A long sweeping curve of coast, fringed with tall plumed palms casting
wavering shadows on the yellow sand as they sway and swish softly to
the breath of the brave trade-wind that whistles through the
thickly-verdured hummocks on the weather side of the island, to die away
into a soft breath as, after passing through the belt of cocoanuts, it
faintly ripples the transparent depths of the lagoon--a broad sheet of
blue and silver stretching away from the far distant western line
of reef to the smooth, yellow beach at the foot of the palms on the
easternmost islet. And here, beneath their lofty crowns, are the brown
thatched huts of the people and the home of Lupton the trader.
*****
This is Mururea. And, if it be possible, Mururea surpasses in beauty any
other of the “cloud of islands” which, lying on the blue bosom of the
Eastern Pacific like the islands of a dream, are called by their people
the Paumotu. And these people--it is not of very long ago I speak--are a
people unto themselves. Shy and suspicious of strangers, white or brown,
and endued with that quick instinct of fear which impels untutored
minds to slay, and which we, in our civilised ignorance, call savage
treachery, they are yet kind-hearted and hospitable to those who learn
their ways and regard their customs. A tall, light-skinned, muscular
people, the men with long, straight, black hair, coiled up in a knot at
the back, and the women--the descendants of those who sailed with broken
Fletcher Christian and his comrades of the _Bounty_ in quest of a place
where to die--soft-voiced, and with big, timorous eyes.
*****
'Twas here that Ben Peese, the handsome, savagely humorous, and voluble
colleague of Captain “Bully” Hayes, the modern rover of the South
Seas, one day appeared. Lupton, with his son and two natives, were out
searching the beach of a little islet for turtles' eggs, when the boy,
who had been sent to obtain a few young drinking cocoanuts from a tree
some little distance away, called out, “_Te Pahi!_” (a ship). A few
minutes passed, and then, outlined against the narrow strip of cocoanuts
that grew on the north end of the main islet of the lagoon, Lupton saw
the sails of a schooner making for the only opening--a narrow passage on
the eastern side.
Now vessels came but rarely to Mururea, for Du Petit Thouars, the French
Admiral of the Pacific fleet, had long since closed the group to the
Sydney trading ships that once came there for pearl-shell, and Lupton
felt uneasy. The vessel belonging to the Tahitian firm for whom he
traded was not due for many months. Could the stranger be that wandering
Ishmael of the sea--Peese? Only he--or his equally daring and dreaded
colleague, Bully Hayes--would dare to sail a vessel of any size in
among the coral “mushrooms” that studded the current-swept waters of the
dangerous passage.
What did he want? And honest Frank Lupton, a quiet and industrious
trader, thought of his store of pearl-shell and felt still more
doubtful. And he knew Peese so well, the dapper, handsome little
Englishman with the pleasant voice that had in it always a ripple of
laughter--the voice and laugh that concealed his tigerish heart and
savage vindictiveness. Lupton had children too--sons and daughters--and
Peese, who looked upon women as mere articles of merchandise, would have
thought no more of carrying off the trader's two pretty daughters than
he would of “taking” a cask of oil or a basket of pearl-shell.
*****
His anxious face, paling beneath the tropic bronze of twenty years'
ocean wanderings, betrayed his feelings to the two natives who were
now pulling the boat with all their strength to gain the village, and
one--Maora, his wife's brother, a big, light-skinned man, with that
keen, hawk-like visage peculiar to the people of the eastern islands of
Polynesia, said--
“'Tis an evil day, Farani! No ship but that of the Little Man with the
Beard hath ever passed into the lagoon since the great English fighting
ship came inside” (he spoke of 1863), “for the reef hath grown and
spread out and nearly closed it. Only the Little Bearded Devil would
dare it, for he hath been here twice with the Man of the Strong Hand”
(Hayes). “And, Farani, listen! 'The hand to the club!'”
They ceased pulling. From the village came the sound of an almost
forgotten cry--a signal of danger to the dwellers under the palms--“The
hand to the club!”--meaning for the men to arm.
*****
Lupton hesitated. The natives would, he knew, stand to him to a man if
violence to or robbery of him were attempted. But to gain the village he
must needs pass close the vessel, and to pass on and not board her would
savour of cowardice--and Lupton was an Englishman, and his twenty years'
wanderings among the dangerous people of some of the islands of the
Paumotu Group had steeled his nerves to meet any danger or emergency.
So, without altering the course of the boat, he ran alongside of the
vessel--which was a brigantine--just as she was bringing to, and looking
up, he saw the face he expected.
