THE “CROOKED ONE”
The Pearl Temple was also the Royal Palace, for as the king was the sole
priest of the Pearl God it was fitting that his abode should be in this
sacred place. Seldom has a nation placed the supreme power, both
religious and political, in the hands of one person. It is concrete
autocracy and usually a priesthood protects a country from its king
while the king protects it from the priests. But here was decidedly a
one-man rule—and the man was a boy. If we could win the boy’s friendship
there were no complications to thwart his will, and therein lay our sole
chance of salvation.
Joe and I talked it over in our prison, a fine big room in the rear
portion of the temple, with windows opening on the square. There were no
guards, nor were we bound or otherwise restrained except by the command
of the king to remain in the room until sent for. We might easily have
dropped from one of the windows to the crowded streets; but that would
have availed us nothing. We might have walked out by way of the
corridors, and met the guards at the other end. Really, we were safe
enough, and our captors knew it.
Our unfortunate mishap caused us considerable uneasiness. It was not so
much on account of our personal safety, although of that we had ample
cause to fear; but I worried lest my father or Uncle Naboth, suspecting
we were captured, should send out a party to attempt to rescue us. From
my present information I knew that would mean death to them all; only
while in the ship fort, with ample supplies of guns and ammunition,
could they successfully oppose these numerous and powerful Faytans.
At noon we were given ample rations of excellent food; fish, turtle and
lobster forming the chief dishes. The drinking water, almost ice-cold
from earthen jars, was the finest I ever tasted. Women waited upon us,
but when I spoke to them in their native tongue they refused to answer.
After the meal the king came in, unannounced and alone. The youth walked
with great dignity and his face was very sad. Sitting upon a bench
beside us he said:
“You will tell me of the world beyond the sea, and I will listen. But
first tell me your names, and what island you come from.”
We introduced ourselves and said we were Americans, but of course that
meant nothing to him.
“I am Attero, the twentieth of that name who has ruled in Faytan,” said
he proudly. Then he began to examine our clothing and to feel the
texture of the cloth, asking us how it was made and of what use the
various garments might be.
Joe is not much of a talker, so I spent several hours giving the king
the most primitive sort of information, taking care to so explain our
machinery and inventions as to set him wondering at our cleverness. He
was more interested at first in “the weapon that stings” than in any
other mechanical contrivance, and you may be sure I explained the
death-dealing character of our guns in a most impressive manner.
“Your people are many, oh King,” said I; “but our rifles and revolvers
have more stings in them than you have people, although our own numbers
are so few.”
He pondered this a moment.
“I thought that might be so,” he returned. “That is a reason why I did
not sooner send my people to capture you. My chief Medicine Man, Kuru,
has been studying this matter, and Kuru has found that while the metal
stings enter human flesh, and pass through it, they do not go far into
the bark of the trees. For when my father and some of his people were
stung, many other stings flew over their heads and reached the forest,
where we found the marks they made. This is the first time such weapons
have been used by invaders into Faytan. All others have had spears and
arrows like our own. Also you are the only pale-skins who have come to
Faytan.”
“The pale-skins have more wisdom than the dark-skins,” I asserted. “They
have conquered all the known world. The reason Faytan has not yet been
conquered by us is that until the storm drove us upon your coast we did
not know such an island existed.”
He bowed gravely.
“That proves how wise my forefathers were in making our laws,” said he.
“We have been left in peace because the restless pale-skins, who love to
conquer what does not belong to them, did not know where to find Faytan.
Had we permitted any to leave our shores alive you would then have heard
of us. Also my forefathers declared that other nations would want our
pearls, which have brought good luck to us for many years. Is that also
true?”
“It is,” I replied frankly. “My people like all pretty things, and you
must know that pearls are found not alone in Faytan, but in many other
parts of the world.”
He seemed surprised.
“As many as we have?” he asked.
“Perhaps not. But pearls are not unknown to us. See,” and I showed him
my watch fob, which was set with a large diamond surrounded by small
pearls. He paid no attention to the diamond but examined the pearls
carefully. Then he smiled.
“Have you seen any so small, so dull and colorless in my kingdom?” he
asked.
