A STORY IN MELON SEEDS
We were all gaunt and unkempt after our hardships of the past two days, but
Neddie, poor fellow, looked more like a corpse than a living man and moaned
with thirst and scarcely could sit up without help. Finding about a pint of
water close at hand in the hollow of a tree, we carried him to it and he
sucked it up with a straw till it was all gone; but though it relieved his
misery, he was manifestly unable to walk, even had we dared stir abroad, so
we stayed where we were while the sun rose to the meridian. We could find
so little water that we all suffered from thirst, and with Neddie's
sickness in mind none of us dared eat more leaves or berries.
The afternoon slowly wore away; the tide came in across the flats; the
shadows lengthened hour by hour. But no breath of wind cooled our hot
faces. Neddie lay in a heap, moaning fitfully; Blodgett and Davie Paine
slept; Roger sat with his back to a tree and watched the incoming tide; the
cook stirred about uneasily and muttered to himself.
Coming over to me, he crouched at my side and spoke of Kipping. He was
savagely vindictive. "Hgh!" he grunted, "dat yeh crimp! He got dis nigger
once, yass, sah. Got me to dat boa'din' house what he was runner foh. Yass,
sah. Ah had one hunnerd dollahs in mah pants pocket, yass, sah. Nex'
mohnin' Ah woke up th'ee days lateh 'boa'd ship bound foh London. Ah ain'
got no hunnerd dollah in mah pants pocket. Dat yeh Kipping he didn't leave
me no pants pocket." The old black pulled open his shirt and revealed a
jagged scar on his great shoulder. "Look a' dat! Cap'n done dat--dat yeh
v'yage. Hgh!"
At dusk Neddie's moaning woke the sleepers, and we held a council in which
we debated plans for the future. Daring neither to venture abroad nor to
eat the native fruits and leaves, exhausted by exposure, perishing of
hunger and thirst, we faced a future that was dark indeed.
"As for me," said Davie calmly, "I can see only one way to end our misery."
He glanced at the cook's cleaver as he spoke.
"No, no!" Roger cried sharply. "Let us have no such talk as that, Davie."
He hesitated, looking first at us,--his eyes rested longest on Neddie's
hollow face,--then at the marsh; then he leaned forward and looked from one
to another. "Men," he said, "I see no better way out of our difficulties
than to surrender to the natives."
"Oh, no, no, sah! No, sah! Don' do dat, sah! No, no no!" With a yell black
Frank threw himself on his knees. "No, sah, no, sah! Dey's we'y devils,
sah, dey's wuss 'n red Injuns, sah!"
"Fool." Roger cried. "Be still!" Seeming to hold the negro in contempt, he
turned to the rest of us and awaited our answer.
At the time we were amazed at his harshness, and the poor cook was
completely overwhelmed; for little as Roger said, there was something in
his manner of saying it that burned like fire. But later, when we looked
back on that day and remembered how bitterly we were discouraged, we saw
reason to thank God that Roger Hamlin had had the wisdom and the power to
crush absolutely the first sign of insubordination.
Staring in a curious way at the cook, who was fairly groveling on the
earth, Blodgett spoke up in a strangely listless voice. "I say yes, sir. If
we're to die, we're to die anyhow, and there's a bare chance they'll feed
us before they butcher us."
"Ay," said Davie. "Me, too!"
And Neddie made out to nod.
The cook, watching the face of each man in turn, began to blubber; and when
I, the youngest and last, cast my vote with the rest, he literally rolled
on the ground and bellowed.
"Get up!" Roger snapped out at him.
He did so in a kind of stupid wonder.
"Now then, cook, there's been enough of this nonsense. Come, let's sleep.
At daylight to-morrow we'll be on our way."
Apparently the negro at first doubted his ears; but Roger's peremptory tone
brought him to his senses, and the frank disapproval of the others ended
his perversity.
A certain confidence that our troubles were soon to be ended in one way or
another, coupled with exhaustion, enabled me to sleep deeply that night,
despite the numberless perils that beset us.
I was aware that the cook continually moaned to himself and that at some
time in the night Roger and Blodgett were throwing stones at a wild beast
that was prowling about. Then the sun shone full on my face and I woke with
a start.
Roger and Davie Paine each gave Neddie Benson an arm, Blodgett and I pushed
ahead to find the best footing, and the cook, once more palsied with fear,
again came last. To this day I have not been able to account for Frank's
strange weakness. In all other circumstances he was as brave as a lion.
