Denison, the supercargo of the _Indiana_, was sent by his “owners” to an
island in the S.W. Pacific where they had a trading business, the man
in charge or which had, it was believed, got into trouble by shooting
a native. His instructions were to investigate the rumour, and, if
the business was suffering in any way, to take away the trader and put
another man in his place. The incident here related is well within the
memory of some very worthy men who still dwell under the roofs of thatch
in the Western Pacific.
*****
The name of the island was--well, say Nukupapau.
The _Indiana_ sailed from Auckland in December, and made a smart run
till the blue peaks of Tutuila were sighted, when the trades foiled
and heavy weather came on from the westward. Up to this time Denison's
duties as supercargo had kept him busy in the trade-room, and he had had
no time to study his new captain, for, although they met at table three
times a day, beyond a few civilities they had done no talking. Captain
Chaplin was young--about thirty--and one of the most taciturn persons
Denison had ever met. The mate, who, having served the owners for about
twenty years, felt himself privileged, one night at supper asked him
point-blank, in his Irish fashion _apropos_ of nothing: “An' phwat part
av the wurruld may yez come from, captain?”
There were but the five of them present--the skipper, two mates,
boatswain, and Denison. Laying down his knife and fork and stirring his
tea, he fixed his eyes coldly on the inquisitive sub's face.
“From the same God-forsaken hole as you do, sir--Ireland. My name isn't
Chaplin, but as I'm the captain of this rotten old hooker I want you to
understand that if you ask me another such d------d impertinent question
you'll find it a risky business for you--or any one else!”
The quick blood mounted up to the old mate's forehead, and it looked
like as if a fight was coming, but the captain had resumed his supper
and the matter ended. But it showed us that he meant to keep to himself.
*****
The _Indiana_ made the low-lying atoll at last and lay-to outside. Those
on board could see the trader's house close to, but instead of being
surrounded by a swarm of eager and excited natives there was not one
to be seen. Nor could they even see a canoe coming off. Denison pointed
this out to the captain. Although of an evidently savage and morose
temperament he was always pleasant enough to Denison in his capacity
of supercargo, and inquired of him if he thought the trader had been
killed.
“No,” Denison said, “I don't think the people here would ever kill
Martin; but something is wrong. He has not hoisted his flag, and that is
very queer. I can see no natives about his place--which also is curious;
and the village just there seems to be deserted. If you will lower the
boat I'll soon see what's wrong.”
*****
The skipper called out to lower the whaleboat, put four Rotumah boys in
her, and then offered to accompany the supercargo. As he was a new man,
Denison naturally was surprised at his wanting to leave his ship at a
strange place.
“Glad enough,” he said, “the landing here is beastly--lucky if we escape
getting stove-in going over the reef. Martin knows the passage well and
tackles it in any surf--wish he were here now!”
Captain Chaplin soon took that off his mind. Unconsciously Denison gave
him the steer-oar, and in a few minutes they were flying over the reef
at a half-tide, and never touched anywhere.
“Why,” said Denison, “you seem to know the place.”
“I do,” he answered, quietly, “know it well, and know Martin, too.
You'll find him drunk.”
They walked up the white path of broken coral and stood in the doorway
of the big front room. At the far end, on a native sofa, lay Martin; by
his side sat a young native girl fanning him. No one else.
The gaunt black-whiskered trader tried to rise, but with a varied string
of oaths lashed together he fell back, waving his hand to Denison in
recognition. The girl was not a native of the island--that could be seen
at a glance. She was as handsome as a picture, and after giving the two
white men a dignified greeting, in the Yap (Caroline Islands) dialect,
she resumed her fanning and smoking her cigarette.
“Martin,” said the supercargo, “shake yourself together. What is the
matter? Are you sick, or is it only the usual drunk?”
“Both,” came in tones that sounded as if his inside were lined with
cotton wool; “got a knife in my ribs six months back; never got well;
and I've been drinking all the time “--and then, with a silly smile of
childish vanity, “all over _her_. She's my new girl--wot d'ye think of
her? Ain't she a star?”
*****
All this time Chaplin stood back until Denison called him up and said to
the trader, “Our new captain, Martin!”
“By God,” said the trader, slowly, “if he ain't the image of that ------
nigger-catching skipper that was here from Honolulu four years ago.”
“That's me!” said Chaplin, coolly puffing away at his cigar, and taking
a seat near the sofa, with one swift glance of admiration at the face of
the girl.
In a few minutes Martin told his troubles. Some seven months previously
a ship had called at the island. He boarded her. She was a whaler making
south to the Kermadecs “sperming.” The captain told Martin he had come
through the Pelews and picked up a big canoe with a chiefs retinue on
board, nearly dead from starvation. Many of them did die on board. Among
those left were two women, the wife and daughter of the chief--who was
the first to die. Making a long story short, Martin gave the captain
trade and cash to the tune of five hundred dollars for the two women,
and came ashore. Pensioning off his other wife, he took the young girl
himself and sold the mother to the local chief for a ton of copra.