“No, your Majesty.”
“Such trifles grow in small shellfish, which we do not open, but throw
back into the sea to allow them to grow. Those which you have are dead.
The life is gone from them. We know how to keep all our pearls alive by
bathing them in the salt water,” he said. Then he asked. “What is on the
other end of this yellow chain?”
I exhibited my watch and explained its use. He was greatly excited over
this trinket, especially when I showed him the wheels and how to keep
them going by winding. I thought it good policy to make him a present of
the watch, which was a cheap affair, and he accepted it with evidences
of joy and gave me in return a necklace of pearls worth a fortune.
When he left us he said:
“You must tell me more of your wonderful land and your wise people, for
truly you are able to teach me much.”
He paused on his way out and came slowly back to us.
“Tell me how my people can be safe from your stings,” he begged.
“By keeping a long distance away from them,” I replied promptly.
“Is there no other way?”
“None, your Majesty.”
“My chief Medicine Man, Kuru, thought that if we made shields of bark,
and carried them before us, the stings would not hurt.”
That explained the work we had seen the natives doing in the forest. But
I hastened to assure King Attero that such shields were useless, as when
they came neat to our guns the bullets would go through them easily.
“Then,” said he, in a grieved tone, “many of my people will die, for
they will make the attack to-morrow morning.”
“Can you not send swift messengers and stop them?” I asked anxiously.
“I will not do that,” he answered, “for it is not good to give one order
to change another. But I will spend the night in beseeching the great
Pearl God to protect my people from the pale-skins. Our god has never
yet failed us.”
With that he left us and we saw no more of him until the following
afternoon. When he entered our room then, the boy king was more cheerful
of countenance and stepped more firmly and proudly than ever.
“The Pearl God told me not to fear, for all would be well with my
people,” he announced.
I looked at him curiously. Could one so naturally intelligent really
believe some mythical god had spoken to him? But it is not safe to
question anyone’s religion. Ignoring the point I asked:
“Have you heard news of the battle?”
“Yes. Many of my warriors have been killed, and your ship has not yet
been captured. But they are still fighting.”
I heard this report with pleasure, and Joe shouted: “Hooray!”
The king did not seem annoyed.
“If we do not succeed to-day, we will to-morrow,” he prophesied, with
cool assurance. “For to-morrow I shall go to the battle myself, and
carry with me our greatest Chieftain, known as the Crooked One.”
“May we go, also?” I inquired, eagerly.
He considered the request thoughtfully. Then he replied:
“It would seem best to drown you both this evening, before I leave for
the fight. The Crooked One has advised that, and his wisdom is great.
But I wish to be taught more of your knowledge, so I will let you live
until my return.”
“But why must we stay here?” I asked.
“Would you assist me in defeating your people, if I took you with me?”
“No,” said I.
He took my hand and touched it lightly to his breast.
“What I like in the pale-skins,” he said, “is the truth-tongue. You do
not try to deceive me. That is why I have let you live to teach me. From
a lying teacher I would gain but little knowledge.”
I have said before that this boy was remarkably intelligent for a
savage. There was also a nobility in his nature that was admirable and
noteworthy. I am no more truthful than the average American, but it was
not easy to try to deceive one of so simple and frank a character. From
the first I had thought it the best policy to be honest with him. Had
the pale-skins always been honest in their dealings with the
dark-skinned races many national tragedies would have been averted.
We passed several hours in conversation, Joe taking a part in the talk,
now and then, but leaving most of it to me. Finally the king withdrew,
saying he would not see us again until after his return from the “war.”
It was getting dark and we were thinking of going to bed on our
benches—which were plentifully supplied with soft blankets—when a sound
of slow and dragging footsteps along the corridor aroused us. A light
flickered across the doorway and was followed by a native bearing a
torch of rottenwood.
At once I knew who it was. The shrewd, withered features, iron-gray
locks and penetrating glance; the humpbacked frame, long arms and
spindle legs could belong to none but the “Crooked One,” of whom the
king had spoken. I wondered if he came with his Majesty’s permission,
for he shielded the torch with a portion of an ample robe that partially
covered his misshapen body and peered at us silently a while before
addressing us.
