came forward. Not a whit behind was Griffiths. The muzzle of his wea=
pon
dropped to meet the ducking body, and, shot at snap direction, rifle and
revolver went off simultaneously.
Grief felt the st=
ing
and sear of a bullet across the skin of his shoulder, and knew that his own
shot had missed. His forward rush carried him to Griffiths before another s=
hot
could be fired, both of whose arms, still holding the rifle, he locked with=
a
low tackle about the body. He shoved the revolver muzzle, still in his left
hand, deep into the other's abdomen. Under the press of his anger and the s=
ting
of his abraded skin, Grief's finger was lifting the hammer, when the wave of
anger passed and he recollected himself. Down the companion-way came indign=
ant
cries from the Gooma boys in his canoe.
Everything was
happening in seconds. There was apparently no pause in his actions as he
gathered Griffiths in his arms and carried him up the steep steps in a swee=
ping
rush. Out into the blinding glare of sunshine he came. A black stood grinni=
ng
at the wheel, and the Willi-Waw, heeled over from the wind, was foaming alo=
ng.
Rapidly dropping astern was his Gooma canoe. Grief turned his head. From
amidships, revolver in hand, the mate was springing toward him. With two ju=
mps,
still holding the helpless Griffiths, Grief leaped to the rail and overboar=
d.
Both men were gra=
ppled
together as they went down; but Grief, with a quick updraw of his knees to =
the
other's chest, broke the grip and forced him down. With both feet on
Griffiths's shoulder, he forced him still deeper, at the same time driving
himself to the surface. Scarcely had his head broken into the sunshine when=
two
splashes of water, in quick succession and within a foot of his face,
advertised that Jacobsen knew how to handle a revolver. There was a chance =
for
no third shot, for Grief, filling his lungs with air, sank down. Under wate=
r he
struck out, nor did he come up till he saw the canoe and the bubbling paddl=
es overhead.
As he climbed aboard, the Wlli-Waw went into the wind to come about.
"Washee-wash=
ee!"
Grief cried to his boys. "You fella make-um beach quick fella time!&qu=
ot;
In all shamelessn=
ess,
he turned his back on the battle and ran for cover. The Willi-Waw, compelle=
d to
deaden way in order to pick up its captain, gave Grief his chance for a lea=
d.
The canoe struck the beach full-tilt, with every paddle driving, and they
leaped out and ran across the sand for the trees. But before they gained the
shelter, three times the sand kicked into puffs ahead of them. Then they do=
ve
into the green safety of the jungle.
Grief watched the
Willi-Waw haul up close, go out the passage, then slack its sheets as it he=
aded
south with the wind abeam. As it went out of sight past the point he could =
see
the topsail being broken out. One of the Gooma boys, a black, nearly fifty
years of age, hideously marred and scarred by skin diseases and old wounds,
looked up into his face and grinned.
"My word,&qu=
ot;
the boy commented, "that fella skipper too much cross along you."=
Grief laughed, and
led the way back across the sand to the canoe.
III
How many millions
David Grief was worth no man in the Solomons knew, for his holdings and
ventures were everywhere in the great South Pacific. From Samoa to New Guin=
ea
and even to the north of the Line his plantations were scattered. He posses=
sed
pearling concessions in the Paumotus. Though his name did not appear, he wa=
s in
truth the German company that traded in the French Marquesas. His trading
stations were in strings in all the groups, and his vessels that operated t=
hem
were many. He owned atolls so remote and tiny that his smallest schooners a=
nd ketches
visited the solitary agents but once a year.
In Sydney, on
Castlereagh Street, his offices occupied three floors. But he was rarely in
those offices. He preferred always to be on the go amongst the islands, nos=
ing
out new investments, inspecting and shaking up old ones, and rubbing should=
ers
with fun and adventure in a thousand strange guises. He bought the wreck of=
the
great steamship Gavonne for a song, and in salving it achieved the impossib=
le
and cleaned up a quarter of a million. In the Louisiades he planted the fir=
st
commercial rubber, and in Bora-Bora he ripped out the South Sea cotton and =
put
the jolly islanders at the work of planting cacao. It was he who took the d=
eserted
island of Lallu-Ka, colonized it with Polynesians from the Ontong-Java Atol=
l,
and planted four thousand acres to cocoanuts. And it was he who reconciled =
the
warring chief-stocks of Tahiti and swung the great deal of the phosphate is=
land
of Hikihu.
His own vessels
recruited his contract labour. They brought Santa Cruz boys to the New
Hebrides, New Hebrides boys to the Banks, and the head-hunting cannibals of
Malaita to the plantations of New Georgia. From Tonga to the Gilberts and o=
n to
the far Louisiades his recruiters combed the islands for labour. His keels
plowed all ocean stretches. He owned three steamers on regular island runs,
though he rarely elected to travel in them, preferring the wilder and more
primitive way of wind and sail.
At least forty ye=
ars
of age, he looked no more than thirty. Yet beachcombers remembered his adve=
nt
among the islands a score of years before, at which time the yellow mustache
was already budding silkily on his lip. Unlike other white men in the tropi=
cs,
he was there because he liked it. His protective skin pigmentation was
excellent. He had been born to the sun. One he was in ten thousand in the
matter of sun-resistance. The invisible and high-velocity light waves faile=
d to
bore into him. Other white men were pervious. The sun drove through their
skins, ripping and smashing tissues and nerves, till they became sick in mi=
nd
and body, tossed most of the Decalogue overboard, descended to beastliness,
drank themselves into quick graves, or survived so savagely that war vessels
were sometimes sent to curb their license.
But David Grief w=
as a
true son of the sun, and he flourished in all its ways. He merely became
browner with the passing of the years, though in the brown was the hint of
golden tint that glows in the skin of the Polynesian. Yet his blue eyes
retained their blue, his mustache its yellow, and the lines of his face were
those which had persisted through the centuries in his English race. Englis=
h he
was in blood, yet those that thought they knew contended he was at least
American born. Unlike them, he had not come out to the South Seas seeking
hearth and saddle of his own. In fact, he had brought hearth and saddle with
him. His advent had been in the Paumotus. He arrived on board a tiny schoon=
er
yacht, master and owner, a youth questing romance and adventure along the s=
un-washed
path of the tropics. He also arrived in a hurricane, the giant waves of whi=
ch
deposited him and yacht and all in the thick of a cocoanut grove three hund=
red
yards beyond the surf. Six months later he was rescued by a pearling cutter.
But the sun had got into his blood. At Tahiti, instead of taking a steamer
home, he bought a schooner, outfitted her with trade-goods and divers, and =
went
for a cruise through the Dangerous Archipelago.
As the golden tint
burned into his face it poured molten out of the ends of his fingers. His w=
as
the golden touch, but he played the game, not for the gold, but for the gam=
e's
sake. It was a man's game, the rough contacts and fierce give and take of t=
he
adventurers of his own blood and of half the bloods of Europe and the rest =
of
the world, and it was a good game; but over and beyond was his love of all =
the
other things that go to make up a South Seas rover's life--the smell of the
reef; the infinite exquisiteness of the shoals of living coral in the mirro=
r-surfaced
lagoons; the crashing sunrises of raw colours spread with lawless cunning; =
the
palm-tufted islets set in turquoise deeps; the tonic wine of the trade-wind=
s;
the heave and send of the orderly, crested seas; the moving deck beneath his
feet, the straining canvas overhead; the flower-garlanded, golden-glowing m=
en
and maids of Polynesia, half-children and half-gods; and even the howling
savages of Melanesia, head-hunters and man-eaters, half-devil and all beast=
.
And so, favoured child of the sun, out of munificence of energy and sheer joy of living, he,= the man of many millions, forbore on his far way to play the game with Harrison= J. Griffiths for a paltry sum. It was his whim, his desire, his expression of = self and of the sun-warmth that poured through him. It was fun, a joke, a proble= m, a bit of play on which life was lightly hazarded for the joy of the playing.<= o:p>
IV
The early morning
found the Wonder laying close-hauled along the coast of Guadalcanal She mov=
ed
lazily through the water under the dying breath of the land breeze. To the
east, heavy masses of clouds promised a renewal of the southeast trades,
accompanied by sharp puffs and rain squalls. Ahead, laying along the coast =
on
the same course as the Wonder, and being slowly overtaken, was a small ketc=
h.
It was not the Willi-Waw, however, and Captain Ward, on the Wonder, putting
down his glasses, named it the Kauri.
Grief, just on de=
ck
from below, sighed regretfully.
"If it had o=
nly
been the Willi-Waw" he said.
"You do hate=
to
be beaten," Denby, the supercargo, remarked sympathetically.
"I certainly
do." Grief paused and laughed with genuine mirth. "It's my firm
conviction that Griffiths is a rogue, and that he treated me quite scurvily
yesterday. 'Sign,' he says, 'sign in full, at the bottom, and date it,' And
Jacobsen, the little rat, stood in with him. It was rank piracy, the days of
Bully Hayes all over again."
"If you were=
n't
my employer, Mr. Grief, I'd like to give you a piece of my mind," Capt=
ain
Ward broke in.
"Go on and s=
pit
it out," Grief encouraged.
"Well, then-=
-"
The captain hesitated and cleared his throat. "With all the money you'=
ve
got, only a fool would take the risk you did with those two curs. What do y=
ou
do it for?"
"Honestly, I
don't know, Captain. I just want to, I suppose. And can you give any better
reason for anything you do?"
"You'll get =
your
bally head shot off some fine day," Captain Ward growled in answer, as=
he
stepped to the binnacle and took the bearing of a peak which had just thrust
its head through the clouds that covered Guadalcanar.
The land breeze
strengthened in a last effort, and the Wonder, slipping swiftly through the
water, ranged alongside the Kauri and began to go by. Greetings flew back a=
nd
forth, then David Grief called out:
"Seen anythi=
ng
of the Willi-Waw?"
The captain, slou=
ch-hatted
and barelegged, with a rolling twist hitched the faded blue lava-lava tight=
er
around his waist and spat tobacco juice overside.
"Sure,"=
he
answered. "Griffiths lay at Savo last night, taking on pigs and yams a=
nd
filling his water-tanks. Looked like he was going for a long cruise, but he
said no. Why? Did you want to see him?"
"Yes; but if=
you
see him first don't tell him you've seen me."
The captain nodded
and considered, and walked for'ard on his own deck to keep abreast of the
faster vessel.
"Say!" =
he
called. "Jacobsen told me they were coming down this afternoon to Gabe=
ra.
Said they were going to lay there to-night and take on sweet potatoes."=
;
"Gabera has =
the
only leading lights in the Solomons," Grief said, when his schooner had
drawn well ahead. "Is that right, Captain Ward?"
The captain nodde=
d.
"And the lit=
tle
bight just around the point on this side, it's a rotten anchorage, isn't
it?"
"No anchorag=
e.
All coral patches and shoals, and a bad surf. That's where the Molly went to
pieces three years ago."
Grief stared stra=
ight
before him with lustreless eyes for a full minute, as if summoning some vis=
ion
to his inner sight. Then the corners of his eyes wrinkled and the ends of h=
is
yellow mustache lifted in a smile.
"We'll ancho=
r at
Gabera," he said. "And run in close to the little bight this side=
. I
want you to drop me in a whaleboat as you go by. Also, give me six boys, and
serve out rifles. I'll be back on board before morning."
The captain's face
took on an expression of suspicion, which swiftly slid into one of reproach=
.
"Oh, just a
little fun, skipper," Grief protested with the apologetic air of a
schoolboy caught in mischief by an elder.
Captain Ward grun=
ted,
but Denby was all alertness.
"I'd like to=
go
along, Mr. Grief," he said.
Grief nodded cons=
ent.
"Bring some =
axes
and bush-knives," he said. "And, oh, by the way, a couple of brig=
ht
lanterns. See they've got oil in them."
V
An hour before su=
nset
the Wonder tore by the little bight. The wind had freshened, and a lively s=
ea was
beginning to make. The shoals toward the beach were already white with the
churn of water, while those farther out as yet showed no more sign than of
discoloured water. As the schooner went into the wind and backed her jib and
staysail the whaleboat was swung out. Into it leaped six breech-clouted San=
ta
Cruz boys, each armed with a rifle. Denby, carrying the lanterns, dropped i=
nto
the stern-sheets. Grief, following, paused on the rail.
"Pray for a =
dark
night, skipper," he pleaded.
"You'll get
it," Captain Ward answered. "There's no moon anyway, and there wo=
n't
be any sky. She'll be a bit squally, too."
The forecast sent=
a
radiance into Grief's face, making more pronounced the golden tint of his
sunburn. He leaped down beside the supercargo.
"Cast off!&q=
uot;
Captain Ward ordered. "Draw the headsails! Put your wheel over! There!
Steady! Take that course!"
The Wonder filled
away and ran on around the point for Gabera, while the whaleboat, pulling s=
ix
oars and steered by Grief, headed for the beach. With superb boatmanship he
threaded the narrow, tortuous channel which no craft larger than a whaleboat
could negotiate, until the shoals and patches showed seaward and they groun=
ded
on the quiet, rippling beach.
The next hour was
filled with work. Moving about among the wild cocoanuts and jungle brush, G=
rief
selected the trees.
"Chop this f=
ella
tree; chop that fella tree," he told his blacks. "No chop that ot=
her
fella," he said, with a shake of head.
In the end, a
wedge-shaped segment of jungle was cleared. Near to the beach remained one =
long
palm. At the apex of the wedge stood another. Darkness was falling as the
lanterns were lighted, carried up the two trees, and made fast.
"That outer
lantern is too high." David Grief studied it critically. "Put it =
down
about ten feet, Denby."
VI
The Willi-Waw was
tearing through the water with a bone in her teeth, for the breath of the
passing squall was still strong. The blacks were swinging up the big mainsa=
il,
which had been lowered on the run when the puff was at its height. Jacobsen,
superintending the operation, ordered them to throw the halyards down on de=
ck
and stand by, then went for'ard on the lee-bow and joined Griffiths. Both m=
en
stared with wide-strained eyes at the blank wall of darkness through which =
they
were flying, their ears tense for the sound of surf on the invisible shore.=
It
was by this sound that they were for the moment steering.
The wind fell
lighter, the scud of clouds thinned and broke, and in the dim glimmer of
starlight loomed the jungle-clad coast. Ahead, and well on the lee-bow,
appeared a jagged rock-point. Both men strained to it.
"Amboy
Point," Griffiths announced. "Plenty of water close up. Take the =
wheel,
Jacobsen, till we set a course. Get a move on!"
Running aft,
barefooted and barelegged, the rainwater dripping from his scant clothing, =
the
mate displaced the black at the wheel.
"How's she
heading?" Griffiths called.
"South-a-hal=
f-west!"
"Let her com=
e up
south-by-west! Got it?"
"Right on
it!"
Griffiths conside=
red
the changed relation of Amboy Point to the Willi-Waw's course.
"And
a-half-west!" he cried.
"And
a-half-west!" came the answer. "Right on it!"
"Steady! Tha=
t'll
do!"
"Steady she
is!" Jacobsen turned the wheel over to the savage. "You steer good
fella, savve?" he warned. "No good fella, I knock your damn black
head off."
Again he went for=
'ard
and joined the other, and again the cloud-scud thickened, the star-glimmer
vanished, and the wind rose and screamed in another squall.
"Watch that
mainsail!" Griffiths yelled in the mate's ear, at the same time studyi=
ng
the ketch's behaviour.
Over she pressed,=
and
lee-rail under, while he measured the weight of the wind and quested its
easement. The tepid sea-water, with here and there tiny globules of
phosphorescence, washed about his ankles and knees. The wind screamed a hig=
her
note, and every shroud and stay sharply chorused an answer as the Willi-Waw
pressed farther over and down.
"Down
mainsail!" Griffiths yelled, springing to the peak-halyards, thrusting
away the black who held on, and casting off the turn.
Jacobsen, at the
throat-halyards, was performing the like office. The big sail rattled down,=
and
the blacks, with shouts and yells, threw themselves on the battling canvas.=
The
mate, finding one skulking in the darkness, flung his bunched knuckles into=
the
creature's face and drove him to his work.
The squall held at
its high pitch, and under her small canvas the Willi-Waw still foamed along.
Again the two men stood for'ard and vainly watched in the horizontal drive =
of
rain.
"We're all
right," Griffiths said. "This rain won't last. We can hold this
course till we pick up the lights. Anchor in thirteen fathoms. You'd better
overhaul forty-five on a night like this. After that get the gaskets on the
mainsail. We won't need it."
Half an hour
afterward his weary eyes were rewarded by a glimpse of two lights.
"There they =
are,
Jacobsen. I'll take the wheel. Run down the fore-staysail and stand by to l=
et
go. Make the niggers jump."
Aft, the spokes of
the wheel in his hands, Griffiths held the course till the two lights came =
in
line, when he abruptly altered and headed directly in for them. He heard the
tumble and roar of the surf, but decided it was farther away--as it should =
be,
at Gabera.
He heard the
frightened cry of the mate, and was grinding the wheel down with all his mi=
ght,
when the Willi-Waw struck. At the same instant her mainmast crashed over the
bow. Five wild minutes followed. All hands held on while the hull upheaved =
and
smashed down on the brittle coral and the warm seas swept over them. Grindi=
ng
and crunching, the Willi-Waw worked itself clear over the shoal patch and c=
ame
solidly to rest in the comparatively smooth and shallow channel beyond.
Griffiths sat dow=
n on
the edge of the cabin, head bowed on chest, in silent wrath and bitterness.
Once he lifted his face to glare at the two white lights, one above the oth=
er
and perfectly in line.
"There they
are," he said. "And this isn't Gabera. Then what the hell is it?&=
quot;
Though the surf s=
till
roared and across the shoal flung its spray and upper wash over them, the w=
ind
died down and the stars came out. Shoreward came the sound of oars.
"What have y=
ou
had?--an earthquake?" Griffiths called out. "The bottom's all
changed. I've anchored here a hundred times in thirteen fathoms. Is that yo=
u,
Wilson?"
A whaleboat came
alongside, and a man climbed over the rail. In the faint light Griffiths fo=
und
an automatic Colt's thrust into his face, and, looking up, saw David Grief.=
"No, you nev=
er
anchored here before," Grief laughed. "Gabera's just around the
point, where I'll be as soon as I've collected that little sum of twelve
hundred pounds. We won't bother for the receipt. I've your note here, and I=
'll
just return it."
"You did
this!" Griffiths cried, springing to his feet in a sudden gust of rage.
"You faked those leading lights! You've wrecked me, and by--"
"Steady!
Steady!" Grief's voice was cool and menacing. "I'll trouble you f=
or
that twelve hundred, please."
To Griffiths, a v=
ast
impotence seemed to descend upon him. He was overwhelmed by a profound
disgust--disgust for the sunlands and the sun-sickness, for the futility of=
all
his endeavour, for this blue-eyed, golden-tinted, superior man who defeated=
him
on all his ways.
"Jacobsen,&q=
uot;
he said, "will you open the cash-box and pay this--this bloodsucker--t=
welve
hundred pounds?"
Chapter Two--THE PROUD GO=
AT
OF ALOYSIUS PANKBURN
I
Quick eye that he=
had
for the promise of adventure, prepared always for the unexpected to leap ou=
t at
him from behind the nearest cocoanut tree, nevertheless David Grief receive=
d no
warning when he laid eyes on Aloysius Pankburn. It was on the little steamer
Berthe. Leaving his schooner to follow, Grief had taken passage for the sho=
rt
run across from Raiatea to Papeete. When he first saw Aloysius Pankburn, th=
at somewhat
fuddled gentleman was drinking a lonely cocktail at the tiny bar between de=
cks
next to the barber shop. And when Grief left the barber's hands half an hour
later Aloysius Pankburn was still hanging over the bar still drinking by hi=
mself.
Now it is not good
for man to drink alone, and Grief threw sharp scrutiny into his pass-ing
glance. He saw a well-built young man of thirty, well-featured, well-dresse=
d,
and evidently, in the world's catalogue, a gentleman. But in the faint hint=
of
slovenliness, in the shaking, eager hand that spilled the liquor, and in the
nervous, vacillating eyes, Grief read the unmistakable marks of the chronic=
alcoholic.
After dinner he
chanced upon Pankburn again. This time it was on deck, and the young man,
clinging to the rail and peering into the distance at the dim forms of a man
and woman in two steamer chairs drawn closely together, was crying, drunken=
ly.
Grief noted that the man's arm was around the woman's waist. Aloysius Pankb=
urn
looked on and cried.
"Nothing to =
weep
about," Grief said genially.
Pankburn looked at
him, and gushed tears of profound self-pity.
"It's
hard," he sobbed. "Hard. Hard. That man's my business manager. I =
employ
him. I pay him a good screw. And that's how he earns it."
"In that cas=
e,
why don't you put a stop to it?" Grief advised.
"I can't. Sh=
e'd
shut off my whiskey. She's my trained nurse."
"Fire her, t=
hen,
and drink your head off."
"I can't. He=
's
got all my money. If I did, he wouldn't give me sixpence to buy a drink wit=
h."
This woful
possibility brought a fresh wash of tears. Grief was interested. Of all uni=
que
situations he could never have imagined such a one as this.
"They were
engaged to take care of me," Pankburn was blubbering, "to keep me
away from the drink. And that's the way they do it, lollygagging all about =
the
ship and letting me drink myself to death. It isn't right, I tell you. It i=
sn't
right. They were sent along with me for the express purpose of not letting =
me
drink, and they let me drink to swinishness as long as I leave them alone. =
If I
complain they threaten not to let me have another drop. What can a poor dev=
il
do? My death will be on their heads, that's all. Come on down and join
me."
He released his
clutch on the rail, and would have fallen had Grief not caught his arm. He
seemed to undergo a transformation, to stiffen physically, to thrust his ch=
in
forward aggressively, and to glint harshly in his eyes.
"I won't let
them kill me. And they'll be sorry. I've offered them fifty thousand--later=
on,
of course. They laughed. They don't know. But I know." He fumbled in h=
is
coat pocket and drew forth an object that flashed in the faint light.
"They don't know the meaning of that. But I do." He looked at Gri=
ef
with abrupt suspicion. "What do you make out of it, eh? What do you ma=
ke
out of it?"
David Grief caugh=
t a
swift vision of an alcoholic degenerate putting a very loving young couple =
to
death with a copper spike, for a copper spike was what he held in his hand,=
an
evident old-fashioned ship-fastening.
"My mother
thinks I'm up here to get cured of the booze habit. She doesn't know. I bri=
bed
the doctor to prescribe a voyage. When we get to Papeete my manager is goin=
g to
charter a schooner and away we'll sail. But they don't dream. They think it=
's
the booze. I know. I only know. Good night, sir. I'm going to
bed--unless--er--you'll join me in a night cap. One last drink, you know.&q=
uot;
II
In the week that
followed at Papeete Grief caught numerous and bizarre glimpses of Aloysius
Pankburn. So did everybody else in the little island capital; for neither t=
he
beach nor Lavina's boarding house had been so scandalized in years. In midd=
ay,
bareheaded, clad only in swimming trunks, Aloysius Pankburn ran down the ma=
in
street from Lavina's to the water front. He put on the gloves with a fireman
from the Berthe in a scheduled four-round bout at the Folies Bergère=
s, and
was knocked out in the second round. He tried insanely to drown himself in a
two-foot pool of water, dived drunkenly and splendidly from fifty feet up in
the rigging of the Mariposa lying at the wharf, and chartered the cutter To=
erau
at more than her purchase price and was only saved by his manager's refusal
financially to ratify the agreement. He bought out the old blind leper at t=
he
market, and sold breadfruit, plantains, and sweet potatoes at such cut-rates
that the gendarmes were called out to break the rush of bargain-hunting
natives. For that matter, three times the gendarmes arrested him for riotous
behaviour, and three times his manager ceased from love-making long enough =
to
pay the fines imposed by a needy colonial administration.
Then the Mariposa
sailed for San Francisco, and in the bridal suite were the manager and the
trained nurse, fresh-married. Before departing, the manager had thoughtfull=
y bestowed
eight five-pound banknotes on Aloysius, with the foreseen result that Aloys=
ius
awoke several days later to find himself broke and perilously near to delir=
ium
tremens. Lavina, famed for her good heart even among the driftage of South =
Pacific
rogues and scamps, nursed him around and never let it filter into his retur=
ning
intelligence that there was neither manager nor money to pay his board.
It was several
evenings after this that David Grief, lounging under the after deck awning =
of
the Kittiwake and idly scanning the meagre columns of the Papeete
Avant-Coureur, sat suddenly up and almost rubbed his eyes. It was unbelieva=
ble,
but there it was. The old South Seas Romance was not dead. He read:
WANTED--To excha=
nge a
half interest in buried treasure, worth five
million francs, for transportation for one to an unknown isl=
and in
the Pacific and facilities for carrying away the
loot. Ask for FOLLY, at
Lavina's.
Grief looked at h=
is
watch. It was early yet, only eight o'clock.
"Mr. Carlsen=
,"
he called in the direction of a glowing pipe. "Get the crew for the
whale-boat. I'm going ashore."
The husky voice of
the Norwegian mate was raised for'ard, and half a dozen strapping Rapa
Islanders ceased their singing and manned the boat.
"I came to s=
ee
Folly, Mr. Folly, I imagine," David Grief told Lavina.
He noted the quick
interest in her eyes as she turned her head and flung a command in native
across two open rooms to the outstanding kitchen. A few minutes later a
barefooted native girl padded in and shook her head.
Lavina's
disappointment was evident.
"You're stop=
ping
aboard the Kittiwake, aren't you?" she said. "I'll tell him you
called."
"Then it is a
he?" Grief queried.
Lavina nodded.
"I hope you =
can
do something for him, Captain Grief. I'm only a good-natured woman. I don't
know. But he's a likable man, and he may be telling the truth; I don't know.
You'll know. You're not a soft-hearted fool like me. Can't I mix you a
cocktail?"
III
Back on board his
schooner and dozing in a deck chair under a three-months-old magazine, David
Grief was aroused by a sobbing, slubbering noise from overside. He opened h=
is
eyes. From the Chilian cruiser, a quarter of a mile away, came the stroke of
eight bells. It was midnight. From overside came a splash and another
slubbering noise. To him it seemed half amphibian, half the sounds of a man
crying to himself and querulously chanting his sorrows to the general unive=
rse.
A jump took David
Grief to the low rail. Beneath, centred about the slubbering noise, was an =
area
of agitated phosphorescence. Leaning over, he locked his hand under the arm=
pit
of a man, and, with pull and heave and quick-changing grips, he drew on deck
the naked form of Aloysius Pankburn.
"I didn't ha=
ve a
sou-markee," he complained. "I had to swim it, and I couldn't find
your gangway. It was very miserable. Pardon me. If you have a towel to put
about my middle, and a good stiff drink, I'll be more myself. I'm Mr. Folly,
and you're the Captain Grief, I presume, who called on me when I was out. N=
o,
I'm not drunk. Nor am I cold. This isn't shivering. Lavina allowed me only =
two
drinks to-day. I'm on the edge of the horrors, that's all, and I was beginn=
ing
to see things when I couldn't find the gangway. If you'll take me below I'l=
l be
very grateful. You are the only one that answered my advertisement."
He was shaking
pitiably in the warm night, and down in the cabin, before he got his towel,
Grief saw to it that a half-tumbler of whiskey was in his hand.
"Now fire
ahead," Grief said, when he had got his guest into a shirt and a pair =
of
duck trousers. "What's this advertisement of yours? I'm listening.&quo=
t;
Pankburn looked at
the whiskey bottle, but Grief shook his head.
"All right,
Captain, though I tell you on whatever is left of my honour that I am not
drunk--not in the least. Also, what I shall tell you is true, and I shall t=
ell
it briefly, for it is clear to me that you are a man of affairs and action.
Likewise, your chemistry is good. To you alcohol has never been a million
maggots gnawing at every cell of you. You've never been to hell. I am there
now. I am scorching. Now listen.
"My mother is
alive. She is English. I was born in Australia. I was educated at York and
Yale. I am a master of arts, a doctor of philosophy, and I am no good. Furt=
hermore,
I am an alcoholic. I have been an athlete. I used to swan-dive a hundred and
ten feet in the clear. I hold several amateur records. I am a fish. I learn=
ed
the crawl-stroke from the first of the Cavilles. I have done thirty miles i=
n a
rough sea. I have another record. I have punished more whiskey than any man=
of
my years. I will steal sixpence from you for the price of a drink. Finally,=
I
will tell you the truth.
"My father w=
as
an American--an Annapolis man. He was a midshipman in the War of the Rebell=
ion.
In '66 he was a lieutenant on the Suwanee. Her captain was Paul Shirley. In=
'66
the Suwanee coaled at an island in the Pacific which I do not care to menti=
on,
under a protectorate which did not exist then and which shall be nameless.
Ashore, behind the bar of a public house, my father saw three copper
spikes--ship's spikes."
David Grief smiled
quietly.
"And now I c=
an
tell you the name of the coaling station and of the protectorate that came
afterward," he said.
"And of the
three spikes?" Pankburn asked with equal quietness. "Go ahead, for
they are in my possession now."
"Certainly. =
They
were behind German Oscar's bar at Peenoo-Peenee. Johnny Black brought them
there from off his schooner the night he died. He was just back from a long
cruise to the westward, fishing beche-de-mer and sandalwood trading. All the
beach knows the tale."
Pankburn shook his
head.
"Go on,"=
; he
urged.
"It was befo=
re
my time, of course," Grief explained. "I only tell what I've hear=
d.
Next came the Ecuadoran cruiser, of all directions, in from the westward, a=
nd
bound home. Her officers recognized the spikes. Johnny Black was dead. They=
got
hold of his mate and logbook. Away to the westward went she. Six months aft=
er,
again bound home, she dropped in at Peenoo-Peenee. She had failed, and the =
tale
leaked out."
"When the
revolutionists were marching on Guayaquil," Pankburn took it up, "=
;the
federal officers, believing a defence of the city hopeless, salted down the
government treasure chest, something like a million dollars gold, but all in
English coinage, and put it on board the American schooner Flirt. They were
going to run at daylight. The American captain skinned out in the middle of=
the
night. Go on."
"It's an old
story," Grief resumed. "There was no other vessel in the harbour.=
The
federal leaders couldn't run. They put their backs to the wall and held the
city. Rohjas Salced, making a forced march from Quito, raised the siege. The
revolution was broken, and the one ancient steamer that constituted the
Ecuadoran navy was sent in pursuit of the Flirt. They caught her, between t=
he
Banks Group and the New Hebrides, hove to and flying distress signals. The
captain had died the day before--blackwater fever."
"And the
mate?" Pankburn challenged.
"The mate had
been killed a week earlier by the natives on one of the Banks, when they se=
nt a
boat in for water. There were no navigators left. The men were put to the
torture. It was beyond international law. They wanted to confess, but could=
n't.
They told of the three spikes in the trees on the beach, but where the isla=
nd
was they did not know. To the westward, far to the westward, was all they k=
new.
The tale now goes two ways. One is that they all died under the torture. The
other is that the survivors were swung at the yardarm. At any rate, the
Ecuadoran cruiser went home without the treasure. Johnny Black brought the
three spikes to Peenoo-Peenee, and left them at German Oscar's, but how and=
where
he found them he never told."
Pankburn looked h=
ard
at the whiskey bottle.
"Just two
fingers," he whimpered.
Grief considered,=
and
poured a meagre drink. Pankburn's eyes sparkled, and he took new lease of l=
ife.
"And this is
where I come in with the missing details," he said. "Johnny Black=
did
tell. He told my father. Wrote him from Levuka, before he came on to die at
Peenoo-Peenee. My father had saved his life one rough-house night in
Valparaiso. A Chink pearler, out of Thursday Island, prospecting for new
grounds to the north of New Guinea, traded for the three spikes with a nigg=
er.
Johnny Black bought them for copper weight. He didn't dream any more than t=
he
Chink, but coming back he stopped for hawksbill turtle at the very beach wh=
ere
you say the mate of the Flirt was killed. Only he wasn't killed. The Banks
Islanders held him prisoner, and he was dying of necrosis of the jawbone,
caused by an arrow wound in the fight on the beach. Before he died he told =
the
yarn to Johnny Black. Johnny Black wrote my father from Levuka. He was at t=
he end
of his rope--cancer. My father, ten years afterward, when captain of the Pe=
rry,
got the spikes from German Oscar. And from my father, last will and testame=
nt,
you know, came the spikes and the data. I have the island, the latitude and
longitude of the beach where the three spikes were nailed in the trees. The
spikes are up at Lavina's now. The latitude and longitude are in my head. N=
ow
what do you think?"
"Fishy,"
was Grief's instant judgment. "Why didn't your father go and get it
himself?"
"Didn't need=
it.
An uncle died and left him a fortune. He retired from the navy, ran foul of=
an
epidemic of trained nurses in Boston, and my mother got a divorce. Also, she
fell heir to an income of something like thirty thousand dollars, and went =
to
live in New Zealand. I was divided between them, half-time New Zealand,
half-time United States, until my father's death last year. Now my mother h=
as
me altogether. He left me his money--oh, a couple of millions--but my mother
has had guardians appointed on account of the drink. I'm worth all kinds of
money, but I can't touch a penny save what is doled out to me. But the old =
man,
who had got the tip on my drinking, left me the three spikes and the data t=
hereunto
pertaining. Did it through his lawyers, unknown to my mother; said it beat =
life
insurance, and that if I had the backbone to go and get it I could drink my
back teeth awash until I died. Millions in the hands of my guardians, slath=
ers
of shekels of my mother's that'll be mine if she beats me to the crematory,
another million waiting to be dug up, and in the meantime I'm cadging on La=
vina
for two drinks a day. It's hell, isn't it?--when you consider my thirst.&qu=
ot;
"Where's the
island?"
"It's a long=
way
from here."
"Name it.&qu=
ot;
"Not on your
life, Captain Grief. You're making an easy half-million out of this. You wi=
ll
sail under my directions, and when we're well to sea and on our way I'll te=
ll
you and not before."
Grief shrugged his
shoulders, dismissing the subject.
"When I've g=
iven
you another drink I'll send the boat ashore with you," he said.
Pankburn was taken
aback. For at least five minutes he debated with himself, then licked his l=
ips
and surrendered.
"If you prom=
ise
to go, I'll tell you now."
"Of course I=
'm
willing to go. That's why I asked you. Name the island."
Pankburn looked at
the bottle.
"I'll take t=
hat
drink now, Captain."
"No you won'=
t.
That drink was for you if you went ashore. If you are going to tell me the
island, you must do it in your sober senses."
"Francis Isl=
and,
if you will have it. Bougainville named it Barbour Island."
"Off there a=
ll
by its lonely in the Little Coral Sea," Grief said. "I know it. L=
ies
between New Ireland and New Guinea. A rotten hole now, though it was all ri=
ght
when the Flirt drove in the spikes and the Chink pearler traded for them. T=
he
steamship Castor, recruiting labour for the Upolu plantations, was cut off
there with all hands two years ago. I knew her captain well. The Germans se=
nt a
cruiser, shelled the bush, burned half a dozen villages, killed a couple of
niggers and a lot of pigs, and--and that was all. The niggers always were b=
ad
there, but they turned really bad forty years ago. That was when they cut o=
ff a
whaler. Let me see? What was her name?"
He stepped to the
bookshelf, drew out the bulky "South Pacific Directory," and ran
through its pages.
"Yes. Here it
is. Francis, or Barbour," he skimmed. "Natives warlike and treach=
erous--Melanesian--cannibals.
