On the night when Rajah Koo Macka sat in old Everard's bungalow parlour
and successfully threw dust in the ex-sailor's eyes and opium and rum in
Gabrielle's tea, the Papuan half-caste's ship lay out in the bay of
Bougainville, ready to sail at a moment's notice.
It may be difficult to believe that a white girl could be successfully
kidnapped from her father's homestead, carried half-a-mile across thick
jungle to the shore, thrown into a boat and rowed out to a ship that was
ready to carry her off to New Guinea; but however incredible it may
seem, that's exactly what did happen. And this business was accomplished
by swarthy half-caste sailors who were experts at the kidnapping game.
These kidnappers were men who had devoted their lives to stealing and
enticing ignorant native girls, youths, children and native men from the
Solomon Isles and elsewhere by hundreds, nay, thousands, carrying the
boys and men off to be sold as cheap plantation labour, and the girls
for the seraglios of heathen chiefs (and sometimes seraglios of white
men) in remote isles of the North and South Pacific. And it was easy
enough to carry on the slave trade in those parts, for the German
officials of Bougainville cared little for their prestige so long as
they received a sufficiently large bribe from the slave skippers who
prowled along the coasts of Bougainville and Gualdacanar, etc. The old
white-whiskered German missionary round at B---- made a tremendous fuss
about the depredations of the tribal head-hunters who went off to the
mountain villages to secure their terrible trophies, but the
depredations of the kidnapping thugs, as they crept ashore and stole
girls and youths from the villages, were broadly winked at.
And these remarks do not apply only to the Solomon Group, but also to
islands as civilised as Samoa and Fiji. So Rajah Koo Macka and his type
calmly carried on their hideous traffic almost in broad daylight. But
still the Rajah, on the present occasion, felt that it would be a bit
too risky to attempt to kidnap Gabrielle while the sun was up, since she
was a sacred white maid. Old Everard was therefore honoured by that last
visit from him under cover of night. For the Rajah was an experienced
hand at the game. He had prowled round the isles of the Pacific from the
Coral Sea to the tropic of Capricorn for years looking for good-looking
native girls and men who would make profitable merchandise, and so had
had many narrow squeaks, although he always carried a large assortment
of religious tracts about with him to allay suspicion. One may easily
imagine, therefore, that the Rajah did not look upon the kidnapping of a
white girl as something very much outside the ordinary routine of his
profession. Indeed, he well knew that white men by scores indulged in
the blackbirding trade, sailing under the slave flag as they too prowled
the Southern Seas kidnapping people of his race. And so, as far as the
actual kidnapping of a white girl is concerned, he was only doing what
the white men did themselves.
When at last old Everard lay in drunken insensibility on his settee the
Rajah was master of the situation. His hired kidnappers were within
call.
In the little that he had seen of Gabrielle he had realised perfectly
that his old game of impassioned looks and hypocritical phrases were
utterly useless where she was concerned. He soon realised that it was
one thing to succeed in making a white girl fascinated by his handsome
presence, but quite another to make her cast aside the elementary
principles of her race. And so he had formulated his plans.
All that evening, while old Everard had been sitting in his arm-chair
listening to the Papuan Rajah's sombre denunciations of his sinful
habits, and Gabrielle stared at his swarthy, handsome face, fascinated
by its assumed noble expression, three stalwart Kanakas squatted
patiently, as they smoked, not twenty yards from Everard's bungalow.
They were the forcible part of the Rajah's go-ashore retinue, all
muscular men. And as they sat there they wondered how much longer the
Rajah was going to keep them waiting for one cursed Christian white
girl, when they had kidnapped hundreds of native girls and strong men in
half the time. But their patience, that greatest of virtues, was at last
rewarded. First the solitary heathen kidnapping thugs saw shadows slip
across the dim-lit bungalow window. "Ugh! Me savoo!" said the big man of
giant mirth, as he got his strangling rope ready in case the expected
victim was obstreperous. As the three thugs got ready for the fray the
first act of the wicked drama was in full progress inside the parlour.
Gabrielle was already swaying and clutching at the air as she felt the
influence of some terrible sleep creeping over her. She fell towards the
window and clutched at the curtains in her endeavour to awaken her
father. But it was too late! The old ex-sailor only smiled in his sleep;
but he must have heard the terrified cry of "Father! Father!" since he
muttered "Gabby, go ter sleep!" And she did go to sleep!
The Rajah had fixed things up in no time and then appeared outside the
bungalow with the unconscious girl in his arms. As he laid her gently
down beneath the palms, the kidnappers crept out of the jungle thickets,
stretched out their neat little rope ambulance (always carried for
intractable patients) and bundled Gabrielle into its folds.
While this was going on Gob, a dwarf, kept watch, and Rajah Macka kept
his eyes on his Papuan retinue. They were men of his own race, and he
knew their vile instincts, for was he not one of them? And so he took
good care not to let the girl out of his sight. When all was settled,
and Gabrielle lay insensible, secure in the thug-ambulance, they lifted
her carefully and hurried across the slopes, passing by the lagoon where
she and Hillary had embarked in the canoe to go out to the three-masted
derelict. It was on that very night that Hillary and Gabrielle were to
meet each other, and the apprentice had kept the appointment, only to
wait in vain for the girl's appearance. But had he not in his usual
impatience, walked a mile up the shore away from the trysting-place he
could not have failed to see the kidnappers pass and so might have saved
Gabrielle in a most dramatic fashion.
When Macka and his crew arrived on the shore they flung the girl into
the waiting boat, and in less than an hour Gabrielle was a prisoner on
board the _Bird of Paradise_.
Not even the violent bump of the boat against the vessel's side
disturbed Gabrielle ere they carried her helpless form up the rope
gangway and on to the deck of the Rajah's ship. When she awoke, that
same night, she could hardly believe her senses. She looked across the
gloomy, dim-lit room and thought she'd overslept herself. She fancied
she had fallen asleep in her father's parlour, for there was the settee
in the corner--but why was he not on the settee? She noticed that it was
still dark, only a dim oil-lamp burning, hanging strangely, it seemed,
from the ceiling when it should have been standing on the table.