Staggering along as best we could, we arrived at the stream we had found
before--we dared not drink its water, even in our extremity--and followed
it to the glade, which this time we boldly entered. At first we saw no one,
but when we had advanced a few steps, we came upon three girls fishing from
the bank of the stream. As they darted off along the path that led up the
glade, we started after them, but we were so weak that, when we had gone
only a short distance, we had to sit down on the trunk of a large tree to
rest.
About a quarter of an hour later we heard steps, and shortly seven men
appeared by the same path.
Indicating by a motion of his hand that he wished the rest of us to remain
seated, Roger rose and went fearlessly to meet the seven. When he had
approached within a short distance, they stopped and drew their krises, or
knives with waved points. Never hesitating, Roger continued to advance
until he was within six feet of them, then falling on his knees and
extending his empty hands, he begged for mercy.
For a long time they stood with drawn knives, staring at him and at us;
then one of them put up his kris, and knelt in front of him and offered him
both hands, which, it seemed, was a sign of friendship.
When we indicated by gestures that we were hungry, they immediately gave us
each a cocoanut; but meanwhile some twenty or thirty more natives had
arrived at the spot where we were, and they now proceeded to take our hats
and handkerchiefs, and to cut the buttons from our coats.
Presently they gave us what must have been an order to march. At all events
we walked with them at a brisk pace along a well-marked trail, between
great ferns and rank canes and grasses, and after a time we came to a
village composed of frail, low houses or bungalows, from which other
natives came running. Some of them shook their fists at us angrily; some
picked up sticks and clubs or armed themselves with knives and krises, and
came trailing along behind. Children began to throw clods and pebbles at
us. The mob was growing rapidly, and for some cause, their curiosity to see
the white men, the like of whom most of them probably never had seen
before, was unaccountably mixed with anger.
If they were going to kill us, why did they not cut our throats and have it
done with? Still the people came running, till the whining of their voices
almost deafened us; and still they hustled us along, until at last we came
to a house larger than any we had passed.
Here they all stopped, and our captors, with as many of the clamoring mob
as the place would hold, drove us through the open door into what appeared
to be the judgment-hall of the village. Completely at their mercy, we stood
by the judgment-seat in the centre of a large circle and waited until, at
the end of perhaps half an hour, an even greater uproar arose in the
distance.
There was much stirring and talking and new faces continued to appear. From
where I stood I could see that the growing throng was armed with spears and
knives. More and more natives pressed into the ring that surrounded us and
listened intently to a brisk discussion, of which none of us could
understand a word.
In one corner was a heap of melons; in another were spears and shields. I
was looking at them curiously when something familiar just above them
caught my eye and sent a stab of fear through my heart. In that array of
savage weapons were _three ship's cutlasses_. I was familiar enough with
the rife of those Eastern islands to know what that meant.
Everywhere in the dim hall were bared knives, and muttering voices now and
then rose to loud shrieks. What with faintness and fatigue and fear, I felt
myself growing weak and dizzy. The circle of hostile faces and knives and
spears seemed suddenly dim and far-away. In all the hut I could see only
the three ship's cutlasses in the corner, and think only of what a grand
history theirs must have been.
The distant roar that came slowly nearer seemed so much like a dream that I
thought I must be delirious, and rubbed my eyes and ears and tried to
compose myself; but the roar continued to grow louder, and now a more
intense clamor arose. The crowd parted and in through the open lane came a
wild, tall man, naked except for a pair of short breeches, a girdle, and a
red handkerchief on his head, who carried a drawn kris. Coming within the
circle, he stopped and stared at us. Then everything grew white and I found
myself lying on my back on the floor, looking up at them all and wondering
if they had killed me already. Small wonder that starvation and exposure
had proved too much for me!
Roger was down on his knees beside me,--he told me long afterwards that
nothing ever gave him such a start as did my ghastly pallor,--and the
others, in the face of our common danger, gathered round me solicitously.
All, that is, except the cook; for, although our captors had exhibited a
lively curiosity about those of us who were white, they had frightened the
poor negro almost out of his wits by feeling of his cheeks and kinky hair
and by punching his ribs with their fingers, until now, having been
deprived of his beloved cleaver, he cowered like a scared puppy before the
gravely interested natives. "O Lo'd," he muttered between chattering teeth,
"O Lo'd, why am dis yeh nigger so popolous? O Lo'd, O Lo'd, dah comes
anotheh--dah comes anotheh!"
Of the hostility of our captors there now could be no doubt. The sinister
motion of their weapons, the angry glances that they persistently darted at
us, the manner and inflection of their speech, all were threatening. But
Roger, having made sure that I was not injured, was on his feet and already
had faced boldly the angry throng.
