Thinking it would be wiser to refrain from asking her any questions
until she had at least rested a little--for she seemed to be very
weary--I said nothing to her but a few words of welcome, and bade my
servants lay the supper, then told her that I was sure she was both
hungry and tired. She replied that she certainly was tired, having come
on foot from Taritai to save time. The canoe with Tematau was to follow
on later in the night when the tide turned, and when there would be more
water on the upper sand flats of the lagoon.
“Very well, Niâbon,” I said in English, “now sit down and drink a cup of
tea and eat a little. Then we can talk.”
“I have many things of which to tell thee, Simi,” she said, “for I have
been speaking long with the wife of the man Krause, and----”
I told her that it would please me better if she first ate something.
She at once obeyed, but instead of sitting at the table with me she
seated herself on a mat near me, and Pai waited upon her whilst big Tepi
attended to me. Only once did she speak during the meal, when she asked
me if I had had any recurrence of either fever or ague, and she was
undoubtedly pleased when I said that I had not, and that another coarse
or two of her medicine would, I believed, care me. She smiled, and told
me she would make more of the mixture that evening.
After eating a very slight sapper she made herself a cigarette and sat
and smoked until I had finished my pipe. Then she came a little nearer
to me, and I felt ashamed of myself for not having asked her if her neck
gave her much pain, for I now noticed that the neck and front of her
dress were blood-stained. She made light of the wound, however; said
it was but skin deep, and would be healed in a few days. But I insisted
upon her letting me see for myself. She consented somewhat unwillingly,
and I saw that she had had a very narrow escape, the heavy bullet from
Krause's Derringer having scored her neck pretty deeply and made a wound
nearly two inches long. She had, however, she told me, had it attended
to by Mrs. Krause, who had done the very best thing that could have
been done to a superficial injury of the kind--painted it liberally with
Friar's Balsam, which though causing intense pain for a few minutes,
had quickly stayed the flow of blood and prevented any inflammation from
setting in.
“Is Mrs. Krause well, Niàbon?” I asked as I readjusted the bandage.
“She is well.”
“And she knows how her husband died?”
“She knows how he died, but knows not whose were the hands that dealt
the blows. And, Simi, it is well that she does not know, for I am her
friend, and it would grieve her did she know all.”
I thought a moment or two before answering--
“How can the truth be kept from her, Niâbon? There are many people who
know 'twas thee and Tematau who slew him.”
“_She_ will never know, Simi,” she asserted earnestly; “there is but one
man who could tell her, and him she will not ask.”
“Who is that?” I asked wonderingly.
“Thyself.”
“Why should she not ask me? Her husband met his death in my house. I saw
his body lying at my feet. Dost think she will fail to question _me_ if
others whom she may ask remain silent?”
“She will ask thee no questions concerning him. His death hath taken
away from her a terror by day and bad dreams at night that for two years
hath wrung her heart and weakened her body, which is but frail. Have
pity on her, Simi, and say nothing to her when thou seest her of her
dead husband. He is gone; and yet, although she wept when I told her he
was dead, and she knelt and prayed for his spirit which has gone beyond,
I know well that now some peace hath come into her heart. And I have
given her sleep.”
As she spoke she turned her strangely sombrous and liquid eyes to mine
in such an appealing glance that I could not resist her magnetic power,
strive as I would.
“I will do as you wish, Niâbon,” I said, falling weakly into English
again. “You are a strange girl, but I am sure that you mean well, not
alone to me, but to that poor heartbroken woman. But you must tell me
the meaning of all this strange silence on the part of the people of
this village. Why do they deny the death of Krause? How _can_ they
conceal it? It cannot possibly be hidden. There is a German man-of-war
coming to this island soon--Mrs. Krause herself told me--and how will
these people account to the captain for his death? You and Tematau, who
together killed him, cannot escape. And if I am questioned--as I shall
be--what can I do? I cannot lie about a murder.”
“It was no murder, Simi,” she said steadily, and I felt that the girl
was but right in her assertion; “it is no murder to strike and kill, and
kill quickly, he who would slay the innocent and unoffending. That man
was a devil.”
“What have you done with him, Niâbon? He might have been the devil you
say he was; but he was a white man, and it is my place to see that he is
buried as Christians bury the dead. He used me roughly, but----”
She placed her hand on my knee, and her very touch subdued my
excitement.
“Simi, the man is dead, and not even a strand of his hair is left on
earth. No one can ever question thee, or Tematau, or me, about him. He
is gone, and even his name is already vanished from these people among
whom he has dwelt. Dost not understand me?”
“No, I do not understand, Niâbon,” I said more gently. “How can his name
be vanished when but a few hours ago he was alive and well. Tell me, in
plain English, what you mean by saying that no one can question you and
Tematau and myself about the manner of his death?”
“Because, Simi, thou and I and others shall be far away from here when
the man's countrymen come in the fighting-ship.”
“I wish to Heaven we were far away at this moment,” I said impatiently.
“I am sick to death of the place, and don't want to find myself a
prisoner on board a German man-of-war on suspicion of being concerned in
Krause's death.”
She again repeated her assurance that I should never be questioned.
“Where is Mrs. Krause now?” I asked.
“At Taritai.”
“Niàbon”--and I placed my hand on her head--“you must not keep me in the
dark about some things. I want you to answer me truly some questions.
And, though I do not know why, I have this moment resolved to leave the
island as quickly as possible. Would you come with me?”
“Yes, Mr. Sherry. Of course I am coming with you,” she answered in
English. “I told you that you and I and some other people would soon
be together upon the sea. And I will answer any question you ask me. I
don't want to deceive you. Why should I try to deceive you?”