She rubbed her eyes and stared once more. Her bed seemed to move. What
did it all mean? The settee was lined with blue plush; it should really
have been a very shabby brown. She jumped to her feet and gave a scream
as she spied the little port-holes on the starboard side just opposite
her--she had realised the truth, that she was in the cuddy (saloon) of
some vessel that was rolling along away at sea!
"Don't, Gabriel-ar-le, solawa soo!" said a voice very softly.
It was the skipper of the _Bird of Paradise_--Rajah Koo Macka. He had
been asleep in the cabin just near and had leapt from his bunk at
hearing Gabrielle's frightened scream.
"Where am I? Oh dear! Save me! What's it all mean?" Even Gabrielle laid
her hand on her fluttering heart as she muttered those words in a weak
voice at finding herself out at sea in a ship's cuddy instead of in the
security of her home.
There was an intense note of appeal in the girl's voice, such a note as
would have touched the heart of the vilest of men, but Macka never moved
a muscle. He had stolen so many girls, men and youths, watched their
tears, heard their heartrending appeals, and thrown their bodies over
the vessel's side when they had died of terror and malaria down in the
stinking, hot-fevered hold, that it seemed nothing awful to him to see a
girl kneel before him and weep.
He was overjoyed that the girl was awake. He had quite thought that she
had been doped too much and that there was a possibility of her never
recovering sensibility again. As she stood before him, with the oil lamp
swinging to and fro to the heave and roll of the flying ship,
Gabrielle's eyes, which had been agleam with fright, suddenly changed,
and shone with a new strength. She had realised, with a woman's unerring
instinct, the uselessness of appealing to the man before her. As she
steadily returned his gaze, the dark man saw the courage of her father's
race.
A cowed look leapt into his face. Even in that swift glance he had
realised that all would not go as smoothly as he had anticipated. To
steal helpless Papuans, Samoans, Marquesans, Tahitian maids, to defile
them, pitch them overboard when they were dead or dying, and amuse
himself by revolver shots at the poor, floating, bobbing bodies was one
thing; but to steal a white girl and defile her was quite another. That
much he realised most forcibly, for before he could realise anything
more than that Gabrielle had rushed out of the cabin and bolted.
She raced along the ship's rolling deck. She looked about her and called
loudly in the dark, still hoping that one of the crew might be a white
man. When she saw the fierce, mop-headed, dark-faced men rush out of the
forecastle at hearing her terrified screams she almost collapsed in her
despair. For one moment she stood still and gazed up at the bellying
sails as they swayed along beneath the high moon. Nothing but the
illimitable sky-lines gleamed around her. She heard the moan of the dark
tossing ocean. She did not hesitate, not the slightest indecision
preceded her act--splash! she had leapt overboard! It all happened in a
few seconds. The Rajah and the mulatto mate at once gave orders for the
crew to heave to and lower a boat. It seemed ages to the Rajah as the
swarthy crew climbed slowly about like dusky ghosts, as though they had
a century in which to fulfil his orders. At this moment the captain of
the blackbirder (to give him his correct title) revealed his solitary
virtue; he could see the girl's struggling form in the dark waters
astern. Not a sound came from the girl's lips, only the tossing white
hands were visible on the moon-lit waters--then they vanished--she had
gone! In a second he had pulled off his coat and boots and plunged into
the sea. The men of his race could swim like fish, and dive too, for
they took to the water before they could toddle. Even as it was, the
Rajah had to dive twice before he could grip hold of Everard's daughter.
He had a tremendous struggle to get the girl back on board, for the sea
was a bit heavy that night. When he did get her on deck the half-caste
mate and the crew stared on her prostrate figure in astonishment. She
had been kept from their sight till then.
Lying there on the hatchway, her white face turned towards the sky, she
looked like some angel who had mysteriously fallen from heaven and lay
dead before them. They were a superstitious lot, and several of them
began to moan some heathen death chant. Even the Rajah was strangely
influenced at seeing that pallid face, the drenched, dishevelled hair,
the curved, pale lips. The bluish tropical moonlight bathed her form
like a wonderful halo. He looked at the watching crew, a fierce light in
his eyes. In a moment they had all gone, slinking away. "Awaie!" he said
to one who, bolder than the rest, looked back over his shoulder. And
then, as the crew obeyed the mulatto mate's orders to get the vessel
under way once more, the Rajah lifted Gabrielle's prostrate form and
carrying her into the cuddy laid her down on the low saloon table.
Grabbing a decanter, he poured a small drop of spirit between her lips.
Then he closed the door so softly that only the sudden disappearance of
the stream of light on the deck from the lamp inside told that the door
_had_ been closed.
They were alone, he and she--the frail, helpless girl in the vile power
of passion and hypocrisy. For a second the Papuan Rajah gazed around the
saloon. Even he was startled by the look on the swarthy face that gazed
back on him from the long mirror--his own reflection. Stooping over the
recumbent form, he gently rubbed her hands. They were cold and very
limp. He began to think that it was too late, that she was dead. Gently
pulling the wet bodice open, he slowly unfastened the blue strings of
her underclothing. He gazed in silence on the curves of her breasts,
which were faintly revealed to his eyes by the dim, swaying oil lamp.
That fragile whiteness seemed to appeal even to him; the mute lips, the
closed eyelids, the helpless attitude paralysed the dark cruelty of his
natural self. And it is only, we must think, because God made all men,
be they black or white, that he was loyal to the great trust that the
irony of inscrutable Fate had placed in his hands--he of all men on
earth.
The seas were beating against the vessel's side as she lay there. The
vessel pitched and rolled as once more it started on its course, and as
it rolled the girl's recumbent form moved and swayed to the lurch of the
table. Her drenched bronze-gold hair fell in a mass to the cuddy floor,
the brown-stockinged ankles fully revealed through the disarrangement of
the soaking skirt.