Though we could not understand the savages and they could not understand
us, Roger's earnestness when he began to speak commanded their attention,
and the chief fixed his eyes on him gravely. But some one else repeated it
twice a phrase that sounded like "Pom-pom, pom-pom!" And the rest burst
into angry yells.
Roger indignantly threw his hands down,--palms toward the chief,--as if to
indicate that we had come in friendship; but the man laughed scornfully and
repeated the phrase, "Pom-pom!"
Again Roger spoke indignantly; again he threw his hands down, palms out.
But once more the cry, "Pom-pom, pom-pom," rose fiercely, and the angry
throng pressed closer about us. The rest of us had long since despaired of
our lives, and for the moment even Roger was baffled.
"Pom-pom, pom-pom!"
What the phrase meant we had not the remotest idea, but that our state now
was doubly perilous the renewed hubbub and the closing circle of weapons
convinced us.
"Pom-pom, pom-pom!" Again and again in all parts of the hall we heard the
mysterious words.
Was there nothing that we could do to prove our good faith? Nothing to show
them that at least we did not come as enemies?
Over Davie Fame's face an odd expression now passed. He was staring at the
heap of melons.
"Mr. Hamlin," he said in a low voice, "if we was to cut a ship out of one
of them melons, and a boat and some men, we could show these 'ere heathen
how we didn't aim to bother them, and then maybe they'd let us go away
again."
"Davie, Davie, man," Roger cried, "there's an idea!"
I was completely bewildered. What could Davie mean, I wondered. Melons and
a ship? Were he and Roger mad? From Roger's actions I verily believed they
were.
He faced our captors for a moment as if striving to think of some way to
impress them; then, with a quick gesture, he deliberately got down on the
floor and took the chief's foot and placed it on his head, to signify that
we were completely in the fellow's power. Next he rose and faced the man
boldly, and began a solemn and impressive speech. His grave air and stern
voice held their attention, though they could not understand a word he
said; and before their interest had time to fail, he drew from his pocket a
penknife, a weapon so small that it had escaped their prying fingers, and
walking deliberately to the corner where the melons were heaped up, took
one of them and began to cut it.
At first they started forward; but when Roger made no hostile motion, they
gathered round him in silence to see what he was doing.
"Here, men, is the ship," he said gravely, "and here the boats." Kneeling
and continuing his speech, he cut from the melon-rind a roughly shaped
model of a ship, and stuck in it, to represent masts, three slivers of
bamboo, which he split from a piece that lay on the floor; then he cut a
smaller model, which he laid on the deck of the ship, to represent a boat.
On one side of the deck he upright six melon seeds, on the other twelve.
Pointing at the six seeds and holding up six fingers, he pointed at each
of us in turn.
Suddenly one of the natives cried out in his own tongue; then another and
another seemed to understand Roger's meaning as they jabbered among
themselves and in turn pointed at the six seeds and at the six white men
whom they had captured.
Roger then imitated a fight, shaking his fists and slashing as if with a
cutlass, and, last of all, he pointed his finger, and cried, "Bang! Bang!"
At this the natives fairly yelled in excitement and repeated over and over,
"Pom--pom--pom--pom!"
"Bang-bang!"--"Pom-pom!" We suddenly understood the phrase that they had
used so often.
Now in dead silence, all in the hut, brown men and white, pressed close
around the melon-rind boat on the floor. So moving the melon seeds that it
was obvious that the six men represented by six seeds were being driven
overboard, Roger next set the boat on the floor and transferred them to it.
Lining up all the rest along the side of the ship, he cried loudly, "Bang
bang!"
"Cook," he called, beckoning to black Frank, "come here!"
As the negro reluctantly obeyed, Roger pointed to the long gash that
Kipping's bullet had cut in his kinky scalp. Crying again, "Bang-bang!" he
pointed at one of the seeds in the boat and then at the cook.
Not one of them who could see the carved boats failed to understand what
Roger meant, and the brown men looked at Frank and laughed and talked more
loudly and excitedly than ever. Then the chief stood up and cried to some
one in the farthest corner of the room, and at that there was more laughing
and shouting. The man in the corner seemed much abashed; but those about
him pushed him forward, and he was shoved along through the crowd until he,
too, stood beside the table, where a dozen men pointed at his head and
cried "Bang-bang!" or "Pom-pom!" as the case might be.
To our amazement we saw that just over his right temple there was torn the
path of a bullet, exactly that on the cook's head.
[Illustration:
He cut from the melon-rind a roughly shaped model of a ship and stuck in
it, to represent masts, three slivers of bamboo.]