Transcriber's Notes:
1. Page scan source: Web Archive
https://archive.org/details/cu31924013486257
(Cornell University Library.)
THE
VANISHING OF TERA
BY
FERGUS HUME
AUTHOR OF
"THE MYSTERY OF A HANSOM CAB," "FOR THE DEFENCE,"
"THE LADY FROM NOWHERE," "THE THIRD VOLUME," "THE LONE INN,"
"THE NAMELESS CITY," "THE DWARF'S CHAMBER,"
"THE CARBUNCLE CLUE," ETC., ETC.
LONDON
F. V. WHITE & CO.
14, BEDFORD STREET, STRAND, W.C.
1900
PRINTED BY
WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED,
LONDON AND BECCLES
Contents
CHAPTER
I. A King's Daughter
II. Pearls of Price
III. A Disappointment
IV. In the Cornfield
V. A Nine Days' Wonder
VI. Constable Slade's Discovery
VII. The Minister's Debts
VIII. Captain Jacob
IX. Miss Arnott
X. A Fresh Piece of Evidence
XI. "Thou art the Man"
XII. A Welcome Witness
XIII. Arrested
XIV. An Amazing Incident
XV. A Strange Story
XVI. The Man from Koiau
XVII. The Pearl
XVIII. Rachel
XIX. "The Truth will out"
XX. What Tera knew
XXI. "The End does not always justify the Means"
XXII. The Truth
XXIII. Trapped
XXIV. Nemesis
THE VANISHING OF TERA
CHAPTER I
A KING'S DAUGHTER
"I come from Eden," cried the preacher; "even from the Island of
Koiau, which floats as a green leaf upon the untroubled sea. There
reigneth eternal summer, but there reigneth not the Eternal God in the
hearts of the heathen. Koiau is one of the dark places of the earth.
There 'every prospect pleases, and only man is vile.' Yet the Lord
hath not forgotten His people. The light of the gospel glimmers amid
the gloom, and ours, brethren, must be the task of pouring oil into
the lamp, that the flame may illuminate those who walk in darkness.
Buli, the High Chief of the island, inclines his ear to the words of
Salvation. He hath given a hostage to the Lord. Yea, verily; for doth
not his only child abide in the tabernacles of Zion?--dwelleth she not
in the land of Goshen? Tera she was: Bithiah she is, which, being
interpreted, meaneth 'daughter of the Lord.' She, a brand plucked from
the burning, shall yet herald the dawn of pure religion in her heathen
cradle. 'It shall blossom abundantly, and rejoice even with joy and
singing.'"
The speaker, whose zeal thus confused his metaphors, was a herculean,
weather-beaten man of some fifty years. He was clothed in rough blue
serge. Wind and spray had reddened his rugged face. His hair and short
beard, iron-grey and grizzled, were in disorder, and the light of
enthusiasm brightened his deep-set grey eyes, peering from under their
shaggy brows. He had the appearance of a sea-captain; and his raucous
voice rumbled through the building as though it were carrying orders
through the storming of a gale. Through long study of the Bible, he
had become possessed of a certain elevated phraseology; and, couching
his everyday experiences in this, he managed to deliver a lurid and
picturesque discourse which enthralled his hearers.
Before him now, in the bare pitch-pine pews of their place of worship,
some twenty or more of these were seated. They were demure folk, and
their chapel was tiny--diminutive even. Its walls were innocent of
decoration--simply whitewashed, its windows plain glass. Before a deal
rostrum--up to which on either side led steps to a reading-desk--the
preacher now gesticulated and thundered. The majority of the
congregation were women; some old, some young; but all were clothed in
the plainest of garments, their close Quakerish caps hiding their
hair.
In contrast to these, their faces pallid and expression impassive,
there sat, almost immediately below the missionary, a dark and
splendid girl of twenty-two or thereabouts, with a vivacious smiling
face. She was the Tera, _alias_ Bithiah, so eloquently referred to by
the speaker. In deference to her savage love of colour, and her rank
as a king's daughter, she was permitted to indulge somewhat in
feminine fripperies. Of this latitude she did not fail to take full
advantage. No parrot of her native isles ever spread a finer plumage
than did Tera. A dark blue dress, a bright scarlet shawl, a wonderful
straw hat trimmed with poppies and cornflowers--she glowed like a
sun-smitten jewel in that sombre conventicle. She was in no wise
embarrassed by the pointed reference of the missionary. Her rank and
good looks accustomed her to observation, and indeed, to admiration.