Could anyone have peeped from the deck through the cuddy port-hole they
would have seen the Rajah bending over the helpless girl. A strange fire
flashed in his eyes as he gazed and gazed and gently rubbed where her
heart lay. The gleam in his eyes died away, but still he watched,
waiting anxiously. His face was set and wild looking. "Ar-a va loo!"
("She's gone!") he muttered. He tried to feel the pulse of the wrist,
but he dropped it with a sigh. At last it came! His hand visibly
trembled as he lifted her arms up and gently spread them away from her
body. Then he put his ear to her heart and listened--there was a sound
like a tiny echo coming from the remotest distance. Throb! throb! it
came--Gabrielle's soul was hovering between heaven and earth--in more
senses than one. Then the throb ceased as though for an eternity of
time, but once more it came--throb! throb! throb! And before the Rajah
was prepared for it Gabrielle's eyes were staring at him!
Instinctually the girl's helpless fingers half clutched the wet fringe
of her loosened bodice. And, strange as it may seem, the heathen Papuan
even _helped_ her cold fingers to close the delicate folds.
The instinctive action of the girl told him more of her true character
than a thousand dissertations on racial codes, morals and inherent
virtue could have done. In a flash he had realised that if he wanted to
gain her respect it had to be gained by astute cunning based on strict
emotional principles. Recovering his embarrassment, he rolled his eyes
and blinked--which is the equivalent of a blush in New Guinea folk. He
was really pleased to see that she was recovering. Immediately flinging
himself on his knees, he sobbed out: "Oh Gabriel-ar-le, Marsoo cowan,
nicer beauty voumna!" In his excitement he had lapsed into execrable
pidgin-English. He heard her sigh. He fondled her hand. "'Tis I who
saved you," he murmured. He fancied that he was a hero. In his perverted
ignorance he saw Gabrielle no longer a kidnapped girl on his ship, but a
maiden whom he had saved from the cruel seas. He was bold enough to
press her hand to his lips.
Gabrielle watched him. She was terribly ill, too dazed to protest. She
was alone on the seas with this man and what could she do? Her final
response to his miserable hypocrisy was to burst into a violent fit of
weeping.
For three or four days she was quite unable to move. It was only through
the careful nursing of the Malayan cabin-boy, a frizzly headed,
bright-eyed little fellow, that she was at last encouraged to take food.
He was a child, and so he appealed to Gabrielle. The very innocence of
his eyes as he stared in delightful curiosity at her golden hair and
white arms when he crept in with the food to her bunk cheered her as
much as she _could_ be cheered under such circumstances.
Sometimes she would lie there helpless and think that she was mad,
strange fancies floating through her brain. And sometimes Macka would
step softly into the dingy saloon and play on the melancholy organ that
he had once used in his tribal mission-rooms. His voice would tremble
with passionate appeal and subtle seductiveness as he breathed forth
Malayan melodies that haunted Gabrielle's ears. Those melodies had a
terrible influence over the girl, and one night when the vessel was
rolling wildly, being buffeted along before a typhoon, the girl screamed
out from her bunk: "Stop! Stop! I'll go mad if you sing that strange
thing again!"
Then the Rajah ceased as obediently as a scolded child and softly crept
away. He knew the potent magic of those heathen Malayan melodies! He
knew! He knew! And when he had passed out on to the vessel's deck
Gabrielle called out: "Tombo! Tombo!" In a moment the little Papuan boy
rushed into her cabin.
"Whater you wanter? Whater matter, nicer vovams?"
"Tombo, what's that shadow-thing that runs about the deck at night? I
saw it through the port-hole last night." Then she said: "And I heard
faint cries, wails. What was it? What does it all mean, Tombo?"
Tombo made no reply with his lips, but he softly nestled up against the
girl and looked up into her eyes with terrible earnestness. Then he
shook his head and said: "I looker after you, Misser Gaberlelle."
Suddenly the boy rushed from the girl's side and out of the cuddy in
fright.
Gabrielle listened and heard a scream: the Rajah had called the boy and,
meeting him on the deck, had kicked him. The Papuan skipper had noticed
that the kid was a bit too communicative with his kidnapped prisoner.
Possibly he thought that the boy might let out the truth about the ship
and give Gabrielle some hint as to why it sailed by night with all
lights out, as it tacked on its course far off the beaten track of
trading ships.
It was quite a week before Gabrielle ventured out of the small cuddy's
berth and entered the saloon. Even when she did so she was apparently so
weak that she was obliged to secure the assistance of little Tombo, who
held her hand as she wandered about. The Rajah immediately began his
sinuous overtures and muttered violent protestations of love into her
ears. At times the Papuan could hardly conceal his temper when the girl
persistently pestered him with questions, asking him where the _Bird of
Paradise_ was bound for.
"You noa worry. You are all right. I take you across the seas and some
days you go back to your peoples--when you lover me!" he would say, as
he gave a look of deep meaning that the girl persistently pretended not
to understand. He would not allow her to walk out on deck unless he were
close by. His hungry eyes seemed ever on the alert. Probably he had a
fixed idea in his brain that the girl would make another attempt to take
her life. And still he swore most earnestly by the virtue of the
Christian apostles that he had only kidnapped her from her father's
homestead because of his overpowering love for her.
"You know not what men of my race love like, what we would do for a
white girl such as you, Gabri-ar-le," he muttered, as he glanced
sideways at her.
Gabrielle saw the look in those flashing eyes of his. She trembled as
she realised how completely she was in his power, and how once she had
been fascinated by his voice and his handsome mien. Even then, at times,
she half believed that he had repented the wrong he had done her. And
the girl was hardly to blame for her credulity, for he never tired of
pouring his flamboyant rhetoric in Malayan _vers libre_ into her ears.
He had some mighty faith in his maudlin Mohammedanistic babblings over
love, winds, seas, stars, night, God and death. He was as crammed with
pretended artlessness as he was of villainy.