Whaleship Western cut off--that was her name. Shoals--points--anchorages--a=
h,
Redscar, Owen Bay, Likikili Bay, that's more like it; deep indentation, man=
grove
swamps, good holding in nine fathoms when white scar in bluff bears west-so=
uthwest."
Grief looked up. "That's your beach, Pankburn, I'll swear."
"Will you
go?" the other demanded eagerly.
Grief nodded.
"It sounds g=
ood
to me. Now if the story had been of a hundred millions, or some such crazy =
sum,
I wouldn't look at it for a moment. We'll sail to-morrow, but under one
consideration. You are to be absolutely under my orders."
His visitor nodded
emphatically and joyously.
"And that me=
ans
no drink."
"That's pret=
ty
hard," Pankburn whined.
"It's my ter=
ms.
I'm enough of a doctor to see you don't come to harm. And you are to work--=
hard
work, sailor's work. You'll stand regular watches and everything, though you
eat and sleep aft with us."
"It's a go.&=
quot;
Pankburn put out his hand to ratify the agreement. "If it doesn't kill
me," he added.
David Grief poure=
d a
generous three-fingers into the tumbler and extended it.
"Then here's
your last drink. Take it."
Pankburn's hand w=
ent
halfway out. With a sudden spasm of resolution, he hesitated, threw back his
shoulders, and straightened up his head.
"I guess I
won't," he began, then, feebly surrendering to the gnaw of desire, he
reached hastily for the glass, as if in fear that it would be withdrawn.
IV
It is a long trav=
erse
from Papeete in the Societies to the Little Coral Sea--from 100 west longit=
ude
to 150 east longitude--as the crow flies the equivalent to a voyage across =
the
Atlantic. But the Kittiwake did not go as the crow flies. David Grief's
numerous interests diverted her course many times. He stopped to take a loo=
k-in
at uninhabited Rose Island with an eye to colonizing and planting cocoa-nut=
s.
Next, he paid his respects to Tui Manua, of Eastern Samoa, and opened an
intrigue for a share of the trade monopoly of that dying king's three islan=
ds.
From Apia he carried several relief agents and a load of trade goods to the=
Gilberts.
He peeped in at Ontong-Java Atoll, inspected his plantations on Ysabel, and
purchased lands from the salt-water chiefs of northwestern Malaita. And all
along this devious way he made a man of Aloysius Pankburn.
That thirster, th=
ough
he lived aft, was compelled to do the work of a common sailor. And not only=
did
he take his wheel and lookout, and heave on sheets and tackles, but the
dirtiest and most arduous tasks were appointed him. Swung aloft in a bosun's
chair, he scraped the masts and slushed down. Holystoning the deck or scrub=
bing
it with fresh limes made his back ache and developed the wasted, flabby
muscles. When the Kittiwake lay at anchor and her copper bottom was scrubbed
with cocoa-nut husks by the native crew, who dived and did it under water, =
Pankburn
was sent down on his shift and as many times as any on the shift.
"Look at
yourself," Grief said. "You are twice the man you were when you c=
ame
on board. You haven't had one drink, you didn't die, and the poison is pret=
ty
well worked out of you. It's the work. It beats trained nurses and business
managers. Here, if you're thirsty. Clap your lips to this."
With several deft
strokes of his heavy-backed sheath-knife, Grief clipped a triangular piece =
of
shell from the end of a husked drinking-cocoa-nut. The thin, cool liquid,
slightly milky and effervescent, bubbled to the brim. With a bow, Pankburn =
took
the natural cup, threw his head back, and held it back till the shell was
empty. He drank many of these nuts each day. The black steward, a New Hebri=
des
boy sixty years of age, and his assistant, a Lark Islander of eleven, saw t=
o it
that he was continually supplied.
Pankburn did not
object to the hard work. He devoured work, never shirking and always beating
the native sailors in jumping to obey a command. But his sufferings during =
the
period of driving the alcohol out of his system were truly heroic. Even when
the last shred of the poison was exuded, the desire, as an obsession, remai=
ned
in his head. So it was, when, on his honour, he went ashore at Apia, that he
attempted to put the public houses out of business by drinking up their sto=
cks
in trade. And so it was, at two in the morning, that David Grief found him =
in
front of the Tivoli, out of which he had been disorderly thrown by Charley
Roberts. Aloysius, as of old, was chanting his sorrows to the stars. Also, =
and
more concretely, he was punctuating the rhythm with cobbles of coral stone,
which he flung with amazing accuracy through Charley Roberts's windows.
David Grief took =
him
away, but not till next morning did he take him in hand. It was on the deck=
of
the Kittiwake, and there was nothing kindergarten about it. Grief struck hi=
m,
with bare knuckles, punched him and punished him--gave him the worst thrash=
ing
he had ever received.
"For the goo=
d of
your soul, Pankburn," was the way he emphasized his blows. "For t=
he
good of your mother. For the progeny that will come after. For the good of =
the
world, and the universe, and the whole race of man yet to be. And now, to
hammer the lesson home, we'll do it all over again. That, for the good of y=
our
soul; and that, for your mother's sake; and that, for the little children, =
undreamed
of and unborn, whose mother you'll love for their sakes, and for love's sak=
e,
in the lease of manhood that will be yours when I am done with you. Come on=
and
take your medicine. I'm not done with you yet. I've only begun. There are m=
any
other reasons which I shall now proceed to expound." The brown sailors=
and
the black stewards and cook looked on and grinned. Far from them was the
questioning of any of the mysterious and incomprehensible ways of white men=
. As
for Carlsen, the mate, he was grimly in accord with the treatment his emplo=
yer
was administering; while Albright, the supercargo, merely played with his
mustache and smiled. They were men of the sea. They lived life in the rough.
And alcohol, in themselves as well as in other men, was a problem they had
learned to handle in ways not taught in doctors' schools.
"Boy! A buck=
et
of fresh water and a towel," Grief ordered, when he had finished.
"Two buckets and two towels," he added, as he surveyed his own ha=
nds.
"You're a pr=
etty
one," he said to Pankburn. "You've spoiled everything. I had the
poison completely out of you. And now you are fairly reeking with it. We've=
got
to begin all over again. Mr. Albright! You know that pile of old chain on t=
he
beach at the boat-landing. Find the owner, buy it, and fetch it on board. T=
here
must be a hundred and fifty fathoms of it. Pankburn! To-morrow morning you
start in pounding the rust off of it. When you've done that, you'll sandpap=
er
it. Then you'll paint it. And nothing else will you do till that chain is as
smooth as new."
Aloysius Pankburn
shook his head.
"I quit. Fra= ncis Island can go to hell for all of me. I'm done with your slave-driving. Kind= ly put me ashore at once. I'm a white man. You can't treat me this way."<= o:p>
"Mr. Carlsen,
you will see that Mr. Pankburn remains on board."
"I'll have y=
ou
broken for this!" Aloysius screamed. "You can't stop me."
"I can give =
you
another licking," Grief answered. "And let me tell you one thing,=
you
besotted whelp, I'll keep on licking you as long as my knuckles hold out or
until you yearn to hammer chain rust. I've taken you in hand, and I'm going=
to
make a man out of you if I have to kill you to do it. Now go below and chan=
ge
your clothes. Be ready to turn to with a hammer this afternoon. Mr. Albrigh=
t,
get that chain aboard pronto. Mr. Carlsen, send the boats ashore after it.
Also, keep your eye on Pankburn. If he shows signs of keeling over or going
into the shakes, give him a nip--a small one. He may need it after last
night."
V
For the rest of t=
he
time the Kittiwake lay in Apia Aloysius Pankburn pounded chain rust. Ten ho=
urs
a day he pounded. And on the long stretch across to the Gilberts he still
pounded.
Then came the
sandpapering. One hundred and fifty fathoms is nine hundred feet, and every
link of all that length was smoothed and polished as no link ever was befor=
e.
And when the last link had received its second coat of black paint, he decl=
ared
himself.
"Come on with
more dirty work," he told Grief. "I'll overhaul the other chains =
if
you say so. And you needn't worry about me any more. I'm not going to take
another drop. I'm going to train up. You got my proud goat when you beat me,
but let me tell you, you only got it temporarily. Train! I'm going to train
till I'm as hard all the way through, and clean all the way through, as that
chain is. And some day, Mister David Grief, somewhere, somehow, I'm going t=
o be
in such shape that I'll lick you as you licked me. I'm going to pulp your f=
ace
till your own niggers won't know you."
Grief was jubilan=
t.
"Now you're
talking like a man," he cried. "The only way you'll ever lick me =
is
to become a man. And then, maybe--"
He paused in the =
hope
that the other would catch the suggestion. Aloysius groped for it, and,
abruptly, something akin to illumination shone in his eyes.
"And then I
won't want to, you mean?"
Grief nodded.
"And that's =
the
curse of it," Aloysius lamented. "I really believe I won't want t=
o. I
see the point. But I'm going to go right on and shape myself up just the
same."
The warm, sunburn
glow in Grief's face seemed to grow warmer. His hand went out.
"Pankburn, I
love you right now for that."
Aloysius grasped =
the
hand, and shook his head in sad sincerity.
"Grief,"=
; he
mourned, "you've got my goat, you've got my proud goat, and you've got=
it
permanently, I'm afraid."
VI
On a sultry tropic
day, when the last flicker of the far southeast trade was fading out and the
seasonal change for the northwest monsoon was coming on, the Kittiwake lift=
ed
above the sea-rim the jungle-clad coast of Francis Island.
Grief, with compa=
ss
bearings and binoculars, identified the volcano that marked Redscar, ran pa=
st
Owen Bay, and lost the last of the breeze at the entrance to Likikili Bay. =
With
the two whaleboats out and towing, and with Carl-sen heaving the lead, the =
Kittiwake
sluggishly entered a deep and narrow indentation. There were no beaches. The
mangroves began at the water's edge, and behind them rose steep jungle, bro=
ken
here and there by jagged peaks of rock. At the end of a mile, when the white
scar on the bluff bore west-southwest, the lead vindicated the
"Directory," and the anchor rumbled down in nine fathoms.
For the rest of t=
hat
day and until the afternoon of the day following they remained on the Kitti=
wake
and waited. No canoes appeared. There were no signs of human life. Save for=
the
occasional splash of a fish or the screaming of cockatoos, there seemed no
other life. Once, however, a huge butterfly, twelve inches from tip to tip,
fluttered high over their mastheads and drifted across to the opposing jung=
le.
"There's no =
use
in sending a boat in to be cut up," Grief said.
Pankburn was
incredulous, and volunteered to go in alone, to swim it if he couldn't borr=
ow
the dingey.
"They haven't
forgotten the German cruiser," Grief explained. "And I'll wager t=
hat
bush is alive with men right now. What do you think, Mr. Carlsen?"
That veteran
adventurer of the islands was emphatic in his agreement.
In the late after=
noon
of the second day Grief ordered a whaleboat into the water. He took his pla=
ce
in the bow, a live cigarette in his mouth and a short-fused stick of dynami=
te
in his hand, for he was bent on shooting a mess of fish. Along the thwarts =
half
a dozen Winchesters were placed. Albright, who took the steering-sweep, had=
a
Mauser within reach of hand. They pulled in and along the green wall of
vegetation. At times they rested on the oars in the midst of a profound
silence.
"Two to one =
the
bush is swarming with them--in quids," Albright whispered.
Pankburn listened=
a
moment longer and took the bet. Five minutes later they sighted a school of
mullet. The brown rowers held their oars. Grief touched the short fuse to h=
is
cigarette and threw the stick. So short was the fuse that the stick explode=
d in
the instant after it struck the water. And in that same instant the bush
exploded into life. There were wild yells of defiance, and black and naked
bodies leaped forward like apes through the mangroves.
In the whaleboat
every rifle was lifted. Then came the wait. A hundred blacks, some few armed
with ancient Sniders, but the greater portion armed with tomahawks,
fire-hardened spears, and bone-tipped arrows, clustered on the roots that r=
ose
out of the bay. No word was spoken. Each party watched the other across twe=
nty
feet of water. An old, one-eyed black, with a bristly face, rested a Snider=
on
his hip, the muzzle directed at Albright, who, in turn, covered him back wi=
th
the Mauser. A couple of minutes of this tableau endured. The stricken fish =
rose
to the surface or struggled half-stunned in the clear depths.
"It's all ri=
ght,
boys," Grief said quietly. "Put down your guns and over the side =
with
you. Mr. Albright, toss the tobacco to that one-eyed brute."
While the Rapa men
dived for the fish, Albright threw a bundle of trade tobacco ashore. The
one-eyed man nodded his head and writhed his features in an attempt at
amiability. Weapons were lowered, bows unbent, and arrows put back in their
quivers.
"They know
tobacco," Grief announced, as they rowed back aboard. "We'll have
visitors. You'll break out a case of tobacco, Mr. Albright, and a few
trade-knives. There's a canoe now."
Old One-Eye, as
befitted a chief and leader, paddled out alone, facing peril for the rest of
the tribe. As Carlsen leaned over the rail to help the visitor up, he turned
his head and remarked casually:
"They've dug=
up
the money, Mr. Grief. The old beggar's loaded with it."
One-Eye floundered
down on deck, grinning appeasingly and failing to hide the fear he had over=
come
but which still possessed him. He was lame of one leg, and this was account=
ed
for by a terrible scar, inches deep, which ran down the thigh from hip to k=
nee.
No clothes he wore whatever, not even a string, but his nose, perforated in=
a
dozen places and each perforation the setting for a carved spine of bone,
bristled like a porcupine. Around his neck and hanging down on his dirty ch=
est
was a string of gold sovereigns. His ears were hung with silver half-crowns=
, and
from the cartilage separating his nostrils depended a big English penny,
tarnished and green, but unmistakable.
"Hold on,
Grief," Pankburn said, with perfectly assumed carelessness. "You =
say
they know only beads and tobacco. Very well. You follow my lead. They've fo=
und
the treasure, and we've got to trade them out of it. Get the whole crew asi=
de
and lecture them that they are to be interested only in the pennies. Savve?
Gold coins must be beneath contempt, and silver coins merely tolerated. Pen=
nies
are to be the only desirable things."
Pankburn took cha=
rge
of the trading. For the penny in One-Eye's nose he gave ten sticks of tobac=
co.
Since each stick cost David Grief a cent, the bargain was manifestly unfair.
But for the half-crowns Pankburn gave only one stick each. The string of
sovereigns he refused to consider. The more he refused, the more One-Eye
insisted on a trade. At last, with an appearance of irritation and anger, a=
nd
as a palpable concession, Pankburn gave two sticks for the string, which was
composed of ten sovereigns.
"I take my h=
at
off to you," Grief said to Pankburn that night at dinner. "The
situation is patent. You've reversed the scale of value. They'll figure the
pennies as priceless possessions and the sovereigns as beneath price. Resul=
t:
they'll hang on to the pennies and force us to trade for sovereigns. Pankbu=
rn,
I drink your health! Boy!--another cup of tea for Mr. Pankburn."
VII
Followed a golden
week. From dawn till dark a row of canoes rested on their paddles two hundr=
ed
feet away. This was the deadline. Rapa sailors, armed with rifles, maintain=
ed
it. But one canoe at a time was permitted alongside, and but one black at a
time was permitted to come over the rail. Here, under the awning, relieving=
one
another in hourly shifts, the four white men carried on the trade. The rate=
of
exchange was that established by Pankburn with One-Eye. Five sovereigns fet=
ched
a stick of tobacco; a hundred sovereigns, twenty sticks. Thus, a crafty-eyed
cannibal would deposit on the table a thousand dollars in gold, and go back
over the rail, hugely-satisfied, with forty cents' worth of tobacco in his
hand.
"Hope we've =
got
enough tobacco to hold out," Carlsen muttered dubiously, as another ca=
se
was sawed in half.
Albright laughed.=
"We've got f=
ifty
cases below," he said, "and as I figure it, three cases buy a hun=
dred
thousand dollars. There was only a million dollars buried, so thirty cases
ought to get it. Though, of course, we've got to allow a margin for the sil=
ver
and the pennies. That Ecuadoran bunch must have salted down all the coin in
sight."
Very few pennies =
and
shillings appeared, though Pankburn continually and anxiously inquired for
them. Pennies were the one thing he seemed to desire, and he made his eyes
flash covetously whenever one was produced. True to his theory, the savages
concluded that the gold, being of slight value, must be disposed of first. A
penny, worth fifty times as much as a sovereign, was something to retain and
treasure. Doubtless, in their jungle-lairs, the wise old gray-beards put th=
eir
heads together and agreed to raise the price on pennies when the worthless =
gold
was all worked off. Who could tell? Mayhap the strange white men could be m=
ade to
give even twenty sticks for a priceless copper.
By the end of the
week the trade went slack. There was only the slightest dribble of gold. An
occasional penny was reluctantly disposed of for ten sticks, while several
thousand dollars in silver came in.
On the morning of=
the
eighth day no trading was done. The gray-beards had matured their plan and =
were
demanding twenty sticks for a penny, One-Eye delivered the new rate of
exchange. The white men appeared to take it with great seriousness, for they
stood together debating in low voices. Had One-Eye understood English he wo=
uld
have been enlightened.
"We've got j=
ust
a little over eight hundred thousand, not counting the silver," Grief
said. "And that's about all there is. The bush tribes behind have most
probably got the other two hundred thousand. Return in three months, and the
salt-water crowd will have traded back for it; also they will be out of tob=
acco
by that time."
"It would be=
a
sin to buy pennies," Albright grinned. "It goes against the thrif=
ty
grain of my trader's soul."
"There's a w=
hiff
of land-breeze stirring," Grief said, looking at Pankburn. "What =
do
you say?"
Pankburn nodded.<= o:p>
"Very
well." Grief measured the faintness and irregularity of the wind again=
st
his cheek.
"Mr. Carlsen,
heave short, and get off the gaskets. And stand by with the whaleboats to t=
ow.
This breeze is not dependable."
He picked up a pa=
rt
case of tobacco, containing six or seven hundred sticks, put it in One-Eye's
hands, and helped that bewildered savage over the rail. As the foresail wen=
t up
the mast, a wail of consternation arose from the canoes lying along the
dead-line. And as the anchor broke out and the Kittiwake's head paid off in=
the
light breeze, old One-Eye, daring the rifles levelled on him, paddled along=
side
and made frantic signs of his tribe's willingness to trade pennies for ten =
sticks.
"Boy!--a
drinking nut," Pankburn called.
"It's Sydney
Heads for you," Grief said. "And then what?"
"I'm coming =
back
with you for that two hundred thousand," Pankburn answered. "In t=
he
meantime I'm going to build an island schooner. Also, I'm going to call tho=
se
guardians of mine before the court to show cause why my father's money shou=
ld
not be turned over to me. Show cause? I'll show them cause why it should.&q=
uot;
He swelled his bi=
ceps
proudly under the thin sleeve, reached for the two black stewards, and put =
them
above his head like a pair of dumbbells.
"Come on! Sw=
ing
out on that fore-boom-tackle!" Carlsen shouted from aft, where the
mainsail was being winged out.
Pankburn dropped =
the
stewards and raced for it, beating a Rapa sailor by two jumps to the hauling
part.
Chapter Three--THE DEVILS=
OF
FUATINO
I
Of his many
schooners, ketches and cutters that nosed about among the coral isles of the
South Seas, David Grief loved most the Rattler--a yacht-like schooner of ni=
nety
tons with so swift a pair of heels that she had made herself famous, in the=
old
days, opium-smuggling from San Diego to Puget Sound, raiding the seal-rooke=
ries
of Bering Sea, and running arms in the Far East. A stench and an abominatio=
n to
government officials, she had been the joy of all sailormen, and the pride =
of
the shipwrights who built her. Even now, after forty years of driving, she =
was
still the same old Rattler, fore-reaching in the same marvellous manner that
compelled sailors to see in order to believe and that punctuated many an an=
gry
discussion with words and blows on the beaches of all the ports from Valpar=
aiso
to Manila Bay.
On this night,
close-hauled, her big mainsail preposterously flattened down, her luffs pul=
sing
emptily on the lift of each smooth swell, she was sliding an easy four knots
through the water on the veriest whisper of a breeze. For an hour David Gri=
ef
had been leaning on the rail at the lee fore-rigging, gazing overside at the
steady phosphorescence of her gait. The faint back-draught from the headsai=
ls
fanned his cheek and chest with a wine of coolness, and he was in an ecstas=
y of
appreciation of the schooner's qualities.
"Eh!--She's a
beauty, Taute, a beauty," he said to the Kanaka lookout, at the same t=
ime
stroking the teak of the rail with an affectionate hand.
"Ay,
skipper," the Kanaka answered in the rich, big-chested tones of Polyne=
sia.
"Thirty years I know ships, but never like 'this. On Raiatea we call h=
er
Fanauao."
"The
Dayborn," Grief translated the love-phrase. "Who named her so?&qu=
ot;
About to answer,
Taute peered ahead with sudden intensity. Grief joined him in the gaze.
"Land,"
said Taute.
"Yes; Fuatin=
o,"
Grief agreed, his eyes still fixed on the spot where the star-luminous hori=
zon
was gouged by a blot of blackness. "It's all right. I'll tell the
captain."
The Rattler slid
along until the loom of the island could be seen as well as sensed, until t=
he
sleepy roar of breakers and the blatting of goats could be heard, until the
wind, off the land, was flower-drenched with perfume.
"If it wasn'=
t a
crevice, she could run the passage a night like this," Captain Glass
remarked regretfully, as he watched the wheel lashed hard down by the
steersman.
The Rattler, run =
off
shore a mile, had been hove to to wait until daylight ere she attempted the
perilous entrance to Fuatino. It was a perfect tropic night, with no hint of
rain or squall. For'ard, wherever their tasks left them, the Raiatea sailors
sank down to sleep on deck. Aft, the captain and mate and Grief spread their
beds with similar languid unconcern. They lay on their blankets, smoking and
murmuring sleepy conjectures about Mataara, the Queen of Fuatino, and about=
the
love affair between her daughter, Naumoo, and Motuaro.
"They're
certainly a romantic lot," Brown, the mate, said. "As romantic as=
we
whites."
"As romantic=
as
Pilsach," Grief laughed, "and that is going some. How long ago was
it, Captain, that he jumped you?"
"Eleven
years," Captain Glass grunted resentfully.
"Tell me abo=
ut
it," Brown pleaded. "They say he's never left Fuatino since. Is t=
hat
right?"
"Right O,&qu=
ot;
the captain rumbled. "He's in love with his wife--the little hussy! St=
ole him
from me, and as good a sailorman as the trade has ever seen--if he is a
Dutchman."
"German,&quo=
t;
Grief corrected.
"It's all the
same," was the retort. "The sea was robbed of a good man that nig=
ht
he went ashore and Notutu took one look at him. I reckon they looked good to
each other. Before you could say skat, she'd put a wreath of some kind of w=
hite
flowers on his head, and in five minutes they were off down the beach, like=
a
couple of kids, holding hands and laughing. I hope he's blown that big cora=
l patch
out of the channel. I always start a sheet or two of copper warping past.&q=
uot;
"Go on with =
the
story," Brown urged.
"That's all.=
He
was finished right there. Got married that night. Never came on board again=
. I
looked him up next day. Found him in a straw house in the bush, barelegged,=
a
white savage, all mixed up with flowers and things and playing a guitar. Lo=
oked
like a bally ass. Told me to send his things ashore. I told him I'd see him
damned first. And that's all. You'll see her to-morrow. They've got three
kiddies now--wonderful little rascals. I've a phonograph down below for him,
and about a million records."
"And then you
made him trader?" the mate inquired of Grief.
"What else c=
ould
I do? Fuatino is a love island, and Filsach is a lover. He knows the native,
too--one of the best traders I've got, or ever had. He's responsible. You'll
see him to-morrow."
"Look here,
young man," Captain Glass rumbled threateningly at his mate. "Are=
you
romantic? Because if you are, on board you stay. Fuatino's the island of
romantic insanity. Everybody's in love with somebody. They live on love. It=
's
in the milk of the cocoa-nuts, or the air, or the sea. The history of the
island for the last ten thousand years is nothing but love affairs. I know.
I've talked with the old men. And if I catch you starting down the beach ha=
nd
in hand--"
His sudden cessat=
ion
caused both the other men to look at him. They followed his gaze, which pas=
sed
across them to the main rigging, and saw what he saw, a brown hand and arm,
muscular and wet, being joined from overside by a second brown hand and arm=
. A
head followed, thatched with long elfin locks, and then a face, with roguish
black eyes, lined with the marks of wildwood's laughter.
"My God!&quo=
t;
Brown breathed. "It's a faun--a sea-faun."
"It's the Go=
at
Man," said Glass.
"It is
Mauriri," said Grief. "He is my own blood brother by sacred pligh=
t of
native custom. His name is mine, and mine is his."
Broad brown shoul=
ders
and a magnificent chest rose above the rail, and, with what seemed effortle=
ss
ease, the whole grand body followed over the rail and noiselessly trod the
deck. Brown, who might have been other things than the mate of an island
schooner, was enchanted. All that he had ever gleaned from the books procla=
imed
indubitably the faun-likeness of this visitant of the deep. "But a sad
faun," was the young man's judgment, as the golden-brown woods god str=
ode
forward to where David Grief sat up with outstretched hand.
"David,"
said David Grief.
"Mauriri, Big
Brother," said Mauriri.
And thereafter, in
the custom of men who have pledged blood brotherhood, each called the other,
not by the other's name, but by his own. Also, they talked in the Polynesian
tongue of Fuatino, and Brown could only sit and guess.
"A long swim=
to
say talofa," Grief said, as the other sat and streamed water on the de=
ck.
"Many days a=
nd
nights have I watched for your coming, Big Brother," Mauriri replied.
"I have sat on the Big Rock, where the dynamite is kept, of which I ha=
ve
been made keeper. I saw you come up to the entrance and run back into darkn=
ess.
I knew you waited till morning, and I followed. Great trouble has come upon=
us.
Mataara has cried these many days for your coming. She is an old woman, and
Motauri is dead, and she is sad."
"Did he marr=
y Naumoo?"
Grief asked, after he had shaken his head and sighed by the custom.
"Yes. In the=
end
they ran to live with the goats, till Mataara forgave, when they returned to
live with her in the Big House. But he is now dead, and Naumoo soon will di=
e.
Great is our trouble, Big Brother. Tori is dead, and Tati-Tori, and Petoo, =
and
Nari, and Pilsach, and others."
"Pilsach,
too!" Grief exclaimed. "Has there been a sickness?"
"There has b=
een
much killing. Listen, Big Brother, Three weeks ago a strange schooner came.
From the Big Rock I saw her topsails above the sea. She towed in with her
boats, but they did not warp by the big patch, and she pounded many times. =
She
is now on the beach, where they are strengthening the broken timbers. There=
are
eight white men on board. They have women from some island far to the east.=
The
women talk a language in many ways like ours, only different. But we can un=
derstand.
They say they were stolen by the men on the schooner. We do not know, but t=
hey
sing and dance and are happy."
"And the
men?" Grief interrupted.
"They talk
French. I know, for there was a mate on your schooner who talked French long
ago. There are two chief men, and they do not look like the others. They ha=
ve
blue eyes like you, and they are devils. One is a bigger devil than the oth=
er.
The other six are also devils. They do not pay us for our yams, and taro, a=
nd
breadfruit. They take everything from us, and if we complain they kill us. =
Thus
was killed Tori, and Tati-Tori, and Petoo, and others. We cannot fight, for=
we
have no guns--only two or three old guns.
"They ill-tr=
eat
our women. Thus was killed Motuaro, who made defence of Naumoo, whom they h=
ave
now taken on board their schooner. It was because of this that Pilsach was
killed. Him the chief of the two chief men, the Big Devil, shot once in his
whaleboat, and twice when he tried to crawl up the sand of the beach. Pilsa=
ch
was a brave man, and Notutu now sits in the house and cries without end. Ma=
ny
of the people are afraid, and have run to live with the goats. But there is=
not
food for all in the high mountains. And the men will not go out and fish, a=
nd
they work no more in the gardens because of the devils who take all they ha=
ve.
And we are ready to fight.
"Big Brother=
, we
need guns, and much ammunition. I sent word before I swam out to you, and t=
he
men are waiting. The strange white men do not know you are come. Give me a
boat, and the guns, and I will go back before the sun. And when you come
to-morrow we will be ready for the word from you to kill the strange white =
men.
They must be killed. Big Brother, you have ever been of the blood with us, =
and
the men and women have prayed to many gods for your coming. And you are
come."
"I will go in
the boat with you," Grief said.
"No, Big
Brother," was Mauriri's reply. "You must be with the schooner. The
strange white men will fear the schooner, not us. We will have the guns, and
they will not know. It is only when they see your schooner come that they w=
ill
be alarmed. Send the young man there with the boat."
So it was that Br=
own,
thrilling with all the romance and adventure he had read and guessed and ne=
ver
lived, took his place in the sternsheets of a whaleboat, loaded with rifles=
and
cartridges, rowed by four Baiatea sailors, steered by a golden-brown,
sea-swimming faun, and directed through the warm tropic darkness toward the
half-mythical love island of Fuatino, which had been invaded by twentieth
century pirates.
II
If a line be drawn
between Jaluit, in the Marshall Group, and Bougainville, in the Solomons, a=
nd
if this line be bisected at two degrees south of the equator by a line drawn
from Ukuor, in the Carolines, the high island of Fuatino will be raised in =
that
sun-washed stretch of lonely sea. Inhabited by a stock kindred to the Hawai=
ian,
the Samoan, the Tahitian, and the Maori, Fuatino becomes the apex of the we=
dge
driven by Polynesia far to the west and in between Melanesia and Micronesia.
And it was Fuatino that David Grief raised next morning, two miles to the e=
ast
and in direct line with the rising sun. The same whisper of a breeze held, =
and
the Rattler slid through the smooth sea at a rate that would have been
eminently proper for an island schooner had the breeze been thrice as stron=
g.
Fuatino was nothi=
ng
else than an ancient crater, thrust upward from the sea-bottom by some
primordial cataclysm. The western portion, broken and crumbled to sea level,
was the entrance to the crater itself, which constituted the harbour. Thus,
Fuatino was like a rugged horseshoe, the heel pointing to the west. And int=
o the
opening at the heel the Rattler steered. Captain Glass, binoculars in hand =
and
peering at the chart made by himself, which was spread on top the cabin,
straightened up with an expression on his face that was half alarm, half
resignation.
"It's coming=
,"
he said. "Fever. It wasn't due till to-morrow. It always hits me hard,=
Mr.
Grief. In five minutes I'll be off my head. You'll have to con the schooner=
in.
Boy! Get my bunk ready! Plenty of blankets! Fill that hot-water bottle! It'=
s so
calm, Mr. Grief, that I think you can pass the big patch without warping. T=
ake
the leading wind and shoot her. She's the only craft in the South Pacific t=
hat
can do it, and I know you know the trick. You can scrape the Big Rock by ju=
st
watching out for the main boom."
He had talked
rapidly, almost like a drunken man, as his reeling brain battled with the
rising shock of the malarial stroke. When he stumbled toward the companionw=
ay,
his face was purpling and mottling as if attacked by some monstrous
inflammation or decay. His eyes were setting in a glassy bulge, his hands
shaking, his teeth clicking in the spasms of chill.
"Two hours to
get the sweat," he chattered with a ghastly grin. "And a couple m=
ore
and I'll be all right. I know the damned thing to the last minute it runs i=
ts
course. Y-y-you t-t-take ch-ch-ch-ch----"
His voice faded a=
way
in a weak stutter as he collapsed down into the cabin and his employer took
charge. The Rattler was just entering the passage. The heels of the horsesh=
oe
island were two huge mountains of rock a thousand feet high, each almost br=
oken
off from the mainland and connected with it by a low and narrow peninsula.
Between the heels was a half-mile stretch, all but blocked by a reef of cor=
al
extending across from the south heel. The passage, which Captain Glass had
called a crevice, twisted into this reef, curved directly to the north heel,
and ran along the base of the perpendicular rock. At this point, with the m=
ain-boom
almost grazing the rock on the port side, Grief, peering down on the starbo=
ard
side, could see bottom less than two fathoms beneath and shoaling steeply. =
With
a whaleboat towing for steerage and as a precaution against back-draughts f=
rom
the cliff, and taking advantage of a fan of breeze, he shook the Rattler fu=
ll
into it and glided by the big coral patch without warping. As it was, he ju=
st
scraped, but so softly as not to start the copper.
The harbour of
Fuatino opened before him. It was a circular sheet of water, five miles in
diameter, rimmed with white coral beaches, from which the verdure-clad slop=
es
rose swiftly to the frowning crater walls. The crests of the walls were
saw-toothed, volcanic peaks, capped and halo'd with captive trade-wind clou=
ds.
Every nook and crevice of the disintegrating lava gave foothold to creeping=
, climbing
vines and trees--a green foam of vegetation. Thin streams of water, that we=
re mere
films of mist, swayed and undulated downward in sheer descents of hundreds =
of
feet. And to complete the magic of the place, the warm, moist air was heavy
with the perfume of the yellow-blossomed cassi.
Fanning along aga=
inst
light, vagrant airs, the Rattler worked in. Calling the whale-boat on board,
Grief searched out the shore with his binoculars. There was no life. In the=
hot
blaze of tropic sun the place slept. There was no sign of welcome. Up the
beach, on the north shore, where the fringe of cocoanut palms concealed the
village, he could see the black bows of the canoes in the canoe-houses. On =
the
beach, on even keel, rested the strange schooner. Nothing moved on board of=
her
or around her. Not until the beach lay fifty yards away did Grief let go the
anchor in forty fathoms. Out in the middle, long years before, he had sound=
ed
three hundred fathoms without reaching bottom, which was to be expected of a
healthy crater-pit like Fuatino. As the chain roared and surged through the
hawse-pipe he noticed a number of native women, lusciously large as only th=
ose
of Polynesia are, in flowing ahu's, flower-crowned, stream out on the deck =
of
the schooner on the beach. Also, and what they did not see, he saw from the
galley the squat figure of a man steal for'ard, drop to the sand, and dive =
into
the green screen of bush.
While the sails w=
ere
furled and gasketed, awnings stretched, and sheets and tackles coiled harbo=
ur
fashion, David Grief paced the deck and looked vainly for a flutter of life
elsewhere than on the strange schooner. Once, beyond any doubt, he heard the
distant crack of a rifle in the direction of the Big Rock. There were no
further shots, and he thought of it as some hunter shooting a wild goat.
At the end of ano=
ther
hour Captain Glass, under a mountain of blankets, had ceased shivering and =
was
in the inferno of a profound sweat.
"I'll be all
right in half an hour," he said weakly.
"Very
well," Grief answered. "The place is dead, and I'm going ashore t=
o see
Mataara and find out the situation."
"It's a tough
bunch; keep your eyes open," the captain warned him. "If you're n=
ot
back in an hour, send word off."
Grief took the
steering-sweep, and four of his Raiatea men bent to the oars. As they lande=
d on
the beach he looked curiously at the women under the schooner's awning. He
waved his hand tentatively, and they, after giggling, waved back.
"Talofa!&quo=
t;
he called.
They understood t=
he
greeting, but replied, "Iorana," and he knew they came from the
Society Group.
"Huahine,&qu=
ot;
one of his sailors unhesitatingly named their island. Grief asked them when=
ce
they came, and with giggles and laughter they replied, "Huahine."=
"It looks li=
ke
old Dupuy's schooner," Grief said, in Tahitian, speaking in a low voic=
e.
