PETER'S NIGHTMARE.
Some nights before Sinkum Fung was sitting in his store waiting for
customers. His best trade was always in the evening, when the
coolies' work was over, and they had time to do some shopping. But
it was getting late, and Sinkum thought it about time to close the
store and go to bed. Suddenly there fell a shadow across the
threshold, and a big black-fellow entered--a stranger whom Sinkum
Fung had never seen before. What had he come to buy? Sinkum asked
politely. But the black-fellow had come to buy nothing--he had a
fierce, wild face, and his voice made Sinkum tremble when he said
he had not come to buy, but to sell. He declared his name to be
Jaga-Jaga of the great "Rat clan" now living in the Bush not far
away. He had found, he said, a white man hanging in a tree, caught
and held fast by the dreadful "wait-a-bit" cane that will swing
round man or beast at a touch, and hold them fast till they die of
exposure and starvation. This man was dead, and on his body,
Jaga-Jaga said, he discovered sundry things which he now brought to
the store to sell. What would Sinkum Fung give for them? The
payment must be made in food, for the tribe were nearly starving.
Food was difficult to procure in the intense heat; the ground was
arid and unproductive.
Sinkum examined the goods; he made his offer; whereat the wild man
swung his boomerang disagreeably, and indicated that he must have
"more, more." Tears of self-pity flooded Sinkum's eyes. He had no
choice but to obey, and at last the black-fellow left with a sack
containing ten times the value of the goods the storeman had been
forced to buy. He had been cheated, cruelly used; he was a poor
man, and could not stand such losses. The things were of no
value--none; but if he had not bought them he would have been a
dead man.
Sinkum's hands were no longer in his sleeves--he had made dramatic
passes, illustrative of the fearful fate that might have befallen
him.
It presented to Eustace's mind a vivid picture--the black-fellow
with poised boomerang standing over the shrinking Chinkee,
threatening his life if he did not obey the exorbitant demands.
To Mrs. Orban came another thought. There apparently really were
black-fellows in the neighbourhood--a whole tribe living in the
Bush.
The story of the poor white man strung up in the wood made the
listeners shudder. Such a thing had never come into their
experience, but they knew the terrible possibility of it. Many a
man has been so detained in the Bush, riding inadvertently against
the "wait-a-bit" or "lawyer cane." It springs round its victim like
a coiled spring, and he is helpless to free himself if his arms
happen to be pinioned. Who could this particular poor fellow have
been, found not far from the plantation? No one would ever know,
Mrs. Orban reflected pitifully.
"And what were the things you had to buy, Sinkum Fung?" asked
Eustace, with intense interest.
Sinkum searched amongst his curious garments and produced a handful
of things, which he set solemnly down upon the table beside Mrs.
Orban, watching her narrowly, to see what effect his action
produced.
She gave a start of surprise.
"Why," said Eustace, springing to his feet, "this is the servants'
jewellery, and their watches. The black-fellow never got them off
any dead white man at all; he stole them straight out of our
house."
Sinkum nodded drearily.
So he had discovered, he said. When too late he had heard of
the reward for the catching of that black-fellow. He could
only claim the reward for returning the goods; but surely the
good missee would not let him lose so much. He had given ten
times the value of those things, and thus only had he saved
them from the black-fellow.
In his endeavour to point out that it was due to him, and him
alone, the jewellery had reappeared, Sinkum Fung next fell
into raptures over his own deeds. Had he but known that missee
wanted the black-fellow too, he would have given his greatest
treasure--his fine long pig-tail--to have detained him. He made
the statement with a great air of devotion--a Chinaman does not
part lightly with his pig-tail.
But no amount of assurances would prevail on Mrs. Orban to give the
man more than the promised regard. Any further claim he might have
to make, she said, must be made to Mr. Orban on his return. Sinkum
Fung went away in a transparently aggrieved frame of mind.
"Mother," Eustace said, as soon as the man's footsteps died away
round the veranda, "did you believe his story about the
black-fellow?"
"At first, yes," Mrs. Orban admitted. "I dare say such a thing is
quite possible. I pictured the black-fellow bringing in a wallet
containing the poor traveller's kit, a worn leather belt, with
perhaps some money in it, a pipe and pouch."
"Yes, that is what I expected," said Eustace.
"Then one could have believed that Sinkum Fung might be taken in by
the tale," Mrs. Orban went on; "but never tell me he believed it
when he saw those trinkets. They are not the sort of things a
Bushman would be carrying about with him, and Sinkum knows that as
well as I do. He is no simpleton. His mistake was that he thought I
might be one, and he overreached himself in his description of the
ferocious Jaga-Jaga."