Sometimes the girl felt strangely calm. The religious element that
brings faith and comfort to men and women in the direst moments of life
was part of her special birthright. She became more resigned to her lot
and even went so far as to read some of the old books that she had
discovered in the cuddy locker. So did she endeavour to stifle her
thoughts. Many, many times she thought of the apprentice. What did he
think of her sudden absence from Bougainville, of her not turning up at
the trysting-place by the lagoon? She thought of his impulsive nature.
She guessed that he must have gone straight to her home to see what had
become of her. She thought of a thousand things that he would do in his
attempt to discover her whereabouts. She imagined how her father raved,
and must still be raving, perhaps grieving over her disappearance. But
she never dreamed of all that really happened after she had left
Bougainville in the blackbirding ship. When she recalled the incidents
of the old derelict lying on the rocks off Bougainville and of Hillary's
boyish but earnest declaration of love she trembled in her anguish. She
remembered the look in his eyes, the wild, fond sayings that had come
spontaneously to his lips. Then she laid her head down on the cuddy
table and wept bitterly.
One night when the _Bird of Paradise_ had been at sea about two weeks
the heat was so terrific that she implored the Rajah to let her sit out
on deck. He was obdurate and would not hear of such a thing. "No, no,
_putih bunga_ (white flower)" was his only reply, as he lapsed into the
Malayan tongue, speaking as though to himself. Then he walked away and
disappeared forward. In a moment Gabrielle made up her mind and had
slipped out of the cuddy, determined to go on deck and breathe the cool
night air. She almost cried out as she rushed, plomp! into the arms of
the half-caste mate. "Savo, maro, Cowan, bunga," whispered the burly
mulatto, as he lost his mental balance at seeing the beauty of the girl.
He caught her in his arms, clutched her flesh like some fierce animal,
put his vile lips to her white throat and breathed hotly on her face. He
tried to press his blubbery lips against her own. In a moment the girl
had managed to release herself from that hateful clasp.
"What's the matter, my pretty putih bunga, marva awaya?" said Koo Macka,
suddenly coming up, as the mulatto mate slipped hastily along the deck
out of sight.
"Nothing is the matter; I simply felt ill, faint; I'm better now," said
Gabrielle fearfully, as she swiftly realised that it would not do to
make an enemy of the mulatto mate. For a moment the Rajah looked
suspiciously around him, then he sternly ordered her to go back at once
into the saloon.
And so it was that Gabrielle sat in her bunk that night and stared
through the port-hole so that she might get a breath of the cool
midnight breeze that drifted at intervals across the hot tropic seas.
The stars were shining in their thousands as she sat there watching and
crying softly to herself. She could plainly see the bluish, ghost-like
gleam of the horizon, far away, as she stared out of the cabin
port-hole. It was then that she once more heard a mysterious wail coming
from somewhere out in the silence of the night. Her lips went dry with
fright as she gazed and listened in her terror. She distinctly observed
a shadow slip across the deck. Then the wail came again and was followed
by a deep, retching moaning and sounds of the hushed voices of men who
were speaking in a strange language. "What does it all mean?" she
muttered to herself, as once more her ears caught the indistinct
utterances of agony. And still she listened and felt quite sure that
what she heard was no trick of her imagination, but was some last appeal
of helplessness to relentless men ere they strangled their victim. In
the terror of all that she felt her overwrought brain became strangely
calm. She sat quite still and watched in a dazed way, crouching in her
bunk, her eyes peering through the port-hole. She gazed up at the
swaying sails as they glided on beneath the stars. The wind had shifted
to the south-west, for she saw the canvas veer and darken patches of
starry sky as the yards went round and the crew aloft chanted some
Malayan chantey. So weirdly bright was the tropic sky that the rigging
and the forms of the toiling crew were distinctly outlined with the
decks, sails, spars. She could even discern the long cracks of the deck
planks as the ethereal light of far-off worlds pulsed in the sky and
sent a glimmer down between the masts and sails. A fearful curiosity
overcame the fright she first felt as she saw three stalwart, mop-headed
men standing by the lifted hatchway amidships. The scene was directly
along the deck facing the cuddy's cabin port-hole from which she stared.
The sight that met her astonished eyes made her tremble: the three
swarthy, demon-like men were grabbing the bodies of the dead which were
being passed up from the vessel's fetid hold! Some of the crew were down
below busily pushing those limp, pathetic figures up to the outstretched
hands of those on deck. Gabrielle knew they were dead bodies, there was
no mistaking their limpness as the heads of the silent forms fell first
in one direction then in another. And still they pushed up the limp
bodies of dead native girls and youths, and one by one passed them along
to that crew of sea-thugs, who carelessly pushed them over the bulwarks
into the sea! Gabrielle distinctly heard the splash as they fell.
She half fancied that she heard long-drawn groans coming from the
direction of the sea. Nor was she mistaken, for they pitched the dying
overboard too! The crew of slavers were not over-sensitive in such
matters.
The girl was still staring, dumbfounded, when the men softly closed the
hatchway over that terrible drama of life below. Then she heard the dull
thuds of the locks being secured and rammed home. They even placed the
thick canvas covering over the hatchway again and so closed the cracks
that mercifully had let a breath of fresh air into that breathing mass
of shrieking merchandise--kidnapped native girls, men and women! As soon
as Gabrielle saw those demon undertakers steal away into the shadows
towards the forecastle she realised that it was no nightmare, no horror
of an imaginary world that she had felt and witnessed. It was all real
enough. In a flash her brain had realised all that it really meant. She
remembered how her own father had talked about the horrors of the
blackbirding ships, and how the huddled victims died in the fetid hold.
She recalled how he had even confessed that he too had once dabbled in
the slave traffic. And as she remembered she saw herself as a child
again, listening in wonder at her father's knees as he proudly told his
beachcomber guests of the "glorious good old blackbirding days."
