THE CAST OF THE DIE
An hour after the white men's return, they watched from their hut the
funeral procession winding towards the gate. Some of the younger men
led the way; then followed four bearers, with the body of the dead chief
encased in his sleeping-mat. Behind marched his relatives and the whole
of the population of the enclosure, the men wearing towering
head-dresses of feathers, the women carrying small branches.
'Shall we follow?' asked Hoole.
'Perhaps the people would like it,' replied Trentham.
But when they reached the gate at the tail of the procession they were
stopped by the interpreter.
'New chief he say no come alonga,' said he. 'Me fella people say old
chief he die alonga you; all proper mad.'
'That accounts for their scowls as we came in,' remarked Trentham. 'I
suppose the medicine-man accuses us of giving the evil eye. But the new
chief, whoever he is, evidently doesn't want us to be pulled to pieces.'
'Things are going from bad to worse,' said Hoole. 'Our news won't make
them better pleased with us. I guess there 'll be trouble.'
The death of the chief and the absence of his son had in fact kindled a
slumbering spark of revolt in the Papuan community. A chief in New
Guinea at no time wields great authority over his tribe, and the
prestige of the dominant caste had already fallen low. Authority was
assumed by a cousin of the dead man, but he had no moral qualities to
support it. After the funeral, when Trentham reported to him, through
the interpreter, the capture of the outpost, his agitation bordered on
hysteria. The Papuans already connected their recent misfortunes with
the arrival of the white men, who, they declared, were in league with
the white men from the ship, and were responsible for the capture of
their leader Kafulu and the late chief's son. The disappearance of the
outpost would confirm their dark suspicions, and the fact that Meek also
had gone would seem to them proof of collusion.
Trentham offered to relieve the chief of anxiety by quitting the place
with his companions, but this suggestion only increased his distress,
and it dawned upon Trentham that he was inclined to cling to the white
men as upholders of his feebleness. How feeble he was became apparent
before Trentham left the house. A number of the Papuans came to the
outer gate and demanded an interview with their new chief. On being
admitted, their spokesman recounted the disasters that had befallen the
tribe since the strangers came, and insisted on the two younger men
being given to them for a cannibal feast. Was it not the custom, they
asked, within the memory of the elder men, for a sacrifice to be made on
the death of a chief? The victims were at hand. As for the fat man who
bore the totem mark on his shoulder, they must spare him, but being a
white man he must be sent away; let him go into the forest.
The chief was on the point of yielding, in the hope of gaining
popularity with his unruly subjects, when one of the elder patricians
interposed. The late chief had spared the white men, he said; they were
friends of Flanso, who would rightfully have succeeded his father; and
if Flanso returned he would certainly vent his wrath on any one who did
them harm. This firm stand on the part of a man of weight caused the
unstable chief to veer. With an effort to assume a firm and dignified
attitude he dismissed the deputation, who retired in undisguised
dissatisfaction and anger.
It was only after they had departed that Trentham learnt from the
interpreter what their object had been, and how their request had been
received. Watching the scene intently, he had noted the indecision of
the chief and the mischief that blazed in the eyes of the Papuans.
'I 'm afraid there 's trouble brewing,' he said on returning to his hut.
'The new chief's a man of straw; he 'll give way to the cannibals one of
these times, and then----'
'I guess we won't wait for that,' said Hoole. 'We should be no worse
off in the forest, and I vote we clear out one dark night and take our
chance.'
'What about Ephraim, sir?' asked Grinson. 'I say nothing about you two
gentlemen, but only speak for myself, and I swear I won't leave these
'ere parts without Ephraim.'
'Sure,' said Hoole. 'I 'm with you all the time. But you 'll allow it
requires a little consideration, Grinson, and my proposition is that we
all put on our thinking caps and see if we can hit on one of those
cunning plots you read of in story-books. I only wish I had a pipe.
Smoke clears the air.'
Trentham smiled; Grinson opened his tobacco-box.
'Chewing won't do the trick, I suppose, sir,' he said. 'I 've enough
twist for two quids.'
'No, no; I 've never chewed anything hotter than gum,' said Hoole.
'Keep your baccy, man. I say, it's time for our supper. They 're late
this evening. Do they keep a fast after a funeral?'