"You don't even think Sinkum was terrified into buying the things?"
Eustace asked.
Mrs. Orban shook her head and smiled.
"I very much doubt it," she said. "Indeed, I am inclined to fancy
the thief was no black-fellow at all now. It is just as likely he
was a Malay or Manila boy from the plantation, and Sinkum Fung is
in collusion with him. They will probably go shares in the reward;
but Sinkum meant to make as much more out of me for himself as he
possibly could."
"My word! if the other fellow comes again," said Eustace, "don't I
just hope we shall catch him."
"I am sure I hope and trust he will not come again," said Mrs.
Orban gravely. "We have had quite as many disturbances already as I
feel inclined for."
Mary and Kate were delighted to get back their belongings, and made
no further reference to running away. They felt more secure with
the Robertson family living in the house. Besides, a letter from
Mr. Orban stated that he was getting through his business quicker
than he had expected, and he should only now wait for Miss Chase's
boat from England, because she would need an escort up country.
This cheered every one immensely. It was something to look forward
to, and the days began to go quicker and more brightly.
Then Nesta and Peter came home full of all their doings at the
Highlands, and this made a great difference to the house. Eustace
did not know he could have been so glad to see his brother and
sister; it was not till they came back that he realized how dull he
had really been without them.
The Robertsons still stayed. Nesta slept with her mother, and the
three boys were in the next room.
Nesta knew a good deal about the excitements that had been taking
place at home. It was thought useless to try and hush the matter
up. Something was bound to slip out in the course of conversation,
and so she was given the lightest possible version of the theft,
ending with an amusing account of Sinkum Fung's visit.
Of course Bob brought the children over, and to Eustace's intense
gratitude, when it came to the story of the bogus scare, and Nesta
seemed inclined to giggle, Bob said gravely, "Older people have
made worse mistakes," and then proceeded to tell the story against
himself about the tree stump and the pigs.
There was something so big and nice about Bob's nature that,
without meaning to, he always made people ashamed of being petty
and ill-natured when he was present.
"You made a good shot at the dingo, old man," he said. "It won't be
long before you are out shooting with me, at this rate."
Of course no one could laugh at Eustace after that. Bob saw nothing
funny about what he had done--Bob actually praised him--and when
Bob praised it meant something.
"I say," Nesta asked when the twins were alone together, "weren't
you most awfully scared?"
"Well, I guess I was rather," Eustace admitted; "but of course it
was silly to be. Mother thinks it was only one of the plantation
hands now, and not a black-fellow at all, you see."
"But a plantation hand might have knifed somebody," Nesta said,
with a shudder. "I hope he won't come again. I know I should scream
like anything."
"I believe it would be the worst thing you could do," Eustace said
gravely. "He would be sure to try and shut you up if you made a
row--any thief would, if he wasn't such a coward as that one. But I
wouldn't think about it if I were you, or you'll be fancying
things, just as I did."
In spite of which advice Nesta did suffer a few qualms at night, if
she happened to wake in the dark; but sleeping with her mother was
comforting, and the panics never lasted long.
Lessons began again, and the days passed in their usual routine,
but with the added joy of something to look forward to in the
arrival of the new aunt.
It was a nightly annoyance to Peter that he was put to bed at the
same time as Sandy Robertson, while the twins stayed up to late
dinner. Becky went to bed still earlier, and was generally fast
asleep as soon as her head touched the pillow.
"You might shoot pistols in the room after Becky is asleep," was a
favourite saying, "and you wouldn't wake her."
Which statement she almost verified the night Eustace caused such
an excitement; she really did not wake until the second shot was
fired.
But Peter was not a heavy sleeper. Moreover, he had heard something
about the black-fellow stories too. Sandy Robertson gave him a good
deal of information as they played together, and the little fellow
got into a thoroughly nervous state.
Mrs. Orban often sat with him till he was asleep, and then left a
shaded light burning both in his room and her own.
It did not startle her very much one night as she sat at dinner
with the twins to see Peter tear into the room yelling for her at
the top of his voice. She guessed he had awakened from a dream, and
was just frightened at finding himself alone with no one but Sandy.
He sprang into her arms and lay there trembling, panting only
"Mother--mother--mother," over and over again.
"Well, sonny, what is it?" said his mother soothingly, stroking
back his hair from his forehead.
