At daylight next morning some native women, passing by the deserted
house on their way to work in the _puraka_ plantations of Oneaka, saw
the figure of the messenger lying dead. One of the women, named Niapô,
in placing her hand upon his bosom to feel if he yet breathed, found
the letter which had cost him his life. For nearly twenty years she kept
possession of it, doubtless from some superstitious motive, and then it
was bought from her by a white trader from Apamama, named Randall,
by whom it was sent to the Rev. Mr. Damon, the “Sailors' Friend,” a
well-known missionary in Honolulu. This was the letter:--
My Dear Husband,--It is nearly three years since I got your letter, but
I dared not risk writing to you, even if I had known of a ship leaving
for the South Seas or the whale fishery. None of the sandalwooding
people in Sydney seemed even to know the name of this island (Courier?).
My dear husband, I have enough money now, thank God, to end all our
troubles. Your letter was brought to me at Parramatta by a sailor--an
American, I think. He gave it first to Maurice. I would have rewarded
him, but before I could speak to him he had gone. For ten years I have
waited and prayed to God to bring us together again. We came to Sydney
in the same ship as Major D------, of the 77th. He has always been so
good to us, and so has his wife. Nell is sixteen now, Laura eighteen.
God grant that I will see you in a few hours. The captain says that he
will land us all at one of the places in the Dutch East Indies. I have
paid him £100, and am to pay him £100 when you are safely on board. I
have been so miserable for the past year, as Major D------ had heard
that a man-of-war was searching the islands, and I was in such terrible
fear that we would never meet again. Come quickly, and God bless you, my
dear husband. Maurice insisted and begged to be allowed to take this to
you. He is nineteen years old now, but will not live long--has been a
faithful and good lad. Laura is eighteen, and Nell nearly sixteen now.
We are now close to Courier,{*} and should see you ere long.--Your
loving and now joyful wife,--Anna Deschard.
* The native pronunciation of Kuria is like “Courier.”--
L.B.
*****
In the big _maniapa_ or council house, on Oneaka, two hundred armed
and naked savages were sitting awaiting the arrival of Corton and his
warriors from Kuria. A little apart from the muttering, excited
natives, and seated together, were the man Deschard and the two other
beachcombers, Pedro and Tamu.
As Corton and his men filed across the gravelled pathway that led to the
_maniapa_ Deschard, followed by the two other white men, at once came
out, and the former, with a fierce curse, demanded of Corton what had
kept him.
“Couldn't manage to get them ashore,” answered the other, sulkily. Then
he proceeded to impart the information he had gained as to the ship, her
crew, and armament.
“Nine men and one native boy!” said Deschard, contemptuously. He was a
tall, lean-looking, black-bearded man, with even a more terrifying and
savage appearance than any of his ruffianly partners in crime, tattooed
as he was from the back of his neck to his heels in broad, perpendicular
lines. As he fixed his keen eyes upon the countenance of Corton his
white teeth showed in a cruel smile through his tangled, unkempt
moustache.
Calling out the leading chiefs of the cutting-out party, the four
desperadoes consulted with them upon their plan of action for the attack
upon the brigantine, and then arranged for each man's work and share o
the plunder. The white men were to have the ship, but everything that
was of value to the natives and not necessary to the working of the ship
was to be given to the natives. The muskets, powder, and ball were to be
evenly divided between the whites and their allies.
Six of the native chiefs then swore by the names of their deified
ancestors to faithfully observe the murderous compact. After the ship
was taken they were to help the white men if the ship had anchored to
get her under way again.
It was the intention of Deschard and his mates to make for the East
Indies, where they would have no trouble in selling the ship to one of
the native potentates of that archipelago.
*****
At daylight the brigantine, which had been kept under easy sail during
the night, was seen to be about four miles from the land, and standing
in. Shortly after, two or three canoes, with only a few men in each, put
off from the beach at Oneaka and paddled out leisurely towards the ship.
When about a mile or so from the shore they ceased paddling, and the
captain of the brigantine saw by his glass that they were engaged in
fishing.
This was merely a device to inspire confidence in those on board the
ship.
In another hour the brigantine passed close to one of the canoes, and a
native, well tutored by past masters in the art of treachery in the part
he had to play, stood up in the canoe and held out a large fish, and in
broken English said it was a present for the captain.
Pleased at such a friendly overture, the captain put the helm down for
the canoe to come alongside. Handing the fish up over the side, the
giver clambered up himself. The three other natives in the canoe then
paddled quietly away as if under no alarm for the safety of their
comrade, and resumed their fishing.
As the ship drew into the land the mate called the captain's attention
to some eight or ten more natives who were swimming off to the ship.
“No danger from these people, sir,” he remarked; “they are more
frightened of us than we of them, I believe; and then look at the
women and girls fishing on the reef. When the women come out like that,
fearless and open-like, there isn't much to be afraid of.”
One by one the natives who were swimming reached the ship, and
apparently encouraged by the presence of the man who had boarded the
ship from the fishing canoe, they eagerly clambered up on deck, and were
soon on the most friendly terms with the crew, especially with one of
their own colour, a half-caste native boy from the island of Ambrym, in
the New Hebrides, named Maru.
This Maru was the sole survivor of the awful tragedy that followed, and
appeared to be well acquainted with the captain's object in calling
at Kuria--to pick up the man named Deschard. More than twenty years
afterwards, when speaking of the events here narrated, his eyes filled
with tears when he told of the “white lady and her two daughters” who
were passengers, and who had sat on the poop the previous day awaiting
the return of the mate's boat, and for tidings of him whom they had come
so far to find.
*****