"Don't look too hard. What do you think, eh? Isn't it the Valetta?&quo=
t;
As the men climbed
out and lifted the whale-boat slightly up the beach they stole careless gla=
nces
at the vessel.
"It is the
Valetta," Taute said. "She carried her topmast away seven years a=
go.
At Papeete they rigged a new one. It was ten feet shorter. That is the
one."
"Go over and
talk with the women, you boys. You can almost see Huahine from Raiatea, and
you'll be sure to know some of them. Find out all you can. And if any of the
white men show up, don't start a row."
An army of hermit
crabs scuttled and rustled away before him as he advanced up the beach, but
under the palms no pigs rooted and grunted. The cocoanuts lay where they had
fallen, and at the copra-sheds there were no signs of curing. Industry and
tidiness had vanished. Grass house after grass house he found deserted. Onc=
e he
came upon an old man, blind, toothless, prodigiously wrinkled, who sat in t=
he
shade and babbled with fear when he spoke to him. It was as if the place had
been struck with the plague, was Grief's thought, as he finally approached =
the
Big House. All was desolation and disarray. There were no flower-crowned men
and maidens, no brown babies rolling in the shade of the avocado trees. In =
the
doorway, crouched and rocking back and forth, sat Mataara, the old queen. S=
he
wept afresh at sight of him, divided between the tale of her woe and regret
that no follower was left to dispense to him her hospitality.
"And so they=
have
taken Naumoo," she finished. "Motauri is dead. My people have fled
and are starving with the goats. And there is no one to open for you even a
drinking cocoa-nut. O Brother, your white brothers be devils."
"They are no
brothers of mine, Mataara," Grief consoled. "They are robbers and
pigs, and I shall clean the island of them----"
He broke off to w=
hirl
half around, his hand flashing to his waist and back again, the big Colt's
levelled at the figure of a man, bent double, that rushed at him from out o=
f the
trees. He did not pull the trigger, nor did the man pause till he had flung
himself headlong at Grief's feet and begun to pour forth a stream of uncouth
and awful noises. He recognized the creature as the one he had seen steal f=
rom
the Valetta and dive into the bush; but not until he raised him up and watc=
hed the
contortions of the hare-lipped mouth could he understand what he uttered.
"Save me,
master, save me!" the man yammered, in English, though he was unmistak=
ably
a South Sea native. "I know you! Save me!"
And thereat he br=
oke
into a wild outpour of incoherence that did not cease until Grief seized hi=
m by
the shoulders and shook him into silence.
"I know
you," Grief said. "You were cook in the French Hotel at Papeete t=
wo
years ago. Everybody called you 'Hare-Lip.'"
The man nodded
violently.
"I am now co=
ok
of the Valetta," he spat and spluttered, his mouth writhing in a fearf=
ul
struggle with its defect. "I know you. I saw you at the hotel. I saw y=
ou
at Lavina's. I saw you on the Kittiwake. I saw you at the Mariposa wharf. Y=
ou
are Captain Grief, and you will save me. Those men are devils. They killed
Captain Dupuy. Me they made kill half the crew. Two they shot from the
cross-trees. The rest they shot in the water. I knew them all. They stole t=
he
girls from Huahine. They added to their strength with jail-men from Noumea.
They robbed the traders in the New Hebrides. They killed the trader at
Vanikori, and stole two women there. They----"
But Grief no long=
er
heard. Through the trees, from the direction of the harbour, came a rattle =
of
rifles, and he started on the run for the beach. Pirates from Tahiti and
convicts from New Caledonia! A pretty bunch of desperadoes that even now was
attacking his schooner. Hare-Lip followed, still spluttering and spitting h=
is
tale of the white devils' doings.
The rifle-firing
ceased as abruptly as it had begun, but Grief ran on, perplexed by ominous
conjectures, until, in a turn of the path, he encountered Mauriri running
toward him from the beach.
"Big
Brother," the Goat Man panted, "I was too late. They have taken y=
our
schooner. Come! For now they will seek for you."
He started back up
the path away from the beach.
"Where is
Brown?" Grief demanded.
"On the Big
Rock. I will tell you afterward. Come now!"
"But my men =
in
the whaleboat?"
Mauriri was in an
agony of apprehension.
"They are wi=
th
the women on the strange schooner. They will not be killed. I tell you true.
The devils want sailors. But you they will kill. Listen!" From the wat=
er,
in a cracked tenor voice, came a French hunting song. "They are landin=
g on
the beach. They have taken your schooner--that I saw. Come!"
III
Careless of his o=
wn
life and skin, nevertheless David Grief was possessed of no false hardihood=
. He
knew when to fight and when to run, and that this was the time for running =
he
had no doubt. Up the path, past the old men sitting in the shade, past Mata=
ara
crouched in the doorway of the Big House, he followed at the heels of Mauri=
ri.
At his own heels, doglike, plodded Hare-Lip. From behind came the cries of =
the hunters,
but the pace Mauriri led them was heartbreaking. The broad path narrowed, s=
wung
to the right, and pitched upward. The last grass house was left, and through
high thickets of cassi and swarms of great golden wasps the way rose steeply
until it became a goat-track. Pointing upward to a bare shoulder of volcanic
rock, Mauriri indicated the trail across its face.
"Past that we
are safe, Big Brother," he said. "The white devils never dare it,=
for
there are rocks we roll down on their heads, and there is no other path. Al=
ways
do they stop here and shoot when we cross the rock. Come!"
A quarter of an h=
our
later they paused where the trail went naked on the face of the rock.
"Wait, and w=
hen
you come, come quickly," Mauriri cautioned.
He sprang into the
blaze of sunlight, and from below several rifles pumped rapidly. Bullets
smacked about him, and puffs of stone-dust flew out, but he won safely acro=
ss.
Grief followed, and so near did one bullet come that the dust of its impact
stung his cheek. Nor was Hare-Lip struck, though he essayed the passage more
slowly.
For the rest of t=
he
day, on the greater heights, they lay in a lava glen where terraced taro and
papaia grew. And here Grief made his plans and learned the fulness of the
situation.
"It was ill
luck," Mauriri said. "Of all nights this one night was selected by
the white devils to go fishing. It was dark as we came through the passage.
They were in boats and canoes. Always do they have their rifles with them. =
One
Raiatea man they shot. Brown was very brave. We tried to get by to the top =
of
the bay, but they headed us off, and we were driven in between the Big Rock=
and
the village. We saved the guns and all the ammunition, but they got the boa=
t.
Thus they learned of your coming. Brown is now on this side of the Big Rock
with the guns and the ammunition."
"But why did=
n't
he go over the top of the Big Rock and give me warning as I came in from the
sea?" Grief criticised.
"They knew n=
ot
the way. Only the goats and I know the way. And this I forgot, for I crept
through the bush to gain the water and swim to you. But the devils were in =
the
bush shooting at Brown and the Raiatea men; and me they hunted till dayligh=
t,
and through the morning they hunted me there in the low-lying land. Then you
came in your schooner, and they watched till you went ashore, and I got away
through the bush, but you were already ashore."
"You fired t=
hat
shot?"
"Yes; to warn
you. But they were wise and would not shoot back, and it was my last
cartridge."
"Now you,
Hare-Lip?" Grief said to the Valetta's cook.
His tale was long=
and
painfully detailed. For a year he had been sailing out of Tahiti and through
the Paumotus on the Valetta. Old Dupuy was owner and captain. On his last
cruise he had shipped two strangers in Tahiti as mate and supercargo. Also,
another stranger he carried to be his agent on Fanriki. Raoul Van Asveld and
Carl Lepsius were the names of the mate and supercargo.
"They are
brothers, I know, for I have heard them talk in the dark, on deck, when they
thought no one listened," Hare-Lip explained.
The Valetta cruis=
ed
through the Low Islands, picking up shell and pearls at Dupuy's stations. F=
rans
Amundson, the third stranger, relieved Pierre Gollard at Fanriki. Pierre
Gollard came on board to go back to Tahiti. The natives of Fanriki said he =
had
a quart of pearls to turn over to Dupuy. The first night out from Fanriki t=
here
was shooting in the cabin. Then the bodies of Dupuy and Pierre Gollard were
thrown overboard. The Tahitian sailors fled to the forecastle. For two days=
, with
nothing to eat and the Valetta hove to, they remained below. Then Raoul Van
Asveld put poison in the meal he made Hare-Lip cook and carry for'ard. Half=
the
sailors died.
"He had a ri=
fle
pointed at me, master; what could I do?" Hare-Lip whimpered. "Of =
the
rest, two went up the rigging and were shot. Fanriki was ten miles away. The
others went overboard to swim. They were shot as they swam. I, only, lived,=
and
the two devils; for me they wanted to cook for them. That day, with the bre=
eze,
they went back to Fanrika and took on Frans Amundson, for he was one of
them."
Then followed
Hare-Lip's nightmare experiences as the schooner wandered on the long reach=
es
to the westward. He was the one living witness and knew they would have kil=
led
him had he not been the cook. At Noumea five convicts had joined them. Hare=
-Lip
was never permitted ashore at any of the islands, and Grief was the first
outsider to whom he had spoken.
"And now they
will kill me," Hare-Lip spluttered, "for they will know I have to=
ld
you. Yet am I not all a coward, and I will stay with you, master, and die w=
ith
you."
The Goat Man shook
his head and stood up.
"Lie here and
rest," he said to Grief. "It will be a long swim to-night. As for
this cook-man, I will take him now to the higher places where my brothers l=
ive
with the goats."
IV
"It is well =
that
you swim as a man should, Big Brother," Mauriri whispered.
From the lava glen
they had descended to the head of the bay and taken to the water. They swam
softly, without splash, Mauriri in the lead. The black walls of the crater =
rose
about them till it seemed they swam on the bottom of a great bowl. Above was
the sky of faintly luminous star-dust. Ahead they could see the light which
marked the Rattler, and from her deck, softened by distance, came a gospel =
hymn
played on the phonograph intended for Pilsach.
The two swimmers =
bore
to the left, away from the captured schooner. Laughter and song followed on
board after the hymn, then the phonograph started again. Grief grinned to
himself at the appositeness of it as "Lead, Kindly Light," floated
out over the dark water.
"We must take
the passage and land on the Big Rock," Mauriri whispered. "The de=
vils
are holding the low land. Listen!"
Half a dozen rifle
shots, at irregular intervals, attested that Brown still held the Rock and =
that
the pirates had invested the narrow peninsula.
At the end of ano=
ther
hour they swam under the frowning loom of the Big Rock. Mauriri, feeling his
way, led the landing in a crevice, up which for a hundred feet they climbed=
to
a narrow ledge.
"Stay
here," said Mauriri. "I go to Brown. In the morning I shall retur=
n."
"I will go w=
ith
you, Brother," Grief said.
Mauriri laughed in
the darkness.
"Even you, B=
ig
Brother, cannot do this thing. I am the Goat Man, and I only, of all Fuatin=
o,
can go over the Big Rock in the night. Furthermore, it will be the first ti=
me
that even I have done it. Put out your hand. You feel it? That is where
Pilsach's dynamite is kept. Lie close beside the wall and you may sleep wit=
hout
falling. I go now."
And high above the
sounding surf, on a narrow shelf beside a ton of dynamite, David Grief plan=
ned
his campaign, then rested his cheek on his arm and slept.
In the morning, w=
hen
Mauriri led him over the summit of the Big Rock, David Grief understood why=
he
could not have done it in the night. Despite the accustomed nerve of a sail=
or
for height and precarious clinging, he marvelled that he was able to do it =
in
the broad light of day. There were places, always under minute direction of
Mauriri, that he leaned forward, falling, across hundred-foot-deep crevices,
until his outstretched hands struck a grip on the opposing wall and his legs
could then be drawn across after. Once, there was a ten-foot leap, above ha=
lf a
thousand feet of yawning emptiness and down a fathom's length to a meagre
foothold. And he, despite his cool head, lost it another time on a shelf, a
scant twelve inches wide, where all hand-holds seemed to fail him. And Maur=
iri,
seeing him sway, swung his own body far out and over the gulf and passed hi=
m,
at the same time striking him sharply on the back to brace his reeling brai=
n.
Then it was, and forever after, that he fully knew why Mauriri had been nam=
ed
the Goat Man.
V
The defence of the
Big Rock had its good points and its defects. Impregnable to assault, two m=
en
could hold it against ten thousand. Also, it guarded the passage to open se=
a.
The two schooners, Raoul Van Asveld, and his cutthroat following were bottl=
ed
up. Grief, with the ton of dynamite, which he had removed higher up the roc=
k,
was master. This he demonstrated, one morning, when the schooners attempted=
to
put to sea. The Valetta led, the whaleboat towing her manned by captured Fu=
atino
men. Grief and the Goat Man peered straight down from a safe rock-shelter,
three hundred feet above. Their rifles were beside them, also a glowing
fire-stick and a big bundle of dynamite sticks with fuses and decanators
attached. As the whaleboat came beneath, Mauriri shook his head.
"They are our
brothers. We cannot shoot."
For'ard, on the
Valetta, were several of Grief's own Raiatea sailors. Aft stood another at =
the
wheel. The pirates were below, or on the other schooner, with the exception=
of
one who stood, rifle in hand, amidships. For protection he held Naumoo, the
Queen's daughter, close to him.
"That is the
chief devil," Mauriri whispered, "and his eyes are blue like your=
s.
He is a terrible man. See! He holds Naumoo that we may not shoot him."=
A light air and a
slight tide were making into the passage, and the schooner's progress was s=
low.
"Do you speak
English?" Grief called down.
The man startled,
half lifted his rifle to the perpendicular, and looked up. There was someth=
ing
quick and catlike in his movements, and in his burned blond face a fighting
eagerness. It was the face of a killer.
"Yes," =
he
answered. "What do you want?"
"Turn back, =
or
I'll blow your schooner up," Grief warned. He blew on the fire-stick a=
nd
whispered, "Tell Naumoo to break away from him and run aft."
From the Rattler,=
close
astern, rifles cracked, and bullets spatted against the rock. Van Asveld
laughed defiantly, and Mauriri called down in the native tongue to the woma=
n.
When directly beneath, Grief, watching, saw her jerk away from the man. On =
the
instant Grief touched the fire-stick to the match-head in the split end of =
the
short fuse, sprang into view on the face of the rock, and dropped the dynam=
ite.
Van Asveld had managed to catch the girl and was struggling with her. The G=
oat
Man held a rifle on him and waited a chance. The dynamite struck the deck i=
n a
compact package, bounded, and rolled into the port scupper. Van Asveld saw =
it
and hesitated, then he and the girl ran aft for their lives. The Goat Man
fired, but splintered the corner of the galley. The spattering of bullets f=
rom
the Rattler increased, and the two on the rock crouched low for shelter and
waited. Mauriri tried to see what was happening below, but Grief held him b=
ack.
"The fuse was
too long," he said. "I'll know better next time."
It was half a min=
ute before
the explosion came. What happened afterward, for some little time, they cou=
ld
not tell, for the Rattler's marksmen had got the range and were maintaining=
a
steady fire. Once, fanned by a couple of bullets, Grief risked a peep. The
Valetta, her port deck and rail torn away, was listing and sinking as she
drifted back into the harbour. Climbing on board the Rattler were the men a=
nd
the Huahine women who had been hidden in the Valetta's cabin and who had sw=
um
for it under the protecting fire. The Fuatino men who had been towing in th=
e whaleboat
had cast off the line, dashed back through the passage, and were rowing wil=
dly
for the south shore.
From the shore of=
the
peninsula the discharges of four rifles announced that Brown and his men had
worked through the jungle to the beach and were taking a hand. The bullets
ceased coming, and Grief and Mauriri joined in with their rifles. But they
could do no damage, for the men of the Rattler were firing from the shelter=
of
the deck-houses, while the wind and tide carried the schooner farther in.
There was no sign=
of
the Valetta, which had sunk in the deep water of the crater.
Two things Raoul =
Van
Asveld did that showed his keenness and coolness and that elicited Grief's
admiration. Under the Rattler's rifle fire Raoul compelled the fleeing Fuat=
ino
men to come in and surrender. And at the same time, dispatching half his
cutthroats in the Rattler's boat, he threw them ashore and across the
peninsula, preventing Brown from getting away to the main part of the islan=
d.
And for the rest of the morning the intermittent shooting told to Grief how
Brown was being driven in to the other side of the Big Rock. The situation =
was unchanged,
with the exception of the loss of the Valetta.
VI
The defects of the
position on the Big Rock were vital. There was neither food nor water. For
several nights, accompanied by one of the
Raiatea men, Maur=
iri
swam to the head of the bay for supplies. Then came the night when lights
flared on the water and shots were fired. After that the water-side of the =
Big
Rock was invested as well.
"It's a funny
situation," Brown remarked, who was getting all the adventure he had b=
een
led to believe resided in the South Seas. "We've got hold and can't let
go, and Raoul has hold and can't let go. He can't get away, and we're liabl=
e to
starve to death holding him."
"If the rain
came, the rock-basins would fill," said Mauriri. It was their first
twenty-four hours without water. "Big Brother, to-night you and I will=
get
water. It is the work of strong men."
That night, with
cocoanut calabashes, each of quart capacity and tightly stoppered, he led G=
rief
down to the water from the peninsula side of the Big Rock. They swam out not
more than a hundred feet. Beyond, they could hear the occasional click of an
oar or the knock of a paddle against a canoe, and sometimes they saw the fl=
are
of matches as the men in the guarding boats lighted cigarettes or pipes.
"Wait
here," whispered Mauriri, "and hold the calabashes."
Turning over, he =
swam
down. Grief, face downward, watched his phosphorescent track glimmer, and d=
im,
and vanish. A long minute afterward Mauriri broke surface noiselessly at
Grief's side.
"Here!
Drink!"
The calabash was
full, and Grief drank sweet fresh water which had come up from the depths of
the salt.
"It flows out
from the land," said Mauriri.
"On the
bottom?"
"No. The bot=
tom
is as far below as the mountains are above. Fifty feet down it flows. Swim =
down
until you feel its coolness."
Several times fil=
ling
and emptying his lungs in diver fashion, Grief turned over and went down
through the water. Salt it was to his lips, and warm to his flesh; but at l=
ast,
deep down, it perceptibly chilled and tasted brackish. Then, suddenly, his =
body
entered the cold, subterranean stream. He removed the small stopper from the
calabash, and, as the sweet water gurgled into it, he saw the phosphorescen=
t glimmer
of a big fish, like a sea ghost, drift sluggishly by.
Thereafter, holdi=
ng
the growing weight of the calabashes, he remained on the surface, while Mau=
riri
took them down, one by one, and filled them.
"There are
sharks," Grief said, as they swam back to shore.
"Pooh!"=
was
the answer. "They are fish sharks. We of Fuatino are brothers to the f=
ish
sharks."
"But the tig=
er
sharks? I have seen them here."
"When they c=
ome,
Big Brother, we will have no more water to drink--unless it rains."
VII
A week later Maur=
iri
and a Raiatea man swam back with empty calabashes. The tiger sharks had arr=
ived
in the harbour. The next day they thirsted on the Big Rock.
"We must take
our chance," said Grief. "Tonight I shall go after water with Mau=
tau.
Tomorrow night, Brother, you will go with Tehaa."
Three quarts only=
did
Grief get, when the tiger sharks appeared and drove them in. There were six=
of
them on the Rock, and a pint a day, in the sweltering heat of the mid-tropi=
cs,
is not sufficient moisture for a man's body. The next night Mauriri and Teh=
aa
returned with no water. And the day following Brown learned the full
connotation of thirst, when the lips crack to bleeding, the mouth is coated
with granular slime, and the swollen tongue finds the mouth too small for
residence.
Grief swam out in=
the
darkness with Mautau. Turn by turn, they went down through the salt, to the
cool sweet stream, drinking their fill while the calabashes were filling. It
was Mau-tau's turn to descend with the last calabash, and Grief, peering do=
wn
from the surface, saw the glimmer of sea-ghosts and all the phosphorescent
display of the struggle. He swam back alone, but without relinquishing the =
precious
burden of full calabashes.
Of food they had
little. Nothing grew on the Rock, and its sides, covered with shellfish at =
sea
level where the surf thundered in, were too precipitous for access. Here and
there, where crevices permitted, a few rank shellfish and sea urchins were
gleaned. Sometimes frigate birds and other sea birds were snared. Once, wit=
h a
piece of frigate bird, they succeeded in hooking a shark. After that, with
jealously guarded shark-meat for bait, they managed on occasion to catch mo=
re
sharks.
But water remained
their direst need. Mauriri prayed to the Goat God for rain. Taute prayed to=
the
Missionary God, and his two fellow islanders, backsliding, invoked the deit=
ies
of their old heathen days. Grief grinned and considered. But Brown, wild-ey=
ed,
with protruding blackened tongue, cursed. Especially he cursed the phonogra=
ph
that in the cool twilights ground out gospel hymns from the deck of the Rat=
tler.
One hymn in particular, "Beyond the Smiling and the Weeping," dro=
ve
him to madness. It seemed a favourite on board the schooner, for it was pla=
yed
most of all. Brown, hungry and thirsty, half out of his head from weakness =
and
suffering, could lie among the rocks with equanimity and listen to the tink=
ling
of ukuleles and guitars, and the hulas and himines of the Huahine women. But
when the voices of the Trinity Choir floated over the water he was beside
himself. One evening the cracked tenor took up the song with the machine:
"Beyond the
smiling and the weeping, =
I
shall be soon. Beyond the =
waking
and the sleeping, Beyond the =
sowing
and the reaping, =
I
shall be soon, =
I
shall be soon."
Then it was that
Brown rose up. Again and again, blindly, he emptied his rifle at the schoon=
er.
Laughter floated up from the men and women, and from the peninsula came a
splattering of return bullets; but the cracked tenor sang on, and Brown
continued to fire, until the hymn was played out.
It was that night
that Grief and Mauriri came back with but one calabash of water. A patch of
skin six inches long was missing from Grief's shoulder in token of the scra=
pe
of the sandpaper hide of a shark whose dash he had eluded.
VIII
In the early morn=
ing
of another day, before the sun-blaze had gained its full strength, came an
offer of a parley from Raoul Van Asveld.
Brown brought the
word in from the outpost among the rocks a hundred yards away. Grief was
squatted over a small fire, broiling a strip of shark-flesh. The last
twenty-four hours had been lucky. Seaweed and sea urchins had been gathered.
Tehaa had caught a shark, and Mauriri had captured a fair-sized octopus at =
the
base of the crevice where the dynamite was stored. Then, too, in the darkne=
ss
they had made two successful swims for water before the tiger sharks had no=
sed
them out.
"Said he'd l=
ike
to come in and talk with you," Brown said. "But I know what the b=
rute
is after. Wants to see how near starved to death we are."
"Bring him
in," Grief said.
"And then we
will kill him," the Goat Man cried joyously.
Grief shook his h=
ead.
"But he is a
killer of men, Big Brother, a beast and a devil," the Goat Man protest=
ed.
"He must not=
be
killed, Brother. It is our way not to break our word."
"It is a foo=
lish
way."
"Still it is=
our
way," Grief answered gravely, turning the strip of shark-meat over on =
the
coals and noting the hungry sniff and look of Tehaa. "Don't do that,
Tehaa, when the Big Devil comes. Look as if you and hunger were strangers.
Here, cook those sea urchins, you, and you, Big Brother, cook the squid. We
will have the Big Devil to feast with us. Spare nothing. Cook all."
And, still broili=
ng
meat, Grief arose as Raoul Van Asveld, followed by a large Irish terrier,
strode into camp. Raoul did not make the mistake of holding out his hand.
"Hello!"=
; he
said. "I've heard of you."
"I wish I'd
never heard of you," Grief answered.
"Same
here," was the response. "At first, before I knew who it was, I
thought I had to deal with an ordinary trading captain. That's why you've g=
ot
me bottled up."
"And I am
ashamed to say that I underrated you," Grief smiled. "I took you =
for
a thieving beachcomber, and not for a really intelligent pirate and murdere=
r.
Hence, the loss of my schooner. Honours are even, I fancy, on that score.&q=
uot;
Raoul flushed ang=
rily
under his sunburn, but he contained himself. His eyes roved over the supply=
of
food and the full water-calabashes, though he concealed the incredulous
surprise he felt. His was a tall, slender, well-knit figure, and Grief,
studying him, estimated his character from his face. The eyes were keen and
strong, but a bit too close together--not pinched, however, but just a trif=
le
near to balance the broad forehead, the strong chin and jaw, and the cheekb=
ones
wide apart. Strength! His face was filled with it, and yet Grief sensed in =
it
the intangible something the man lacked.
"We are both
strong men," Raoul said, with a bow. "We might have been fighting=
for
empires a hundred years ago."
It was Grief's tu=
rn
to bow.
"As it is, we
are squalidly scrapping over the enforcement of the colonial laws of those
empires whose destinies we might possibly have determined a hundred years
ago."
"It all come=
s to
dust," Raoul remarked sen-tentiously, sitting down. "Go ahead with
your meal. Don't let me interrupt."
"Won't you j=
oin
us?" was Grief's invitation.
The other looked =
at
him with sharp steadiness, then accepted.
"I'm sticky =
with
sweat," he said. "Can I wash?"
Grief nodded and
ordered Mauriri to bring a calabash. Raoul looked into the Goat Man's eyes,=
but
saw nothing save languid uninterest as the precious quart of water was wast=
ed
on the ground.
"The dog is
thirsty," Raoul said.
Grief nodded, and
another calabash was presented to the animal.
Again Raoul searc=
hed
the eyes of the natives and learned nothing.
"Sorry we ha=
ve
no coffee," Grief apologized. "You'll have to drink plain water. A
calabash, Tehaa. Try some of this shark. There is squid to follow, and sea
urchins and a seaweed salad. I'm sorry we haven't any frigate bird. The boys
were lazy yesterday, and did not try to catch any."
With an appetite =
that
would not have stopped at wire nails dipped in lard, Grief ate perfunctoril=
y,
and tossed the scraps to the dog.
"I'm afraid I
haven't got down to the primitive diet yet," he sighed, as he sat back.
"The tinned goods on the Rattler, now I could make a hearty meal off of
them, but this muck----" He took a half-pound strip of broiled shark a=
nd
flung it to the dog. "I suppose I'll come to it if you don't surrender
pretty soon."
Raoul laughed
unpleasantly.
"I came to o=
ffer
terms," he said pointedly.
Grief shook his h=
ead.
"There aren't
any terms. I've got you where the hair is short, and I'm not going to let
go."
"You think y=
ou
can hold me in this hole!" Raoul cried.
"You'll never
leave it alive, except in double irons." Grief surveyed his guest with=
an
air of consideration. "I've handled your kind before. We've pretty well
cleaned it out of the South Seas. But you are a--how shall I say?--a sort o=
f an
anachronism. You're a throwback, and we've got to get rid of you. Personall=
y, I
would advise you to go back to the schooner and blow your brains out. It is=
the
only way to escape what you've got coming to you."
The parley, so fa=
r as
Raoul was concerned, proved fruitless, and he went back into his own lines
convinced that the men on the Big Rock could hold out for years, though he
would have been swiftly unconvinced could he have observed Tehaa and the
Raiateans, the moment his back was turned and he was out of sight, crawling
over the rocks and sucking and crunching the scraps his dog had left uneate=
n.
IX
"We hunger n=
ow,
Brother," Grief said, "but it is better than to hunger for many d=
ays
to come. The Big Devil, after feasting and drinking good water with us in
plenty, will not stay long in Fuatino. Even to-morrow may he try to leave.
To-night you and I sleep over the top of the Rock, and Tehaa, who shoots we=
ll,
will sleep with us if he can dare the Rock."
Tehaa, alone among
the Raiateans, was cragsman enough to venture the perilous way, and dawn fo=
und
him in a rock-barricaded nook, a hundred yards to the right of Grief and
Mauriri.
The first warning=
was
the firing of rifles from the peninsula, where Brown and his two Raiateans
signalled the retreat and followed the besiegers through the jungle to the
beach. From the eyrie on the face of the rock Grief could see nothing for
another hour, when the Rattler appeared, making for the passage. As before,=
the
captive Fuatino men towed in the whaleboat. Mauriri, under direction of Gri=
ef,
called down instructions to them as they passed slowly beneath. By Grief's =
side
lay several bundles of dynamite sticks, well-lashed together and with extre=
mely
short fuses.
The deck of the
Rattler was populous. For'ard, rifle in hand, among the Raiatean sailors, s=
tood
a desperado whom Mauriri announced was Raoul's brother. Aft, by the helmsma=
n,
stood another. Attached to him, tied waist to waist, with slack, was Mataar=
a,
the old Queen. On the other side of the helmsman, his arm in a sling, was
Captain Glass. Amidships, as before, was Raoul, and with him, lashed waist =
to waist,
was Naumoo.
"Good mornin=
g,
Mister David Grief," Raoul called up.
"And yet I
warned you that only in double irons would you leave the island," Grief
murmured down with a sad inflection.
"You can't k=
ill
all your people I have on board," was the answer.
The schooner, mov=
ing
slowly, jerk by jerk, as the men pulled in the whaleboat, was almost direct=
ly
beneath. The rowers, without ceasing, slacked on their oars, and were
immediately threatened with the rifle of the man who stood for'ard.
"Throw, Big =
Brother!"
Naumoo called up in the Fuatino tongue. "I am filled with sorrow and am
willed to die. His knife is ready with which to cut the rope, but I shall h=
old
him tight. Be not afraid, Big Brother. Throw, and throw straight, and
good-bye."
Grief hesitated, =
then
lowered the fire-stick which he had been blowing bright.
"Throw!"
the Goat Man urged.
Still Grief
hesitated.
"If they get=
to
sea, Big Brother, Naumoo dies just the same. And there are all the others. =
What
is her life against the many?"
"If you drop=
any
dynamite, or fire a single shot, we'll kill all on board," Raoul cried=
up
to them. "I've got you, David Grief. You can't kill these people, and I
can. Shut up, you!"
This last was
addressed to Naumoo, who was calling up in her native tongue and whom Raoul
seized by the neck with one hand to choke to silence. In turn, she locked b=
oth
arms about him and looked up beseechingly to Grief.
"Throw it, M=
r.
Grief, and be damned to them," Captain Glass rumbled in his deep voice.
"They're bloody murderers, and the cabin's full of them."
The desperado who=
was
fastened to the old Queen swung half about to menace Captain Glass with his
rifle, when Tehaa, from his position farther along the Rock, pulled trigger=
on
him. The rifle dropped from the man's hand, and on his face was an expressi=
on
of intense surprise as his legs crumpled under him and he sank down on deck,
dragging the Queen with him.
"Port! Hard a
port!" Grief cried.
Captain Glass and=
the
Kanaka whirled the wheel over, and the bow of the Rattler headed in for the
Rock. Amidships Raoul still struggled with Naumoo. His brother ran from for=
'ard
to his aid, being missed by the fusillade of quick shots from Tehaa and the
Goat Man. As Raoul's brother placed the muzzle of his rifle to Naumoo's side
Grief touched the fire-stick to the match-head in the split end of the fuse.
Even as with both hands he tossed the big bundle of dynamite, the rifle went
off, and Naumoo's fall to the deck was simultaneous with the fall of the dy=
namite.
This time the fuse was short enough. The explosion occurred at the instant =
the
deck was reached, and that portion of the Rattler, along with Raoul, his
brother, and Naumoo, forever disappeared.
The schooner's si=
de
was shattered, and she began immediately to settle. For'ard, every Raiatean
sailor dived overboard. Captain Glass met the first man springing up the
com-panionway from the cabin, with a kick full in the face, but was overbor=
ne
and trampled on by the rush. Following the desperadoes came the Huahine wom=
en,
and as they went overboard, the Rattler sank on an even keel close to the b=
ase
of the Rock. Her cross-trees still stuck out when she reached bottom.
Looking down, Gri=
ef
could see all that occurred beneath the surface. He saw Mataara, a fathom d=
eep,
unfasten herself from the dead pirate and swim upward. As her head emerged =
she
saw Captain Glass, who could not swim, sinking several yards away. The Quee=
n,
old woman that she was, but an islander, turned over, swam down to him, and
held him up as she struck out for the unsubmerged cross-trees.
Five heads, blond=
and
brown, were mingled with the dark heads of Polynesia that dotted the surfac=
e.
Grief, rifle in hand, watched for a chance to shoot. The Goat Man, after a
minute, was successful, and they saw the body of one man sink sluggishly. B=
ut
to the Raiatean sailors, big and brawny, half fish, was the vengeance given.
Swimming swiftly, they singled out the blond heads and the brown. Those from
above watched the four surviving desperadoes, clutched and locked, dragged =
far
down beneath and drowned like curs.
In ten minutes
everything was over. The Huahine women, laughing and giggling, were holding=
on
to the sides of the whaleboat which had done the towing. The Raiatean sailo=
rs,
waiting for orders, were about the cross-tree to which Captain Glass and
Mataara clung.
"The poor old
Rattler," Captain Glass lamented.
"Nothing of =
the
sort," Grief answered. "In a week we'll have her raised, new timb=
ers
amidships, and we'll be on our way." And to the Queen, "How is it
with you, Sister?"
"Naumoo is g=
one,
and Motauri, Brother, but Fuatino is ours again. The day is young. Word sha=
ll
be sent to all my people in the high places with the goats. And to-night, o=
nce
again, and as never before, we shall feast and rejoice in the Big House.&qu=
ot;
"She's been
needing new timbers abaft the beam there for years," quoth Captain Gla=
ss.
"But the chronometers will be out of commission for the rest of the
cruise."
Chapter Four--THE JOKERS =
OF
NEW GIBBON
I
"I'm almost
afraid to take you in to New Gibbon," David Grief said. "It wasn't
until you and the British gave me a free hand and let the place alone that =
any
results were accomplished."
Wallenstein, the
German Resident Commissioner from Bougainville, poured himself a long Scotch
and soda and smiled.
"We take off=
our
hats to you, Mr. Grief," he said in perfectly good English. "What=
you
have done on the devil island is a miracle. And we shall continue not to
interfere. It is a devil island, and old Koho is the big chief devil of them
all. We never could bring him to terms. He is a liar, and he is no fool. He=
is
a black Napoleon, a head-hunting, man-eating Talleyrand. I remember six yea=
rs
ago, when I landed there in the British cruiser. The niggers cleared out for
the bush, of course, but we found several who couldn't get away. One was his
latest wife. She had been hung up by one arm in the sun for two days and
nights. We cut her down, but she died just the same. And staked out in the
fresh running water, up to their necks, were three more women. All their bo=
nes were
broken and their joints crushed. The process is supposed to make them tender
for the eating. They were still alive. Their vitality was remarkable. One
woman, the oldest, lingered nearly ten days. Well, that was a sample of Koh=
o's
diet. No wonder he's a wild beast. How you ever pacified him is our everlas=
ting
puzzlement."
"I wouldn't =
call
him exactly pacified," Grief answered. "Though he comes in once i=
n a
while and eats out of the hand."
"That's more
than we accomplished with our cruisers. Neither the German nor the English =
ever
laid eyes on him. You were the first."
"No; McTavish
was the first," Grief disclaimed.
"Ah, yes, I
remember him--the little, dried-up Scotchman." Wallenstein sipped his
whiskey. "He's called the Trouble-mender, isn't he?"
Grief nodded.
