THE GUESTS OF HEAVEN.
All that night through--their first lonely night on the island of
Boupari--Felix sat up by his flickering fire, wide awake, half expecting
and dreading some treacherous attack of the unknown savages. From time to
time he kept adding dry fuel to his smouldering pile; and he never ceased
to keep a keen eye both on the lagoon and the reef, in case an assault
should be made upon them suddenly by land or water. He knew the South
Seas quite well enough already to have all the possibilities of
misfortune floating vividly before his eyes. He realized at once from his
own previous experience the full loneliness and terror of their unarmed
condition.
For Boupari was one of those rare remote islets where the very rumor of
our European civilization has hardly yet penetrated.
As for Muriel, though she was alarmed enough, of course, and intensely
shaken by the sudden shock she had received, the whole surroundings were
too wholly unlike any world she had ever yet known to enable her to take
in at once the utter horror of the situation. She only knew they were
alone, wet, bruised, and terribly battered; and the Australasian had gone
on, leaving them there to their fate on an unknown island. That, for the
moment, was more than enough for her of accumulated misfortune. She come
to herself but slowly, and as her torn clothes dried by degrees before
the fire and the heat of the tropical night, she was so far from fully
realizing the dangers of their position that her first and principal fear
for the moment was lest she might take cold from her wet things drying
upon her. She ate a little of the plantain that Felix picked for her; and
at times, toward morning, she dozed off into an uneasy sleep, from pure
fatigue and excess of weariness. As she slept, Felix, bending over her,
with the biggest blade of his knife open in case of attack, watched with
profound emotion the rise and fall of her bosom, and hesitated with
himself, if the worst should come to the worst, as to what he ought to do
with her.
It would be impossible to let a pure young English girl like that fall
helplessly into the hands of such bloodthirsty wretches as he knew the
islanders were almost certain to be. Who could tell what nameless
indignities, what incredible tortures they might wantonly inflict upon
her innocent soul? Was it right of him to have let her come ashore at
all? Ought he not rather to have allowed the more merciful sea to take
her life easily, without the chance or possibility of such additional
horrors?
And now--as she slept--so calm and pure and maidenly--what was his
duty that minute, just there to her? He felt the blade of his knife
with his finger cautiously, and almost doubted. If only she could tell
what things might be in store for her, would she not, herself, prefer
death, an honorable death, at the friendly hands of a tenderhearted
fellow-countryman, to the unspeakable insults of these man-eating
Polynesians? If only he had the courage to release her by one blow, as
she lay there, from the coming ill! But he hadn't; he hadn't. Even on
board the Australasian he had been vaguely aware that he was getting very
fond of that pretty little Miss Ellis. And now that he sat there, after
that desperate struggle for life with the pounding waves, mounting guard
over her through the livelong night, his own heart told him plainly, in
tones he could not disobey, he loved her too well to dare what he thought
best in the end for her.
Still, even so, he was brave enough to feel he must never let the very
worst of all befall her. He bethought him, in his doubt and agony, of how
his uncle, Major Thurstan, during the great Indian mutiny, had held his
lonely bungalow, with his wife and daughter by his side, for three long
hours against a howling mob of native insurgents; and how, when further
resistance was hopeless, and that great black wave of angry humanity
burst in upon them at last, the brave soldier had drawn his revolver,
shot his wife and daughter with unerring aim, to prevent their falling
alive into the hands of the natives, and then blown his own brains out
with his last remaining cartridge. As his uncle had done at Jhansi,
thirty years before, so he himself would do on that nameless Pacific
island--for he didn't know even now on what shore he had landed. If the
savages bore down upon them with hostile intent, and threatened Muriel,
he would plunge his knife first into that innocent woman's heart; and
then bury it deep in his own, and die beside her.
So the long night wore on--Muriel pillowed on loose cocoanut husk, dozing
now and again, and waking with a start to gaze round about her wildly,
and realize once more in what plight she found herself; Felix crouching
by her feet, and keeping watch with eager eyes and ears on every side for
the least sign of a noiseless, naked footfall through the tangled growth
of that dense tropical under-bush. Time after time he clapped his hand to
his ear, shell-wise, and listened and peered, with knitted brow,
suspecting some sudden swoop from an ambush in the jungle of creepers
behind the little plantain patch. Time after time he grasped his knife
hard, and puckered his eyebrows resolutely, and stood still with bated
breath for a fierce, wild leap upon his fancied assailant. But the night
wore away by degrees, a minute at a time, and no man came; and dawn began
to brighten the sea-line to eastward.
As the day dawned, Felix could see more clearly exactly where he was, and
in what surroundings. Without, the ocean broke in huge curling billows on
the shallow beach of the fringing reef with such stupendous force that
Felix wondered how they could ever have lived through its pounding surf
and its fiercely retreating undertow. Within, the lagoon spread its calm
lake-like surface away to the white coral shore of the central atoll.
