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diff --git a/329-h/329-h.htm b/329-h/329-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1cca4ad --- /dev/null +++ b/329-h/329-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,7031 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" +"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=utf-8" /> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Island Nights' Entertainments, by Robert Louis Stevenson</title> +<link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" /> +<style type="text/css"> + +body { margin-left: 20%; + margin-right: 20%; + text-align: justify; } + +h1, h2, h3, h4, h5 {text-align: center; font-style: normal; font-weight: +normal; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: .5em; margin-bottom: .5em;} + +h1 {font-size: 300%; + margin-top: 0.6em; + margin-bottom: 0.6em; + letter-spacing: 0.12em; + word-spacing: 0.2em; + text-indent: 0em;} +h2 {font-size: 150%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;} +h3 {font-size: 130%; margin-top: 1em;} +h4 {font-size: 120%;} +h5 {font-size: 110%;} + +.no-break {page-break-before: avoid;} /* for epubs */ + +div.chapter {page-break-before: always; margin-top: 4em;} + +hr {width: 80%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em;} + +p {text-indent: 1em; + margin-top: 0.25em; + margin-bottom: 0.25em; } + +p.letter {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +p.right {text-align: right; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +p.footnote {font-size: 90%; + text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +sup { vertical-align: top; font-size: 0.6em; } + + .citation {vertical-align: super; + font-size: .8em; + text-decoration: none;} + +div.fig { display:block; + margin:0 auto; + text-align:center; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em;} + +a:link {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:visited {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:hover {color:red} + +</style> + +</head> + +<body> + +<div style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold;'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Island Nights’ Entertainments, by Robert Louis Stevenson</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online +at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you +are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the +country where you are located before using this eBook. +</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Island Nights’ Entertainments</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Robert Louis Stevenson</div> +<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0'>Release Date: September, 1995 [eBook #329]<br /> +[Most recently updated: May 12, 2021]</div> +<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> +<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: David Price</div> +<div style='margin-top:2em;margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ISLAND NIGHTS’ ENTERTAINMENTS ***</div> + +<div class="fig" style="width:65%;"> +<img src="images/cover.jpg" style="width:100%;" alt="[Illustration]" /> +</div> + +<h1>Island Nights’ Entertainments</h1> + +<h2 class="no-break">by Robert Louis Stevenson</h2> + +<hr /> + +<h2>Contents</h2> + +<table summary="" style=""> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap01"><b>The Beach of Falesá</b></a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap02">A south sea bridal</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap03">The Ban</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap04">The Missionary</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap05">Devil-work</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap06">Night in the bush</a><br /><br /></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap07"><b>The Bottle Imp</b></a><br /><br /></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap08"><b>The Isle of voices</b></a></td> +</tr> + +</table> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap01"></a>THE BEACH OF FALESÁ.</h2> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h3><a name="chap02"></a>CHAPTER I.<br /> +A SOUTH SEA BRIDAL.</h3> + +<p> +I saw that island first when it was neither night nor morning. The moon was to +the west, setting, but still broad and bright. To the east, and right amidships +of the dawn, which was all pink, the daystar sparkled like a diamond. The land +breeze blew in our faces, and smelt strong of wild lime and vanilla: other +things besides, but these were the most plain; and the chill of it set me +sneezing. I should say I had been for years on a low island near the line, +living for the most part solitary among natives. Here was a fresh experience: +even the tongue would be quite strange to me; and the look of these woods and +mountains, and the rare smell of them, renewed my blood. +</p> + +<p> +The captain blew out the binnacle lamp. +</p> + +<p> +“There!” said he, “there goes a bit of smoke, Mr. Wiltshire, +behind the break of the reef. That’s Falesá, where your station is, the +last village to the east; nobody lives to windward—I don’t know +why. Take my glass, and you can make the houses out.” +</p> + +<p> +I took the glass; and the shores leaped nearer, and I saw the tangle of the +woods and the breach of the surf, and the brown roofs and the black insides of +houses peeped among the trees. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you catch a bit of white there to the east’ard?” the +captain continued. “That’s your house. Coral built, stands high, +verandah you could walk on three abreast; best station in the South Pacific. +When old Adams saw it, he took and shook me by the hand. ‘I’ve +dropped into a soft thing here,’ says he.—‘So you +have,’ says I, ‘and time too!’ Poor Johnny! I never saw him +again but the once, and then he had changed his tune—couldn’t get +on with the natives, or the whites, or something; and the next time we came +round there he was dead and buried. I took and put up a bit of a stick to him: +‘John Adams, <i>obit</i> eighteen and sixty-eight. Go thou and do +likewise.’ I missed that man. I never could see much harm in +Johnny.” +</p> + +<p> +“What did he die of?” I inquired. +</p> + +<p> +“Some kind of sickness,” says the captain. “It appears it +took him sudden. Seems he got up in the night, and filled up on Pain-Killer and +Kennedy’s Discovery. No go: he was booked beyond Kennedy. Then he had +tried to open a case of gin. No go again: not strong enough. Then he must have +turned to and run out on the verandah, and capsized over the rail. When they +found him, the next day, he was clean crazy—carried on all the time about +somebody watering his copra. Poor John!” +</p> + +<p> +“Was it thought to be the island?” I asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, it was thought to be the island, or the trouble, or +something,” he replied. “I never could hear but what it was a +healthy place. Our last man, Vigours, never turned a hair. He left because of +the beach—said he was afraid of Black Jack and Case and Whistling Jimmie, +who was still alive at the time, but got drowned soon afterward when drunk. As +for old Captain Randall, he’s been here any time since eighteen-forty, +forty-five. I never could see much harm in Billy, nor much change. Seems as if +he might live to be Old Kafoozleum. No, I guess it’s healthy.” +</p> + +<p> +“There’s a boat coming now,” said I. “She’s right +in the pass; looks to be a sixteen-foot whale; two white men in the stern +sheets.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s the boat that drowned Whistling Jimmie!” cried the +Captain; “let’s see the glass. Yes, that’s Case, sure enough, +and the darkie. They’ve got a gallows bad reputation, but you know what a +place the beach is for talking. My belief, that Whistling Jimmie was the worst +of the trouble; and he’s gone to glory, you see. What’ll you bet +they ain’t after gin? Lay you five to two they take six cases.” +</p> + +<p> +When these two traders came aboard I was pleased with the looks of them at +once, or, rather, with the looks of both, and the speech of one. I was sick for +white neighbours after my four years at the line, which I always counted years +of prison; getting tabooed, and going down to the Speak House to see and get it +taken off; buying gin and going on a break, and then repenting; sitting in the +house at night with the lamp for company; or walking on the beach and wondering +what kind of a fool to call myself for being where I was. There were no other +whites upon my island, and when I sailed to the next, rough customers made the +most of the society. Now to see these two when they came aboard was a pleasure. +One was a negro, to be sure; but they were both rigged out smart in striped +pyjamas and straw hats, and Case would have passed muster in a city. He was +yellow and smallish, had a hawk’s nose to his face, pale eyes, and his +beard trimmed with scissors. No man knew his country, beyond he was of English +speech; and it was clear he came of a good family and was splendidly educated. +He was accomplished too; played the accordion first-rate; and give him a piece +of string or a cork or a pack of cards, and he could show you tricks equal to +any professional. He could speak, when he chose, fit for a drawing-room; and +when he chose he could blaspheme worse than a Yankee boatswain, and talk smart +to sicken a Kanaka. The way he thought would pay best at the moment, that was +Case’s way, and it always seemed to come natural, and like as if he was +born to it. He had the courage of a lion and the cunning of a rat; and if +he’s not in hell to-day, there’s no such place. I know but one good +point to the man: that he was fond of his wife, and kind to her. She was a +Samoa woman, and dyed her hair red, Samoa style; and when he came to die (as I +have to tell of) they found one strange thing—that he had made a will, +like a Christian, and the widow got the lot: all his, they said, and all Black +Jack’s, and the most of Billy Randall’s in the bargain, for it was +Case that kept the books. So she went off home in the schooner +<i>Manu’a</i>, and does the lady to this day in her own place. +</p> + +<p> +But of all this on that first morning I knew no more than a fly. Case used me +like a gentleman and like a friend, made me welcome to Falesá, and put his +services at my disposal, which was the more helpful from my ignorance of the +native. All the better part of the day we sat drinking better acquaintance in +the cabin, and I never heard a man talk more to the point. There was no smarter +trader, and none dodgier, in the islands. I thought Falesá seemed to be the +right kind of a place; and the more I drank the lighter my heart. Our last +trader had fled the place at half an hour’s notice, taking a chance +passage in a labour ship from up west. The captain, when he came, had found the +station closed, the keys left with the native pastor, and a letter from the +runaway, confessing he was fairly frightened of his life. Since then the firm +had not been represented, and of course there was no cargo. The wind, besides, +was fair, the captain hoped he could make his next island by dawn, with a good +tide, and the business of landing my trade was gone about lively. There was no +call for me to fool with it, Case said; nobody would touch my things, everyone +was honest in Falesá, only about chickens or an odd knife or an odd stick of +tobacco; and the best I could do was to sit quiet till the vessel left, then +come straight to his house, see old Captain Randall, the father of the beach, +take pot-luck, and go home to sleep when it got dark. So it was high noon, and +the schooner was under way before I set my foot on shore at Falesá. +</p> + +<p> +I had a glass or two on board; I was just off a long cruise, and the ground +heaved under me like a ship’s deck. The world was like all new painted; +my foot went along to music; Falesá might have been Fiddler’s Green, if +there is such a place, and more’s the pity if there isn’t! It was +good to foot the grass, to look aloft at the green mountains, to see the men +with their green wreaths and the women in their bright dresses, red and blue. +On we went, in the strong sun and the cool shadow, liking both; and all the +children in the town came trotting after with their shaven heads and their +brown bodies, and raising a thin kind of a cheer in our wake, like crowing +poultry. +</p> + +<p> +“By-the-bye,” says Case, “we must get you a wife.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s so,” said I; “I had forgotten.” +</p> + +<p> +There was a crowd of girls about us, and I pulled myself up and looked among +them like a Bashaw. They were all dressed out for the sake of the ship being +in; and the women of Falesá are a handsome lot to see. If they have a fault, +they are a trifle broad in the beam; and I was just thinking so when Case +touched me. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s pretty,” says he. +</p> + +<p> +I saw one coming on the other side alone. She had been fishing; all she wore +was a chemise, and it was wetted through. She was young and very slender for an +island maid, with a long face, a high forehead, and a shy, strange, blindish +look, between a cat’s and a baby’s. +</p> + +<p> +“Who’s she?” said I. “She’ll do.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s Uma,” said Case, and he called her up and spoke to +her in the native. I didn’t know what he said; but when he was in the +midst she looked up at me quick and timid, like a child dodging a blow, then +down again, and presently smiled. She had a wide mouth, the lips and the chin +cut like any statue’s; and the smile came out for a moment and was gone. +Then she stood with her head bent, and heard Case to an end, spoke back in the +pretty Polynesian voice, looking him full in the face, heard him again in +answer, and then with an obeisance started off. I had just a share of the bow, +but never another shot of her eye, and there was no more word of smiling. +</p> + +<p> +“I guess it’s all right,” said Case. “I guess you can +have her. I’ll make it square with the old lady. You can have your pick +of the lot for a plug of tobacco,” he added, sneering. +</p> + +<p> +I suppose it was the smile stuck in my memory, for I spoke back sharp. +“She doesn’t look that sort,” I cried. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know that she is,” said Case. “I believe +she’s as right as the mail. Keeps to herself, don’t go round with +the gang, and that. O no, don’t you misunderstand me—Uma’s on +the square.” He spoke eager, I thought, and that surprised and pleased +me. “Indeed,” he went on, “I shouldn’t make so sure of +getting her, only she cottoned to the cut of your jib. All you have to do is to +keep dark and let me work the mother my own way; and I’ll bring the girl +round to the captain’s for the marriage.” +</p> + +<p> +I didn’t care for the word marriage, and I said so. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, there’s nothing to hurt in the marriage,” says he. +“Black Jack’s the chaplain.” +</p> + +<p> +By this time we had come in view of the house of these three white men; for a +negro is counted a white man, and so is a Chinese! a strange idea, but common +in the islands. It was a board house with a strip of rickety verandah. The +store was to the front, with a counter, scales, and the poorest possible +display of trade: a case or two of tinned meats; a barrel of hard bread; a few +bolts of cotton stuff, not to be compared with mine; the only thing well +represented being the contraband, firearms and liquor. “If these are my +only rivals,” thinks I, “I should do well in Falesá.” Indeed, +there was only the one way they could touch me, and that was with the guns and +drink. +</p> + +<p> +In the back room was old Captain Randall, squatting on the floor native +fashion, fat and pale, naked to the waist, grey as a badger, and his eyes set +with drink. His body was covered with grey hair and crawled over by flies; one +was in the corner of his eye—he never heeded; and the mosquitoes hummed +about the man like bees. Any clean-minded man would have had the creature out +at once and buried him; and to see him, and think he was seventy, and remember +he had once commanded a ship, and come ashore in his smart togs, and talked big +in bars and consulates, and sat in club verandahs, turned me sick and sober. +</p> + +<p> +He tried to get up when I came in, but that was hopeless; so he reached me a +hand instead, and stumbled out some salutation. +</p> + +<p> +“Papa’s <a name="citation1"></a><a href="#footnote1" +class="citation">[1]</a> pretty full this morning,” observed Case. +“We’ve had an epidemic here; and Captain Randall takes gin for a +prophylactic—don’t you, Papa?” +</p> + +<p> +“Never took such a thing in my life!” cried the captain +indignantly. “Take gin for my health’s sake, Mr. +Wha’s-ever-your-name—’s a precautionary measure.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s all right, Papa,” said Case. “But you’ll +have to brace up. There’s going to be a marriage—Mr. Wiltshire here +is going to get spliced.” +</p> + +<p> +The old man asked to whom. +</p> + +<p> +“To Uma,” said Case. +</p> + +<p> +“Uma!” cried the captain. “Wha’s he want Uma for? +’s he come here for his health, anyway? Wha’ ’n hell’s +he want Uma for?” +</p> + +<p> +“Dry up, Papa,” said Case. “’Tain’t you +that’s to marry her. I guess you’re not her godfather and +godmother. I guess Mr. Wiltshire’s going to please himself.” +</p> + +<p> +With that he made an excuse to me that he must move about the marriage, and +left me alone with the poor wretch that was his partner and (to speak truth) +his gull. Trade and station belonged both to Randall; Case and the negro were +parasites; they crawled and fed upon him like the flies, he none the wiser. +Indeed, I have no harm to say of Billy Randall beyond the fact that my gorge +rose at him, and the time I now passed in his company was like a nightmare. +</p> + +<p> +The room was stifling hot and full of flies; for the house was dirty and low +and small, and stood in a bad place, behind the village, in the borders of the +bush, and sheltered from the trade. The three men’s beds were on the +floor, and a litter of pans and dishes. There was no standing furniture; +Randall, when he was violent, tearing it to laths. There I sat and had a meal +which was served us by Case’s wife; and there I was entertained all day +by that remains of man, his tongue stumbling among low old jokes and long old +stories, and his own wheezy laughter always ready, so that he had no sense of +my depression. He was nipping gin all the while. Sometimes he fell asleep, and +awoke again, whimpering and shivering, and every now and again he would ask me +why I wanted to marry Uma. “My friend,” I was telling myself all +day, “you must not come to be an old gentleman like this.” +</p> + +<p> +It might be four in the afternoon, perhaps, when the back door was thrust +slowly open, and a strange old native woman crawled into the house almost on +her belly. She was swathed in black stuff to her heels; her hair was grey in +swatches; her face was tattooed, which was not the practice in that island; her +eyes big and bright and crazy. These she fixed upon me with a rapt expression +that I saw to be part acting. She said no plain word, but smacked and mumbled +with her lips, and hummed aloud, like a child over its Christmas pudding. She +came straight across the house, heading for me, and, as soon as she was +alongside, caught up my hand and purred and crooned over it like a great cat. +From this she slipped into a kind of song. +</p> + +<p> +“Who the devil’s this?” cried I, for the thing startled me. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s Fa’avao,” says Randall; and I saw he had hitched +along the floor into the farthest corner. +</p> + +<p> +“You ain’t afraid of her?” I cried. +</p> + +<p> +“Me ’fraid!” cried the captain. “My dear friend, I defy +her! I don’t let her put her foot in here, only I suppose ’s +different to-day, for the marriage. ’s Uma’s mother.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, suppose it is; what’s she carrying on about?” I asked, +more irritated, perhaps more frightened, than I cared to show; and the captain +told me she was making up a quantity of poetry in my praise because I was to +marry Uma. “All right, old lady,” says I, with rather a failure of +a laugh, “anything to oblige. But when you’re done with my hand, +you might let me know.” +</p> + +<p> +She did as though she understood; the song rose into a cry, and stopped; the +woman crouched out of the house the same way that she came in, and must have +plunged straight into the bush, for when I followed her to the door she had +already vanished. +</p> + +<p> +“These are rum manners,” said I. +</p> + +<p> +“’s a rum crowd,” said the captain, and, to my surprise, he +made the sign of the cross on his bare bosom. +</p> + +<p> +“Hillo!” says I, “are you a Papist?” +</p> + +<p> +He repudiated the idea with contempt. “Hard-shell Baptis’,” +said he. “But, my dear friend, the Papists got some good ideas too; and +tha’ ’s one of ’em. You take my advice, and whenever you come +across Uma or Fa’avao or Vigours, or any of that crowd, you take a leaf +out o’ the priests, and do what I do. Savvy?” says he, repeated the +sign, and winked his dim eye at me. “No, <i>sir</i>!” he broke out +again, “no Papists here!” and for a long time entertained me with +his religious opinions. +</p> + +<p> +I must have been taken with Uma from the first, or I should certainly have fled +from that house, and got into the clean air, and the clean sea, or some +convenient river—though, it’s true, I was committed to Case; and, +besides, I could never have held my head up in that island if I had run from a +girl upon my wedding-night. +</p> + +<p> +The sun was down, the sky all on fire, and the lamp had been some time lighted, +when Case came back with Uma and the negro. She was dressed and scented; her +kilt was of fine tapa, looking richer in the folds than any silk; her bust, +which was of the colour of dark honey, she wore bare only for some half a dozen +necklaces of seeds and flowers; and behind her ears and in her hair she had the +scarlet flowers of the hibiscus. She showed the best bearing for a bride +conceivable, serious and still; and I thought shame to stand up with her in +that mean house and before that grinning negro. I thought shame, I say; for the +mountebank was dressed with a big paper collar, the book he made believe to +read from was an odd volume of a novel, and the words of his service not fit to +be set down. My conscience smote me when we joined hands; and when she got her +certificate I was tempted to throw up the bargain and confess. Here is the +document. It was Case that wrote it, signatures and all, in a leaf out of the +ledger:— +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +This is to certify that Uma, daughter of Fa’avao of Falesá, Island of +——, is illegally married to Mr. John Wiltshire for one week, and +Mr. John Wiltshire is at liberty to send her to hell when he pleases. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +J<small>OHN</small> B<small>LACKAMOAR</small>.