They are a merry-hearted, laughter-loving race, the people of
white-beached Nukutavau, with whom the trader lived. To them the
grave-faced, taciturn man, who cared not to listen to their songs or to
watch their wild dances on the moonlit beach--as had been the custom of
those white men who had dwelt on the island before him--was but as one
afflicted with some mental disease, and therefore to be both pitied and
feared. At first, indeed, when he had landed, carrying his child in his
arms, to bargain with Patiaro, the chief, that the people should build
him a house, the women of the island had clustered around him as he
stepped out of the boat, and with smiles upon their faces, extended
their arms to him for the child. But no answering smile lit up the man's
rugged features, though, to avoid the appearance of discourtesy (to
which all island races are so keenly sensitive) he gave the infant into
the keeping of old Malineta, the mother of the chief.
Patiaro, the chief, holding the stranger's right hand in both his own,
looked searchingly into his calm, deep-set eyes with that dignified
curiosity which, while forbidding a native to put a direct question to
an utter stranger, yet asks it by the expression of his face. But Prout,
whose anxious glance followed the movements of the grey-haired mother
of the chief, as she pressed his child to her withered bosom, seemed to
notice not his questioning look.
Following the stranger's gaze, the chief broke the silence:
“'Tis my mother, _ariki papalagi_.{*} who carries thy child--Malineta,
the mother of Patiaro, the chief of Nukutavau, he who now speaks to
thee. And I pray thee have no fear for the little one.”
* White gentleman.
*****
The quiet, dignified courtesy with which the chief addressed him
recalled the white man to himself, and a pleasant smile lit up the
native's features when the stranger answered him in Tokelau--the _lingua
franca_ of the equatorial isles of the Pacific--north and south.
“Nay, I fear not for the child, Patiaro, chief of Nukutavau, but yet it
may not be well for her to be taken to the village awhile; for with
thee and thy people doth it rest whether the child and I remain here,
or return to the ship and seek some other island whereon I may build my
house and live in peace. And I will pay thee that which is fair and just
for house and land.”
But in those days, before too much civilisation had brought these simple
people deadly disease, Christianity, and the knowledge of the great Pit
of Fire, the brown men thought much of a white man; and so Patiaro, the
chief, made haste to answer:
“Let the child go with my mother, and tell thou the men in the boat that
everything thou desirest of me and my people to do shall be done. Five
rainy seasons have come and gone since a white man has lived here; so I
pray thee, stay.”
The white man inclined his head; then he turned and walked to the boat,
and spoke to the captain of the little vessel which, to bring him to the
island, had dropped her anchor just outside the current-swept passage of
the lagoon.
“I am remaining here, Captain Hetherington. Will you let your men put my
gear out on the beach?”
Hetherington, the skipper, looked at his passenger curiously, and then
answered:
“Cert'nly. But I'm real sorry you are leaving us, I don't want to pry
inter any man's business, and you know these islands as well as I do;
but I guess I wouldn't stay here if I war you. Why, it won't pay a
man to stay and trade on a bit of a place like this,” and he cast a
deprecatory look around him.
The trader made him no answer, and the skipper of the schooner, ordering
his crew to take out his passenger's goods and carry them to the
village, stepped ashore, and held out his hand to the chief, whose fine,
expressive features showed some signs of fear that the captain's remarks
were intended to dissuade the stranger from remaining on the island.
*****
Motioning to the white men to follow him, the stalwart young chief led
the way to the _fale kaupale_, or council-house of the village, where
food and young coconuts for drinking were brought in and placed before
them by the young women.
Sitting directly in front of his guests, the chief served them with food
with his own hands, in token of his desire for friendship and to do
them honour, and then quietly withdrew to direct the natives who were
carrying the trader's goods up from the boat to his own house, further
back in the village.
“I would wish ter remark, mister,” said the American skipper as he
pulled out his pipe and commenced to fill it, “thet, ez a rule, I
don't run any risk ev bustin' myself with enthoosiastic admiration fer
Britishers in general--principally because they air the supporters of er
low-down, degradin' system ev Government, which hez produced some bloody
wars and sunk my schooner the _Mattie Casey_, with a cargo of phosphates
valued et four thousand dollars.”
“It was a heavy loss to you, Captain Hetherington, but you surely do not
dislike all Englishmen because the _Alabama_ sunk your vessel?” said
the trader, with a melancholy smile, whilst his restless eye sought the
village houses to discern the movements of the chief's mother with his
child.
The American pulled his long, straggling beard meditatively. “Wal, I
don't know, they're a darned mean crowd anyway.” And then, with a sudden
change of manner, “Say, look here, mister; hev yew finally made up your
mind ter remain on this island among a lot ev outrageous, unclothed,
ondelikit females, whar every prospeck pleases an' on'y man is vile; or
air yew game ter come in pardners with me in the schooner an' run her in
the sugar trade between 'Frisco and Honolulu?”
Prout grasped the old man's hand, but shook his head.
“You are a generous man, Captain Hetherington, but I cannot do it. I am
no seaman, and, what is more to the point, I have no money to put into
the venture.”
