CHAPTER IV

At the end of another four weeks, the _Braybrook Castle_, with

three-fourths of the cargo she had brought from London, sailed for

Sydney under the command of Captain Blake of the _Harvest Queen_,

and the _Harvest Queen_ under jury masts, and with her valuable cargo

undamaged, was ready to sail, escorted by the _Dolphin_ on the following

day, with Lindley as master.

The last night at “Wreck House” was even a merrier and happier one than

that on which the wrecking party celebrated Lucy's “find.” But yet Lucy

herself felt a little sad at saying farewell to this wild spot, where

amid the roar of the ever-beating surf, and the clamour of the gulls

and terns, she had spent the four happiest months of her life. The rough

food, the fresh sea-air, and the active life had, Lester declared, only

served to increase her beauty, and she herself had never felt so strong

and in such robust health before. Almost every day in fine weather she

had taken a walk to some part of the interior of the island, or along

the many white beaches, filling a large basket with sea-birds' eggs, or

collecting the many beautiful species of cowries and other sea-shells

with which the beaches were strewn. Years before, another wrecking party

had left some goats on the island, and these had thriven and increased

amazingly. Her husband's men had shot a great number for food, and

captured three or four, which supplied them with milk, and these latter,

with their playful kids, and a number of fowls which had been brought

from Sydney in the _Dolphin_, together with a pair of pet baby seals,

made up what she called her “farmyard.” On one part of the island there

was a dense thicket of low trees, the resort not only of hundreds of

wild goats, but of countless thousands of terns and other sea-birds, who

had made it their breeding ground. It was situated at the head of a tiny

landlocked bay, the beach of which was covered with the weather-worn

spars and timbers of some great ship which had gone ashore there perhaps

thirty or forty years before. The whole of the foreshores of the island,

however, were alike in that respect, for it had proved fatal to many a

good ship, even from the time that gallant navigator Matthew Flinders

had first discovered the group.

On the morning of the last day of the stay of the wrecking party on the

island, Lucy set out for this place, remembering that on her last visit

she had left a basket of cowries there. Bidding her beware of black

snakes, for the place was noted for these deadly reptiles, Lester went

off on board the _Harvest Queen_.

An hour afterwards, as Lester was engaged with Lindley in the ship's

cabin, a man on deck called down the skylight to him.

“Here is Mrs. Lester coming back, sir. She's running, and is calling for

you.”

With a dreadful fear that she had been bitten by a snake, Lester rushed

on deck, jumped into a boat, and was ashore in a few minutes. Lucy, too

exhausted to come down to the boat and meet him, had sat down in front

of the now nearly empty house.

“I'm all right, Tom,” she panted, as he ran up to her, “but I've had a

terrible fright,” and she could not repress a shudder. “I have just seen

three skeletons in the thicket scrub, and all about them are strewn all

sorts of things, and there are two or three small kegs, one of which is

filled with money, for the end has burst and the money has partly run

out on the sand.”

Lester sprang to his feet, and called out to the two men who had pulled

him ashore to come to him.

“Mrs. Lester's luck again!” he cried.

“Mrs. Lester's luck again!” bawled one of the men to the rest of the

wrecking party on board the _Harvest Queen_, and in an instant the cry

was taken up, and then came a loud cheer, as, disregarding discipline,

all hands tumbled into a boat alongside, frantically eager to learn what

had occurred.

Lester waited for them, and then Lucy gave a more detailed account of

how she made her discovery.

“I found my basket where I had left it, and had just sat down to take

off my shoes, which were filled with sand, when a goat with two of the

sweetest little kids you ever saw in your life came suddenly out from

behind a rock. The kids were not more than a day or two old, and I

determined to catch at least one of them to take home. The moment the

mother saw me she ran off with her babies, and I followed. They dived

into the thicket, and led me _such_ a dance, for they ran much faster

than I thought they could.

“I had never been so far into the scrub before, and felt a little bit

frightened--it was so dark and quiet--but I was too excited to give up,

so on I sped until the nanny and kids ran into what seemed a tunnel in

the thick scrub. It is really a road made by the goats and is only about

three feet high, the branches and creepers making a regular archway

overhead. I stooped down and followed, and in a few minutes came to a

little space which was open to the sky; for the sunlight was so bright

that, coming out of the dark tunnel place, I was quite dazzled for a few

moments, and had to put my hands over my eyes.

“When I looked about, I saw that the ground was strewed with all sorts

of things--rotten boards and boxes, and ships' blocks, and empty bottles

and demijohns, with all the cane covering gone. Then I saw the three

kegs, and noticed one had burst open or rotted away, and that it was

filled with what looked like very large and dirty nickel pennies. I went

to it and took some up, and saw they were crown pieces! Of course, I was

at once wildly excited, and thought no more of the dear little kiddies,

when I heard one of them cry out--quite near--and saw it, lying down

exhausted, about ten yards away. I was running over to it when I saw

those three dreadful skeletons. They are lying quite close to each

other, near some brass cannons and a lot of rusty ironwork. I was so

terrified that I forgot all about the poor kid, and--and, well, that is

all; and here I am with my skirt in rags, and my face scratched, and my

hair loose, and 'all of a bobbery,' as Manuel says.”

“Boys,” said Lester, “I'm pretty sure I know how those poor fellows'

bones come to be there. An East Indiaman--the _Mountjoy_--was lost

somewhere on the Kent Group about sixty years ago; and I have read that

she had a lot of specie on board. Now, as soon as Mrs. Lester has rested

a bit, we'll start.”

“I'll carry you, ma'am,” said Bailey, a herculean creature of 6 ft. 6

in., and stepping into “Wreck House” he brought out a chair, seated

Lucy on it, and amidst applause and laughter, lifted it up on his mighty

shoulders as if she was no more weight than the chair itself.

She guided them to the spot, and within an hour, not only the three

small casks--all of which were filled with English silver money, but

the contents of two others, which were found lying partly buried in the

sandy soil, were brought to the house. And then began the exciting task

of counting the coins, which took some time, and when Lester announced

the result, a rousing cheer broke from the men.

“Six thousand, two hundred and seven pounds, four shillings, boys; all

with the blessed picture of good old George the Third on them. Lucy, my

dear, let us drink your health.”

Lucy drew him aside for a minute or two ere she complied with his

request, and with sparkling eyes she talked earnestly to him.

“Of course I will, dear,” he said.

“Now, hoys,” he cried, as Lucy brought out two bottles of brandy, and

some cups and glasses, “let us drink my wife's health. She has brought

us good luck. And she and I are dividing a thousand pounds between you,

with an extra fifty for Manuel; for I'm pretty well certain that the

Home Government can't claim any royalty.”

The rough wreckers cheered and cheered again, as they drank to “Mrs.

Lester's Luck.” They were all being paid high wages, and were worth

them, for they had toiled manfully, and the most pleasant relations had

always existed between them and Lester.

Immediately after breakfast on the following morning the anchors of the

_Harvest Queen_ were weighed to the raising chanty of--

“Hurrah, my boys, we're Homeward Bound!” and then the _Dolphin_, with

Lester on the bridge and Lucy beside him at the telegraph, went ahead,

and tautened out the tow line, and Lindley made all sail on his stumpy

jury masts.

Seventeen days later, the gallant little tug pulled the _Harvest Queen_

into Sydney Harbour. “Mrs. Lester's Luck,” had been with them the whole

voyage, for from the time they had left Kent's Group, till they passed

between Sydney Heads, nothing but fine weather and favourable winds had

been experienced.

As the _Dolphin_, with the hulking _Harvest Queen_ behind her, came up

the smooth waters of the harbour to an anchorage off Garden Island, big

Bailey, who was standing beside Lester and Lucy on the bridge, uttered a

yell of delight.

“Mrs. Lester's luck again, by all that's holy! There is the _Braybrook

Castle_ at anchor over in Neutral Bay!”

It was indeed the _Braybrook Castle_, which had arrived only one day

previously, and when Lester went on shore a few hours later, he found

that he was a richer man by over £17,000 than when he had left Sydney

less than six months before.

And “Mrs. Lester's Luck” brought happiness to many other people beside

herself and her husband in the city of the Southern Sea, and when a year

later, in England, she stood on a stage under the bows of a gallant ship

of two thousand tons, built to Lester's order, and broke a bottle of

Australian wine against her steel plates, she named her “The Lucy's

Luck!”

BULL-DOGS OF THE SEA

Not many sea-going people--outside of professional whalemen or

sealers--know much about the “killer” and his habits, and still less

of his appearance. Yet this curious whale (for the killer is one of the

minor-toothed whales) is known all over the world, though nowhere is

it more plentiful than along the eastern and southern coasts of the

Australian continent. In the colder seas of the northern part of the

globe it is not uncommon; and only last year one was playing havoc,

it was stated, with the fishermen's nets off the northeastern coast of

Ireland.

On the eastern seaboard of Australia, however, the killers can be

watched at work, even from the shore, particularly from any bluff or

headland from which a clear view can be obtained of the sea beneath, and

should there be a westerly wind blowing, their slightest movements may

be observed; particularly when they are “cruising,” i.e., watching for

the approach of a “pod” of either humpback or fin-back whales. During

the prevalence of westerly winds the sea water becomes very clear, so

clear that every rock and stone may be discerned at a depth of six

or eight fathoms, and the killers, when waiting for their prey, will

frequently come in directly beneath the cliffs and sometimes remain

stationary for half an hour at a time, rolling over and over, or sunning

themselves.

