The _Palestine_ Tom de Wolf's South Sea trading brig, of Sydney, had
just dropped anchor off a native village on Mâdurô in the North Pacific,
when Macpherson the trader came alongside in his boat and jumped on
board. He was a young but serious-faced man with a red beard, was thirty
years of age, and had achieved no little distinction for having once
attempted to convert Captain “Bully” Hayes, when that irreligious
mariner was suffering from a fractured skull, superinduced by a bullet,
fired at him by a trader whose connubial happiness he had unwarrantably
upset. The natives thought no end of Macpherson, because in his spare
time he taught a class in the Mission Church, and neither drank nor
smoked. This was quite enough to make him famous from one end of
Polynesia to the other; but he bore his honours quietly, the only signs
of superiority he showed over the rest of his fellow traders being
the display on the rough table in his sitting-room of a quantity of
theological literature by the Reverend James MacBain, of Aberdeen. Still
he was not proud, and would lend any of his books or pamphlets to any
white man who visited the island.
He was a fairly prosperous man, worked hard at his trading business,
and, despite his assertions about the fearful future that awaited every
one who had not read the Reverend Mr. MacBain's religious works, was
well-liked. But few white men spent an evening in his house if they
could help it. One reason of this was that whenever a ship touched at
Mâdurô, the Hawaiian native teacher, Lilo, always haunted Mac-pherson's
house, and every trader and trading skipper detested this teacher above
all others. Macpherson liked him and said he was “earnest,” the other
white men called him and believed him to be, a smug-faced and sponging
hypocrite.
Well, as I said, Macpherson came on board, and Packenham and Denison,
the supercargo, at once noticed that he looked more than usually solemn.
Instead of, as on former occasions, coming into the brig's trade-room
and picking out his trade goods, he sat down facing the captain and
answered his questions as to the state of business, etc., on the island,
in an awkward, restrained manner.
“What's the matter, Macpherson?” said the captain. “Have you married a
native girl and found out that she is related to any one on the island,
and you haven't house-room enough for 'em all, or what?”
The trader stroked his bushy sandy beard, with a rough brown hand, and
his clear grey eyes looked steadily into those of the captain.
“I'm no the man to marry any native girl, Captain Packenham. When I do
marry any one it will be the girl who promised hersel' to me five years
ago in Aberdeen. But there, I'm no quick to tak' offence at a bit of
fun. And I want ye two tae help me to do a guid deed. I want ye tae come
ashore wi' me at once and try and put some sense into the head of this
obstinate native teacher.”
“Why, what has he been doing?”
“Just pairsecuting an auld man of seventy and a wee bit of a child. And
if we canna mak' him tak' a sensible view of things, ye'll do a guid
action by taking the puir things awa' wi' ye to some ither pairt of the
South Seas, where the creatures can at least live.”
Then he told his story. Six months before, a German trading vessel
had called at Mâdurô, and landed an old man of seventy and his
grand-daughter--a little girl of ten years of age. To the astonishment
of the people the old man proved to be a native of the island. His name
was Rimé. He had left Mâdurô forty years before for Tahiti as a seaman.
At Tahiti he married, and then for many years worked with other Marshall
Islanders on Antimanao Plantation, where two children were born to
him. The elder of these, when she was fifteen years of age, married a
Frenchman trading in the Paumotu Islands.
The other child, a boy, was drowned at sea. For eight or nine years Rimé
and his Tahitian wife, Tiaro, lived alone on the great plantation; then
Tiaro sickened and died, and Rimé was left by himself. Then one day
came news to him from the distant Paumotus--his daughter and her white
husband had fallen victims to the small-pox, leaving behind them a
little girl. A month later Rimé worked his way in a pearling schooner to
the island where his granddaughter lived, and claimed her. His heart was
empty he said. They would go to Mâdurô, though so many long, long years
had passed since he, then a strong man of thirty, had seen its low line
of palm-clad beach sink beneath the sea-rim; for he longed to hear the
sound of his mother tongue once more. And so the one French priest on
Marutea blessed him and the child--for Rimé had become a Catholic during
his stay in the big plantation--and said that God would be good to them
both in their long journey across the wide Pacific to far-off Mâdurô.