After seeing that sight Gabrielle became seriously ill, mentally as well
as physically. She lay sleepless through the night and longed for
forgetfulness. The scene she had witnessed as they cast the kidnapped
dead into the sea had completely horrified her. In her mind over and
over again she found herself counting the dead bodies she had seen
thrown overboard. It took her that way. She had often heard the mission
men talk about the cruelty of the kidnapping business, but it required
such a sight as she had witnessed to make her realise the truth of what
she had heard. True enough, it is hard for anyone to realise the horrors
of the slave traffic till they see the actual results with their own
eyes.
Possibly the great poet will never be born who could write the poem that
would adequately describe the Brown Man's Burden so that the Western
world could read and realise that the White Man's Burden is not the only
one that men have to bear through spreading Western principles among the
islands of remote seas.
Gabrielle got out of her bunk that same night and pushed every available
article of furniture against her cabin door. She realised what she was
in for. It was the first hint she had had that she was not the only
wretched victim that trembled in fear on that ship. And as she lay
sleepless, thinking of everything and of those trembling,
terror-stricken girls and youths that made the cargo in the airless,
fevered hold not twenty feet from her bunk, she half envied her own
terrible position.
Next day when the Rajah noticed the look of horror in the girl's eyes as
he rattled off his _vers libre_ he retired as gracefully as possible and
quickly arrayed himself in his most attractive attire of Rajahship.
He placed the rich, scarlet-hued turban on his skull. He tied the yellow
waist-sash about him so that the bow fell coquettishly down at his left
hip. He even cleaned his teeth with cigar ash and manipulated an
artistic curl at the ends of his dark moustache. Then he proceeded to
haunt Gabrielle again. He read the Bible aloud; he put such
well-simulated sincerity into his melodious voice that Gabrielle rubbed
her eyes and half wondered if she had dreamed that terrible sight of the
night before. As she sat at the low cuddy table and the dark man sat
right opposite her with the knees of his long, thin legs bunched beneath
the table, she listened to his splendid lies. He went so far as to tell
her how he had a great reputation for good works, of how he roamed the
seas searching to redress the wrongs done to helpless girls, men and
native women! He swore that his ship roamed the South Seas expressly to
attempt to put down slave traffic! He knew! he knew! that the girl had
some inkling of the kind of vessel she was on.
"Gabrielle," said he, "you knower not my troubles, and how when I do
capture slave-ship I have to rescue the victims and put them down in the
hold of this vessel till sucher time as I can take them to some isle
where they can be safe till they are returned to their own people!"
"Could it be true?" was Gabrielle's inward thought, as she watched the
man's face and saw nothing but the light of a proud achievement in his
eyes. And it must be admitted that there was some truth in all that he
told the girl about his reputation. For was it not well known from Apia
to Dutch New Guinea that Rajah Koo Macka was a great Christian Rajah?
And was it not true that he had been in receipt of thousands of pounds
that had been collected through the kind medium of Christian societies
who were interested in the noble endeavour to put down slave traffic in
the South Seas? And who can deny the fact that thousands of men and
women in England had unconsciously contributed towards the expenses
incurred by the Rajah in fitting out his ship, the _Bird of Paradise_,
for the sole purpose of abducting natives and for following his
monstrous inclinations.
And there he sat in his cosy cuddy, a splendid example of the civilised,
converted Papuan invested with a hideous power by weak-minded
charity-givers who saw no just cause for their charity in their own
country.
The Rajah was a living libel on true missionary work and on the
reputation of the missionaries themselves. With others of his
profession, he had often let his helpless merchandise out on hire into
the hands of wealthy half-caste and sensual white men. And when native
girls gave birth to half-caste children soon after their arrival on the
sugar plantations as far away as Brisbane, the innocent missionaries got
the blame for what had happened to the girls who had been contaminated
after leaving their native isles. But all this is only a detail in the
Rajah's life. He was a genius in his way. No man living would have had
the patience to talk and talk, and sing and chant as he did to his
beautiful, helpless prisoner. God only knows how he got Gabrielle to
believe in him again. Perhaps it wasn't so strange when one thinks of
her tender years and the mighty pretence of the astute Rajah. Night
after night he came to her and went on his bended knees. Sometimes he
held the Bible in his hand, babbled over its pages and said: "O
Gabri-ar-le, give thy purest love unto me and I swear on this divine
book that I will take thee back unto thy father."
On hearing this Gabrielle's heart leapt with hope. "Perhaps he isn't all
bad and has relented," she thought. Then she glanced steadily into the
Papuan's eyes and said: "I swear that I will bear no ill-feeling towards
you if you will only take me home again." Then with that wonderful
instinct that women reveal when in such a grievous pass, she added: "I
can easily say that I was washed out to sea in a canoe that night and
that your ship picked me up, and then no blame will be attached to you;
you may even be rewarded. Will you take me back to Bougainville?" Saying
this, she looked earnestly into the heathen's eyes and continued:
"Father was very drunk that night, you know; he heard or guessed nothing
of all that happened; he wouldn't dream of the truth."
The man sat there silent, chin on hand, as he gazed steadily upon the
girl. It was evident by the look in his eyes that he admired the clever
way she had put the whole matter before him. Gabrielle mistook that
look. Her heart fluttered. She felt like screaming in the ecstasy of
hope that thrilled her in the thought that she might yet get back to
Bougainville and see the young apprentice again. The man sat opposite
her for a long while in thought, then he shook his head as though in
response to his own reflections. He gave a cruel smile as he noticed the
expression of delight in the girl's eyes at the thought of getting out
of his clutches. He rose to his feet and, giving her one of his
lascivious looks, walked slowly out of the cuddy.
Gabrielle's hopes faded. The reaction set in. Her despair was terrible
as loneliness came to her heart. She went into her dismal berth. She was
now left quite alone, for little sympathetic Tombo had ceased to come
near her. She well knew that it wasn't the little cabin-boy's fault; he
was ordered to keep out of the way.
