be. It had even been a rather comfortable conversation and one that
he would be able to look back upon with kindness.
The next day, the last day, was spent in packing and leave-taking.
The news of his approaching departure was received with genuine
regret, and from everyone he met with such kind concern that it
would have been impossible not to feel gratified even if he had
wished to be above that sort of feeling. Ori, Teioa and the other
important islanders got up a farewell feast in his honour. Speeches
were made, his health was drunk, and afterwards Mr. Fortune sat on
the best mats, flushed with praise and wearing as many garlands
as a May Queen or a coffin, while presentations were made to him.
A necklace of carved sharks-teeth, bracelets of scented nuts,
mother-of-pearl earrings, several pipes, spears, paddles and carved
walking sticks, rolls of tapa and fine mats, coloured baskets,
polished bowls, sweet-meats and cosmetics, several remembrance-knots
of curiously plaited hair and charms of all sorts--these were piled
up on his lap and all around him. Only Lueli brought no gift. He
sat beside him, examining and praising the gifts of the others and
pointing out their beauties.
“I do hope he isn’t feeling out of it because he has brought no
present,” thought Mr. Fortune. “My blessed child, he is too generous
to have anything left to give. But I can’t bear to think that he
might be put out of countenance. I could almost wish----”
At that moment he became aware that Lueli was no longer by his
side. The conversation suddenly died down, there was a conscious,
premonitory pause and people were looking toward the door of the
house. They wriggled to either side, opening a sort of lane. And then
Lueli stepped over the threshold, carrying a resplendent head-dress
of straw-coloured and scarlet feathers.
Walking solemnly, with a rapt and formal face, he advanced down the
lane, bearing on high the softly-waving and coloured crown, till with
a deep bow he laid the head-dress at Mr. Fortune’s feet.
“But Lueli!” exclaimed Mr. Fortune, too much overcome for words of
thanks. “This lovely thing, this marvellous thing! Is it--can it
be----?”
“Lueli is your especial friend,” said Ori. “It is right that he
should make you the best gift.”
There was a loud hum of approval. Mr. Fortune raised the head-dress,
admired it all round, and put it on. The hum of approval swelled into
acclamations and loud cheers.
Then it was Mr. Fortune’s turn to produce gifts. He had spent most
of the forenoon going over his possessions, such as they were, and
in between spells of working on the idol he had contrived to make
an assortment of pipe-stoppers, tooth-picks, bodkins and such like
small items. With these, and the mother-of-pearl counters and almost
all his buttons he was enabled to produce a tolerable array; and
though he apologized a great deal over their inadequacy there was no
need to apologize, for the recipients were overjoyed with objects so
distinguished and far-fetched.
The knife, at once his most personal and valuable possession, was
naturally for Lueli, and so was his pipe. Ori received the magnifying
glass and his two sons the whistle and the flint-and-steel lighter
respectively. To Teioa he presented the magnet and to Mrs. Teioa
the medicine spoon. Lueli’s mother went into fits of rapture over
the measuring tape, Tekea, a handsome, rather taciturn fellow who
had helped a great deal with the new hut, was much gratified by the
nail-file, the Parnell medal was hung round Fuma’s neck and the
pencil-case round Vaili’s. The pencil sharpener he gave to Lei-lei,
village sorceress, doctoress and midwife, who declared that it would
be an invaluable asset. At the last moment he remembered Hina, the
old story-teller. He gave her the wash-leather bag.
After songs and dances the party broke up at a late hour; and still
wearing his crown Mr. Fortune walked home with Lueli by moonlight.
The other gifts he had left behind, for Ori had undertaken to see
that they were packed properly, ready for the morrow. A night-bird
was calling among the trees--a soft breathy note like an alto
flute--and the roof of the hut shone in the moonlight.
“Will you go on living here, Lueli?”
“Of course. Where else should I like to live so well?”
“I am glad. I shall know how to picture you when I am thinking of
you.”
“When I think of you I shall not know where you are.”
“Think of me here.”
As a result of the party they overslept themselves, and they were
still breakfasting when Tekea came running up to say that the launch
had been sighted. Mr. Fortune became a man of action. He knew
instantly that no one from St. Fabien could be allowed to set foot on
his island. He gave instructions to Tekea accordingly: a canoe might
go out to the reef to keep them in play, but no one was to be taken
off the launch on any account.
“What shall I tell them,” asked Tekea: “if they want to land?”
“Tell them--” What could they be told? Small-pox, tigers, taboos,
hornets in swarm; he ran over a few pretexts but nothing seemed quite
suitable. “Tell them,” he said, “tell them I say so. By the way, you
might take them out a few bananas.”
Tekea grinned. He was an understanding fellow. He ran back to the
village while Mr. Fortune and Lueli followed at a more leisurely
pace. There was nothing to delay them: Mr. Fortune was already
dressed in his European clothes, and the feather head-dress was
carefully packed in a large leafy frail. Just as they were crossing
the dell he stopped. “Wait a minute,” he said, “we never washed up
the breakfast things.”
“I can do that afterwards.”
“No, indeed! That would be dismal. We will do it now, and shake out
the mats. There is plenty of time, and if there isn’t it won’t hurt
them to wait. They’ll have the bananas to amuse them.”