"And they say the screw you pay him is bigger than mine or the British Resident's?"<= o:p>
"I'm afraid =
it
is," Grief admitted. "You see, and no offence, he's really worth =
it.
He spends his time wherever the trouble is. He is a wizard. He's the one who
got me my lodgment on New Gibbon. He's down on Malaita now, starting a
plantation for me."
"The
first?"
"There's not
even a trading station on all Malaita. The recruiters still use covering bo=
ats
and carry the old barbed wire above their rails. There's the plantation now.
We'll be in in half an hour." He handed the binoculars to his guest.
"Those are the boat-sheds to the left of the bungalow. Beyond are the
barracks. And to the right are the copra-sheds. We dry quite a bit already.=
Old
Koho's getting civilized enough to make his people bring in the nuts. There=
's
the mouth of the stream where you found the three women softening."
The Wonder,
wing-and-wing, was headed directly in for the anchorage. She rose and fell
lazily over a glassy swell flawed here and there by catspaws from astern. It
was the tail-end of the monsoon season, and the air was heavy and sticky wi=
th
tropic moisture, the sky a florid, leaden muss of formless clouds. The rugg=
ed
land was swathed with cloud-banks and squall wreaths, through which headlan=
ds
and interior peaks thrust darkly. On one promontory a slant of sunshine bla=
zed
torridly, on another, scarcely a mile away, a squall was bursting in furious
downpour of driving rain.
This was the dank,
fat, savage island of New Gibbon, lying fifty miles to leeward of Choiseul.
Geographically, it belonged to the Solomon Group. Politically, the dividing
line of German and British influence cut it in half, hence the joint contro=
l by
the two Resident Commissioners. In the case of New Gibbon, this control exi=
sted
only on paper in the colonial offices of the two countries. There was no re=
al control
at all, and never had been. The bêche de mer fishermen of the old days
had passed it by. The sandalwood traders, after stern experiences, had give=
n it
up. The blackbirders had never succeeded in recruiting one labourer on the
island, and, after the schooner Dorset had been cut off with all hands, they
left the place severely alone. Later, a German company had attempted a coco=
anut
plantation, which was abandoned after several managers and a number of cont=
ract
labourers had lost their heads. German cruisers and British cruisers had fa=
iled
to get the savage blacks to listen to reason. Four times the missionary soc=
ieties
had essayed the peaceful conquest of the island, and four times, between
sickness and massacre, they had been driven away, More cruisers, more
pacifications, had followed, and followed fruitlessly. The cannibals had al=
ways
retreated into the bush and laughed at the screaming shells. When the warsh=
ips
left it was an easy matter to rebuild the burned grass houses and set up the
ovens in the old-fashioned way.
New Gibbon was a
large island, fully one hundred and fifty miles long and half as broad.
Its windward coast
was iron-bound, without anchorages or inlets, and it was inhabited by score=
s of
warring tribes--at least it had been, until Koho had arisen, like a Kameham=
eha,
and, by force of arms and considerable statecraft, firmly welded the greater
portion of the tribes into a confederation. His policy of permitting no
intercourse with white men had been eminently right, so far as survival of =
his
own people was concerned; and after the visit of the last cruiser he had had
his own way until David Grief and McTavish the Trouble-mender landed on the=
deserted
beach where once had stood the German bungalow and barracks and the various
English mission-houses.
Followed wars, fa=
lse
peaces, and more wars. The weazened little Scotchman could make trouble as =
well
as mend it, and, not content with holding the beach, he imported bushmen fr=
om
Malaita and invaded the wild-pig runs of the interior jungle. He burned
villages until Koho wearied of rebuilding them, and when he captured Koho's
eldest son he compelled a conference with the old chief. It was then that M=
cTavish
laid down the rate of head-exchange. For each head of his own people he
promised to take ten of Koho's. After Koho had learned that the Scotchman w=
as a
man of his word, the first true peace was made. In the meantime McTavish had
built the bungalow and barracks, cleared the jungle-land along the beach, a=
nd
laid out the plantation. After that he had gone on his way to mend trouble =
on
the atoll of Tasman, where a plague of black measles had broken out and been
ascribed to Grief's plantation by the devil-devil doctors. Once, a year lat=
er,
he had been called back again to straighten up New Gibbon; and Koho, after
paying a forced fine of two hundred thousand cocoanuts, decided it was chea=
per to
keep the peace and sell the nuts. Also, the fires of his youth had burned d=
own.
He was getting old and limped of one leg where a Lee-Enfield bullet had
perforated the calf.
II
"I knew a ch=
ap
in Hawaii," Grief said, "superintendent of a sugar plantation, who
used a hammer and a ten-penny nail."
They were sitting=
on
the broad bungalow veranda, and watching Worth, the manager of New Gibbon,
doctoring the sick squad. They were New Georgia boys, a dozen of them, and =
the
one with the aching tooth had been put back to the last. Worth had just fai=
led
in his first attempt. He wiped the sweat from his forehead with one hand and
waved the forceps with the other.
"And broke m=
ore
than one jaw," he asserted grimly.
Grief shook his h=
ead.
Wallenstein smiled and elevated his brows.
"He said not=
, at
any rate," Grief qualified. "He assured me, furthermore, that he
always succeeded on the first trial."
"I saw it do=
ne
when I was second mate on a lime-juicer," Captain Ward spoke up. "=
;The
old man used a caulking mallet and a steel marlin-spike. He took the tooth =
out
with the first stroke, too, clean as a whistle."
"Me for the
forceps," Worth muttered grimly, inserting his own pair in the mouth of
the black. As he pulled, the man groaned and rose in the air. "Lend a
hand, somebody, and hold him down," the manager appealed.
Grief and Wallens=
tein,
on either side, gripped the black and held him. And he, in turn, struggled
against them and clenched his teeth on the forceps. The group swayed back a=
nd
forth. Such exertion, in the stagnant heat, brought the sweat out on all of
them. The black sweated, too, but his was the sweat of excruciating pain. T=
he
chair on which he sat was overturned. Captain Ward paused in the act of pou=
ring
himself a drink, and called encouragement. Worth pleaded with his assistant=
s to
hang on, and hung on himself, twisting the tooth till it crackled and then =
attempting
a straightaway pull.
Nor did any of th=
em
notice the little black man who limped up the steps and stood looking on. K=
oho
was a conservative. His fathers before him had worn no clothes, and neither=
did
he, not even a gee-string. The many empty perforations in nose and lips and
ears told of decorative passions long since dead. The holes on both ear-lob=
es
had been torn out, but their size was attested by the strips of withered fl=
esh
that hung down and swept his shoulders. He cared now only for utility, and =
in
one of the half dozen minor holes in his right ear he carried a short clay =
pipe.
Around his waist was buckled a cheap trade-belt, and between the imitation
leather and the naked skin was thrust the naked blade of a long knife.
Suspended from the belt was his bamboo betel-nut and lime box. In his hand =
was
a short-barrelled, large-bore Snider rifle. He was indescribably filthy, and
here and there marred by scars, the worst being the one left by the Lee-Enf=
ield
bullet, which had withered the calf to half the size of its mate. His shrun=
ken
mouth showed that few teeth were left to serve him. Face and body were shru=
nken
and withered, but his black, bead-like eyes, small and close together, were
very bright, withal they were restless and querulous, and more like a monke=
y's
than a man's.
He looked on,
grinning like a shrewd little ape. His joy in the torment of the patient was
natural, for the world he lived in was a world of pain. He had endured his
share of it, and inflicted far more than his share on others. When the tooth
parted from its locked hold in the jaw and the forceps raked across the oth=
er
teeth and out of the mouth with a nerve-rasping sound, old Koho's eyes fair=
ly
sparkled, and he looked with glee at the poor black, collapsed on the veran=
da
floor and groaning terribly as he held his head in both his hands.
"I think he's
going to faint," Grief said, bending over the victim. "Captain Wa=
rd,
give him a drink, please. You'd better take one yourself, Worth; you're sha=
king
like a leaf."
"And I think
I'll take one," said Wallenstein, wiping the sweat from his face. His =
eye
caught the shadow of Koho on the floor and followed it up to the old chief
himself. "Hello! who's this?"
"Hello,
Koho!" Grief said genially, though he knew better than to offer to sha=
ke
hands.
It was one of Koh=
o's
tambos, given him by the devil-devil doctors when he was born, that never w=
as
his flesh to come in contact with the flesh of a white man. Worth and Capta=
in
Ward, of the Wonder, greeted Koho, but Worth frowned at sight of the Snider,
for it was one of his tambos that no visiting bushman should carry a weapon=
on
the plantation. Rifles had a nasty way of going off at the hip under such
circumstances. The manager clapped his hands, and a black house-boy, recrui=
ted
from San Cristobal, came running. At a sign from Worth, he took the rifle f=
rom the
visitor's hand and carried it inside the bungalow.
"Koho,"
Grief said, introducing the German Resident, "this big fella marster
belong Bougainville--my word, big fella marster too much."
Koho, remembering=
the
visits of the various German cruisers, smiled with a light of unpleasant
reminiscence in his eyes.
"Don't shake
hands with him, Wallenstein," Grief warned. "Tambo, you know.&quo=
t;
Then to Koho, "My word, you get 'm too much fat stop along you. Bime by
you marry along new fella Mary, eh?"
"Too old fel=
la
me," Koho answered, with a weary shake of the head. "Me no like 'm
Mary. Me no like 'm kai-kai (food). Close up me die along altogether."=
He
stole a significant glance at Worth, whose head was tilted back to a long
glass. "Me like 'm rum."
Grief shook his h=
ead.
"Tambo along
black fella."
"He black fe=
lla
no tambo," Koho retorted, nodding toward the groaning labourer.
"He fella
sick," Grief explained.
"Me fella
sick."
"You fella b=
ig
liar," Grief laughed. "Rum tambo, all the time tambo. Now, Koho, =
we
have big fella talk along this big fella mar-ster."
And he and
Wallenstein and the old chief sat down on the veranda to confer about affai=
rs
of state. Koho was complimented on the peace he had kept, and he, with many
protestations of his aged decrepitude, swore peace again and everlasting. T=
hen
was discussed the matter of starting a German plantation twenty miles down =
the
coast. The land, of course, was to be bought from Koho, and the price was
arranged in terms of tobacco, knives, beads, pipes, hatchets, porpoise teeth
and shell-money--in terms of everything except rum. While the talk went on,
Koho, glancing through the window, could see Worth mixing medicines and pla=
cing
bottles back in the medicine cupboard. Also, he saw the manager complete his
labours by taking a drink of Scotch. Koho noted the bottle carefully. And,
though he hung about for an hour after the conference was over, there was n=
ever
a moment when some one or another was not in the room. When Grief and Worth=
sat
down to a business talk, Koho gave it up.
"Me go along
schooner," he announced, then turned and limped out.
"How are the
mighty fallen," Grief laughed. "To think that used to be Koho, the
fiercest red-handed murderer in the Solomons, who defied all his life two of
the greatest world powers. And now he's going aboard to try and cadge Denby=
for
a drink."
III
For the last time=
in
his life the supercargo of the Wonder perpetrated a practical joke on a nat=
ive.
He was in the main cabin, checking off the list of goods being landed in the
whaleboats, when Koho limped down the com-panionway and took a seat opposite
him at the table.
"Close up me=
die
along altogether," was the burden of the old chief's plaint. All the
delights of the flesh had forsaken him. "Me no like 'm Mary. Me no lik=
e 'm
kai-kai. Me too much sick fella. Me close up finish." A long, sad paus=
e,
in which his face expressed unutterable concern for his stomach, which he
patted gingerly and with an assumption of pain. "Belly belong me too m=
uch
sick." Another pause, which was an invitation to Denby to make
suggestions. Then followed a long, weary, final sigh, and a "Me like 'm
rum."
Denby laughed
heartlessly. He had been cadged for drinks before by the old cannibal, and =
the
sternest tambo Grief and McTavish had laid down was the one forbidding alco=
hol
to the natives of New Gibbon.
The trouble was t=
hat
Koho had acquired the taste. In his younger days he had learned the delight=
s of
drunkenness when he cut off the schooner Dorset, but unfortunately he had
learned it along with all his tribesmen, and the supply had not held out lo=
ng.
Later, when he led his naked warriors down to the destruction of the German
plantation, he was wiser, and he appropriated all the liquors for his sole =
use.
The result had been a gorgeous mixed drunk, on a dozen different sorts of
drink, ranging from beer doctored with quinine to absinthe and apricot bran=
dy. The
drunk had lasted for months, and it had left him with a thirst that would
remain with him until he died. Predisposed toward alcohol, after the way of
savages, all the chemistry of his flesh clamoured for it. This craving was =
to
him expressed in terms of tingling and sensation, of maggots crawling warmly
and deliciously in his brain, of good feeling, and well being, and high
exultation. And in his barren old age, when women and feasting were a
weariness, and when old hates had smouldered down, he desired more and more=
the
revivifying fire that came liquid out of bottles--out of all sorts of
bottles--for he remembered them well. He would sit in the sun for hours,
occasionally drooling, in mournful contemplation of the great orgy which had
been his when the German plantation was cleaned out.
Denby was
sympathetic. He sought out the old chief's symptoms and offered him dyspept=
ic
tablets from the medicine chest, pills, and a varied assortment of harmless
tabloids and capsules. But Koho steadfastly declined. Once, when he cut the
Dorset off, he had bitten through a capsule of quinine; in addition, two of=
his
warriors had partaken of a white powder and laid down and died very violent=
ly
in a very short time. No; he did not believe in drugs. But the liquids from=
bottles,
the cool-flaming youth-givers and warm-glowing dream-makers. No wonder the
white men valued them so highly and refused to dispense them.
"Rum he good
fella," he repeated over and over, plaintively and with the weary pati=
ence
of age.
And then Denby ma=
de
his mistake and played his joke. Stepping around behind Koho, he unlocked t=
he
medicine closet and took out a four-ounce bottle labelled essence of mustar=
d.
As he made believe to draw the cork and drink of the contents, in the mirro=
r on
the for'ard bulkhead he glimpsed Koho, twisted half around, intently watchi=
ng
him. Denby smacked his lips and cleared his throat appreciatively as he
replaced the bottle. Neglecting to relock the medicine closet, he returned =
to
his chair, and, after a decent interval, went on deck. He stood beside the =
companionway
and listened. After several moments the silence below was broken by a fearf=
ul,
wheezing, propulsive, strangling cough. He smiled to himself and returned
leisurely down the companionway. The bottle was back on the shelf where it
belonged, and the old man sat in the same position. Denby marvelled at his =
iron
control. Mouth and lips and tongue, and all sensitive membranes, were a bla=
ze
of fire. He gasped and nearly coughed several times, while involuntary tears
brimmed in his eyes and ran down his cheeks. An ordinary man would have cou=
ghed
and strangled for half an hour. But old Koho's face was grimly composed. It=
dawned
on him that a trick had been played, and into his eyes came an expression of
hatred and malignancy so primitive, so abysmal, that it sent the chills up =
and
down Denby's spine. Koho arose proudly.
"Me go
along," he said. "You sing out one fella boat stop along me."=
;
IV
Having seen Grief=
and
Worth start for a ride over the plantation, Wallenstein sat down in the big
living-room and with gun-oil and old rags proceeded to take apart and clean=
his
automatic pistol. On the table beside him stood the inevitable bottle of Sc=
otch
and numerous soda bottles. Another bottle, part full, chanced to stand ther=
e.
It was also labelled Scotch, but its content was liniment which Worth had m=
ixed
for the horses and neglected to put away.
As Wallenstein
worked, he glanced through the window and saw Koho coming up the compound p=
ath.
He was limping very rapidly, but when he came along the veranda and entered=
the
room his gait was slow and dignified. He sat down and watched the gun-clean=
ing,
Though mouth and lips and tongue were afire, he gave no sign. At the end of
five minutes he spoke.
"Rum he good
fella. Me like 'm rum." Wallenstein smiled and shook his head, and the=
n it
was that his perverse imp suggested what was to be his last joke on a nativ=
e.
The similarity of the two bottles was the real suggestion. He laid his pist=
ol
parts on the table and mixed himself a long drink. Standing as he did betwe=
en
Koho and the table, he interchanged the two bottles, drained his glass, mad=
e as
if to search for something, and left the room. From outside he heard the
surprised splutter and cough; but when he returned the old chief sat as bef=
ore.
The liniment in the bottle, however, was lower, and it still oscillated.
Koho stood up,
clapped his hands, and, when the house-boy answered, signed that he desired=
his
rifle. The boy fetched the weapon, and according to custom preceded the vis=
itor
down the pathway. Not until outside the gate did the boy turn the rifle ove=
r to
its owner. Wallenstein, chuckling to himself, watched the old chief limp al=
ong
the beach in the direction of the river.
A few minutes lat=
er,
as he put his pistol together, Wallenstein heard the distant report of a gu=
n.
For the instant he thought of Koho, then dismissed the conjecture from his
mind. Worth and Grief had taken shotguns with them, and it was probably one=
of
their shots at a pigeon. Wallenstein lounged back in his chair, chuckled,
twisted his yellow mustache, and dozed. He was aroused by the excited voice=
of
Worth, crying out:
"Ring the big
fella bell! Ring plenty too much! Ring like hell!"
Wallenstein gained
the veranda in time to see the manager jump his horse over the low fence of=
the
compound and dash down the beach after Grief, who was riding madly ahead. A
loud crackling and smoke rising through the cocoanut trees told the story. =
The
boat-houses and the barracks were on fire. The big plantation bell was ring=
ing
wildly as the German Resident ran down the beach, and he could see whaleboa=
ts
hastily putting off from the schooner.
Barracks and
boat-houses, grass-thatched and like tinder, were wrapped in flames. Grief
emerged from the kitchen, carrying a naked black child by the leg. Its head=
was
missing.
"The cook's =
in
there," he told Worth. "Her head's gone, too. She was too heavy, =
and
I had to clear out."
"It was my
fault," Wallenstein said. "Old Koho did it. But I let him take a
drink of Worth's horse liniment."
"I guess he's
headed for the bush," Worth said, springing astride his horse and
starting. "Oliver is down there by the river. Hope he didn't get
him."
The manager gallo=
ped
away through the trees. A few minutes later, as the charred wreck of the
barracks crashed in, they heard him calling and followed. On the edge of the
river bank they came upon him. He still sat on his horse, very white-faced,=
and
gazed at something on the ground. It was the body of Oliver, the young
assistant manager, though it was hard to realize it, for the head was gone.=
The
black labourers, breathless from their run in from the fields, were now
crowding around, and under conches to-night, and the war-drums, "all m=
erry
hell will break loose. They won't rush us, but keep all the boys close up to
the house, Mr. Worth. Come on!"
As they returned
along the path they came upon a black who whimpered and cried vociferously.=
"Shut up mou=
th
belong you!" Worth shouted. "What name you make 'm noise?"
"Him fella K=
oho
finish along two fella bulla-macow," the black answered, drawing a
forefinger significantly across his throat.
"He's knifed=
the
cows," Grief said. "That means no more milk for some time for you,
Worth. I'll see about sending a couple up from Ugi."
Wallenstein proved
inconsolable, until Denby, coming ashore, confessed to the dose of essence =
of
mustard. Thereat the German Resident became even cheerful, though he twisted
his yellow mustache up more fiercely and continued to curse the Solomons wi=
th
oaths culled from four languages.
Next morning, vis=
ible
from the masthead of the Wonder, the bush was alive with signal-smokes. From
promontory to promontory, and back through the solid jungle, the smoke-pill=
ars
curled and puffed and talked. Remote villages on the higher peaks, beyond t=
he
farthest raids McTavish had ever driven, joined in the troubled conversatio=
n.
From across the river persisted a bedlam of conches; while from everywhere,=
drifting
for miles along the quiet air, came the deep, booming reverberations of the
great war-drums--huge tree trunks, hollowed by fire and carved with tools of
stone and shell. "You're all right as long as you stay close," Gr=
ief
told his manager. "I've got to get along to Guvutu. They won't come ou=
t in
the open and attack you. Keep the work-gangs close. Stop the clearing till =
this
blows over. They'll get any detached gangs you send out. And, whatever you =
do,
don't be fooled into going into the bush after Koho. If you do, he'll get y=
ou.
All you've got to do is wait for McTavish. I'll send him up with a bunch of=
his
Malaita bush-men. He's the only man who can go inside. Also, until he comes,
I'll leave Denby with you. You don't mind, do you, Mr. Denby? I'll send
McTavish up with the Wanda, and you can go back on her and rejoin the Wonde=
r.
Captain Ward can manage without you for a trip."
"It was just
what I was going to volunteer," Denby answered. "I never dreamed =
all
this muss would be kicked up over a joke. You see, in a way I consider myse=
lf
responsible for it."
"So am I
responsible," Wallenstein broke in.
"But I start=
ed
it," the supercargo urged.
"Maybe you d=
id,
but I carried it along."
"And Koho
finished it," Grief said.
"At any rate=
, I,
too, shall remain," said the German.
"I thought y=
ou
were coming to Guvutu with me," Grief protested.
"I was. But =
this
is my jurisdiction, partly, and I have made a fool of myself in it complete=
ly.
I shall remain and help get things straight again."
At Guvutu, Grief =
sent
full instructions to McTavish by a recruiting ketch which was just starting=
for
Malaita. Captain Ward sailed in the Wonder for the Santa Cruz Islands; and
Grief, borrowing a whaleboat and a crew of black prisoners from the British
Resident, crossed the channel to Guadalcanar, to examine the grass lands ba=
ck
of Penduffryn.
Three weeks later,
with a free sheet and a lusty breeze, he threaded the coral patches and sur=
ged
up the smooth water to Guvutu anchorage. The harbour was deserted, save for=
a
small ketch which lay close in to the shore reef. Grief recognized it as the
Wanda. She had evidently just got in by the Tulagi Passage, for her black c=
rew
was still at work furling the sails. As he rounded alongside, McTavish hims=
elf
extended a hand to help him over the rail.
"What's the
matter?" Grief asked. "Haven't you started yet?"
McTavish nodded.
"And got back. Everything's all right on board."
"How's New
Gibbon?"
"All there, =
the
last I saw of it, barrin' a few inconsequential frills that a good eye could
make out lacking from the landscape."
He was a cold fla=
me
of a man, small as Koho, and as dried up, with a mahogany complexion and sm=
all,
expressionless blue eyes that were more like gimlet-points than the eyes of=
a
Scotchman. Without fear, without enthusiasm, impervious to disease and clim=
ate
and sentiment, he was lean and bitter and deadly as a snake. That his prese=
nt
sour look boded ill news, Grief was well aware.
"Spit it
out!" he said. "What's happened?"
"'Tis a thing
severely to be condemned, a damned shame, this joking with heathen
niggers," was the reply. "Also, 'tis very expensive. Come below, =
Mr.
Grief. You'll be better for the information with a long glass in your hand.
After you."
"How did you
settle things?" his employer demanded as soon as they were seated in t=
he
cabin.
The little Scotch=
man
shook his head. "There was nothing to settle. It all depends how you l=
ook
at it. The other way would be to say it was settled, entirely settled, mind
you, before I got there."
"But the
plantation, man? The plantation?"
"No plantati=
on.
All the years of our work have gone for naught. 'Tis back where we started,
where the missionaries started, where the Germans started--and where they
finished. Not a stone stands on another at the landing pier. The houses are
black ashes. Every tree is hacked down, and the wild pigs are rooting out t=
he
yams and sweet potatoes. Those boys from New Georgia, a fine bunch they wer=
e,
five score of them, and they cost you a pretty penny. Not one is left to te=
ll
the tale."
He paused and beg=
an
fumbling in a large locker under the companion-steps.
"But Worth? =
And
Denby? And Wallenstein?"
"That's what=
I'm
telling you. Take a look."
McTavish dragged =
out
a sack made of rice matting and emptied its contents on the floor. David Gr=
ief
pulled himself together with a jerk, for he found himself gazing fascinated=
at
the heads of the three men he had left at New Gibbon. The yellow mustache of
Wallenstein had lost its fierce curl and drooped and wilted on the upper li=
p.
"I don't know
how it happened," the Scotchman's voice went on drearily. "But I
surmise they went into the bush after the old devil."
"And where is
Koho?" Grief asked.
"Back in the
bush and drunk as a lord. That's how I was able to recover the heads. He was
too drunk to stand. They lugged him on their backs out of the village when I
rushed it. And if you'll relieve me of the heads, I'll be well obliged.&quo=
t;
He paused and sighed. "I suppose they'll have regular funerals over th=
em
and put them in the ground. But in my way of thinking they'd make excellent
curios. Any respectable museum would pay a hundred quid apiece. Better have
another drink. You're looking a bit pale---- There, put that down you, and =
if
you'll take my advice, Mr. Grief, I would say, set your face sternly against
any joking with the niggers. It always makes trouble, and it is a very
expensive divertisement."
Chapter Five--A LITTLE
ACCOUNT WITH SWITHIN HALL
I
With a last long
scrutiny at the unbroken circle of the sea, David Grief swung out of the
cross-trees and slowly and dejectedly descended the ratlines to the deck.
"Leu-Leu Ato=
ll
is sunk, Mr. Snow," he said to the anxious-faced young mate. "If
there is anything in navigation, the atoll is surely under the sea, for we'=
ve
sailed clear over it twice--or the spot where it ought to be. It's either t=
hat
or the chronometer's gone wrong, or I've forgotten my navigation."
"It must be = the chronometer, sir," the mate reassured his owner. "You know I made separate sights and worked them up, and that they agreed with yours."<= o:p>
"Yes,"
Grief muttered, nodding glumly, "and where your Summer lines crossed, =
and
mine, too, was the dead centre of Leu-Leu Atoll. It must be the
chronometer--slipped a cog or something."
He made a short p=
ace
to the rail and back, and cast a troubled eye at the Uncle Toby's wake. The
schooner, with a fairly strong breeze on her quarter, was logging nine or t=
en
knots.
"Better bring
her up on the wind, Mr. Snow. Put her under easy sail and let her work to
windward on two-hour legs. It's thickening up, and I don't imagine we can g=
et a
star observation to-night; so we'll just hold our weather position, get a
latitude sight to-morrow, and run Leu-Leu down on her own latitude. That's =
the
way all the old navigators did."
Broad of beam,
heavily sparred, with high freeboard and bluff, Dutchy bow, the Uncle Toby =
was
the slowest, tubbiest, safest, and most fool-proof schooner David Grief pos=
sessed.
Her run was in the Banks and Santa Cruz groups and to the northwest among t=
he
several isolated atolls where his native traders collected copra, hawksbill
turtle, and an occasional ton of pearl shell. Finding the skipper down with=
a particularly
bad stroke of fever, Grief had relieved him and taken the Uncle Toby on her
semiannual run to the atolls. He had elected to make his first call at Leu-=
Leu,
which lay farthest, and now found himself lost at sea with a chronometer th=
at
played tricks.
II
No stars showed t= hat night, nor was the sun visible next day. A stuffy, sticky calm obtained, br= oken by big wind-squalls and heavy downpours. From fear of working too far to windward, the Uncle Toby was hove to, and four days and nights of cloud-hid= den sky followed. Never did the sun appear, and on the several occasions that s= tars broke through they were too dim and fleeting for identification. By this ti= me it was patent to the veriest tyro that the elements were preparing to break loose. Grief, coming on deck from consulting the barometer, which steadfast= ly remained at 29.90, encountered Jackie-Jackie, whose face was as brooding and troublous as the sky and air. Jackie-Jackie, a Tongan sailor of experience, served as a sort of bosun and semi-second mate over the mixed Kanaka crew.<= o:p>
"Big weather=
he
come, I think," he said. "I see him just the same before maybe fi=
ve,
six times."
Grief nodded.
"Hurricane weather, all right, Jackie-Jackie. Pretty soon barometer go
down--bottom fall out."
"Sure,"=
the
Tongan concurred. "He goin' to blow like hell."
Ten minutes later
Snow came on deck.
"She's
started," he said; "29.85, going down and pumping at the same tim=
e.
It's stinking hot--don't you notice it?" He brushed his forehead with =
his
hands. "It's sickening. I could lose my breakfast without trying."=
;
Jackie-Jackie
grinned. "Just the same me. Everything inside walk about. Always this =
way
before big blow. But Uncle Toby all right. He go through anything."
"Better rig =
that
storm-trysail on the main, and a storm-jib," Grief said to the mate.
"And put all the reefs into the working canvas before you furl down. No
telling what we may need. Put on double gaskets while you're about it."=
;
In another hour, =
the
sultry oppressiveness steadily increasing and the stark calm still continui=
ng,
the barometer had fallen to 29.70. The mate, being young, lacked the patien=
ce
of waiting for the portentous. He ceased his restless pacing, and waved his
arms.
"If she's go=
ing
to come let her come!" he cried. "There's no use shilly-shallying=
this
way! Whatever the worst is, let us know it and have it! A pretty pickle--lo=
st
with a crazy chronometer and a hurricane that won't blow!"
The cloud-mussed =
sky
turned to a vague copper colour, and seemed to glow as the inside of a huge
heated caldron. Nobody remained below. The native sailors formed in anxious
groups amidships and for'ard, where they talked in low voices and gazed
apprehensively at the ominous sky and the equally ominous sea that breathed=
in
long, low, oily undulations.
"Looks like
petroleum mixed with castor oil," the mate grumbled, as he spat his
disgust overside. "My mother used to dose me with messes like that whe=
n I
was a kid. Lord, she's getting black!"
The lurid coppery
glow had vanished, and the sky thickened and lowered until the darkness was=
as
that of a late twilight. David Grief, who well knew the hurricane rules,
nevertheless reread the "Laws of Storms," screwing his eyes in the
faint light in order to see the print. There was nothing to be done save wa=
it
for the wind, so that he might know how he lay in relation to the fast-flyi=
ng
and deadly centre that from somewhere was approaching out of the gloom.
It was three in t=
he
afternoon, and the glass had sunk to 29:45, when the wind came. They could =
see
it on the water, darkening the face of the sea, crisping tiny whitecaps as =
it
rushed along. It was merely a stiff breeze, and the Uncle Toby, filling away
under her storm canvas till the wind was abeam, sloshed along at a four-knot
gait.
"No weight to
that," Snow sneered. "And after such grand preparation!"
"Pickaninny
wind," Jackie-Jackie agreed. "He grow big man pretty quick, you
see."
Grief ordered the
foresail put on, retaining the reefs, and the Uncle Toby mended her pace in=
the
rising breeze. The wind quickly grew to man's size, but did not stop there.=
It
merely blew hard, and harder, and kept on blowing harder, advertising each
increase by lulls followed by fierce, freshening gusts. Ever it grew, until=
the
Uncle Toby's rail was more often pressed under than not, while her waist bo=
iled
with foaming water which the scuppers could not carry off. Grief studied th=
e barometer,
still steadily falling.
"The centre =
is
to the southward," he told Snow, "and we're running across its pa=
th
and into it. Now we'll turn about and run the other way. That ought to bring
the glass up. Take in the foresail--it's more than she can carry already--a=
nd
stand by to wear her around."
The maneuver was
accomplished, and through the gloom that was almost that of the first darkn=
ess
of evening the Uncle Toby turned and raced madly north across the face of t=
he
storm.
"It's nip and
tuck," Grief confided to the mate a couple of hours later. "The
storm's swinging a big curve--there's no calculating that curve--and we may=
win
across or the centre may catch us. Thank the Lord, the glass is holding its
own. It all depends on how big the curve is. The sea's too big for us to ke=
ep
on. Heave her to! She'll keep working along out anyway."
"I thought I
knew what wind was," Snow shouted in his owner's ear next morning.
"This isn't wind. It's something unthinkable. It's impossible. It must
reach ninety or a hundred miles an hour in the gusts. That don't mean anyth=
ing.
How could I ever tell it to anybody? I couldn't. And look at that sea! I've=
run
my Easting down, but I never saw anything like that."
Day had come, and=
the
sun should have been up an hour, yet the best it could produce was a sombre
semi-twilight. The ocean was a stately procession of moving mountains. A th=
ird
of a mile across yawned the valleys between the great waves. Their long slo=
pes,
shielded somewhat from the full fury of the wind, were broken by systems of
smaller whitecapping waves, but from the high crests of the big waves
themselves the wind tore the whitecaps in the forming. This spume drove mas=
thead
high, and higher, horizontally, above the surface of the sea.
"We're throu=
gh
the worst," was Grief's judgment. "The glass is coming along all =
the
time. The sea will get bigger as the wind eases down. I'm going to turn in.
Watch for shifts in the wind. They'll be sure to come. Call me at eight
bells."
By mid-afternoon,=
in
a huge sea, with the wind after its last shift no more than a stiff breeze,=
the
Tongan bosun sighted a schooner bottom up. The Uncle Toby's drift took them
across the bow and they could not make out the name; but before night they
picked up with a small, round-bottom, double-ender boat, swamped but with w=
hite
lettering visible on its bow. Through the binoculars, Gray made out: Emily L
No. 3.
"A sealing
schooner," Grief said. "But what a sealer's doing in these waters=
is
beyond me."
"Treasure-hu=
nters,
maybe?" Snow speculated. "The Sophie Sutherland and the Herman we=
re
sealers, you remember, chartered out of San Francisco by the chaps with the
maps who can always go right to the spot until they get there and don't.&qu=
ot;
III
After a giddy nig=
ht
of grand and lofty tumbling, in which, over a big and dying sea, without a
breath of wind to steady her, the Uncle Toby rolled every person on board s=
ick
of soul, a light breeze sprang up and the reefs were shaken out. By midday,=
on
a smooth ocean floor, the clouds thinned and cleared and sights of the sun =
were
obtained. Two degrees and fifteen minutes south, the observation gave them.
With a broken chronometer longitude was out of the question.
"We're anywh=
ere
within five hundred and a thousand miles along that latitude line," Gr=
ief
remarked, as he and the mate bent over the chart.
"Leu-Leu is =
to
the south'ard somewhere, and this section of ocean is all blank. There is
neither an island nor a reef by which we can regulate the chronometer. The =
only
thing to do--"
"Land ho,
skipper!" the Tongan called down the companionway.
Grief took a quick
glance at the empty blank of the chart, whistled his surprise, and sank back
feebly in a chair.
"It gets me,=
"
he said. "There can't be land around here. We never drifted or ran like
that. The whole voyage has been crazy. Will you kindly go up, Mr. Snow, and=
see
what's ailing Jackie."
"It's land a=
ll
right," the mate called down a minute afterward. "You can see it =
from
the deck--tops of cocoanuts--an atoll of some sort. Maybe it's Leu-Leu after
all."
Grief shook his h=
ead
positively as he gazed at the fringe of palms, only the tops visible,
apparently rising out of the sea.
"Haul up on =
the
wind, Mr. Snow, close-and-by, and we'll take a look. We can just reach past=
to
the south, and if it spreads off in that direction we'll hit the southwest
corner."
Very near must pa=
lms
be to be seen from the low deck of a schooner, and, slowly as the Uncle Toby
sailed, she quickly raised the low land above the sea, while more palms
increased the definition of the atoll circle.
"She's a
beauty," the mate remarked. "A perfect circle.... Looks as if it
might be eight or nine miles across.... Wonder if there's an entrance to the
lagoon.... Who knows? Maybe it's a brand new find."
They coasted up t=
he
west side of the atoll, making short tacks in to the surf-pounded coral rock
and out again. From the masthead, across the palm-fringe, a Kanaka announced
the lagoon and a small island in the middle.
"I know what
you're thinking," Grief said to his mate.
Snow, who had been
muttering and shaking his head, looked up with quick and challenging
incredulity.