Moreover, as a native convert, she was thought much of by the
congregation at Grimleigh, and sat among them as a sign that the good
work would prosper in the Island of Koiau. It was this impression that
Korah Brand, former sailor and present missionary, wished to produce.
Hence his use of her as an object-lesson.
"'I am black but comely,'" quoted Brand, in a strain of doubtful
compliment to Tera. "'A king's daughter all-glorious.' As I am, so are
those of my race, who yet bow down to idols of stone--the 'work of
men's hands.'" Then the preacher passed into a description of the
fierce heathen worship which Christianity was to destroy.
Tera's eyes flashed, and her nostrils dilated, as Brand painted the
idol ceremonies with natural eloquence. She, too, knew of the
trilithon in the dark forest, where scowled the terrible god,
Lomangatini; she also had seen the limestone altar which had streamed
so often with human blood. These things, fables to her neighbours,
were realities to her; and the hot barbaric blood sang in her veins
with quick response to the home picture. After a time the missionary
began to describe the island; and Tera's fancy ran before his words to
where Koiau lay amid leagues of shining seas, beneath the wider skies
of the underworld. The lines of feathery palms; the long rollers
crumbling on the ragged reef; the still lagoon where the parrot-fish
darted amongst branching coral, of rainbow hues; picture after picture
presented itself to her mind, and faded to leave her sick for home. In
this grey island of sunless skies and chilling mists, she was as one
in the pale realms of the dead.
To distract her thoughts, which were too much for her, she glanced
round at the attentive congregation. There, with the elders, sat
Farmer Carwell, his jolly red face filled with interest and awe. Near
her, his daughter Rachel, pale and pretty, leaned forward to catch
every word of the discourse; and beside the door, Herbert Mayne, the
yeoman squire, also leaned forward, but less to hear the preacher than
to catch a loving glance from Rachel's bright eyes. Present also was
Miss Arnott, a lean demure woman who had been an actress in her youth,
but who, stirred by a chance word, had left the booths of Satan for
the tabernacle of Zion. She was gazing ardently at a pale man seated
on a cane chair near the rostrum, and guided by the intensity of the
look, Tera let her eyes stray in the same direction. Yet there was
little in the appearance of Mr. Johnson to attract the eye.
Johnson--the Rev. George--was the minister of the Grimleigh Bethesda,
which was also known locally as Bethgamul, _i.e_. the House of
Recompense. This tall slender expounder of the Word had been a
missionary in the South Seas some years before, but had returned to
take charge of the Grimleigh remnant. He was well acquainted with the
Island of Koiau, with Buli the High Chief also; and it was he who had
brought home Tera to be educated in England. A religious man, a
sympathetic man, yet a guardian whom Tera feared, and more than half
detested. As she looked at his hairless face, the colour of old ivory,
the minister, as if conscious of her gaze, raised his eyes. A look
passed between them--on his part imploring, yet withal imperious; on
hers, defiant, with a touch of dread. And in that look--intercepted
and frowned upon by the vigilant Miss Arnott--lay a story of love and
rejection. And the quondam actress shivered as her heart interpreted
its meaning.
After an hour of description, denunciation, and imploring appeals on
behalf of the poor heathen, Brand prayed long and fervently for the
conversion of Tera's countrymen. Then he gave out the words of a
favourite hymn bearing on the subject of his discourse, which was sung
with fervour by the moved congregation.
The music, following so closely on Brand's discourse of her homeland,
was too much for Tera's emotions. With an hysterical sob she rose
hastily and passed down the narrow aisle out into the night. Johnson's
burning gaze followed her graceful form, and a quiver passed over his
face like a breath of wind on still waters.
Outside, the night was warm and balmy. Over the hills at the back of
Bethgamul rode the golden wheel of the harvest moon. Below, where the
land spread beach-ward at the foot of the rise, Tera could see the
winking lights of the little town--the red eye of the lamp at the end
of the jetty, and extending in radiance towards a darkening horizon,
the silent ocean, broken here and there by the fitful moonlight into a
myriad sparkles. Somewhere beyond those dark clouds lay Koiau,
encircled by shining waters. The over-sea breeze blowing shoreward
seemed almost to bear with it the spicy perfumes of the isle, strange
intoxicating odours which maddened her for home. On the beach below
beat the surf, as at this moment it beat on the coral reefs beyond the
lagoon. As a bird, her soul flew on the wings of fancy to the radiant
isle of her birth--to the cocoa-palm groves and banana plantations.