"O mummie," he gasped, "there's something moving in your room. I
heard it."
Eustace and Nesta started, and exchanged frightened glances. But
Mrs. Orban answered quite calmly,--
"I dare say, darling. It is probably Mary turning down the beds."
She rose as she spoke and went towards the door.
"Oh, don't, mummie! don't go," Peter pleaded eagerly; "perhaps it's
a black-fellow."
"Nonsense, darling," Mrs. Orban said. "You can stay here with
Eustace and Nesta if you like, but of course I must go and see what
the noise was."
"I'm going with mother," said Eustace sturdily.
"So am I," said Nesta.
"We'll all go," said Mrs. Orban cheerily; "and I am quite sure Mary
will think us mad when she sees us."
So down the passage they went, Peter trembling and clinging to his
mother. Straight into Mrs. Orban's room they all trooped, and of
course, when they got there, there was no one to be seen--not even
Mary turning down the beds.
On they went into the boys' room, and all was peaceful there; for
Peter had been too frightened to yell till he reached the
dining-room, and Sandy had not been roused.
"There, you see," said Mrs. Orban; "what did I tell you? There are
far too many of us in the house now for any one to dare to come."
She went on into the kitchen still holding Peter, and Mary and Kate
certainly did look surprised.
"Master Peter has been having a nightmare," Mrs. Orban explained,
"and I want to reassure him. Were you in my room just now, Mary?"
"No, ma'am," Mary said; "I haven't been there since dinner."
"Oh, well, then, he must have been dreaming," Mrs. Orban said,
still in the same cheery way. "We will just go all through the
house and show him everything is all right, and then I will sit by
him till he gets to sleep again."
Eustace took a lantern, and on they all went right through the
house, very naturally finding no one. Robertson, who was smoking on
the veranda, declared that no one had been up or down the steps
since he had been out, and Mrs. Robertson, who was in her bedroom
lulling the baby to sleep, said no one had been that way either.
After all of which Eustace and Nesta began to breathe freely; but,
to tell the truth, at first they had both been a good deal scared
by Peter's announcement. They guessed their mother was just making
all this show of bravery for Peter's and their sakes, for another
visit from the thief was not at all unlikely.
But when Robertson laughed at the notion of any one having been
able to pass him unseen where he stood near the veranda steps, when
every nook and cranny had been looked into and no one was
forthcoming to prove Peter's tale, every one was certain he had had
a bad dream.
"You are a little silly," Nesta said bracingly. "Of course there
are always noises in the house."
"But this was a big noise," Peter objected; "something banged."
"Why didn't you say that before?" said Eustace with superiority;
then added, out of the vastness of his recent experience, "Nobody
ever bangs when they want to rob a house; they try to be as silent
as mice."
"Besides," said Nesta, "there is nothing for any one to steal now,
since we keep all our things hidden away."
This was a rule Mrs. Orban had made--that everything of value
must be put away under lock and key. She had no fancy to be
perpetually paying away rewards for recovered goods. She
believed Sinkum Fung to be quite capable of setting people
to do these little pilferings just in order to obtain the
rewards. Disagreeable as was the idea, it frightened her far
less than the thought of genuine black-fellows lurking about
the place; they were really dangerous, cruel, and lawless.
Mrs. Orban took Peter back with her into the dining-room, and he
sat cuddled up on her knee while she finished dinner.
They were all sitting listening to just one "good-night" story
before going to bed, when Mary came into the room, gave a
frightened glance round, and exclaimed,--
"Lor', ma'am, haven't you got Miss Becky here? I made sure you
had."
Every one stared at Mary, and thought she looked rather white and
queer.
"Did you, Mary?" asked Mrs. Orban rather hurriedly. "Why?"
"Well, ma'am," said Mary in an unsteady voice, "because she isn't
in her bed."
Mrs. Orban sprang to her feet.
"Not in her bed?" she exclaimed. "My good woman, what do you
mean?"
Setting Peter down on the ground, she turned swiftly and left the
room.
"I just went in to turn down the beds," explained Mary to the twins
as they hurriedly followed, "and went over to Miss Becky's corner
to take a look at her, and she wasn't there. I didn't stop a
minute, I was so took aback, but came straight off to see if maybe
she was in the dining-room. You might have knocked me down with a
feather when I saw she wasn't."
Mrs. Orban rushed to Becky's bed. She was standing beside it as if
petrified when the others entered. The bed was empty. This was no
dream. Becky really and truly was not there.