Between these two waters, the greater and the less, a waving palisade of
tall-stemmed palm-trees rose on a narrow ribbon of circular land that
formed the fringing reef. All night through he had felt, with a strange
eerie misgiving, the very foundations of the land thrill under his feet
at every dull thud or boom of the surf on its restraining barrier. Now
that he could see that thin belt of shore in its actual shape and size,
he was not astonished at this constant shock; what surprised him rather
was the fact that such a speck of land could hold its own at all against
the ceaseless cannonade of that seemingly irresistible ocean.
He stood up, hatless, in his battered tweed suit, and surveyed the scene
of their present and future adventures. It took but a glance to show him
that the whole ground-plan of the island was entirely circular. In the
midst of all rose the central atoll itself, a tiny mountain-peak, just
projecting with its hills and gorges to a few hundred feet above the
surface of the ocean. Outside it came the lagoon, with its placid ring of
glassy water surrounding the circular island, and separated from the sea
by an equally circular belt of fringing reef, covered thick with waving
stems of picturesque cocoanut. It was on the reef they had landed, and
from it they now looked across the calm lagoon with doubtful eyes toward
the central island.
As soon as the sun rose, their doubts were quickly resolved into fears
or certainties. Scarcely had its rim begun to show itself distinctly
above the eastern horizon, when a great bustle and confusion was
noticeable at once on the opposite shore. Brown-skinned savages were
collecting in eager groups by a white patch of beach, and putting out
rude but well-manned canoes into the calm waters of the lagoon. At sight
of their naked arms and bustling gestures, Muriel's heart sank suddenly
within her. "Oh, Mr. Thurstan," she cried, clinging to his arm in her
terror, "what does it all mean? Are they going to hurt us? Are these
savages coming over? Are they coming to kill us?"
Felix grasped his trusty knife hard in his right hand, and swallowed a
groan, as he looked tenderly down upon her. "Muriel," he said, forgetting
in the excitement of the moment the little conventionalities and
courtesies of civilized life, "if they are, trust me, you never shall
fall alive into their cruel hands. Sooner than that--" he held up the
knife significantly, with its open blade before her.
The poor girl clung to him harder still, with a ghastly shudder. "Oh,
it's terrible, terrible," she cried, turning deadly pale. Then, after a
short pause, she added, "But I would rather have it so. Do as you say. I
could bear it from you. Promise me _that_, rather than that those
creatures should kill me."
"I promise," Felix answered, clasping her hand hard, and paused, with the
knife ever ready in his right, awaiting the approach of the half-naked
savages.
The boats glided fast across the lagoon, propelled by the paddles of the
stalwart Polynesians who manned them, and crowded to the water's edge
with groups of grinning and shouting warriors. They were dressed in
aprons of dracæna leaves only, with necklets and armlets of sharks'
teeth and cowrie shells. A dozen canoes at least were making toward the
reef at full speed, all bristling with spears and alive with noisy and
boisterous savages. Muriel shrank back terror-stricken at the sight, as
they drew nearer and nearer. But Felix, holding his breath hard, grew
somewhat less nervous as the men approached the reef. He had seen enough
of Polynesian life before now to feel sure these people were not upon the
war-path. Whatever their ultimate intentions toward the castaways might
be, their immediate object seemed friendly and good-humored. The boats,
though large, were not regular war-canoes; the men, instead of
brandishing their spears, and lunging out with them over the edge in
threatening attitudes, held them erect in their hands at rest, like
standards; they were laughing and talking, not crying their war-cry. As
they drew near the shore, one big canoe shot suddenly a length or so
ahead of the rest; and its leader, standing on the grotesque carved
figure that adorned its prow, held up both his hands open and empty
before him, in sign of peace, while at the same time he shouted out a
word or two three times in his own language, to reassure the castaways.
Felix's eye glanced cautiously from boat to boat. "He says, 'We are
friends,'" the young man remarked in an undertone to his terrified
companion. "I can understand his dialect. Thank Heaven, it's very close
to Fijian. I shall be able at least to palaver to these men. I don't
think they mean just now to harm us. I believe we can trust them, at any
rate for the present."
The poor girl drew back, in still greater awe and alarm than ever. "Oh,
are they going to land here?" she cried, still clinging closer with both
hands to her one friend and protector.
"Try not to look so frightened!" Felix exclaimed, with a warning glance.
"Remember, much depends upon it; savages judge you greatly by what
demeanor you happen to assume. If you're frightened, they know their
power; if they see you're resolute, they suspect you have some
supernatural means of protection. Try to meet them frankly, as if you
were not afraid of them." Then, advancing slowly to the water's edge, he
called out aloud, in a strong, clear voice, a few words which Muriel
didn't understand, but which were really the Fijian for "We also are
friendly. Our medicine is good. We mean no magic. We come to you from
across the great water. We desire your peace. Receive us and protect us!"