First of all, let me describe the killer's appearance. They range in

length from ten to twenty feet, have a corresponding girth, and show the

greatest diversity of colouring and markings. Their anatomy is very much

that of the sperm whale--the one member of the cetacean family which

they do not attempt to attack on account of his enormous strength and

formidable teeth--and they “breach,” “spout” and “sound” like other

whales. The jaws are set with teeth of from one or two inches in length,

deeply imbedded in the jawbone, and when two of these creatures succeed

in fastening themselves to the lips of a humpback, even fifty feet in

length, they can always prevent him from “sounding” and escaping into

deep water, for they cling to the unfortunate monster with bull-dog

tenacity, leaving others of their party to rip the blubber from his

sides and pendulous belly.

On the coast of New South Wales--particularly at Twofold Bay, where

there is a shore whaling station, there are two “pods” or communities

of killers which have never left the vicinity within the memory of the

oldest inhabitant, and indeed they were first noticed and written about

in the year 1790. At other places on the Australian coast there are

permanent pods of ten, fifteen or twenty, but those at Twofold Bay are

quite famous, and every individual member of them is well-known, not

only to the local whalemen, but to many of the other residents of

Twofold Bay as well, and it would go hard with the man who attempted to

either kill or injure one of any of the members of the two pods, for the

whalemen would be unable to carry on their business were it not for

the assistance rendered to them by their friends the killers, whose

scientific name, by the way, is _Orca Gladiator_--and a more fitting

appellation could never have been applied.

Now as to the colouring and markings--which are not only diverse, but

exceedingly curious. Some are of a uniform black, brown, dark grey, or

dirty cream; others are black with either streaks or irregular patches

of yellow, white or grey: others again are covered with patches of

black, white or yellow, ranging in size from half a dozen inches in

diameter to nearly a couple of feet. One which the present writer found

lying dead on the reef of Nukulaelae Island, in the Ellice Group, was

almost a jet black with the exception of some poorly defined white

markings on the dorsal fin and belly; another which he saw accidentally

killed by a bomb fired at a huge whale off the Bampton Shoals, was of a

reddish-brown, with here and there almost true circular blotches of pure

white. This poor fellow was twelve feet in length, and his death was

caused by his frantic greediness to get at the whale and take his toll

of blubber. The whale was struck late in the day, and the sea was so

rough that the officer in charge, after having twice tried to get up and

use his lance, determined to end the matter with a bomb before darkness

came on. At this time there was a “pod” of seven killers running side by

side with the whale and endeavouring to fasten to his lips whenever he

came to the surface; and, just as the officer had succeeded in getting

within firing distance and discharging the bomb, poor _Gladiator_ came

in the way, and was killed by the shot, much to the regret of the boat's

crew.

For, as I have said, the whalemen--and particularly the shore whalemen,

_i.e_., those who do their whaling from a station on shore--regard, and

with good reason, the killers as invaluable allies. Especially is this

so in the case of the Twofold Bay shore whalers, for out of every ten

whales killed during the season, whether humpbacks, “right” whales, or

finbacks, three-fourths are captured through the pack of killers seizing

and literally holding them till the boats come up and end the mighty

creatures' miseries.

Towards the end of winter an enormous number of whales appear on the

Australian coast, coming from the cold Antarctic seas, and travelling

northward along the land towards the breeding grounds--the Bampton

and Bellona Shoals and the Chesterfield Groups, situated between New

Caledonia and the Australian mainland, between 17° and 20° S. The

majority of these whales strike the land about Cape Howe and Gabo Island

at the boundary line between New South Wales and Victoria--sixty miles

south of Twofold Bay. Most of them are finbacks, though these are always

accompanied by numbers of humpbacks and a few “right” whales--the most

valuable of all the southern cetacea except the spermaceti or cachalot.

The latter, however, though they will travel in company with the flying

finback and the timid humpback and “right” whale, has no fear of the

killers. He is too enormously strong, and could crush even a full-grown

killer to a pulp between his mighty jaws were he molested, and

consequently the killers give the cachalot a wide berth as a dangerous

customer. The finback, however, swift and lengthy as he is, seldom

manages to escape once he is “bailed up,” and having no weapon of

defence except his flukes (for he is one of the baleen or toothless

whales), he has but one chance of his life, and that is to dive to such

a depth that his assailants have to let go their hold of him in order to

ascend to the surface to breathe.

The finback, I must mention, although the most plentiful of all the

whale family, and sometimes attaining the length of ninety feet, is

never attacked by whale-boats when he is “loose,” _i.e._, free, and

is only captured when his struggles with the ferocious killers have so

exhausted him that a boat can approach and dart a harpoon into or lance

him. The reason for this immunity of primary attack by boats is that the

finback is in the first place of little value when compared to either

the humpback or “right” whale, for the coating of blubber is thin, and

the plates of baleen (or whalebone) he possesses are very short; and in

the second place he is, although so timid a creature, too dangerous to

be struck with a harpoon, for he would take the entire whale-line out of

three or four boats and then get away with it after all, for it is the

swiftest of all the cetacean family, and all whalemen say that no

one but a stark lunatic would dream of putting an iron into a loose

“finner,” such as ranges the Southern Ocean. I was told, however, of

one well-authenticated case off the Azores, where a reckless Portuguese

shore-whaler struck a bull finback, which, after taking the lines from

four boats (220 fathoms in each) towed them for three hours and then got

away, the line having to be cut owing to the creature sounding to such

an enormous depth that no more line was available.

The shore whaling parties at Twofold Bay, however, run no risks of this

sort. They let their friends, the Gladiators, do most of the work, and

find that “fin-backing” under these circumstances is fairly profitable,

inasmuch as they can tow the carcase ashore, and “try out” the blubber

at their leisure.

But, in a case where one of these finbacks is held by killers, it can

be approached, as I have said, by shore boats and killed, as is the

practice of the Twofold Bay whalemen.

Let the writer now quote, with the publisher's permission, from a work

he wrote some years ago describing the way the killers “work in” with

their human friends. In this particular instance, however, it was a

humpback whale, but as _Orca Gladiator_ treats the humpback and “right”

whale as he does the lengthy “finner,” the extract from the article is

quite applicable.

“Let us imagine a warm, sunny day in August at Twofold Bay. The man who

is on the look-out at the abandoned old lighthouse built by one Ben Boyd

on the southern headland fifty years ago, paces to and fro on the grassy

sward, stopping now and then to scan the wide expanse of ocean with

his glass, for the spout of a whale is hard to discern at more than

two miles if the weather is misty or rainy. But if the creature is in a

playful mood, and 'breaches'--that is, springs bodily out of the water,

and falling back, sends up a white volume of foam and spray, like the

discharge of a submarine mine, you can see it eight miles away.

“The two boats are always in readiness at the trying-out works, a mile

or so up the harbour; so too are the killers, and the look-out man,

walking to the verge of the cliff, gazes down.

“There they are, cruising slowly up and down, close in shore, spouting

lazily, and showing their wet, gleaming backs and gaff-topsail-like

dorsal fins as they rise, roll, and dive again.... Some of them have

nicknames, and each is well known to his human friends.

“Presently the watchman sees, away to the southward, a white, misty

puff, then another, and another. In an instant he brings his glass to

bear. 'Humpback!' Quickly two flags flutter from the flagpole, and a

fire is lit; and as the flags and smoke are seen, the waiting boats'

crews at the trying-out station are galvanised into life by the cry

of 'Rush, ho, lads! Humpbacks in sight, steering north-west! Rush and

tumble into the boats and away!'

“Round the south head sweeps the first boat, the second following more

leisurely, for she is only a 'pickup' or relief, in case the first is

'fluked' and the crew are tossed high in air, with their boat crushed

into matchwood, or meets with some other disaster. And as the leading

boat rises to the long ocean swell of the offing, the killers close in

round her on either side, just keeping clear of the sweep of the oars,

and 'breaching' and leaping and spouting with the anticipative zest of

the coming bloody fray.

“'Easy, lads, easy!' says the old boat-header; 'they are coming right

down on us. Billy has right. They're humpbacks, sure enough!'

“The panting oarsmen pull a slower stroke, and then, as they watch the

great savage creatures which swim alongside, they laugh in the mirthless

manner peculiar to most native-born Australians, for suddenly, with a

last sharp spurt of vapour, the killers dive and disappear into the dark

blue beneath; for they have heard the whales, and, as is their custom,

have gone ahead of the boat, rushing swiftly on below fully fifty

fathoms deep. Fifteen minutes later they rise to the surface in the

midst of the humpbacks, and half a square acre of ocean is turned into a

white, swirling cauldron of foam and leaping spray. The bull-dogs of the

sea have seized the largest whale of the pod or school--a bull--and are

holding him for the boat and for the deadly lance of his human foes.

The rest of the humpbacks rise high their mighty flukes and 'sound'

a hundred--two hundred--fathoms down, and, speeding seaward, leave the

unfortunate bull to his dreadful fate.

(“And in truth it is a dreadful fate, and the writer of this sketch can

never forget one day, as he and a little girl of six watched, from a

grassy headland on the coast of New South Wales, the slaughter of a

monstrous whale by a drove of killers, that the child wept and shuddered

and hid her face against his shoulder.)