"He's a murderer, a cruel villain, a heathen--and once I thought he was
a god among men, an apostle of beauty and truth." So ran Gabrielle's
reflections as she sat alone and thought critically about the Rajah. She
looked out of the port-hole. It was a brilliant moon-lit night. She saw
the dark crew climbing aloft to reef the sails. She knew that the vessel
had altered its course. The sight of everything depressed her terribly.
There was something weird in the sight of those dark men toiling aloft
as they sang their strange Malayan chanteys. She saw the shining
clasp-knives between their teeth as their shadows dropped softly down
onto the deck. Once more she heard the whistle blown to call the next
watch. Then complete silence reigned. She had nearly gone off to sleep
when once more she heard the wails and muffled screams. Though terrified
at those sounds, she again peeped through the port-hole and watched.
Again she heard the heart-rending moans. Again the awful dragging
silence came as the hatchway was lifted. "Plomp! plomp! plomp! plomp!"
She knew then that four more victims had been cast into the deep. She
strained her neck and put her head right out of the port-hole. She saw
the dusk of the burning tropic seas and the stars as the vessel kept
steadily on its course, leaving the floating bodies in its wake.
The next day the Rajah came into the dismal cuddy several times and
spoke to her, but she shrank instinctively from his presence. He noticed
her manner and wondered. The girl's uncongenial attitude did not rhyme
in with the plans he had so nicely mapped out. But determination was his
great virtue. He made many attempts to ingratiate himself. "Why you no
liker me now?" he said, as he looked at her. She made no reply. In his
excitement he mixed his language up so much that Gabrielle could hardly
understand what he said. His mixture of pidgin-English and broken
Biblical phrases made a kind of musical potpourri of exotic sensuousness
that haunted the girl's ears, reviving vivid memories of her own people
and at the same time reminding her how far away she was from their
protection.
"Gabri-ar-le, allow me," he murmured in his soft, insinuating voice, as
he leaned forward and stuck a small red frangipani blossom in the folds
of her hair. It was a bloom from the pots of flowers that swung to and
fro from the cuddy ceiling.
Gabrielle looked steadily at the man. A strange gleam was in his eyes.
It was just after sunset. Already the eight members of the crew, who
were devout sun-worshippers, had lain prone on the forecastle deck and
murmured their dolorous chants to the last gold and purple glow of the
departed day.
The stars were shining over the sea. It was almost calm. Every now and
again came the muffled drum-like sounds of the heavy canvas sails that
bellied out to the breath of the sleepy night wind, flopped, and fell
loosely as the halyards rattled and the ship rolled to the glassy swell.
The Rajah had sat down at the low table, right opposite Gabrielle. His
turban was tilted rakishly on one side. As he looked sideways, glancing
poetically towards the deck roof, his firm, handsome, curved throat was
certainly shown to advantage. He looked like some Byronic corsair. There
was no denying that he was a handsome man of his type. He leaned gently
towards Gabrielle, one hand on chin, continuing to gaze as though in
sorrowful reflection over his shortcomings and the white girl's sorrow
resulting therefrom.
"Gabri-ar-le, I lover thee. You know not the ocean of my soul, how dark
it is since your eyes should be the stars to shine over its darkness.
Wilt love me a little, O white maiden?"
He still had his eyes fixed upon her in rapt admiration, eyes that moved
up and down her form.
She looked beautiful indeed as she suddenly rose, stood there in the dim
light, attired in her sarong-like bluish robe, the divided sleeves of
which revealed her rounded arms. The broad scarlet sash, tied bow-wise
at the left hip, fell negligently almost down to her ankle. A hot breath
of sleepy wind crept through the cabin doorway, wafting the rich odours
of exotic flowers that hung all along by the cuddy port-holes on the
starboard side. The ship's black cat suddenly whipped across the saloon,
looked up into its master's face with its yellow, burning orbs and then
disappeared like a shadow.
Gabrielle trembled as she sought to answer the Rajah's questions. She
could faintly hear the tinkle of the weird _zeirung_ as some dark man
forward in the forecastle accompanied the mellow voice of someone who
was singing a Malayan chantey.
"I felt that I liked you once, but I hate you now!" said Gabrielle
impulsively. Then she added: "How could you expect me to like such as
you, after all you've done?"
The Rajah gave a grin.
"I want you to take me back to my people," the girl almost sobbed. Then
she rose and began stealthily to move away from his presence; she had
noticed the flushed, half-wild expression on his handsome face. She saw
the fixed look of resolve in his eyes.
He swiftly put forth his hand and, catching hold of her fingers firmly,
softly forced her to sit down once more in front of him.
For a moment he looked at her as though he was about to clasp her in his
arms. Gabrielle's heart thumped. She noticed that he sat on the side
near the open door and so barred her progress should she attempt to make
a bolt. She heard the voice of the man at the wheel humming words of an
unknown tongue just over her head out on the poop. She knew that the
Rajah's mate was laid up with fever in the deckhouse amidships, and so
she was quite alone with the Rajah.
"I know that I am only Pa-ooan. You no' like me 'cause I dark man, eh?
Wilt lover me, canst thou deny me, O maid of mine heart?"
Gabrielle knew by his lapse into Biblical pidgin-English that he was in
an excited, treacherous state of mind; she also realised that it was
wiser for her to attempt to mollify him.
"I don't dislike the people of your race at all; it's the wicked way
that you kidnapped me that makes me hate you. Won't you take me back to
my people?"
Though she spoke with apparent calmness, her heart was thumping so
violently that she half fancied he heard it beat. She instinctively knew
why the man stared at her so. She noticed that he had not lit the
hanging lamp in the usual way, either. Only the faint, flickering
glimmers from the lantern that swung by the saloon door and the deck
sent its gleams towards them. She could just discern the shadowy-like
face of the Rajah sitting opposite her. His voice had become strangely
soft and seductive, almost musical: "Do you lover me, one little much,
pretty whiter girl?"