"You're thin=
king
the entrance will be on the northwest." Grief went on, as if reciting.=
"Two cable
lengths wide, marked on the north by three separated cocoanuts, and on the
south by pandanus trees. Eight miles in diameter, a perfect circle, with an
island in the dead centre."
"I was think=
ing
that," Snow acknowledged.
"And there's=
the
entrance opening up just where it ought to be----"
"And the thr=
ee
palms," Snow almost whispered, "and the pandanus trees. If there'=
s a
windmill on the island, it's it--Swithin Hall's island. But it can't be.
Everybody's been looking for it for the last ten years."
"Hall played=
you
a dirty trick once, didn't he?" Grief queried.
Snow nodded.
"That's why I'm working for you. He broke me flat. It was downright
robbery. I bought the wreck of the Cascade, down in Sydney, out of a first
instalment of a legacy from home."
"She went on
Christmas Island, didn't she?"
"Yes, full t=
ilt,
high and dry, in the night. They saved the passengers and mails. Then I bou=
ght
a little island schooner, which took the rest of my money, and I had to wait
the final payment by the executors to fit her out. What did Swithin Hall do=
--he
was at Honolulu at the time--but make a straightaway run for Christmas Isla=
nd.
Neither right nor title did he have. When I got there, the hull and engines
were all that was left of the Cascade. She had had a fair shipment of silk =
on
board, too. And it wasn't even damaged. I got it afterward pretty straight =
from
his supercargo. He cleared something like sixty thousand dollars."
Snow shrugged his
shoulders and gazed bleakly at the smooth surface of the lagoon, where tiny
wavelets danced in the afternoon sun.
"The wreck w=
as
mine. I bought her at public auction. I'd gambled big, and I'd lost. When I=
got
back to Sydney, the crew, and some of the tradesmen who'd extended me credi=
t,
libelled the schooner. I pawned my watch and sextant, and shovelled coal one
spell, and finally got a billet in the New Hebrides on a screw of eight pou=
nds
a month. Then I tried my luck as independent trader, went broke, took a mat=
e's
billet on a recruiter down to Tanna and over to Fiji, got a job as overseer=
on
a German plantation back of Apia, and finally settled down on the Uncle Tob=
y."
"Have you ev=
er
met Swithin Hall?"
Snow shook his he=
ad.
"Well, you're
likely to meet him now. There's the windmill."
In the centre of =
the
lagoon, as they emerged from the passage, they opened a small, densely wood=
ed
island, among the trees of which a large Dutch windmill showed plainly.
"Nobody at h=
ome
from the looks of it," Grief said, "or you might have a chance to
collect."
The mate's face s=
et
vindictively, and his fists clenched.
"Can't touch=
him
legally. He's got too much money now. But I can take sixty thousand dollars'
worth out of his hide. I hope he is at home."
"Then I hope=
he
is, too," Grief said, with an appreciative smile. "You got the
description of his island from Bau-Oti, I suppose?"
"Yes, as pre=
tty
well everybody else has. The trouble is that Bau-Oti can't give latitude or
longitude. Says they sailed a long way from the Gilberts--that's all he kno=
ws.
I wonder what became of him."
"I saw him a
year ago on the beach at Tahiti. Said he was thinking about shipping for a
cruise through the Paumotus. Well, here we are, getting close in. Heave the
lead, Jackie-Jackie. Stand by to let go, Mr. Snow. According to Bau-Oti,
anchorage three hundred yards off the west shore in nine fathoms, coral pat=
ches
to the southeast. There are the patches. What do you get, Jackie?"
"Nine
fadom."
"Let go, Mr.
Snow."
The Uncle Toby sw=
ung
to her chain, head-sails ran down, and the Kanaka crew sprang to fore and
main-halyards and sheets.
IV
The whaleboat laid
alongside the small, coral-stone landing-pier, and David Grief and his mate
stepped ashore.
"You'd think=
the
place deserted," Grief said, as they walked up a sanded path to the
bungalow. "But I smell a smell that I've often smelled. Something doin=
g,
or my nose is a liar. The lagoon is carpeted with shell. They're rotting the
meat out not a thousand miles away. Get that whiff?"
Like no bungalow =
in
the tropics was this bungalow of Swithin Hall. Of mission architecture, when
they had entered through the unlatched screen door they found decoration and
furniture of the same mission style. The floor of the big living-room was
covered with the finest Samoan mats. There were couches, window seats, cozy=
corners,
and a billiard table. A sewing table, and a sewing-basket, spilling over wi=
th
sheer linen in the French embroidery of which stuck a needle, tokened a wom=
an's
presence. By screen and veranda the blinding sunshine was subdued to a cool,
dim radiance. The sheen of pearl push-buttons caught Grief's eye.
"Storage
batteries, by George, run by the windmill!" he exclaimed as he pressed=
the
buttons. "And concealed lighting!"
Hidden bowls glow=
ed,
and the room was filled with diffused golden light. Many shelves of books l=
ined
the walls. Grief fell to running over their titles. A fairly well-read man
himself, for a sea-adventurer, he glimpsed a wide-ness of range and catholi=
city
of taste that were beyond him. Old friends he met, and others that he had h=
eard
of but never read. There were complete sets of Tolstoy, Turgenieff, and Gor=
ky;
of Cooper and Mark Twain; of Hugo, and Zola, and Sue; and of Flaubert, De M=
aupassant,
and Paul de Koch. He glanced curiously at the pages of Metchnikoff, Weining=
er,
and Schopenhauer, and wonderingly at those of Ellis, Lydston, Krafft-Ebbing,
and Forel. Woodruff's "Expansion of Races" was in his hands when =
Snow
returned from further exploration of the house.
"Enamelled
bath-tub, separate room for a shower, and a sitz-bath!" he exclaimed.
"Fitted up for a king! And I reckon some of my money went to pay for i=
t.
The place must be occupied. I found fresh-opened butter and milk tins in the
pantry, and fresh turtle-meat hanging up. I'm going to see what else I can
find."
Grief, too, depar=
ted,
through a door that led out of the opposite end of the living-room. He found
himself in a self-evident woman's bedroom. Across it, he peered through a
wire-mesh door into a screened and darkened sleeping porch. On a couch lay a
woman asleep. In the soft light she seemed remarkably beautiful in a dark
Spanish way. By her side, opened and face downward, a novel lay on a chair.
From the colour in her cheeks, Grief concluded that she had not been long in
the tropics. After the one glimpse he stole softly back, in time to see Sno=
w entering
the living-room through the other door. By the naked arm he was clutching an
age-wrinkled black who grinned in fear and made signs of dumbness.
"I found him
snoozing in a little kennel out back," the mate said. "He's the c=
ook,
I suppose. Can't get a word out of him. What did you find?"
"A sleeping
princess. S-sh! There's somebody now."
"If it's
Hall," Snow muttered, clenching his fist.
Grief shook his h=
ead.
"No rough-house. There's a woman here. And if it is Hall, before we go
I'll maneuver a chance for you to get action."
The door opened, =
and
a large, heavily built man entered. In his belt was a heavy, long-barrelled
Colt's. One quick, anxious look he gave them, then his face wreathed in a
genial smile and his hand was extended.
"Welcome,
strangers. But if you don't mind my asking, how, by all that's sacred, did =
you
ever manage to find my island?"
"Because we =
were
out of our course," Grief answered, shaking hands.
"My name's H= all, Swithin Hall," the other said, turning to shake Snow's hand. "And= I don't mind telling you that you're the first visitors I've ever had."<= o:p>
"And this is
your secret island that's had all the beaches talking for years?" Grief
answered. "Well, I know the formula now for finding it."
"How's that?=
"
Hall asked quickly.
"Smash your
chronometer, get mixed up with a hurricane, and then keep your eyes open for
cocoanuts rising out of the sea."
"And what is
your name?" Hall asked, after he had laughed perfunctorily.
"Anstey--Phil
Anstey," Grief answered promptly. "Bound on the Uncle Toby from t=
he
Gilberts to New Guinea, and trying to find my longitude. This is my mate, M=
r.
Gray, a better navigator than I, but who has lost his goat just the same to=
the
chronometer."
Grief did not know
his reason for lying, but he had felt the prompting and succumbed to it. He
vaguely divined that something was wrong, but could not place his finger on=
it.
Swithin Hall was a fat, round-faced man, with a laughing lip and
laughter-wrinkles in the corners of his eyes. But Grief, in his early youth,
had learned how deceptive this type could prove, as well as the deceptivene=
ss
of blue eyes that screened the surface with fun and hid what went on behind=
.
"What are you
doing with my cook?--lost yours and trying to shanghai him?" Hall was
saying. "You'd better let him go, if you're going to have any supper. =
My
wife's here, and she'll be glad to meet you--dinner, she calls it, and call=
s me
down for misnaming it, but I'm old fashioned. My folks always ate dinner in=
the
middle of the day. Can't get over early training. Don't you want to wash up=
? I
do. Look at me. I've been working like a dog--out with the diving crew--she=
ll,
you know. But of course you smelt it."
V
Snow pleaded char=
ge
of the schooner, and went on board. In addition to his repugnance at breaki=
ng
salt with the man who had robbed him, it was necessary for him to impress t=
he
in-violableness of Grief's lies on the Kanaka crew. By eleven o'clock Grief
came on board, to find his mate waiting up for him.
"There's
something doing on Swithin Hall's island," Grief said, shaking his hea=
d.
"I can't make out what it is, but I get the feel of it. What does Swit=
hin
Hall look like?"
Snow shook his he=
ad.
"That man as=
hore
there never bought the books on the shelves," Grief declared with
conviction. "Nor did he ever go in for concealed lighting. He's got a
surface flow of suavity, but he's rough as a hoof-rasp underneath. He's an =
oily
bluff. And the bunch he's got with him--Watson and Gorman their names are; =
they
came in after you left--real sea-dogs, middle-aged, marred and battered, to=
ugh
as rusty wrought-iron nails and twice as dangerous; real ugly customers, wi=
th
guns in their belts, who don't strike me as just the right sort to be on su=
ch
comradely terms with Swithin Hall. And the woman! She's a lady. I mean it. =
She
knows a whole lot of South America, and of China, too. I'm sure she's Spani=
sh, though
her English is natural. She's travelled. We talked bull-fights. She's seen =
them
in Guayaquil, in Mexico, in Seville. She knows a lot about sealskins.
"Now here's =
what
bothers me. She knows music. I asked her if she played. And he's fixed that
place up like a palace. That being so, why hasn't he a piano for her? Anoth=
er
thing: she's quick and lively and he watches her whenever she talks. He's on
pins and needles, and continually breaking in and leading the conversation.
Say, did you ever hear that Swithin Hall was married?"
"Bless me, I
don't know," the mate replied. "Never entered my head to think ab=
out
it."
"He introduc=
ed
her as Mrs. Hall. And Watson and Gorman call him Hall. They're a precious p=
air,
those two men. I don't understand it at all."
"What are you
going to do about it?" Snow asked.
"Oh, hang ar=
ound
a while. There are some books ashore there I want to read. Suppose you send
that topmast down in the morning and generally overhaul. We've been through=
a
hurricane, you know. Set up the rigging while you're about it. Get things
pretty well adrift, and take your time."
VI
The next day Grie=
f's
suspicions found further food. Ashore early, he strolled across the little
island to the barracks occupied by the divers.
They were just
boarding the boats when he arrived, and it struck him that for Kanakas they
behaved more like chain-gang prisoners. The three white men were there, and=
Grief
noted that each carried a rifle. Hall greeted him jovially enough, but Gorm=
an
and Watson scowled as they grunted curt good mornings.
A moment afterward
one of the Kanakas, as he bent to place his oar, favoured Grief with a slow,
deliberate wink. The man's face was familiar, one of the thousands of native
sailors and divers he had encountered drifting about in the island trade.
"Don't tell =
them
who I am," Grief said, in Tahitian. "Did you ever sail for me?&qu=
ot;
The man's head no=
dded
and his mouth opened, but before he could speak he was suppressed by a sava=
ge
"Shut up!" from Watson, who was already in the sternsheets.
"I beg
pardon," Grief said. "I ought to have known better."
"That's all
right," Hall interposed. "The trouble is they're too much talk and
not enough work. Have to be severe with them, or they wouldn't get enough s=
hell
to pay their grub."
Grief nodded sympathetically. "I know them. Got a crew of them myself--the lazy swi= ne. Got to drive them like niggers to get a half-day's work out of them."<= o:p>
"What was you
sayin' to him?" Gorman blurted in bluntly.
"I was asking
how the shell was, and how deep they were diving."
"Thick,"
Hall took over the answering. "We're working now in about ten fathom. =
It's
right out there, not a hundred yards off. Want to come along?"
Half the day Grief
spent with the boats, and had lunch in the bungalow. In the afternoon he
loafed, taking a siesta in the big living-room, reading some, and talking f=
or
half an hour with Mrs. Hall. After dinner, he played billiards with her
husband. It chanced that Grief had never before encountered Swithin Hall, y=
et
the latter's fame as an expert at billiards was the talk of the beaches from
Levuka to Honolulu. But the man Grief played with this night proved most
indifferent at the game. His wife showed herself far cleverer with the cue.=
When he went on b=
oard
the Uncle Toby Grief routed Jackie-Jackie out of bed. He described the loca=
tion
of the barracks, and told the Tongan to swim softly around and have talk wi=
th
the Kanakas. In two hours Jackie-Jackie was back. He shook his head as he s=
tood
dripping before Grief.
"Very funny
t'ing," he reported. "One white man stop all the time. He has big
rifle. He lay in water and watch. Maybe twelve o'clock, other white man come
and take rifle. First white man go to bed. Other man stop now with rifle. No
good. Me cannot talk with Kanakas. Me come back."
"By
George!" Grief said to Snow, after the Tongan had gone back to his bun=
k.
"I smell something more than shell. Those three men are standing watch=
es
over their Kanakas. That man's no more Swithin Hall than I am."
Snow whistled from
the impact of a new idea.
"I've got
it!" he cried.
"And I'll na=
me
it," Grief retorted, "It's in your mind that the Emily L. was the=
ir
schooner?"
"Just that.
They're raising and rotting the shell, while she's gone for more divers, or
provisions, or both."
"And I agree
with you." Grief glanced at the cabin clock and evinced signs of
bed-going. "He's a sailor. The three of them are. But they're not isla=
nd
men. They're new in these waters."
Again Snow whistl=
ed.
"And the Emi=
ly
L. is lost with all hands," he said. "We know that. They're maroo=
ned
here till Swithin Hall comes. Then he'll catch them with all the shell.&quo=
t;
"Or they'll =
take
possession of his schooner."
"Hope they
do!" Snow muttered vindictively. "Somebody ought to rob him. Wish=
I
was in their boots. I'd balance off that sixty thousand."
VII
A week passed, du=
ring
which time the Uncle Toby was ready for sea, while Grief managed to allay a=
ny
suspicion of him by the shore crowd.
Even Gorman and
Watson accepted him at his self-description. Throughout the week Grief begg=
ed
and badgered them for the longitude of the island.
"You wouldn't
have me leave here lost," he finally urged. "I can't get a line o=
n my
chronometer without your longitude."
Hall laughingly
refused.
"You're too =
good
a navigator, Mr. Anstey, not to fetch New Guinea or some other high land.&q=
uot;
"And you're =
too
good a navigator, Mr. Hall," Grief replied, "not to know that I c=
an
fetch your island any time by running down its latitude."
On the last eveni=
ng,
ashore, as usual, to dinner, Grief got his first view of the pearls they had
collected. Mrs. Hall, waxing enthusiastic, had asked her husband to bring f=
orth
the "pretties," and had spent half an hour showing them to Grief.=
His
delight in them was genuine, as well as was his surprise that they had made=
so
rich a haul.
"The lagoon =
is
virgin," Hall explained. "You saw yourself that most of the shell=
is
large and old. But it's funny that we got most of the valuable pearls in one
small patch in the course of a week. It was a little treasure house. Every
oyster seemed filled--seed pearls by the quart, of course, but the perfect
ones, most of that bunch there, came out of the small patch."
Grief ran his eye
over them and knew their value ranged from one hundred to a thousand dollars
each, while the several selected large ones went far beyond.
"Oh, the
pretties! the pretties!" Mrs. Hall cried, bending forward suddenly and
kissing them.
A few minutes lat=
er
she arose to say good-night.
"It's
good-bye," Grief said, as he took her hand. "We sail at
daylight."
"So
suddenly!" she cried, while Grief could not help seeing the quick ligh=
t of
satisfaction in her husband's eyes.
"Yes,"
Grief continued. "All the repairs are finished. I can't get the longit=
ude
of your island out of your husband, though I'm still in hopes he'll
relent."
Hall laughed and
shook his head, and, as his wife left the room, proposed a last farewell
nightcap. They sat over it, smoking and talking.
"What do you
estimate they're worth?" Grief asked, indicating the spread of pearls =
on
the table. "I mean what the pearl-buyers would give you in open
market?"
"Oh,
seventy-five or eighty thousand," Hall said carelessly.
"I'm afraid
you're underestimating. I know pearls a bit. Take that biggest one. It's
perfect. Not a cent less than five thousand dollars. Some multimillionaire =
will
pay double that some day, when the dealers have taken their whack. And never
minding the seed pearls, you've got quarts of baroques there. And baroques =
are
coming into fashion. They're picking up and doubling on themselves every
year."
Hall gave the tro=
ve
of pearls a closer and longer scrutiny, estimating the different parcels and
adding the sum aloud.
"You're
right," he admitted. "They're worth a hundred thousand right now.=
"
"And at what=
do
you figure your working expenses?" Grief went on. "Your time, and
your two men's, and the divers'?"
"Five thousa=
nd
would cover it."
"Then they s=
tand
to net you ninety-five thousand?"
"Something l=
ike
that. But why so curious?"
"Why, I was =
just
trying----" Grief paused and drained his glass. "Just trying to r=
each
some sort of an equitable arrangement. Suppose I should give you and your
people a passage to Sydney and the five thousand dollars--or, better, seven
thousand five hundred. You've worked hard."
Without commotion=
or
muscular movement the other man became alert and tense. His round-faced
geniality went out like the flame of a snuffed candle. No laughter clouded =
the
surface of the eyes, and in their depths showed the hard, dangerous soul of=
the
man. He spoke in a low, deliberate voice.
"Now just wh=
at
in hell do you mean by that?"
Grief casually
relighted his cigar.
"I don't know
just how to begin," he said. "The situation is--er--is embarrassi=
ng
for you. You see, I'm trying to be fair. As I say, you've worked hard. I do=
n't
want to confiscate the pearls. I want to pay you for your time and trouble,=
and
expense."
Conviction,
instantaneous and absolute, froze on the other's face.
"And I thoug=
ht
you were in Europe," he muttered. Hope flickered for a moment. "L=
ook
here, you're joking me. How do I know you're Swithin Hall?"
Grief shrugged his
shoulders. "Such a joke would be in poor taste, after your hospitality.
And it is equally in poor taste to have two Swithin Halls on the island.&qu=
ot;
"Since you're
Swithin Hall, then who the deuce am I? Do you know that, too?"
"No," G=
rief
answered airily. "But I'd like to know."
"Well, it's =
none
of your business."
"I grant it.
Your identity is beside the point. Besides, I know your schooner, and I can
find out who you are from that."
"What's her
name?"
"The Emily L=
.
"Correct. I'm
Captain Raffy, owner and master."
"The
seal-poacher? I've heard of you. What under the sun brought you down here o=
n my
preserves?"
"Needed the
money. The seal herds are about finished."
"And the
out-of-the-way places of the world are better policed, eh?"
"Pretty clos=
e to
it. And now about this present scrape, Mr. Hall. I can put up a nasty fight.
What are you going to do about it?"
"What I said.
Even better. What's the Emily L. worth?"
"She's seen =
her
day. Not above ten thousand, which would be robbery. Every time she's in a
rough sea I'm afraid she'll jump her ballast through her planking."
"She has jum=
ped it,
Captain Raffy. I sighted her bottom-up after the blow. Suppose we say she w=
as
worth seven thousand five hundred. I'll pay over to you fifteen thousand and
give you a passage. Don't move your hands from your lap." Grief stood =
up,
went over to him, and took his revolver. "Just a necessary precaution,
Captain. Now you'll go on board with me. I'll break the news to Mrs. Raffy
afterward, and fetch her out to join you."
"You're beha=
ving
handsomely, Mr. Hall, I must say," Captain Raffy volunteered, as the w=
haleboat
came alongside the Uncle Toby. "But watch out for Gorman and Watson.
They're ugly customers. And, by the way, I don't like to mention it, but yo=
u've
seen my wife. I've given her four or five pearls. Watson and Gorman were
willing."
"Say no more=
, Captain.
Say no more. They shall remain hers. Is that you, Mr. Snow? Here's a friend=
I
want you to take charge of--Captain Raffy. I'm going ashore for his wife.&q=
uot;
VIII
David Grief sat
writing at the library table in the bungalow living-room. Outside, the first
pale of dawn was showing. He had had a busy night. Mrs. Raffy had taken two
hysterical hours to pack her and Captain Raffy's possessions. Gorman had be=
en
caught asleep, but Watson, standing guard over the divers, had shown fight.
Matters did not reach the shooting stage, but it was only after it had been
demonstrated to him that the game was up that he consented to join his
companions on board. For temporary convenience, he and Gorman were shackled=
in
the mate's room, Mrs. Raffy was confined in Grief's, and Captain Raffy made=
fast
to the cabin table.
Grief finished the
document and read over what he had written:
To Swithin Hall, for pearls taken from his lagoon
(estimated) &=
nbsp;
100,000
To Herbert Snow, paid in full for
salvage from steamship
Cascade in pearls (estimated) =
60,000
To Captain Raffy, salary and expen=
ses
for collecting pearls =
&nb=
sp; =
7,500
To
Captain Raffy, reimbursement for schooner Emily L.,
lost in hurricane =
7,500
To Mrs. Raffy, for good will, five=
fair pearls (estimated) =
&nb=
sp; =
1,100
To passage to Syndey, four persons=
, at
120. =
&nb=
sp; =
&nb=
sp;
480
To
white lead for paintin=
g Swithin Hall's two whaleboats =
&nb=
sp; =
9
To
Swithin Hall, balance<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> in pearls (estimated) which are to be found in draw=
er of
library table
23,411
=
&nb=
sp; =
&nb=
sp;
100,000--
100,000
Grief signed and
dated, paused, and added at the bottom:
P. S.--Still owi=
ng to
Swithin Hall three books, borrowed from librar=
y:
Hudson's "Law of Psychic Phenomena," Zola's "Paris=
,"
and Mahan's "Problem of Asia." These books, or full value, can =
be
collected of said David Griefs Sydney office.
He shut off the
electric light, picked up the bundle of books, carefully latched the front
door, and went down to the waiting whaleboat.
Chapter Six--A GOBOTO NIG=
HT
I
At Goboto the tra=
ders
come off their schooners and the planters drift in from far, wild coasts, a=
nd
one and all they assume shoes, white duck trousers, and various other
appearances of civilization. At Goboto mail is received, bills are paid, and
newspapers, rarely more than five weeks old, are accessible; for the little
island, belted with its coral reefs, affords safe anchorage, is the steamer
port of call, and serves as the distributing point for the whole wide-scatt=
ered
group.
Life at Goboto is
heated, unhealthy, and lurid, and for its size it asserts the distinction of
more cases of acute alcoholism than any other spot in the world. Guvutu, ov=
er
in the Solomons, claims that it drinks between drinks. Goboto does not deny
this. It merely states, in passing, that in the Goboton chronology no such
interval of time is known. It also points out its import statistics, which =
show
a far larger per capita consumption of spiritous liquors. Guvutu explains t=
his
on the basis that Goboto does a larger business and has more visitors. Gobo=
to retorts
that its resident population is smaller and that its visitors are thirstier.
And the discussion goes on interminably, principally because of the fact th=
at
the disputants do not live long enough to settle it.
Goboto is not lar=
ge.
The island is only a quarter of a mile in diameter, and on it are situated =
an
admiralty coal-shed (where a few tons of coal have lain untouched for twenty
years), the barracks for a handful of black labourers, a big store and
warehouse with sheet-iron roofs, and a bungalow inhabited by the manager and
his two clerks. They are the white population. An average of one man out of=
the
three is always to be found down with fever. The job at Goboto is a hard on=
e.
It is the policy of the company to treat its patrons well, as invading
companies have found out, and it is the task of the manager and clerks to do
the treating. Throughout the year traders and recruiters arrive from far, d=
ry
cruises, and planters from equally distant and dry shores, bringing with th=
em magnificent
thirsts. Goboto is the mecca of sprees, and when they have spread they go b=
ack
to their schooners and plantations to recuperate.
Some of the less
hardy require as much as six months between visits. But for the manager and=
his
assistants there are no such intervals. They are on the spot, and week by w=
eek,
blown in by monsoon or southeast trade, the schooners come to anchor, cargo=
'd
with copra, ivory nuts, pearl-shell, hawksbill turtle, and thirst.
It is a very hard=
job
at Goboto. That is why the pay is twice that on other stations, and that is=
why
the company selects only courageous and intrepid men for this particular
station. They last no more than a year or so, when the wreckage of them is
shipped back to Australia, or the remains of them are buried in the sand ac=
ross
on the windward side of the islet. Johnny Bassett, almost the legendary her=
o of
Goboto, broke all records. He was a remittance man with a remarkable
constitution, and he lasted seven years. His dying request was duly observe=
d by
his clerks, who pickled him in a cask of trade-rum (paid for out of their o=
wn
salaries) and shipped him back to his people in England. Nevertheless, at
Goboto, they tried to be gentlemen. For that matter, though something was w=
rong
with them, they were gentlemen, and had been gentlemen. That was why the gr=
eat
unwritten rule of Goboto was that visitors should put on pants and shoes.
Breech-clouts, lava-lavas, and bare legs were not tolerated. When Captain
Jensen, the wildest of the Blackbirders though descended from old New York
Knickerbocker stock, surged in, clad in loin-cloth, undershirt, two belted
revolvers and a sheath-knife, he was stopped at the beach. This was in the =
days
of Johnny Bassett, ever a stickler in matters of etiquette. Captain Jensen =
stood
up in the sternsheets of his whaleboat and denied the existence of pants on=
his
schooner. Also, he affirmed his intention of coming ashore. They of Goboto
nursed him back to health from a bullet-hole through his shoulder, and in
addition handsomely begged his pardon, for no pants had they found on his
schooner. And finally, on the first day he sat up, Johnny Bassett kindly but
firmly assisted his guest into a pair of pants of his own. This was the gre=
at
precedent. In all the succeeding years it had never been violated. White men
and pants were undivorce-able. Only niggers ran naked. Pants constituted ca=
ste.
II
On this night thi=
ngs
were, with one exception, in nowise different from any other night. Seven of
them, with glimmering eyes and steady legs, had capped a day of Scotch with
swivel-sticked cocktails and sat down to dinner. Jacketed, trousered, and s=
hod,
they were: Jerry McMurtrey, the manager; Eddy Little and Jack Andrews, cler=
ks;
Captain Stapler, of the recruiting ketch Merry; Darby Shryleton, planter fr=
om
Tito-Ito; Peter Gee, a half-caste Chinese pearl-buyer who ranged from Ceylo=
n to
the Paumotus, and Alfred Deacon, a visitor who had stopped off from the las=
t steamer.
At first wine was served by the black servants to those that drank it, thou=
gh
all quickly shifted back to Scotch and soda, pickling their food as they ate
it, ere it went into their calcined, pickled stomachs.
Over their coffee,
they heard the rumble of an anchor-chain through a hawse-pipe, tokening the
arrival of a vessel.
"It's David
Grief," Peter Gee remarked.
"How do you
know?" Deacon demanded truculently, and then went on to deny the
half-caste's knowledge. "You chaps put on a lot of side over a new chu=
m.
I've done some sailing myself, and this naming a craft when its sail is onl=
y a
blur, or naming a man by the sound of his anchor--it's--it's unadulterated
poppycock."
Peter Gee was eng=
aged
in lighting a cigarette, and did not answer.
"Some of the
niggers do amazing things that way," McMurtrey interposed tactfully.
As with the other=
s,
this conduct of their visitor jarred on the manager. From the moment of Pet=
er
Gee's arrival that afternoon Deacon had manifested a tendency to pick on hi=
m.
He had disputed his statements and been generally rude.
"Maybe it's
because Peter's got Chink blood in him," had been Andrews' hypothesis.
"Deacon's Australian, you know, and they're daffy down there on
colour."
"I fancy tha=
t's
it," McMurtrey had agreed. "But we can't permit any bullying,
especially of a man like Peter Gee, who's whiter than most white men."=
In this the manag=
er
had been in nowise wrong. Peter Gee was that rare creature, a good as well =
as
clever Eurasian. In fact, it was the stolid integrity of the Chinese blood =
that
toned the recklessness and licentiousness of the English blood which had ru=
n in
his father's veins. Also, he was better educated than any man there, spoke
better English as well as several other tongues, and knew and lived more of
their own ideals of gentlemanness than they did themselves. And, finally, he
was a gentle soul. Violence he deprecated, though he had killed men in his =
time.
Turbulence he abhorred.
He always avoided=
it
as he would the plague.
Captain Stapler
stepped in to help McMurtrey:
"I remember,
when I changed schooners and came into Altman, the niggers knew right off t=
he
bat it was me. I wasn't expected, either, much less to be in another craft.
They told the trader it was me. He used the glasses, and wouldn't believe t=
hem.
But they did know. Told me afterward they could see it sticking out all over
the schooner that I was running her."
Deacon ignored hi=
m,
and returned to the attack on the pearl-buyer.
"How do you =
know
from the sound of the anchor that it was this whatever-you-called-him
man?" he challenged.
"There are so
many things that go to make up such a judgment," Peter Gee answered.
"It's very hard to explain. It would require almost a text book."=
"I thought
so," Deacon sneered. "Explanation that doesn't explain is easy.&q=
uot;
"Who's for
bridge?" Eddy Little, the second clerk, interrupted, looking up expect=
antly
and starting to shuffle. "You'll play, won't you, Peter?"
"If he does,
he's a bluffer," Deacon cut back. "I'm getting tired of all this
poppycock. Mr. Gee, you will favour me and put yourself in a better light if
you tell how you know who that man was that just dropped anchor. After that
I'll play you piquet."
"I'd prefer
bridge," Peter answered. "As for the other thing, it's something =
like
this: By the sound it was a small craft--no square-rigger. No whistle, no
siren, was blown--again a small craft. It anchored close in--still again a
small craft, for steamers and big ships must drop hook outside the middle
shoal. Now the entrance is tortuous. There is no recruiting nor trading cap=
tain
in the group who dares to run the passage after dark. Certainly no stranger
would. There were two exceptions. The first was Margonville. But he was
executed by the High Court at Fiji. Remains the other exception, David Grie=
f.
Night or day, in any weather, he runs the passage. This is well known to al=
l. A
possible factor, in case Grief were somewhere else, would be some young dar=
e-devil
of a skipper. In this connection, in the first place, I don't know of any, =
nor
does anybody else. In the second place, David Grief is in these waters,
cruising on the Gunga, which is shortly scheduled to leave here for Karo-Ka=
ro.
I spoke to Grief, on the Gunga, in Sandfly Passage, day before yesterday. He
was putting a trader ashore on a new station. He said he was going to call =
in
at Babo, and then come on to Goboto. He has had ample time to get here. I h=
ave
heard an anchor drop. Who else than David Grief can it be? Captain Donovan =
is
skipper of the Gunga, and him I know too well to believe that he'd run in to
Goboto after dark unless his owner were in charge. In a few minutes David G=
rief
will enter through that door and say, 'In Guvutu they merely drink between
drinks.' I'll wager fifty pounds he's the man that enters and that his words
will be, 'In Guvutu they merely drink between drinks. '" Deacon was for
the moment crushed. The sullen blood rose darkly in his face.
"Well, he's
answered you," McMurtrey laughed genially. "And I'll back his bet
myself for a couple of sovereigns."
"Bridge! Who=
's
going to take a hand?" Eddy Little cried impatiently. "Come on,
Peter!"
"The rest of=
you
play," Deacon said. "He and I are going to play piquet."
"I'd prefer
bridge," Peter Gee said mildly.
"Don't you p=
lay
piquet?"
The pearl-buyer
nodded.
"Then come o=
n.
Maybe I can show I know more about that than I do about anchors."
"Oh, I
say----" McMurtrey began.
"You can play
bridge," Deacon shut him off. "We prefer piquet."
Reluctantly, Peter
Gee was bullied into a game that he knew would be unhappy.
"Only a
rubber," he said, as he cut for deal.
"For how
much?" Deacon asked.
Peter Gee shrugged
his shoulders. "As you please."
"Hundred
up--five pounds a game?"
Peter Gee agreed.=
"With the lu=
rch
double, of course, ten pounds?"
"All
right," said Peter Gee.
At another table =
four
of the others sat in at bridge. Captain Stapler, who was no card-player, lo=
oked
on and replenished the long glasses of Scotch that stood at each man's right
hand. McMurtrey, with poorly concealed apprehension, followed as well as he
could what went on at the piquet table. His fellow Englishmen as well were
shocked by the behaviour of the Australian, and all were troubled by fear of
some untoward act on his part. That he was working up his animosity against=
the
half-caste, and that the explosion might come any time, was apparent to all=
.
"I hope Peter
loses," McMurtrey said in an undertone.
"Not if he h=
as
any luck," Andrews answered. "He's a wizard at piquet. I know by
experience."
That Peter Gee was
lucky was patent from the continual badgering of Deacon, who filled his gla=
ss
frequently. He had lost the first game, and, from his remarks, was losing t=
he
second, when the door opened and David Grief entered.
"In Guvutu t=
hey
merely drink between drinks," he remarked casually to the assembled
company, ere he gripped the manager's hand. "Hello, Mac! Say, my skipp=
er's
down in the whaleboat. He's got a silk shirt, a tie, and tennis shoes, all
complete, but he wants you to send a pair of pants down. Mine are too small,
but yours will fit him. Hello, Eddy! How's that ngari-ngari? You up, Jock? =
The
miracle has happened. No one down with fever, and no one remarkably
drunk." He sighed, "I suppose the night is young yet. Hello, Pete=
r!
Did you catch that big squall an hour after you left us? We had to let go t=
he
second anchor."
While he was being
introduced to Deacon, McMurtrey dispatched a house-boy with the pants, and =
when
Captain Donovan came in it was as a white man should--at least in Goboto.
Deacon lost the
second game, and an outburst heralded the fact. Peter Gee devoted himself to
lighting a cigarette and keeping quiet.
"What?--are =
you
quitting because you're ahead?" Deacon demanded.
Grief raised his
eyebrows questioningly to McMurtrey, who frowned back his own disgust.
"It's the
rubber," Peter Gee answered.
"It takes th=
ree
games to make a rubber. It's my deal. Come on!"
Peter Gee acquies=
ced,
and the third game was on.
"Young whelp=
--he
needs a lacing," McMurtrey muttered to Grief. "Come on, let us qu=
it,
you chaps. I want to keep an eye on him. If he goes too far I'll throw him =
out
on the beach, company instructions or no."
"Who is
he?" Grief queried.
"A left-over
from last steamer. Company's orders to treat him nice. He's looking to inve=
st
in a plantation. Has a ten-thousand-pound letter of credit with the company.