“Thet's jest it,” the American answered quickly, “but yew hev a long
head--fer a Britisher, a darned long head--an' I reckon yew an' me will
pull together bully; so jes' tell the chief here to get the traps back
inter the boat again, an' yew an' me an' little Mercedy will get aboard
agin----”
“No, no, no,” and the trader rose to his feet and walked quickly to
and fro--“no, Hetherington; I cannot do as you wish. Here, among these
islands, it is my wish to live; and here, or on such another island as
this, and among such wild, uncivilised beings, must I die.”
“So?” and the hard-featured American raised his shaggy eyebrows
interrogatively. “Waal, I reckon yew regulates your own affairs ter
your own fancy; but look here, mister,” and the kindly ring in the old
skipper's voice appealed to the man before him--“what about little
Mercedy? Yew ain't agoin' to let thet pore child grow up among naked,
red-skinned savages, hey?”
A deep flush overspread the trader's face, and then it paled again, and
he ceased his hurried, agitated walk.
“Hetherington!... do not, I implore you, say another word to me on the
subject. It is better for me to remain here with my little Mercedes....
So, here, give me that honest hand of yours and leave me.... But, stop,
I forgot,” and he thrust his hand into a large canvas pouch that hung
suspended from his shoulder, “I did indeed forget this, Captain; but
forget the kindness that you have shown to me and my child during the
four months I have been with you, I never can.”
The Yankee skipper's face was visibly perturbed as he heard the jingle
of money in the canvas pouch, and he worked his jaws violently, while
his heavy, bushy brows met together as if he were in deep study, and
uneasy mutterings escaped from his lips. Suddenly he rose and left his
companion.
As he shambled away to the far end of the council-house, he caught sight
of a number of native women and children advancing towards himself and
his passenger. Foremost among them was the old woman Malineta, her lean
and wrinkled face wreathed in smiles, for the white man's child, whom
she still carried, had placed one arm around her neck. As she drew near
the American, the little one smiled and made as if she wished to go to
him, or to her father who stood near by.
Holding out his arms to the child, the skipper took her from the old
woman, and then he turned to Prout.
“Say, I've jest been reckonin' up an' I make out yew hev been jest four
months aboard o' my hooker thar, an' I reckon thet twenty dollars a
month ain't more'n a fair an' square deal.”
Again the red flush mantled to the trader's brow. “No, no, Hetherington.
I am poor, but not so poor that I should insult you by such an
insignificant sum as that. Two hundred and fifty dollars I can give
you easily, and freely and willingly,” and advancing to the captain he
offered him a number of twenty-dollar gold pieces.
An angry “Pshaw!” burst from the captain. He thrust the proffered
money aside, and then, with his leathern visage working in strange
contortions, he walked quickly outside, and sitting down upon an old
unused canoe, bent his grizzled head, and strained the child to his
bosom. And presently Prout and the natives heard something very like the
sound of a sob.
Then, as if ashamed of his emotion, he suddenly rose, and kissing the
child tenderly, gave her back to the woman Malineta. Then he turned to
Prout.
“Waal, I guess I'll be goin'.... Naow, jest yew put them air cursed
dollars back again. It's jest like yew darned Britishers, ter want ter
shove money inter a man's hand, jest like ez if he war a nigger, an'
hadn't a red cent ter buy a slice of watermelon with,” and then all his
assumed roughness failed him, and his eyes grew misty as he grasped the
Englishman's hand for the last time.
“Thet thar Mercedy.... Why, I hed sich a little mite once....” and he
chewed fiercely at the fresh plug he had thrust into his cheek.
“Dead?” queried Prout, softly.
“Yes; diphthery. Yew see it came about th' way. When I got back ter
Cohoes--thet's whar I belong--after that cussed pirut Semmes sunk my
hooker, an' 'Riar sees me standin' in front ev her without givin' her
any warnin' I was comin', she gets that skeered that she drops kerwallop
on the floor, an' when she come to, an' heerd that the _Mattie Casey_
was gone, waal, thet jest sorter finished her. Waal, she hung on ter
life fur a year or so, kep' getting more powerful weak in the intelleck
every day; an' when she died, my little Hope was on'y four years old.
An' Hope died when I was away servin' in the _Iroquois_ lookin' fur
Semmes,... an' I ain't got no one else to keer fur me naow.... Waal,
goodbye, Prout; I guess I'll beat up ter windward of this grewp, and
then make a bee-line fur Honolulu.”
In another minute he had shambled down to the boat, and as the sun sank
below the line of coconuts on the lee side of Nukutavau, the schooner
swept away into the darkness. Then Prout, taking the little girl in his
arms, followed old Malineta to the house of Patiaro the chief, and again
took up the thread of his lonely existence.
Four years had come and gone. In his quiet house, under the shadow of
the ever-rustling palms, Prout lay upon his rough couch of coarse
mats, and little Mercedes stood beside him with her tiny hand upon his
death-dewed forehead.
The missionary ship had just anchored in the lagoon, and Patiaro and his
men had paddled off to her, so that, save for the low murmur of voices
of women and children in the houses near by, the village lay silent.
Weeping softly, the child placed her tender cheek against the rugged
face of the dying man, and whispered:
“What is it, my father, that aileth thee?”
He drew her slender figure to him with his failing hands and kissed her
with pallid lips, and then Prout the trader gave up the battle of life.