At first John Jarwin could not quite realise his true position after
leaving Raratonga. The excitement consequent on the whole affair
remained for some time on his mind, causing him to feel as if it were a
dream, and it was not until he had fairly landed again on Big Chief's
island, and returned to his own little hut there, and had met with
Cuffy--whose demonstrations of intense delight cannot by any possibility
be described--that he came fully to understand the value of the
opportunity which he had let slip through his fingers.
Poor Jarwin! words fail to convey a correct idea of the depth of his
despair, for now he saw clearly, as he thought, that perpetual slavery
was his doom. Under the influence of the feelings that overwhelmed him
he became savage.
"Cuff," said he, on the afternoon of the day of his return, "it's all up
with you and me, old chap."
The tone in which this was uttered was so stern that the terrier drooped
its ears, lowered its tail, and looked up with an expression that was
equivalent to "Don't kick me, _please_ don't!"
Jarwin smiled a grim yet a pitiful smile as he looked at the dog.
"Yes, it's all up with us," he continued; "we shall live and die in
slavery; wot a fool I was not to cut and run when I had the chance!"
The remembrance of "honour bright" flashed upon him here, but he was
still savage, and therefore doggedly shut his eyes to it.
At this point a message was brought to him from Big Chief requesting his
attendance in the royal hut. Jarwin turned angrily on the messenger and
bid him begone in a voice of thunder, at the same time intimating, by a
motion of his foot, that if he did not obey smartly, he would quicken
his motions for him. The messenger vanished, and Jarwin sat down beside
Cuffy--who looked excessively humble--and vented his feelings thus--
"I can't stand it no longer Cuff. I _won't_ stand it! I'm goin' to
bust up, I am; so look out for squalls."
A feeling of uncertainty as to the best method of "busting up" induced
him to clutch his hair with both hands, and snort. It must not be
supposed that our hero gave way to such rebellious feelings with
impunity. On the contrary, his conscience pricked him to such an extent
that it felt like an internal pin-cushion or hedgehog. While he was
still holding fast to his locks in meditative uncertainty, three natives
appeared at the entrance of his hut, and announced that they had been
sent by Big Chief to take him to the royal hut by force, in case he
should refuse to go peaceably.
Uttering a shout of defiance, the exasperated man sprang up and rushed
at the natives, who, much too wise to await the onset, fled in three
different directions. Instead of pursuing any of them, Jarwin went
straight to his master's hut, where he found him seated on a couch of
native cloth. Striding up to him he clenched his fist, and holding it
up in a threatening manner, exclaimed--
"Now look 'ee here, Big Chief--which it would be big thief if 'ee had
yer right name--I ain't goin' to stand this sort o' thing no longer. I
kep' my word to you all the time we wos at Raratonga, but now I'll keep
it no longer. I'll do my best to cut the cable and make sail the wery
first chance I gits--so I give 'ee fair warnin'."
Big Chief made no reply for some moments, but opened his eyes with such
an intense expression of unaffected amazement, that Jarwin's wrath
abated, in spite of his careful nursing of it to keep it warm.
"Jowin," he exclaimed at length, "you Christian Breetish tar, have your
dibbil got into you?"
This question effectually routed Jarwin's anger. He knew that the
savage, to whom he had spoken at various times on the subject of satanic
influence, was perfectly sincere in his inquiry, as well as in his
astonishment. Moreover, he himself felt surprised that Big Chief, who
was noted for his readiness to resent insult, should have submitted to
his angry tones and looks and threatening manner without the slightest
evidence of indignation. The two men therefore stood looking at each
other in silent surprise for a few moments.
"Big Chief," said Jarwin at last, bringing his right fist down heavily
into his left palm, by way of emphasis, "there's no dibbil, as you call
him, got possession o' me. My own spirit is dibbil enough, I find, to
account for all that I've said and done--an' a great deal more. But it
_has_ bin hard on me to see the door open, as it were, an' not take
adwantage of it. Howsever, it's all over now, an' I ax yer parding.
I'll not mutiny again. You've been a kind feller to me, old chap--
though you _are_ a savage--an' I ain't on-grateful; as long as I'm your
slave I'll do my duty--`honour bright;' at the same time I think it fair
an' above board to let you know that I'll make my escape from you when I
git the chance. I'm bound for to sarve you while I eat your wittles,
but I am free to go if I can manage it. There--you may roast me alive
an' eat me, if you like, but you can't say, after this, that I'm sailin'
under false colours."