He's got 'all-white Australia' on the brain. Thinks because his skin is whi=
te
and because his father was once Attorney-General of the Commonwealth that he
can be a cur. That's why he's picking on Peter, and you know Peter's the la=
st
man in the world to make trouble or incur trouble. Damn the company. I didn=
't
engage to wet-nurse its infants with bank accounts. Come on, fill your glas=
s, Grief.
The man's a blighter, a blithering blighter."
"Maybe he's =
only
young," Grief suggested.
"He can't
contain his drink--that's clear." The manager glared his disgust and
wrath. "If he raises a hand to Peter, so help me, I'll give him a lick=
ing
myself, the little overgrown cad!"
The pearl-buyer
pulled the pegs out of the cribbage board on which he was scoring and sat b=
ack.
He had won the third game. He glanced across to Eddy Little, saying:
"I'm ready f=
or
the bridge, now."
"I wouldn't =
be a
quitter," Deacon snarled.
"Oh, really,=
I'm
tired of the game," Peter Gee assured him with his habitual quietness.=
"Come on and=
be
game," Deacon bullied. "One more. You can't take my money that wa=
y.
I'm out fifteen pounds. Double or quits."
McMurtrey was abo=
ut
to interpose, but Grief restrained him with his eyes.
"If it
positively is the last, all right," said Peter Gee, gathering up the
cards. "It's my deal, I believe. As I understand it, this final is for
fifteen pounds. Either you owe me thirty or we quit even?"
"That's it,
chappie. Either we break even or I pay you thirty."
"Getting
blooded, eh?" Grief remarked, drawing up a chair.
The other men sto=
od
or sat around the table, and Deacon played again in bad luck. That he was a
good player was clear. The cards were merely running against him. That he c=
ould
not take his ill luck with equanimity was equally clear. He was guilty of
sharp, ugly curses, and he snapped and growled at the imperturbable half-ca=
ste.
In the end Peter Gee counted out, while Deacon had not even made his fifty
points. He glowered speechlessly at his opponent.
"Looks like a
lurch," said Grief.
"Which is
double," said Peter Gee.
"There's no =
need
your telling me," Deacon snarled. "I've studied arithmetic. I owe=
you
forty-five pounds. There, take it!"
The way in which =
he
flung the nine five-pound notes on the table was an insult in itself. Peter=
Gee
was even quieter, and flew no signals of resentment.
"You've got
fool's luck, but you can't play cards, I can tell you that much," Deac=
on
went on. "I could teach you cards."
The half-caste sm=
iled
and nodded acquiescence as he folded up the money.
"There's a
little game called casino--I wonder if you ever heard of it?--a child's
game."
"I've seen it
played," the half-caste murmured gently.
"What's
that?" snapped Deacon. "Maybe you think you can play it?"
"Oh, no, not=
for
a moment. I'm afraid I haven't head enough for it."
"It's a bully
game, casino," Grief broke in pleasantly. "I like it very much.&q=
uot;
Deacon ignored hi=
m.
"I'll play y=
ou
ten quid a game--thirty-one points out," was the challenge to Peter Ge=
e.
"And I'll show you how little you know about cards. Come on! Where's a
full deck?"
"No,
thanks," the half-caste answered. "They are waiting for me in ord=
er to
make up a bridge set."
"Yes, come
on," Eddy Little begged eagerly. "Come on, Peter, let's get start=
ed."
"Afraid of a
little game like casino," Deacon girded. "Maybe the stakes are too
high. I'll play you for pennies--or farthings, if you say so."
The man's conduct=
was
a hurt and an affront to all of them. McMurtrey could stand it no longer.
"Now hold on,
Deacon. He says he doesn't want to play. Let him alone."
Deacon turned rag=
ing
upon his host; but before he could blurt out his abuse, Grief had stepped i=
nto
the breach.
"I'd like to
play casino with you," he said.
"What do you
know about it?"
"Not much, b=
ut
I'm willing to learn."
"Well, I'm n=
ot
teaching for pennies to-night."
"Oh, that's =
all
right," Grief answered. "I'll play for almost any sum--within rea=
son,
of course."
Deacon proceeded =
to
dispose of this intruder with one stroke.
"I'll play y=
ou a
hundred pounds a game, if that will do you any good."
Grief beamed his
delight. "That will be all right, very right. Let us begin. Do you cou=
nt
sweeps?"
Deacon was taken
aback. He had not expected a Goboton trader to be anything but crushed by s=
uch
a proposition.
"Do you count
sweeps?" Grief repeated.
Andrews had broug=
ht
him a new deck, and he was throwing out the joker.
"Certainly
not," Deacon answered. "That's a sissy game."
"I'm glad,&q=
uot;
Grief coincided. "I don't like sissy games either."
"You don't, =
eh?
Well, then, I'll tell you what we'll do. We'll play for five hundred pounds=
a
game."
Again Deacon was =
taken
aback.
"I'm
agreeable," Grief said, beginning to shuffle. "Cards and spades g=
o out
first, of course, and then big and little casino, and the aces in the bridge
order of value. Is that right?"
"You're a lo=
t of
jokers down here," Deacon laughed, but his laughter was strained.
"How do I know you've got the money?"
"By the same
token I know you've got it. Mac, how's my credit with the company?"
"For all you
want," the manager answered.
"You persona=
lly
guarantee that?" Deacon demanded.
"I certainly=
do,"
McMurtrey said. "Depend upon it, the company will honour his paper up =
and
past your letter of credit."
"Low
deals," Grief said, placing the deck before Deacon on the table.
The latter hesita=
ted
in the midst of the cut and looked around with querulous misgiving at the f=
aces
of the others. The clerks and captains nodded.
"You're all
strangers to me," Deacon complained. "How am I to know? Money on
paper isn't always the real thing."
Then it was that
Peter Gee, drawing a wallet from his pocket and borrowing a fountain pen fr=
om
McMurtrey, went into action.
"I haven't g=
one
to buying yet," the half-caste explained, "so the account is inta=
ct.
I'll just indorse it over to you, Grief. It's for fifteen thousand. There, =
look
at it."
Deacon intercepted
the letter of credit as it was being passed across the table. He read it
slowly, then glanced up at McMurtrey.
"Is that
right?"
"Yes. It's j=
ust
the same as your own, and just as good. The company's paper is always
good."
Deacon cut the ca=
rds,
won the deal, and gave them a thorough shuffle. But his luck was still agai=
nst
him, and he lost the game.
"Another
game," he said. "We didn't say how many, and you can't quit with =
me a
loser. I want action."
Grief shuffled and
passed the cards for the cut.
"Let's play =
for
a thousand," Deacon said, when he had lost the second game. And when t=
he
thousand had gone the way of the two five hundred bets he proposed to play =
for
two thousand.
"That's
progression," McMurtrey warned, and was rewarded by a glare from Deaco=
n.
But the manager was insistent. "You don't have to play progression, Gr=
ief,
unless you're foolish."
"Who's playi=
ng
this game?" Deacon flamed at his host; and then, to Grief: "I've =
lost
two thousand to you. Will you play for two thousand?"
Grief nodded, the
fourth game began, and Deacon won. The manifest unfairness of such betting =
was
known to all of them. Though he had lost three games out of four, Deacon had
lost no money. By the child's device of doubling his wager with each loss, =
he
was bound, with the first game he won, no matter how long delayed, to be ev=
en
again.
He now evinced an
unspoken desire to stop, but Grief passed the deck to be cut.
"What?"
Deacon cried. "You want more?"
"Haven't got
anything yet," Grief murmured whimsically, as he began the deal. "=
;For
the usual five hundred, I suppose?"
The shame of what=
he
had done must have tingled in Deacon, for he answered, "No, we'll play=
for
a thousand. And say! Thirty-one points is too long. Why not twenty-one poin=
ts
out--if it isn't too rapid for you?"
"That will m=
ake
it a nice, quick, little game," Grief agreed.
The former method=
of
play was repeated. Deacon lost two games, doubled the stake, and was again
even. But Grief was patient, though the thing occurred several times in the
next hour's play. Then happened what he was waiting for--a lengthening in t=
he
series of losing games for Deacon. The latter doubled to four thousand and
lost, doubled to eight thousand and lost, and then proposed to double to
sixteen thousand.
Grief shook his h=
ead.
"You can't do that, you know. You're only ten thousand credit with the
company."
"You mean you
won't give me action?" Deacon asked hoarsely. "You mean that with
eight thousand of my money you're going to quit?"
Grief smiled and
shook his head.
"It's robber=
y,
plain robbery," Deacon went on. "You take my money and won't give=
me
action."
"No, you're
wrong. I'm perfectly willing to give you what action you've got coming to y=
ou.
You've got two thousand pounds of action yet."
"Well, we'll
play it," Deacon took him up. "You cut."
The game was play=
ed
in silence, save for irritable remarks and curses from Deacon. Silently the
onlookers filled and sipped their long Scotch glasses. Grief took no notice=
of
his opponent's outbursts, but concentrated on the game. He was really playi=
ng
cards, and there were fifty-two in the deck to be kept track of, and of whi=
ch
he did keep track. Two thirds of the way through the last deal he threw down
his hand.
"Cards put me
out," he said. "I have twenty-seven."
"If you've m=
ade
a mistake," Deacon threatened, his face white and drawn.
"Then I shall
have lost. Count them."
Grief passed over=
his
stack of takings, and Deacon, with trembling fingers, verified the count. He
half shoved his chair back from the table and emptied his glass. He looked
about him at unsympathetic faces.
"I fancy I'l=
l be
catching the next steamer for Sydney," he said, and for the first time=
his
speech was quiet and without bluster.
As Grief told them
afterward: "Had he whined or raised a roar I wouldn't have given him t=
hat
last chance. As it was, he took his medicine like a man, and I had to do
it."
Deacon glanced at=
his
watch, simulated a weary yawn, and started to rise.
"Wait,"
Grief said. "Do you want further action?"
The other sank do=
wn
in his chair, strove to speak, but could not, licked his dry lips, and nodd=
ed
his head.
"Captain Don=
ovan
here sails at daylight in the Gunga for Karo-Karo," Grief began with
seeming irrelevance. "Karo-Karo is a ring of sand in the sea, with a f=
ew
thousand cocoa-nut trees. Pandanus grows there, but they can't grow sweet
potatoes nor taro. There aremabout eight hundred natives, a king and two pr=
ime
ministers, and the last three named are the only ones who wear any clothes.
It's a sort of God-forsaken little hole, and once a year I send a schooner =
up
from Goboto. The drinking water is brackish, but old Tom Butler has survive=
d on
it for a dozen years. He's the only white man there, and he has a boat's cr=
ew
of five Santa Cruz boys who would run away or kill him if they could. That =
is why
they were sent there. They can't run away. He is always supplied with the h=
ard
cases from the plantations. There are no missionaries. Two native Samoan
teachers were clubbed to death on the beach when they landed several years =
ago.
"Naturally, =
you
are wondering what it is all about. But have patience. As I have said, Capt=
ain
Donovan sails on the annual trip to Karo-Karo at daylight to-morrow. Tom Bu=
tler
is old, and getting quite helpless. I've tried to retire him to Australia, =
but
he says he wants to remain and die on Karo-Karo, and he will in the next ye=
ar
or so. He's a queer old codger. Now the time is due for me to send some whi=
te
man up to take the work off his hands. I wonder how you'd like the job. You=
'd
have to stay two years.
"Hold on! I'=
ve
not finished. You've talked frequently of action this evening. There's no
action in betting away what you've never sweated for. The money you've lost=
to
me was left you by your father or some other relative who did the sweating.=
But
two years of work as trader on Karo-Karo would mean something. I'll bet the=
ten
thousand I've won from you against two years of your time. If you win, the
money's yours. If you lose, you take the job at Karo-Karo and sail at dayli=
ght.
Now that's what might be called real action. Will you play?"
Deacon could not
speak. His throat lumped and he nodded his head as he reached for the cards=
.
"One thing
more," Grief said. "I can do even better. If you lose, two years =
of
your time are mine--naturally without wages. Nevertheless, I'll pay you wag=
es.
If your work is satisfactory, if you observe all instructions and rules, I'=
ll
pay you five thousand pounds a year for two years. The money will be deposi=
ted
with the company, to be paid to you, with interest, when the time expires. =
Is
that all right?"
"Too much
so," Deacon stammered. "You are unfair to yourself. A trader only
gets ten or fifteen pounds a month."
"Put it down=
to
action, then," Grief said, with an air of dismissal. "And before =
we
begin, I'll jot down several of the rules. These you will repeat aloud every
morning during the two years--if you lose. They are for the good of your so=
ul.
When you have repeated them aloud seven hundred and thirty Karo-Karo mornin=
gs I
am confident they will be in your memory to stay. Lend me your pen, Mac. No=
w,
let's see----"
He wrote steadily=
and
rapidly for some minutes, then proceeded to read the matter aloud:
"I must alwa=
ys
remember that one man is as good as another, save and except when he thinks=
he
is better.
"No matter h=
ow
drunk I am I must not fail to be a gentleman. A gentleman is a man who is
gentle. Note: It would be better not to get drunk.
"When I play=
a
man's game with men, I must play like a man.
"A good curs=
e,
rightly used and rarely, is an efficient thing. Too many curses spoil the c=
ursing.
Note: A curse cannot change a card seguence nor cause the wind to blow.
"There is no
license for a man to be less than a man. Ten thousand pounds cannot purchase
such a license."
At the beginning =
of
the reading Deacon's face had gone white with anger. Then had arisen, from =
neck
to forehead, a slow and terrible flush that deepened to the end of the read=
ing.
"There, that
will be all," Grief said, as he folded the paper and tossed it to the
centre of the table. "Are you still ready to play the game?"
"I deserve
it," Deacon muttered brokenly. "I've been an ass. Mr. Gee, before=
I
know whether I win or lose, I want to apologize. Maybe it was the whiskey, I
don't know, but I'm an ass, a cad, a bounder--everything that's rotten.&quo=
t;
He held out his h=
and,
and the half-caste took it beamingly.
"I say,
Grief," he blurted out, "the boy's all right. Call the whole thing
off, and let's forget it in a final nightcap."
Grief showed sign=
s of
debating, but Deacon cried:
"No; I won't
permit it. I'm not a quitter. If it's Karo-Karo, it's Karo-Karo. There's
nothing more to it."
"Right,"
said Grief, as he began the shuffle. "If he's the right stuff to go to
Karo-Karo, Karo-Karo won't do him any harm."
The game was close
and hard. Three times they divided the deck between them and "cards&qu=
ot;
was not scored. At the beginning of the fifth and last deal, Deacon needed
three points to go out, and Grief needed four. "Cards" alone would
put Deacon out, and he played for "cards". He no longer muttered =
or
cursed, and played his best game of the evening. Incidentally he gathered in
the two black aces and the ace of hearts.
"I suppose y=
ou
can name the four cards I hold," he challenged, as the last of the deal
was exhausted and he picked up his hand.
Grief nodded.
"Then name t=
hem."
"The knave of
spades, the deuce of spades, the tray of hearts, and the ace of diamonds,&q=
uot;
Grief answered.
Those behind Deac=
on
and looking at his hand made no sign. Yet the naming had been correct.
"I fancy you
play casino better than I," Deacon acknowledged. "I can name only
three of yours, a knave, an ace, and big casino."
"Wrong. There
aren't five aces in the deck. You've taken in three and you hold the fourth=
in
your hand now."
"By Jove, yo=
u're
right," Deacon admitted. "I did scoop in three. Anyway, I'll make
'cards' on you. That's all I need."
"I'll let you
save little casino----" Grief paused to calculate. "Yes, and the =
ace
as well, and still I'll make 'cards' and go out with big casino. Play."=
;
"No 'cards' =
and
I win!" Deacon exulted as the last of the hand was played. "I go =
out
on little casino and the four aces. 'Big casino' and 'spades' only bring yo=
u to
twenty."
Grief shook his h=
ead.
"Some mistake, I'm afraid."
"No,"
Deacon declared positively. "I counted every card I took in. That's the
one thing I was correct on. I've twenty-six, and you've twenty-six."
"Count
again," Grief said.
Carefully and slo=
wly,
with trembling fingers, Deacon counted the cards he had taken. There were
twenty-five. He reached over to the corner of the table, took up the rules
Grief had written, folded them, and put them in his pocket. Then he emptied=
his
glass, and stood up. Captain Donovan looked at his watch, yawned, and also
arose.
"Going aboar=
d,
Captain?" Deacon asked.
"Yes," =
was
the answer. "What time shall I send the whaleboat for you?"
"I'll go with
you now. We'll pick up my luggage from the Billy as we go by, I was sailing=
on
her for Babo in the morning."
Deacon shook hands
all around, after receiving a final pledge of good luck on Karo-Karo.
"Does Tom Bu=
tler
play cards?" he asked Grief.
"Solitaire,&=
quot;
was the answer.
"Then I'll t=
each
him double solitaire." Deacon turned toward the door, where Captain
Donovan waited, and added with a sigh, "And I fancy he'll skin me, too=
, if
he plays like the rest of you island men."
Chapter Seven--THE FEATHE=
RS
OF THE SUN
I
It was the island=
of
Fitu-Iva--the last independent Polynesian stronghold in the South Seas. Thr=
ee
factors conduced to Fitu-Iva's independence. The first and second were its
isolation and the warlikeness of its population. But these would not have s=
aved
it in the end had it not been for the fact that Japan, France, Great Britai=
n,
Germany, and the United States discovered its desirableness simultaneously.=
It
was like gamins scrambling for a penny. They got in one another's way. The =
war
vessels of the five Powers cluttered Fitu-Iva's one small harbour. There we=
re
rumours of war and threats of war. Over its morning toast all the world read
columns about Fitu-Iva. As a Yankee blue jacket epitomized it at the time, =
they
all got their feet in the trough at once.
So it was that
Fitu-Iva escaped even a joint protectorate, and King Tulifau, otherwise Tui
Tulifau, continued to dispense the high justice and the low in the frame-ho=
use
palace built for him by a Sydney trader out of California redwood. Not only=
was
Tui Tulifau every inch a king, but he was every second a king. When he had
ruled fifty-eight years and five months, he was only fifty-eight years and
three months old. That is to say, he had ruled over five million seconds mo=
re
than he had breathed, having been crowned two months before he was born.
He was a kingly k=
ing,
a royal figure of a man, standing six feet and a half, and, without being
excessively fat, weighing three hundred and twenty pounds. But this was not
unusual for Polynesian "chief stock." Sepeli, his queen, was six =
feet
three inches and weighed two hundred and sixty, while her brother, Uiliami,=
who
commanded the army in the intervals of resignation from the premiership, to=
pped
her by an inch and notched her an even half-hundredweight. Tui Tulifau was a
merry soul, a great feaster and drinker. So were all his people merry souls,
save in anger, when, on occasion, they could be guilty even of throwing dea=
d pigs
at those who made them wroth. Nevertheless, on occasion, they could fight l=
ike
Maoris, as piratical sandalwood traders and Blackbirders in the old days
learned to their cost.
II
Grief's schooner,=
the
Cantani, had passed the Pillar Rocks at the entrance two hours before and c=
rept
up the harbour to the whispering flutters of a breeze that could not make up
its mind to blow. It was a cool, starlight evening, and they lolled about t=
he
poop waiting till their snail's pace would bring them to the anchorage. Wil=
lie
Smee, the supercargo, emerged from the cabin, conspicuous in his shore clot=
hes.
The mate glanced at his shirt, of the finest and whitest silk, and giggled
significantly.
"Dance,
to-night, I suppose?" Grief observed.
"No," s=
aid
the mate. "It's Taitua. Willie's stuck on her."
"Catch me,&q=
uot;
the supercargo disclaimed.
"Then she's
stuck on you, and it's all the same," the mate went on. "You won'=
t be
ashore half an hour before you'll have a flower behind your ear, a wreath on
your head, and your arm around Taitua."
"Simple
jealousy," Willie Smee sniffed. "You'd like to have her yourself,
only you can't."
"I can't find
shirts like that, that's why. I'll bet you half a crown you won't sail from
Fitu-Iva with that shirt."
"And if Tait=
ua
doesn't get it, it's an even break Tui Tulifau does," Grief warned.
"Better not let him spot that shirt, or it's all day with it."
"That's
right," Captain Boig agreed, turning his head from watching the house
lights on the shore. "Last voyage he fined one of my Kanakas out of a
fancy belt and sheath-knife." He turned to the mate. "You can let=
go
any time, Mr. Marsh. Don't give too much slack. There's no sign of wind, an=
d in
the morning we may shift opposite the copra-sheds."
A minute later the
anchor rumbled down. The whaleboat, already hoisted out, lay alongside, and=
the
shore-going party dropped into it. Save for the Kanakas, who were all bent =
for
shore, only Grief and the supercargo were in the boat. At the head of the
little coral-stone pier Willie Smee, with an apologetic gurgle, separated f=
rom
his employer and disappeared down an avenue of palms. Grief turned in the
opposite direction past the front of the old mission church. Here, among the
graves on the beach, lightly clad in ahu's and lava-lavas, flower-crowned a=
nd
garlanded, with great phosphorescent hibiscus blossoms in their hair, youths
and maidens were dancing. Farther on, Grief passed the long, grass-built hi=
mine
house, where a few score of the elders sat in long rows chanting the old hy=
mns
taught them by forgotten missionaries. He passed also the palace of Tui
Tulifau, where, by the lights and sounds, he knew the customary revelry was
going on. For of the happy South Sea isles, Fitu-Iva was the happiest. They=
feasted
and frolicked at births and deaths, and the dead and the unborn were likewi=
se
feasted.
Grief held steadi=
ly
along the Broom Road, which curved and twisted through a lush growth of flo=
wers
and fern-like algarobas. The warm air was rich with perfume, and overhead,
outlined against the stars, were fruit-burdened mangoes, stately avocado tr=
ees,
and slender-tufted palms. Every here and there were grass houses. Voices and
laughter rippled through the darkness. Out on the water flickering lights a=
nd
soft-voiced choruses marked the fishers returning from the reef.
At last Grief ste=
pped
aside from the road, stumbling over a pig that grunted indignantly. Looking
through an open door, he saw a stout and elderly native sitting on a heap of
mats a dozen deep. From time to time, automatically, he brushed his naked l=
egs
with a cocoa-nut-fibre fly-flicker. He wore glasses, and was reading
methodically in what Grief knew to be an English Bible. For this was Ieremi=
a,
his trader, so named from the prophet Jeremiah.
Ieremia was
lighter-skinned than the Fitu-Ivans, as was natural in a full-blooded Samoa=
n. Educated
by the missionaries, as lay teacher he had served their cause well over in =
the
cannibal atolls to the westward. As a reward, he had been sent to the parad=
ise
of Fitu-Iva, where all were or had been good converts, to gather in the
backsliders. Unfortunately, Ieremia had become too well educated. A stray
volume of Darwin, a nagging wife, and a pretty Fitu-Ivan widow had driven h=
im
into the ranks of the backsliders. It was not a case of apostasy. The effec=
t of
Darwin had been one of intellectual fatigue. What was the use of trying to =
understand
this vastly complicated and enigmatical world, especially when one was marr=
ied
to a nagging woman? As Ieremia slackened in his labours, the mission board
threatened louder and louder to send him back to the atolls, while his wife=
's
tongue grew correspondingly sharper. Tui Tulifau was a sympathetic monarch,
whose queen, on occasions when he was particularly drunk, was known to beat
him. For political reasons--the queen belonging to as royal stock as himself
and her brother commanding the army--Tui Tulifau could not divorce her, but=
he
could and did divorce Ieremia, who promptly took up with commercial life and
the lady of his choice. As an independent trader he had failed, chiefly bec=
ause
of the disastrous patronage of Tui Tulifau. To refuse credit to that merry
monarch was to invite confiscation; to grant him credit was certain bankrup=
tcy.
After a year's idleness on the beach, leremia had become David Grief's trad=
er,
and for a dozen years his service had been honourable and efficient, for Gr=
ief
had proven the first man who successfully refused credit to the king or who
collected when it had been accorded.
Ieremia looked
gravely over the rims of his glasses when his employer entered, gravely mar=
ked
the place in the Bible and set it aside, and gravely shook hands.
"I am glad y=
ou
came in person," he said.
"How else co=
uld
I come?" Grief laughed.
But Ieremia had no
sense of humour, and he ignored the remark.
"The commerc=
ial
situation on the island is damn bad," he said with great solemnity and=
an
unctuous mouthing of the many-syllabled words. "My ledger account is
shocking."
"Trade
bad?"
"On the
contrary. It has been excellent. The shelves are empty, exceedingly empty.
But----" His eyes glistened proudly. "But there are many goods
remaining in the storehouse; I have kept it carefully locked."
"Been allowi=
ng
Tui Tulifau too much credit?"
"On the
contrary. There has been no credit at all. And every old account has been
settled up."
"I don't fol=
low
you, Ieremia," Grief confessed. "What's the joke?--shelves empty,=
no
credit, old accounts all square, storehouse carefully locked--what's the
answer?"
Ieremia did not r=
eply
immediately. Reaching under the rear corner of the mats, he drew forth a la=
rge
cash-box. Grief noted and wondered that it was not locked. The Samoan had
always been fastidiously cautious in guarding cash. The box seemed filled w=
ith
paper money. He skinned off the top note and passed it over.
"There is the
answer."
Grief glanced at a
fairly well executed banknote. "The First Royal Bank of Fitu-Iva will =
pay
to bearer on demand one pound sterling," he read. In the centre was the
smudged likeness of a native face. At the bottom was the signature of Tui
Tulifau, and the signature of Fulualea, with the printed information append=
ed,
"Chancellor of the Exchequer."
"Who the deu=
ce
is Fulualea?" Grief demanded. "It's Fijian, isn't it?--meaning the
feathers of the sun?"
"Just so. It
means the feathers of the sun. Thus does this base interloper caption himse=
lf.
He has come up from Fiji to turn Fitu-Iva upside down--that is,
commercially."
"Some one of
those smart Levuka boys, I suppose?"
Ieremia shook his
head sadly. "No, this low fellow is a white man and a scoundrel. He has
taken a noble and high-sounding Fijian name and dragged it in the dirt to s=
uit
his nefarious purposes. He has made Tui Tulifau drunk. He has made him very
drunk. He has kept him very drunk all the time. In return, he has been made
Chancellor of the Exchequer and other things. He has issued this false paper
and compelled the people to receive it. He has levied a store tax, a copra =
tax,
and a tobacco tax. There are harbour dues and regulations, and other taxes.=
But
the people are not taxed--only the traders. When the copra tax was levied, I
lowered the purchasing price accordingly. Then the people began to grumble,=
and
Feathers of the Sun passed a new law, setting the old price back and forbid=
ding
any man to lower it. Me he fined two pounds and five pigs, it being well kn=
own
that I possessed five pigs. You will find them entered in the ledger. Hawki=
ns,
who is trader for the Fulcrum Company, was fined first pigs, then gin, and,
because he continued to make loud conversation, the army came and burned his
store. When I declined to sell, this Feathers of the Sun fined me once more=
and
promised to burn the store if again I offended. So I sold all that was on t=
he
shelves, and there is the box full of worthless paper. I shall be chagrined=
if
you pay me my salary in paper, but it would be just, no more than just. Now,
what is to be done?"
Grief shrugged his
shoulders. "I must first see this Feathers of the Sun and size up the
situation."
"Then you mu=
st
see him soon," Ieremia advised. "Else he will have an accumulatio=
n of
many fines against you. Thus does he absorb all the coin of the realm. He h=
as
it all now, save what has been buried in the ground."
III
On his way back a=
long
the Broom Road, under the lighted lamps that marked the entrance to the pal=
ace
grounds, Grief encountered a short, rotund gentleman, in unstarched ducks,
smooth-shaven and of florid complexion, who was just emerging. Something ab=
out
his tentative, saturated gait was familiar. Grief knew it on the instant. On
the beaches of a dozen South Sea ports had he seen it before.
"Of all men,=
Cornelius
Deasy!" he cried.
"If it ain't
Grief himself, the old devil," was the return greeting, as they shook
hands.
"If you'll c=
ome
on board I've some choice smoky Irish," Grief invited.
Cornelius threw b=
ack
his shoulders and stiffened.
"Nothing doi=
n',
Mr. Grief. 'Tis Fulualea I am now. No blarneyin' of old times for me. Also,=
and
by the leave of his gracious Majesty King Tulifau, 'tis Chancellor of the
Exchequer I am, an' Chief Justice I am, save in moments of royal sport when=
the
king himself chooses to toy with the wheels of justice."
Grief whistled his
amazement. "So you're Feathers of the Sun!"
"I prefer the
native idiom," was the correction. "Fulualea, an' it please you. =
Not
forgettin' old times, Mr. Grief, it sorrows the heart of me to break you the
news. You'll have to pay your legitimate import duties same as any other tr=
ader
with mind intent on robbin' the gentle Polynesian savage on coral isles
implanted. ----Where was I? Ah! I remember. You've violated the regulations.
With malice intent have you entered the port of Fitu-Iva after sunset witho=
ut
sidelights burnin'. Don't interrupt. With my own eyes did I see you. For wh=
ich
offence are you fined the sum of five pounds. Have you any gin? 'Tis a seri=
ous offence.
Not lightly are the lives of the mariners of our commodious port to be risk=
ed
for the savin' of a penny'orth of oil. Did I ask: have you any gin? Tis the
harbour master that asks."
"You've take=
n a
lot on your shoulders," Grief grinned.
"'Tis the wh=
ite
man's burden. These rapscallion traders have been puttin' it all over poor =
Tui
Tulif, the best-hearted old monarch that ever sat a South Sea throne an' mo=
pped
grog-root from the imperial calabash. 'Tis I, Cornelius--Fulualea, rather--=
that
am here to see justice done. Much as I dislike the doin' of it, as harbour
master 'tis my duty to find you guilty of breach of quarantine."
"Quarantine?=
"
"'Tis the ru=
lin'
of the port doctor. No intercourse with the shore till the ship is passed. =
What
dire calamity to the confidin' native if chicken pox or whoopin' cough was
aboard of you! Who is there to protect the gentle, confidin' Polynesian? I,
Fulualea, the Feathers of the Sun, on my high mission."
"Who in hell=
is
the port doctor?" Grief queried.
"'Tis me,
Fulualea. Your offence is serious. Consider yourself fined five cases of
first-quality Holland gin."
Grief laughed
heartily. "We'll compromise, Cornelius. Come aboard and have a
drink."
The Feathers of t=
he
Sun waved the proffer aside grandly. "'Tis bribery. I'll have none of
it--me faithful to my salt. And wherefore did you not present your ship's
papers? As chief of the custom house you are fined five pounds and two more
cases of gin."
"Look here,
Cornelius. A joke's a joke, but this one has gone far enough. This is not
Levuka. I've half a mind to pull your nose for you. You can't buck me."=
;
The Feathers of t=
he
Sun retreated unsteadily and in alarm.
"Lay no viol=
ence
on me," he threatened. "You're right. This is not Levuka. And by =
the
same token, with Tui Tulifau and the royal army behind me, buck you is just=
the
thing I can and will. You'll pay them fines promptly, or I'll confiscate yo=
ur
vessel. You're not the first. What does that Chink pearl-buyer, Peter Gee, =
do
but slip into harbour, violatin' all regulations an' makin' rough house for=
the
matter of a few paltry fines. No; he wouldn't pay 'em, and he's on the beach
now thinkin' it over."
"You don't m=
ean
to say----"
"Sure an' I =
do.
In the high exercise of office I seized his schooner. A fifth of the loyal =
army
is now in charge on board of her. She'll be sold this day week. Some ten to=
ns
of shell in the hold, and I'm wonderin' if I can trade it to you for gin. I=
can
promise you a rare bargain. How much gin did you say you had?"
"Still more =
gin,
eh?"
"An' why not?
'Tis a royal souse is Tui Tulifau. Sure it keeps my wits workin' overtime to
supply him, he's that amazin' liberal with it. The whole gang of hanger-on
chiefs is perpetually loaded to the guards. It's disgraceful. Are you goin'=
to
pay them fines, Mr. Grief, or is it to harsher measures I'll be forced?&quo=
t;
Grief turned
impatiently on his heel.
"Cornelius,
you're drunk. Think it over and come to your senses. The old rollicking Sou=
th
Sea days are gone. You can't play tricks like that now."
"If you think
you're goin' on board, Mr. Grief, I'll save you the trouble. I know your ki=
nd,
I foresaw your stiff-necked stubbornness. An' it's forestalled you are. 'Ti=
s on
the beach you'll find your crew. The vessel's seized."
Grief turned back=
on
him in the half-belief still that he was joking. Fulualea again retreated in
alarm. The form of a large man loomed beside him in the darkness.
"Is it you,
Uiliami?" Fulualea crooned. "Here is another sea pirate. Stand by=
me
with the strength of thy arm, O Herculean brother."
"Greeting, Uiliami," Grief said. "Since when has Fitu-Iva come to be run by a Levuka beachcomber? He says my schooner has been seized. Is it true?"<= o:p>
"It is
true," Uiliami boomed from his deep chest. "Have you any more silk
shirts like Willie Smee's? Tui Tulifau would like such a shirt. He has hear=
d of
it."
"'Tis all the
same," Fulualea interrupted. "Shirts or schooners, the king shall
have them."
"Rather
high-handed, Cornelius," Grief murmured. "It's rank piracy. You s=
eized
my vessel without giving me a chance."
"A chance is=
it?
As we stood here, not five minutes gone, didn't you refuse to pay your
fines?"
"But she was
already seized."
"Sure, an' w=
hy
not? Didn't I know you'd refuse? 'Tis all fair, an' no injustice done--Just=
ice,
the bright, particular star at whose shining altar Cornelius Deasy--or
Fulualea, 'tis the same thing--ever worships. Get thee gone, Mr. Trader, or
I'll set the palace guards on you. Uiliami, 'tis a desperate character, this
trader man. Call the guards."
Uiliami blew the
whistle suspended on his broad bare chest by a cord of cocoanut sennit. Gri=
ef
reached out an angry hand for Cornelius, who titubated into safety behind
Uiliami's massive bulk. A dozen strapping Polynesians, not one under six fe=
et,
ran down the palace walk and ranged behind their commander.
"Get thee go=
ne,
Mr. Trader," Cornelius ordered. "The interview is terminated. We'=
ll
try your several cases in the mornin'. Appear promptly at the palace at ten
o'clock to answer to the followin' charges, to wit: breach of the peace;
seditious and treasonable utterance; violent assault on the chief magistrate
with intent to cut, wound, maim, an' bruise; breach of quarantine; violatio=
n of
harbour regulations; and gross breakage of custom house rules. In the morni=
n',
fellow, in the mornin', justice shall be done while the breadfruit falls. A=
nd
the Lord have mercy on your soul."
III
Before the hour s=
et
for the trial Grief, accompanied by Peter Gee, won access to Tui Tulifau. T=
he
king, surrounded by half a dozen chiefs, lay on mats under the shade of the
avocados in the palace compound. Early as was the hour, palace maids were
industriously serving squarefaces of gin. The king was glad to see his old
friend Davida, and regretful that he had run foul of the new regulations.
Beyond that he steadfastly avoided discussion of the matter in hand. All
protests of the expropriated traders were washed away in proffers of gin.
"Have a drink," was his invariable reply, though once he unbosomed
himself enough to say that Feathers of the Sun was a wonderful man. Never h=
ad palace
affairs been so prosperous. Never had there been so much money in the treas=
ury,
nor so much gin in circulation. "Well pleased am I with Fulualea,"=
; he
concluded. "Have a drink."