But changes had come to Mâdurô in forty years. When Rimé had sailed away
to seek his fortune in Tahiti he and his people were heathens; when
he returned he found them rigid Protestants of the Boston New England
Cotton-Mather type, to whom the name of “Papist” was an abomination
and a horror. And when Rimé said that he too was a Christian--a
Katoliko--they promptly told him to clear out. He was not an American
Christian anyway, they said, and had no business to come back to Mâdurô.
“And,” said Macpherson, “I'll no suffer this--the poor creature an' the
wee lit child canna git a bit to eat but what I gie them. And because I
_do_ gie them something to eat Lilo has turned against me, an' says I'm
no a Christian. So I want ye to come ashore and reason wi' the man. He's
but a bigot, I fear; though his wife is no so hard on the poor man and
the child as he is; but a woman aye has a tender heart for a child. And
yet, ye see, this foolish Rimé will no give in, and says he will die
before he changes his faith at Lilo's bidding. They took awa' his silly
brass cruceefix, and slung it into the lagoon. Then the auld ass made
anither out of a broken canoe paddle, and stickit the thing up in my
cook-shed! And I have no the heart to tell him to put it in the fire
and warm his naked shin bones wi' it. But I think if we all tackle the
native teacher together we may knock some sense into his conceited head,
and make him treat the poor man better. 'Tis verra hard, too, on the
poor auld fellow that these people will not give him back even a bit of
his own land.”
Then he went on to say that ever since Rimé had landed he and the child
had been sleeping every night in his (Macpherson's) cooking-shed. The
trader had given him a bundle of mats and free access to a pile of Fiji
yams and a bag of rice, and sometime Louisa, Lilo's Hawaiian wife, would
visit them at night, ostensibly to convert Rimé from the errors of Rome,
but really to leave him a cooked fish or a piece of pork. Most of the
day, however, Rimé was absent, wandering about the beaches with his
grand-daughter. They were afraid to even pass near the village, for
the children threw stones at them, and the men and women cursed them
as Katolikos. Matters had gone on like this till two weeks before
the _Palestine_ arrived, when Lilo and some of his deacons had formed
themselves into a deputation, and visited the trader. It was very wrong
of him, they said, to encourage this wicked old man and his child. And
they wanted him to cease giving them food or shelter--then when the
“Katolikos” found themselves starving they would be glad to give up
the “evil” religion which they had learnt in Tahiti. Then would they be
baptized and food given them by the people of Mâdurô.
Macpherson tried to reason with Lilo. But neither he nor the
white-shirted, but trouserless, deacons would listen to him. And
furthermore, they gave him a warning--if Rimé continued obstinate, they
would hold him (Macpherson) responsible and _tapu_ his store. Rimé did
continue obstinate, and next morning the trader found himself _tabooed_,
which is a mere euphemism for boycotted.
“That's pretty rough on you, Mac,” said Packenham.
“'Twill just ruin me, I fear. Ye see there's four other traders on this
island besides me, and all my business has gone to them. But what can
I do? The silly auld fule of a Rimé won't give in, and I canna see him
starve--the damned auld Papist.”
*****
At noon, as Packenham, with his supercargo and Macpherson, stepped out
of the trader's dwelling, and walked together to the Mission House, a
native went through the village blowing a conch. Lilo had agreed to meet
the white men and discuss matters with them. Already the big room in the
teacher's house was filled with people, who sat around the walls three
or four deep, talking in whispered tones, and wondering why the white
men troubled so much over a miserable old man and a wretched child, who
were both accursed “Katolikos.”
As the captain and his friends entered, Lilo, the teacher, advanced to
meet them. He was a small, slenderly built man, with a skin scarcely
darker than that of an Italian, and very handsome features. After a few
words of effusive welcome, and a particularly sweet smile to Macpherson,
he escorted the white men to their seats--three chairs placed together
at the head of the room.