<br /> +Chaplain to the hulks. +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +Extracted from the Register<br /> +by William T. Randall,<br /> +Master Mariner. +</p> + +<p> +A nice paper to put in a girl’s hand and see her hide away like gold. A +man might easily feel cheap for less. But it was the practice in these parts, +and (as I told myself) not the least the fault of us white men, but of the +missionaries. If they had let the natives be, I had never needed this +deception, but taken all the wives I wished, and left them when I pleased, with +a clear conscience. +</p> + +<p> +The more ashamed I was, the more hurry I was in to be gone; and our desires +thus jumping together, I made the less remark of a change in the traders. Case +had been all eagerness to keep me; now, as though he had attained a purpose, he +seemed all eagerness to have me go. Uma, he said, could show me to my house, +and the three bade us farewell indoors. +</p> + +<p> +The night was nearly come; the village smelt of trees and flowers and the sea +and bread-fruit-cooking; there came a fine roll of sea from the reef, and from +a distance, among the woods and houses, many pretty sounds of men and children. +It did me good to breathe free air; it did me good to be done with the captain +and see, instead, the creature at my side. I felt for all the world as though +she were some girl at home in the Old Country, and, forgetting myself for the +minute, took her hand to walk with. Her fingers nestled into mine, I heard her +breathe deep and quick, and all at once she caught my hand to her face and +pressed it there. “You good!” she cried, and ran ahead of me, and +stopped and looked back and smiled, and ran ahead of me again, thus guiding me +through the edge of the bush, and by a quiet way to my own house. +</p> + +<p> +The truth is, Case had done the courting for me in style—told her I was +mad to have her, and cared nothing for the consequence; and the poor soul, +knowing that which I was still ignorant of, believed it, every word, and had +her head nigh turned with vanity and gratitude. Now, of all this I had no +guess; I was one of those most opposed to any nonsense about native women, +having seen so many whites eaten up by their wives’ relatives, and made +fools of in the bargain; and I told myself I must make a stand at once, and +bring her to her bearings. But she looked so quaint and pretty as she ran away +and then awaited me, and the thing was done so like a child or a kind dog, that +the best I could do was just to follow her whenever she went on, to listen for +the fall of her bare feet, and to watch in the dusk for the shining of her +body. And there was another thought came in my head. She played kitten with me +now when we were alone; but in the house she had carried it the way a countess +might, so proud and humble. And what with her dress—for all there was so +little of it, and that native enough—what with her fine tapa and fine +scents, and her red flowers and seeds, that were quite as bright as jewels, +only larger—it came over me she was a kind of countess really, dressed to +hear great singers at a concert, and no even mate for a poor trader like +myself. +</p> + +<p> +She was the first in the house; and while I was still without I saw a match +flash and the lamplight kindle in the windows. The station was a wonderful fine +place, coral built, with quite a wide verandah, and the main room high and +wide. My chests and cases had been piled in, and made rather of a mess; and +there, in the thick of the confusion, stood Uma by the table, awaiting me. Her +shadow went all the way up behind her into the hollow of the iron roof; she +stood against it bright, the lamplight shining on her skin. I stopped in the +door, and she looked at me, not speaking, with eyes that were eager and yet +daunted; then she touched herself on the bosom. +</p> + +<p> +“Me—your wifie,” she said. It had never taken me like that +before; but the want of her took and shook all through me, like the wind in the +luff of a sail. +</p> + +<p> +I could not speak if I had wanted; and if I could, I would not. I was ashamed +to be so much moved about a native, ashamed of the marriage too, and the +certificate she had treasured in her kilt; and I turned aside and made believe +to rummage among my cases. The first thing I lighted on was a case of gin, the +only one that I had brought; and, partly for the girl’s sake, and partly +for horror of the recollections of old Randall, took a sudden resolve. I prized +the lid off. One by one I drew the bottles with a pocket corkscrew, and sent +Uma out to pour the stuff from the verandah. +</p> + +<p> +She came back after the last, and looked at me puzzled like. +</p> + +<p> +“No good,” said I, for I was now a little better master of my +tongue. “Man he drink, he no good.” +</p> + +<p> +She agreed with this, but kept considering. “Why you bring him?” +she asked presently. “Suppose you no want drink, you no bring him, I +think.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s all right,” said I. “One time I want drink too +much; now no want. You see, I no savvy I get one little wifie. Suppose I drink +gin, my little wifie he ’fraid.” +</p> + +<p> +To speak to her kindly was about more than I was fit for; I had made my vow I +would never let on to weakness with a native, and I had nothing for it but to +stop. +</p> + +<p> +She stood looking gravely down at me where I sat by the open case. “I +think you good man,” she said. And suddenly she had fallen before me on +the floor. “I belong you all-e-same pig!” she cried. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h3><a name="chap03"></a>CHAPTER II.<br /> +THE BAN.</h3> + +<p> +I came on the verandah just before the sun rose on the morrow. My house was the +last on the east; there was a cape of woods and cliffs behind that hid the +sunrise. To the west, a swift cold river ran down, and beyond was the green of +the village, dotted with cocoa-palms and breadfruits and houses. The shutters +were some of them down and some open; I saw the mosquito bars still stretched, +with shadows of people new-awakened sitting up inside; and all over the green +others were stalking silent, wrapped in their many-coloured sleeping clothes +like Bedouins in Bible pictures. It was mortal still and solemn and chilly, and +the light of the dawn on the lagoon was like the shining of a fire. +</p> + +<p> +But the thing that troubled me was nearer hand. Some dozen young men and +children made a piece of a half-circle, flanking my house: the river divided +them, some were on the near side, some on the far, and one on a boulder in the +midst; and they all sat silent, wrapped in their sheets, and stared at me and +my house as straight as pointer dogs. I thought it strange as I went out. When +I had bathed and come back again, and found them all there, and two or three +more along with them, I thought it stranger still. What could they see to gaze +at in my house, I wondered, and went in. +</p> + +<p> +But the thought of these starers stuck in my mind, and presently I came out +again. The sun was now up, but it was still behind the cape of woods. Say a +quarter of an hour had come and gone. The crowd was greatly increased, the far +bank of the river was lined for quite a way—perhaps thirty grown folk, +and of children twice as many, some standing, some squatted on the ground, and +all staring at my house. I have seen a house in a South Sea village thus +surrounded, but then a trader was thrashing his wife inside, and she singing +out. Here was nothing: the stove was alight, the smoke going up in a Christian +manner; all was shipshape and Bristol fashion. To be sure, there was a stranger +come, but they had a chance to see that stranger yesterday, and took it quiet +enough. What ailed them now? I leaned my arms on the rail and stared back. +Devil a wink they had in them! Now and then I could see the children chatter, +but they spoke so low not even the hum of their speaking came my length. The +rest were like graven images: they stared at me, dumb and sorrowful, with their +bright eyes; and it came upon me things would look not much different if I were +on the platform of the gallows, and these good folk had come to see me hanged. +</p> + +<p> +I felt I was getting daunted, and began to be afraid I looked it, which would +never do. Up I stood, made believe to stretch myself, came down the verandah +stair, and strolled towards the river. There went a short buzz from one to the +other, like what you hear in theatres when the curtain goes up; and some of the +nearest gave back the matter of a pace. I saw a girl lay one hand on a young +man and make a gesture upward with the other; at the same time she said +something in the native with a gasping voice. Three little boys sat beside my +path, where I must pass within three feet of them. Wrapped in their sheets, +with their shaved heads and bits of top-knots, and queer faces, they looked +like figures on a chimney-piece. Awhile they sat their ground, solemn as +judges. I came up hand over fist, doing my five knots, like a man that meant +business; and I thought I saw a sort of a wink and gulp in the three faces. +Then one jumped up (he was the farthest off) and ran for his mammy. The other +two, trying to follow suit, got foul, came to ground together bawling, wriggled +right out of their sheets mother-naked, and in a moment there were all three of +them scampering for their lives and singing out like pigs. The natives, who +would never let a joke slip, even at a burial, laughed and let up, as short as +a dog’s bark. +</p> + +<p> +They say it scares a man to be alone. No such thing. What scares him in the +dark or the high bush is that he can’t make sure, and there might be an +army at his elbow. What scares him worst is to be right in the midst of a +crowd, and have no guess of what they’re driving at. When that laugh +stopped, I stopped too. The boys had not yet made their offing, they were still +on the full stretch going the one way, when I had already gone about ship and +was sheering off the other. Like a fool I had come out, doing my five knots; +like a fool I went back again. It must have been the funniest thing to see, and +what knocked me silly, this time no one laughed; only one old woman gave a kind +of pious moan, the way you have heard Dissenters in their chapels at the +sermon. +</p> + +<p> +“I never saw such fools of Kanakas as your people here,” I said +once to Uma, glancing out of the window at the starers. +</p> + +<p> +“Savvy nothing,” says Uma, with a kind of disgusted air that she +was good at. +</p> + +<p> +And that was all the talk we had upon the matter, for I was put out, and Uma +took the thing so much as a matter of course that I was fairly ashamed. +</p> + +<p> +All day, off and on, now fewer and now more, the fools sat about the west end +of my house and across the river, waiting for the show, whatever that +was—fire to come down from heaven, I suppose, and consume me, bones and +baggage. But by evening, like real islanders, they had wearied of the business, +and got away, and had a dance instead in the big house of the village, where I +heard them singing and clapping hands till, maybe, ten at night, and the next +day it seemed they had forgotten I existed. If fire had come down from heaven +or the earth opened and swallowed me, there would have been nobody to see the +sport or take the lesson, or whatever you like to call it. But I was to find +they hadn’t forgot either, and kept an eye lifting for phenomena over my +way. +</p> + +<p> +I was hard at it both these days getting my trade in order and taking stock of +what Vigours had left. This was a job that made me pretty sick, and kept me +from thinking on much else. Ben had taken stock the trip before—I knew I +could trust Ben—but it was plain somebody had been making free in the +meantime. I found I was out by what might easily cover six months’ salary +and profit, and I could have kicked myself all round the village to have been +such a blamed ass, sitting boozing with that Case instead of attending to my +own affairs and taking stock. +</p> + +<p> +However, there’s no use crying over spilt milk. It was done now, and +couldn’t be undone. All I could do was to get what was left of it, and my +new stuff (my own choice) in order, to go round and get after the rats and +cockroaches, and to fix up that store regular Sydney style. A fine show I made +of it; and the third morning when I had lit my pipe and stood in the door-way +and looked in, and turned and looked far up the mountain and saw the cocoanuts +waving and posted up the tons of copra, and over the village green and saw the +island dandies and reckoned up the yards of print they wanted for their kilts +and dresses, I felt as if I was in the right place to make a fortune, and go +home again and start a public-house. There was I, sitting in that verandah, in +as handsome a piece of scenery as you could find, a splendid sun, and a fine +fresh healthy trade that stirred up a man’s blood like sea-bathing; and +the whole thing was clean gone from me, and I was dreaming England, which is, +after all, a nasty, cold, muddy hole, with not enough light to see to read by; +and dreaming the looks of my public, by a cant of a broad high-road like an +avenue, and with the sign on a green tree. +</p> + +<p> +So much for the morning, but the day passed and the devil anyone looked near +me, and from all I knew of natives in other islands I thought this strange. +People laughed a little at our firm and their fine stations, and at this +station of Falesá in particular; all the copra in the district wouldn’t +pay for it (I had heard them say) in fifty years, which I supposed was an +exaggeration. But when the day went, and no business came at all, I began to +get downhearted; and, about three in the afternoon, I went out for a stroll to +cheer me up. On the green I saw a white man coming with a cassock on, by which +and by the face of him I knew he was a priest. He was a good-natured old soul +to look at, gone a little grizzled, and so dirty you could have written with +him on a piece of paper. +</p> + +<p> +“Good day, sir,” said I. +</p> + +<p> +He answered me eagerly in native. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t you speak any English?” said I. +</p> + +<p> +“French,” says he. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said I, “I’m sorry, but I can’t do +anything there.” +</p> + +<p> +He tried me awhile in the French, and then again in native, which he seemed to +think was the best chance. I made out he was after more than passing the time +of day with me, but had something to communicate, and I listened the harder. I +heard the names of Adams and Case and of Randall—Randall the +oftenest—and the word “poison,” or something like it, and a +native word that he said very often. I went home, repeating it to myself. +</p> + +<p> +“What does fussy-ocky mean?” I asked of Uma, for that was as near +as I could come to it. +</p> + +<p> +“Make dead,” said she. +</p> + +<p> +“The devil it does!” says I. “Did ever you hear that Case had +poisoned Johnnie Adams?” +</p> + +<p> +“Every man he savvy that,” says Uma, scornful-like. “Give him +white sand—bad sand. He got the bottle still. Suppose he give you gin, +you no take him.” +</p> + +<p> +Now I had heard much the same sort of story in other islands, and the same +white powder always to the front, which made me think the less of it. For all +that, I went over to Randall’s place to see what I could pick up, and +found Case on the doorstep, cleaning a gun. +</p> + +<p> +“Good shooting here?” says I. +</p> + +<p> +“A 1,” says he. “The bush is full of all kinds of birds. I +wish copra was as plenty,” says he—I thought, +slyly—“but there don’t seem anything doing.” +</p> + +<p> +I could see Black Jack in the store, serving a customer. +</p> + +<p> +“That looks like business, though,” said I. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s the first sale we’ve made in three weeks,” said +he. +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t tell me?” says I. “Three weeks? Well, +well.” +</p> + +<p> +“If you don’t believe me,” he cries, a little hot, “you +can go and look at the copra-house. It’s half empty to this blessed +hour.” +</p> + +<p> +“I shouldn’t be much the better for that, you see,” says I. +“For all I can tell, it might have been whole empty yesterday.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s so,” says he, with a bit of a laugh. +</p> + +<p> +“By-the-bye,” I said, “what sort of a party is that priest? +Seems rather a friendly sort.” +</p> + +<p> +At this Case laughed right out loud. “Ah!” says he, “I see +what ails you now. Galuchet’s been at you.”—<i>Father +Galoshes</i> was the name he went by most, but Case always gave it the French +quirk, which was another reason we had for thinking him above the common. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I have seen him,” I says. “I made out he didn’t +think much of your Captain Randall.” +</p> + +<p> +“That he don’t!” says Case. “It was the trouble about +poor Adams. The last day, when he lay dying, there was young Buncombe round. +Ever met Buncombe?” +</p> + +<p> +I told him no. +</p> + +<p> +“He’s a cure, is Buncombe!” laughs Case. “Well, +Buncombe took it in his head that, as there was no other clergyman about, bar +Kanaka pastors, we ought to call in Father Galuchet, and have the old man +administered and take the sacrament. It was all the same to me, you may +suppose; but I said I thought Adams was the fellow to consult. He was jawing +away about watered copra and a sight of foolery. ‘Look here,’ I +said, ‘you’re pretty sick. Would you like to see Galoshes?’ +He sat right up on his elbow. ‘Get the priest,’ says he, ‘get +the priest; don’t let me die here like a dog!’ He spoke kind of +fierce and eager, but sensible enough. There was nothing to say against that, +so we sent and asked Galuchet if he would come. You bet he would. He jumped in +his dirty linen at the thought of it. But we had reckoned without Papa. +He’s a hard-shell Baptist, is Papa; no Papists need apply. And he took +and locked the door. Buncombe told him he was bigoted, and I thought he would +have had a fit. ‘Bigoted!’ he says. ‘Me bigoted? Have I lived +to hear it from a jackanapes like you?’ And he made for Buncombe, and I +had to hold them apart; and there was Adams in the middle, gone luny again, and +carrying on about copra like a born fool. It was good as the play, and I was +about knocked out of time with laughing, when all of a sudden Adams sat up, +clapped his hands to his chest, and went into the horrors. He died hard, did +John Adams,” says Case, with a kind of a sudden sternness. +</p> + +<p> +“And what became of the priest?” I asked. +</p> + +<p> +“The priest?” says Case. “O! he was hammering on the door +outside, and crying on the natives to come and beat it in, and singing out it +was a soul he wished to save, and that. He was in a rare taking, was the +priest. But what would you have? Johnny had slipped his cable; no more Johnny +in the market; and the administration racket clean played out. Next thing, word +came to Randall the priest was praying upon Johnny’s grave. Papa was +pretty full, and got a club, and lit out straight for the place, and there was +Galoshes on his knees, and a lot of natives looking on. You wouldn’t +think Papa cared—that much about anything, unless it was liquor; but he +and the priest stuck to it two hours, slanging each other in native, and every +time Galoshes tried to kneel down Papa went for him with the club. There never +were such larks in Falesá. The end of it was that Captain Randall knocked over +with some kind of a fit or stroke, and the priest got in his goods after all. +But he was the angriest priest you ever heard of, and complained to the chiefs +about the outrage, as he called it. That was no account, for our chiefs are +Protestant here; and, anyway, he had been making trouble about the drum for +morning school, and they were glad to give him a wipe. Now he swears old +Randall gave Adams poison or something, and when the two meet they grin at each +other like baboons.” +</p> + +<p> +He told this story as natural as could be, and like a man that enjoyed the fun; +though, now I come to think of it after so long, it seems rather a sickening +yarn. However, Case never set up to be soft, only to be square and hearty, and +a man all round; and, to tell the truth, he puzzled me entirely. +</p> + +<p> +I went home and asked Uma if she were a Popey, which I had made out to be the +native word for Catholics. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>E le ai</i>!” says she. She always used the native when she +meant “no” more than usually strong, and, indeed, there’s +more of it. “No good Popey,” she added. +</p> + +<p> +Then I asked her about Adams and the priest, and she told me much the same yarn +in her own way. So that I was left not much farther on, but inclined, upon the +whole, to think the bottom of the matter was the row about the sacrament, and +the poisoning only talk. +</p> + +<p> +The next day was a Sunday, when there was no business to be looked for. Uma +asked me in the morning if I was going to “pray”; I told her she +bet not, and she stopped home herself with no more words. I thought this seemed +unlike a native, and a native woman, and a woman that had new clothes to show +off; however, it suited me to the ground, and I made the less of it. The queer +thing was that I came next door to going to church after all, a thing I’m +little likely to forget. I had turned out for a stroll, and heard the hymn tune +up. You know how it is. If you hear folk singing, it seems to draw you; and +pretty soon I found myself alongside the church. It was a little long low +place, coral built, rounded off at both ends like a whale-boat, a big native +roof on the top of it, windows without sashes and doorways without doors. I +stuck my head into one of the windows, and the sight was so new to me—for +things went quite different in the islands I was acquainted with—that I +stayed and looked on. The congregation sat on the floor on mats, the women on +one side, the men on the other, all rigged out to kill—the women with +dresses and trade hats, the men in white jackets and shirts. The hymn was over; +the pastor, a big buck Kanaka, was in the pulpit, preaching for his life; and +by the way he wagged his hand, and worked his voice, and made his points, and +seemed to argue with the folk, I made out he was a gun at the business. Well, +he looked up suddenly and caught my eye, and I give you my word he staggered in +the pulpit; his eyes bulged out of his head, his hand rose and pointed at me +like as if against his will, and the sermon stopped right there. +</p> + +<p> +It isn’t a fine thing to say for yourself, but I ran away; and if the +same kind of a shock was given me, I should run away again to-morrow. To see +that palavering Kanaka struck all of a heap at the mere sight of me gave me a +feeling as if the bottom had dropped out of the world. I went right home, and +stayed there, and said nothing. You might think I would tell Uma, but that was +against my system. You might have thought I would have gone over and consulted +Case; but the truth was I was ashamed to speak of such a thing, I thought +everyone would blurt out laughing in my face. So I held my tongue, and thought +all the more; and the more I thought, the less I liked the business. +</p> + +<p> +By Monday night I got it clearly in my head I must be tabooed. A new store to +stand open two days in a village and not a man or woman come to see the trade +was past believing. +</p> + +<p> +“Uma,” said I, “I think I’m tabooed.” +</p> + +<p> +“I think so,” said she. +</p> + +<p> +I thought awhile whether I should ask her more, but it’s a bad idea to +set natives up with any notion of consulting them, so I went to Case. It was +dark, and he was sitting alone, as he did mostly, smoking on the stairs. +</p> + +<p> +“Case,” said I, “here’s a queer thing. I’m +tabooed.” +</p> + +<p> +“O, fudge!” says he; “’tain’t the practice in +these islands.” +</p> + +<p> +“That may be, or it mayn’t,” said I. “It’s the +practice where I was before. You can bet I know what it’s like; and I +tell it you for a fact, I’m tabooed.