“Hallo there, ashore! Any white men living here?”
For a minute or so there was no answer, and the eyes of the natives
turned in the direction of one of their number who kept well in the
background.
Again the seaman hailed, and then a man, seemingly a native, stout and
muscular, with hair felling down in thick masses upon his reddish-brown
shoulders, walked slowly out from the others, and folding his brawny
arms across his naked chest, he answered--
“Yes; there's some white men here.”
The officer, who was the mate of the brigantine, then spoke for a few
minutes to a young man who pulled bow oar, and who from his dress was
not one of the crew, and said finally, “Well, let us make sure that
there is no danger first, Maurice.”
The young man nodded, and then the mate addressed the seeming native
again:
“There's a young fellow here wants to come ashore; he wants to see one
of the white men here. Can he come ashore?”
“Of course he can. D'ye think we're a lot o' cannibals here? I'm a white
man myself,” and he laughed coarsely; then added quickly, “Who does he
want to see?”
The man who pulled the bow oar sprang to his feet.
“I want to see Henry Deschard!”
“Do you?” was the sneering response. “Well, I don't know as you can.
This isn't his day at-home like; besides that, he's a good long way
from here just now.”
“I've got good news for him,” urged the man called Maurice.
The beachcomber meditated a few seconds; then he walked down to the
boat.
“Look here,” he said, “I'm telling the exac' truth. Deschard's place
is a long way from here, in the bush too, so you can't go there in the
boat; but look here, why can't you chaps come along with me? I'll show
you the way, and you'll have a good look at the island. There's nothin'
to be afraid of, I can tell you. Why, these natives is that scared of
all them guns there that you won't see 'em for dust when you come with
me; an' the chief says as you chaps can drag one of his fish-ponds.”
The mate was tempted; but his orders were to allow only the man Maurice
to land, and to make haste back as soon as his mission was accomplished.
Shaking his head to the renegade's wily suggestion, he, however, told
Maurice that he could go and endeavour to communicate with Deschard. In
the meantime he would return to the ship, and tell the captain--“and the
other” (these last words with a look full of meaning at the young man)
that everything was going on all right.
Foiled in his plan of inducing all the men to come ashore, Corton
assumed a careless manner, and told Maurice that he was still willing to
conduct him to Deschard, but that he would not be able to return to the
ship that night, as the distance was too great.
The mate was agreeable to this, and bidding the beachcomber and his
victim good-day he returned to the ship.
Holding the young man's hand in his, the burly renegade passed through
the crowd of silent natives, and spoke to them in their own tongue.
“Hide well thy spears and clubs, my children; 'tis not yet time to act.”
Still clasping the hand of his companion, he led the way through the
native town, and then into the narrow bush track that led to Oneaka, and
in another five minutes they were alone, or apparently so, for nought
could be heard in the fast gathering darkness but their own footsteps as
they trod the leafy path, and the sound of the breaching surf long miles
away.