“How are you, Lupton, my dear fellow?” said Peese, as the trader gained
the deck, wringing his hand effusively, as if he were a long-lost
brother. “By Heavens! I'm glad to meet a countryman again, and that
countryman Frank Lupton. Don't like letting your hand go.” And still
grasping the trader's rough hand in his, delicate and smooth as a
woman's, he beamed upon him with an air of infantile pleasure.
*****
This was one of Peese's peculiarities--an affectation of absolute
affection for any Englishman he met, from the captain of a man-of-war
(these, however, he avoided as much as possible), to a poor beachcomber
with but a grass girdle round his loins.
“What brings you here, Captain Peese?” said Lupton, bluntly, as his
eye sought the village, and saw the half-naked figures of his native
following leaving his house in pairs, each carrying between them
a square box, and disappearing into the _puka_ scrub. It was his
pearl-shell. Màmeri, his wife, had scented danger, and the shell at
least was safe, however it befell. Peese's glance followed his, and
the handsome little captain laughed, and slapped the gloomy-faced and
suspicious trader on the back with an air of _camaraderie_.
“My dear fellow, what an excessively suspicious woman your good Màmeri
is! But do not be alarmed. I have not come here to do any business this
time, but to land a passenger, and as soon as his traps are on the beach
I'm off again to Maga Reva. Such are the exigencies, my dear Lupton, of
a trading captain's life in the South Seas, I cannot even spare the time
to go on shore with you and enjoy the hospitality of the good Màmeri and
your two fair daughters. But come below with me and see my passenger.”
And he led the way to his cabin.
*****
The passenger's appearance, so Lupton told me, “was enough to make a
man's blood curdle,” so ghastly pale and emaciated was he. He rose as
Lupton entered and extended his hand.
“My friend here,” said the worthy little Ishmael, bowing and caressing
his long silky beard, “is, ah, hum, Mr. Brown. He is, as you will
observe, my dear Lupton, in a somewhat weak state of health, and is in
search of some retired spot where he may recuperate sufficiently----”
“Don't lie unnecessarily, sir.”
Peese bowed affably and smiled, and the stranger addressed Lupton.
“My name is not Brown--'tis of no consequence what it is; but I am,
indeed, as you see, in a bad way, with but a few months at most to live.
Captain Peese, at my request, put into this lagoon. He has told me that
the place is seldom visited by ships, and that the people do not care
about strangers. Yet, have you, Mr. Lupton, any objections to my coming
ashore here, and living out the rest of my life? I have trade goods
sufficient for all requirements, and will in no way interfere with or
become a charge upon you.”
Lupton considered. His influence with the people of Mururea was such
that he could easily overcome their objections to another white man
landing; but he had lived so long apart from all white associations that
he did not care about having the even monotony of his life disturbed.
And then, he thought, it might be some queer game concocted between the
sick man and the chattering little sea-hawk that sat beside him stroking
and fondling his flowing beard. He was about to refuse when the sunken,
eager eyes of “Mr. Brown” met his in an almost appealing look that
disarmed him of all further suspicion.
“Very well, sir. The island is as free to you as to me. But, still, I
_could_ stop any one else from living here if I wished to do so. But you
do look very ill, no mistake about that. And, then, you ain't going
to trade against me! And I suppose you'll pass me your word that there
isn't any dodge between you and the captain here to bone my shell and
clear out?”
For answer the sick man opened a despatch-box that lay on the cabin
table, and took from it a bag of money.
*****
“This,” he said, “is the sum I agreed to pay Captain Peese to land me
on any island of my choice in the Paumotu Archipelago, and this unsigned
order here is in his favour on the Maison Brander of Tahiti for a
similar sum.”
Signing the paper he pushed it with the money over to Peese, and then
went on:--
“I assure you, Mr. Lupton, that this is the only transaction I have ever
had with Captain Peese. I came to him in Tahiti, hearing he was bound to
the Paumotu Group. I had never heard of him before, and after to-day I
will not, in all human probability, see him again.”
“Perfectly correct, my dear sir,” said Peese. “And now, as our business
is finished, perhaps our dear friend, Lupton, will save me the trouble
of lowering a boat by taking you ashore in his own, which is alongside.”
Five minutes later and Lupton and the stranger were seated in the boat.
“Good-bye, my dear Lupton, and _adios_ my dear Mr. Brown. I shall
ever remember our pleasant relations on board my humble little trading
vessel,” cried the renowned Peese, who, from former associations, had a
way of drifting into the Spanish tongue--and prisons and fetters--which
latter he once wore for many a weary day on the cruiser _Hernandez
Pizarro_ on his way to the gloomy prison of Manilla.