“Banging swiftly alongside of him, from his great head down to the

'small' of his back, the fierce killers seize his body in their savage

jaws and tear great strips of blubber from off his writhing sides in

huge mouthfuls, and then jerking the masses aside, take another and

another bite. In vain he sweeps his flukes with fearful strokes from

side to side--the bull-dogs of the sea come not within their range; in

vain he tries to 'sound'--there is a devil on each side of his jaws,

their cruel teeth fixed firmly into his huge lips; perhaps two or three

are underneath him tearing and riving at the great rough corrugations of

his grey-white belly; whilst others, with a few swift, vertical strokes

of their flukes, draw back for fifty feet or so, charge him amidships,

and strike him fearful blows on the ribs with their bony heads. Round

and round, in ever-narrowing circles as his strength fails, the tortured

humpback swims, sometimes turning on his back or side, but failing,

failing fast.

“'He's done for, lads. Pull up; stand up, Jim.'

“The boat dashes up, and Jim, the man who is pulling bow oar, picks up

his harpoon. A minute later it flies from his hand, and is buried deep

into the body of the quivering animal, cutting through the thick blubber

as a razor would cut through the skin of a drum.

“'Stern all!' and the harpooner tumbles aft and grips the steer oar,

and the steersman takes his place in the head of the boat and seizes his

keen-edged lance. But 'humpy' is almost spent, and though by a mighty

effort he 'ups flukes' and sounds, he soon rises, for the killers

thrust him upwards to the surface again. Then the flashing lance--two,

three swift thrusts into his 'life' a gushing torrent of hot, dark

blood, and he rolls oyer on his side, an agonised trembling quivers

through his vast frame, the battle is oyer and his life is gone.

“And now comes the curious and yet absolutely truly described final part

that the killers play in this ocean tragedy. They, the moment the whale

is dead, close around him, and fastening their teeth into his body,

by main strength bear it to the bottom. Here--if they have not already

accomplished it--they tear out the tongue, and eat about one-third of

the blubber. In from thirty-six to forty hours the carcase will again

rise to the surface, and as, before he was taken down, the whalemen

haye attached a line and buoy to the body, its whereabouts are easily

discerned from the look-out on the headland; the boats again put off and

tow it ashore to the trying-out works. The killers, though they haye had

their fill of blubber, accompany the boats to the head of the bay and

keep off the sharks, which would otherwise strip off all the remaining

blubber from the carcase before it had reached the shore. But once the

boats are in the shallow water, the killers stop, and then with a final

'puff! puff!' of farewell to their human friends, turn and head seaward

to resume their ceaseless watch and patrol of the ocean.

“The killers never hurt a man. Time after time haye boats been stove in

or smashed into splinters by a whale, either by an accidental blow from

his head or a sudden lateral sweep of his monstrous flukes, and the

crew left struggling in the water or clinging to the oars and pieces of

wreckage; and the killers have swum up to, looked at, and smelt them,

but never have they touched a man with intent to do him harm. And

wherever the killers are, the sharks are not, for Jack Shark dreads a

killer as the devil is said to dread holy water. Sometimes I have

seen 'Jack' make a rush in between the killers, and rip off a piece of

hanging blubber, but he will carefully watch his chance to do so.”

* * * * *

One of the most experienced whaling masters of New Bedford, with whom

the writer once cruised from the Gilbert Islands to Tap in the Western

Carolines, told him that on one occasion when he was coming from the

shore to his ship, which was lying to off the Chatham Islands, the boat

was followed by a pack of five killers. They swam within touch of the

oars, much to the amusement of the crew, and presently several of what

are called “right whale” porpoises made their appearance, racing along

ahead of the boat, whereupon Captain Allen went for'ard and picked up

a harpoon, for the flesh of this rare variety of porpoise is highly

prized. The moment he struck the fish it set off at a great rate, but

not quick enough to escape the killers, for though the porpoise was

much the swifter fish (were it loose), the weight of the boat and fifty

fathoms of line was a heavy handicap. As quickly as possible the men

began hauling up to the stricken fish so that Allen might give it the

lance, when to their astonishment the killers seized it and literally

tore it to pieces in a few minutes.

“If ever I felt mad enough to put an iron into a 'killer' it was then,”

he said, “but I couldn't do it. And very glad of it I was afterwards,

for a week later I had two boats stove in by a whale, and of course, had

I hurt one of those beggars of killers, the whole crew would have said

it was only a just retribution.”

“REVENGE”

On that fever-stricken part of the coast of the great island of New

Britain, lying between the current-swept headland of Gape Stephens and

the deep forest-clad shores of Kabaira Bay, there is a high grassy bluff

dotted here and there with isolated coco-palms leaning northward to the

sea beneath, their broad branches restlessly whipping and bending to

the boisterous trade wind. On the western side of the bluff there is a

narrow strip of littoral, less than half a mile in width, and thickly

clothed with a grove of betel nut, through which the clear waters of a

mountain stream flow swiftly out oceanwards across a rocky bar.

Near where the margin of the grove of straight, grey-boled betels touch

the steep side of the bluff, there may be seen the outline of a low wall

of coral stones, forming three sides of a square, and bound and knit

together with vines, creepers, and dank, ill-smelling moss--the growth,

decay, and re-growth of three score years. The ground which it encloses

is soft and swampy, for the serried lines of betel-trees, with their

thick, broad crowns, prevent either sun or wind from penetrating to the

spot, and the heavy tropical rains never permit it to dry. It is a dark,

dismal-looking place, only visited by the savage inhabitants when they

come to collect the areca-nuts, and its solitude is undisturbed save

by the flapping of the hornbill's wings as he carries food to his

imprisoned mate, or the harsh screech of a white cockatoo flying

overhead to the mountain forest beyond.

Yet sixty years ago it was not so, for then on the shore facing the bar

stood a native village, and within the now rained wall were the houses

of three white men, who from their doorways could see the blue Pacific,

and the long curve of coast line with cape and headland and white line

of reef stretching away down to the westward in the misty tropic haze.

Walk inside the old, broken walls, and you will see, half-buried in the

moist, steaming, and malarious ground, some traces of those who dwelt

there--a piece of chain cable, two or three whaler's trypots, a rotten

and mossgrown block or two, only the hardwood sheaves of which have

resisted the destroying influences of the climate; a boat anchor, and

farther towards the creek, the mouldering remains of a capstan, from the

drumhead holes of which long grey-green pendants of moss droop down upon

the weather-worn, decaying barrel, like the scanty ragged beard that

falls on the chest of some old man worn out with poverty and toil.

That is all that one may see now; for the dense, evergrowing jungle has

long since hidden or rotted all else that was left.

* * * * *

The three men were named Ford, Adams, and Stenhouse. They were

_beche-de-mer_ fishers, and for nearly a year had been living in this

savage spot--the only white men inhabiting the great island, whose

northern coast line sweeps in an irregular half-moon curve for more

than three hundred miles from Cape Stephens to within sight of the

lofty mountains of New Guinea. In pursuit of their avocation, death from

disease, or from the spears or clubs of the treacherous, betel-chewing,

stark-naked cannibals among whom they dwelt was ever near, but to the

men of their iron resolution and dauntless courage that mattered not.

Two years' labour meant for them a large sum of money--enough to enable

them to return with their wives and families and native dependents, to

those more restful islands in the Western Carolines whence they had come

a year before.

All three men were employed by one firm in Singapore, whose ship had

brought them with their families and some thirty or forty natives of Yap

to New Britain. Nine months after their landing, a small schooner had

called to replenish their supplies, and ship the cured trepang, which

by the most assiduous labour and daring enterprise they had accumulated;

and when this story opens, the schooner had been gone some weeks, and

they and their native workers were preparing their boats for another

cruise along the great barrier reef of New Britain.

Two of these men, Adams and Stenhouse, were old and tried comrades, and

in their rough way, devoted to each other. Stenhouse, the elder of

the two, had some ten years previously, while sailing along the Pelew

Island, found Adams adrift in an open boat--the sole survivor of a

shipwrecked crew of sixteen men, and had nursed him back to life and

reason. Later on, Adams had married one of Stenhouse's half-caste

daughters. Ford, too, who was an American, was connected by marriage

with Stenhouse, and nearly every one of the thirty or forty male and

female Caroline Islanders who worked for the three white men were more

or less allied to their wives by ties of blood or marriage, and there

was not one of them who would not have yielded up his or her life in

their defence.

Stenhouse, who was the leader of the adventurous party, was a man of

about forty-five years of age, and, like his two comrades, an ex-sailor.

He was nearly six feet in height, and possessed of such powers of

strength and endurance that his name was known throughout the Western

Pacific to almost every white man, but his once handsome features were

marred by such a terrible disfigurement, that those who came to know

the man and his sterling character always thought or spoke of him with

genuine and respectful pity. What had caused this cruel distortion was

known to but three other persons besides himself--the mother of his

children, his son-in-law, Thomas Adams, and the man who had inflicted

the injury; and to spare the reader's feelings as much as possible, it

need only be said that the left side of his face had been so injured by

violence of some kind as to be pitiful to look upon, the more so as the

eye was missing.

* * * * *

Late one evening, just as Stenhouse and his son-in-law, Adams, were

smoking their last pipes before tarning in, their comrade entered the

house hurriedly, accompanied by one of their native employees, who had

been away on a fishing excursion.

“Here's news! There's a big full-rigged ship just anchored under Cape

Stephens. Masik boarded her, and had a yarn with the mate.”

“Where is she from?” asked Stenhouse, turning his one eye upon the

native, Masik.