"I don't know," she whispered hastily in a hushed, frightened voice,
hardly knowing what she _did_ say, as she swiftly glanced around and
realised her terrible helplessness in that cabin far away on the coral
seas. No escape there for her! The glimmer of the seas outside the
port-holes only gave her a deeper sense of loneliness, if that were
possible. She heard the tramp! tramp! of the watch walking the poop just
over their heads as they sat there.
"Let me go to my berth, I'm tired, I want to sleep," she said softly, as
she hastily rose to her feet. The state of her feelings was obvious. The
Rajah could almost hear the fluttering of the girl's heart in that soft,
tremulous voice. Standing there with flushed face and her eyes staring
with fright, she looked very beautiful. He put his hand out gently and
leaned across the table towards her. In her fright she gripped his
extended hand. Her hair had fallen down to her neck and shoulders,
tumbling in a golden mass, as she lifted her hand and glanced wildly
about her. It had been loosened from its neat coil by the flowers that
the Rajah had stuck in the glossy folds. The heathen corsair's vanity
was so profound that he imagined the girl had deliberately made her
tresses tumble in luring deshabille for _his_ eyes.
A great fire leapt like a blown flame into the man's eyes. And Gabrielle
noticed it. She began to move backwards, very slowly, step by step, in
the direction of her cabin door. One of her hands clutched her robe
tightly against her trembling figure, as though she would not have him
see the way her stealthy feet were moving from his presence. He too had
swiftly risen from the cuddy table and was moving with a stealthy,
cat-like step towards her. It was like some tragic scene in a drama as
she moved backward, her eyes fixed on him, and he followed step by step
over the cuddy floor. The girl's pale face and frightened, alert eyes
were reflected in the large saloon mirror as she crept round the table.
His taller form sent a monstrous silhouette over the panelled walls, his
turbaned head going right across the ceiling. And still she moved on.
Gabrielle had sought to mislead him as to her exact intentions. She made
a rush, whipped into her cabin and slammed the door. Not till then did
the Rajah realise his mistake in thinking that her tresses had fallen
for his benefit.
A look of rage swept across his swarthy face at the way Gabrielle had
baffled him. But he knew the way to play the game. In a second he had
placed his mouth to the small grating circle that was in the top of her
cabin door. "Gabri-ar-le, beloved mine, I do swear not to hurt you; let
me comer in," he whispered. "Why you rush away from me like that?" he
added in an injured tone. He did not wish to raise his voice. He knew
there was a possibility of the girl screaming when she realised the full
import of his wishes. He had no desire that the crew should know that he
was a rank outsider so far as the white girl's affections were
concerned. He had loved to walk the schooner's deck, his chest swelling
with that pride that dark men feel when a white woman is theirs; he also
knew that his Kanaka crew envied him his saloon quarters, where they
knew the lovely white girl dwelt.
"Don't try to come in! You dare not! Leave me alone. I want to sleep,"
replied Gabrielle, as he continued softly and persistently to knock at
the cabin door.
He heard the trembling note of appeal in her voice. "I swear by the gods
of my land and the stars of your own that should you open the door and
let me kiss your hand no harm shall come to you."
He heard Gabrielle smash something heavy against the door. It was the
reply to his appeal. His voice took on a rougher tone, he was evidently
getting impatient. "If you don't let me in I'll smash the door down;
it's my ship!" he said in a threatening undertone, then swiftly added:
"But, sweeter girl, if you let me in I swear to keep my promise."
Gabrielle glanced round her berth. Not a weapon was handy. She was
trembling. "Perhaps he speaks the truth," she thought.
"Won't you go? We'll speak to-morrow!" she said softly, as though she
would appeal to his heart. Again he swore that he would not harm her.
Gabrielle looked in despair through the port-hole. For a moment she was
half inclined to put her head out and scream. Then she thought of the
hideous mulatto mate and the fierce Kanaka crew. She shuddered. What
hope had she? Even as she realised the hopelessness of her position the
Rajah's booted foot crashed at the door.
Gabrielle hardly knew what she was doing as she flung the door open. "I
believe you," she said, as she stood there, just inside her cabin and
gazed courageously into the man's eyes. For a moment he was taken aback,
but in another moment he had responded by hastily stepping forward.
Gabrielle was quite unprepared for his sudden outburst, notwithstanding
all that had happened. He took her hand in his own. He pressed warm
kisses on the soft white fingers. He became almost incoherent as he
talked and told her how he had dreamed of her and seen her image in the
great magical lagoons in his native land.
"The gods said that such as you would be mine. Yes, Gabri-ar-le, long
years ago before you were born."
He had seized her in a passionate clasp. The terrible magic of his vile
personality began to work on the girl's overwrought mind. "Go away! Go
away!" she pleaded. But still he wailed on about his old gods, their
magic and the wonders of his country. For a moment he leaned against the
frame of the cabin door as though he were about to depart, but he did
not go. He leaned forward and began to murmur a weird Papuan chant. His
voice was peculiarly mellow and sweet. There was something melodiously
caressing in the strain. Just for a moment his eyes softened, as though
his heart was influenced by the music of his lips. It was only for a
second, though, ere the tiger beast of his nature returned and once more
he gazed unabashed at the girl, as only the low order of the dark races
can gaze. He touched her fingers. His dark hands had begun to creep in a
caressing way up her arms. His burning eyes still stared relentlessly
into the terrified eyes of the girl. He would not vary that glance, no,
not for one second, as he stared on triumphant, magnetising her soul by
the eerie fire of his own.
"My beloved, putih bunga!" he murmured, as he noticed the look of terror
fading away from the eyes that had looked up so appealingly into his.