The boat had barely traversed half the distance to the shore ere the
brigantine's anchor was hove-up and at her bows, and then Peese, with
his usual cool assurance, beat her through the intricate passage and
stood out into the long roll of the Pacific.
*****
When Lupton, with his “walking bone bag,” as he mentally called the
stranger, entered his house, Màmeri, his bulky native wife, uttered an
exclamation of pity, and placing a chair before him uttered the simple
word of welcome _Iorana!_ and the daughters, with wonder-lit star-like
eyes, knelt beside their father's chair and whispered, “Who is he,
Farani?”
And Lupton could only answer, “I don't know, and won't ask. Look to him
well.”
He never did ask. One afternoon nearly a year afterwards, as Lupton and
Trenton, the supercargo of the _Marama_ sat on an old native _marae_ at
Arupahi, the Village of Four Houses, he told the strange story of his
sick guest.
*****
The stranger had at first wished to have a house built for himself, but
Lupton's quiet place and the shy and reserved natures of his children
made him change his intention and ask Lupton for a part of his house. It
was given freely--where are there more generous-hearted men than these
world-forgotten, isolated traders?--and here the Silent Man, as the
people of Mururea called him, lived out the few months of his life. That
last deceptive stage of his insidious disease had given him a fictitious
strength. On many occasions, accompanied by the trader's children, he
would walk to the north point of the low-lying island, where the cloudy
spume of the surge was thickest and where the hollow and resonant crust
of the black reef was perforated with countless air-holes, through which
the water hissed and roared, and shot high in air, to fall again in
misty spray.
And here, with dreamy eyes, he would sit under the shade of a clump of
young cocoanuts, and watch the boil and tumble of the surf, whilst the
children played with and chased each other about the clinking sand.
Sometimes he would call them to him--Farani the boy, and Teremai and
Lorani, the sweet-voiced and tender-eyed girls--and ask them to sing
to him; and in their soft semi-Tahitian dialect they would sing the old
songs that echoed in the ears of the desperate men of the _Bounty_ that
fatal dawn when, with bare-headed, defiant Bligh drifting astern in his
boat, they headed back for Tahiti and death. *****
Four months had passed when one day the strange white man, with Lupton's
children, returned to the village. As they passed in through the doorway
with some merry chant upon their lips, they saw a native seated on the
matted floor. He was a young man, with straight, handsome features,
such as one may see any day in Eastern Polynesia, but the children,
with terrified faces, shrank aside as they passed him and went to their
father.
The pale face of the Silent Man turned inquiringly to Lupton, who
smiled.
“'Tis Màmeri's teaching, you know. She is a Catholic from Magareva, and
prays and tells her beads enough to work a whaleship's crew into heaven.
But this man is a 'Soul Catcher,' and if any one of us here got sick,
Màmeri would let the faith she was reared in go to the wall and send
for the 'Soul Catcher.' He's a kind of an all-round prophet, wizard, and
general wisdom merchant. Took over the soul-catching business from his
father--runs in the family, you know.”
“Ah!” said the Silent Man in his low, languid tones, looking at the
native, who, the moment he had entered, had bent his eyes to the
ground, “and in which of his manifold capacities has he come to see you,
Lupton?”
Lupton hesitated a moment, then laughed.
“Well, sir, he says he wants to speak to you. Wants to _pahihi_ (talk
rot), I suppose. It's his trade, you know. I'd sling him out only that
he isn't a bad sort of a fellow--and a bit mad--and Màmeri says he'll
quit as soon as he has had his say.”
“Let him talk,” said the calm, quiet voice; “I like these people, and
like to hear them talk--better than I would most white men.”
*****
Then, with his dark, dilated eyes moving from the pale face of the
white man to that of Lupton, the native wizard and Seer of Unseen Things
spoke. Then again his eyes sought the ground.
“What does he say?” queried Lupton's guest.
“D------rot,” replied the trader, angrily.
“Tell me exactly, if you please. I feel interested.”
“Well, he says that he was asleep in his house when his 'spirit voice'
awoke him and said”--here Lupton paused and looked at his guest, and
then, seeing the faint smile of amused interest on his melancholy
features, resumed, in his rough, jocular way--“and said--the 'spirit
voice,' you know--that your soul was struggling to get loose, and is
going away from you to-night. And the long and short of it is that this
young fellow here wants to know if you'll let him save it--keep you from
dying, you know. Says he'll do the job for nothing, because you're a
good man, and a friend to all the people of Mururea.”