“I know not, master. But she is a great ship with many men on

board--some white, and some yellow, with shaven heads.

“Ah, a Calcutta-Sydney ship, most likely,” said Stenhouse to his

comrades. Then turning to Masik--“Why came she here? Didst ask?”

“Aye,” replied the man in his native tongue; “the ship came here because

there be many sick, and two dead men on board. It is a strong sickness.”

“Didst speak of us white men here?”

The man nodded. “Aye, and the mate said that the captain would like thee

all to come to the ship; but to hasten, for when the two men are buried

to-morrow the ship will sail And the mate gave me these for thee.”

Adams eagerly extended his hand for a bundle of newspapers which Masik

carried wrapped up in a piece of old sail-cloth.

“This is a god-send,” said Adams, as he opened the packet and tossed

some of the papers to Stenhouse and Ford, “only about six months old.

Hallo, here's the name of the ship and captain I suppose, on one of

them:

Roger Fullerton, Esq., Ship _Ramillies_------”

“_What!_”

It was Stenhonse who spoke, and his usual cheerful voice now sounded

cracked and discordant, as with an oath he tore the paper from his

comrade's hand, read the name, and then sat down, with one hand pressed

to his sightless orb, his whole frame trembling from head to foot.

“What is the matter, Ted?” asked Ford anxiously.

Slowly he turned his face towards his comrades. It was white.

“Send them away,” he said, “but tell them to call the others and get

ready. I am going down to the cape to-night, to that ship. I am going to

kill a man.”

Ford looked at him wonderingly. Adams, who understood, spoke a few

whispered words to the natives, who quickly left the room.

“Tom.”

“Yes, Ted.”

“Are all the women and children asleep?”

Adams nodded, and Stenhouse silently motioned to him and Ford to be

seated. He remained standing.

“Jim Ford,” he said quietly, “look at me”--he drew his hand down the

distorted side of his face--“and tell me what you would do to a man who

made you look like this.”

“I would have his life if I swung for it.”

“Well, I am going to have this man's life. I shall not be hanged for it,

but if I am killed, I look to you, Jim, and you Tom, to stand to my wife

and children.”

Ford put out his hand impulsively: “All that I have I owe to you, Ted. I

will stand to 'em, so help me God.”

“I knew you would. Now, only three people in the world besides me--Tom

Adams, my wife, and the man who did it--know what made me the blarsted

scarecrow I am; but as I may be a dead man by this time tomorrow, I'll

tell you.”

He paused, and with his forefinger still pressed firmly on the name on

the newspaper, said slowly:--

“This man, Roger Fullerton, was a passenger on the _Mahratta_, East

Indiaman. I was his servant. We were bound to Sydney from Table Bay. He

was going out to be Commissary-General or something of that kind in New

South Wales. We had a rough, mutinous crew on board, and one night there

was a fight between them and the officers and passengers. They burst

into the cabin, and would have captured the ship but for the mate,

who shot one man dead and cut another down. I had nothing to do with

them--as God is my witness--for I was only a lad of nineteen, and

would have stood to the captain and officers like a man, but I was made

prisoner by the mutineers early in the fight. After the row was over,

Mr. Fullerton missed his watch and a hundred sovereigns which were in

a writing case in his cabin. He accused me of stealing them, and when

I hotly denied the charge, knocked me down on deck and kicked me so

savagely in the face that I should have been killed if I had not been

dragged away from him. As it was, he broke my jaw and destroyed my left

eye. But that was not all. When he reached Sydney he charged me with

the theft. I got a heavy sentence and was sent to the coal-mines at

Newcastle; but after two years of hell I escaped by stowing away in a

Dutch barque bound to Samarang. And now _my_ turn has come.”

“Are you sure he is the man?” asked the American.

“Quite. He settled in the Colony and married there. I have heard of him

from time to time for many years.”

* * * * *

Before midnight the three white men, with twenty-five of their native

followers armed with muskets and cutlasses, were following the coastline

in the direction of Gape Stephens. The night was dark and rainy, but the

route was familiar to both Adams and Stenhouse. All night they marched

steadily onward, and only when daylight broke did they halt on the banks

of a stream to rest and eat. Then, crossing the stream, they struck a

native path which led to the shore.

“There she is,” said Ford.

The ship lay about a mile from the shore. Stenhouse looked at her

earnestly, and then abruptly told his comrades his plans, which were

daring but simple. He would await the landing of the boat bringing the

dead men ashore for burial, and take them prisoners. In all probability

the captain would be in charge, and it was Stenhouse's intention to hold

him and his boat's crew as ransom for the man he wanted. He intended

no harm to them, but was determined to achieve his object if he had

to carry his prisoners off to the mountains, and keep them there till

Fullerton was given up to him.

Immediately after breakfast, the watchers saw two boats leave the ship,

and pull in towards a creek which debouched into a sandy cove situated

immediately under Gape Stephens. The coastline here was uninhabited,

and except for the banks of the creek, which were heavily timbered,

presented a succession of rolling, grassy downs, and here and there

clumps of _vi_ (wild mango) and cedar trees, and Stenhouse felt pretty

certain that the burying party would pick upon one of these spots to

inter the bodies, and that he could easily cut them off from the boats.

Swiftly and silently they took up a position on the banks of the creek,

Stenhouse with his two friends keenly watching the advancing boats

from behind the buttressed roots of a giant Indian fig-tree. In a few

minutes, the leading boat, in which were six men and an officer, entered

the creek, but the water being shallow, grounded on the bar, and the

crew got out. The second boat contained four seamen, and three or four

persons who were seated aft, and she too took the ground, and then,

as her crew stepped out into the water, Stenhouse gripped Adams by the

shoulder.

“See, Tom, there he is! The man himself. Look! that big fellow with

the white whiskers, sitting between the others.” He held a hurried

consultation with his comrades, and quickly decided on his course of

action.

Both crews were now endeavouring to drag the boats across the shallow

bar into the deeper water beyond, but the task was too much for them,

and presently the captain, who was in the second boat, ordered them to

cease, and said something to the big, white-whiskered man, who nodded

his head in approval.

Four seamen then lifted two coffins from the first boat, and, followed

by four others carrying their own and their shipmates' arms and some

spades, began wading through the water to the shore, directly to where

the unseen watchers lay awaiting; and the remainder of the party,

leaving the boats with two men on guard, came slowly after them.

Stenhouse pointed to the two boat-keepers, and said something to Ford,

who, with half-a-dozen natives, quickly disappeared.

In a few minutes the bearers of the coffins reached the shore, and

placed their burdens on the ground to await further orders.

“We shall find clear ground, sir, within a few yards from the bank,”

began the captain, addressing the tall man, who with bared head and slow

step walked by his side, when suddenly there came a rush of a score of

half-naked figures, who threw themselves silently upon the party, and

overcame them almost without a sound.

“Surrender, or you are all dead men,” cried a hoarse voice.

There was no need for the stern summons, for not only were the

astonished sailors terrified by the extraordinary suddenness of the

attack and the savage appearance of their captors, but their captain,

the surgeon, and the big man had their pistols taken from their belts so

quickly that resistance was utterly out of the question, covered as they

were by half-a-dozen muskets pointed at their breasts.

Then Adams stepped out and addressed the captain. 804

“No harm will be done to you and yonr men, but you must remain our

prisoners for awhile. Then your arms will be returned to you, and you

can go back to your ship. Your boat-keepers are secured.”

“What in God's name does this mean?” cried the unfortunate officer.

“Silence, if you value yonr life,” cried the same stern voice that had

called upon them to surrender.

The captain turned and sought to discern the speaker, but the muzzle

of a pistol was placed menacingly against his chest, and he was again

ordered to be silent.

Then at a sign from Adams all the crews' and officers' arms were carried

off to the boats by two natives, and the wondering seamen were bidden by

Adams to lift the coffins and follow him.

“Do not attempt to escape,” he said, speaking to the whole party

generally; “if you do you will be shot down without mercy.”

As he spoke Ford, with five armed natives, silently joined the rest of

the captors. Follerton, the captain, and the surgeon all looked at him

curiously.

“March, gentlemen,” he said, pointing with his drawn cutlass to the

bearers of the coffins, who were now, guided by Adams, pushing their

way through the timber, surrounded by their native guards with muskets

cocked.

In ten minutes the belt of timber had been passed through, and captors

and captured emerged upon a grassy sward.

“Halt!”

Again that hoarse, strange voice sounded from somewhere near, and the

seamen shuddered as they gently laid their burdens on the ground.

“Bury your dead, sir, and have no fear,” said Adams to the captain.

Then he and Ford spoke to their followers, who silently drew back and

permitted the seamen who carried shovels to advance. The ground was soft

and moist, and their task was soon accomplished, and the coffins lowered

into their graves.

Then the captain, followed by the surgeon and Roger Fullerton, advanced,

prayer-book in hand, and read the burial service, and Adams and Ford

wondered somewhat when, at its conclusion, a heavy sob burst from

Fullerton.

Quickly the earth was shovelled in, and soon two mounds showed on

the sward. Then came the clank of arms, and the mourners were again

surrounded by their half-nude guards.

“Follow,” said Adams shortly.

He led them for a distance of about a hundred yards, then halted, and

the prisoners found themselves in a hollow square.

“Are you going to slaughter unarmed men?” cried the surgeon, who was

terrified at the very appearance of the wild-looking Caroline Islanders

and their grim, silent leaders.