A week afterwards a young native came outside his house, cutlass in
hand. He was a brother of the dismissed wife and meant fighting. Martin
darted out, his new love standing calmly in the doorway, smoking. There
was a shot, and the native fell with a bullet through his chest, but
raising his voice he called to others and flung them his cutlass; and
then Martin found himself struggling with two or three more and got a
fearful stab. That night the head men of the village came to him and
said that as he had always been a good man to them they would not kill
him, but they then and there tabooed him till he either killed his new
wife or sent her away. And when he looked out in the morning he saw the
whole village going away in canoes to the other side of the lagoon. For
six months neither he nor the girl--Lunumala was her name--had spoken to
a native. And Martin gave himself up to love and drink, and, since the
_fracas_ had not done a cent's worth of trading.
Denison told Martin his instructions. He only nodded, and said something
to the girl, who rose and brought the supercargo his books. A few
minutes' looking through them, and then at his well-filled trade-room,
showed Denison that everything was right, except that all the liquor was
gone.
“Martin,” the supercargo said, “this won't do. I've got another man
aboard, and I'll put him here and take you to Rotumah.”
But he swore violently. He couldn't go anywhere else. This island was
his home. The natives would give in some day. He'd rather cut his throat
than leave.
“Well,” said Denison, calmly, “it's one of two things. You know as well
as I do that a _tabu_ like this is a serious business. I know you are the
best man for the place; but, if you won't leave, why not send the girl
away?”
No, he wouldn't send her away. She should stay too.
“All serene,” said the man of business. “Then I'll take stock at once,
and we'll square up and I'll land the other man.”
This was a crusher for poor Martin. Denison felt sorry for him, and had
a hard duty to carry through.
Presently the sick man with a ten-ton oath groaned, “------ you, Mister
Skipper, wot are you a-doin' of there, squeezin' my wife's hand?”
*****
“Well, now,” said the captain, quietly, “look here, Martin. Just put
this in your thick head and think it out in five minutes. You've either
got to give up this girl or get away from the island. Now, I don't want
to make any man feel mean, but she don't particularly care about you,
and----”
The graceful creature nodded her approval or Chaplin's remarks, and
Martin glared at her. Then he took a drink of gin and meditated.
Two minutes passed. Then Martin turned.
“How much?” he said.
“Fifty pounds, sonny. Two hundred and fifty dollars.”
“Easy to see you've been in the business,” mumbled Martin; “why, her
mother's worth that. 'Tain't no deal.”
“Well, then, how much _do_ you want?”
“A hundred.”
“Haven't got it on board, sonny. Take eighty sovereigns and the rest in
trade or liquor?”
“It's a deal,” said Martin; “are you game to part ten sovereigns for the
girl's mother, and I'll get her back from the natives!”
“No,” said Chaplin, rising \ “the girl's enough for me.”
She had risen and was looking at Martin with a pallid face and set
teeth, and then without a word of farewell on either side she picked
up a Panama hat and, fan in hand, walked down to the boat and got in,
waiting for Chaplin.
*****
Presently he came down, and said, “Well, Mr. Denison, I suppose, as
matters are arranged, you'll want to land Martin some trade?”
“Oh, no,” said Denison, “he's got plenty. This _tabu_ on his own
business will teach him a lesson. But I want to send him some provisions
on shore. By the way, captain, that girl's likely to prove expensive to
you. I hope you'll put her ashore at Rotumah till the voyage is nearly
over.”
“No,” said he, “I won't. Of course, I know our godly owners would raise
a deuce of a row about my buying the girl if I couldn't pay for her
keep while she's on board, but I've got a couple of hundred pounds in
Auckland, as they know, besides some cash on board. After I've paid that
thundering blackguard I've still some left, and I mean to put her ashore
at Levuka to live until I can take her to her destination.”
“Why,” Denison queried, “what are you going to do with her?”
“Just this: there's a friend of mine in Honolulu always willing to give
a few thousand dollars for a really handsome girl. And I believe that
girl will bring me nearly about three thousand dollars.”
*****
For three months the girl remained on board, grave, dignified, and
always self-possessed. Chaplin treated her kindly, and it was evident
to all on board that the girl had given him such affection as she was
capable of, and little knew his intentions regarding her future. With
both Chaplin and Denison she would now converse freely in the Pelew
Island dialect. And often pointing to the sinking sun she would
sigh--“There is my land over there behind the sun. When will we get
there?” Laying her hand on Chaplin's she would seek for an answer. And
he would answer--nothing.
*****
After the _Indiana_ had cruised through the Line Islands she headed
back for Rotumah and Fiji. The girl came up on deck after supper. It
was blowing freshly and the barque was slipping through the water fast.
Lunumala walked to the binnacle and looked at the compass, pointing to
S.S.W. She gazed steadily at it awhile and then said to the Rotumah boy
in his own tongue--“Why is the ship going to the South?”
Tom, the Rotuman, grinned--“To Fiji, my white tropic bird.”
Just then Chaplin came on deck, cigar in mouth. The girl and he looked
at each other. He knew by her white, set face that mischief was brewing.