As she turned her full, soft eyes up to my face, I saw in them such
undoubted sincerity that I felt it was not possible for me again to
doubt her.
“No, I am sure you will not deceive me, Niàbon. And I want you to tell
me straightforwardly the meaning of all this mystery. First of all, what
has been done with the German's body? where is it buried?”
“In the sea. It was taken far out where the water is very, very
deep--three hundred fathoms--and the mats in which it was wrapped were
weighted so heavily with stones that it took six men to carry it down to
the canoe.”
“Why was this done? Why was he not buried on shore?”
“I will tell you, Mr. Sherry. It was done so that when the German
man-of-war comes here, no trace of him will ever be found;” and then she
told me frankly the whole story, and the meaning of the strange silence
of the natives.
Krause, she said, after his savage attack upon Tematau, had told his
terrified wife that he meant to bring back Tematau, and kill Niâbon.
After drinking heavily all night, he had started off alone in the
morning, armed with a brace of revolvers and a Derringer pistol. He
at first tried to get some forty or fifty of the Taritai young men to
accompany him, and make a regular marauding expedition upon my village;
but though they were eager to go with him and engage in battle with
their old enemies, Niâbon, assisted by the more cautious head men,
succeeded in dissuading them, and finally Krause went off alone. He
travelled along the inner beach of the lagoon, and as soon as he reached
my village marched boldly up to my house, boastfully calling out to the
natives that he had come to take Tematau out of the Englishman's house,
alive or dead--a few minutes later he himself was dead.
A hurried consultation was at once held by the head men, and it was
resolved to dispose of Krause's body so effectually that no trace of it
would ever be found, and every man, woman, and child in the village of
Utiroa was sternly warned not only against even alluding to the manner
of his death, but even admitting that he had even been seen by any one
of them on that particular day. Hastily wrapping the dead man in mats,
the body was taken out to sea, and sunk as Niâbon had described.
[Illustration: Fishing as if nothing unusual had occurred 076]
Then the fleet of canoes from the village began fishing as if nothing
unusual had occurred, and after they had been out some hours they were
met by eight or ten canoes from Taritai, which were also engaged in
fishing. The moment they were within speaking distance the Taritai men
inquired whether Krause had fulfilled his threat, and carried Tematau
away. The Utiroa people affected great surprise, and said that they had
seen nothing of him, but that most probably he had thought better of
doing such a foolish and offensive thing, and had returned to Taritai
again. The two fleets of canoes remained together for some little time,
discussing Krause, and then one of the Taritai men frankly admitted that
he (Krause) had tried to induce them to make a raid on Utiroa, but that
Niâbon and the head men had set their faces against such a wicked act of
aggression.
“It is well for him then that he did not come to Utiroa to-day,” said
old Kaibuka's son gravely. “Such a man as he is not wanted in our town.
So keep him at Taritai.”
In the meantime Niâbon and Tematau had set out for Taritai to acquaint
Mrs. Krause of the tragedy which had occurred. The moment they entered
the village they were surrounded by natives, who eagerly inquired when
Krause was returning--had he driven Tematau out of the Englishman's
house? etc., etc. Both Niâbon and her companion expressed
surprise--neither they nor any one else in Utiroa had seen Krause, they
said, and Tematau had come with her to ask Mrs. Krause to try and induce
her husband to let him leave his service. The natives accepted their
story without the slightest doubt, and the two went on their way to the
white man's house.
As soon as she and Mrs. Krause were alone Niâbon told her the cause of
her visit and the steps which had been taken by the head men of Utiroa
to conceal her husband's death, so that when the German warship arrived
and found him missing, the people of Utiroa could not be, even after
the most searching investigation, connected with his disappearance.
Mrs. Krause quite agreed that a wise course had been taken, for were it
proved that her husband had been killed in Utiroa, the man-of-war would
certainly inflict a terrible punishment on the village, as was usual
with German warships' procedure in the South Seas.
Then at Niâbon's suggestion she summoned the head men, and told them
that her husband had not reached Utiroa. Something must have happened to
him. Would they send out and search for him, and if they found him, urge
him to return, as Tematau had come back, and there was now no occasion
for him (Krause) to offend the people of Utiroa by entering their
village armed.
The head men were only too willing, and at once sent out search parties,
and when Niàbon was coming back, she met two of them, who told her
that they had been to Utiroa itself, but not one single person had seen
anything of the white man, and they were now returning along the weather
side of the island to search for him in the thick jungle, where they
imagined he might have strayed and lost himself.
“So that is why these people here have acted so strangely, Mr. Sherry,”
she concluded. “It would be terrible for them to be all killed, and the
village burnt. For the Germans are very cruel. I have seen them do very,
very cruel things.”
“I think the Utiroa people have done right. The German brought his
death on himself. But I fear that the secret must come out some day. The
Taritai people will surely suspect something.”
“No. No one of the Taritai people will ever know. By this time to-morrow
they will all say that he has been drowned when crossing one of those
narrow channels between the islands on the weather side, for there are
many deep pools, and the coral sometimes breaks under the pressure of a
man's foot. And so they will think he has fallen in one of those pools,
and his body carried out to sea, or into the lagoon, and eaten by the
sharks.”
Her emphatic manner reassured me.
“Well, it is a bad business, Niàbon; but it cannot be helped. But I
shall get away from here as soon as possible.”
“I am glad. And Simi, there is yet one other thing of which I have not
yet spoken. It is of Lucia.”
She always called Mrs. Krause by her Christian name, as did the natives
generally.
“What of her?”
“She desires greatly to come with us in the boat. And I pray thee to be
kind to her, else will she die here of loneliness and terror.”