Adams shook his head, but made no reply.

A heavy footstep sounded in the jungle near them, and Stenhouse,

carrying two cutlasses under his arm, strode into the square and stood

before Fullerton.

For a moment or two their eyes met, and then Stenhouse raised his hand

and touched his distorted face.

“You know me, Mr. Fullerton?”

“I know you. You have come to kill me.”

“Yes, unless you kill me.” He drew a cutlass from its leather sheath and

held its hilt out to the man he hated. Fullerton folded his arms across

his chest.

“Take it,” said Stenhouse slowly, “or, by Heavens! I'll cut you down as

you stand.”

“As you will,” replied the old man steadily, “but fight you I will not.

My life is in your hands. Take it. I am not afraid to die.”

Stenhouse drew his cutlass slowly, his one eye shining with a deadly

hatred.

“For God's sake, man, whoever you are, whatever your injuries may be,

do not shed the blood of an old man on his son's grave!” and the captain

sprang forward with outspread, appealing hands.

“His son!” and the point of the gleaming weapon drooped.

“His only son. Have mercy on him, as you hope for mercy yourself.”

“Stop, Captain Marsland. Do not ask for mercy for me. I did this man a

grievous wrong. My life is his. Let him have his due.”

Stenhouse threw down his cutlass with an oath, turned his back on his

enemy, and put his hand to his forehead.

Then he faced round sharply, and once more he looked into Fullerton's

unmoved face.

“Go,” he said.

And without another word he strode away, followed by his comrades and

his savage companions.

SAUNDERSON AND THE DYNAMITE

Saunderson was one of those men who firmly believed that he knew

everything, and exasperated people by telling them how to do things; and

Denison, the supercargo of the _Palestine_, hated him most fervently for

the continual trouble he was giving to every one, and also because he

had brought a harmonium on board, and played dismal tunes on it every

night and all day on Sundays. But, as Saunderson was one of the partners

in the firm who owned the _Palestine_, Denison, and Packenham the

skipper, had to suffer him in silence, and trust that something might

happen to him before long. What irritated Denison more than anything

else was that Saunderson frequently expressed the opinion that

supercargoes were superfluous luxuries to owners, and that such work “as

they tried to do could well be done by the captains, provided the latter

were intelligent men.”

“Never mind, Tom,” said Packenham hopefully, one day, “he's a big

eater, and is bound to get the fever if we give him a fair show in the

Solomons. Then we can dump him ashore at some missionary's--he and his

infernal groan-box--and go back to Sydney without the beast.”

When the _Palestine_ arrived at Leone Bay, in Tutuila, Saunderson

dressed himself beautifully and went ashore to the mission-house, and in

the evening Mrs. O------ (the missionary's wife), wrote Denison a note

and asked if he could spare a cheese from the ship's stores, and added a

P.S., “What a _terrible_ bore he is!” This made the captain and himself

feel better.

The next morning Saunderson came on board. Denison was in the cabin,

showing a trader named Rigby some samples of dynamite; the trader wanted

a case or two of the dangerous compound to blow a boat passage through

the reef opposite his house, and Denison was telling him how to use it.

Of course Saunderson must interfere, and said _he_ would show Rigby what

to do. He had never fired a charge of dynamite in his life, nor even

seen one fired or a cartridge prepared, but had listened carefully to

Denison. Then he sarcastically told Denison that the cheese he had sent

Mrs. O------ might have passed for dynamite, it was so dry and

tasteless.

“Well, dynamite is made from cheese, you know,” said the supercargo

deferentially, “just cheese slightly impregnated with picric acid,

gastrito-nepenthe, and cubes of oxalicogene.”

Saunderson said he knew that, and after telling Rigby that he would

walk over to his station before dinner, and show him where to begin

operations on the reef, went on shore again.

About twelve o'clock Denison and Rigby went on shore to test the

dynamite, fuse, and caps--first in the water and then on the reef.

Just abreast of the mission-house they saw a big school of grey mullet

swimming close in to the beach, and Denison quickly picked up a stone,

tied it with some string round a cartridge, cut the fuse very short, lit

it, and threw it in. There was a short fizz, then a dull, heavy thud,

and up came hundreds of the beautiful fish stunned or dead. Saunderson

came out of the mission-house and watched the natives collecting them.

Denison had half-a-dozen cartridges in his hand; each one was tightly

enveloped in many thicknesses of paper, seized round with twine, and had

about six inches of fuse, with the ends carefully frayed out so as to

light easily.

“Give me some of those,” said Saunderson.

The supercargo reluctantly handed him two, and Saunderson remarked that

they were very clumsily covered, but he would fix some more himself

“properly” another time. Denison sulkily observed that he had no time

to waste in making dynamite cartridges look pretty. Then, as Saunderson

walked off, he called out and told him that if he was going to shoot

fish he would want to put a good heavy stone on the cartridges.

Saunderson said when he wanted advice from any one he would ask for

it. Then he sent word by a native to Mrs. O------that he would send her

along some fish in a few minutes.

Now within a few hundred yards of the mission-house there was a jetty,

and at the end of the jetty was Her Majesty's gunboat _Badger_, a small

schooner-rigged wooden vessel commanded by Lieutenant-Commander Muddle,

one of the most irascible men that ever breathed, and who had sat on

more Consuls than any one else in the service.

Sannderson went on the jetty followed by a crowd of natives, and looked

over into the water. There were swarms of fish, just waiting to be

dynamited. He told a native to bring him a stone, and one was brought--a

nice round, heavy stone as smooth as a billiard ball--just the very

wrong kind of stone. He tied it on the cartridge at last, after it had

fallen off four or five times; then, as he did not smoke, and carried no

matches, he lit it from a native woman's cigarette, and let it drop into

the water. The stone promptly fell off, but the cartridge floated gaily,

and drifted along fizzing in a contented sort of way. Sannderson put his

hands on his hips, and watched it nonchalantly, oblivious of the fact

that all the natives had bolted back to the shore to be out of danger,

and watch things.

There was a bit of a current, and the cartridge was carried along till

it brought up gently against the _Badger_--just in a nice cosy place

between the rudder bearding and the stern-post. Then it went off with a

bang that shook the universe, and ripped off forty-two sheets of copper

from the _Badger_; and Saunderson fell off the jetty into the water; and

the bluejackets who were below came tumbling up on deck; and the

gunner, seeing Lieutenant-Commander Muddle rush up from his cabin in his

shirt-sleeves with a razor in his hand, thought that he had gone queer

again in his head, and had tried to blow up the ship, and was going to

out his throat, and so he rushed at him, and knocked him down and took

his razor away, and begged him to be quiet; and Muddle, thinking it was

a mutiny, nearly went into a fit, and straggled so desperately, and

made such awful choking noises that two more men sat on him; and the

navigating midshipman, thinking it was fire, told the bugler to sound

to quarters, and then, seeing the captain being held down by three men,

rushed to his assistance, but tripped over something or somebody and

fell down and nearly broke his nose; and all the time Saunderson who

was clinging to one of the jetty piles, was yelling pitifully for help,

being horribly afraid of sharks.

At last he was fished out by Bigby and some natives and carried up to

the mission-house and then, when he was able to talk coherently, he

sent for Denison, who told him that Commander Muddle was coming for him

presently with a lot of armed men and a boatswain with a green bag in

which was a “cat,” and that he (Saunderson) would first be flogged and

then hanged at the _Badger's_ yard-arm, and otherwise treated severely,

for an attempt to blow up one of Her Majesty's ships; and then

Saunderson shivered all over, and staggered out of the mission-house

in a suit of Mr. O------'s pyjamas, much too large for him, and met

Commander Muddle on the jetty and tried to explain how it occurred, and

Muddle called him an infernal, drivelling idiot, and knocked him clean

off the jetty into the water again, and used awful language, and told

Denison that his chronometers were ruined, and the ship's timbers

started, and that he had had a narrow escape from cutting his own throat

when the dynamite went off, as he had just begun to shave.

Saunderson was very ill after that, and was in such mortal terror that

Muddle and every one else on board the gunboat meant to kill, wound, or

seriously damage him, that he kept inside the mission-house, and said he

felt he was dying, and that Mr. O------ would prepare him for the end.

So Denison and Paekenham, who were now quite cheerful again, sent his

traps and his harmonium ashore, and sailed without him, a great peace in

their bosoms.

THE STEALING OF SA LUIA

One dull rainy morning, soon after daybreak, as the ship _St. George_ of

New Bedford was cruising for sperm whales between the islands of Tucopia

and Vanikoro, the look-out hailed the deck and reported a boat in sight.

The captain was called, and a few minutes later appeared and went aloft.

The boat was about three miles distant to leeward, and Captain

Elphinstone at once kept the ship away. The wind, however, was so light

that it took her some time to get within hailing distance, and then

it was discovered that the boat contained three natives--a man and two

young girls--who appeared to be greatly exhausted, for after

feebly raising their heads for a moment and putting out their hands

imploringly, they fell back again.

A boat was quickly lowered from the ship, and the sufferers brought on

board, and their own boat, which was a small, native-built craft much

like a whale-boat, but with an outrigger attached, was hoisted on board,

for she was too good to be turned adrift.