Wild music, wilder dances, far-stretching spaces of silver sand,
forests glowing with tropical blossom, the dusky women twining
hibiscus flowers for coronals, and the great chiefs holding counsel in
the "pure" (house) of the gods. Tera dreamed dreams; she saw visions;
and still behind her drawled and droned the nasal harmonies of those
colourless worshippers who adored an unknown god.
Suddenly a warm clasp was laid upon her wrist, and Tera awoke from her
ecstasy to find a fair Saxon face close to her own. With a quiet
little sigh of pleasure she nestled into the breast of the man.
"Jack," she murmured softly, "O'ia fe gwa te ofal."
"Put it in English, Tera," said Jack, slipping his arm round the girl;
"I never could get my tongue round that Kanaka lingo."
She hid her face on his shoulder with a blush. "It means, 'I love
you,'" she said.
"Why then, Tera, Kanaka talk is very good talk. Let me hear more
of it. But not here. The piety folk will soon be out, and their
psalm-singing doesn't step well with our love-making."
"Aué," sighed Tera, christened Bithiah; "they make me dull and sad,
these songs. Let us go." She moved along the brow of the hill, leaning
on the sailor's arm.
Jack Finland was Farmer Carwell's nephew; a smart, alert second mate
on board a coasting tramp. He should have shipped on a better boat,
but Tera lived at Grimleigh, and Grimleigh was a port of call. He had
sailed among the islands of Eden below Capricorn: he knew the looks of
a coral atoll, and the beauty of the women who wandered on the South
Sea beaches. After a prolonged stay in the islands, a fit of
home-sickness had brought him back to the grimy port whence he had set
sail many years before. Here he had seen Tera exiled from her Southern
paradise, and here, with the impetuosity of a sailor, he had declared
his love. That she returned it was natural enough; for Jack Finland
was as splendid a young man as ever set foot ashore to beguile the
hearts of maidens. Tera, with her inherent love for physical beauty,
had surrendered at once to his wooing.
"But I fear we may not marry," she said, as they strolled along. "My
guardian--this Mr. Johnson--wishes that I should be his wife."
"He wishes what he won't get, then, Tera. You wouldn't throw yourself
away on an ugly devil-dodger like him? No, my dear, you shall marry
me; and we will go to the South Seas for our honeymoon."
"With you, Jack!--ah, how I should love that! At Koiau my father is a
great chief. He will admit you to our family; he will place his tabu
on you; and when Buli goes into the darkness we shall rule, my dear."
The girl sighed, and tightened her clasp on Jack's arm. "But this
thing cannot be. My father has sent Korah Brand Misi" [missionary] "to
carry me back to Koiau."
"But you won't go, Tera?"
"I must. Jack. If I do not, Mr. Johnson will make me his wife."
"I'll wring his neck first."
"Ah!" Tera's eyes gleamed with a savage light. "If we were in my land
you could do that; but here"--she shrugged her shoulders--"they would
lock you in prison. No, Jack, here you must not kill."
"Worse luck," grumbled Finland, whose wanderings had made a barbarian
of him; "still, you ain't going to marry Johnson."
"Oh no! I shall buy him if I can. Listen, Jack. When I left Koiau, my
father gave me pearls to sell here. But I have never sold them--oh no!
I had no need to sell them. Mr. Johnson is poor--he wants money--I
will give those pearls to him if he lets me go free."
"Then this missionary chap will collar you, Tera; and I don't take
much stock in that lot."
"If I go with Misi, you come also, Jack. In Koiau we may marry."
"In Koiau your father may make you marry some big chief," said Jack,
wisely, "and I should be left out in the cold."
Before Tera could protest that she would be nobody's wife save his,
Johnson appeared, hurrying towards them with an angry look on his
face. In the silver moonlight he could see the lovers plainly, and
their attitude sent a thrill of rage through his heart.
"Bithiah," he said harshly, "this is not an hour for you to be out.
Come! My mother is waiting for us."
"Tera is free to come and go as she pleases," struck in Finland,
hotly.
Johnson turned on him with restrained passion.
"You call her by a heathen name; you think of her as a heathen girl.
Oh, I know you, Mr. Finland, you beach-comber."
Finland, full of rage at the contemptuous word, would have struck the
minister, but Tera flung herself between them.
"No, no, I must go!" she said, and flung a last word and look at Jack.
"Toë fua" [farewell] said she, and walked away with Johnson.