|The festival of Christmas was approaching. Susannah was greatly
excited over the preparations. Mrs. Ulswater was making mince pies.
Ram Nad--whose opinion of himself is that he is an astral and unworldly
soul, while Mrs. Ulswater's is that he differs from all heathen
described in the missionary quarterlies, and my own is that he is as
full of gammon as an eggshell is full of egg--Ram Nad was taking no
interest in mince pies. For myself, in the tropics, I would as soon
have eaten a pound of bent whalebone, or a swarm of congealed bees, as a
mince pie, whose inward action upon me would, I was sure, be similar to
that of resilient whalebone or thawed-out bees; and therefore,
although interested in mince pies, I yet regarded the subject with a
certain,--shall I say?--anxiety. It was under these circumstances that
we sighted, approached, and at length took anchorage at the island of
Lua.
It was not an unknown Pacific Island, nor yet well-known. The date of
its discovery, its size, inhabitants and products will not be found
stated in a school geography, but a good chart will show its location.
Whether or not there were any white men there I did not know, but
thought it likely. There is a considerable and curious drifting white
population in the South Pacific. The Caucasian is ubiquitous. There is
a restless germ in his blood, unknown to the Oriental and mysterious to
himself.
A numerous village of wattled huts stretched along the white beach of
the bay where we came to anchor. I have been not a little here and there
in the South Pacific in my time, but never before on the island of Lua.
Its blue and lilac mountains in panorama,--white threads of falling
water on their steeps,--its nearer hills, palmy and green and like moss
in the softening distance, the smooth lacquered water in the bay, the
beach, the little brown huts with domed roofs of leafy thatch, truly all
seemed at peace. A few people came down to the beach to observe us, and
presently a boat put out,--not one of the native outriggers, but a
dumpy little ship's dinghy. With the aid of a glass I made out that the
occupants were two white men.
Of the two men, who now came aboard the _Violetta_, the foremost was
a tall, bony, swing-shouldered powerful man, with a melancholy
countenance, dangling gray moustache, whitish hair, lean throat,
remarkably large hands, and a husky voice, who carried a banjo swung
by a cord around his neck; the other was plainly a Hibernian,
stoop-shouldered, his hair and whiskers forming a circular, complete,
and resplendent aureole around his face, at the centre of which aurora a
short black tobacco pipe was firmly inserted.
“How do?” said the bony stranger, mournfully, and then casting his eyes
down on the _Violetta_'s deck, he stopped and gazed.
On the flowered carpet under the neat awning sat Mrs. Ulswater as usual
with her workbasket beside her, her knitting in her hand; there were
the rocking chairs with their doilies, some geranium pots along the
scuppers, and some lashed to the awning supports; there sat that
venerable Cingalese, Ram Nad, with his magic-basket beside him; Susannah
held Georgians Tupper in her lap.
“I don't seem to get my vest around your combination,” said the bony
one, observing this domestic scene. “Is it waxworks, or pirates?” He
looked worried about it. “My name's Sadler,” he continued, “and this
yere conflagration behind me is named Irish or Jimmie Hagan, just as you
like. We'd be pleased to know you.”
This sounded ingratiating, though his countenance was melancholy.
Presently he sat in one of the doilied rocking chairs, with his feet
tucked away behind him, and he seemed easy-going in his talk, and candid
as to his history.
He had been a sailor once, as it seemed, on a smuggling or filibustering
ship along South American coasts, and after that had lived in the city
of Portate, South America, and from there he had gotten himself banished
on account of his interest in romantic politics, and gone to California,
and made money in some kind of Oriental trade; but lately he had been
in Burmah professionally, that is to say, his profession there had
been that of a sort of high priest, a species of abbot of a kind of
monastery; and after that in Sumatra. But a month or more since he had
dropped on Lua. The island had interested him by its romantic politics.
He had resolved to “take a hand in that seducing game, which it looked
real sporty,” he said, “and I judged the showdown was coming soon, but
it hasn't yet, and it's been rolling up the blankedest jackpot you ever
saw.”
“What!” said Mrs. Ulswater.
“Beg pardon, ma'am. I shouldn't have swore, but them's the facts.”
“What are the facts?”
Sadler looked worried.
“May I,” I said, “venture to suggest that your terms are perhaps a
trifle technical, or--shall I say?--a trifle remote. Let me explain to
Mrs. Ulswater that by a 'showdown' is intended merely the decision of
a given issue; that a 'jackpot,' as such, may be defined as an
accumulation of undecided issues.”
“Why,” said Sadler, “you see, doctor, it's this way. Your ideas about
technical language and mine don't jibe with each other, and I'll bet
my last week's shirt to yours of the week before, Mrs. Ulswater's idea
ain't agreeable with either of us on which point my own opinion was
similar to his, and I regretfully let pass that interesting wager.
“Well!” said Mrs. Ulswater again; “What are the facts?”
Sadler then described the politics of Lua, in a voice slow, husky, and
bereaved.
“Some years ago,” he said, “a friend of mine, who was a white man named
Craney, was king of Lua, for he bought out the different candidates,
or pooled the interests, or something, and mounted the throne himself.