On board the _St. George_ was a Samoan named Falaoa. He was a native

of the island of Manua, and at once recognised the unfortunates as

country-people of his own. The man, who was in a dreadful state of

emaciation, and barely able to raise his voice above a whisper, was over

six feet in height, and appeared to be about five-and-twenty years of

age; his companions had evidently not undergone as much suffering and

did not present the same shocking appearance as he, for the sun had

burnt his skin to such a degree that that part of his tattooing which

was not covered by the scanty _lava lava_ of tappa cloth around his

loins had become almost black.

Under the kind and careful treatment they received from Captain

Elphinstone and his officers, all three soon recovered, and ten days

after they had been rescued, the following entry was made in the ship's

log:--“This day, at their own request, we landed the three Samoans at

the island of Nufilole, one of the Swallow Group, where they were well

received by the natives and a white trader. They were accompanied by one

of my crew named Falaoa, who begged me to let him go with them, having

become much attached to one of the young women. We gave them some arms

and ammunition, and some clothing and tobacco. They all behaved with

the greatest propriety during their stay on the ship. From where they

started in Samoa to where we picked them up in 12° S. is a distance of

1,800 miles.”

And here is their story, told by Sa Luia to the wife of Frank Chesson, a

white trader then living on the Santa Cruz Islands, in which the Swallow

Group is included. Chesson himself had lived in Samoa, and spoke the

language well, and the four people remained in his house for many months

as welcome guests. A strong and lasting friendship was formed, and

resulted in the trader, his wife and family, and the four Samoans

removing to the little island of Fenua-loa, and there founding what

is now a colony of Polynesians with language, customs and mode of life

generally entirely distinct from their Melanesian neighbours.

* * * * *

I am Sa Luia. I come from Mulifanua, at the lee end of Upolu in Samoa.

My father was not only the chief of Mulifanua, but has great lands in

the Atua district on the north side of Upolu--lands which came to him

through my mother, who died when I was but a week old--and from these

lands he had his name, Pule-o-Vaitafe (Lord of many Rivers).

Now it is not well for a daughter to speak unkindly of her father; but

this what I now say is true. My father, though he was so rich a man, was

very cruel to those who crossed his path, and though he was a brave man

in battle, his heart was shrunken up by reason of his avarice and

his desire to grow richer, and all Samoa, from Manna in the east to

Falealupo in the west, spoke of him as Pule-lima-vale--“Pule the

close-fisted”--or Pule fata-ma'a--“Pule the stony-hearted.” Yet all this

gave him no concern.

“What does it matter to me?” he said to his brother Patiole one day,

when Patiole, who was a chief of Manono, reproached him for his meanness

in sending away some visitors from Tutuila with such scanty presents

that all the people of Mulifanua were ashamed. “What does it matter to

me what people say of me? This _malaga_ (party of visitors) from Tutuila

are eaten up with poverty. Why should I give them fine mats, and muskets

and powder and bullets? Am I a fool? What return can they make to me?”

“They came to do thee honour,” said my uncle, putting his hand across

his eyes out of respect to my father, who was of higher rank than he,

and speaking softly. “They are thy dead wife's relatives, and are of

good blood. And thou hast shamed them--and thyself as well--by sending

them away empty-handed.”

My father laughed scornfully. “What care I for my dead wife's relatives!

I have no need of them, and want them not. When I took the daughter of

Mauga to wife, Mauga was a great man. Now he and his people are broken

and dispersed. Let them go and eat grass or wild yams like pigs. I,

Pule-o-Vaitafe, want no needy dependents.”

“Thou art a hard man,” said my uncle, bending his forehead to the mat on

which he sat.

“And thou art a fool,” replied my father; “if thy heart pains thee of

this, why dost thou not give them all that they wish?”

“Because for me, thy brother, to do so, would put shame on thee, for

'tis thy place and thy honour as head of our family to help these people

who have fallen on evil days through warfare,” said my uncle sadly.

“Thine then be the place and the honour,” said my father scornfully. “I

will not begrudge thee either. Naught will I have to do with broken men.

Farewell.”

That was my father's way. That was his hard, hard heart, which knew

neither pity nor remorse. This is how my mother died:

When I was seven days old, she took me, as is customary with a woman of

chiefly rank, to the _fale siva_ (town dance house), where I had to be

shown to the people, who brought fine mats and tappa cloth, and many

other presents. Now my father was filled with anger that my mother had

not borne him a male child, for a male child would have meant richer

presents--not only from his own people, but from towns and villages far

away. So when he saw that instead of such gifts as a new canoe or some

very old, rare mats, or muskets, or such other things as would have

been given were the child a boy, there were but the usual presents for a

girl-child, his lips turned down with scorn, and he muttered a curse. My

mother heard him and the tears flowed down her cheeks.

“It may be that my next child will be a boy,” she whispered, and then

she held me up to my father. “See, Pule, though a girl, she hath thy

features, and thou wilt come to love her.”

“Tah!” said my father in angry contempt; and without another word he

rose and went away.

Then my mother wept silently over me for a long time, for the shame put

upon her was very great, and not to be endured. So, with some of her

women, she took me to a place called Falema'a, where the cliffs rise up

straight from the sea. Her hair was then oiled and dressed, and then

she made gifts of her rings of gold and tortoise-shell to her women,

and bade them farewell. Then she took me in her arms, and leapt over the

cliff into the sea.

It so happened that half-way down the cliff, which is twelve fathoms

high, there was a boy named Manaia. He was collecting the eggs of the

sea-bird called _Kanapu_ and his canoe was anchored just in front of the

base of the cliff. He was a brave boy, and being of a very poor family,

had clambered up the steep side of the wall of rock, so that he might

find the _kanapu_ eggs in the clefts and holes, and sell them to people

in exchange for food for his mother and sisters. As he clung to the

jagged face of the rock, he saw my mother falling through the air, and

in an instant he sprang after her. When she came to the surface, I was

still clasped tightly in her arms, and Manaia cried to her to swim to

the canoe.

“Nay,” she cried, “but take my babe.”

And so Manaia took me, and my mother threw up her arms and sank and

died.

When my uncle heard of this, he sent a party of his people over from

Manono for me, and I was taken to live with him. My father did not

interfere, for the manner of my mother's death had made the people

murmur, and he was afraid that they might rise in rebellion, and kill

or banish him. But yet he tried to get another rich wife, and sent a

deputation of his chiefs to Seu Manu of Apia asking for his daughter

Sina; and Sina sent him back a piece of wood carved in the semblance of

a woman, together with a stone shaped like a heart, with this message--

“This is a good wife for Pule-o-Vaitafe. If she displease him, he can

sink her in the sea with a heart of stone.”

After that my father tried no more, for the people all round about were

murmuring, and he began to feel afraid.

But in no other way did he change, and although Manono is but two

leagues distant from Mulifanua, he never came to see me till I was in

my fifteenth year, and when I was chosen by the people of Aana to be

_Taupo_{*} of Mulifanua. Then I had to leave my uncle, which made me

weep, for although I was proud of the honour done me, I did not wish to

leave him and go back to my father. But I had no choice but to obey, and

so I was taken back to Mulifanua by a fleet of canoes and _taumualua_

(native boats), with great ceremony, and then followed many meetings and

much feasting and dancing. I was put under the care of two women, who

attended me day and night, as is the custom; they walked, ate, and slept

with me, and every day I was taught how to dance, and how to wear

my fine mats and long train of tappa, so as to receive or call upon

visitors who came to the town from other places in Samoa.

* Taupo, the town maid. This distinction is usually conf

erred on a girl of good family, and has many honours and

emoluments in the way of presents attached to it. In some

cases a _taupo_ will not marry till she reaches middle age,

and occasionally will remain single.

In all the many years that I had spent on Manono, I had not once seen

the boy Manaia--he who had taken me from the water--though I had heard

of him as having been tattooed and grown into a tall man. But on the

same day that I returned and was taken to the _fale taupule_ (council

house) to be received by the people as their _taupo_, a girl named

Selema who attended me whispered his name, and pointed him out to me.

He was sitting with the other young men, and like them, dressed in his

best, and carrying a musket and the long knife called _nifa oti_. I saw

that he was very, very tall and strong, and Selema told me that there

were many girls who desired him for a husband, though he was poor, and,

it was known, was disliked by my father.

Now this girl Selema, who was of my own age, was given to me as my

especial _tavini_ (maid) and I grew to like her as my own sister. She

told me that already my father was casting about in his mind for a rich

husband for me, and that the man he most favoured was old Tamavili,

chief of Tufa, in Savai'i, who would soon be sending messengers with

presents to him, which if they were accepted, would mean that my father

was inclined to his suit, and that he, Tamavili, would follow himself

and pay court to me.

All this frightened me, and I told Selema I would escape to my uncle in

Manono, but she said that that would not do, as if he tried to protect

me it would mean war. So I said nothing more, though much was in my

mind, and I resolved to run away to the mountains, rather than be made

to marry Tamavili, who was a very old man.

One day Selema and I went to the river to wash our hair with the pith

of the wild oranges. We sat on the smooth stones near the water, and had

just begun to beat the oranges with pieces of wood to soften them, when

we saw a man come down the bank and enter a deep pool further up the

stream.

“'Tis Manaia,” said Selema; “he hath come to drag the pool for fish.”

Then she called out to him, “_Ola_, Manaia,” and he looked at us and

laughed as he spun his small hand-net into the pool. We sat and watched

him and admired his strength and skill and the clever way in which he

dived and took the fish from his net. In a little while he had caught

seven--beautiful fish, such as are in all the mountain streams of Samoa.