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said he, “what have you been doing?” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s what I want to find out,” said I. +</p> + +<p> +“O, you can’t be,” said he; “it ain’t possible. +However, I’ll tell you what I’ll do. Just to put your mind at rest, +I’ll go round and find out for sure. Just you waltz in and talk to +Papa.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you,” I said, “I’d rather stay right out here on +the verandah. Your house is so close.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll call Papa out here, then,” says he. +</p> + +<p> +“My dear fellow,” I says, “I wish you wouldn’t. The +fact is, I don’t take to Mr. Randall.” +</p> + +<p> +Case laughed, took a lantern from the store, and set out into the village. He +was gone perhaps a quarter of an hour, and he looked mighty serious when he +came back. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said he, clapping down the lantern on the verandah steps, +“I would never have believed it. I don’t know where the impudence +of these Kanakas ’ll go next; they seem to have lost all idea of respect +for whites. What we want is a man-of-war—a German, if we could—they +know how to manage Kanakas.” +</p> + +<p> +“I <i>am</i> tabooed, then?” I cried. +</p> + +<p> +“Something of the sort,” said he. “It’s the worst thing +of the kind I’ve heard of yet. But I’ll stand by you, Wiltshire, +man to man. You come round here to-morrow about nine, and we’ll have it +out with the chiefs. They’re afraid of me, or they used to be; but their +heads are so big by now, I don’t know what to think. Understand me, +Wiltshire; I don’t count this your quarrel,” he went on, with a +great deal of resolution, “I count it all of our quarrel, I count it the +White Man’s Quarrel, and I’ll stand to it through thick and thin, +and there’s my hand on it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Have you found out what’s the reason?” I asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Not yet,” said Case. “But we’ll fix them down +to-morrow.” +</p> + +<p> +Altogether I was pretty well pleased with his attitude, and almost more the +next day, when we met to go before the chiefs, to see him so stern and +resolved. The chiefs awaited us in one of their big oval houses, which was +marked out to us from a long way off by the crowd about the eaves, a hundred +strong if there was one—men, women, and children. Many of the men were on +their way to work and wore green wreaths, and it put me in thoughts of the 1st +of May at home. This crowd opened and buzzed about the pair of us as we went +in, with a sudden angry animation. Five chiefs were there; four mighty stately +men, the fifth old and puckered. They sat on mats in their white kilts and +jackets; they had fans in their hands, like fine ladies; and two of the younger +ones wore Catholic medals, which gave me matter of reflection. Our place was +set, and the mats laid for us over against these grandees, on the near side of +the house; the midst was empty; the crowd, close at our backs, murmured and +craned and jostled to look on, and the shadows of them tossed in front of us on +the clean pebbles of the floor. I was just a hair put out by the excitement of +the commons, but the quiet civil appearance of the chiefs reassured me, all the +more when their spokesman began and made a long speech in a low tone of voice, +sometimes waving his hand towards Case, sometimes toward me, and sometimes +knocking with his knuckles on the mat. One thing was clear: there was no sign +of anger in the chiefs. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s he been saying?” I asked, when he had done. +</p> + +<p> +“O, just that they’re glad to see you, and they understand by me +you wish to make some kind of complaint, and you’re to fire away, and +they’ll do the square thing.” +</p> + +<p> +“It took a precious long time to say that,” said I. +</p> + +<p> +“O, the rest was sawder and <i>bonjour</i> and that,” said Case. +“You know what Kanakas are.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, they don’t get much <i>bonjour</i> out of me,” said I. +“You tell them who I am. I’m a white man, and a British subject, +and no end of a big chief at home; and I’ve come here to do them good, +and bring them civilisation; and no sooner have I got my trade sorted out than +they go and taboo me, and no one dare come near my place! Tell them I +don’t mean to fly in the face of anything legal; and if what they +want’s a present, I’ll do what’s fair. I don’t blame +any man looking out for himself, tell them, for that’s human nature; but +if they think they’re going to come any of their native ideas over me, +they’ll find themselves mistaken. And tell them plain that I demand the +reason of this treatment as a white man and a British subject.” +</p> + +<p> +That was my speech. I know how to deal with Kanakas: give them plain sense and +fair dealing, and—I’ll do them that much justice—they knuckle +under every time. They haven’t any real government or any real law, +that’s what you’ve got to knock into their heads; and even if they +had, it would be a good joke if it was to apply to a white man. It would be a +strange thing if we came all this way and couldn’t do what we pleased. +The mere idea has always put my monkey up, and I rapped my speech out pretty +big. Then Case translated it—or made believe to, rather—and the +first chief replied, and then a second, and a third, all in the same style, +easy and genteel, but solemn underneath. Once a question was put to Case, and +he answered it, and all hands (both chiefs and commons) laughed out aloud, and +looked at me. Last of all, the puckered old fellow and the big young chief that +spoke first started in to put Case through a kind of catechism. Sometimes I +made out that Case was trying to fence, and they stuck to him like hounds, and +the sweat ran down his face, which was no very pleasant sight to me, and at +some of his answers the crowd moaned and murmured, which was a worse hearing. +It’s a cruel shame I knew no native, for (as I now believe) they were +asking Case about my marriage, and he must have had a tough job of it to clear +his feet. But leave Case alone; he had the brains to run a parliament. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, is that all?” I asked, when a pause came. +</p> + +<p> +“Come along,” says he, mopping his face; “I’ll tell you +outside.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you mean they won’t take the taboo off?” I cried. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s something queer,” said he. “I’ll tell you +outside. Better come away.” +</p> + +<p> +“I won’t take it at their hands,” cried I. “I +ain’t that kind of a man. You don’t find me turn my back on a +parcel of Kanakas.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’d better,” said Case. +</p> + +<p> +He looked at me with a signal in his eye; and the five chiefs looked at me +civilly enough, but kind of pointed; and the people looked at me and craned and +jostled. I remembered the folks that watched my house, and how the pastor had +jumped in his pulpit at the bare sight of me; and the whole business seemed so +out of the way that I rose and followed Case. The crowd opened again to let us +through, but wider than before, the children on the skirts running and singing +out, and as we two white men walked away they all stood and watched us. +</p> + +<p> +“And now,” said I, “what is all this about?” +</p> + +<p> +“The truth is I can’t rightly make it out myself. They have a down +on you,” says Case. +</p> + +<p> +“Taboo a man because they have a down on him!” I cried. “I +never heard the like.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s worse than that, you see,” said Case. “You +ain’t tabooed—I told you that couldn’t be. The people +won’t go near you, Wiltshire, and there’s where it is.” +</p> + +<p> +“They won’t go near me? What do you mean by that? Why won’t +they go near me?” I cried. +</p> + +<p> +Case hesitated. “Seems they’re frightened,” says he, in a low +voice. +</p> + +<p> +I stopped dead short. “Frightened?” I repeated. “Are you gone +crazy, Case? What are they frightened of?” +</p> + +<p> +“I wish I could make out,” Case answered, shaking his head. +“Appears like one of their tomfool superstitions. That’s what I +don’t cotton to,” he said. “It’s like the business +about Vigours.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’d like to know what you mean by that, and I’ll trouble you +to tell me,” says I. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, you know, Vigours lit out and left all standing,” said he. +“It was some superstition business—I never got the hang of it but +it began to look bad before the end.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve heard a different story about that,” said I, “and +I had better tell you so. I heard he ran away because of you.” +</p> + +<p> +“O! well, I suppose he was ashamed to tell the truth,” says Case; +“I guess he thought it silly. And it’s a fact that I packed him +off. ‘What would you do, old man?’ says he. ‘Get,’ says +I, ‘and not think twice about it.’ I was the gladdest kind of man +to see him clear away. It ain’t my notion to turn my back on a mate when +he’s in a tight place, but there was that much trouble in the village +that I couldn’t see where it might likely end. I was a fool to be so much +about with Vigours. They cast it up to me to-day. Didn’t you hear +Maea—that’s the young chief, the big one—ripping out about +‘Vika’? That was him they were after. They don’t seem to +forget it, somehow.” +</p> + +<p> +“This is all very well,” said I, “but it don’t tell me +what’s wrong; it don’t tell me what they’re afraid +of—what their idea is.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I wish I knew,” said Case. “I can’t say fairer +than that.” +</p> + +<p> +“You might have asked, I think,” says I. +</p> + +<p> +“And so I did,” says he. “But you must have seen for +yourself, unless you’re blind, that the asking got the other way. +I’ll go as far as I dare for another white man; but when I find I’m +in the scrape myself, I think first of my own bacon. The loss of me is +I’m too good-natured. And I’ll take the freedom of telling you you +show a queer kind of gratitude to a man who’s got into all this mess +along of your affairs.” +</p> + +<p> +“There’s a thing I am thinking of,” said I. “You were a +fool to be so much about with Vigours. One comfort, you haven’t been much +about with me. I notice you’ve never been inside my house. Own up now; +you had word of this before?” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a fact I haven’t been,” said he. “It was an +oversight, and I am sorry for it, Wiltshire. But about coming now, I’ll +be quite plain.” +</p> + +<p> +“You mean you won’t?” I asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Awfully sorry, old man, but that’s the size of it,” says +Case. +</p> + +<p> +“In short, you’re afraid?” says I. +</p> + +<p> +“In short, I’m afraid,” says he. +</p> + +<p> +“And I’m still to be tabooed for nothing?” I asked +</p> + +<p> +“I tell you you’re not tabooed,” said he. “The Kanakas +won’t go near you, that’s all. And who’s to make ’em? +We traders have a lot of gall, I must say; we make these poor Kanakas take back +their laws, and take up their taboos, and that, whenever it happens to suit us. +But you don’t mean to say you expect a law obliging people to deal in +your store whether they want to or not? You don’t mean to tell me +you’ve got the gall for that? And if you had, it would be a queer thing +to propose to me. I would just like to point out to you, Wiltshire, that +I’m a trader myself.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t think I would talk of gall if I was you,” said I. +“Here’s about what it comes to, as well as I can make out: None of +the people are to trade with me, and they’re all to trade with you. +You’re to have the copra, and I’m to go to the devil and shake +myself. And I don’t know any native, and you’re the only man here +worth mention that speaks English, and you have the gall to up and hint to me +my life’s in danger, and all you’ve got to tell me is you +don’t know why!” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, it <i>is</i> all I have to tell you,” said he. “I +don’t know—I wish I did.” +</p> + +<p> +“And so you turn your back and leave me to myself! Is that the +position?” says I. +</p> + +<p> +“If you like to put it nasty,” says he. “I don’t put it +so. I say merely, ‘I’m going to keep clear of you; or, if I +don’t, I’ll get in danger for myself.’” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” says I, “you’re a nice kind of a white +man!” +</p> + +<p> +“O, I understand; you’re riled,” said he. “I would be +myself. I can make excuses.” +</p> + +<p> +“All right,” I said, “go and make excuses somewhere else. +Here’s my way, there’s yours!” +</p> + +<p> +With that we parted, and I went straight home, in a hot temper, and found Uma +trying on a lot of trade goods like a baby. +</p> + +<p> +“Here,” I said, “you quit that foolery! Here’s a pretty +mess to have made, as if I wasn’t bothered enough anyway! And I thought I +told you to get dinner!” +</p> + +<p> +And then I believe I gave her a bit of the rough side of my tongue, as she +deserved. She stood up at once, like a sentry to his officer; for I must say +she was always well brought up, and had a great respect for whites. +</p> + +<p> +“And now,” says I, “you belong round here, you’re bound +to understand this. What am I tabooed for, anyway? Or, if I ain’t +tabooed, what makes the folks afraid of me?” +</p> + +<p> +She stood and looked at me with eyes like saucers. +</p> + +<p> +“You no savvy?” she gasps at last. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said I. “How would you expect me to? We don’t +have any such craziness where I come from.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ese no tell you?” she asked again. +</p> + +<p> +(<i>Ese</i> was the name the natives had for Case; it may mean foreign, or +extraordinary; or it might mean a mummy apple; but most like it was only his +own name misheard and put in a Kanaka spelling.) +</p> + +<p> +“Not much,” said I. +</p> + +<p> +“D-n Ese!” she cried. +</p> + +<p> +You might think it funny to hear this Kanaka girl come out with a big swear. No +such thing. There was no swearing in her—no, nor anger; she was beyond +anger, and meant the word simple and serious. She stood there straight as she +said it. I cannot justly say that I ever saw a woman look like that before or +after, and it struck me mum. Then she made a kind of an obeisance, but it was +the proudest kind, and threw her hands out open. +</p> + +<p> +“I ’shamed,” she said. “I think you savvy. Ese he tell +me you savvy, he tell me you no mind, tell me you love me too much. Taboo +belong me,” she said, touching herself on the bosom, as she had done upon +our wedding-night. “Now I go ’way, taboo he go ’way too. Then +you get too much copra. You like more better, I think. <i>Tofâ</i>, +<i>alii</i>,” says she in the native—“Farewell, chief!” +</p> + +<p> +“Hold on!” I cried. “Don’t be in such a hurry.” +</p> + +<p> +She looked at me sidelong with a smile. “You see, you get copra,” +she said, the same as you might offer candies to a child. +</p> + +<p> +“Uma,” said I, “hear reason. I didn’t know, and +that’s a fact; and Case seems to have played it pretty mean upon the pair +of us. But I do know now, and I don’t mind; I love you too much. You no +go ’way, you no leave me, I too much sorry.” +</p> + +<p> +“You no love me,” she cried, “you talk me bad words!” +And she threw herself in a corner of the floor, and began to cry. +</p> + +<p> +Well, I’m no scholar, but I wasn’t born yesterday, and I thought +the worst of that trouble was over. However, there she lay—her back +turned, her face to the wall—and shook with sobbing like a little child, +so that her feet jumped with it. It’s strange how it hits a man when +he’s in love; for there’s no use mincing things—Kanaka and +all, I was in love with her, or just as good. I tried to take her hand, but she +would none of that. “Uma,” I said, “there’s no sense in +carrying on like this. I want you stop here, I want my little wifie, I tell you +true.” +</p> + +<p> +“No tell me true,” she sobbed. +</p> + +<p> +“All right,” says I, “I’ll wait till you’re +through with this.” And I sat right down beside her on the floor, and set +to smooth her hair with my hand. At first she wriggled away when I touched her; +then she seemed to notice me no more; then her sobs grew gradually less, and +presently stopped; and the next thing I knew, she raised her face to mime. +</p> + +<p> +“You tell me true? You like me stop?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Uma,” I said, “I would rather have you than all the copra in +the South Seas,” which was a very big expression, and the strangest thing +was that I meant it. +</p> + +<p> +She threw her arms about me, sprang close up, and pressed her face to mine in +the island way of kissing, so that I was all wetted with her tears, and my +heart went out to her wholly. I never had anything so near me as this little +brown bit of a girl. Many things went together, and all helped to turn my head. +She was pretty enough to eat; it seemed she was my only friend in that queer +place; I was ashamed that I had spoken rough to her: and she was a woman, and +my wife, and a kind of a baby besides that I was sorry for; and the salt of her +tears was in my mouth. And I forgot Case and the natives; and I forgot that I +knew nothing of the story, or only remembered it to banish the remembrance; and +I forgot that I was to get no copra, and so could make no livelihood; and I +forgot my employers, and the strange kind of service I was doing them, when I +preferred my fancy to their business; and I forgot even that Uma was no true +wife of mine, but just a maid beguiled, and that in a pretty shabby style. But +that is to look too far on. I will come to that part of it next. +</p> + +<p> +It was late before we thought of getting dinner. The stove was out, and gone +stone-cold; but we fired up after a while, and cooked each a dish, helping and +hindering each other, and making a play of it like children. I was so greedy of +her nearness that I sat down to dinner with my lass upon my knee, made sure of +her with one hand, and ate with the other. Ay, and more than that. She was the +worst cook I suppose God made; the things she set her hand to it would have +sickened an honest horse to eat of; yet I made my meal that day on Uma’s +cookery, and can never call to mind to have been better pleased. +</p> + +<p> +I didn’t pretend to myself, and I didn’t pretend to her. I saw I +was clean gone; and if she was to make a fool of me, she must. And I suppose it +was this that set her talking, for now she made sure that we were friends. A +lot she told me, sitting in my lap and eating my dish, as I ate hers, from +foolery—a lot about herself and her mother and Case, all which would be +very tedious, and fill sheets if I set it down in Beach de Mar, but which I +must give a hint of in plain English, and one thing about myself which had a +very big effect on my concerns, as you are soon to hear. +</p> + +<p> +It seems she was born in one of the Line Islands; had been only two or three +years in these parts, where she had come with a white man, who was married to +her mother and then died; and only the one year in Falesá. Before that they had +been a good deal on the move, trekking about after the white man, who was one +of those rolling stones that keep going round after a soft job. They talk about +looking for gold at the end of a rainbow; but if a man wants an employment +that’ll last him till he dies, let him start out on the soft-job hunt. +There’s meat and drink in it too, and beer and skittles, for you never +hear of them starving, and rarely see them sober; and as for steady sport, +cock-fighting isn’t in the same county with it. Anyway, this beachcomber +carried the woman and her daughter all over the shop, but mostly to +out-of-the-way islands, where there were no police, and he thought, perhaps, +the soft job hung out. I’ve my own view of this old party; but I was just +as glad he had kept Uma clear of Apia and Papeete and these flash towns. At +last he struck Fale-alii on this island, got some trade—the Lord knows +how!—muddled it all away in the usual style, and died worth next to +nothing, bar a bit of land at Falesá that he had got for a bad debt, which was +what put it in the minds of the mother and daughter to come there and live. It +seems Case encouraged them all he could, and helped to get their house built. +He was very kind those days, and gave Uma trade, and there is no doubt he had +his eye on her from the beginning. However, they had scarce settled, when up +turned a young man, a native, and wanted to marry her. He was a small chief, +and had some fine mats and old songs in his family, and was “very +pretty,” Uma said; and, altogether, it was an extraordinary match for a +penniless girl and an out-islander. +</p> + +<p> +At the first word of this I got downright sick with jealousy. +</p> + +<p> +“And you mean to say you would have married him?” I cried. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Ioe</i>, yes,” said she. “I like too much!” +</p> + +<p> +“Well!” I said. “And suppose I had come round after?” +</p> + +<p> +“I like you more better now,” said she. “But, suppose I marry +Ioane, I one good wife. I no common Kanaka. Good girl!” says she. +</p> + +<p> +Well, I had to be pleased with that; but I promise you I didn’t care +about the business one little bit. And I liked the end of that yarn no better +than the beginning. For it seems this proposal of marriage was the start of all +the trouble. It seems, before that, Uma and her mother had been looked down +upon, of course, for kinless folk and out-islanders, but nothing to hurt; and, +even when Ioane came forward, there was less trouble at first than might have +been looked for. And then, all of a sudden, about six months before my coming, +Ioane backed out and left that part of the island, and from that day to this +Uma and her mother had found themselves alone. None called at their house, none +spoke to them on the roads. If they went to church, the other women drew their +mats away and left them in a clear place by themselves. It was a regular +excommunication, like what you read of in the Middle Ages; and the cause or +sense of it beyond guessing. It was some <i>tala pepelo</i>, Uma said, some +lie, some calumny; and all she knew of it was that the girls who had been +jealous of her luck with Ioane used to twit her with his desertion, and cry +out, when they met her alone in the woods, that she would never be married. +“They tell me no man he marry me. He too much ’fraid,” she +said. +</p> + +<p> +The only soul that came about them after this desertion was Master Case. Even +he was chary of showing himself, and turned up mostly by night; and pretty soon +he began to table his cards and make up to Uma. I was still sore about Ioane, +and when Case turned up in the same line of business I cut up downright rough. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” I said, sneering, “and I suppose you thought Case +‘very pretty’ and ‘liked too much’?” +</p> + +<p> +“Now you talk silly,” said she. “White man, he come here, I +marry him all-e-same Kanaka; very well then, he marry me all-e-same white +woman. Suppose he no marry, he go ’way, woman he stop. All-e-same thief, +empty hand, Tonga-heart—no can love! Now you come marry me. You big +heart—you no ’shamed island-girl. That thing I love you for too +much. I proud.” +</p> + +<p> +I don’t know that ever I felt sicker all the days of my life. I laid down +my fork, and I put away “the island-girl”; I didn’t seem +somehow to have any use for either, and I went and walked up and down in the +house, and Uma followed me with her eyes, for she was troubled, and small +wonder! But troubled was no word for it with me. I so wanted, and so feared, to +make a clean breast of the sweep that I had been. +</p> + +<p> +And just then there came a sound of singing out of the sea; it sprang up +suddenly clear and near, as the boat turned the headland, and Uma, running to +the window, cried out it was “Misi” come upon his rounds. +</p> + +<p> +I thought it was a strange thing I should be glad to have a missionary; but, if +it was strange, it was still true. +</p> + +<p> +“Uma,” said I, “you stop here in this room, and don’t +budge a foot out of it till I come back.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h3><a name="chap04"></a>CHAPTER III.<br /> +THE MISSIONARY.</h3> + +<p> +As I came out on the verandah, the mission-boat was shooting for the mouth of +the river. She was a long whale-boat painted white; a bit of an awning astern; +a native pastor crouched on the wedge of the poop, steering; some +four-and-twenty paddles flashing and dipping, true to the boat-song; and the +missionary under the awning, in his white clothes, reading in a book, and set +him up! It was pretty to see and hear; there’s no smarter sight in the +islands than a missionary boat with a good crew and a good pipe to them; and I +considered it for half a minute, with a bit of envy perhaps, and then strolled +down towards the river. +</p> + +<p> +From the opposite side there was another man aiming for the same place, but he +ran and got there first. It was Case; doubtless his idea was to keep me apart +from the missionary, who might serve me as interpreter; but my mind was upon +other things. I was thinking how he had jockeyed us about the marriage, and +tried his hand on Uma before; and at the sight of him rage flew into my +nostrils. +</p> + +<p> +“Get out of that, you low, swindling thief!” I cried. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s that you say?” says he. +</p> + +<p> +I gave him the word again, and rammed it down with a good oath. “And if +ever I catch you within six fathoms of my house,” I cried, +“I’ll clap a bullet in your measly carcase.” +</p> + +<p> +“You must do as you like about your house,” said he, “where I +told you I have no thought of going; but this is a public place.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a place where I have private business,” said I. +“I have no idea of a hound like you eavesdropping, and I give you notice +to clear out.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t take it, though,” says Case. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll show you, then,” said I. +</p> + +<p> +“We’ll have to see about that,” said he. +</p> + +<p> +He was quick with his hands, but he had neither the height nor the weight, +being a flimsy creature alongside a man like me, and, besides, I was blazing to +that height of wrath that I could have bit into a chisel. I gave him first the +one and then the other, so that I could hear his head rattle and crack, and he +went down straight. +</p> + +<p> +“Have you had enough?” cried I. But he only looked up white and +blank, and the blood spread upon his face like wine upon a napkin. “Have +you had enough?” I cried again. “Speak up, and don’t lie +malingering there, or I’ll take my feet to you.” +</p> + +<p> +He sat up at that, and held his head—by the look of him you could see it +was spinning—and the blood poured on his pyjamas. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve had enough for this time,” says he, and he got up +staggering, and went off by the way that he had come. +</p> + +<p> +The boat was close in; I saw the missionary had laid his book to one side, and +I smiled to myself. “He’ll know I’m a man, anyway,” +thinks I. +</p> + +<p> +This was the first time, in all my years in the Pacific, I had ever exchanged +two words with any missionary, let alone asked one for a favour. I didn’t +like the lot, no trader does; they look down upon us, and make no concealment; +and, besides, they’re partly Kanakaised, and suck up with natives instead +of with other white men like themselves. I had on a rig of clean striped +pyjamas—for, of course, I had dressed decent to go before the chiefs; but +when I saw the missionary step out of this boat in the regular uniform, white +duck clothes, pith helmet, white shirt and tie, and yellow boots to his feet, I +could have bunged stones at him. As he came nearer, queering me pretty curious +(because of the fight, I suppose), I saw he looked mortal sick, for the truth +was he had a fever on, and had just had a chill in the boat. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Tarleton, I believe?” says I, for I had got his name. +</p> + +<p> +“And you, I suppose, are the new trader?” says he. +</p> + +<p> +“I want to tell you first that I don’t hold with missions,” I +went on, “and that I think you and the likes of you do a sight of harm, +filling up the natives with old wives’ tales and bumptiousness.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are perfectly entitled to your opinions,” says he, looking a +bit ugly, “but I have no call to hear them.” +</p> + +<p> +“It so happens that you’ve got to hear them,” I said. +“I’m no missionary, nor missionary lover; I’m no Kanaka, nor +favourer of Kanakas—I’m just a trader; I’m just a common, +low-down, God-damned white man and British subject, the sort you would like to +wipe your boots on. I hope that’s plain!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, my man,” said he. “It’s more plain than +creditable. When you are sober, you’ll be sorry for this.” +</p> + +<p> +He tried to pass on, but I stopped him with my hand. The Kanakas were beginning +to growl. Guess they didn’t like my tone, for I spoke to that man as free +as I would to you. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, you can’t say I’ve deceived you,” said I, +“and I can go on. I want a service—I want two services, in fact; +and, if you care to give me them, I’ll perhaps take more stock in what +you call your Christianity.” +</p> + +<p> +He was silent for a moment. Then he smiled. “You are rather a strange +sort of man,” says he. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m the sort of man God made me,” says I. “I +don’t set up to be a gentleman,” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“I am not quite so sure,” said he. “And what can I do for +you, Mr.—?” +</p> + +<p> +“Wiltshire,” I says, “though I’m mostly called Welsher; +but Wiltshire is the way it’s spelt, if the people on the beach could +only get their tongues about it. And what do I want? Well, I’ll tell you +the first thing. I’m what you call a sinner—what I call a +sweep—and I want you to help me make it up to a person I’ve +deceived.” +</p> + +<p> +He turned and spoke to his crew in the native. “And now I am at your +service,” said he, “but only for the time my crew are dining. I +must be much farther down the coast before night. I was delayed at Papa-Malulu +till this morning, and I have an engagement in Fale-alii to-morrow +night.” +</p> + +<p> +I led the way to my house in silence, and rather pleased with myself for the +way I had managed the talk, for I like a man to keep his self-respect. +</p> + +<p> +“I was sorry to see you fighting,” says he. +</p> + +<p> +“O, that’s part of the yarn I want to tell you,” I said. +“That’s service number two. After you’ve heard it +you’ll let me know whether you’re sorry or not.” +</p> + +<p> +We walked right in through the store, and I was surprised to find Uma had +cleared away the dinner things. This was so unlike her ways that I saw she had +done it out of gratitude, and liked her the better. She and Mr. Tarleton called +each other by name, and he was very civil to her seemingly. But I thought +little of that; they can always find civility for a Kanaka, it’s us white +men they lord it over. Besides, I didn’t want much Tarleton just then. I +was going to do my pitch. +</p> + +<p> +“Uma,” said I, “give us your marriage certificate.” She +looked put out. “Come,” said I, “you can trust me. Hand it +up.” +</p> + +<p> +She had it about her person, as usual; I believe she thought it was a pass to +heaven, and if she died without having it handy she would go to hell. I +couldn’t see where she put it the first time, I couldn’t see now +where she took it from; it seemed to jump into her hand like that Blavatsky +business in the papers. But it’s the same way with all island women, and +I guess they’re taught it when young. +</p> + +<p> +“Now,” said I, with the certificate in my hand, “I was +married to this girl by Black Jack the negro. The certificate was wrote by +Case, and it’s a dandy piece of literature, I promise you. Since then +I’ve found that there’s a kind of cry in the place against this +wife of mine, and so long as I keep her I cannot trade. Now, what would any man +do in my place, if he was a man?” I said. “The first thing he would +do is this, I guess.” And I took and tore up the certificate and bunged +the pieces on the floor. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Aué</i>!” <a name="citation2"></a><a href="#footnote2" +class="citation">[2]</a> cried Uma, and began to clap her hands; but I caught +one of them in mine. +</p> + +<p> +“And the second thing that he would do,” said I, “if he was +what I would call a man and you would call a man, Mr. Tarleton, is to bring the +girl right before you or any other missionary, and to up and say: ‘I was +wrong married to this wife of mine, but I think a heap of her, and now I want +to be married to her right.’ Fire away, Mr. Tarleton. And I guess +you’d better do it in native; it’ll please the old lady,” I +said, giving her the proper name of a man’s wife upon the spot. +</p> + +<p> +So we had in two of the crew for to witness, and were spliced in our own house; +and the parson prayed a good bit, I must say—but not so long as +some—and shook hands with the pair of us. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Wiltshire,” he says, when he had made out the lines and packed +off the witnesses, “I have to thank you for a very lively pleasure. I +have rarely performed the marriage ceremony with more grateful emotions.” +</p> + +<p> +That was what you would call talking. He was going on, besides, with more of +it, and I was ready for as much taffy as he had in stock, for I felt good. But +Uma had been taken up with something half through the marriage, and cut +straight in. +</p> + +<p> +“How your hand he get hurt?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“You ask Case’s head, old lady,” says I. +</p> + +<p> +She jumped with joy, and sang out. +</p> + +<p> +“You haven’t made much of a Christian of this one,” says I to +Mr. Tarleton. +</p> + +<p> +“We didn’t think her one of our worst,” says he, “when +she was at Fale-alii; and if Uma bears malice I shall be tempted to fancy she +has good cause.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, there we are at service number two,” said I. “I want +to tell you our yarn, and see if you can let a little daylight in.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is it long?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” I cried; “it’s a goodish bit of a yarn!” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I’ll give you all the time I can spare,” says he, +looking at his watch. “But I must tell you fairly, I haven’t eaten +since five this morning, and, unless you can let me have something I am not +likely to eat again before seven or eight to-night.” +</p> + +<p> +“By God, we’ll give you dinner!” I cried. +</p> + +<p> +I was a little caught up at my swearing, just when all was going straight; and +so was the missionary, I suppose, but he made believe to look out of the +window, and thanked us. +</p> + +<p> +So we ran him up a bit of a meal. I was bound to let the old lady have a hand +in it, to show off, so I deputised her to brew the tea. I don’t think I +ever met such tea as she turned out. But that was not the worst, for she got +round with the salt-box, which she considered an extra European touch, and +turned my stew into sea-water. Altogether, Mr. Tarleton had a devil of a dinner +of it; but he had plenty entertainment by the way, for all the while that we +were cooking, and afterwards, when he was making believe to eat, I kept posting +him up on Master Case and the beach of Falesá, and he putting questions that +showed he was following close. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said he at last, “I am afraid you have a dangerous +enemy. This man Case is very clever and seems really wicked. I must tell you I +have had my eye on him for nearly a year, and have rather had the worst of our +encounters. About the time when the last representative of your firm ran so +suddenly away, I had a letter from Namu, the native pastor, begging me to come +to Falesá at my earliest convenience, as his flock were all ‘adopting +Catholic practices.’ I had great confidence in Namu; I fear it only shows +how easily we are deceived. No one could hear him preach and not be persuaded +he was a man of extraordinary parts. All our islanders easily acquire a kind of +eloquence, and can roll out and illustrate, with a great deal of vigour and +fancy, second-hand sermons; but Namu’s sermons are his own, and I cannot +deny that I have found them means of grace. Moreover, he has a keen curiosity +in secular things, does not fear work, is clever at carpentering, and has made +himself so much respected among the neighbouring pastors that we call him, in a +jest which is half serious, the Bishop of the East. In short, I was proud of +the man; all the more puzzled by his letter, and took an occasion to come this +way. The morning before my arrival, Vigours had been sent on board the +<i>Lion</i>, and Namu was perfectly at his ease, apparently ashamed of his +letter, and quite unwilling to explain it. This, of course, I could not allow, +and he ended by confessing that he had been much concerned to find his people +using the sign of the cross, but since he had learned the explanation his mind +was satisfied. For Vigours had the Evil Eye, a common thing in a country of +Europe called Italy, where men were often struck dead by that kind of devil, +and it appeared the sign of the cross was a charm against its power. +</p> + +<p> +“‘And I explain it, Misi,’ said Namu, ‘in this way: The +country in Europe is a Popey country, and the devil of the Evil Eye may be a +Catholic devil, or, at least, used to Catholic ways. So then I reasoned thus: +if this sign of the cross were used in a Popey manner it would be sinful, but +when it is used only to protect men from a devil, which is a thing harmless in +itself, the sign too must be, as a bottle is neither good nor bad, harmless. +For the sign is neither good nor bad. But if the bottle be full of gin, the gin +is bad; and if the sign be made in idolatry bad, so is the idolatry.’ +And, very like a native pastor, he had a text apposite about the casting out of +devils. +</p> + +<p> +“‘And who has been telling you about the Evil Eye?’ I asked. +</p> + +<p> +“He admitted it was Case. Now, I am afraid you will think me very narrow, +Mr. Wiltshire, but I must tell you I was displeased, and cannot think a trader +at all a good man to advise or have an influence upon my pastors. And, besides, +there had been some flying talk in the country of old Adams and his being +poisoned, to which I had paid no great heed; but it came back to me at the +moment. +</p> + +<p> +“‘And is this Case a man of a sanctified life?’ I asked. +</p> + +<p> +“He admitted he was not; for, though he did not drink, he was profligate +with women, and had no religion. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Then,’ said I, ‘I think the less you have to do with +him the better.’ +</p> + +<p> +“But it is not easy to have the last word with a man like Namu. He was +ready in a moment with an illustration. ‘Misi,’ said he, ‘you +have told me there were wise men, not pastors, not even holy, who knew many +things useful to be taught—about trees for instance, and beasts, and to +print books, and about the stones that are burned to make knives of. Such men +teach you in your college, and you learn from them, but take care not to learn +to be unholy. Misi, Case is my college.’ +</p> + +<p> +“I knew not what to say. Mr. Vigours had evidently been driven out of +Falesá by the machinations of Case and with something not very unlike the +collusion of my pastor. I called to mind it was Namu who had reassured me about +Adams and traced the rumour to the ill-will of the priest. And I saw I must +inform myself more thoroughly from an impartial source. There is an old rascal +of a chief here, Faiaso, whom I dare say you saw to-day at the council; he has +been all his life turbulent and sly, a great fomenter of rebellions, and a +thorn in the side of the mission and the island. For all that he is very +shrewd, and, except in politics or about his own misdemeanours, a teller of the +truth. I went to his house, told him what I had heard, and besought him to be +frank. I do not think I had ever a more painful interview. Perhaps you will +understand me, Mr. Wiltshire, if I tell you that I am perfectly serious in +these old wives’ tales with which you reproached me, and as anxious to do +well for these islands as you can be to please and to protect your pretty wife. +And you are to remember that I thought Namu a paragon, and was proud of the man +as one of the first ripe fruits of the mission. And now I was informed that he +had fallen in a sort of dependence upon Case. The beginning of it was not +corrupt; it began, doubtless, in fear and respect, produced by trickery and +pretence; but I was shocked to find that another element had been lately added, +that Namu helped himself in the store, and was believed to be deep in +Case’s debt. Whatever the trader said, that Namu believed with trembling. +He was not alone in this; many in the village lived in a similar subjection; +but Namu’s case was the most influential, it was through Namu Case had +wrought most evil; and with a certain following among the chiefs, and the +pastor in his pocket, the man was as good as master of the village. You know +something of Vigours and Adams, but perhaps you have never heard of old +Underhill, Adams’ predecessor. He was a quiet, mild old fellow, I +remember, and we were told he had died suddenly: white men die very suddenly in +Falesá. The truth, as I now heard it, made my blood run cold. It seems he was +struck with a general palsy, all of him dead but one eye, which he continually +winked. Word was started that the helpless old man was now a devil, and this +vile fellow Case worked upon the natives’ fears, which he professed to +share, and pretended he durst not go into the house alone. At last a grave was +dug, and the living body buried at the far end of the village. Namu, my pastor, +whom I had helped to educate, offered up a prayer at the hateful scene. +</p> + +<p> +“I felt myself in a very difficult position. Perhaps it was my duty to +have denounced Namu and had him deposed. Perhaps I think so now, but at the +time it seemed less clear. He had a great influence, it might prove greater +than mine. The natives are prone to superstition; perhaps by stirring them up I +might but ingrain and spread these dangerous fancies. And Namu besides, apart +from this novel and accursed influence, was a good pastor, an able man, and +spiritually minded. Where should I look for a better? How was I to find as +good? At that moment, with Namu’s failure fresh in my view, the work of +my life appeared a mockery; hope was dead in me. I would rather repair such +tools as I had than go abroad in quest of others that must certainly prove +worse; and a scandal is, at the best, a thing to be avoided when humanly +possible. Right or wrong, then, I determined on a quiet course. All that night +I denounced and reasoned with the erring pastor, twitted him with his ignorance +and want of faith, twitted him with his wretched attitude, making clean the +outside of the cup and platter, callously helping at a murder, childishly +flying in excitement about a few childish, unnecessary, and inconvenient +gestures; and long before day I had him on his knees and bathed in the tears of +what seemed a genuine repentance. On Sunday I took the pulpit in the morning, +and preached from First Kings, nineteenth, on the fire, the earthquake, and the +voice, distinguishing the true spiritual power, and referring with such +plainness as I dared to recent events in Falesá. The effect produced was great, +and it was much increased when Namu rose in his turn and confessed that he had +been wanting in faith and conduct, and was convinced of sin. So far, then, all +was well; but there was one unfortunate circumstance. It was nearing the time +of our ‘May’ in the island, when the native contributions to the +missions are received; it fell in my duty to make a notification on the +subject, and this gave my enemy his chance, by which he was not slow to profit. +</p> + +<p> +“News of the whole proceedings must have been carried to Case as soon as +church was over, and the same afternoon he made an occasion to meet me in the +midst of the village. He came up with so much intentness and animosity that I +felt it would be damaging to avoid him. +</p> + +<p> +“‘So,’ says he, in native, ‘here is the holy man. He +has been preaching against me, but that was not in his heart. He has been +preaching upon the love of God; but that was not in his heart, it was between +his teeth. Will you know what was in his heart?’—cries he. ‘I +will show it you!’ And, making a snatch at my head, he made believe to +pluck out a dollar, and held it in the air. +</p> + +<p> +“There went that rumour through the crowd with which Polynesians receive +a prodigy. As for myself, I stood amazed. The thing was a common conjuring +trick which I have seen performed at home a score of times; but how was I to +convince the villagers of that? I wished I had learned legerdemain instead of +Hebrew, that I might have paid the fellow out with his own coin. But there I +was; I could not stand there silent, and the best I could find to say was weak. +</p> + +<p> +“‘I will trouble you not to lay hands on me again,’ said I. +</p> + +<p> +“‘I have no such thought,’ said he, ‘nor will I deprive +you of your dollar. Here it is,’ he said, and flung it at my feet. I am +told it lay where it fell three days.” +</p> + +<p> +“I must say it was well played, said I. +</p> + +<p> +“O! he is clever,” said Mr. Tarleton, “and you can now see +for yourself how dangerous. He was a party to the horrid death of the +paralytic; he is accused of poisoning Adams; he drove Vigours out of the place +by lies that might have led to murder; and there is no question but he has now +made up his mind to rid himself of you. How he means to try we have no guess; +only be sure, it’s something new. There is no end to his readiness and +invention.” +</p> + +<p> +“He gives himself a sight of trouble,” says I. “And after +all, what for?