Gabrielle's face, ghastly pale but a moment before, now appeared
strangely flushed, almost swarthy-looking. But even the Rajah looked
startled as he saw the change in her expression, as she stood there
dimly revealed by the light of the stars that gleamed through the little
cabin's port-hole. Standing there framed between her bunk and the
slanting beam of the bulwark, her tumbled hair about her neck, she
looked like some wonderful emblematic figure of spiritual beauty
struggling against the temptation of passion. But still his hands stole
stealthily up her arms and about her: now he softly touched the silky
material of her blouse, his face within three inches of her own. His
arms curved snake-wise over her shoulders. "Marlino sa wean, placer your
lips to mine--quick, quick!" he whispered. His voice was hoarse with
passion as he drew her near to him. "Putih bunga, mine! Ola savoo,
beautiful!" he babbled. He felt the sighing heave and fall of her bosom.
Gently but firmly he pressed her head slowly backwards, so that her face
should be uplifted to his own. Even in the gloom he noticed that her
eyes stared up at him as though in sleep. He leaned half fearfully
forward and let his mouth touch her lips.
"Go! Go!" she wailed, as she tried to overcome the darkness that was
sweeping her very life away. She fancied that a shadow had slipped out
of the night to torture her soul. Again in some terrible rivalship of
dark and mystery it sought to strangle her. She fancied she saw strange,
wild eyes appealing to her, peering over the Rajah's shoulder; but it
was only the Rajah's eyes she really saw.
He saw her eyelids quiver. He felt the wild throb of her bosom still;
but he noticed that the limbs had ceased to tremble.
"She hath given herself unto me!" so ran a thought through his mind. He
lost control of his acquired civilised astuteness and began to press
impassioned kisses on her upturned mouth. He felt her arms clasp him in
a responsive embrace.
"Putih! Mine!" he whispered, his voice hoarse with passion. Her scented
tresses fell about his face. He fiercely pulled the fringe of her bodice
open at the neck and pressed burning kisses on the whiteness of her
throat.
"Don't! Don't!" she cried softly. But he held her the tighter; it was a
merciless grip. She had begun to struggle. He was surprised at her
strength as she suddenly put forth her arms, clutched him by the throat
with one hand and with the other caught him by the shoulder and pushed.
For a moment he made little effort to ward her off. Slowly, to her
delight, she felt him going back, backwards towards her cabin door as
she pushed in her frenzy. And still she struggled and still she felt his
big form receding till his turbaned head was half-an-inch out of the
door. She gave a smothered cry of delight; she was winning in that
terrible encounter that was a struggle of life and death to her. Alas!
she had not reckoned with the cunning of that Papuan kidnapper. He
almost smiled as he allowed her to force him back yet a little more.
Even she half wondered why she was winning so easily. Then out shot his
hand; at last she had enabled him to reach and grip hold of the handle
of the cabin-door that opened _outwards_ into the saloon; in a moment he
had pulled it to; crash! it went as he slammed it and pushed the bolt!
She and he were alone, shut in the cabin. They stood facing one another
in the dusk, like two half-baffled figures. Only the stars faintly
visible through the port-hole told of the ocean world outside as
Gabrielle looked first at the dark form before her and then out into the
night. She could not scream as he seized her in a tight clasp. Only a
moment and she had ceased to struggle, was crying softly to herself as
he pressed burning kisses on her face and drew her towards him.
He continued his love-making ill far into the night. Although the girl
was completely in the Rajah's power, he still showed an unaccustomed
restraint. Heathen though he was, he could, when occasion demanded, hold
his passions in reserve. They would be gratified later, he told himself,
as he gloated over the defenceless girl. She would be even more at his
mercy in his native coastal village, in his own private dwelling.
And still the stars shone over the wide ocean-way of night. Only the
sounds of the swelling sails and their muffled flop! flop! broke the
silence, as the vessel rose to the swell and rolled like a helpless
derelict on the silent tropic seas. Tramp! tramp! went the watch over
head. Then someone in the forecastle began to sing; it came faint but
distinct, some old Malayan chantey drifting aft as the wide wings of the
wind moved across that great world of waters.
It was night-time, and three days after the Rajah's cowardly attack,
when Gabrielle heard the Malayan sailors singing one of their weird
chanteys in a cheerful voice. She at once looked through the port-hole
of her berth, wherein she had made herself a willing prisoner, only
allowing the Malayan cabin-boy Tombo to enter with her meals. She stared
aloft. The vessel at that very moment was altering its course. She
distinctly noticed the apparent movement of the stars as the dark canvas
sails veered. Again she heard the gabble and hustle as the helm was put
hard over. It looked just as though the moon had given a frightened skid
across the sky. They had just let the hatchway down with a bang, had
finished pitching the dead victims of the hold overboard. But still the
Rajah shouted his orders. He was calling in a strange language. She
tried to understand, but not a word was familiar to her. "What's it all
mean? Are we there?" she wondered, as she looked round her in despair.
She gazed to the southward. Her heart gave a tremendous thump as she
sighted, a long, low line of dark coast to the starboard. Then she knew
that at last the _Bird of Paradise_ lay off the dreaded coast of wild
New Guinea.
Words cannot describe the misery of Gabrielle's heart as she saw the
coast-line of that strange, rugged land and realised that when once she
was ashore there she would be completely in the Rajah's power. It seemed
to her that a great shadow from that mountainous world swept across the
sea and struck her soul with despair as a solitary cloud, like a
castaway's raft, crept under the moon. Her hair fluttered to the cool
night breeze, her fingers clutched the rim of the port-hole as she still
stared towards that desolate, terrible coast-line. But had Gabrielle
Everard been able to look astern and see across half-a-thousand miles
what a sight would have cheered her despairing heart. She would have
seen the _Sea Foam_ dipping gracefully, bounding onward, travelling
south-south-west across the coral sea beneath the tropic moon with all
sail set, and Mango Pango dancing on deck, while the great Ulysses, with
hand placed sentimentally on his heart, thundered out:
"Oh, I went down South for to see my Sal,
Singing Polly-wolly-doodle all the way!"
and Hillary, still full of romance and hope, playing the violin like
some pagan god, accompanying each song the big man sang.