"We've got to
get out of this pronto," Grief whispered to Peter Gee a few minutes la=
ter,
"or we'll be a pair of boiled owls. Also, I am to be tried for arson, =
or
heresy, or leprosy, or something, in a few minutes, and I must control my
wits."
As they withdrew =
from
the royal presence, Grief caught a glimpse of Sepeli, the queen. She was
peering out at her royal spouse and his fellow tipplers, and the frown on h=
er
face gave Grief his cue. Whatever was to be accomplished must be through he=
r.
In another shady
corner of the big compound Cornelius was holding court. He had been at it e=
arly,
for when Grief arrived the case of Willie Smee was being settled. The entire
royal army, save that portion in charge of the seized vessels, was in
attendance.
"Let the
defendant stand up," said Cornelius, "and receive the just and me=
rciful
sentence of the Court for licentious and disgraceful conduct unbecomin' a
supercargo. The defendant says he has no money. Very well. The Court regret=
s it
has no calaboose. In lieu thereof, and in view of the impoverished conditio=
n of
the defendant, the Court fines said defendant one white silk shirt of the s=
ame
kind, make and quality at present worn by defendant."
Cornelius nodded =
to
several of the soldiers, who led the supercargo away behind an avocado tree=
. A
minute later he emerged, minus the garment in question, and sat down beside
Grief.
"What have y=
ou
been up to?" Grief asked.
"Blessed if I
know. What crimes have you committed?"
"Next
case," said Cornelius in his most extra-legal tones. "David Grief=
, defendant,
stand up. The Court has considered the evidence in the case, or cases, and
renders the following judgment, to wit:--Shut up!" he thundered at Gri=
ef,
who had attempted to interrupt. "I tell you the evidence has been
considered, deeply considered. It is no wish of the Court to lay additional
hardship on the defendant, and the Court takes this opportunity to warn the
defendant that he is liable for contempt. For open and wanton violation of
harbour rules and regulations, breach of quarantine, and disregard of shipp=
ing
laws, his schooner, the Cantani, is hereby declared confiscated to the
Government of Fitu-Iva, to be sold at public auction, ten days from date, w=
ith all
appurtenances, fittings, and cargo thereunto pertaining. For the personal
crimes of the defendant, consisting of violent and turbulent conduct and
notorious disregard of the laws of the realm, he is fined in the sum of one
hundred pounds sterling and fifteen cases of gin. I will not ask you if you
have anything to say. But will you pay? That is the question."
Grief shook his h=
ead.
"In the mean=
time,"
Cornelius went on, "consider yourself a prisoner at large. There is no
calaboose in which to confine you. And finally, it has come to the knowledg=
e of
the Court, that at an early hour of this morning, the defendant did wilfully
and deliberately send Kanakas in his employ out on the reef to catch fish f=
or
breakfast. This is distinctly an infringement of the rights of the fisherfo=
lk
of Fitu-Iva. Home industries must be protected. This conduct of the defenda=
nt
is severely reprehended by the Court, and on any repetition of the offence =
the offender
and offenders, all and sundry, shall be immediately put to hard labour on t=
he
improvement of the Broom Road. The court is dismissed."
As they left the
compound, Peter Gee nudged Grief to look where Tui Tulifau reclined on the
mats. The supercargo's shirt, stretched and bulged, already encased the roy=
al
fat.
IV
"The thing is
clear," said Peter Gee, at a conference in Ieremia's house. "Deasy
has about gathered in all the coin. In the meantime he keeps the king going=
on
the gin he's captured, on our vessels. As soon as he can maneuver it he'll =
take
the cash and skin out on your craft or mine."
"He is a low
fellow," Ieremia declared, pausing in the polishing of his spectacles.
"He is a scoundrel and a blackguard. He should be struck by a dead pig=
, by
a particularly dead pig."
"The very
thing," said Grief. "He shall be struck by a dead pig. Ieremia, I
should not be surprised if you were the man to strike him with the dead pig=
. Be
sure and select a particularly dead one. Tui Tulifau is down at the boat ho=
use
broaching a case of my Scotch. I'm going up to the palace to work kitchen
politics with the queen. In the meantime you get a few things on your shelv=
es
from the store-room. I'll lend you some, Hawkins. And you, Peter, see the
German store. Start in all of you, selling for paper. Remember, I'll back t=
he
losses. If I'm not mistaken, in three days we'll have a national council or=
a revolution.
You, Ieremia, start messengers around the island to the fishers and farmers,
everywhere, even to the mountain goat-hunters. Tell them to assemble at the
palace three days from now."
"But the
soldiers," Ieremia objected.
"I'll take c=
are
of them. They haven't been paid for two months. Besides, Uiliami is the que=
en's
brother. Don't have too much on your shelves at a time. As soon as the sold=
iers
show up with paper, stop selling."
"Then will t=
hey
burn the stores," said Ieremia.
"Let them. K=
ing
Tulifau will pay for it if they do."
"Will he pay=
for
my shirt?" Willie Smee demanded.
"That is pur=
ely
a personal and private matter between you and Tui Tulifau," Grief
answered.
"It's beginn=
ing
to split up the back," the supercargo lamented. "I noticed that m=
uch
this morning when he hadn't had it on ten minutes. It cost me thirty shilli=
ngs
and I only wore it once."
"Where shall=
I
get a dead pig?" Ieremia asked.
"Kill one, of
course," said Grief. "Kill a small one."
"A small one=
is
worth ten shillings."
"Then enter =
it
in your ledger under operating expenses." Grief paused a moment. "=
;If
you want it particularly dead, it would be well to kill it at once."
V
"You have sp=
oken
well, Davida," said Queen Sepeli. "This Fulualea has brought a
madness with him, and Tui Tulifau is drowned in gin. If he does not grant t=
he
big council, I shall give him a beating. He is easy to beat when he is in
drink."
She doubled up her
fist, and such were her Amazonian proportions and the determination in her =
face
that Grief knew the council would be called. So akin was the Fitu-Ivan tong=
ue
to the Samoan that he spoke it like a native.
"And you,
Uiliami," he said, "have pointed out that the soldiers have deman=
ded
coin and refused the paper Fulualea has offered them. Tell them to take the
paper and see that they be paid to-morrow."
"Why
trouble?" Uiliami objected. "The king remains happily drunk. Ther=
e is
much money in the treasury. And I am content. In my house are two cases of =
gin
and much goods from Hawkins's store."
"Excellent p=
ig,
O my brother!" Sepeli erupted. "Has not Davida spoken? Have you no
ears? When the gin and the goods in your house are gone, and no more traders
come with gin and goods, and Feathers of the Sun has run away to Levuka with
all the cash money of Fitu-Iva, what then will you do? Cash money is silver=
and
gold, but paper is only paper. I tell you the people are grumbling. There i=
s no
fish in the palace. Yams and sweet potatoes seem to have fled from the soil,
for they come not. The mountain dwellers have sent no wild goat in a week.
Though Feathers of the Sun compels the traders to buy copra at the old pric=
e,
the people sell not, for they will have none of the paper money. Only to-day
have I sent messengers to twenty houses. There are no eggs. Has Feathers of=
the
Sun put a blight upon the hens? I do not know. All I know is that there are=
no
eggs. Well it is that those who drink much eat little, else would there be a
palace famine. Tell your soldiers to receive their pay. Let it be in his pa=
per
money."
"And
remember," Grief warned, "though there be selling in the stores, =
when
the soldiers come with their paper it will be refused. And in three days wi=
ll
be the council, and Feathers of the Sun will be as dead as a dead pig."=
;
VI
The day of the
council found the population of the island crowded into the capital. By can=
oe
and whaleboat, on foot and donkey-back, the five thousand inhabitants of
Fitu-Iva had trooped in. The three intervening days had had their share of
excitement. At first there had been much selling from the sparse shelves of=
the
traders. But when the soldiers appeared, their patronage was declined and t=
hey
were told to go to Fulualea for coin. "Says it not so on the face of t=
he
paper," the traders demanded, "that for the asking the coin will =
be
given in exchange?"
Only the strong
authority of Uiliami had prevented the burning of the traders' houses. As it
was, one of Grief's copra-sheds went up in smoke and was duly charged by
Ieremia to the king's account. Ieremia himself had been abused and mocked, =
and
his spectacles broken. The skin was off Willie Smee's knuckles. This had be=
en
caused by three boisterous soldiers who violently struck their jaws thereon=
in
quick succession. Captain Boig was similarly injured. Peter Gee had come off
undamaged, because it chanced that it was bread-baskets and not jaws that
struck him on the fists.
Tui Tulifau, with
Sepeli at his side and surrounded by his convivial chiefs, sat at the head =
of
the council in the big compound. His right eye and jaw were swollen as if he
too had engaged in assaulting somebody's fist. It was palace gossip that mo=
rning
that Sepeli had administered a conjugal beating. At any rate, her spouse was
sober, and his fat bulged spiritlessly through the rips in Willie Smee's si=
lk shirt.
His thirst was prodigious, and he was continually served with young drinking
nuts. Outside the compound, held back by the army, was the mass of the comm=
on
people. Only the lesser chiefs, village maids, village beaux, and talking m=
en
with their staffs of office were permitted inside. Cornelius Deasy, as befi=
tted
a high and favoured official, sat near to the right hand of the king. On the
left of the queen, opposite Cornelius and surrounded by the white traders he
was to represent, sat Ieremia. Bereft of his spectacles, he peered short-si=
ghtedly
across at the Chancellor of the Exchequer.
In turn, the talk=
ing
man of the windward coast, the talking man of the leeward coast, and the
talking man of the mountain villages, each backed by his group of lesser
talking men and chiefs, arose and made oration. What they said was much the
same. They grumbled about the paper money. Affairs were not prosperous. No =
more
copra was being smoked. The people were suspicious. To such a pass had thin=
gs
come that all people wanted to pay their debts and no one wanted to be paid.
Creditors made a practice of running away from debtors. The money was cheap.
Prices were going up and commodities were getting scarce. It cost three tim=
es
the ordinary price to buy a fowl, and then it was tough and like to die of =
old
age if not immediately sold. The outlook was gloomy. There were signs and
omens. There was a plague of rats in some districts. The crops were bad. The
custard apples were small. The best-bearing avocado on the windward coast h=
ad
mysteriously shed all its leaves. The taste had gone from the mangoes. The
plantains were eaten by a worm. The fish had forsaken the ocean and vast
numbers of tiger-sharks appeared. The wild goats had fled to inaccessible
summits. The poi in the poi-pits had turned bitter. There were rumblings in=
the
mountains, night-walking of spirits; a woman of Punta-Puna had been struck
speechless, and a five-legged she-goat had been born in the village of Eiho.
And that all was due to the strange money of Fulualea was the firm convicti=
on
of the elders in the village councils assembled.
Uiliami spoke for=
the
army. His men were discontented and mutinous. Though by royal decree the
traders were bidden accept the money, yet did they refuse it. He would not =
say,
but it looked as if the strange money of Fulualea had something to do with =
it.
Ieremia, as talki=
ng
man of the traders, next spoke. When he arose, it was noticeable that he st=
ood
with legs spraddled over a large grass basket. He dwelt upon the cloth of t=
he
traders, its variety and beauty and durability, which so exceeded the Fitu-=
Ivan
wet-pounded tapa, fragile and coarse. No one wore tapa any more. Yet all had
worn tapa, and nothing but tapa, before the traders came. There was the mos=
quito-netting,
sold for a song, that the cleverest Fitu-Ivan net-weaver could not duplicat=
e in
a thousand years. He enlarged on the incomparable virtues of rifles, axes, =
and
steel fishhooks, down through needles, thread and cotton fish-lines to white
flour and kerosene oil.
He expounded at
length, with firstlies and secondlies and all minor subdivisions of argumen=
t,
on organization, and order, and civilization. He contended that the trader =
was
the bearer of civilization, and that the trader must be protected in his tr=
ade
else he would not come. Over to the westward were islands which would not
protect the traders. What was the result? The traders would not come, and t=
he
people were like wild animals. They wore no clothes, no silk shirts (here he
peered and blinked significantly at the king), and they ate one another.
The queer paper of
the Feathers of the Sun was not money. The traders knew what money was, and
they would not receive it. If Fitu-Iva persisted in trying to make them rec=
eive
it they would go away and never come back. And then the Fitu-Ivans, who had
forgotten how to make tapa, would run around naked and eat one another.
Much more he said,
talking a solid hour, and always coming back to what their dire condition w=
ould
be when the traders came no more. "And in that day," he perorated,
"how will the Fitu-Ivan be known in the great world? Kai-kanak* will m=
en
call him. 'Kiakanak! Kai-kanak!"
* Man-eater.
Tui Tulifau spoke
briefly. The case had been presented, he said, for the people, the army, and
the traders. It was now time for Feathers of the Sun to present his side. It
could not be denied that he had wrought wonders with his financial system.
"Many times has he explained to me the working of his system," Tui
Tulif au concluded. "It is very simple. And now he will explain it to
you."
It was a conspira=
cy
of the white traders, Cornelius contended. Ieremia was right so far as
concerned the manifold blessings of white flour and kerosene oil. Fitu-Iva =
did
not want to become kai-kanak. Fitu-Iva wanted civilization; it wanted more =
and
more civilization. Now that was the very point, and they must follow him
closely. Paper money was an earmark of higher civilization. That was why he,
the Feathers of the Sun, had introduced it. And that was why the traders
opposed it. They did not want to see Fitu-Iva civilized. Why did they come
across the far ocean stretches with their goods to Fitu-Iva? He, the Feathe=
rs
of the Sun, would tell them why, to their faces, in grand council assembled=
. In
their own countries men were too civilized to let the traders make the imme=
nse
profits that they made out of the Fitu-Ivans. If the Fitu-Ivans became prop=
erly
civilized, the trade of the traders would be gone. In that day every Fitu-I=
van
could become a trader if he pleased.
That was why the
white traders fought the system of paper money, that he, the Feathers of the
Sun, had brought. Why was he called the Feathers of the Sun? Because he was=
the
Light-Bringer from the World Beyond the Sky. The paper money was the light.=
The
robbing white traders could not flourish in the light. Therefore they fought
the light.
He would prove it=
to
the good people of Fitu-Iva, and he would prove it out of the mouths of his
enemies. It was a well-known fact that all highly civilized countries had
paper-money systems. He would ask Ieremia if this was not so.
Ieremia did not
answer.
"You see,&qu=
ot;
Cornelius went on, "he makes no answer. He cannot deny what is true.
England, France, Germany, America, all the great Papalangi countries, have =
the
paper-money system. It works. From century to century it works. I challenge
you, Ieremia, as an honest man, as one who was once a zealous worker in the
Lord's vineyard, I challenge you to deny that in the great Papalangi countr=
ies
the system works."
Ieremia could not
deny, and his fingers played nervously with the fastening of the basket on =
his
knees.
"You see, it=
is
as I have said," Cornelius continued. "Ieremia agrees that it is =
so.
Therefore, I ask you, all good people of Fitu-Iva, if a system is good for =
the
Papalangi countries, why is it not good for Fitu-Iva?"
"It is not t=
he
same!" Ieremia cried. "The paper of the Feathers of the Sun is
different from the paper of the great countries."
That Cornelius had
been prepared for this was evident. He held up a Fitu-Ivan note that was
recognized by all.
"What is
that?" he demanded.
"Paper, mere
paper," was Ieremia's reply.
"And that?&q=
uot;
This time Corneli=
us
held up a Bank of England note.
"It is the p=
aper
money of the English," he explained to the Council, at the same time
extending it for Ieremia to examine. "Is it not true, Ieremia, that it=
is
paper money of the English?"
Ieremia nodded
reluctantly.
"You have sa=
id
that the paper money of Fitu-Iva was paper, now how about this of the Engli=
sh?
What is it?.... You must answer like a true man... All wait for your answer,
Ieremia."
"It is--it
is----" the puzzled Ieremia began, then spluttered helplessly, the fal=
lacy
beyond his penetration.
"Paper, mere paper," Cornelius concluded for him, imitating his halting utterance.<= o:p>
Conviction sat on=
the
faces of all. The king clapped his hands admiringly and murmured, "It =
is
most clear, very clear."
"You see, he
himself acknowledges it." Assured triumph was in Deasy's voice and
bearing. "He knows of no difference. There is no difference. 'Tis the =
very
image of money. 'Tis money itself."
In the meantime G=
rief
was whispering in Ieremia's ear, who nodded and began to speak.
"But it is w=
ell
known to all the Papalangi that the English Government will pay coin money =
for
the paper."
Deasy's victory w=
as
now absolute. He held aloft a Fitu-Ivan note.
"Is it not so
written on this paper as well?"
Again Grief
whispered.
"That Fitu-I=
va
will pay coin money?" asked Ieremia
"It is so
written."
A third time Grief
prompted.
"On
demand?" asked Ieremia.
"On
demand," Cornelius assured him.
"Then I dema=
nd
coin money now," said Ieremia, drawing a small package of notes from t=
he
pouch at his girdle.
Cornelius scanned=
the
package with a quick, estimating eye.
"Very
well," he agreed. "I shall give you the coin money now. How
much?"
"And we will=
see
the system work," the king proclaimed, partaking in his Chancellor's
triumph.
"You have
heard!--He will give coin money now!" Ieremia cried in a loud voice to=
the
assemblage.
At the same time =
he
plunged both hands in the basket and drew forth many packages of Fitu-Ivan
notes. It was noticed that a peculiar odour was adrift about the council.
"I have
here," Ieremia announced, "one thousand and twenty-eight pounds t=
welve
shillings and sixpence. Here is a sack to put the coin money in."
Cornelius recoile=
d.
He had not expected such a sum, and everywhere about the council his uneasy
eyes showed him chiefs and talking men drawing out bundles of notes. The ar=
my,
its two months' pay in its hands, pressed forward to the edge of the counci=
l,
while behind it the populace, with more money, invaded the compound.
"'Tis a run =
on
the bank you've precipitated," he said reproachfully to Grief.
"Here is the
sack to put the coin money in," Ieremia urged.
"It must be
postponed," Cornelius said desperately, "'Tis not in banking hour=
s."
Ieremia flourishe=
d a
package of money. "Nothing of banking hours is written here. It says on
demand, and I now demand."
"Let them co=
me
to-morrow, O Tui Tulifau," Cornelius appealed to the king. "They
shall be paid to-morrow."
Tui Tulifau
hesitated, but his spouse glared at him, her brawny arm tensing as the fist
doubled into a redoubtable knot, Tui Tulifau tried to look away, but failed=
. He
cleared his throat nervously.
"We will see=
the
system work," he decreed. "The people have come far."
"'Tis good m=
oney
you're asking me to pay out," Deasy muttered in a low voice to the kin=
g.
Sepeli caught wha=
t he
said, and grunted so savagely as to startle the king, who involuntarily shr=
ank
away from her.
"Forget not =
the
pig," Grief whispered to Ieremia, who immediately stood up.
With a sweeping
gesture he stilled the babel of voices that was beginning to rise.
"It was an
ancient and honourable custom of Fitu-Iva," he said, "that when a=
man
was proved a notorious evildoer his joints were broken with a club and he w=
as
staked out at low water to be fed upon alive by the sharks. Unfortunately, =
that
day is past. Nevertheless another ancient and honourable custom remains with
us. You all know what it is. When a man is a proven thief and liar he shall=
be
struck with a dead pig."
His right hand we=
nt
into the basket, and, despite the lack of his spectacles, the dead pig that
came into view landed accurately on Deasy's neck. With such force was it th=
rown
that the Chancellor, in his sitting position, toppled over sidewise. Before=
he
could recover, Sepeli, with an agility unexpected of a woman who weighed two
hundred and sixty pounds, had sprung across to him. One hand clutched his s=
hirt
collar, the other hand brandished the pig, and amid the vast uproar of a de=
lighted
kingdom she royally swatted him.
There remained
nothing for Tui Tulifau but to put a good face on his favourite's disgrace,=
and
his mountainous fat lay back on the mats and shook in a gale of Gargantuan
laughter.
When Sepeli dropp=
ed
both pig and Chancellor, a talking man from the windward coast picked up th=
e carcass.
Cornelius was on his feet and running, when the pig caught him on the legs =
and
tripped him. The people and the army, with shouts and laughter, joined in t=
he
sport.
Twist and dodge a=
s he
would, everywhere the ex-Chancellor of the Exchequer was met or overtaken by
the flying pig. He scuttled like a frightened rabbit in and out among the
avocados and the palms. No hand was laid upon him, and his tormentors made =
way
before him, but ever they pursued, and ever the pig flew as fast as hands c=
ould
pick it up.
As the chase died
away down the Broom Road, Grief led the traders to the royal treasury, and =
the
day was well over ere the last Fitu-Ivan bank note had been redeemed with c=
oin.
VII
Through the mellow
cool of twilight a man paddled out from a clump of jungle to the Cantani. It
was a leaky and abandoned dugout, and he paddled slowly, desisting from tim=
e to
time in order to bale. The Kanaka sailors giggled gleefully as he came
alongside and painfully drew himself over the rail. He was bedraggled and f=
ilthy,
and seemed half-dazed.
"Could I spe=
ak a
word with you, Mr. Grief?" he asked sadly and humbly.
"Sit to leew=
ard
and farther away," Grief answered. "A little farther away. That's
better."
Cornelius sat dow=
n on
the rail and held his head in both his hands.
"'Tis
right," he said. "I'm as fragrant as a recent battlefield. My hea=
d aches
to burstin'. My neck is fair broken. The teeth are loose in my jaws. There's
nests of hornets buzzin' in my ears. My medulla oblongata is dislocated. I'=
ve
been through earthquake and pestilence, and the heavens have rained pigs.&q=
uot;
He paused with a sigh that ended in a groan. "'Tis a vision of terrible
death. One that the poets never dreamed. To be eaten by rats, or boiled in =
oil,
or pulled apart by wild horses--that would be unpleasant. But to be beaten =
to
death with a dead pig!" He shuddered at the awfulness of it. "Sur=
e it
transcends the human imagination."
Captain Boig snif=
fed
audibly, moved his canvas chair farther to windward, and sat down again.
"I hear you'=
re
runnin' over to Yap, Mr. Grief," Cornelius went on. "An' two thin=
gs
I'm wantin' to beg of you: a passage an' the nip of the old smoky I refused=
the
night you landed."
Grief clapped his
hands for the black steward and ordered soap and towels.
"Go for'ard,
Cornelius, and take a scrub first," he said. "The boy will bring =
you
a pair of dungarees and a shirt. And by the way, before you go, how was it =
we
found more coin in the treasury than paper you had issued?"
"'Twas the s=
take
of my own I'd brought with me for the adventure."
"We've decid=
ed
to charge the demurrage and other expenses and loss to Tui Tulifau," G=
rief
said. "So the balance we found will be turned over to you. But ten
shillings must be deducted."
"For what?&q=
uot;
"Do you think
dead pigs grow on trees? The sum of ten shillings for that pig is entered in
the accounts."
Cornelius bowed h=
is
assent with a shudder.
"Sure it's
grateful I am it wasn't a fifteen-shilling pig or a twenty-shilling one.&qu=
ot;
Chapter Eight--THE PEARLS=
OF
PARLAY
I
The Kanaka helmsm=
an
put the wheel down, and the Malahini slipped into the eye of the wind and
righted to an even keel. Her head-sails emptied, there was a rat-tat of
reef-points and quick shifting of boom-tackles, and she was heeled over and
filled away on the other tack. Though it was early morning and the wind bri=
sk,
the five white men who lounged on the poop-deck were scantily clad. David
Grief, and his guest, Gregory Mulhall, an Englishman, were still in pajamas,
their naked feet thrust into Chinese slippers. The captain and mate were in
thin undershirts and unstarched duck pants, while the supercargo still held=
in
his hands the undershirt he was reluctant to put on. The sweat stood out on=
his
forehead, and he seemed to thrust his bare chest thirstily into the wind th=
at did
not cool.
"Pretty mugg=
y,
for a breeze like this," he complained.
"And what's =
it
doing around in the west? That's what I want to know," was Grief's
contribution to the general plaint.
"It won't la=
st,
and it ain't been there long," said Hermann, the Holland mate. "S=
he
is been chop around all night--five minutes here, ten minutes there, one ho=
ur
somewhere other quarter."
"Something m=
akin
', something makin '," Captain Warfield croaked, spreading his bushy b=
eard
with the fingers of both hands and shoving the thatch of his chin into the
breeze in a vain search for coolness. "Weather's been crazy for a
fortnight. Haven't had the proper trades in three weeks. Everything's mixed=
up.
Barometer was pumping at sunset last night, and it's pumping now, though the
weather sharps say it don't mean anything. All the same, I've got a prejudi=
ce
against seeing it pump. Gets on my nerves, sort of, you know. She was pumpi=
ng
that way the time we lost the Lancaster. I was only an apprentice, but I can
remember that well enough. Brand new, four-masted steel ship; first voyage;
broke the old man's heart. He'd been forty years in the company. Just faded=
way
and died the next year."
Despite the wind =
and
the early hour, the heat was suffocating. The wind whispered coolness, but =
did
not deliver coolness. It might have blown off the Sahara, save for the extr=
eme
humidity with which it was laden. There was no fog nor mist, nor hint of fo=
g or
mist, yet the dimness of distance produced the impression. There were no
defined clouds, yet so thickly were the heavens covered by a messy cloud-pa=
ll
that the sun failed to shine through.
"Ready
about!" Captain Warfield ordered with slow sharpness.
The brown,
breech-clouted Kanaka sailors moved languidly but quickly to head-sheets and
boom-tackles.
"Hard
a-lee!"
The helmsman ran =
the
spokes over with no hint of gentling, and the Malahini darted prettily into=
the
wind and about.
"Jove! she's=
a
witch!" was Mulhall's appreciation. "I didn't know you South Sea
traders sailed yachts."
"She was a G=
loucester
fisherman originally," Grief explained, "and the Gloucester boats=
are
all yachts when it comes to build, rig, and sailing."
"But you're
heading right in--why don't you make it?" came the Englishman's critic=
ism.
"Try it, Cap=
tain
Warfield," Grief suggested. "Show him what a lagoon entrance is o=
n a
strong ebb."
"Close-and-b=
y!"
the captain ordered.
"Close-and-b=
y,"
the Kanaka repeated, easing half a spoke.
The Malahini laid
squarely into the narrow passage which was the lagoon entrance of a large,
long, and narrow oval of an atoll. The atoll was shaped as if three atolls,=
in
the course of building, had collided and coalesced and failed to rear the
partition walls. Cocoanut palms grew in spots on the circle of sand, and th=
ere
were many gaps where the sand was too low to the sea for cocoanuts, and thr=
ough
which could be seen the protected lagoon where the water lay flat like the =
ruffled
surface of a mirror. Many square miles of water were in the irregular lagoo=
n,
all of which surged out on the ebb through the one narrow channel. So narrow
was the channel, so large the outflow of water, that the passage was more l=
ike
the rapids of a river than the mere tidal entrance to an atoll. The water
boiled and whirled and swirled and drove outward in a white foam of stiff,
serrated waves. Each heave and blow on her bows of the upstanding waves of =
the
current swung the Malahini off the straight lead and wedged her as with wed=
ges
of steel toward the side of the passage. Part way in she was, when her clos=
eness
to the coral edge compelled her to go about. On the opposite tack, broadsid=
e to
the current, she swept seaward with the current's speed.
"Now's the t=
ime
for that new and expensive engine of yours," Grief jeered good-natured=
ly.
That the engine w=
as a
sore point with Captain Warfield was patent. He had begged and badgered for=
it,
until in the end Grief had given his consent.
"It will pay=
for
itself yet," the captain retorted, "You wait and see. It beats
insurance and you know the underwriters won't stand for insurance in the
Paumotus."
Grief pointed to a
small cutter beating up astern of them on the same course.
"I'll wager a
five-franc piece the little Nuhiva beats us in."
"Sure,"
Captain Warfield agreed. "She's overpowered. We're like a liner alongs=
ide
of her, and we've only got forty horsepower. She's got ten horse, and she's=
a
little skimming dish. She could skate across the froth of hell, but just the
same she can't buck this current. It's running ten knots right now."
And at the rate of
ten knots, buffeted and jerkily rolled, the Malahini went out to sea with t=
he
tide.
"She'll slac=
ken
in half an hour--then we'll make headway," Captain Warfield said, with=
an
irritation explained by his next words. "He has no right to call it
Parlay. It's down on the admiralty charts, and the French charts, too, as
Hikihoho. Bougainville discovered it and named it from the natives."
"What's the =
name
matter?" the supercargo demanded, taking advantage of speech to pause =
with
arms shoved into the sleeves of the undershirt. "There it is, right un=
der
our nose, and old Parlay is there with the pearls."
"Who see them
pearl?" Hermann queried, looking from one to another.
"It's well
known," was the supercargo's reply. He turned to the steersman:
"Tai-Hotauri, what about old Parlay's pearls?"
The Kanaka, pleas=
ed
and self-conscious, took and gave a spoke.
"My brother =
dive
for Parlay three, four month, and he make much talk about pearl. Hikihoho v=
ery
good place for pearl."
"And the
pearl-buyers have never got him to part with a pearl," the captain bro=
ke
in.
"And they sa=
y he
had a hatful for Armande when he sailed for Tahiti," the supercargo
carried on the tale. "That's fifteen years ago, and he's been adding t=
o it
ever since--stored the shell as well. Everybody's seen that--hundreds of to=
ns
of it. They say the lagoon's fished clean now. Maybe that's why he's announ=
ced
the auction."
"If he really
sells, this will be the biggest year's output of pearls in the Paumotus,&qu=
ot;
Grief said.
"I say, now,
look here!" Mulhall burst forth, harried by the humid heat as much as =
the
rest of them. "What's it all about? Who's the old beachcomber anyway? =
What
are all these pearls? Why so secretious about it?"
"Hikihoho
belongs to old Parlay," the supercargo answered. "He's got a fort=
une
in pearls, saved up for years and years, and he sent the word out weeks ago
that he'd auction them off to the buyers to-morrow. See those schooners' ma=
sts
sticking up inside the lagoon?"
"Eight, so I
see," said Hermann.
"What are th=
ey
doing in a dinky atoll like this?" the supercargo went on. "There
isn't a schooner-load of copra a year in the place. They've come for the
auction. That's why we're here. That's why the little Nuhiva's bumping along
astern there, though what she can buy is beyond me. Narii Herring--he's an
English Jew half-caste--owns and runs her, and his only assets are his nerv=
e,
his debts, and his whiskey bills. He's a genius in such things. He owes so =
much
that there isn't a merchant in Papeete who isn't interested in his welfare.
They go out of their way to throw work in his way. They've got to, and a da=
ndy
stunt it is for Narii. Now I owe nobody. What's the result? If I fell down =
in a
fit on the beach they'd let me lie there and die. They wouldn't lose anythi=
ng.
But Narii Herring?--what wouldn't they do if he fell in a fit? Their best
wouldn't be too good for him. They've got too much money tied up in him to =
let
him lie. They'd take him into their homes and hand-nurse him like a brother.
Let me tell you, honesty in paying bills ain't what it's cracked up to
be."
"What's this
Narii chap got to do with it?" was the Englishman's short-tempered dem=
and.
And, turning to Grief, he said, "What's all this pearl nonsense? Begin=
at
the beginning."
"You'll have=
to
help me out," Grief warned the others, as he began. "Old Parlay i=
s a
character. From what I've seen of him I believe he's partly and mildly insa=
ne.
Anyway, here's the story: Parlay's a full-blooded Frenchman. He told me once
that he came from Paris. His accent is the true Parisian. He arrived down h=
ere
in the old days. Went to trading and all the rest. That's how he got in on
Hikihoho. Came in trading when trading was the real thing. About a hundred
miserable Paumotans lived on the island. He married the queen--native fashi=
on.
When she died, everything was his. Measles came through, and there weren't =
more
than a dozen survivors. He fed them, and worked them, and was king. Now bef=
ore the
queen died she gave birth to a girl. That's Armande. When she was three he =
sent
her to the convent at Papeete. When she was seven or eight he sent her to
France. You begin to glimpse the situation. The best and most aristocratic
convent in France was none too good for the only daughter of a Paumotan isl=
and
king and capitalist, and you know the old country French draw no colour lin=
e.
She was educated like a princess, and she accepted herself in much the same
way. Also, she thought she was all-white, and never dreamed of a bar sinist=
er.
"Now comes t=
he
tragedy. The old man had always been cranky and erratic, and he'd played the
despot on Hikihoho so long that he'd got the idea in his head that there was
nothing wrong with the king--or the princess either. When Armande was eight=
een
he sent for her. He had slews and slathers of money, as Yankee Bill would s=
ay.
He'd built the big house on Hikihoho, and a whacking fine bungalow in Papee=
te.
She was to arrive on the mail boat from New Zealand, and he sailed in his
schooner to meet her at Papeete. And he might have carried the situation of=
f,
despite the hens and bull-beasts of Papeete, if it hadn't been for the
hurricane. That was the year, wasn't it, when Manu-Huhi was swept and eleve=
n hundred
drowned?"
The others nodded,
and Captain Warfield said: "I was in the Magpie that blow, and we went
ashore, all hands and the cook, Magpie and all, a quarter of a mile into the
cocoanuts at the head of Taiohae Bay--and it a supposedly hurricane-proof
harbour."
"Well,"
Grief continued, "old Parlay got caught in the same blow, and arrived =
in
Papeete with his hatful of pearls three weeks too late. He'd had to jack up=
his
schooner and build half a mile of ways before he could get her back into the
sea.
"And in the
meantime there was Armande at Papeete. Nobody called on her. She did, French
fashion, make the initial calls on the Governor and the port doctor. They s=
aw
her, but neither of their hen-wives was at home to her nor returned the cal=
l.
She was out of caste, without caste, though she had never dreamed it, and t=
hat
was the gentle way they broke the information to her. There was a gay young
lieutenant on the French cruiser. He lost his heart to her, but not his hea=
d.
You can imagine the shock to this young woman, refined, beautiful, raised l=
ike
an aristocrat, pampered with the best of old France that money could buy. A=
nd
you can guess the end." He shrugged his shoulders. "There was a J=
apanese
servant in the bungalow. He saw it. Said she did it with the proper spirit =
of
the Samurai. Took a stiletto--no thrust, no drive, no wild rush for
annihilation--took the stiletto, placed the point carefully against her hea=
rt,
and with both hands, slowly and steadily, pressed home.
"Old Parlay
arrived after that with his pearls. There was one single one of them, they =
say,
worth sixty thousand francs. Peter Gee saw it, and has told me he offered t=
hat
much for it. The old man went clean off for a while. They had him
strait-jacketed in the Colonial Club two days----"
"His wife's
uncle, an old Paumotan, cut him out of the jacket and turned him loose,&quo=
t;
the supercargo corroborated.
"And then old
Parlay proceeded to eat things up," Grief went on. "Pumped three
bullets into the scalawag of a lieutenant----"
"Who lay in =
sick
bay for three months," Captain Warfield contributed.
"Flung a gla=
ss
of wine in the Governor's face; fought a duel with the port doctor; beat up=
his
native servants; wrecked the hospital; broke two ribs and the collarbone of=
a
man nurse, and escaped; and went down to his schooner, a gun in each hand,
daring the chief of police and all the gendarmes to arrest him, and sailed =
for
Hikihoho. And they say he's never left the island since."
The supercargo
nodded. "That was fifteen years ago, and he's never budged."