Presently there was a shuffling of naked feet outside, and five or
six young men entered the house, pushing before them an old man and a
girl--Rimé and his grand-child. In the centre of the room was a small
square mat of coconut leaf--the Marshall Island prisoners' dock. With
limbs trembling with age, Rimé seated himself cross-legged; the child,
kneeling at his back, placed her bony arms around his wrinkled body, and
clasped him tightly; her eyes, big, black, and mournful, filled with
the indifference born of despair. Then, as she saw Macpherson, a faint
semblance of a smile flitted across her sallow face.
Lilo struck his hand upon a little table before which he sat, and
at once the assembly was silent. Then he turned to Packenham and, in
perfect English, pointing to the two figures in the centre of the room,
said--
“That is Rimé and his child. They have given us much trouble, and I and
the deacons of this island do not want trouble. We are Christians, and
will not have any 'Katolikos' here. Mr. Macpherson says we are cruel.
He is wrong. We are just, and this man and this child must give up their
false faith. But because you and Mr. Denison have written me a letter
about this matter I have called the people together so that we may
talk. So, if you please, captain, will you speak, and I will interpret
whatever you say to the people.”
“Will he, the damned little sweep?” muttered the supercargo to
Packenham; “tell him that we can talk Mâdurô as well as he can--and
better.”
So, much to the teacher's disgust, Packenham answered in the Mâdurô
dialect. “'Twas better,” he said, “that they should all talk Mâdurô.”
Lilo smiled unpleasantly, and said, “Very well.”
Then Packenham, turning to the people, spoke to the point.
“Look into my face, people of Mâdurô, and listen to my words. Long
before the missionaries came to this island I lived among ye for three
years with my wife Nerida. And is there here one man or one woman who
can say that I ever lied to him or her? So this do I say to ye all;
and to thee, Lilo, the teacher of the Word of God, that ye do wrong to
persecute this old man and this child. For is it not true that he hath
land, which ye have denied to him? Is it not true that he is old and
feeble, and his limbs tremble as he walks? Yet ye neither give him food
nor drink, nor yet a mat whereon to lie his head. He is a 'Katoliko,'
ye say? Are there not many thousands of 'Katolikos' in Hawaii, the land
from whence comes Lilo? And I ask of thee, Lilo, do they suffer wrong
from the King and the chiefs of Hawaii because of their faith? So to
thee, Lilo, do I say 'beware.' Thou art but a young and ignorant man,
and were I to tell the white missionaries in Honolulu (who are thy
masters) that this old man and this little child would have died of
hunger but that the heart of one man alone was tender to them, then
wouldst thou hang thy head in shame when the mission ship comes here
next year. For hath not Christ said, 'Blessed are the merciful, for
they shall obtain mercy?' And so I say to ye all, let this old man dwell
among ye in peace, for death is near to him, and shame will be thine if
ye deny to him his right to die on his own land, of which ye have robbed
him.”
The teacher sprang to his feet, his dark eyes blazing with passion.
“There shall be no mercy shown to Katolikos; for they are of hell and
the devil and his works!” and from the people there came a deep growl
of approval, which changed into a savage hissing as Macpherson rose and
stretched out his hand.
“Let me speak,” he said.
“No,” shouted the teacher. “Who are _you?_ You are a bad man, you
are----”
Packenham made two strides over to Lilo and placed his heavy hand on his
shoulder--“Sit down, you damned little psalm-singing kanaka hog, or I'll
knock your eye out. He _shall_ speak.”
“Get thee hence, thou shielder of the devil's children,” said a young,
fat deacon, walking up to the trader and spitting contemptuously at his
feet. “We want no such white men as thee among us here in Mâdurô.” In
an instant Macpherson struck him between the eyes and sent him flying
backwards among his fellow-deacons. Then came an angry roar from the
people.
The trader turned to Packenham with a groan, “I'm a ruined man now,
Captain Packenham, and all through this auld fule of a Papist.” Then he
again tried to speak amidst the uproar.