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, how many tons of copra may they make in this district?” asked +the missionary. +</p> + +<p> +“I daresay as much as sixty tons,” says I. +</p> + +<p> +“And what is the profit to the local trader?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“You may call it, three pounds,” said I. +</p> + +<p> +“Then you can reckon for yourself how much he does it for,” said +Mr. Tarleton. “But the more important thing is to defeat him. It is clear +he spread some report against Uma, in order to isolate and have his wicked will +of her. Failing of that, and seeing a new rival come upon the scene, he used +her in a different way. Now, the first point to find out is about Namu. Uma, +when people began to leave you and your mother alone, what did Namu do?” +</p> + +<p> +“Stop away all-e-same,” says Uma. +</p> + +<p> +“I fear the dog has returned to his vomit,” said Mr. Tarleton. +“And now what am I to do for you? I will speak to Namu, I will warn him +he is observed; it will be strange if he allow anything to go on amiss when he +is put upon his guard. At the same time, this precaution may fail, and then you +must turn elsewhere. You have two people at hand to whom you might apply. There +is, first of all, the priest, who might protect you by the Catholic interest; +they are a wretchedly small body, but they count two chiefs. And then there is +old Faiaso. Ah! if it had been some years ago you would have needed no one +else; but his influence is much reduced, it has gone into Maea’s hands, +and Maea, I fear, is one of Case’s jackals. In fine, if the worst comes +to the worst, you must send up or come yourself to Fale-alii, and, though I am +not due at this end of the island for a month, I will just see what can be +done.” +</p> + +<p> +So Mr. Tarleton said farewell; and half an hour later the crew were singing and +the paddles flashing in the missionary-boat. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h3><a name="chap05"></a>CHAPTER IV.<br /> +DEVIL-WORK.</h3> + +<p> +Near a month went by without much doing. The same night of our marriage +Galoshes called round, and made himself mighty civil, and got into a habit of +dropping in about dark and smoking his pipe with the family. He could talk to +Uma, of course, and started to teach me native and French at the same time. He +was a kind old buffer, though the dirtiest you would wish to see, and he +muddled me up with foreign languages worse than the tower of Babel. +</p> + +<p> +That was one employment we had, and it made me feel less lonesome; but there +was no profit in the thing, for though the priest came and sat and yarned, none +of his folks could be enticed into my store; and if it hadn’t been for +the other occupation I struck out, there wouldn’t have been a pound of +copra in the house. This was the idea: Fa’avao (Uma’s mother) had a +score of bearing trees. Of course we could get no labour, being all as good as +tabooed, and the two women and I turned to and made copra with our own hands. +It was copra to make your mouth water when it was done—I never understood +how much the natives cheated me till I had made that four hundred pounds of my +own hand—and it weighed so light I felt inclined to take and water it +myself. +</p> + +<p> +When we were at the job a good many Kanakas used to put in the best of the day +looking on, and once that nigger turned up. He stood back with the natives and +laughed and did the big don and the funny dog, till I began to get riled. +</p> + +<p> +“Here, you nigger!” says I. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t address myself to you, Sah,” says the nigger. +“Only speak to gen’le’um.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know,” says I, “but it happens I was addressing myself to +you, Mr. Black Jack. And all I want to know is just this: did you see +Case’s figurehead about a week ago?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, Sah,” says he. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s all right, then,” says I; “for I’ll show +you the own brother to it, only black, in the inside of about two +minutes.” +</p> + +<p> +And I began to walk towards him, quite slow, and my hands down; only there was +trouble in my eye, if anybody took the pains to look. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re a low, obstropulous fellow, Sah,” says he. +</p> + +<p> +“You bet!” says I. +</p> + +<p> +By that time he thought I was about as near as convenient, and lit out so it +would have done your heart good to see him travel. And that was all I saw of +that precious gang until what I am about to tell you. +</p> + +<p> +It was one of my chief employments these days to go pot-hunting in the woods, +which I found (as Case had told me) very rich in game. I have spoken of the +cape which shut up the village and my station from the east. A path went about +the end of it, and led into the next bay. A strong wind blew here daily, and as +the line of the barrier reef stopped at the end of the cape, a heavy surf ran +on the shores of the bay. A little cliffy hill cut the valley in two parts, and +stood close on the beach; and at high water the sea broke right on the face of +it, so that all passage was stopped. Woody mountains hemmed the place all +round; the barrier to the east was particularly steep and leafy, the lower +parts of it, along the sea, falling in sheer black cliffs streaked with +cinnabar; the upper part lumpy with the tops of the great trees. Some of the +trees were bright green, and some red, and the sand of the beach as black as +your shoes. Many birds hovered round the bay, some of them snow-white; and the +flying-fox (or vampire) flew there in broad daylight, gnashing its teeth. +</p> + +<p> +For a long while I came as far as this shooting, and went no farther. There was +no sign of any path beyond, and the cocoa-palms in the front of the foot of the +valley were the last this way. For the whole “eye” of the island, +as natives call the windward end, lay desert. From Falesá round about to +Papa-malulu, there was neither house, nor man, nor planted fruit-tree; and the +reef being mostly absent, and the shores bluff, the sea beat direct among +crags, and there was scarce a landing-place. +</p> + +<p> +I should tell you that after I began to go in the woods, although no one +offered to come near my store, I found people willing enough to pass the time +of day with me where nobody could see them; and as I had begun to pick up +native, and most of them had a word or two of English, I began to hold little +odds and ends of conversation, not to much purpose to be sure, but they took +off the worst of the feeling, for it’s a miserable thing to be made a +leper of. +</p> + +<p> +It chanced one day towards the end of the month, that I was sitting in this bay +in the edge of the bush, looking east, with a Kanaka. I had given him a fill of +tobacco, and we were making out to talk as best we could; indeed, he had more +English than most. +</p> + +<p> +I asked him if there was no road going eastward. +</p> + +<p> +“One time one road,” said he. “Now he dead.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nobody he go there?” I asked. +</p> + +<p> +“No good,” said he. “Too much devil he stop there.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oho!” says I, “got-um plenty devil, that bush?” +</p> + +<p> +“Man devil, woman devil; too much devil,” said my friend. +“Stop there all-e-time. Man he go there, no come back.” +</p> + +<p> +I thought if this fellow was so well posted on devils and spoke of them so +free, which is not common, I had better fish for a little information about +myself and Uma. +</p> + +<p> +“You think me one devil?” I asked. +</p> + +<p> +“No think devil,” said he soothingly. “Think all-e-same +fool.” +</p> + +<p> +“Uma, she devil?” I asked again. +</p> + +<p> +“No, no; no devil. Devil stop bush,” said the young man. +</p> + +<p> +I was looking in front of me across the bay, and I saw the hanging front of the +woods pushed suddenly open, and Case, with a gun in his hand, step forth into +the sunshine on the black beach. He was got up in light pyjamas, near white, +his gun sparkled, he looked mighty conspicuous; and the land-crabs scuttled +from all round him to their holes. +</p> + +<p> +“Hullo, my friend!” says I, “you no talk all-e-same true. Ese +he go, he come back.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ese no all-e-same; Ese <i>Tiapolo</i>,” says my friend; and, with +a “Good-bye,” slunk off among the trees. +</p> + +<p> +I watched Case all round the beach, where the tide was low; and let him pass me +on the homeward way to Falesá. He was in deep thought, and the birds seemed to +know it, trotting quite near him on the sand, or wheeling and calling in his +ears. When he passed me I could see by the working of his lips that he was +talking to himself, and what pleased me mightily, he had still my trade mark on +his brow, I tell you the plain truth: I had a mind to give him a gunful in his +ugly mug, but I thought better of it. +</p> + +<p> +All this time, and all the time I was following home, I kept repeating that +native word, which I remembered by “Polly, put the kettle on and make us +all some tea,” tea-a-pollo. +</p> + +<p> +“Uma,” says I, when I got back, “what does <i>Tiapolo</i> +mean?” +</p> + +<p> +“Devil,” says she. +</p> + +<p> +“I thought <i>aitu</i> was the word for that,” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Aitu</i> ’nother kind of devil,” said she; “stop +bush, eat Kanaka. Tiapolo big chief devil, stop home; all-e-same Christian +devil.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well then,” said I, “I’m no farther forward. How can +Case be Tiapolo?” +</p> + +<p> +“No all-e-same,” said she. “Ese belong Tiapolo; Tiapolo too +much like; Ese all-e-same his son. Suppose Ese he wish something, Tiapolo he +make him.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s mighty convenient for Ese,” says I. “And what +kind of things does he make for him?” +</p> + +<p> +Well, out came a rigmarole of all sorts of stories, many of which (like the +dollar he took from Mr. Tarleton’s head) were plain enough to me, but +others I could make nothing of; and the thing that most surprised the Kanakas +was what surprised me least—namely, that he would go in the desert among +all the <i>aitus</i>. Some of the boldest, however, had accompanied him, and +had heard him speak with the dead and give them orders, and, safe in his +protection, had returned unscathed. Some said he had a church there, where he +worshipped Tiapolo, and Tiapolo appeared to him; others swore that there was no +sorcery at all, that he performed his miracles by the power of prayer, and the +church was no church, but a prison, in which he had confined a dangerous +<i>aitu</i>. Namu had been in the bush with him once, and returned glorifying +God for these wonders. Altogether, I began to have a glimmer of the man’s +position, and the means by which he had acquired it, and, though I saw he was a +tough nut to crack, I was noways cast down. +</p> + +<p> +“Very well,” said I, “I’ll have a look at Master +Case’s place of worship myself, and we’ll see about the +glorifying.” +</p> + +<p> +At this Uma fell in a terrible taking; if I went in the high bush I should +never return; none could go there but by the protection of Tiapolo. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll chance it on God’s,” said I. “I’m a +good sort of a fellow, Uma, as fellows go, and I guess God’ll con me +through.” +</p> + +<p> +She was silent for a while. “I think,” said she, mighty +solemn—and then, presently—“Victoreea, he big chief?” +</p> + +<p> +“You bet!” said I. +</p> + +<p> +“He like you too much?” she asked again. +</p> + +<p> +I told her, with a grin, I believed the old lady was rather partial to me. +</p> + +<p> +“All right,” said she. “Victoreea he big chief, like you too +much. No can help you here in Falesá; no can do—too far off. Maea he +small chief—stop here. Suppose he like you—make you all right. +All-e-same God and Tiapolo. God he big chief—got too much work. Tiapolo +he small chief—he like too much make-see, work very hard.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll have to hand you over to Mr. Tarleton,” said I. +“Your theology’s out of its bearings, Uma.” +</p> + +<p> +However, we stuck to this business all the evening, and, with the stories she +told me of the desert and its dangers, she came near frightening herself into a +fit. I don’t remember half a quarter of them, of course, for I paid +little heed; but two come back to me kind of clear. +</p> + +<p> +About six miles up the coast there is a sheltered cove they call +<i>Fanga-anaana</i>—“the haven full of caves.” I’ve +seen it from the sea myself, as near as I could get my boys to venture in; and +it’s a little strip of yellow sand. Black cliffs overhang it, full of the +black mouths of caves; great trees overhang the cliffs, and dangle-down lianas; +and in one place, about the middle, a big brook pours over in a cascade. Well, +there was a boat going by here, with six young men of Falesá, “all very +pretty,” Uma said, which was the loss of them. It blew strong, there was +a heavy head sea, and by the time they opened Fanga-anaana, and saw the white +cascade and the shady beach, they were all tired and thirsty, and their water +had run out. One proposed to land and get a drink, and, being reckless fellows, +they were all of the same mind except the youngest. Lotu was his name; he was a +very good young gentleman, and very wise; and he held out that they were crazy, +telling them the place was given over to spirits and devils and the dead, and +there were no living folk nearer than six miles the one way, and maybe twelve +the other. But they laughed at his words, and, being five to one, pulled in, +beached the boat, and landed. It was a wonderful pleasant place, Lotu said, and +the water excellent. They walked round the beach, but could see nowhere any way +to mount the cliffs, which made them easier in their mind; and at last they sat +down to make a meal on the food they had brought with them. They were scarce +set, when there came out of the mouth of one of the black caves six of the most +beautiful ladies ever seen: they had flowers in their hair, and the most +beautiful breasts, and necklaces of scarlet seeds; and began to jest with these +young gentlemen, and the young gentlemen to jest back with them, all but Lotu. +As for Lotu, he saw there could be no living woman in such a place, and ran, +and flung himself in the bottom of the boat, and covered his face, and prayed. +All the time the business lasted Lotu made one clean break of prayer, and that +was all he knew of it, until his friends came back, and made him sit up, and +they put to sea again out of the bay, which was now quite desert, and no word +of the six ladies. But, what frightened Lotu most, not one of the five +remembered anything of what had passed, but they were all like drunken men, and +sang and laughed in the boat, and skylarked. The wind freshened and came +squally, and the sea rose extraordinary high; it was such weather as any man in +the islands would have turned his back to and fled home to Falesá; but these +five were like crazy folk, and cracked on all sail and drove their boat into +the seas. Lotu went to the bailing; none of the others thought to help him, but +sang and skylarked and carried on, and spoke singular things beyond a +man’s comprehension, and laughed out loud when they said them. So the +rest of the day Lotu bailed for his life in the bottom of the boat, and was all +drenched with sweat and cold sea-water; and none heeded him. Against all +expectation, they came safe in a dreadful tempest to Papa-malulu, where the +palms were singing out, and the cocoa-nuts flying like cannon-balls about the +village green; and the same night the five young gentlemen sickened, and spoke +never a reasonable word until they died. +</p> + +<p> +“And do you mean to tell me you can swallow a yarn like that?” I +asked. +</p> + +<p> +She told me the thing was well known, and with handsome young men alone it was +even common; but this was the only case where five had been slain the same day +and in a company by the love of the women-devils; and it had made a great stir +in the island, and she would be crazy if she doubted. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, anyway,” says I, “you needn’t be frightened +about me. I’ve no use for the women-devils. You’re all the women I +want, and all the devil too, old lady.” +</p> + +<p> +To this she answered there were other sorts, and she had seen one with her own +eyes. She had gone one day alone to the next bay, and, perhaps, got too near +the margin of the bad place. The boughs of the high bush overshadowed her from +the cant of the hill, but she herself was outside on a flat place, very stony +and growing full of young mummy-apples four and five feet high. It was a dark +day in the rainy season, and now there came squalls that tore off the leaves +and sent them flying, and now it was all still as in a house. It was in one of +these still times that a whole gang of birds and flying foxes came pegging out +of the bush like creatures frightened. Presently after she heard a rustle +nearer hand, and saw, coming out of the margin of the trees, among the +mummy-apples, the appearance of a lean grey old boar. It seemed to think as it +came, like a person; and all of a sudden, as she looked at it coming, she was +aware it was no boar but a thing that was a man with a man’s thoughts. At +that she ran, and the pig after her, and as the pig ran it holla’d aloud, +so that the place rang with it. +</p> + +<p> +“I wish I had been there with my gun,” said I. “I guess that +pig would have holla’d so as to surprise himself.” +</p> + +<p> +But she told me a gun was of no use with the like of these, which were the +spirits of the dead. +</p> + +<p> +Well, this kind of talk put in the evening, which was the best of it; but of +course it didn’t change my notion, and the next day, with my gun and a +good knife, I set off upon a voyage of discovery. I made, as near as I could, +for the place where I had seen Case come out; for if it was true he had some +kind of establishment in the bush I reckoned I should find a path. The +beginning of the desert was marked off by a wall, to call it so, for it was +more of a long mound of stones. They say it reaches right across the island, +but how they know it is another question, for I doubt if anyone has made the +journey in a hundred years, the natives sticking chiefly to the sea and their +little colonies along the coast, and that part being mortal high and steep and +full of cliffs. Up to the west side of the wall, the ground has been cleared, +and there are cocoa palms and mummy-apples and guavas, and lots of sensitive +plants. Just across, the bush begins outright; high bush at that, trees going +up like the masts of ships, and ropes of liana hanging down like a ship’s +rigging, and nasty orchids growing in the forks like funguses. The ground where +there was no underwood looked to be a heap of boulders. I saw many green +pigeons which I might have shot, only I was there with a different idea. A +number of butterflies flopped up and down along the ground like dead leaves; +sometimes I would hear a bird calling, sometimes the wind overhead, and always +the sea along the coast. +</p> + +<p> +But the queerness of the place it’s more difficult to tell of, unless to +one who has been alone in the high bush himself. The brightest kind of a day it +is always dim down there. A man can see to the end of nothing; whichever way he +looks the wood shuts up, one bough folding with another like the fingers of +your hand; and whenever he listens he hears always something new—men +talking, children laughing, the strokes of an axe a far way ahead of him, and +sometimes a sort of a quick, stealthy scurry near at hand that makes him jump +and look to his weapons. It’s all very well for him to tell himself that +he’s alone, bar trees and birds; he can’t make out to believe it; +whichever way he turns the whole place seems to be alive and looking on. +Don’t think it was Uma’s yarns that put me out; I don’t value +native talk a fourpenny-piece; it’s a thing that’s natural in the +bush, and that’s the end of it. +</p> + +<p> +As I got near the top of the hill, for the ground of the wood goes up in this +place steep as a ladder, the wind began to sound straight on, and the leaves to +toss and switch open and let in the sun. This suited me better; it was the same +noise all the time, and nothing to startle. Well, I had got to a place where +there was an underwood of what they call wild cocoanut—mighty pretty with +its scarlet fruit—when there came a sound of singing in the wind that I +thought I had never heard the like of. It was all very fine to tell myself it +was the branches; I knew better. It was all very fine to tell myself it was a +bird; I knew never a bird that sang like that. It rose and swelled, and died +away and swelled again; and now I thought it was like someone weeping, only +prettier; and now I thought it was like harps; and there was one thing I made +sure of, it was a sight too sweet to be wholesome in a place like that. You may +laugh if you like; but I declare I called to mind the six young ladies that +came, with their scarlet necklaces, out of the cave at Fanga-anaana, and +wondered if they sang like that. We laugh at the natives and their +superstitions; but see how many traders take them up, splendidly educated white +men, that have been book-keepers (some of them) and clerks in the old country. +It’s my belief a superstition grows up in a place like the different kind +of weeds; and as I stood there and listened to that wailing I twittered in my +shoes. +</p> + +<p> +You may call me a coward to be frightened; I thought myself brave enough to go +on ahead. But I went mighty carefully, with my gun cocked, spying all about me +like a hunter, fully expecting to see a handsome young woman sitting somewhere +in the bush, and fully determined (if I did) to try her with a charge of +duck-shot. And sure enough, I had not gone far when I met with a queer thing. +The wind came on the top of the wood in a strong puff, the leaves in front of +me burst open, and I saw for a second something hanging in a tree. It was gone +in a wink, the puff blowing by and the leaves closing. I tell you the truth: I +had made up my mind to see an <i>aitu</i>; and if the thing had looked like a +pig or a woman, it wouldn’t have given me the same turn. The trouble was +that it seemed kind of square, and the idea of a square thing that was alive +and sang knocked me sick and silly. I must have stood quite a while; and I made +pretty certain it was right out of the same tree that the singing came. Then I +began to come to myself a bit. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” says I, “if this is really so, if this is a place +where there are square things that sing, I’m gone up anyway. Let’s +have my fun for my money.” +</p> + +<p> +But I thought I might as well take the off chance of a prayer being any good; +so I plumped on my knees and prayed out loud; and all the time I was praying +the strange sounds came out of the tree, and went up and down, and changed, for +all the world like music, only you could see it wasn’t human—there +was nothing there that you could whistle. +</p> + +<p> +As soon as I had made an end in proper style, I laid down my gun, stuck my +knife between my teeth, walked right up to that tree, and began to climb. I +tell you my heart was like ice. But presently, as I went up, I caught another +glimpse of the thing, and that relieved me, for I thought it seemed like a box; +and when I had got right up to it I near fell out of the tree with laughing. +</p> + +<p> +A box it was, sure enough, and a candle-box at that, with the brand upon the +side of it; and it had banjo strings stretched so as to sound when the wind +blew. I believe they call the thing a Tyrolean <a name="citation3"></a><a +href="#footnote3" class="citation">[3]</a> harp, whatever that may mean. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Mr. Case,” said I, “you’ve frightened me once, +but I defy you to frighten me again,” I says, and slipped down the tree, +and set out again to find my enemy’s head office, which I guessed would +not be far away. +</p> + +<p> +The undergrowth was thick in this part; I couldn’t see before my nose, +and must burst my way through by main force and ply the knife as I went, +slicing the cords of the lianas and slashing down whole trees at a blow. I call +them trees for the bigness, but in truth they were just big weeds, and sappy to +cut through like carrot. From all this crowd and kind of vegetation, I was just +thinking to myself, the place might have once been cleared, when I came on my +nose over a pile of stones, and saw in a moment it was some kind of a work of +man. The Lord knows when it was made or when deserted, for this part of the +island has lain undisturbed since long before the whites came. A few steps +beyond I hit into the path I had been always looking for. It was narrow, but +well beaten, and I saw that Case had plenty of disciples. It seems, indeed, it +was a piece of fashionable boldness to venture up here with the trader, and a +young man scarce reckoned himself grown till he had got his breech tattooed, +for one thing, and seen Case’s devils for another. This is mighty like +Kanakas; but, if you look at it another way, it’s mighty like white folks +too. +</p> + +<p> +A bit along the path I was brought to a clear stand, and had to rub my eyes. +There was a wall in front of me, the path passing it by a gap; it was +tumbledown and plainly very old, but built of big stones very well laid; and +there is no native alive to-day upon that island that could dream of such a +piece of building. Along all the top of it was a line of queer figures, idols +or scarecrows, or what not. They had carved and painted faces ugly to view, +their eyes and teeth were of shell, their hair and their bright clothes blew in +the wind, and some of them worked with the tugging. There are islands up west +where they make these kind of figures till to-day; but if ever they were made +in this island, the practice and the very recollection of it are now long +forgotten. And the singular thing was that all these bogies were as fresh as +toys out of a shop. +</p> + +<p> +Then it came in my mind that Case had let out to me the first day that he was a +good forger of island curiosities, a thing by which so many traders turn an +honest penny. And with that I saw the whole business, and how this display +served the man a double purpose: first of all, to season his curiosities, and +then to frighten those that came to visit him. +</p> + +<p> +But I should tell you (what made the thing more curious) that all the time the +Tyrolean harps were harping round me in the trees, and even while I looked, a +green-and-yellow bird (that, I suppose, was building) began to tear the hair +off the head of one of the figures. +</p> + +<p> +A little farther on I found the best curiosity of the museum. The first I saw +of it was a longish mound of earth with a twist to it. Digging off the earth +with my hands, I found underneath tarpaulin stretched on boards, so that this +was plainly the roof of a cellar. It stood right on the top of the hill, and +the entrance was on the far side, between two rocks, like the entrance to a +cave. I went as far in as the bend, and, looking round the corner, saw a +shining face. It was big and ugly, like a pantomime mask, and the brightness of +it waxed and dwindled, and at times it smoked. +</p> + +<p> +“Oho!” says I, “luminous paint!” +</p> + +<p> +And I must say I rather admired the man’s ingenuity. With a box of tools +and a few mighty simple contrivances he had made out to have a devil of a +temple. Any poor Kanaka brought up here in the dark, with the harps whining all +round him, and shown that smoking face in the bottom of a hole, would make no +kind of doubt but he had seen and heard enough devils for a lifetime. +It’s easy to find out what Kanakas think. Just go back to yourself any +way round from ten to fifteen years old, and there’s an average Kanaka. +There are some pious, just as there are pious boys; and the most of them, like +the boys again, are middling honest and yet think it rather larks to steal, and +are easy scared and rather like to be so. I remember a boy I was at school with +at home who played the Case business. He didn’t know anything, that boy; +he couldn’t do anything; he had no luminous paint and no Tyrolean harps; +he just boldly said he was a sorcerer, and frightened us out of our boots, and +we loved it. And then it came in my mind how the master had once flogged that +boy, and the surprise we were all in to see the sorcerer catch it and bum like +anybody else. Thinks I to myself, “I must find some way of fixing it so +for Master Case.” And the next moment I had my idea. +</p> + +<p> +I went back by the path, which, when once you had found it, was quite plain and +easy walking; and when I stepped out on the black sands, who should I see but +Master Case himself. I cocked my gun and held it handy, and we marched up and +passed without a word, each keeping the tail of his eye on the other; and no +sooner had we passed than we each wheeled round like fellows drilling, and +stood face to face. We had each taken the same notion in his head, you see, +that the other fellow might give him the load of his gun in the stern. +</p> + +<p> +“You’ve shot nothing,” says Case. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m not on the shoot to-day,” said I. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, the devil go with you for me,” says he. +</p> + +<p> +“The same to you,” says I. +</p> + +<p> +But we stuck just the way we were; no fear of either of us moving. +</p> + +<p> +Case laughed. “We can’t stop here all day, though,” said he. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t let me detain you,” says I. +</p> + +<p> +He laughed again. “Look here, Wiltshire, do you think me a fool?” +he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“More of a knave, if you want to know,” says I. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, do you think it would better me to shoot you here, on this open +beach?” said he. “Because I don’t. Folks come fishing every +day. There may be a score of them up the valley now, making copra; there might +be half a dozen on the hill behind you, after pigeons; they might be watching +us this minute, and I shouldn’t wonder. I give you my word I don’t +want to shoot you. Why should I? You don’t hinder me any. You +haven’t got one pound of copra but what you made with your own hands, +like a negro slave. You’re vegetating—that’s what I call +it—and I don’t care where you vegetate, nor yet how long. Give me +your word you don’t mean to shoot me, and I’ll give you a lead and +walk away.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said I, “You’re frank and pleasant, ain’t +you? And I’ll be the same. I don’t mean to shoot you to-day. Why +should I? This business is beginning; it ain’t done yet, Mr. Case. +I’ve given you one turn already; I can see the marks of my knuckles on +your head to this blooming hour, and I’ve more cooking for you. I’m +not a paralee, like Underhill. My name ain’t Adams, and it ain’t +Vigours; and I mean to show you that you’ve met your match.” +</p> + +<p> +“This is a silly way to talk,” said he. “This is not the talk +to make me move on with.” +</p> + +<p> +“All right,” said I, “stay where you are. I ain’t in +any hurry, and you know it. I can put in a day on this beach and never mind. I +ain’t got any copra to bother with. I ain’t got any luminous paint +to see to.” +</p> + +<p> +I was sorry I said that last, but it whipped out before I knew. I could see it +took the wind out of his sails, and he stood and stared at me with his brow +drawn up. Then I suppose he made up his mind he must get to the bottom of this. +</p> + +<p> +“I take you at your word,” says he, and turned his back, and walked +right into the devil’s bush. +</p> + +<p> +I let him go, of course, for I had passed my word. But I watched him as long as +he was in sight, and after he was gone lit out for cover as lively as you would +want to see, and went the rest of the way home under the bush, for I +didn’t trust him sixpence-worth. One thing I saw, I had been ass enough +to give him warning, and that which I meant to do I must do at once. +</p> + +<p> +You would think I had had about enough excitement for one morning, but there +was another turn waiting me. As soon as I got far enough round the cape to see +my house I made out there were strangers there; a little farther, and no doubt +about it. There was a couple of armed sentinels squatting at my door. I could +only suppose the trouble about Uma must have come to a head, and the station +been seized. For aught I could think, Uma was taken up already, and these armed +men were waiting to do the like with me. +</p> + +<p> +However, as I came nearer, which I did at top speed, I saw there was a third +native sitting on the verandah like a guest, and Uma was talking with him like +a hostess. Nearer still I made out it was the big young chief, Maea, and that +he was smiling away and smoking. And what was he smoking? None of your European +cigarettes fit for a cat, not even the genuine big, knock-me-down native +article that a fellow can really put in the time with if his pipe is +broke—but a cigar, and one of my Mexicans at that, that I could swear to. +At sight of this my heart started beating, and I took a wild hope in my head +that the trouble was over, and Maea had come round. +</p> + +<p> +Uma pointed me out to him as I came up, and he met me at the head of my own +stairs like a thorough gentleman. +</p> + +<p> +“Vilivili,” said he, which was the best they could make of my name, +“I pleased.” +</p> + +<p> +There is no doubt when an island chief wants to be civil he can do it. I saw +the way things were from the word go. There was no call for Uma to say to me: +“He no ’fraid Ese now, come bring copra.” I tell you I shook +hands with that Kanaka like as if he was the best white man in Europe. +</p> + +<p> +The fact was, Case and he had got after the same girl; or Maea suspected it, +and concluded to make hay of the trader on the chance. He had dressed himself +up, got a couple of his retainers cleaned and armed to kind of make the thing +more public, and, just waiting till Case was clear of the village, came round +to put the whole of his business my way. He was rich as well as powerful. I +suppose that man was worth fifty thousand nuts per annum. I gave him the price +of the beach and a quarter cent better, and as for credit, I would have +advanced him the inside of the store and the fittings besides, I was so pleased +to see him. I must say he bought like a gentleman: rice and tins and biscuits +enough for a week’s feast, and stuffs by the bolt. He was agreeable +besides; he had plenty fun to him; and we cracked jests together, mostly +through the interpreter, because he had mighty little English, and my native +was still off colour. One thing I made out: he could never really have thought +much harm of Uma; he could never have been really frightened, and must just +have made believe from dodginess, and because he thought Case had a strong pull +in the village and could help him on. +</p> + +<p> +This set me thinking that both he and I were in a tightish place. What he had +done was to fly in the face of the whole village, and the thing might cost him +his authority. More than that, after my talk with Case on the beach, I thought +it might very well cost me my life. Case had as good as said he would pot me if +ever I got any copra; he would come home to find the best business in the +village had changed hands; and the best thing I thought I could do was to get +in first with the potting. +</p> + +<p> +“See here, Uma,” says I, “tell him I’m sorry I made him +wait, but I was up looking at Case’s Tiapolo store in the bush.” +</p> + +<p> +“He want savvy if you no ’fraid?” translated Uma. +</p> + +<p> +I laughed out. “Not much!” says I. “Tell him the place is a +blooming toy-shop! Tell him in England we give these things to the kids to play +with.” +</p> + +<p> +“He want savvy if you hear devil sing?” she asked next. +</p> + +<p> +“Look here,” I said, “I can’t do it now because +I’ve got no banjo-strings in stock; but the next time the ship comes +round I’ll have one of these same contraptions right here in my verandah, +and he can see for himself how much devil there is to it. Tell him, as soon as +I can get the strings I’ll make one for his picaninnies. The name of the +concern is a Tyrolean harp; and you can tell him the name means in English that +nobody but dam-fools give a cent for it.” +</p> + +<p> +This time he was so pleased he had to try his English again. “You talk +true?” says he. +</p> + +<p> +“Rather!” said I. “Talk all-e-same Bible. Bring out a Bible +here, Uma, if you’ve got such a thing, and I’ll kiss it. Or, +I’ll tell you what’s better still,” says I, taking a header, +“ask him if he’s afraid to go up there himself by day.” +</p> + +<p> +It appeared he wasn’t; he could venture as far as that by day and in +company. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s the ticket, then!” said I. “Tell him the +man’s a fraud and the place foolishness, and if he’ll go up there +to-morrow he’ll see all that’s left of it. But tell him this, Uma, +and mind he understands it: If he gets talking, it’s bound to come to +Case, and I’m a dead man! I’m playing his game, tell him, and if he +says one word my blood will be at his door and be the damnation of him here and +after.” +</p> + +<p> +She told him, and he shook hands with me up to the hilt, and, says he: +“No talk. Go up to-morrow. You my friend?” +</p> + +<p> +“No sir,” says I, “no such foolishness. I’ve come here +to trade, tell him, and not to make friends. But, as to Case, I’ll send +that man to glory!” +</p> + +<p> +So off Maea went, pretty well pleased, as I could see. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h3><a name="chap06"></a>CHAPTER V.<br /> +NIGHT IN THE BUSH.</h3> + +<p> +Well, I was committed now; Tiapolo had to be smashed up before next day, and my +hands were pretty full, not only with preparations, but with argument. My house +was like a mechanics’ debating society: Uma was so made up that I +shouldn’t go into the bush by night, or that, if I did, I was never to +come back again. You know her style of arguing: you’ve had a specimen +about Queen Victoria and the devil; and I leave you to fancy if I was tired of +it before dark. +</p> + +<p> +At last I had a good idea. What was the use of casting my pearls before her? I +thought; some of her own chopped hay would be likelier to do the business. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll tell you what, then,” said I. “You fish out your +Bible, and I’ll take that up along with me. That’ll make me +right.” +</p> + +<p> +She swore a Bible was no use. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s just your Kanaka ignorance,” said I. “Bring the +Bible out.” +</p> + +<p> +She brought it, and I turned to the title-page, where I thought there would +likely be some English, and so there was. “There!” said I. +“Look at that! ‘<i>London</i>: <i>Printed for the British and +Foreign Bible Society</i>, <i>Blackfriars</i>,’ and the date, which I +can’t read, owing to its being in these X’s. There’s no devil +in hell can look near the Bible Society, Blackfriars. Why, you silly!” I +said, “how do you suppose we get along with our own <i>aitus</i> at home? +All Bible Society!” +</p> + +<p> +“I think you no got any,” said she. “White man, he tell me +you no got.” +</p> + +<p> +“Sounds likely, don’t it?” I asked. “Why would these +islands all be chock full of them and none in Europe?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, you no got breadfruit,” said she. +</p> + +<p> +I could have torn my hair. “Now look here, old lady,” said I, +“you dry up, for I’m tired of you. I’ll take the Bible, +which’ll put me as straight as the mail, and that’s the last word +I’ve got to say.” +</p> + +<p> +The night fell extraordinary dark, clouds coming up with sundown and +overspreading all; not a star showed; there was only an end of a moon, and that +not due before the small hours. Round the village, what with the lights and the +fires in the open houses, and the torches of many fishers moving on the reef, +it kept as gay as an illumination; but the sea and the mountains and woods were +all clean gone. I suppose it might be eight o’clock when I took the road, +laden like a donkey. First there was that Bible, a book as big as your head, +which I had let myself in for by my own tomfoolery. Then there was my gun, and +knife, and lantern, and patent matches, all necessary. And then there was the +real plant of the affair in hand, a mortal weight of gunpowder, a pair of +dynamite fishing-bombs, and two or three pieces of slow match that I had hauled +out of the tin cases and spliced together the best way I could; for the match +was only trade stuff, and a man would be crazy that trusted it. Altogether, you +see, I had the materials of a pretty good blow-up! Expense was nothing to me; I +wanted that thing done right. +</p> + +<p> +As long as I was in the open, and had the lamp in my house to steer by, I did +well. But when I got to the path, it fell so dark I could make no headway, +walking into trees and swearing there, like a man looking for the matches in +his bed-room. I knew it was risky to light up, for my lantern would be visible +all the way to the point of the cape, and as no one went there after dark, it +would be talked about, and come to Case’s ears. But what was I to do? I +had either to give the business over and lose caste with Maea, or light up, +take my chance, and get through the thing the smartest I was able. +</p> + +<p> +As long as I was on the path I walked hard, but when I came to the black beach +I had to run. For the tide was now nearly flowed; and to get through with my +powder dry between the surf and the steep hill, took all the quickness I +possessed. As it was, even, the wash caught me to the knees, and I came near +falling on a stone. All this time the hurry I was in, and the free air and +smell of the sea, kept my spirits lively; but when I was once in the bush and +began to climb the path I took it easier. The fearsomeness of the wood had been +a good bit rubbed off for me by Master Case’s banjo-strings and graven +images, yet I thought it was a dreary walk, and guessed, when the disciples +went up there, they must be badly scared. The light of the lantern, striking +among all these trunks and forked branches and twisted rope-ends of lianas, +made the whole place, or all that you could see of it, a kind of a puzzle of +turning shadows. They came to meet you, solid and quick like giants, and then +span off and vanished; they hove up over your head like clubs, and flew away +into the night like birds. The floor of the bush glimmered with dead wood, the +way the match-box used to shine after you had struck a lucifer. Big, cold drops +fell on me from the branches overhead like sweat. There was no wind to mention; +only a little icy breath of a land-breeze that stirred nothing; and the harps +were silent. +</p> + +<p> +The first landfall I made was when I got through the bush of wild cocoanuts, +and came in view of the bogies on the wall. Mighty queer they looked by the +shining of the lantern, with their painted faces and shell eyes, and their +clothes and their hair hanging. One after another I pulled them all up and +piled them in a bundle on the cellar roof, so as they might go to glory with +the rest. Then I chose a place behind one of the big stones at the entrance, +buried my powder and the two shells, and arranged my match along the passage. +And then I had a look at the smoking head, just for good-bye. It was doing +fine. +</p> + +<p> +“Cheer up,” says I. “You’re booked.” +</p> + +<p> +It was my first idea to light up and be getting homeward; for the darkness and +the glimmer of the dead wood and the shadows of the lantern made me lonely. But +I knew where one of the harps hung; it seemed a pity it shouldn’t go with +the rest; and at the same time I couldn’t help letting on to myself that +I was mortal tired of my employment, and would like best to be at home and have +the door shut. I stepped out of the cellar and argued it fore and back. There +was a sound of the sea far down below me on the coast; nearer hand not a leaf +stirred; I might have been the only living creature this side of Cape Horn. +Well, as I stood there thinking, it seemed the bush woke and became full of +little noises. Little noises they were, and nothing to hurt—a bit of a +crackle, a bit of a rush—but the breath jumped right out of me and my +throat went as dry as a biscuit. It wasn’t Case I was afraid of, which +would have been common-sense; I never thought of Case; what took me, as sharp +as the colic, was the old wives’ tales, the devil-women and the man-pigs. +It was the toss of a penny whether I should run: but I got a purchase on +myself, and stepped out, and held up the lantern (like a fool) and looked all +round. +</p> + +<p> +In the direction of the village and the path there was nothing to be seen; but +when I turned inland it’s a wonder to me I didn’t drop. There, +coming right up out of the desert and the bad bush—there, sure enough, +was a devil-woman, just as the way I had figured she would look. I saw the +light shine on her bare arms and her bright eyes, and there went out of me a +yell so big that I thought it was my death. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! No sing out!” says the devil-woman, in a kind of a high +whisper. “Why you talk big voice? Put out light! Ese he come.” +</p> + +<p> +“My God Almighty, Uma, is that you?” says I. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Ioe</i>,” <a name="citation4"></a><a href="#footnote4" +class="citation">[4]</a> says she. “I come quick. Ese here soon.” +</p> + +<p> +“You come alone?” I asked. “You no ’fraid?