Then he came out of the water, made a basket of leaves, and approached

me, and without a word, laid them at my feet. This pleased me, so I put

out my hand and touched one of the fish--meaning that one only would I

take.

“They are all for thee, lady,” he said in a low voice.

Selema laughed and urged me to accept the gift; so I took the basket,

and then, when I looked at his face and saw that his eyes were still

turned down, I took courage and said--

“Thou art Manaia. Dost thou remember me?”

“How could I forget thee?” he replied; and then he raised his eyes to

my face, and I felt glad, for they were like unto those of my uncle

Patiole--kind and soft when they looked into those of a woman or child,

but steady and bold to those of a man.

“I am glad to see thee, Manaia,” I said, “for I owe thee my life,” and

as he took my hand and pressed it to his forehead, Selema stole away and

left us together.

Now I know not what he said to me, except that when he spoke the name of

Tamavili of Tufa, I wept, and said that I would I were back at Manono,

and that I was but a child, and had no desire to be wedded to any man.

Then he lifted me up in his great arms, and said--

“I love thee, Sa Luia, I love thee! And even if thou canst not love me,

yet shall I save thee from wedding this old dotard. Aye, I shall save

thee from him as I saved thee from the boiling serf of Falema'a when thy

mother, who was a great lady, cried out to me, 'Take my babe.'”

So that is how Manaia my husband wooed me, and when Selema came back and

saw us seated together, she laughed again, though tears were in her eyes

when she took my feet and pressed them to her cheeks, for she feared

that when we fled, she would be left behind. Then Manaia whispered to me

and asked me if it was to my mind to take her.

“Ay,” I said; “else will my father kill her when we are gone.”

So we made our plans, and when the messengers of Tamavili came and laid

their presents before me, I said I was content, and that they could go

back to their master, and tell him that in a month's time I would

be ready and that he could come for me. This pleased my father, and

although at night time I always slept between the two women, as is

customary for a _taupo_, with a mat over me, and they lay on the

outside, one on each side, yet in the day time I often met my lover in

the forest, whilst Selema kept watch.

“We shall go to Uea,” {*} he said; “'tis but seventy leagues away, and so

soon as the rainy season is ended we shall start. I have bought a small

but good boat and have strengthened it for the voyage with an outrigger,

and in my mother's house is hidden all the food we can carry. In eight

days more the westerly winds will cease, and we shall start, for then we

shall have the Matagi Toe'lau (trade wind) and at Uea we shall be

safe and live in peace. Then some day I shall send for my mothers and

sisters, for on the night that we escape, they too must flee for their

lives to Sen Mann, of Apia, who will protect them from thy father's

wrath.”

* Wallis Island, two hundred miles from Samoa. Many Samoans

fled there for refuge after a reverse in battle or for other

causes.

On the morning of the fourth day after this, there came a strange

messenger to the town to see my father, who in a little time appeared at

his door with a smiling face and bade the conch be blown to summon the

people together.

“Here is news, O people,” he said. “Manka,{*} the white trader of Tufa,

also seeketh my daughter, Sa Luia, in marriage. He and Tamayili have

quarrelled--why, it matters not to me, or thee--and Manka, who is a very

rich man, hath sent me word that he will compete with Tamayili. Whatever

he offers for dowry and for presents to me, the white man will give

double. This is a good day for me.”

* Monk.

But the people were silent, for they knew that he was breaking his

pledged word with Tamavili, and was setting at naught the old customs

and the honour of the town. So, as he looked at them, he scowled; then

he held out his hand, on the palm of which were ten American gold coins,

each of twenty dollars.

“Two hundred dollars hath this white man, Manka, sent to my daughter Sa

Luia as a present, with these words: 'If she cares not for my suit, well

and good--let her have them made into bracelets for her pretty arms.”

Now this was a great gift, and it came with such generous words that the

people applauded, and my father smiled, as his long thin fingers closed

around the heap of gold; but suddenly his face darkened as Manaia spoke.

“'Tis a free gift to the lady Sa Luia. Therefore, O Pule-o-Vaitafe, give

it to her.”

“Aye, aye! 'tis hers, 'tis hers,” cried the people.

My father sent a glance of bitter hatred to my lover, and his lips

twitched, but without a word he came to me, and bending low before me,

put the money on the ground at my feet, and I, his daughter, heard his

teeth grinding with rage, and as I felt his hot breath on my hand, I

knew that murder was in his heart. It is easy for a chief such as was my

father, to have a man who displeases him killed secretly.

My father went away in anger, and then the chiefs decided that although

the white man could not wed me, he should be received with great honour,

and be given many presents; for he was known to us as a man of great

strength and daring, and was tattooed like a Samoan, which is a great

thing to the mind of a Samoan woman, who loathes an untattooed man as

unworthy of all that a woman can give, for without tattooing a young man

hath no manhood, and his children are weak of body and poor of mind.

That night my father asked me for the money, which I gave him

unwillingly, for I wished to send it back to the white man. He took

it and placed it in a great box, which contained such things as guns,

pistols, and powder and ball, and the key of which he always wore around

his neck.

When the eighth day dawned, the sea was very smooth, and our hearts were

gladdened by seeing that the wind was from the south-east, and as the

day wore on, it increased in strength. When night fell, and the evening

fires were lit, Manaia, saying he was going to fish for _malau_,

launched his boat and sailed along the shore for a league to the mouth

of a small stream. Here he was met by his mother and sisters, who were

awaiting him with baskets of cooked food, young coconuts and calabashes

of water for the voyage. Then they put their arms around him, and wept

as they bade him farewell, for seventy leagues is a long voyage for a

small boat not intended for rough seas. Then they went into the forest

and fled for their lives to Sen Manu of Apia, and Manaia waited for me.

When the town was buried in slumber, Selema, who lay near me, touched my

head with her foot, and then asked me if I slept.

“Nay,” I replied in a loud voice, and speaking with pretended anger, so

as to awaken the two women between whom I lay. “How can I sleep? 'Tis

too hot. Let us go to the beach awhile and feel the cool wind.”

The two women grumbled a little at being disturbed, and Selema and I

rose and went out of the house. Then, once we were at a safe distance,

we ran swiftly to the beach, and then onwards to where Manaia awaited

us.

Selema took her seat on the foremost thwart, Manaia at the stern, and I

in the centre, and then we pushed off, and using canoe paddles, made for

the passage through the reef out into the open sea. When the dawn broke,

we were half-way across the straits which divide Savai'i from Upolu,

and only two leagues away we saw the clustering houses of Tufa on the

iron-bound coast. We did not dare to hoist the sail for fear of being

seen, so continued to paddle, keeping well into the middle of the

straits. Only that the current was so fierce, Manaia would have

steered north, and gone round the great island of Savai'i and then made

westward, but the current was setting against the wind, and we should

have all perished had we tried to go the north way.

Presently Manaia turned and looked astern, and there we saw the great

mat sail of my father's double canoe, just rising above the water, and

knew that we were pursued. So we ceased paddling, and hoisted our own

sail, which made us leap along very quickly over the seas, though every

now and then the outrigger would lift itself out of the water, and we

feared that we might capsize. But we knew that Death was behind us, and

so sat still, and no one spoke but in a whisper as we looked astern, and

saw the sail of the great canoe growing higher and higher. It was a very

large canoe and carried a hundred men, and on the raised platform was a

cannon which my father had bought from a whale-ship when it was in his

mind to fight against Tamalefaiga, who was the king of Upolu.

Suddenly Selema cried out that she saw a _taumualua_{*} and a boat with

a sail coming towards us from Tufa, and my heart sank within me, for I

knew that if they saw we were pursued by Pule-o-Vaitafe, they would, out

of respect for him, stop us from escaping. Still there was naught for us

to do but go on, and so we leapt and sprang from sea to sea, and Manaia

bade us be of good heart, as he turned the head of the canoe toward the

land.

* A large native-built boat

“If this _taumualua_ and the boat seek to stay us, I shall run ashore,”

he said, “and we will take to the mountains. It is Manka's boat, for

now I can see the flag from the peak--the flag of America.” “And the

_taumualua_ is that of Tamavili of Tufa,” said Selema quietly, for she

is a girl of great heart, “and it races with the white man's boat.”

I, who was shaking with fear, cannot now well remember all that

followed, after Manaia headed our canoe for the shore, and tried to

escape, but suddenly, it seemed to me, the white man's boat, with

flapping sail, was upon as, and Manka was laughing loudly.

“Ho, ho!” he cried, pulling his long white moustache, “so this is the

way the wind bloweth! The old dotard Tamavili and I race together for a

bride, and the bride is for neither of us, but for the man who saved her

from the sea. Ha, ha! Thou art a fine fellow, Manaia, and I bear thee no

ill will, even though the girl hath my good golden money.”

“Nay, Manka,” cried Selema quickly, and taking something from her girdle

she held it up to the white man; “see, here is thy gift to the lady Sa

Luia. We meant to give it back to thee with all good will, for Sa Luia

loves no man but this her lover Manaia, who held her up from the angry

sea when her mother died. And so when Pule-o-Vaitafe took the money from

her--which was thy free gift--I waited till he slept, and stole the key

of his treasure-chest, and took the money so that it might be returned

to thee.”

“Is this true?” asked the white man of Manaia. “The money is thine,”

said Manaia, who knew not what else to say, “but the woman is mine.

So let us depart, for Tamavili and his men--whom no one in Malifanua

thought to see for three days yet--are drawing near, and we may escape

by running the canoe through the surf, and taking to the mountains.”