“Sit down, damn you,” said Denison, the supercargo, “and don't excite
them any more. They're ready for any mischief now. Oh, you she-devil,”
and he darted into the middle of the room towards Rimé and his
grand-daughter. A stout muscular girl had torn the child's arms from the
old man's waist, and was beating her savagely in the face with clenched
fists. Denison gave her an under-clip on the jaw and sent her down, and
in a few seconds the old man and child were the centre of a struggling
group--the white men hitting out right and left to save them from being
murdered. The teacher's wife, a tall, graceful young woman--with
whom Denison had been exchanging surreptitious glances a few minutes
before--weeping copiously the while, aided them by belabouring the backs
of the women who were endeavouring to get at the prostrate figure of the
little girl. But Packenham, Macpherson, and the supercargo were too much
for the natives, and soon cleared a space around them.
“Take them to the ship, Captain Packenham,” said the teacher's wife
pantingly, in English. “These people are mad now. Go--go at once.”
Picking up the frail figure of the old man, the captain, followed by
Macpherson and the supercargo, soon gained the boat through a shower
of stones and other missiles. Ten minutes later they were on board the
Palestine.
*****
“What a devil of a row!” said Packenham, as he clinked his glass against
that of Macpherson, who, after the exciting events of the past hour,
had been induced to take a nip to steady his nerves; “you ought to be
d------d well ashamed of yourself, Mac, to be mixed up in a fight over a
Papist. What would Mr. MacBain say, eh?”
“It's a verra bad business for me,” said Macpherson ruefully. “Ye'll
have to come back for me next month and tak' me awa' from Mâdurô. I'll
do no more business here, I can see.”
“Right you are, Mac,” and Packenham grasped his hand. “I _will_ come
back for you, if it takes me a month of Sundays to beat against the
trades. And you're a white man, Mac; and I'll never laugh at MacBain nor
Aberdeen theology any more.”
That night, as the captain of the _Palestine_ slept upon the skylight,
old Rimé, who, with the child, lay upon the deck just beneath Packenham,
rose softly to his knees and peered into the white man's face. He was
sleeping soundly. Rimé touched his grandchild with his foot. She awoke,
and together they pressed their lips to the skipper's hand. Then,
without a sound, they stole along the deck, clambered over the brig's
low side, dropped into the water and swam ashore.
When daylight came the _Palestine_ was rolling heavily to a sweeping
westerly swell, with the wind piping hard through her cordage as she
strained at her cable. The absence of old Rimé and the child was not
discovered till coffee time; the mate thought they had gone to sleep in
the hold.
“They've swum ashore in the night, Pack,” said the supercargo to
Packenham. “I believe the old fellow will be content to die of
starvation--hallo, here's Mac coming off in his boat!”
In less than ten minutes the trader's boat was close to the ship, and
Macpherson, bringing her up to the wind close under the brig's stern,
hailed Packenham.
“Hae ye seen anything of the old man Rimé?”
“No,” answered the captain; “the old fool cleared out last night. Isn't
he on shore?”
“No. And there's a canoe missing from the beach, and I believe the auld
Papist fule has taken the wee bit lassie wi' him, and thinks he can
get to Ponape, whaur there's 'Katolikos' in plenty. And Ponape is sax
hundred miles awa'.”
“Well, come aboard and get some breakfast.”
“Man, I'm going after the old fule! He's got no sail and canna be twenty
mile awa'. I'll pick him up before he gets to Milli Lagoon, which is
only saxty miles from here.”
Packenham swore. “You infernal ass! Are you going to sea in a breeze
like this by yourself? Where's your crew?”
“The deevils wadna' come wi' me to look for a Papist. And I'm not going
to let the auld fule perish.”
“Then come alongside and take a couple of our Savage Island boys. I can
spare them.”
“No, no, captain. I'm not going tae delay ye when ye're bound to the
eastward and I'm going the ither way. Ye'll find me here safe enough
when ye come back in anither month. And I'll pick up the auld deevil and
the wee bit lassie before mid-day.”
And then, with his red beard spreading out across his shoulders,
Macpherson let his boat pay off before the wind. In an hour he was out
of sight.
*****
Three weeks afterwards the _Sadie Perkins_ sperm whaler of New Bedford,
came across a boat, five hundred miles west of Mâdurô. In the stern
sheets lay that which had once been Macpherson, the “auld fule Papist,
and the wee bit lassie.”