During this speech a variety of expressions affected the countenance of
Big Chief, but that of melancholy predominated.
"Jowin," he said, slowly, "I like you."
"You're a good-hearted old buffer," said Jarwin, grasping the Chief's
hand, and squeezing it; "to say the truth, I'm wery fond o' yourself,
but it's nat'ral that I should like my freedom better."
Big Chief pondered this for some time, and shook his head slowly, as if
the result of his meditation was not satisfactory.
"Jowin," he resumed, after a pause, "sing me a song."
"Well, you _are_ a queer codger," said Jarwin, laughing in spite of
himself; "if ever there was a man as didn't feel up to singin', that's
me at this moment. Howsomedever, I 'spose it must be done. Wot'll you
'ave? `Ben Bolt,' `Black-eyed Susan,' `The Jolly Young Waterman,' `Jim
Crow,' `There is a Happy Land,' or the `Old Hundred,' eh? Only say the
word, an' I'll turn on the steam."
Big Chief made no reply. As he appeared to be lost in meditation,
Jarwin sat down, and in a species of desperation, began to bellow with
all the strength of his lungs one of those nautical ditties with which
seamen are wont to enliven the movements of the windlass or the capstan.
He changed the tune several times, and at length slid gradually into a
more gentle and melodious vein of song, while Big Chief listened with
evident pleasure. Still there was perceptible to Jarwin a dash of
sadness in his master's countenance which he had never seen before.
Wondering at this, and changing his tunes to suit his own varying moods,
he gradually came to plaintive songs, and then to psalms and hymns.
At last Big Chief seemed satisfied, and bade his slave good-night.
"He's a wonderful c'racter," remarked Jarwin to Cuffy, as he lay down to
rest that night, "a most onaccountable sort o' man. There's sumthin'
workin' in 'is 'ead; tho' wot it may be is more nor I can tell. P'raps
he's agoin' to spiflicate me, in consikence o' my impidence. If so,
Cuff, whatever will became o' you, my poor little doggie!"
Cuffy nestled very close to his master's side at this point, and whined
in a pitiful tone, as if he really understood the purport of his
remarks. In five minutes more he was giving vent to occasional mild
little whines and half barks, indicating that he was in the land of
dreams, and Jarwin's nose was creating sounds which told that its owner
had reached that blessed asylum of the weary--oblivion.
Next day our sailor awakened to the consciousness of the fact that the
sun was shining brightly, that paroquets were chattering gaily, that
Cuffy was still sleeping soundly, and that the subjects of Big Chief
were making an unusual uproar outside.
Starting up, and pulling on a pair of remarkably ancient canvas
trousers, which his master had graciously permitted him to retain and
wear, Jarwin looked out at the door of his hut and became aware of the
fact that the whole tribe was assembled in the spot where national
"palavers" were wont to be held. The "House" appeared to be engaged at
the time in the discussion of some exceedingly knotty question--a sort
of national education bill, or church endowment scheme--for there was
great excitement, much gesticulation, and very loud talk, accompanied
with not a little angry demonstration on the part of the disputants.
"Hallo! wot's up?" inquired Jarwin of a stout savage who stood at his
door armed with a club, on the head of which human teeth formed a
conspicuous ornament.
"Palaver," replied the savage.
"It's easy to hear and see that," replied Jarwin, "but wot is it all
about?"
The savage vouchsafed no farther reply, but continued to march up and
down in front of the hut.
Jarwin, therefore, essayed to quit his abode, but was stopped by the
taciturn savage, who said that he must consider himself a prisoner until
the palaver had come to an end. He was therefore fain to content
himself with standing at his door and watching the gesticulations of the
members of council.
Big Chief was there of course, and appeared to take a prominent part in
the proceedings. But there were other chiefs of the tribe whose
opinions had much weight, though they were inferior to him in position.
At last they appeared to agree, and finally, with a loud shout, the
whole band rushed off in the direction of the temple where their idols
were kept.