“Mr. Brown” put his thin hand across his mouth, and his eyes smiled at
Lupton. Then some sudden, violent emotion stirred him, and he spoke
with such quick and bitter energy that Lupton half rose from his seat in
vague alarm.
“Tell him,” he said--“that is, if the language expresses it--that my
soul has been in hell these ten years, and its place filled with ruined
hopes and black despair,” and then he sank back on his couch of mats,
and turned his face to the wall.
The Seer of Unseen Things, at a sign from the now angry Lupton, rose to
his feet. As he passed the trader he whispered--
“Be not angry with me, Farani; art not thou and all thy house dear to
me, the Snarer of Souls and Keeper Away of Evil Things? And I can truly
make a snare to save the soul of the Silent Man, if he so wishes it.”
The low, impassioned tones of the wizard's voice showed him to be under
strong emotion, and Lupton, with smoothened brow, placed his hand on the
native's chest in token of amity.
“Farani,” said the wizard, “see'st thou these?” and he pointed to where,
in the open doorway, two large white butterflies hovered and fluttered.
They were a species but rarely seen in Mururea, and the natives had many
curious superstitions regarding them.
“Aye,” said the trader, “what of them?”
“Lo, they are the spirits that await the soul of him who sitteth in thy
house. One is the soul of a woman, the other of a man; and their bodies
are long ago dust in a far-off land. See, Farani, they hover and wait,
wait, wait. To-morrow they will be gone, but then another may be with
them.”
Stopping at the doorway the tall native turned, and again his strange,
full black eyes fixed upon the figure of Lupton's guest. Then slowly he
untied from a circlet of polished pieces of pearl-shell strung together
round his sinewy neck a little round leaf-wrapped bundle. And with quiet
assured step he came and stood before the strange white man and extended
his hand.
“Take it, O man, with the swift hand and the strong heart, for it is
thine.”
And then he passed slowly out.
Lupton could only see that as the outside wrappings of _fala_ leaves
fell off they revealed a black substance, when Mr. Brown quickly placed
it in the bosom of his shirt.
*****
“And sure enough,” continued Lupton, knocking the ashes from his pipe
out upon the crumbling stones of the old marae, and speaking in, for
him, strangely softened tones, “the poor chap did die that night,
leastways at _kalaga moa_ (cockcrow), and then he refilled his pipe in
silence, gazing the while away out to the North-West Point.”
*****
“What a curious story!” began the supercargo, after an interval of some
minutes, when he saw that Lupton, usually one of the merriest-hearted
wanderers that rove to and fro in Polynesia, seemed strangely silent and
affected, and had turned his face from him.
He waited in silence till the trader chose to speak again. Away to
the westward, made purple by the sunset haze of the tropics, lay the
ever-hovering spume-cloud of the reef of North-West Point--the loved
haunt of Lupton's guest--and the muffled boom of the ceaseless surf
deepened now and then as some mighty roller tumbled and crashed upon the
flat ledges of blackened reef.
*****
At last the trader turned again to the supercargo, almost restored to
his usual equanimity. “I'm a pretty rough case, Mr.------, and not much
given to any kind of sentiment or squirming, but I would give half I'm
worth to have him back again. He sort of got a pull on my feelin's the
first time he ever spoke to me, and as the days went on, I took to him
that much that if he'd a wanted to marry my little Teremai I'd have
given her to him cheerful. Not that we ever done much talkin', but he'd
sit night after night and make me talk, and when I'd spun a good hour's
yarn he'd only say, 'Thank you, Lupton, good-night,' and give a smile
all round to us, from old Màmeri to the youngest _tama_, and go to bed.
And yet he did a thing that'll go hard agin' him, I fear.”
“Ah,” said Trenton, “and so he told you at the last--I mean his reason
for coming to die at Mururea.”
“No, he didn't. He only told me something; Peese told me the rest. And
he laughed when he told me,” and the dark-faced trader struck his hand
on his knee. “Peese would laugh if he saw his mother crucified.”
“Was Peese back here again, then?” inquired Trenton.
“Yes, two months ago. He hove-to outside, and came ashore in a canoe.
Said he wanted to hear how his dear friend Brown was. He only stayed an
hour, and then cleared out again.9'
“Did he die suddenly?” the supercargo asked, his mind still bent on
Lupton's strange visitor.