'I fancy I hear 'em coming now, sir. Maybe it's an extra spread.'
But the native brought only the food to which they were accustomed, and
of which they were heartily tired. It was dark by the time they had
finished their meal. They had no light, but they squatted on their
mats, chatting quietly until sleepiness should steal upon them. The
sounds from beyond the stockade died down as usual; it seemed, indeed,
that stillness had fallen upon the village earlier than on any previous
night. Grinson was the first to close his eyes; the other two were
still talking in low tones when a sudden commotion from the direction of
the gate caused them to spring up and rush to the doorway, where Grinson
immediately joined them. They could see nothing in the darkness, but
the cries of the two men who always stood on guard were drowned by a
chorus of savage yells. Men were heard rushing across the enclosure;
then came the whistling of spears and sharp cracks of clubs falling on
solid skulls.
'The beggars outside are attacking the stockade,' said Trentham.
''Tis rank mutiny and rebellion,' growled Grinson. 'Shall we lend a
hand, sir?'
Hoole had whipped out his revolver.
'Hold hard,' said Trentham; 'we may want that for a later occasion. I
think we had better let them fight it out. For one thing, we 're not
used to their weapons; then, if we take sides, we 're hopelessly done
with the Papuans, and shouldn't dare to show our faces among them.'
'But we 'll have to fight for our lives if they break in,' said Hoole.
'We might get away now.'
'I don't think they 'll break in. The stockade 's very stout. Don't
you think we might turn the crisis to account?'
'How do you mean?'
'Let us wait a little and see how the fight goes. Whichever side wins,
I think we may have a trump card.'
They stood listening to the din, which appeared to be concentrated in
the neighbourhood of the gate. It lasted only a few minutes. The
sentries had detected the stealthy approach of the Papuans in the nick
of time. The stockade was manned before the attack gathered force; its
stout timbers resisted all the onslaughts of the undisciplined savages,
who drew off, baffled, carrying away those who had been disabled by the
weapons of the defenders.
'Now 's the time for us to chip in,' said Trentham. 'It's clear that we
are responsible, partly at any rate, for the situation. The Papuans
suspect us of complicity with the Germans; they are angry because they
can't feast on us; and they believe it's due to us that their friends
have been captured. The present chief is no good; he 'll either give way
to them in the end, or will ultimately be beaten by sheer weight of
numbers. Nothing will restore the position but the return of the
rightful chief--that young fellow Flanso.'
'Who 's a prisoner,' remarked Hoole.
'Exactly. Well, we must rescue him and the other prisoners, including
Meek. By that means we shall please everybody.'
'You 've got a plan?'
'An idea came into my head suddenly just now when the fight was going
on. With care and luck it may work. If you like it, I 'll go and see
the chief, and we can start to-morrow.'
During the next twenty minutes the three men were engaged in an earnest
discussion. Then Trentham made his way to the chief's house, where most
of the important men of the community were assembled. Half an hour
later he returned to his friends.
'It's all right,' he said. 'By Jove! talking pidgin is the most tiring
job I know. In the morning the chief will make an oration at the gate.
He 's not at all keen on his new job, and would like to see Flanso back.
He believes the rebels will be willing to give us a chance. Then it's
up to us.'
The chief turned out to be better as an orator than as a man of
action--Cicero rather than Coriolanus, as Trentham suggested. His
speech brought about an instant change of feeling in the Papuans. If
the white men restored Kafulu and his comrades to them, they would let
bygones be bygones. If Flanso also was restored to his people, they
would dutifully accept his authority.
Two hours after sunrise the whole population, a silent throng, gathered
at the sides of the track to watch the white men start on their
enterprise. Three stalwart natives accompanied them, each of whom
carried, wound about his body, a long coil of grass rope. Grinson was
himself again.
'Good-bye, old ugly mug,' he cried as he passed the man who had
discovered his totem mark. 'Wait till the clouds roll by. Farewell,
sweet maid'--to a hideous old woman; 'for they all love Jack, and you
'll meet us coming back, and there 'll be dancing with the lasses on the
green, oh! It pleases 'em, sir,' he said, apologetically, to Trentham,
'though they don't understand, poor heathens. But I 've been told I 've
got a very good singing voice.'
'Let's hope you won't sing another tune before the day 's over,' said
Trentham.