Jarwin's guard had manifested intense excitement during the closing
scene, and when this last act took place he threw down his club, forsook
his post, and followed his comrades. Of course Jarwin availed himself
of the opportunity, and went to see what was being done.
To his great surprise he found that the temple was being dismantled,
while the idols were carried down to the palaver-ground, if we may so
call it, and thrown into a heap there with marks of indignity and
contempt.
Knowing, as he did, the superstitious reverence with which the natives
regarded their idols, Jarwin beheld this state of things with intense
amazement, and he looked on with increasing interest, hoping, ere long,
to discover some clue to the mystery, but his hopes were disappointed,
for Big Chief caught sight of him and sternly ordered him back to his
hut, where another guard was placed over him. This guard was more
strict than the previous one had been. He would not allow his prisoner
even to look on at what was taking place.
Under the circumstances, there was therefore nothing for it but to fall
back on philosophic meditation and converse with Cuffy. These were
rather poor resources, however, to a man who was surrounded by a tribe
of excited savages. Despite his natural courage and coolness, Jarwin
felt, as he said himself, "raither oncomfortable."
Towards the afternoon things became a little more quiet, still no notice
was taken of our hero save that his meals were sent to him from the
Chief's hut. He wondered at this greatly, for nothing of the kind had
ever happened before, and he began to entertain vague suspicions that
such treatment might possibly be the prelude to evil of some kind
befalling him. He questioned his guard several times, but that
functionary told him that Big Chief had bidden him refuse to hold
converse with him on any subject whatever.
Being, as the reader knows, a practical, matter-of-fact sort of man, our
hero at last resigned himself to his fate, whatever that might be, and
beguiled the time by making many shrewd remarks and observations to
Cuffy. When the afternoon meal was brought to him, he heaved a deep
sigh, and apparently, with that effort flung off all his anxieties.
"Come along, Cuff," he said in a hearty voice, sitting down to dinner,
"let's grub together an' be thankful for small mercies, anyhow. Wotever
turns up, you and I shall go halves and stick by one another to the
last. Not that I have any doubts of Big Chief, Cuffy; you mustn't
suppose that; but then, you see, he ain't the only chief in the island,
and if all the rest was to go agin him, _he_ couldn't do much to save
us."
The dog of course replied in its usual facetious manner with eyes and
tail, and sat down with its ears cocked and its head turned expectantly
on one side, while the sailor removed the palm-leaf covering of the
basket which contained the provisions sent to him.
"Wot have we here, Cuffy?" he said soliloquising and looking earnestly
in; "let me see; bit of baked pig--good, Cuff, good; that's the stuff to
make us fat. Wot next? Roast fish--that's not bad, Cuff--not bad,
though hardly equal to the pig. Here we have a leaf full of plantains
and another of yams,--excellent grub that, my doggie, nothing could be
better. What's this? Cocoanut full of its own milk--the best o' drink;
`it cheers'--as the old song, or the old poet says--`but it don't
inebriate;' that wos said in regard to tea, you know, but it holds good
in respect of cocoanut milk, and it's far better than grog, Cuffy; far
better, though you can't know nothin' about that, but you may take my
word for it; happy is the man as drinks nothin' stronger than cocoanut
milk or tea. Hallo! wot's this--plums? Why, doggie, they're oncommon
good to us to-day. I wonder wot's up. I say--" Jarwin paused as he
drew the last dish out of the prolific basket, and looked earnestly at
his dog while he laid it down, "I say, what if they should have taken it
into their heads to fatten us up before killin' us? That's not a wery
agreeable notion, is it, eh?"
Apparently Cuffy was of the same opinion, for he did not wag even the
point of his tail, and there was something dubious in the glance of his
eye as he waited for more.
"Well, well, it ain't no use surmisin'," observed the seaman, with
another sigh, "wot we've got for to do just now is to eat our wittles
an' hope for the best. Here you are, Cuff--catch!"
Throwing a lump of baked pig to his dog, the worthy man fell to with a
keen appetite, and gave himself no further anxiety as to the probable or
possible events of the future.
Dinner concluded, he would fain have gone out for a ramble on the
shore--as he had been wont to do in time past--but his gaoler forbade
him to quit the hut. He was therefore about to console himself with a
siesta, when an unexpected order came from Big Chief, requiring his
immediate attendance in the royal hut. Jarwin at once obeyed the
mandate, and in a few minutes stood before his master, who was seated on
a raised couch, enjoying a cup of cocoanut milk.