The white man swore an oath. “Thou art a fine fellow, and I bear no ill

will, but will help thee to outwit that old dodderer who tried to steal

away three days before me. I will put my boat between he and thee and

keep him off. Whither wouldst land?”

“Not here, unless we are pressed. But we are in bad case; for see, on

the one side comes Pule-o-Vaitafe, and on the other Tamavili. Yet if

thou wilt be the good friend to us, we may escape both, and keep on our

way to the open sea.”

“The open sea!” cried Manka quickly--“and whither to?”

“To Uea.”

“Thou art a bold fellow,” said the white man again, “and shalt have the

girl, for thou art worthy of her. And she shall keep the money for her

dowry. I am no man to go back on my word, even though I lose so fair

a bride. As for Pule-o-Vaitafe, I care not a blade of grass, and for

Tamavili even less. And see, take this rifle, and if Tamavili cometh too

close to thee, how can I help thee defending thyself and the women?”

With that he gave Manaia one of six rifles in his boat and two score and

ten cartridges, some tobacco, matches, and a pipe; then he pressed our

hands and wished us God-speed, and we parted, he sailing towards the

_taumualua_, which was crowded with men, and we following. When he came

within speaking distance of Tamavili, he again brought his boat to the

wind and mocked at the old man.

“Ho, ho! Tamavili. Whither goest in such a hurry? See, there in the

canoe is the little bird we both sought, and there following comes her

father. But she is neither for me nor thee. Is not her lover there, a

fine man--nearly as handsome as I am, and big enough to make ten such

rats as thee.”

Tamavili was mad with rage, and did not answer. There were with Manka

six men--all armed with rifles which loaded at the breech like that

which he had given Manaia, and Manka was too great a man for even

Tamavili to hurt. But suddenly, as we in the canoe sailed in between the

boat and the _taumualua_, the old chief found his voice, and called out

to Manaia to lower his sail.

“Give me the lady Sa Luia,” he said, “and I will let thee and the girl

Selema go,” and as he spoke, the crew turned the _taumualua_ round and

came after us, twenty men paddling on each side.

“Keep back!” cried Manaia fiercely, as he changed seats with me, and

giving me the steering paddle, he took up the rifle and loaded it.

“Beware, old man!” shouted Manka, “'tis a dog that bites!”

But Tamavili was too hot with anger to take heed, and shouted to his men

to go on, and then Manaia took aim and fired, and two men went down.

“Ho, ho!” and Manka's voice again mocked, “did I not say 'twas a dog

that bit?”

There was great commotion in the _taumualua_ for a moment or two, but

_Tamavili_ shouted to his men to go on; he would have ordered some of

them to cease paddling and try and shoot Manaia, but feared to hurt

or perhaps kill me, and that would have meant war between Tufa and

Mulifanua.

“Alo, alo foe!”{*} he cried, standing up on the stem and brandishing

his death-knife at Manaia. “I shall give thy head to the children of the

village for a football ere the sun is in mid-heaven.”

* “Paddle, paddle hard!”

That was a foolish boast, for once more Manaia knelt and shot, and I

turned my head and saw the blood spurt from Tamavili's naked chest as he

fell down without a sound among the paddlers and a loud cry of anger

and sorrow burst from his men. But in a moment a young sub-chief of Tufa

named _Lau Aula_ (the Golden-haired) took command and shouted to the crew

to press on, and leaping to the bow, he began firing at us with a short

gun (revolver) and one of the bullets struck the girl Selema on the leg

and tore a hole through the fleshy part. Now this Lau Aula was a blood

relative of Manaia, who called out to him to cease firing, but Lau Aula

took no heed, and began shooting at us with muskets loaded with round

bullets, which were handed to him by some of his people.

Then Manaia's face was evil to look at; his lips were drawn back, and

his teeth showed like those of an angry dog, for the blood which flowed

from Selema's wound was creeping around his naked feet. Yet once more he

cried out to Lau Aula to beware ere it was too late; but the young chief

called him a thief, and bade him bring the boat to the wind.

“This for thee, then,” cried Manaia, and once more he raised his rifle

and fired, and Lan Anla spun round and fell over into the sea, for the

bullet had struck him in the throat and his life was gone.

That was the last of the fight, for when Lau Aula fell, the rest of

Tamavili's men threw down their paddles and let us sail on without

further pursuit.

Then, whilst I steered, Manaia tied strips of tappa around Selema's leg

so as to stay the bleeding.

“We are safe,” cried the girl bravely through her tears, for the pain

was very great. “See, lady, the wind is not strong enough for the big

double canoe to pursue us.”

But yet, in his rage, when my father saw that we were escaping, he

lowered the mat sail and fired two shots at us with the cannon, and the

great heavy balls roared over our heads and fell into the sea with a

heavy splash not fifty fathoms away. But cannon-balls cost much money,

and so, when a third shot was fired, and it fell astern of our boat, my

father wasted no more, and we saw the sail again hoisted and the canoe

go slowly down towards the _taumualua_ of Tamavili, to which the white

man was already rendering succour, for Manka, although he had quarrelled

with the old chief of Tufa, was yet a man of a kind heart.

And so we sailed on before a fair, soft breeze, and by sunset the great

mountain peaks of Savai'i had sunk beneath the sea rim, and we were

steering westward by the bright stars with a great joy filling our

hearts.

For four days we sailed steadily onwards, and Selema's wound soon began

to heal. On the evening of the fourth day we saw the land of Uea just

showing above the sea rim, and thought to place our feet on the shore

in the morning. But now came sorrow, for in the night it began to blow

strongly from the north-east, and heavy rain squalls drove us past the

land. In the morning there was but the open sea, and the waves were

white and angry, and all that day and the next Manaia kept the boat to

the wind, hoping that it would change and let us sail back to Uea. But

we hoped vainly; and then, on the third day, there came such a furious

storm that we could do naught but drive before it, and go on and on into

the great unknown western ocean, whither so many have gone, and have

been no more known of men. For many, many days we sailed on, and then,

although we had much rain and so suffered no thirst, our food began to

fail, and had not Manaia one day caught a sleeping turtle, we should

have perished. Some time about the fourteenth day, we saw the jagged

peaks of an island against the sky, and steered for it. It was the

island called Rotumah--a fine, fair country, with mountains and valleys

and running streams, and on it dwell people who are like unto us Samoans

in appearance and manners and language. We sailed the boat into a bay on

which stood a village of many houses, and the people made us welcome and

gave us much food, and besought us to stay there, for their island was,

they said, a better place than Uea. And this we should have done and

been content, but in the night, as I slept in the house of the unmarried

women, a girl whispered in my ear--

“Get thee away with thy lover and the girl Selema. Felipa, the head

chief of Fao, hath been told of thy beauty, and hath sent word here that

the man Manaia must be killed to-night, and thou and Selema be sent to

him. This is wrong for even a chief to do, and we of this place would

aid thee to escape.”

So Manaia and I and Selema stole away to the boat, and the people of the

village, who pitied us, pretended not to hear or see us. They were very

kind, and had put baskets of cooked food and other things into the boat;

and so we pushed off, and stood out to sea once more. They had told

us to go round to the north end of the island, where there was a chief

named Loli, who would protect us and give us a home.

But again evil fortune befell us, for the chief of Fao, hearing of our

escape, sent a messenger overland to Loli, claiming us as _mea tafea i

moana_--gifts sent to him by the sea--and asking him to hold us for him.

And so Loli, who would have welcomed us, was afraid, and begged us not

to land and so bring about bloodshed.

“Great is my sorrow, O wanderers,” he cried to us, as we sat in the boat

a little distance from the beach, “but ye must not land. Steer to the

west, and a little to the south, where there is a great land--many, many

islands which trend north and south.” {*}

* The New Hebrides Group.

“Is it far?” asked Manaia scornfully.

“Four days for a ship, longer for a boat,” replied Loli shamefacedly;

“the gods go with thee, farewell.”

Once again we sailed towards the setting sun, steering by the stars at

night time, and for seven days all went well. Then after that there came

calms, and the hot sun beat upon us and ate its way into our hearts, and

we saw no sign of land, and only now and then did a seabird come near

us. And then came the time when all our food was gone, and we waited for

death to come. Manaia had eaten no food for five days when it came to

this, for he said he was feeling quite strong, and divided his share

between us. Once as he and I slept Selema put a little piece of old

coconut--the last that was left--into my hand, and slipped over the side

to die, but Manaia heard her, and, although he was very weak, he roused

and caught her as she sank.

Two days before that on which the ship found us Manaia shot a small

shark which was following the boat. It was not as long as a man's arm

nor as thick as a woman's, but it kept us alive. Manaia gave us all the

flesh, and kept only the head and skin for himself; after that all the

world became dark to me, and we lay together in the boat to die.

The captain of the whale-ship was very kind to us, and when he found

that the sailor named Falaoa did not wish to part from us on account of

Selema, whom he wished to marry, he gave his consent, and said he would

land us all here at Nufilole, where there was a white man who would be

kind to us.

That is all, and now my husband Manaia and I, and Falaoa and his wife

Selema are well content to live here always. For even now, after many

months have passed, do Selema and I cry out in our slumbers, and when

we awaken our hair lies wet upon our foreheads; but soon all these bad

dreams will pass away from us for ever.

End of Project Gutenberg's A Memory Of The Southern Seas, by Louis Becke