Early on the following morning Messrs. de Vere and Morcombe-Lycett--the
latter being now quite recovered--informed Mr. and Mrs. Deighton that,
having heard from the two traders there was good shooting at the big
swamp, they were going there under the guidance of Banderah and a party
of natives; and shortly after breakfast the chief, accompanied by a
number of his people, appeared.
“I will send with you two of my best men,” said Mr. Deighton, indicating
a couple of his pet converts, who stood by dressed for the occasion
in white starched shirts and black coats, but minus trousers, of which
garments the pet converts had divested themselves, knowing that they
should have to wade through the swamp.
But suddenly, to the missionary's astonishment, Banderah, with a savage
look, bade them stay where they were. He had, he said, plenty of men,
and did not need Mr. Deighton's servants.
Presently the two yachting gentlemen, arrayed in a very stylish sporting
get-up, appeared with their breach-loaders and cartridge-belts,
and waving their hands gracefully to the missionary and his wife,
disappeared with Banderah and his dark-skinned companions into the dense
tropical jungle, the edge of which was within a very short distance of
the mission station.
For about an hour the Honourable Morcombe-Lycett and Mr. de Vere, with
Banderah leading the way, walked steadily onward through the jungle. Not
a word was spoken among the natives who followed close at their heels,
and Banderah himself, in answer to their frequent questions, replied
only by monosyllables..
At last they came out of the stifling heat of the thick jungle, and saw
before them a great reedy swamp, the margin fringed by a scanty growth
of cocoanut and pandanus palms. Out upon the open patches of water, here
and there showing upon the broad expanse of the swamp, they saw large
flocks of wild duck feeding and swimming about, betraying not the
slightest fear at their approach.
“By Jove, Baxter,” said Mr. de Vere to his friend, “looks good enough,
doesn't it? I wonder if these blasted niggers will go in for us.”
“Of course they will. But let us have a drink first. Here, you, bring
us that basket. I wonder what sort of tucker old Godliness has given us.
He's not a bad sort of an ass. His wife, too, isn't bad.”
“Bah,” and Mr. de Vere twirled his long, yellow moustache, “you're
always finding out something nice in the face of every woman you come
across. Wait until we get up to Japan; then you can amuse yourself with
a new type of woman. Be a bit of a change for you after the Melbourne
and Sydney peroxided-hair beauties. Here, nigger, give me that
corkscrew.”
“I say, Dalton,” suddenly remarked his friend, “'pon my soul I believe
we are making a mistake in going to Japan. You may be sure that we'll
have a lot of trouble awaiting us there.”
“Not a bit of it Before we get there every one will have read the cable
news that we have been seen in Callao, and no one in Yokohama will
ever think of associating Mr. Herbert de Vere and the Honourable
Morcombe-Lycett--just arrived from Manila _via_ Singapore in the Spanish
mail-steamer--with--er--hum--the two gentlemen who arrived at Callao
from Tahiti, after successfully diddling the Australian financial public
of thirty thousand quid.”
“But what are we going to do with the schooner at Manila?”
“Sell her, my innocent! Sell her to our esteemed friend, Mr.
Moses Steinberg, who has assisted me in previous financial
transactions--before I had the pleasure of meeting my present valued
colleague, the Honourable Mr. Morcombe-Lycett--and who is now taking
care to inform the world that we are living in South America.”
“And how are we going to account for our boxes of sovereigns? Two mining
speculators don't usually carry about heavy sums in gold.”
“All managed, my boy. My friend, Mr. Moses Steinberg, will see to
that. The ten thousand sovereigns will be valuable gold specimens from
Queensland, and will be placed on board the North German Lloyd's steamer
at Singapore for safe conveyance to London, where you and I, my dear
boy, will follow it And there also we shall find, I trust, an additional
sum of fifteen thousand lying to our credit--the proceeds of our honest
toil.”
“What are you going to do with Sykes?”
“Give him £500 and tell him to hold his tongue. He's a thundering
rascal, and we must pay to shut his mouth.”
Then the two proceeded to discuss their lunch, and as they ate and drank
and talked and laughed, Banderah and three or four of his men whispered
together.
“Seize them from behind and bind them tightly,” said the chief, “but
kill them not, for that I have promised to Challi.”
The Honourable Morcombe-Lycett had just finished his last glass of
bottled beer and wanted to smoke. He had taken out his cigar-case,
and, wondering at the sudden silence which had fallen upon their native
guides, turned round to see where they were, and saw swiftly advancing
upon himself and his companion some half a dozen stalwart natives. In
that momentary glance he read danger, and quick as lightning--for he
was no coward--he seized his loaded gun, which lay beside him, and fired
both barrels one after another, at not ten yards' range.
A chorus of savage yells answered the shots, as two of the natives fell,
but ere he could reload or Dalton could fire there came a fierce rush
of all the dark-skinned men upon them, and, struggling madly for their
lives, they were borne down.
And then the lust of slaughter overcame their fierce assailants, and
despite Banderah and two or three of his most trusted men, a club was
raised and fell swiftly upon the white, fair forehead of “Mr. de Vere”
as he sought to tear away his hands from the vice-like grasp of two huge
natives who held them.
“Death to them both!” cried a thin-faced, wrinkled old man named Toka;
“_hutu_:{*} for the lives of the thirty and one.” Then springing out
from the rest, he swung a short-handled, keen-bladed hatchet over his
head, and sank it into the brain of the wretched Baxter.
* Synonymous with Maori _utu_--revenge.
“Stand thou aside, Banderah, son of Paylap,” screamed the old man,
waving the bloody hatchet fiercely at him. “I, old Toka, the priest,
will to-day again show the men of Mayou how to drink the blood and eat
the flesh of the long pigs the gods have given into our hands,” and
again he buried the weapon in Baxter's breathless body. And as Banderah
looked at the old man's working face, and saw the savage mouth, flecked
with foam, writhing and twisting in horrible contortions, and then saw
the almost equally dreadful visages of the rest of his men, he knew that
the old, old lust for human flesh had come upon them.
So, with the one idea of saving Blount and the missionary and his wife,
he turned and fled through the forest towards the beach.