Together they put all straight and tidy, folded up Mr. Fortune’s
island clothes, threw away the garlands of overnight and the unused
twigs and vines that had been plucked for the packing of the
head-dress, and removed every trace of departure. Then they set forth
for the village once more.
Everyone was out to see Mr. Fortune off and wish him good-luck. The
launch was outside the reef and his luggage was being conveyed on
board. There was a vast amount of it and it seemed even more numerous
because of the quantity of helping hands outstretched to deal with
it. It was all so exactly like what he had foreseen that he felt
as though he were in a dream: the beach, the lagoon, thronged with
excited well-wishers, canoes getting their outriggers entangled
and nearly upsetting, hands thrust out of the water to right them,
everyone laughing and exclaiming. Everyone that is, except Lueli:
Mr. Fortune had not been able to include him in his foreseeing of
the last act. He had been lively and natural at breakfast; but now
he was silent, he was pale, he was being brave. “If I say something
cheerful,” thought Mr. Fortune: “I may upset him. What shall I say?”
At the water’s edge he turned to him. “Forgive me if--” He got no
further for Lueli’s arms were flung about his neck. Mr. Fortune
gently patted him on the back.
He got into the canoe and the dream began again. The canoe manœuvred
at the opening of the reef, it dodged forward between the waves. He
stood up, he felt the sea sidle and thrust under him as the earth had
done on the night of the earthquake, the rope was thrown, he touched
the side of the launch, he was on board.
In the launch was the Secretary, grown bald and corpulent, who
immediately began to tell Mr. Fortune about the Great War, saying
that the Germans crucified Belgian children, were a disgrace to
humanity, and should be treated after the same fashion themselves.
Mr. Fortune sat listening and saying at intervals “Indeed,” and:
“How terrible!” and: “Of course I have heard nothing of all this.”
His eyes were fixed upon the coral reef where Lueli stood, poised
above the surf, and waving a green frond in farewell. As the launch
gathered speed Lueli’s figure grew smaller and smaller; at last
he was lost to sight, and soon the island of Fanua appeared to be
sinking back into the sea whence it had arisen.
Now the secretary was abusing the French; and from them he passed to
the Turks, the Italians and King Ferdinand of Bulgaria. Mr. Fortune
could not yet gather who was fighting who, still less what they were
all fighting about. However there seemed no doubt but that it was a
very comprehensive dog-fight.
“Shall I go back to Europe?” he thought. “I couldn’t fight but
perhaps I might pick up the wounded. No! I am too old to be of any
use; and besides, I have no money to pay my passage.”
The launch scurried on with a motion that might have been
described as rollicking if it had not also been so purposeful and
business-like. The paint which used to be white picked out with dark
blue was now buff picked out with chocolate. The mechanic was a new
one. He had stared at Mr. Fortune when the latter came aboard, and
now he came out of the engine house with a rag in his hand and began
polishing the brass-work, turning round at frequent intervals to have
another look at him.
“Perhaps he expected me to carry a goatskin umbrella,” thought Mr.
Fortune.
The Secretary displayed no such interest. He asked no questions
about Fanua, a negligible peaceful spot, not like Europe, not to be
compared to St. Fabien, where there was a gun-boat and a fermenting
depot for the Red Cross Fund. And as for Mr. Fortune he had known
years ago all that there was to know about him and that wasn’t much.
His conversation shifted from the wife of an ex-prime minister who
was certainly in the pay of the Germans to the proprietor of the
Pension Hibiscus who had attempted to charge for teas served to the
ladies of the Swab Committee and was probably a spy. Meanwhile the
island of Fanua was sinking deeper into the Pacific Ocean.
At last he stopped talking. Mr. Fortune knew that he ought now to
say something but he felt incapable of comment. He did not seem to
have an idea left. Everything that was real, everything that was
significant had gone down with the island of Fanua and was lost for
ever.
No. After all there was one thing he might ask, one small interest
which had been overlooked in the pillaging of his existence.
“By the by, can you tell me the exact time?”
He was an hour and twenty minutes out. A bad guess on his part. But
perhaps it was not quite such bad guessing as it now appeared to be;
for he had spent three and a half years in Fanua, and his watch
might well have lost half an hour or so in that time. It was a good
watch once; but Time will wear out even watches, and it had seen its
best days.
ENVOY
My poor Timothy, Good-bye! I do not know what will become of you.
Transcriber’s notes
Obvious typographical errors and punctuation errors have been
silently corrected after careful comparison with other occurrences
within the text and consultation of external sources. Some hyphens
in words have been silently removed and some silently added when
a predominant preference was found in the original book. Except
for those changes noted below, all misspellings in the text and
inconsistent or archaic usage have been retained.
Page 42: “again the relapsed” replaced by “against the relapsed”.
Page 73: “almost respectfuly” replaced by “almost respectfully”.
Page 90: “pretext with feeings” replaced by “pretext with
feelings”.
Page 104: “is was not possible” replaced by “it was not possible”.
Page 165: “with geat attention” replaced by “with great
attention”.
Page 217: “the fist time” replaced by “the first time”.
Page 218: “Were have you” replaced by “Where have you”.
Page 225: “may be he” replaced by “maybe he”.
Page 230: “the reaon why” replaced by “the reason why”.
Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_.
New original cover art included with this eBook is granted to the
public domain.