Anyhow, he was killed in a ruction. It occurred to me to come around
this way, which happened about a month back, to ask Craney for the job
of Prime Minister, but I found he was dead, and the place seemed to me
then on the edge of another dynastic war. There was a young chap named
Kolosama, who was the son of the king who succeeded Craney, and there
was an old chap named Ogelomano, who claimed the throne by right of
superior wisdom, with some other complicated rights, and relations, by
which it appeared he ought to have been king before. Awful names, ain't
they? Well, this yere royalty appeared to be partly hereditary, partly
elective, and mostly revolutionary, which is all very well, but hard
feeling inside of families is vicious. That's my opinion. Kolo had the
largest backing, but Ogel had the superior wisdom, as appeared from
this: namely, he immejitly laid himself out to get the support of
the newly arrived combination of military genius, statecraft, and
diplomacy--that's me. Arguing with a scrupulous conscience, then, I
comes to this conclusion; I says: 'The first requirement for a happy
kingdom is a forehanded king; the next is a superior Prime Minister;
which it's clear from the behaviour of this party that he knows what's
what, and it's clear from the behaviour of the other party that he ain't
got no real penetration at all; nor he ain't onto the points of royalty,
or he'd know that a kingdom without a Prime Minister is as unhappy as
a cat with no dog to chase her, which anybody but a fool knows; and
consequently this yere Kolosama is unfit to rule this balmy isle, and
this yere Ogel is a promising monarch. That's my opinion.' I stated that
argument to Ogel, and he agreed that was a tart argument all right, and
I was a Prime Minister sent by the gods. Then Ogel and Irish and I, we
went over till we come to the palace, which is built of bamboo and all
on the ground floor, but else-wise is a commojous mansion, and chuck
full of Craney's furnishings; and we discharged artillery from the front
door, to let folks know we was on the throne. Then Kolosama collected
his party, and went off to the other side of the island, and declared
war. Then we called him, on the chance it was a bluff. So it was, and so
was ours. Neither of us showed down. That's how it is. Me and Irish
with Ogel's warriors, and Kolosama with his warriors, have been prancing
forth over these picturesque mountains like we intended to be real
vicious, and dodging back till the island's near distracted. We've
got the wisdom and foresight, and we got all Craney's firearms by
the coopdee-tat, but Kolo appears to have a majority of the foolish
population with him just now, and there you are. There's your jackpot,
which me and Kolo are playing for. I haven't got the hand to open it,
or to do anything but jockey for position, for Kolo's got most of the
warriors. I don't know what's the matter with him, unless his warriors
don't like gunpowder. Maybe his hand's weaker than it looks, but I'd bet
something if I held it, this jackpot would be opened.”
“What sort of a man is Ogelomano?” I asked, when Sadler paused.
“Fat and sulky,” he said; “but I've seen worse. I've seen homelier
looking men too, somewhere, but I've forgotten where that was. Maybe it
was in a nightmare. For that matter Kolo's all right enough too. I guess
the island would be happy with either, were t'other dear charmer away.”
Sadler stopped and rubbed his chin gloomily, and said: “Nice outfit of
yours. Waxwork pirates, maybe?”
I explained the purposes and mission of the _Violetta_.
“Floating orphan asylum,” said Sadler, “sort of perambulating
benevolence, and steam-propulsion mission house, to teach temperateness
to the tropics. Why, that's all right. A chap that wants to pad his soul
with good deeds, and go to sleep on his benevolence like a downy bed,
why, he's got a good proposition. I've done it myself, and it worked,
more or less. But I always got restless.”
He began thrumming distressful and complaining chords on his banjo,
looked off to sea with a dreamy expression, until presently he raised a
tune that never should have existed, and sang to it in a voice like that
of a walrus with a cold:
“ I want to be an orphan,
And with the orphans roam,
A millionaire my guardian,
A steam yacht for my home---
“Doctor,” he said, huskily; “it's this way. You've come to the right
shop with those goods. Yere's your chance for benevolence. If you'd
steam around to the other side of Lua, and find Kolo, which I could spot
his location for you pretty near; and if you'd ladle him out some of
that there benevolence, and tell him you were his long-lost aunt that
was thinking of giving him some toy firearms, maybe he'd come aboard. I
shouldn't wonder. But if he brought any warriors with him, you'd better
make him send them ashore to wash their faces, which they'll need it all
right. Then if you happened to get up steam and sail away with him, and
took him to the States, and give him a college education, and sent
me the bill, why, I'd send a draft on San Francisco for any amount
in reason. Why, see yere, doctor, that scheme is neat surely, and
benevolent to hatch eggs, ain't it? Yere you leave the island of Lua
with its politics smooth as milk, and a forehanded king whose policy
is guided by an unequalled Prime Minister, in the direction of single
matrimony and a vegetarian diet. Consider that strategy! Regard it! Look
at it all around! Remark the moral purpose! Catch onto its simplicity
of design! Why, it's a wonder!” I looked at Mrs. Ulswater, who had said
nothing during the above, but sat there sewing, and sometimes glancing
up at Sadler. Now she laid down her sewing and said: “Are you sure the
island would be better off if one of the kings were taken away?”
“Sure, ma'am! Why, look at it! You can see for yourself.”
“Of course it would look so. But then, is Kolosama a nice person? We
don't like to take orphans without knowing about them.”
“I'll tell you on the square, ma'am,” said Sadler, “Kolo ain't bright,
or he'd have called me before now. He's slow. He's plodding. Moreover
he's self-willed and opinionated. He don't take to prime ministers, or
official advice. He needs discipline, and he needs encouragement. And
yet I'd call him a promising kid, and a hopeful orphan. He'd be a credit
to you. Yes'm. No doubt of it.”
Mrs. Ulswater took up her knitting and said, “I should like to see the
older king first.”
“If you'll come up to the palace to-morrow,” said Sadler, “the old man'd
be pleased to see you. You've no notion how he'd like Kolo to have a
foreign education.”
He gathered up his large frame, murmured, “Piratical waxworks!” and
departed, together with Irish, who silently smoked his short black pipe.