"I have send for you," began Big Chief with solemnity, "to have a
palaver. Sit down, you Breetish tar."
"All right, old chap," replied Jarwin, seating himself on a stool
opposite to his master. "Wot is it to be about?"
"Jowin," rejoined Big Chief, with deepening gravity, "you's bin well
treated here."
Big Chief spoke in broken English now, having picked it up with amazing
facility from his white slave.
"Well, y-e-es, I'm free to confess that I _has_ bin well treated--
barrin' the fact that my liberty's bin took away; besides which, some of
your black rascals ain't quite so civil as they might be, but on the
whole, I've been well treated; anyhow I never received nothin' but
kindness from _you_, old codger."
He extended his hand frankly, and Big Chief, who had been taught the
meaning of our English method of salutation, grasped it warmly and shook
it with such vigour that he would certainly have discomposed Jarwin had
that "Breetish tar" been a less powerful man. He performed this
ceremony with the utmost sadness, however, and continued to shake his
head in such a melancholy way that his white slave began to feel quite
anxious about him.
"Hallo! old feller, you ain't bin took bad, have 'ee?"
Big Chief made no reply, but continued to shake his head slowly; then,
as if a sudden idea had occurred to him, he rose, and, grasping Jarwin
by his whiskers with both hands, rubbed noses with him, after which he
resumed his seat on the couch.
"Just so," observed our hero with a smile, "you shake hands with me
English fashion--I rub noses with you South-Sea fashion. Give an' take;
all right, old codger--`may our friendship last for ever,' as the old
song puts it. But wot about this here palaver you spoke of? It warn't
merely to rub our beaks together that you sent for me, I fancy. Is it a
song you wants, or a hymn? Only say the word, and I'm your man."
"I s'pose," said Big Chief, using, of course, Jarwin's sea phraseology,
only still farther broken, "you'd up ankar an' make sail most quick if
you could, eh?"
"Well, although I _has_ a likin' for you, old man," replied the sailor,
"I can't but feel a sort o' preference, d'ee see, for my own wife an'
child'n. There_fore_ I _would_ cut my cable, if I had the chance."
"Kite right, kite right," replied Big Chief, with a deep sigh, "you say
it am nat'ral. Good, good, so 'tis. Now, Jowin," continued the savage
chief, with intense earnestness, "you's free to go when you pleases."
"Oh, gammon!" replied Jarwin, with an unbelieving grin.
"Wot _is_ gammon?" demanded Big Chief, with a somewhat disappointed
look.
"Well, it don't matter what it means--it's nothin' or nonsense, if you
like--but wot do _you_ mean, old man, `that's the rub,' as Hamblet, or
some such c'racter, said to his father-in-law; you ain't in airnest, are
you?"
"Jowin," answered the Chief, with immovable gravity, "I not onderstan'
you. Wot you mean by airnest?" He did not wait for a reply, however,
but seizing Jarwin by the wrist, and looking into his eyes with an
expression of child-like earnestness that effectually solemnised his
white slave, continued, "Lissen, onderstan' me. I is a Christian. My
broder chiefs an' I have watch you many days. You have always do wot is
right, no matter wot trouble follers to you. You do this for love of
your God, your Saviour, so you tells me. Good, I do not need much
palaver. Wen de sun shines it am hot; wen not shine am cold. Wot more?
Cookee missionary have _say_ the truth. My slave have _prove_ the
truth. I love you, Jowin. I love your God. I keep you if possible,
but Christian must not have slave. Go--you is free."
"You don't mean _that_, old man?" cried Jarwin, starting up with
flashing eyes and seizing his master's hand.
"You is free!" repeated Big Chief.
We need not relate all that honest John Jarwin said and did after that.
Let it suffice to record his closing remarks that night to Cuffy.
"Cuff," said he, patting the shaggy head of his humble friend, "many a
strange thing crops up in this here koorious world, but it never did
occur to my mind before, that while a larned man like a missionary might
_state_ the truth, the likes o' me should have the chance an' the power
to _prove_ it. That's a wery koorious fact, so you an' I shall go to
sleep on it, my doggie--good-night."