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, too much ’fraid!” she whispered, clutching me. “I +think die.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” says I, with a kind of a weak grin, “I’m not +the one to laugh at you, Mrs. Wiltshire, for I’m about the worst scared +man in the South Pacific myself.” +</p> + +<p> +She told me in two words what brought her. I was scarce gone, it seems, when +Fa’avao came in, and the old woman had met Black Jack running as hard as +he was fit from our house to Case’s. Uma neither spoke nor stopped, but +lit right out to come and warn me. She was so close at my heels that the +lantern was her guide across the beach, and afterwards, by the glimmer of it in +the trees, she got her line up hill. It was only when I had got to the top or +was in the cellar that she wandered Lord knows where! and lost a sight of +precious time, afraid to call out lest Case was at the heels of her, and +falling in the bush, so that she was all knocked and bruised. That must have +been when she got too far to the southward, and how she came to take me in the +flank at last and frighten me beyond what I’ve got the words to tell of. +</p> + +<p> +Well, anything was better than a devil-woman, but I thought her yarn serious +enough. Black Jack had no call to be about my house, unless he was set there to +watch; and it looked to me as if my tomfool word about the paint, and perhaps +some chatter of Maea’s, had got us all in a clove hitch. One thing was +clear: Uma and I were here for the night; we daren’t try to go home +before day, and even then it would be safer to strike round up the mountain and +come in by the back of the village, or we might walk into an ambuscade. It was +plain, too, that the mine should be sprung immediately, or Case might be in +time to stop it. +</p> + +<p> +I marched into the tunnel, Uma keeping tight hold of me, opened my lantern and +lit the match. The first length of it burned like a spill of paper, and I stood +stupid, watching it burn, and thinking we were going aloft with Tiapolo, which +was none of my views. The second took to a better rate, though faster than I +cared about; and at that I got my wits again, hauled Uma clear of the passage, +blew out and dropped the lantern, and the pair of us groped our way into the +bush until I thought it might be safe, and lay down together by a tree. +</p> + +<p> +“Old lady,” I said, “I won’t forget this night. +You’re a trump, and that’s what’s wrong with you.” +</p> + +<p> +She humped herself close up to me. She had run out the way she was, with +nothing on her but her kilt; and she was all wet with the dews and the sea on +the black beach, and shook straight on with cold and the terror of the dark and +the devils. +</p> + +<p> +“Too much ’fraid,” was all she said. +</p> + +<p> +The far side of Case’s hill goes down near as steep as a precipice into +the next valley. We were on the very edge of it, and I could see the dead wood +shine and hear the sea sound far below. I didn’t care about the position, +which left me no retreat, but I was afraid to change. Then I saw I had made a +worse mistake about the lantern, which I should have left lighted, so that I +could have had a crack at Case when he stepped into the shine of it. And even +if I hadn’t had the wit to do that, it seemed a senseless thing to leave +the good lantern to blow up with the graven images. The thing belonged to me, +after all, and was worth money, and might come in handy. If I could have +trusted the match, I might have run in still and rescued it. But who was going +to trust the match? You know what trade is. The stuff was good enough for +Kanakas to go fishing with, where they’ve got to look lively anyway, and +the most they risk is only to have their hand blown off. But for anyone that +wanted to fool around a blow-up like mine that match was rubbish. +</p> + +<p> +Altogether the best I could do was to lie still, see my shot-gun handy, and +wait for the explosion. But it was a solemn kind of a business. The blackness +of the night was like solid; the only thing you could see was the nasty bogy +glimmer of the dead wood, and that showed you nothing but itself; and as for +sounds, I stretched my ears till I thought I could have heard the match burn in +the tunnel, and that bush was as silent as a coffin. Now and then there was a +bit of a crack; but whether it was near or far, whether it was Case stubbing +his toes within a few yards of me, or a tree breaking miles away, I knew no +more than the babe unborn. +</p> + +<p> +And then, all of a sudden, Vesuvius went off. It was a long time coming; but +when it came (though I say it that shouldn’t) no man could ask to see a +better. At first it was just a son of a gun of a row, and a spout of fire, and +the wood lighted up so that you could see to read. And then the trouble began. +Uma and I were half buried under a wagonful of earth, and glad it was no worse, +for one of the rocks at the entrance of the tunnel was fired clean into the +air, fell within a couple of fathoms of where we lay, and bounded over the edge +of the hill, and went pounding down into the next valley. I saw I had rather +undercalculated our distance, or over-done the dynamite and powder, which you +please. +</p> + +<p> +And presently I saw I had made another slip. The noise of the thing began to +die off, shaking the island; the dazzle was over; and yet the night +didn’t come back the way I expected. For the whole wood was scattered +with red coals and brands from the explosion; they were all round me on the +flat; some had fallen below in the valley, and some stuck and flared in the +tree-tops. I had no fear of fire, for these forests are too wet to kindle. But +the trouble was that the place was all lit up-not very bright, but good enough +to get a shot by; and the way the coals were scattered, it was just as likely +Case might have the advantage as myself. I looked all round for his white face, +you may be sure; but there was not a sign of him. As for Uma, the life seemed +to have been knocked right out of her by the bang and blaze of it. +</p> + +<p> +There was one bad point in my game. One of the blessed graven images had come +down all afire, hair and clothes and body, not four yards away from me. I cast +a mighty noticing glance all round; there was still no Case, and I made up my +mind I must get rid of that burning stick before he came, or I should be shot +there like a dog. +</p> + +<p> +It was my first idea to have crawled, and then I thought speed was the main +thing, and stood half up to make a rush. The same moment from somewhere between +me and the sea there came a flash and a report, and a rifle bullet screeched in +my ear. I swung straight round and up with my gun, but the brute had a +Winchester, and before I could as much as see him his second shot knocked me +over like a nine-pin. I seemed to fly in the air, then came down by the run and +lay half a minute, silly; and then I found my hands empty, and my gun had flown +over my head as I fell. It makes a man mighty wide awake to be in the kind of +box that I was in. I scarcely knew where I was hurt, or whether I was hurt or +not, but turned right over on my face to crawl after my weapon. Unless you have +tried to get about with a smashed leg you don’t know what pain is, and I +let out a howl like a bullock’s. +</p> + +<p> +This was the unluckiest noise that ever I made in my life. Up to then Uma had +stuck to her tree like a sensible woman, knowing she would be only in the way; +but as soon as she heard me sing out, she ran forward. The Winchester cracked +again, and down she went. +</p> + +<p> +I had sat up, leg and all, to stop her; but when I saw her tumble I clapped +down again where I was, lay still, and felt the handle of my knife. I had been +scurried and put out before. No more of that for me. He had knocked over my +girl, I had got to fix him for it; and I lay there and gritted my teeth, and +footed up the chances. My leg was broke, my gun was gone. Case had still ten +shots in his Winchester. It looked a kind of hopeless business. But I never +despaired nor thought upon despairing: that man had got to go. +</p> + +<p> +For a goodish bit not one of us let on. Then I heard Case begin to move nearer +in the bush, but mighty careful. The image had burned out; there were only a +few coals left here and there, and the wood was main dark, but had a kind of a +low glow in it like a fire on its last legs. It was by this that I made out +Case’s head looking at me over a big tuft of ferns, and at the same time +the brute saw me and shouldered his Winchester. I lay quite still, and as good +as looked into the barrel: it was my last chance, but I thought my heart would +have come right out of its bearings. Then he fired. Lucky for me it was no +shot-gun, for the bullet struck within an inch of me and knocked the dirt in my +eyes. +</p> + +<p> +Just you try and see if you can lie quiet, and let a man take a sitting shot at +you and miss you by a hair. But I did, and lucky too. A while Case stood with +the Winchester at the port-arms; then he gave a little laugh to himself, and +stepped round the ferns. +</p> + +<p> +“Laugh!” thought I. “If you had the wit of a louse you would +be praying!” +</p> + +<p> +I was all as taut as a ship’s hawser or the spring of a watch, and as +soon as he came within reach of me I had him by the ankle, plucked the feet +right out from under him, laid him out, and was upon the top of him, broken leg +and all, before he breathed. His Winchester had gone the same road as my +shot-gun; it was nothing to me—I defied him now. I’m a pretty +strong man anyway, but I never knew what strength was till I got hold of Case. +He was knocked out of time by the rattle he came down with, and threw up his +hands together, more like a frightened woman, so that I caught both of them +with my left. This wakened him up, and he fastened his teeth in my forearm like +a weasel. Much I cared. My leg gave me all the pain I had any use for, and I +drew my knife and got it in the place. +</p> + +<p> +“Now,” said I, “I’ve got you; and you’re gone up, +and a good job too! Do you feel the point of that? That’s for Underhill! +And there’s for Adams! And now here’s for Uma, and that’s +going to knock your blooming soul right out of you!” +</p> + +<p> +With that I gave him the cold steel for all I was worth. His body kicked under +me like a spring sofa; he gave a dreadful kind of a long moan, and lay still. +</p> + +<p> +“I wonder if you’re dead? I hope so!” I thought, for my head +was swimming. But I wasn’t going to take chances; I had his own example +too close before me for that; and I tried to draw the knife out to give it him +again. The blood came over my hands, I remember, hot as tea; and with that I +fainted clean away, and fell with my head on the man’s mouth. +</p> + +<p> +When I came to myself it was pitch dark; the cinders had burned out; there was +nothing to be seen but the shine of the dead wood, and I couldn’t +remember where I was nor why I was in such pain nor what I was all wetted with. +Then it came back, and the first thing I attended to was to give him the knife +again a half-a-dozen times up to the handle. I believe he was dead already, but +it did him no harm and did me good. +</p> + +<p> +“I bet you’re dead now,” I said, and then I called to Uma. +</p> + +<p> +Nothing answered, and I made a move to go and grope for her, fouled my broken +leg, and fainted again. +</p> + +<p> +When I came to myself the second time the clouds had all cleared away, except a +few that sailed there, white as cotton. The moon was up—a tropic moon. +The moon at home turns a wood black, but even this old butt-end of a one showed +up that forest, as green as by day. The night birds—or, rather, +they’re a kind of early morning bird—sang out with their long, +falling notes like nightingales. And I could see the dead man, that I was still +half resting on, looking right up into the sky with his open eyes, no paler +than when he was alive; and a little way off Uma tumbled on her side. I got +over to her the best way I was able, and when I got there she was broad awake, +and crying and sobbing to herself with no more noise than an insect. It appears +she was afraid to cry out loud, because of the <i>aitus</i>. Altogether she was +not much hurt, but scared beyond belief; she had come to her senses a long +while ago, cried out to me, heard nothing in reply, made out we were both dead, +and had lain there ever since, afraid to budge a finger. The ball had ploughed +up her shoulder, and she had lost a main quantity of blood; but I soon had that +tied up the way it ought to be with the tail of my shirt and a scarf I had on, +got her head on my sound knee and my back against a trunk, and settled down to +wait for morning. Uma was for neither use nor ornament, and could only clutch +hold of me and shake and cry. I don’t suppose there was ever anybody +worse scared, and, to do her justice, she had had a lively night of it. As for +me, I was in a good bit of pain and fever, but not so bad when I sat still; and +every time I looked over to Case I could have sung and whistled. Talk about +meat and drink! To see that man lying there dead as a herring filled me full. +</p> + +<p> +The night birds stopped after a while; and then the light began to change, the +east came orange, the whole wood began to whirr with singing like a musical +box, and there was the broad day. +</p> + +<p> +I didn’t expect Maea for a long while yet; and, indeed, I thought there +was an off-chance he might go back on the whole idea and not come at all. I was +the better pleased when, about an hour after daylight, I heard sticks smashing +and a lot of Kanakas laughing, and singing out to keep their courage up. Uma +sat up quite brisk at the first word of it; and presently we saw a party come +stringing out of the path, Maea in front, and behind him a white man in a pith +helmet. It was Mr. Tarleton, who had turned up late last night in Falesá, +having left his boat and walked the last stage with a lantern. +</p> + +<p> +They buried Case upon the field of glory, right in the hole where he had kept +the smoking head. I waited till the thing was done; and Mr. Tarleton prayed, +which I thought tomfoolery, but I’m bound to say he gave a pretty sick +view of the dear departed’s prospects, and seemed to have his own ideas +of hell. I had it out with him afterwards, told him he had scamped his duty, +and what he had ought to have done was to up like a man and tell the Kanakas +plainly Case was damned, and a good riddance; but I never could get him to see +it my way. Then they made me a litter of poles and carried me down to the +station. Mr. Tarleton set my leg, and made a regular missionary splice of it, +so that I limp to this day. That done, he took down my evidence, and +Uma’s, and Maea’s, wrote it all out fine, and had us sign it; and +then he got the chiefs and marched over to Papa Randall’s to seize +Case’s papers. +</p> + +<p> +All they found was a bit of a diary, kept for a good many years, and all about +the price of copra, and chickens being stolen, and that; and the books of the +business and the will I told you of in the beginning, by both of which the +whole thing (stock, lock, and barrel) appeared to belong to the Samoa woman. It +was I that bought her out at a mighty reasonable figure, for she was in a hurry +to get home. As for Randall and the black, they had to tramp; got into some +kind of a station on the Papa-malulu side; did very bad business, for the truth +is neither of the pair was fit for it, and lived mostly on fish, which was the +means of Randall’s death. It seems there was a nice shoal in one day, and +papa went after them with the dynamite; either the match burned too fast, or +papa was full, or both, but the shell went off (in the usual way) before he +threw it, and where was papa’s hand? Well, there’s nothing to hurt +in that; the islands up north are all full of one-handed men, like the parties +in the “Arabian Nights”; but either Randall was too old, or he +drank too much, and the short and the long of it was that he died. Pretty soon +after, the nigger was turned out of the island for stealing from white men, and +went off to the west, where he found men of his own colour, in case he liked +that, and the men of his own colour took and ate him at some kind of a +corroborree, and I’m sure I hope he was to their fancy! +</p> + +<p> +So there was I, left alone in my glory at Falesá; and when the schooner came +round I filled her up, and gave her a deck-cargo half as high as the house. I +must say Mr. Tarleton did the right thing by us; but he took a meanish kind of +a revenge. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, Mr. Wiltshire,” said he, “I’ve put you all square +with everybody here. It wasn’t difficult to do, Case being gone; but I +have done it, and given my pledge besides that you will deal fairly with the +natives. I must ask you to keep my word.” +</p> + +<p> +Well, so I did. I used to be bothered about my balances, but I reasoned it out +this way: We all have queerish balances; and the natives all know it, and water +their copra in a proportion so that it’s fair all round; but the truth +is, it did use to bother me, and, though I did well in Falesá, I was half glad +when the firm moved me on to another station, where I was under no kind of a +pledge and could look my balances in the face. +</p> + +<p> +As for the old lady, you know her as well as I do. She’s only the one +fault. If you don’t keep your eye lifting she would give away the roof +off the station. Well, it seems it’s natural in Kanakas. She’s +turned a powerful big woman now, and could throw a London bobby over her +shoulder. But that’s natural in Kanakas too, and there’s no manner +of doubt that she’s an A 1 wife. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Tarleton’s gone home, his trick being over. He was the best +missionary I ever struck, and now, it seems, he’s parsonising down +Somerset way. Well, that’s best for him; he’ll have no Kanakas +there to get luny over. +</p> + +<p> +My public-house? Not a bit of it, nor ever likely. I’m stuck here, I +fancy. I don’t like to leave the kids, you see: and—there’s +no use talking—they’re better here than what they would be in a +white man’s country, though Ben took the eldest up to Auckland, where +he’s being schooled with the best. But what bothers me is the girls. +They’re only half-castes, of course; I know that as well as you do, and +there’s nobody thinks less of half-castes than I do; but they’re +mine, and about all I’ve got. I can’t reconcile my mind to their +taking up with Kanakas, and I’d like to know where I’m to find the +whites? +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap07"></a>THE BOTTLE IMP.</h2> + +<p> +Note.—Any student of that very unliterary product, the English drama of +the early part of the century, will here recognise the name and the root idea +of a piece once rendered popular by the redoubtable O. Smith. The root idea is +there and identical, and yet I hope I have made it a new thing. And the fact +that the tale has been designed and written for a Polynesian audience may lend +it some extraneous interest nearer home.—R. L. S. +</p> + +<p> +There was a man of the Island of Hawaii, whom I shall call Keawe; for the truth +is, he still lives, and his name must be kept secret; but the place of his +birth was not far from Honaunau, where the bones of Keawe the Great lie hidden +in a cave. This man was poor, brave, and active; he could read and write like a +schoolmaster; he was a first-rate mariner besides, sailed for some time in the +island steamers, and steered a whaleboat on the Hamakua coast. At length it +came in Keawe’s mind to have a sight of the great world and foreign +cities, and he shipped on a vessel bound to San Francisco. +</p> + +<p> +This is a fine town, with a fine harbour, and rich people uncountable; and, in +particular, there is one hill which is covered with palaces. Upon this hill +Keawe was one day taking a walk with his pocket full of money, viewing the +great houses upon either hand with pleasure, “What fine houses these +are!” he was thinking, “and how happy must those people be who +dwell in them, and take no care for the morrow!” The thought was in his +mind when he came abreast of a house that was smaller than some others, but all +finished and beautified like a toy; the steps of that house shone like silver, +and the borders of the garden bloomed like garlands, and the windows were +bright like diamond; and Keawe stopped and wondered at the excellence of all he +saw. So stopping, he was aware of a man that looked forth upon him through a +window so clear that Keawe could see him as you see a fish in a pool upon the +reef. The man was elderly, with a bald head and a black beard; and his face was +heavy with sorrow, and he bitterly sighed. And the truth of it is, that as +Keawe looked in upon the man, and the man looked out upon Keawe, each envied +the other. +</p> + +<p> +All of a sudden, the man smiled and nodded, and beckoned Keawe to enter, and +met him at the door of the house. +</p> + +<p> +“This is a fine house of mine,” said the man, and bitterly sighed. +“Would you not care to view the chambers?” +</p> + +<p> +So he led Keawe all over it, from the cellar to the roof, and there was nothing +there that was not perfect of its kind, and Keawe was astonished. +</p> + +<p> +“Truly,” said Keawe, “this is a beautiful house; if I lived +in the like of it, I should be laughing all day long. How comes it, then, that +you should be sighing?” +</p> + +<p> +“There is no reason,” said the man, “why you should not have +a house in all points similar to this, and finer, if you wish. You have some +money, I suppose?” +</p> + +<p> +“I have fifty dollars,” said Keawe; “but a house like this +will cost more than fifty dollars.” +</p> + +<p> +The man made a computation. “I am sorry you have no more,” said he, +“for it may raise you trouble in the future; but it shall be yours at +fifty dollars.” +</p> + +<p> +“The house?” asked Keawe. +</p> + +<p> +“No, not the house,” replied the man; “but the bottle. For, I +must tell you, although I appear to you so rich and fortunate, all my fortune, +and this house itself and its garden, came out of a bottle not much bigger than +a pint. This is it.” +</p> + +<p> +And he opened a lockfast place, and took out a round-bellied bottle with a long +neck; the glass of it was white like milk, with changing rainbow colours in the +grain. Withinsides something obscurely moved, like a shadow and a fire. +</p> + +<p> +“This is the bottle,” said the man; and, when Keawe laughed, +“You do not believe me?” he added. “Try, then, for yourself. +See if you can break it.” +</p> + +<p> +So Keawe took the bottle up and dashed it on the floor till he was weary; but +it jumped on the floor like a child’s ball, and was not injured. +</p> + +<p> +“This is a strange thing,” said Keawe. “For by the touch of +it, as well as by the look, the bottle should be of glass.” +</p> + +<p> +“Of glass it is,” replied the man, sighing more heavily than ever; +“but the glass of it was tempered in the flames of hell. An imp lives in +it, and that is the shadow we behold there moving: or so I suppose. If any man +buy this bottle the imp is at his command; all that he desires—love, +fame, money, houses like this house, ay, or a city like this city—all are +his at the word uttered. Napoleon had this bottle, and by it he grew to be the +king of the world; but he sold it at the last, and fell. Captain Cook had this +bottle, and by it he found his way to so many islands; but he, too, sold it, +and was slain upon Hawaii. For, once it is sold, the power goes and the +protection; and unless a man remain content with what he has, ill will befall +him.” +</p> + +<p> +“And yet you talk of selling it yourself?” Keawe said. +</p> + +<p> +“I have all I wish, and I am growing elderly,” replied the man. +“There is one thing the imp cannot do—he cannot prolong life; and, +it would not be fair to conceal from you, there is a drawback to the bottle; +for if a man die before he sells it, he must burn in hell forever.” +</p> + +<p> +“To be sure, that is a drawback and no mistake,” cried Keawe. +“I would not meddle with the thing. I can do without a house, thank God; +but there is one thing I could not be doing with one particle, and that is to +be damned.” +</p> + +<p> +“Dear me, you must not run away with things,” returned the man. +“All you have to do is to use the power of the imp in moderation, and +then sell it to someone else, as I do to you, and finish your life in +comfort.