“No. Just before daylight he called me to him--with my boy. He took the
boy's hand and said he'd have been glad to have lived after all. He had
been happy in a way with me and the children here in Mururea. Then he
asked to see Teremai and Lorani. They both cried when they saw he was a
goin'--all native-blooded people do that if they cares anything at all
about a white man, and sees him dyin'.”
“Have you any message, or anything to say in writin', sir?” I says to
him.
He didn't answer at once, only took the girls' hands in his, and kisses
each of 'em on the face, then he says, “No, Lupton, neither. But send
the children away now. I want you to stay with me to the last--which
will be soon.”
Then he put his hand under his pillow, and took out a tiny little
parcel, and held it in his closed hand. *****
“Mr. Lupton, I ask you before God to speak honestly. Have you, or have
you not, ever heard of me, and why I came here to die, away from the
eyes of men?”
“No, sir,” I said. “Before God I know no more of you now than the day I
first saw you.”
“Can you, then, tell me if the native soul-doctor who came here last
night is a friend of Captain Peese? Did he see Peese when I landed here?
Has he talked with him?”
“No. When you came here with Peese, the soul-seer was away at another
island. And as for talking with him, how could he? Peese can't speak two
words of Paumotu.”
He closed his eyes a minute. Then he reached out his hand to me and
said, “Look at that; what is it?”
It was the little black thing that the Man Who Sees Beyond gave him, and
was a curious affair altogether. “You know what an _aitu taliga_ is?”
asked Lupton.
“Yes; a 'devil's ear'--that's what the natives call fungus.”
*****
“Well,” continued Lupton, “this was a piece of dried fungus, and yet it
wasn't a piece of fungus. It was the exact shape of a human heart--just
as I've seen a model of it made of wax. That hadn't been its natural
shape, but the sides had been brought together and stitched with human
hair--by the soul-doctor, of course. I looked at it curiously enough,
and gave it back to him. His fingers closed round it again.”
“What is it?” he says again.
“It's a model of a human heart,” says I, “made of fungus.”
“My God!” he says, “how could he know?” Then he didn't say any more, and
in another half-hour or so he dies, quiet and gentlemanly like. I looked
for the heart with Màmeri in the morning--it was gone.
“Well, we buried him. And now look here, Mr. ------, as sure as I
believe there's a God over us, I believe that that native soul-catcher
_has_ dealings with the Devil. I had just stowed the poor chap in his
coffin and was going to nail it down when the kanaka wizard came in,
walks up to me, and says he wants to see the dead man's hand. Just to
humour him I lifted off the sheet. The soul-catcher lifted the dead
man's hands carefully, and then I'm d------d if he didn't lay that dried
heart on his chest and press the hands down over it.”
“What's that for?” says I.
“'Tis the heart of the woman he slew in her sleep. Let it lie with him,
so that there may be peace between them at last,” and then he glides
away without another word.
*****
“I let it stay, not thinking much of it at the time. Well, as I was
tellin' you, Peese came again. Seeing that I had all my people armed, I
treated him well and we had a chat, and then I told him all about 'Mr.
Brown's' death and the soul-saver and the dried heart. And then Peese
laughs and gives me this newspaper cutting. I brought it with me to show
you.”
Trenton took the piece of paper and read.
*****
“'Lester Mornington made his escape from the State prison at San Quentin
(Cal.) last week, and is stated to be now on his way either to Honolulu
or Tahiti. It has been ascertained that a vast sum of money has been
disbursed in a very systematic manner during the last few weeks to
effect his release. Although nearly eight years have elapsed since he
committed his terrible crime, the atrocious nature of it will long be
remembered. Young, wealthy, respected, and talented, he had been married
but half a year when the whole of the Pacific Slope was startled with
the intelligence that he had murdered his beautiful young wife, who had,
he found, been disloyal to him.
“'Entering the bedroom he shot his sleeping wife through the temples,
and then with a keen-edged knife had cut out her still-beating heart.
This, enclosed in a small box, he took to the house of the man who had
wronged him, and desired him to open it and look at the contents. He did
so, and Mornington, barely giving him time to realise the tragedy, and
that his perfidy was known, shot him twice, the wounds proving fatal
next day. The murderer made good his escape to Mexico, only returning to
California a month ago, when he was recognised (although disguised) and
captured, and at the time of his escape was within two days of the time
of his trial before Judge Crittenden.'”
*****
“There's always a woman in these things,” said Lupton, as the supercargo
gave him back the slip. “Come on.” And he got down from his seat on the
wall. “There's Màmeri calling us to _kaikai_--stewed pigeons. She's a
bully old cook; worth her weight in Chile dollars.”