Then he said, speaking in a low, soft voice:
“Strangers, I am here to assist you. Our mighty King, the wise Attero,
has accepted you as his friends; but that will not save you from the
death which the law decrees.”
He paused impressively, and I asked:
“What _will_ save us, then?”
“Perhaps nothing at all,” he returned, evasively. “But I am the King’s
adviser, even as I was his father’s adviser, and I command all the
warriors of Faytan. If King Attero listens to anyone, he will listen to
me.”
“And you will try to save us?”
“If you will do what I am about to ask.”
I reflected.
“There seems no way to evade the law,” said I. “The law is as old as
Faytan, I am told, and demands the death of every stranger landing upon
your shores. The King has himself informed us that he is powerless to
evade the law, even if he desired to.”
The Crooked One smiled sardonically.
“Who makes the laws of Faytan?” he demanded.
“The King’s forefathers made this law, it seems,” I returned.
“True. Only the King can make a law in Faytan. And—_only the King can
unmake it_.”
I sprang to my feet, inspired by a new hope. Of course the king had
power to abrogate the present law! Why had I not thought of this before?
It was an absurd law. The king was our friend.
The Crooked One, having spoken so impressively, was now regarding us
with marked attention. The look enabled me to recover my composure
quickly.
“Well, then?” said I.
He sat down upon a bench, looking more crooked than ever.
“I am Chief of the Warriors of Faytan,” he repeated. “I have fought many
invaders, and all are dead. For it is true that until now none has been
able to resist the number and power of the Faytans I have led. Your own
people cannot resist them for long; yet they are more terrible in a
fight than any we have ever met. There are perhaps as many persons in
your ship as I have fingers and toes; there are more Faytans than the
hairs of my head. In time, in spite of your stinging weapons, which the
King says are called guns, we shall surely capture you all. But if there
is much fighting many of my warriors will have died before we conquer
and destroy the pale-skins. I do not wish to have my warriors die. Why
is it necessary? So I have come to you, the King’s teachers, to say
this: Teach me, also. Teach me how to capture your people, and in return
I will ask the King to make a new law and cancel the old one, so that
you two will be permitted to remain in Faytan as long as you live, not
only safe from harm but honored by the King and all his people.”
“Chief,” I returned, amused but angry, “we could not be honored by
anyone if we proved ourselves dishonorable. Will any of your warriors
betray you, or your King, to save their own lives? I do not think they
would. Nor will we be less noble than the Faytans. But I will give you
this answer: We could not betray our people if we would; for there is no
way you or your warriors can avoid death if you fight with the
pale-skins. Had you made them your friends they would have gone away and
left you in peace. But if you foolishly continue to make war upon them,
you and your island are lost forever, for no human power can save you.”
“A man is but a man,” he returned, “whether his skin be pale or brown.
You have powerful weapons, but you are few in numbers. If you could kill
half my warriors the other half would finally conquer you.”
“That remains to be proven,” I said.
He arose from the bench and paced up and down, the light of the torch
making him appear like some huge goblin.
“So you would sacrifice your own lives to save your friends?” he asked.
“Willingly, if it is necessary.”
“And are they as loyal to you?”
“Any one of them would die to save us,” I asserted proudly.
He laughed at this; a low, cackling laugh that was not pleasant to hear.
“Then they must be allowed to do so,” he said, and picking up the torch
left the room without another word or even a parting glance in our
direction.
“I don’t like that,” growled Joe. “He’s up to some deviltry, I’m sure.”
“The same thing has occurred to me,” I replied. “Let us remember his
words. He will allow our friends to die to save our lives. It’s a trick
of some sort, Joe. The Crooked One is far more dangerous than the King
himself.”
“What can he do?” inquired my friend.
“I don’t know; but that clever old head has conceived some shrewd idea,
or I’m greatly mistaken. We must be on our guard, Joe. I wish we had
some way of warning our people.”
“Might send them a wireless,” said Joe, grinning.
“Well, let’s go to bed and forget it,” I suggested. “Nothing can happen
before morning, anyhow.”