At the sound of words which he could readily understand, and which
differed but little, indeed, from his own language, the leader on the
foremost canoe, who seemed by his manner to be a great chief, turned
round to his followers and cried out in tones of superstitious awe,
"Tu-Kila-Kila spoke well. These are, indeed, what he told us. Korong!
Korong! They are spirits who have come to us from the disk of the sun, to
bring us light and pure, fresh fire. Stay back there, all of you. You are
not holy enough to approach. I and my crew, who are sanctified by the
mysteries, we alone will go forward to meet them."
As he spoke, a sudden idea, suggested by his words, struck Felix's mind.
Superstition is the great lever by which to move the savage intelligence.
Gathering up a few dry leaves and fragments of stick on the shore, he
laid them together in a pile, and awaited in silence the arrival of the
foremost islanders. The first canoe advanced slowly and cautiously, the
men in it eying these proceedings with evident suspicion; the rest hung
back, with their spears in array, and their hands just ready to use them
with effect should occasion demand it.
The leader of the first canoe, coming close to the shore, jumped out upon
the reef in shallow water. Half a dozen of his followers jumped after him
without hesitation, and brandished their weapons round their heads as
they advanced, in savage unison. But Felix, pretending hardly to notice
these hostile demonstrations, stepped boldly up toward his little pile
with great deliberation, though trembling inwardly, and proceeded before
their eyes to take a match from his box, which he displayed
ostentatiously, all glittering in the sun, to the foremost savage. The
leader stood by and watched him close with eyes of silent wonder. Then
Felix, kneeling down, struck the match on the box, and applied it, as it
lighted, to the dry leaves beside him.
A chorus of astonishment burst unanimously from the delighted natives as
the dry leaves leaped all at once into a tongue of flame, and the little
pile caught quickly from the fire in the vesta.
The leader looked hard at the two white faces, and then at the fire on
the beach, with evident approbation. "It is as Tu-Kila-Kila said," he
exclaimed at last with profound awe. "They are spirits from the sun, and
they carry with them pure fire in shining boxes."
Then, advancing a pace and pointing toward the canoe, he motioned Felix
and Muriel to take their seats within it with native savage politeness.
"Tu-Kila-Kila has sent for you," he said, in his grandest aristocratic
air, "for your chief is a gentleman. He wishes to receive you. He saw
your message-fire on the reef last night, and he knew you had come. He
has made you a very great Taboo. He has put you under protection of Fire
and Water."
The people in the boats, with one accord, shouted out in wild chorus, as
if to confirm his words, "Taboo! Taboo! Tu-Kila-Kila has said it! Taboo!
Taboo! Ware Fire! Ware Water!"
Though the dialect in which they spoke differed somewhat from that in use
in Fiji, Felix could still make out with care almost every word of what
the chief had said to him; and the universal Polynesian expression,
"Taboo," in particular, somewhat reassured him as to their friendly
intentions. Among remote heathen islanders like these, he felt sure, the
very word itself was far too sacred to be taken in vain. They would
respect its inviolability. He turned round to Muriel. "We must go with
them," he said, shortly. "It's our one chance left of life now. Don't be
too terrified; there is still some hope. They say somebody they call
Tu-Kila-Kila has tabooed us. No one will dare to hurt us against so great
a Taboo; for Tu-Kila-Kila is evidently some very important king or chief.
You must step into the boat. It can't be avoided. If any harm is
threatened, be sure I won't forget my promise."
Muriel shrank back in alarm, and clung still to his arm now as
naturally as she would have clung to a brother's. "Oh, Mr. Thurstan,"
she cried--"Felix, I don't know what to say; I _can't_ go with them."
Felix put his arm gently round her girlish waist, and half lifted her
into the boat in spite of her reluctance. "You must," he said, with great
firmness. "You must do as I say. I will watch over you, and take care of
you. If the worst comes, I have always my knife, and I won't forget. Now,
friend," he went on, in Fijian, turning round to the chief, as he took
his seat in the canoe fearlessly among all those dusky, half-clad
figures, "we are ready to start. We do not fear. We wish to go. Take
us to Tu-Kila-Kila."
And all the savages around, shouting in their surprise and awe, exclaimed
once more in concert, "Tu-Kila-Kila is great. We will take them, as he
bids us, forthwith to heaven."
"What do they say?" Muriel cried, clinging close to the white man's side
in her speechless terror. "Do you understand their language?"
"Well, I can't quite make it out," Felix answered, much puzzled; "that is
to say, not every word of it. They say they'll take us somewhere, I don't
quite know where; but in Fijian, the word would certainly mean to
heaven."
Muriel shuddered visibly. "You don't think," she said, with a tremulous
tongue, "they mean to kill us?"
"No, I don't _think_ so," Felix replied, not over-confidently. "They said
we were Taboo. But with savages like these, of course, one can never in
any case be quite certain."