"And added to
his pearls," said the captain. "He's a blithering old lunatic. Ma=
kes
my flesh creep. He's a regular Finn."
"What's
that?" Mulhall inquired.
"Bosses the
weather--that's what the natives believe, at any rate. Ask Tai-Hotauri ther=
e.
Hey, Tai-Hotauri! what you think old Parlay do along weather?"
"Just the sa=
me
one big weather devil," came the Kanaka's answer. "I know. He want
big blow, he make big blow. He want no wind, no wind come."
"A regular o=
ld
Warlock," said Mulhall.
"No good luck
them pearl," Tai-Hotauri blurted out, rolling his head ominously. &quo=
t;He
say he sell. Plenty schooner come. Then he make big hurricane, everybody fi=
nish,
you see. All native men say so."
"It's hurric=
ane
season now," Captain War-field laughed morosely. "They're not far
wrong. It's making for something right now, and I'd feel better if the Mala=
hini
was a thousand miles away from here."
"He is a bit
mad," Grief concluded. "I've tried to get his point of view.
It's--well, it's mixed. For eighteen years he'd centred everything on Arman=
de.
Half the time he believes she's still alive, not yet come back from France.
That's one of the reasons he held on to the pearls. And all the time he hat=
es
white men. He never forgets they killed her, though a great deal of the tim=
e he
forgets she's dead. Hello! Where's your wind?"
The sails bellied
emptily overhead, and Captain Warfield grunted his disgust. Intolerable as =
the
heat had been, in the absence of wind it was almost overpowering. The sweat
oozed out on all their faces, and now one, and again another, drew deep
breaths, involuntarily questing for more air.
"Here she co=
mes
again--an eight point haul! Boom-tackles across! Jump!"
The Kanakas spran=
g to
the captain's orders, and for five minutes the schooner laid directly into =
the
passage and even gained on the current. Again the breeze fell flat, then pu=
ffed
from the old quarter, compelling a shift back of sheets and tackles.
"Here comes =
the
Nuhiva" Grief said. "She's got her engine on. Look at her skim.&q=
uot;
"All
ready?" the captain asked the engineer, a Portuguese half-caste, whose
head and shoulders protruded from the small hatch just for'ard of the cabin,
and who wiped the sweat from his face with a bunch of greasy waste.
"Sure,"=
he
replied.
"Then let her
go."
The engineer
disappeared into his den, and a moment later the exhaust muffler coughed and
spluttered overside. But the schooner could not hold her lead. The little
cutter made three feet to her two and was quickly alongside and forging ahe=
ad.
Only natives were on her deck, and the man steering waved his hand in deris=
ive
greeting and farewell.
"That's Narii
Herring," Grief told Mulhall. "The big fellow at the wheel--the
nerviest and most conscienceless scoundrel in the Paumotus."
Five minutes late=
r a
cry of joy from their own Kanakas centred all eyes on the Nuhiva. Her engine
had broken down and they were overtaking her. The Malahini's sailors sprang
into the rigging and jeered as they went by; the little cutter heeled over =
by
the wind with a bone in her teeth, going backward on the tide.
"Some engine
that of ours," Grief approved, as the lagoon opened before them and the
course was changed across it to the anchorage.
Captain Warfield =
was
visibly cheered, though he merely grunted, "It'll pay for itself, never
fear."
The Malahini ran = well into the centre of the little fleet ere she found swinging room to anchor.<= o:p>
"There's Isa=
acs
on the Dolly," Grief observed, with a hand wave of greeting. "And
Peter Gee's on the Roberta. Couldn't keep him away from a pearl sale like t=
his.
And there's Francini on the Cactus. They're all here, all the buyers. Old
Parlay will surely get a price."
"They haven't
repaired the engine yet," Captain Warfield grumbled gleefully.
He was looking ac=
ross
the lagoon to where the Nuhiva's sails showed through the sparse cocoa-nuts=
.
II
The house of Parl=
ay
was a big two-story frame affair, built of California lumber, with a galvan=
ized
iron roof. So disproportionate was it to the slender ring of the atoll that=
it
showed out upon the sand-strip and above it like some monstrous excrescence.
They of the Malahini paid the courtesy visit ashore immediately after
anchoring. Other captains and buyers were in the big room examining the pea=
rls
that were to be auctioned next day. Paumotan servants, natives of Hikihoho,=
and
relatives of the owner, moved about dispensing whiskey and absinthe. And
through the curious company moved Parlay himself, cackling and sneering, the
withered wreck of what had once been a tall and powerful man. His eyes were
deep sunken and feverish, his cheeks fallen in and cavernous. The hair of h=
is
head seemed to have come out in patches, and his mustache and imperial had =
shed
in the same lopsided way.
"Jove!"
Mulhall muttered under his breath. "A long-legged Napoleon the Third, =
but
burnt out, baked, and fire-crackled. And mangy! No wonder he crooks his hea=
d to
one side. He's got to keep the balance."
"Goin' to ha=
ve a
blow," was the old man's greeting to Grief. "You must think a lot=
of
pearls to come a day like this."
"They're wor=
th
going to inferno for," Grief laughed genially back, running his eyes o=
ver
the surface of the table covered by the display.
"Other men h=
ave
already made that journey for them," old Parlay cackled. "See this
one!" He pointed to a large, perfect pearl the size of a small walnut =
that
lay apart on a piece of chamois. "They offered me sixty thousand francs
for it in Tahiti. They'll bid as much and more for it to-morrow, if they ar=
en't
blown away. Well, that pearl, it was found by my cousin, my cousin by marri=
age.
He was a native, you see. Also, he was a thief. He hid it. It was mine. His
cousin, who was also my cousin--we're all related here--killed him for it a=
nd
fled away in a cutter to Noo-Nau. I pursued, but the chief of Noo-Nau had
killed him for it before I got there. Oh, yes, there are many dead men
represented on the table there. Have a drink, Captain. Your face is not
familiar. You are new in the islands?"
"It's Captain
Robinson of the Roberta," Grief said, introducing them.
In the meantime
Mulhall had shaken hands with Peter Gee.
"I never fan=
cied
there were so many pearls in the world," Mulhall said.
"Nor have I =
ever
seen so many together at one time," Peter Gee admitted.
"What ought =
they
to be worth?"
"Fifty or si=
xty
thousand pounds--and that's to us buyers. In Paris----" He shrugged his
shoulders and lifted his eyebrows at the incommunicableness of the sum.
Mulhall wiped the
sweat from his eyes. All were sweating profusely and breathing hard. There =
was
no ice in the drink that was served, and whiskey and absinthe went down
lukewarm.
"Yes, yes,&q=
uot;
Parlay was cackling. "Many dead men lie on the table there. I know tho=
se
pearls, all of them. You see those three! Perfectly matched, aren't they? A
diver from Easter Island got them for me inside a week. Next week a shark g=
ot
him; took his arm off and blood poison did the business. And that big baroq=
ue
there--nothing much--if I'm offered twenty francs for it to-morrow I'll be =
in
luck; it came out of twenty-two fathoms of water. The man was from Raratong=
a.
He broke all diving records. He got it out of twenty-two fathoms. I saw him.
And he burst his lungs at the same time, or got the 'bends,' for he died in=
two
hours. He died screaming. They could hear him for miles. He was the most po=
werful
native I ever saw. Half a dozen of my divers have died of the bends. And mo=
re
men will die, more men will die."
"Oh, hush yo=
ur
croaking, Parlay," chided one of the captains. "It ain't going to
blow."
"If I was a
strong man, I couldn't get up hook and get out fast enough," the old m=
an
retorted in the falsetto of age. "Not if I was a strong man with the t=
aste
for wine yet in my mouth. But not you. You'll all stay, I wouldn't advise y=
ou
if I thought you'd go, You can't drive buzzards away from the carrion. Have
another drink, my brave sailor-men. Well, well, what men will dare for a few
little oyster drops! There they are, the beauties! Auction to-morrow, at ten
sharp. Old Parlay's selling out, and the buzzards are gathering--old Parlay=
who
was a stronger man in his day than any of them and who will see most of them
dead yet."
"If he isn't=
a
vile old beast!" the supercargo of the Malahini whispered to Peter Gee=
.
"What if she
does blow?" said the captain of the Dolly. "Hikihoho's never been
swept."
"The more re=
ason
she will be, then," Captain Warfield answered back. "I wouldn't t=
rust
her."
"Who's croak=
ing
now?" Grief reproved.
"I'd hate to
lose that new engine before it paid for itself," Captain Warfield repl=
ied
gloomily.
Parlay skipped wi=
th
astonishing nimbleness across the crowded room to the barometer on the wall=
.
"Take a look=
, my
brave sailormen!" he cried exultantly.
The man nearest r=
ead
the glass. The sobering effect showed plainly on his face.
"It's dropped
ten," was all he said, yet every face went anxious, and there was a lo=
ok
as if every man desired immediately to start for the door.
"Listen!&quo=
t;
Parlay commanded.
In the silence the
outer surf seemed to have become unusually loud. There was a great rumbling
roar.
"A big sea is
beginning to set," some one said; and there was a movement to the wind=
ows,
where all gathered.
Through the sparse
cocoanuts they gazed seaward. An orderly succession of huge smooth seas was
rolling down upon the coral shore. For some minutes they gazed on the stran=
ge
sight and talked in low voices, and in those few minutes it was manifest to=
all
that the waves were increasing in size. It was uncanny, this rising sea in a
dead calm, and their voices unconsciously sank lower. Old Parlay shocked th=
em
with his abrupt cackle.
"There is yet
time to get away to sea, brave gentlemen. You can tow across the lagoon with
your whaleboats."
"It's all ri=
ght,
old man," said Darling, the mate of the Cactus, a stalwart youngster of
twenty-five. "The blow's to the southward and passing on. We'll not ge=
t a
whiff of it."
An air of relief =
went
through the room. Conversations were started, and the voices became louder.
Several of the buyers even went back to the table to continue the examinati=
on
of the pearls.
Parlay's shrill
cackle rose higher.
"That's
right," he encouraged. "If the world was coming to an end you'd g=
o on
buying."
"We'll buy t=
hese
to-morrow just the same," Isaacs assured him.
"Then you'll=
be
doing your buying in hell."
The chorus of
incredulous laughter incensed the old man. He turned fiercely on Darling.
"Since when =
have
children like you come to the knowledge of storms? And who is the man who h=
as
plotted the hurricane-courses of the Paumotus? What books will you find it =
in?
I sailed the Paumotus before the oldest of you drew breath. I know. To the
eastward the paths of the hurricanes are on so wide a circle they make a
straight line. To the westward here they make a sharp curve. Remember your
chart. How did it happen the hurricane of '91 swept Auri and Hiolau? The cu=
rve,
my brave boy, the curve! In an hour, or two or three at most, will come the
wind. Listen to that!"
A vast rumbling c=
rash
shook the coral foundations of the atoll. The house quivered to it. The nat=
ive
servants, with bottles of whiskey and absinthe in their hands, shrank toget=
her
as if for protection and stared with fear through the windows at the mighty
wash of the wave lapping far up the beach to the corner of a copra-shed.
Parlay looked at =
the
barometer, giggled, and leered around at his guests. Captain War-field stro=
de
across to see.
"29:75,"=
; he
read. "She's gone down five more. By God! the old devil's right. She's
a-coming, and it's me, for one, for aboard."
"It's growing
dark," Isaacs half whispered.
"Jove! it's =
like
a stage," Mulhall said to Grief, looking at his watch. "Ten o'clo=
ck
in the morning, and it's like twilight. Down go the lights for the tragedy.
Where's the slow music!"
In answer, another
rumbling crash shook the atoll and the house. Almost in a panic the company
started for the door. In the dim light their sweaty faces appeared ghastly.
Isaacs panted asthmatically in the suffocating heat.
"What's your
haste?" Parlay chuckled and girded at his departing guests. "A la=
st
drink, brave gentlemen." No one noticed him. As they took the shell-bo=
rdered
path to the beach he stuck his head out the door and called, "Don't
forget, gentlemen, at ten to-morrow old Parlay sells his pearls."
III
On the beach a
curious scene took place. Whaleboat after whaleboat was being hurriedly man=
ned
and shoved off. It had grown still darker. The stagnant calm continued, and=
the
sand shook under their feet with each buffet of the sea on the outer shore.
Narii Herring walked leisurely along the sand. He grinned at the very evide=
nt
haste of the captains and buyers. With him were three of his Kanakas, and a=
lso
Tai-Hotauri.
"Get into the
boat and take an oar," Captain Warfield ordered the latter.
Tai-Hotauri came =
over
jauntily, while Narii Herring and his three Kanakas paused and looked on fr=
om
forty feet away.
"I work no m=
ore
for you, skipper," Tai-Hotauri said insolently and loudly. But his face
belied his words, for he was guilty of a prodigious wink. "Fire me,
skipper," he huskily whispered, with a second significant wink.
Captain Warfield =
took
the cue and proceeded to do some acting himself. He raised his fist and his
voice.
"Get into th=
at
boat," he thundered, "or I'll knock seven bells out of you!"=
The Kanaka drew b=
ack
truculently, and Grief stepped between to placate his captain.
"I go to wor=
k on
the Nuhiva," Tai-Hotauri said, rejoining the other group.
"Come back
here!" the captain threatened.
"He's a free
man, skipper," Narii Herring spoke up. "He's sailed with me in th=
e past,
and he's sailing again, that's all."
"Come on, we
must get on board," Grief urged. "Look how dark it's getting.&quo=
t;
Captain Warfield =
gave
in, but as the boat shoved off he stood up in the sternsheets and shook his
fist ashore.
"I'll settle
with you yet, Narii," he cried. "You're the only skipper in the g=
roup
that steals other men's sailors," He sat down, and in lowered voice
queried: "Now what's Tai-Hotauri up to? He's on to something, but what=
is
it?"
IV
As the boat came alongside the Malahini, Hermann's anxious face greeted them over the rail.<= o:p>
"Bottom out =
fall
from barometer," he announced. "She's goin' to blow. I got starbo=
ard
anchor overhaul."
"Overhaul the
big one, too," Captain Warfield ordered, taking charge. "And here,
some of you, hoist in this boat. Lower her down to the deck and lash her bo=
ttom
up."
Men were busy at =
work
on the decks of all the schooners. There was a great clanking of chains bei=
ng
overhauled, and now one craft, and now another, hove in, veered, and droppe=
d a
second anchor. Like the Malahini, those that had third anchors were prepari=
ng
to drop them when the wind showed what quarter it was to blow from.
The roar of the b=
ig
surf continually grew though the lagoon lay in the mirror-like calm.
There was no sign=
of
life where Parlay's big house perched on the sand. Boat and copra-sheds and=
the
sheds where the shell was stored were deserted.
"For two cen=
ts
I'd up anchors and get out," Grief said. "I'd do it anyway if it =
were
open sea. But those chains of atolls to the north and east have us pocketed.
We've a better chance right here. What do you think, Captain Warfield?"=
;
"I agree with
you, though a lagoon is no mill-pond for riding it out. I wonder where she's
going to start from? Hello! There goes one of Parlay's copra-sheds."
They could see the
grass-thatched shed lift and collapse, while a froth of foam cleared the cr=
est
of the sand and ran down to the lagoon.
"Breached
across!" Mulhall exclaimed. "That's something for a starter. There
she comes again!"
The wreck of the =
shed
was now flung up and left on the sand-crest, A third wave buffeted it into
fragments which washed down the slope toward the lagoon.
"If she blow=
I
would as be cooler yet," Hermann grunted. "No longer can I breath=
e.
It is damn hot. I am dry like a stove."
He chopped open a
drinking cocoanut with his heavy sheath-knife and drained the contents. The
rest of them followed his example, pausing once to watch one of Parlay's sh=
ell
sheds go down in ruin. The barometer now registered 29:50.
"Must be pre=
tty
close to the centre of the area of low pressure," Grief remarked
cheerfully. "I was never through the eye of a hurricane before. It wil=
l be
an experience for you, too, Mulhall. From the speed the barometer's dropped,
it's going to be a big one."
Captain Warfield
groaned, and all eyes drew to him. He was looking through the glasses down =
the
length of the lagoon to the southeast.
"There she
comes," he said quietly.
They did not need
glasses to see. A flying film, strangely marked, seemed drawing over the su=
rface
of the lagoon. Abreast of it, along the atoll, travelling with equal speed,=
was
a stiff bending of the cocoanut palms and a blur of flying leaves. The fron=
t of
the wind on the water was a solid, sharply defined strip of dark-coloured,
wind-vexed water. In advance of this strip, like skirmishers, were flashes =
of
windflaws. Behind this strip, a quarter of a mile in width, was a strip of =
what
seemed glassy calm. Next came another dark strip of wind, and behind that t=
he
lagoon was all crisping, boiling whiteness.
"What is that
calm streak?" Mulhall asked.
"Calm,"
Warfield answered.
"But it trav=
els
as fast as the wind," was the other's objection.
"It has to, =
or
it would be overtaken and it wouldn't be any calm. It's a double-header, I =
saw
a big squall like that off Savaii once. A regular double-header. Smash! it =
hit
us, then it lulled to nothing, and smashed us a second time. Stand by and h=
old
on! Here she is on top of us. Look at the Roberta!"
The Roberta, lying
nearest to the wind at slack chains, was swept off broadside like a straw. =
Then
her chains brought her up, bow on to the wind, with an astonishing jerk.
Schooner after schooner, the Malahini with them, was now sweeping away with=
the
first gust and fetching up on taut chains. Mulhall and several of the Kanak=
as
were taken off their feet when the Malahini jerked to her anchors.
And then there wa=
s no
wind. The flying calm streak had reached them. Grief lighted a match, and t=
he
unshielded flame burned without flickering in the still air. A very dim twi=
light
prevailed. The cloud-sky, lowering as it had been for hours, seemed now to =
have
descended quite down upon the sea.
The Roberta tight=
ened
to her chains when the second head of the hurricane hit, as did schooner af=
ter
schooner in swift succession. The sea, white with fury, boiled in tiny,
spitting wavelets. The deck of the Malahini vibrated under the men's feet. =
The
taut-stretched halyards beat a tattoo against the masts, and all the riggin=
g,
as if smote by some mighty hand, set up a wild thrumming. It was impossible=
to
face the wind and breathe. Mulhall, crouching with the others behind the
shelter of the cabin, discovered this, and his lungs were filled in an inst=
ant with
so great a volume of driven air which he could not expel that he nearly
strangled ere he could turn his head away.
"It's
incredible," he gasped, but no one heard him.
Hermann and sever=
al
Kanakas were crawling for'ard on hands and knees to let go the third anchor.
Grief touched Captain Warfield and pointed to the Roberta. She was dragging
down upon them. Warfield put his mouth to Grief's ear and shouted:
"We're dragg=
ing,
too!"
Grief sprang to t=
he
wheel and put it hard over, veering the Mahhini to port. The third anchor t=
ook
hold, and the Roberta went by, stern-first, a dozen yards away. They waved
their hands to Peter Gee and Captain Robinson, who, with a number of sailor=
s,
were at work on the bow.
"He's knocki=
ng
out the shackles!" Grief shouted. "Going to chance the passage! G=
ot
to! Anchors skating!"
"We're holdi=
ng
now!" came the answering shout. "There goes the Cactus down on the
Misi. That settles them!"
The Misi had been
holding, but the added windage of the Cactus was too much, and the entangled
schooners slid away across the boiling white. Their men could be seen chopp=
ing
and fighting to get them apart. The Roberta, cleared of her anchors, with a
patch of tarpaulin set for'ard, was heading for the passage at the northwes=
tern
end of the lagoon. They saw her make it and drive out to sea. But the Misi =
and Cactus,
unable to get clear of each other, went ashore on the atoll half a mile from
the passage. The wind merely increased on itself and continued to increase.=
To
face the full blast of it required all one's strength, and several minutes =
of
crawling on deck against it tired a man to exhaustion. Hermann, with his
Kanakas, plodded steadily, lashing and making secure, putting ever more gas=
kets
on the sails. The wind ripped and tore their thin undershirts from their ba=
cks.
They moved slowly, as if their bodies weighed tons, never releasing a hand-=
hold
until another had been secured. Loose ends of rope stood out stiffly
horizontal, and, when a whipping gave, the loose end frazzled and blew away=
.
Mulhall touched o=
ne
and then another and pointed to the shore. The grass-sheds had disappeared,=
and
Parlay's house rocked drunkenly, Because the wind blew lengthwise along the
atoll, the house had been sheltered by the miles of cocoanut trees. But the=
big
seas, breaking across from outside, were undermining it and hammering it to
pieces. Already tilted down the slope of sand, its end was imminent. Here a=
nd there
in the cocoanut trees people had lashed themselves. The trees did not sway =
or
thresh about. Bent over rigidly from the wind, they remained in that positi=
on
and vibrated monstrously. Underneath, across the sand, surged the white spu=
me
of the breakers. A big sea was likewise making down the length of the lagoo=
n.
It had plenty of room to kick up in the ten-mile stretch from the windward =
rim
of the atoll, and all the schooners were bucking and plunging into it. The
Malahini had begun shoving her bow and fo'c'sle head under the bigger ones,=
and
at times her waist was filled rail-high with water.
"Now's the t=
ime
for your engine!" Grief bellowed; and Captain Warfield, crawling over =
to
where the engineer lay, shouted emphatic commands.
Under the engine,
going full speed ahead, the Malahini behaved better. While she continued to
ship seas over her bow, she was not jerked down so fiercely by her anchors.=
On
the other hand, she was unable to get any slack in the chains. The best her
forty horsepower could do was to ease the strain.
Still the wind
increased. The little Nuhiva, lying abreast of the Malahini and closer in to
the beach, her engine still unrepaired and her captain ashore, was having a=
bad
time of it. She buried herself so frequently and so deeply that they wonder=
ed
each time if she could clear herself of the water. At three in the afternoon
buried by a second sea before she could free herself of the preceding one, =
she
did not come up.
Mulhall looked at
Grief.
"Burst in her
hatches," was the bellowed answer.
Captain Warfield
pointed to the Winifred, a little schooner plunging and burying outside of
them, and shouted in Grief's ear. His voice came in patches of dim words, w=
ith
intervals of silence when whisked away by the roaring wind.
"Rotten litt=
le
tub... Anchors hold... But how she holds together... Old as the ark----&quo=
t;
An hour later Her=
mann
pointed to her. Her for'ard bitts, foremast, and most of her bow were gone,
having been jerked out of her by her anchors. She swung broadside, rolling =
in
the trough and settling by the head, and in this plight was swept away to
leeward.
Five vessels now
remained, and of them the Malahini was the only one with an engine. Fearing
either the Nuhiva's or the Winifdred's fate, two of them followed the Rober=
ta's
example, knocking out the chain-shackles and running for the passage. The D=
olly
was the first, but her tarpaulin was carried away, and she went to destruct=
ion
on the lee-rim of the atoll near the Misi and the Cactus. Undeterred by thi=
s,
the Moana let go and followed with the same result.
"Pretty good
engine that, eh?" Captain Warfield yelled to his owner.
Grief put out his hand and shook. "She's paying for herself!" he yelled back. "= ;The wind's shifting around to the southward, and we ought to lie easier!"<= o:p>
Slowly and steadi=
ly,
but with ever-increasing velocity, the wind veered around to the south and =
the
southwest, till the three schooners that were left pointed directly in towa=
rd
the beach. The wreck of Parlay's house was picked up, hurled into the lagoo=
n,
and blown out upon them. Passing the Malahini, it crashed into the Papara,
lying a quarter of a mile astern. There was wild work for'ard on her, and i=
n a
quarter of an hour the house went clear, but it had taken the Papara's fore=
mast
and bowsprit with it.
Inshore, on their
port bow, lay the Tahaa, slim and yacht-like, but excessively oversparred. =
Her
anchors still held, but her captain, finding no abatement in the wind,
proceeded to reduce windage by chopping down his masts.
"Pretty good
engine that," Grief congratulated his skipper, "It will save our
sticks for us yet."
Captain Warfield
shook his head dubiously.
The sea on the la=
goon
went swiftly down with the change of wind, but they were beginning to feel =
the
heave and lift of the outer sea breaking across the atoll. There were not so
many trees remaining. Some had been broken short off, others uprooted. One =
tree
they saw snap off halfway up, three persons clinging to it, and whirl away =
by the
wind into the lagoon. Two detached themselves from it and swam to the Tahaa.
Not long after, just before darkness, they saw one jump overboard from that=
schooner's
stern and strike out strongly for the Malahini through the white, spitting
wavelets.
"It's
Tai-Hotauri," was Grief's judgment. "Now we'll have the news.&quo=
t;
The Kanaka caught=
the
bobstay, climbed over the bow, and crawled aft. Time was given him to breat=
he,
and then, behind the part shelter of the cabin, in broken snatches and larg=
ely
by signs, he told his story.
"Narii... da=
mn
robber... He want steal... pearls... Kill Parlay... One man kill Parlay... =
No
man know what man... Three Kanakas, Narii, me... Five beans... hat... Narii=
say
one bean black... Nobody know... Kill Parlay... Narii damn liar... All beans
black... Five black... Copra-shed dark... Every man get black bean... Big w=
ind
come... No chance... Everybody get up tree... No good luck them pearls... I
tell you before... No good luck."
"Where's
Parlay?" Grief shouted.
"Up tree...
Three of his Kanakas same tree. Narii and one Kanaka'nother tree... My tree
blow to hell, then I come on board."
"Where's the
pearls?"
"Up tree alo=
ng
Parlay. Mebbe Narii get them pearl yet."
In the ear of one
after another Grief passed on Tai-Hotauri's story. Captain Warfield was
particularly incensed, and they could see him grinding his teeth.
Hermann went below
and returned with a riding light, but the moment it was lifted above the le=
vel
of the cabin wall the wind blew it out. He had better success with the binn=
acle
lamp, which was lighted only after many collective attempts.
"A fine nigh=
t of
wind!" Grief yelled in Mulhall's ear. "And blowing harder all the
time."
"How hard?&q=
uot;
"A hundred m=
iles
an hour... two hundred... I don't know... Harder than I've ever seen it.&qu=
ot;
The lagoon grew m=
ore
and more troubled by the sea that swept across the atoll. Hundreds of leagu=
es
of ocean was being backed up by the hurricane, which more than overcame the
lowering effect of the ebb tide. Immediately the tide began to rise the
increase in the size of the seas was noticeable. Moon and wind were heaping=
the
South Pacific on Hikihoho atoll.
Captain Warfield
returned from one of his periodical trips to the engine room with the word =
that
the engineer lay in a faint.
"Can't let t=
hat
engine stop!" he concluded helplessly.
"All
right!" Grief said, "Bring him on deck. I'll spell him."
The hatch to the
engine room was battened down, access being gained through a narrow passage
from the cabin. The heat and gas fumes were stifling. Grief took one hasty,
comprehensive examination of the engine and the fittings of the tiny room, =
then
blew out the oil-lamp. After that he worked in darkness, save for the glow =
from
endless cigars which he went into the cabin to light. Even-tempered as he w=
as,
he soon began to give evidences of the strain of being pent in with a
mechanical monster that toiled, and sobbed, and slubbered in the shouting d=
ark.
Naked to the waist, covered with grease and oil, bruised and skinned from b=
eing
knocked about by the plunging, jumping vessel, his head swimming from the
mixture of gas and air he was compelled to breathe, he laboured on hour aft=
er
hour, in turns petting, blessing, nursing, and cursing the engine and all i=
ts
parts. The ignition began to go bad. The feed grew worse. And worst of all,=
the
cylinders began to heat. In a consultation held in the cabin the half-caste
engineer begged and pleaded to stop the engine for half an hour in order to
cool it and to attend to the water circulation. Captain Warfield was against
any stopping. The half-caste swore that the engine would ruin itself and st=
op
anyway and for good. Grief, with glaring eyes, greasy and battered, yelled =
and
cursed them both down and issued commands. Mulhall, the supercargo, and Her=
mann
were set to work in the cabin at double-straining and triple-straining the
gasoline. A hole was chopped through the engine room floor, and a Kanaka he=
aved
bilge-water over the cylinders, while Grief continued to souse running part=
s in
oil.
"Didn't know=
you
were a gasoline expert," Captain Warfield admired when Grief came into=
the
cabin to catch a breath of little less impure air.
"I bathe in
gasoline," he grated savagely through his teeth. "I eat it."=
What other uses he
might have found for it were never given, for at that moment all the men in=
the
cabin, as well as the gasoline being strained, were smashed forward against=
the
bulkhead as the Malahini took an abrupt, deep dive. For the space of several
minutes, unable to gain their feet, they rolled back and forth and pounded =
and
hammered from wall to wall. The schooner, swept by three big seas, creaked =
and
groaned and quivered, and from the weight of water on her decks behaved log=
ily.
Grief crept to the engine, while Captain Warfield waited his chance to get
through the companion-way and out on deck.
It was half an ho=
ur
before he came back.
"Whaleboat's
gone!" he reported. "Galley's gone! Everything gone except the de=
ck
and hatches! And if that engine hadn't been going we'd be gone! Keep up the
good work!"
By midnight the
engineer's lungs and head had been sufficiently cleared of gas fumes to let=
him
relieve Grief, who went on deck to get his own head and lungs clear. He joi=
ned
the others, who crouched behind the cabin, holding on with their hands and =
made
doubly secure by rope-lashings. It was a complicated huddle, for it was the
only place of refuge for the Kanakas. Some of them had accepted the skipper=
's invitation
into the cabin but had been driven out by the fumes. The Malahini was being
plunged down and swept frequently, and what they breathed was air and spray=
and
water commingled.
"Making heavy
weather of it, Mulhall!" Grief shouted to his guest between immersions=
.
Mulhall, strangli=
ng
and choking, could only nod. The scuppers could not carry off the burden of
water on the schooner's deck. She rolled it out and took it in over one rail
and the other; and at times, nose thrown skyward, sitting down on her heel,=
she
avalanched it aft. It surged along the poop gangways, poured over the top of
the cabin, submerging and bruising those that clung on, and went out over t=
he
stern-rail.
Mulhall saw him
first, and drew Grief's attention. It was Narii Herring, crouching and hold=
ing
on where the dim binnacle light shone upon him. He was quite naked, save fo=
r a
belt and a bare-bladed knife thrust between it and the skin.
Captain Warfield
untied his lashings and made his way over the bodies of the others. When his
face became visible in the light from the binnacle it was working with ange=
r.
They could see him speak, but the wind tore the sound away. He would not put
his lips to Narii's ear. Instead, he pointed over the side. Narii Herring
understood. His white teeth showed in an amused and sneering smile, and he
stood up, a magnificent figure of a man.
"It's
murder!" Mulhall yelled to Grief.
"He'd have
murdered Old Parlay!" Grief yelled back.
For the moment the
poop was clear of water and the Malahini on an even keel. Narii made a brav=
ado
attempt to walk to the rail, but was flung down by the wind. Thereafter he
crawled, disappearing in the darkness, though there was certitude in all of
them that he had gone over the side. The Malahini dived deep, and when they
emerged from the flood that swept aft, Grief got Mulhall's ear.
"Can't lose =
him!
He's the Fish Man of Tahiti! He'll cross the lagoon and land on the other r=
im
of the atoll if there's any atoll left!"
Five minutes
afterward, in another submergence, a mess of bodies poured down on them over
the top of the cabin. These they seized and held till the water cleared, wh=
en they
carried them below and learned their identity. Old Parlay lay oh his back on
the floor, with closed eyes and without movement. The other two were his Ka=
naka
cousins. All three were naked and bloody. The arm of one Kanaka hung helple=
ss
and broken at his side. The other man bled freely from a hideous scalp woun=
d.
"Narii did
that?" Mulhall demanded.
Grief shook his h= ead. "No; it's from being smashed along the deck and over the house!"<= o:p>
Something suddenly
ceased, leaving them in dizzying uncertainty. For the moment it was hard to
realize there was no wind. With the absolute abruptness of a sword slash, t=
he
wind had been chopped off. The schooner rolled and plunged, fetching up on =
her
anchors with a crash which for the first time they could hear. Also, for the
first time they could hear the water washing about on deck. The engineer th=
rew
off the propeller and eased the engine down.
"We're in the
dead centre," Grief said. "Now for the shift. It will come as har=
d as
ever." He looked at the barometer. "29:32," he read.
Not in a moment c=
ould
he tone down the voice which for hours had battled against the wind, and so
loudly did he speak that in the quiet it hurt the others' ears.
"All his ribs
are smashed," the supercargo said, feeling along Parlay's side. "=
He's
still breathing, but he's a goner."
Old Parlay groane=
d,
moved one arm impotently, and opened his eyes. In them was the light of
recognition.
"My brave
gentlemen," he whispered haltingly. "Don't forget... the auction.=
..
at ten o'clock... in hell."
His eyes dropped =
shut
and the lower jaw threatened to drop, but he mastered the qualms of dissolu=
tion
long enough to omit one final, loud, derisive cackle.
Above and below
pandemonium broke out.
The old familiar =
roar
of the wind was with them. The Malahini, caught broadside, was pressed down
almost on her beam ends as she swung the arc compelled by her anchors. They
rounded her into the wind, where she jerked to an even keel. The propeller =
was
thrown on, and the engine took up its work again.
"Northwest!&=
quot;
Captain Warfield shouted to Grief when he came on deck. "Hauled eight
points like a shot!"
"Narii'll ne=
ver
get across the lagoon now!" Grief observed.
"Then he'll =
blow
back to our side, worse luck!"
V
After the passing=
of
the centre the barometer began to rise. Equally rapid was the fall of the w=
ind.
When it was no more than a howling gale, the engine lifted up in the air,
parted its bed-plates with a last convulsive effort of its forty horsepower,
and lay down on its side. A wash of water from the bilge sizzled over it and
the steam arose in clouds. The engineer wailed his dismay, but Grief glanced
over the wreck affectionately and went into the cabin to swab the grease off
his chest and arms with bunches of cotton waste.
The sun was up and
the gentlest of summer breezes blowing when he came on deck, after sewing up
the scalp of one Kanaka and setting the other's arm. The Malahini lay close=
in
to the beach. For'ard, Hermann and the crew were heaving in and straighteni=
ng
out the tangle of anchors. The Papara and the Tahaa were gone, and Captain
Warfield, through the glasses, was searching the opposite rim of the atoll.=
"Not a stick
left of them," he said. "That's what comes of not having engines.
They must have dragged across before the big shift came."
Ashore, where
Parlay's house had been, was no vestige of any house. For the space of three
hundred yards, where the sea had breached, no tree or even stump was left. =
Here
and there, farther along, stood an occasional palm, and there were numbers
which had been snapped off above the ground. In the crown of one surviving =
palm
Tai-Hotauri asserted he saw something move. There were no boats left to the
Malahini, and they watched him swim ashore and climb the tree.
When he came back,
they helped over the rail a young native girl of Parley's household. But fi=
rst
she passed up to them a battered basket. In it was a litter of blind
kittens--all dead save one, that feebly mewed and staggered on awkward legs=
.
"Hello!"
said Mulhall. "Who's that?"
Along the beach t=
hey
saw a man walking. He moved casually, as if out for a morning stroll. Capta=
in
Warfield gritted his teeth. It was Narii Herring.
"Hello,
skipper!" Narii called, when he was abreast of them. "Can I come =
aboard
and get some breakfast?"
Captain Warfield's
face and neck began to swell and turn purple. He tried to speak, but choked=
.
"For two
cents--for two cents----" was all he could manage to articulate.
THE END