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I observe two things,” said Keawe. “All the time you +keep sighing like a maid in love, that is one; and, for the other, you sell +this bottle very cheap.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have told you already why I sigh,” said the man. “It is +because I fear my health is breaking up; and, as you said yourself, to die and +go to the devil is a pity for anyone. As for why I sell so cheap, I must +explain to you there is a peculiarity about the bottle. Long ago, when the +devil brought it first upon earth, it was extremely expensive, and was sold +first of all to Prester John for many millions of dollars; but it cannot be +sold at all, unless sold at a loss. If you sell it for as much as you paid for +it, back it comes to you again like a homing pigeon. It follows that the price +has kept falling in these centuries, and the bottle is now remarkably cheap. I +bought it myself from one of my great neighbours on this hill, and the price I +paid was only ninety dollars. I could sell it for as high as eighty-nine +dollars and ninety-nine cents, but not a penny dearer, or back the thing must +come to me. Now, about this there are two bothers. First, when you offer a +bottle so singular for eighty odd dollars, people suppose you to be jesting. +And second—but there is no hurry about that—and I need not go into +it. Only remember it must be coined money that you sell it for.” +</p> + +<p> +“How am I to know that this is all true?” asked Keawe. +</p> + +<p> +“Some of it you can try at once,” replied the man. “Give me +your fifty dollars, take the bottle, and wish your fifty dollars back into your +pocket. If that does not happen, I pledge you my honour I will cry off the +bargain and restore your money.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are not deceiving me?” said Keawe. +</p> + +<p> +The man bound himself with a great oath. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I will risk that much,” said Keawe, “for that can do +no harm.” And he paid over his money to the man, and the man handed him +the bottle. +</p> + +<p> +“Imp of the bottle,” said Keawe, “I want my fifty dollars +back.” And sure enough he had scarce said the word before his pocket was +as heavy as ever. +</p> + +<p> +“To be sure this is a wonderful bottle,” said Keawe. +</p> + +<p> +“And now good-morning to you, my fine fellow, and the devil go with you +for me!” said the man. +</p> + +<p> +“Hold on,” said Keawe, “I don’t want any more of this +fun. Here, take your bottle back.” +</p> + +<p> +“You have bought it for less than I paid for it,” replied the man, +rubbing his hands. “It is yours now; and, for my part, I am only +concerned to see the back of you.” And with that he rang for his Chinese +servant, and had Keawe shown out of the house. +</p> + +<p> +Now, when Keawe was in the street, with the bottle under his arm, he began to +think. “If all is true about this bottle, I may have made a losing +bargain,” thinks he. “But perhaps the man was only fooling +me.” The first thing he did was to count his money; the sum was +exact—forty-nine dollars American money, and one Chili piece. “That +looks like the truth,” said Keawe. “Now I will try another +part.” +</p> + +<p> +The streets in that part of the city were as clean as a ship’s decks, and +though it was noon, there were no passengers. Keawe set the bottle in the +gutter and walked away. Twice he looked back, and there was the milky, +round-bellied bottle where he left it. A third time he looked back, and turned +a corner; but he had scarce done so, when something knocked upon his elbow, and +behold! it was the long neck sticking up; and as for the round belly, it was +jammed into the pocket of his pilot-coat. +</p> + +<p> +“And that looks like the truth,” said Keawe. +</p> + +<p> +The next thing he did was to buy a cork-screw in a shop, and go apart into a +secret place in the fields. And there he tried to draw the cork, but as often +as he put the screw in, out it came again, and the cork as whole as ever. +</p> + +<p> +“This is some new sort of cork,” said Keawe, and all at once he +began to shake and sweat, for he was afraid of that bottle. +</p> + +<p> +On his way back to the port-side, he saw a shop where a man sold shells and +clubs from the wild islands, old heathen deities, old coined money, pictures +from China and Japan, and all manner of things that sailors bring in their +sea-chests. And here he had an idea. So he went in and offered the bottle for a +hundred dollars. The man of the shop laughed at him at the first, and offered +him five; but, indeed, it was a curious bottle—such glass was never blown +in any human glassworks, so prettily the colours shone under the milky white, +and so strangely the shadow hovered in the midst; so, after he had disputed +awhile after the manner of his kind, the shop-man gave Keawe sixty silver +dollars for the thing, and set it on a shelf in the midst of his window. +</p> + +<p> +“Now,” said Keawe, “I have sold that for sixty which I bought +for fifty—or, to say truth, a little less, because one of my dollars was +from Chili. Now I shall know the truth upon another point.” +</p> + +<p> +So he went back on board his ship, and, when he opened his chest, there was the +bottle, and had come more quickly than himself. Now Keawe had a mate on board +whose name was Lopaka. +</p> + +<p> +“What ails you?” said Lopaka, “that you stare in your +chest?” +</p> + +<p> +They were alone in the ship’s forecastle, and Keawe bound him to secrecy, +and told all. +</p> + +<p> +“This is a very strange affair,” said Lopaka; “and I fear you +will be in trouble about this bottle. But there is one point very +clear—that you are sure of the trouble, and you had better have the +profit in the bargain. Make up your mind what you want with it; give the order, +and if it is done as you desire, I will buy the bottle myself; for I have an +idea of my own to get a schooner, and go trading through the islands.” +</p> + +<p> +“That is not my idea,” said Keawe; “but to have a beautiful +house and garden on the Kona Coast, where I was born, the sun shining in at the +door, flowers in the garden, glass in the windows, pictures on the walls, and +toys and fine carpets on the tables, for all the world like the house I was in +this day—only a storey higher, and with balconies all about like the +King’s palace; and to live there without care and make merry with my +friends and relatives.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said Lopaka, “let us carry it back with us to Hawaii; +and if all comes true, as you suppose, I will buy the bottle, as I said, and +ask a schooner.” +</p> + +<p> +Upon that they were agreed, and it was not long before the ship returned to +Honolulu, carrying Keawe and Lopaka, and the bottle. They were scarce come +ashore when they met a friend upon the beach, who began at once to condole with +Keawe. +</p> + +<p> +“I do not know what I am to be condoled about,” said Keawe. +</p> + +<p> +“Is it possible you have not heard,” said the friend, “your +uncle—that good old man—is dead, and your cousin—that +beautiful boy—was drowned at sea?” +</p> + +<p> +Keawe was filled with sorrow, and, beginning to weep and to lament, he forgot +about the bottle. But Lopaka was thinking to himself, and presently, when +Keawe’s grief was a little abated, “I have been thinking,” +said Lopaka. “Had not your uncle lands in Hawaii, in the district of +Kau?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Keawe, “not in Kau; they are on the +mountain-side—a little way south of Hookena.” +</p> + +<p> +“These lands will now be yours?” asked Lopaka. +</p> + +<p> +“And so they will,” says Keawe, and began again to lament for his +relatives. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Lopaka, “do not lament at present. I have a +thought in my mind. How if this should be the doing of the bottle? For here is +the place ready for your house.” +</p> + +<p> +“If this be so,” cried Keawe, “it is a very ill way to serve +me by killing my relatives. But it may be, indeed; for it was in just such a +station that I saw the house with my mind’s eye.” +</p> + +<p> +“The house, however, is not yet built,” said Lopaka. +</p> + +<p> +“No, nor like to be!” said Keawe; “for though my uncle has +some coffee and ava and bananas, it will not be more than will keep me in +comfort; and the rest of that land is the black lava.” +</p> + +<p> +“Let us go to the lawyer,” said Lopaka; “I have still this +idea in my mind.” +</p> + +<p> +Now, when they came to the lawyer’s, it appeared Keawe’s uncle had +grown monstrous rich in the last days, and there was a fund of money. +</p> + +<p> +“And here is the money for the house!” cried Lopaka. +</p> + +<p> +“If you are thinking of a new house,” said the lawyer, “here +is the card of a new architect, of whom they tell me great things.” +</p> + +<p> +“Better and better!” cried Lopaka. “Here is all made plain +for us. Let us continue to obey orders.” +</p> + +<p> +So they went to the architect, and he had drawings of houses on his table. +</p> + +<p> +“You want something out of the way,” said the architect. “How +do you like this?” and he handed a drawing to Keawe. +</p> + +<p> +Now, when Keawe set eyes on the drawing, he cried out aloud, for it was the +picture of his thought exactly drawn. +</p> + +<p> +“I am in for this house,” thought he. “Little as I like the +way it comes to me, I am in for it now, and I may as well take the good along +with the evil.” +</p> + +<p> +So he told the architect all that he wished, and how he would have that house +furnished, and about the pictures on the wall and the knick-knacks on the +tables; and he asked the man plainly for how much he would undertake the whole +affair. +</p> + +<p> +The architect put many questions, and took his pen and made a computation; and +when he had done he named the very sum that Keawe had inherited. +</p> + +<p> +Lopaka and Keawe looked at one another and nodded. +</p> + +<p> +“It is quite clear,” thought Keawe, “that I am to have this +house, whether or no. It comes from the devil, and I fear I will get little +good by that; and of one thing I am sure, I will make no more wishes as long as +I have this bottle. But with the house I am saddled, and I may as well take the +good along with the evil.” +</p> + +<p> +So he made his terms with the architect, and they signed a paper; and Keawe and +Lopaka took ship again and sailed to Australia; for it was concluded between +them they should not interfere at all, but leave the architect and the bottle +imp to build and to adorn that house at their own pleasure. +</p> + +<p> +The voyage was a good voyage, only all the time Keawe was holding in his +breath, for he had sworn he would utter no more wishes, and take no more +favours from the devil. The time was up when they got back. The architect told +them that the house was ready, and Keawe and Lopaka took a passage in the +<i>Hall</i>, and went down Kona way to view the house, and see if all had been +done fitly according to the thought that was in Keawe’s mind. +</p> + +<p> +Now the house stood on the mountain side, visible to ships. Above, the forest +ran up into the clouds of rain; below, the black lava fell in cliffs, where the +kings of old lay buried. A garden bloomed about that house with every hue of +flowers; and there was an orchard of papaia on the one hand and an orchard of +breadfruit on the other, and right in front, toward the sea, a ship’s +mast had been rigged up and bore a flag. As for the house, it was three storeys +high, with great chambers and broad balconies on each. The windows were of +glass, so excellent that it was as clear as water and as bright as day. All +manner of furniture adorned the chambers. Pictures hung upon the wall in golden +frames: pictures of ships, and men fighting, and of the most beautiful women, +and of singular places; nowhere in the world are there pictures of so bright a +colour as those Keawe found hanging in his house. As for the knick-knacks, they +were extraordinary fine; chiming clocks and musical boxes, little men with +nodding heads, books filled with pictures, weapons of price from all quarters +of the world, and the most elegant puzzles to entertain the leisure of a +solitary man. And as no one would care to live in such chambers, only to walk +through and view them, the balconies were made so broad that a whole town might +have lived upon them in delight; and Keawe knew not which to prefer, whether +the back porch, where you got the land breeze, and looked upon the orchards and +the flowers, or the front balcony, where you could drink the wind of the sea, +and look down the steep wall of the mountain and see the <i>Hall</i> going by +once a week or so between Hookena and the hills of Pele, or the schooners +plying up the coast for wood and ava and bananas. +</p> + +<p> +When they had viewed all, Keawe and Lopaka sat on the porch. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” asked Lopaka, “is it all as you designed?” +</p> + +<p> +“Words cannot utter it,” said Keawe. “It is better than I +dreamed, and I am sick with satisfaction.” +</p> + +<p> +“There is but one thing to consider,” said Lopaka; “all this +may be quite natural, and the bottle imp have nothing whatever to say to it. If +I were to buy the bottle, and got no schooner after all, I should have put my +hand in the fire for nothing. I gave you my word, I know; but yet I think you +would not grudge me one more proof.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have sworn I would take no more favours,” said Keawe. “I +have gone already deep enough.” +</p> + +<p> +“This is no favour I am thinking of,” replied Lopaka. “It is +only to see the imp himself. There is nothing to be gained by that, and so +nothing to be ashamed of; and yet, if I once saw him, I should be sure of the +whole matter. So indulge me so far, and let me see the imp; and, after that, +here is the money in my hand, and I will buy it.” +</p> + +<p> +“There is only one thing I am afraid of,” said Keawe. “The +imp may be very ugly to view; and if you once set eyes upon him you might be +very undesirous of the bottle.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am a man of my word,” said Lopaka. “And here is the money +betwixt us.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very well,” replied Keawe. “I have a curiosity myself. So +come, let us have one look at you, Mr. Imp.” +</p> + +<p> +Now as soon as that was said, the imp looked out of the bottle, and in again, +swift as a lizard; and there sat Keawe and Lopaka turned to stone. The night +had quite come, before either found a thought to say or voice to say it with; +and then Lopaka pushed the money over and took the bottle. +</p> + +<p> +“I am a man of my word,” said he, “and had need to be so, or +I would not touch this bottle with my foot. Well, I shall get my schooner and a +dollar or two for my pocket; and then I will be rid of this devil as fast as I +can. For to tell you the plain truth, the look of him has cast me down.” +</p> + +<p> +“Lopaka,” said Keawe, “do not you think any worse of me than +you can help; I know it is night, and the roads bad, and the pass by the tombs +an ill place to go by so late, but I declare since I have seen that little +face, I cannot eat or sleep or pray till it is gone from me. I will give you a +lantern and a basket to put the bottle in, and any picture or fine thing in all +my house that takes your fancy;—and be gone at once, and go sleep at +Hookena with Nahinu.” +</p> + +<p> +“Keawe,” said Lopaka, “many a man would take this ill; above +all, when I am doing you a turn so friendly, as to keep my word and buy the +bottle; and for that matter, the night and the dark, and the way by the tombs, +must be all tenfold more dangerous to a man with such a sin upon his +conscience, and such a bottle under his arm. But for my part, I am so extremely +terrified myself, I have not the heart to blame you. Here I go then; and I pray +God you may be happy in your house, and I fortunate with my schooner, and both +get to heaven in the end in spite of the devil and his bottle.” +</p> + +<p> +So Lopaka went down the mountain; and Keawe stood in his front balcony, and +listened to the clink of the horse’s shoes, and watched the lantern go +shining down the path, and along the cliff of caves where the old dead are +buried; and all the time he trembled and clasped his hands, and prayed for his +friend, and gave glory to God that he himself was escaped out of that trouble. +</p> + +<p> +But the next day came very brightly, and that new house of his was so +delightful to behold that he forgot his terrors. One day followed another, and +Keawe dwelt there in perpetual joy. He had his place on the back porch; it was +there he ate and lived, and read the stories in the Honolulu newspapers; but +when anyone came by they would go in and view the chambers and the pictures. +And the fame of the house went far and wide; it was called <i>Ka-Hale +Nui</i>—the Great House—in all Kona; and sometimes the Bright +House, for Keawe kept a Chinaman, who was all day dusting and furbishing; and +the glass, and the gilt, and the fine stuffs, and the pictures, shone as bright +as the morning. As for Keawe himself, he could not walk in the chambers without +singing, his heart was so enlarged; and when ships sailed by upon the sea, he +would fly his colours on the mast. +</p> + +<p> +So time went by, until one day Keawe went upon a visit as far as Kailua to +certain of his friends. There he was well feasted; and left as soon as he could +the next morning, and rode hard, for he was impatient to behold his beautiful +house; and, besides, the night then coming on was the night in which the dead +of old days go abroad in the sides of Kona; and having already meddled with the +devil, he was the more chary of meeting with the dead. A little beyond +Honaunau, looking far ahead, he was aware of a woman bathing in the edge of the +sea; and she seemed a well-grown girl, but he thought no more of it. Then he +saw her white shift flutter as she put it on, and then her red holoku; and by +the time he came abreast of her she was done with her toilet, and had come up +from the sea, and stood by the track-side in her red holoku, and she was all +freshened with the bath, and her eyes shone and were kind. Now Keawe no sooner +beheld her than he drew rein. +</p> + +<p> +“I thought I knew everyone in this country,” said he. “How +comes it that I do not know you?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am Kokua, daughter of Kiano,” said the girl, “and I have +just returned from Oahu. Who are you?” +</p> + +<p> +“I will tell you who I am in a little,” said Keawe, dismounting +from his horse, “but not now. For I have a thought in my mind, and if you +knew who I was, you might have heard of me, and would not give me a true +answer. But tell me, first of all, one thing: Are you married?” +</p> + +<p> +At this Kokua laughed out aloud. “It is you who ask questions,” she +said. “Are you married yourself?” +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed, Kokua, I am not,” replied Keawe, “and never thought +to be until this hour. But here is the plain truth. I have met you here at the +roadside, and I saw your eyes, which are like the stars, and my heart went to +you as swift as a bird. And so now, if you want none of me, say so, and I will +go on to my own place; but if you think me no worse than any other young man, +say so, too, and I will turn aside to your father’s for the night, and +to-morrow I will talk with the good man.” +</p> + +<p> +Kokua said never a word, but she looked at the sea and laughed. +</p> + +<p> +“Kokua,” said Keawe, “if you say nothing, I will take that +for the good answer; so let us be stepping to your father’s door.” +</p> + +<p> +She went on ahead of him, still without speech; only sometimes she glanced back +and glanced away again, and she kept the strings of her hat in her mouth. +</p> + +<p> +Now, when they had come to the door, Kiano came out on his verandah, and cried +out and welcomed Keawe by name. At that the girl looked over, for the fame of +the great house had come to her ears; and, to be sure, it was a great +temptation. All that evening they were very merry together; and the girl was as +bold as brass under the eyes of her parents, and made a mock of Keawe, for she +had a quick wit. The next day he had a word with Kiano, and found the girl +alone. +</p> + +<p> +“Kokua,” said he, “you made a mock of me all the evening; and +it is still time to bid me go. I would not tell you who I was, because I have +so fine a house, and I feared you would think too much of that house and too +little of the man that loves you. Now you know all, and if you wish to have +seen the last of me, say so at once.” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Kokua; but this time she did not laugh, nor did Keawe +ask for more. +</p> + +<p> +This was the wooing of Keawe; things had gone quickly; but so an arrow goes, +and the ball of a rifle swifter still, and yet both may strike the target. +Things had gone fast, but they had gone far also, and the thought of Keawe rang +in the maiden’s head; she heard his voice in the breach of the surf upon +the lava, and for this young man that she had seen but twice she would have +left father and mother and her native islands. As for Keawe himself, his horse +flew up the path of the mountain under the cliff of tombs, and the sound of the +hoofs, and the sound of Keawe singing to himself for pleasure, echoed in the +caverns of the dead. He came to the Bright House, and still he was singing. He +sat and ate in the broad balcony, and the Chinaman wondered at his master, to +hear how he sang between the mouthfuls. The sun went down into the sea, and the +night came; and Keawe walked the balconies by lamplight, high on the mountains, +and the voice of his singing startled men on ships. +</p> + +<p> +“Here am I now upon my high place,” he said to himself. “Life +may be no better; this is the mountain top; and all shelves about me toward the +worse. For the first time I will light up the chambers, and bathe in my fine +bath with the hot water and the cold, and sleep alone in the bed of my bridal +chamber.” +</p> + +<p> +So the Chinaman had word, and he must rise from sleep and light the furnaces; +and as he wrought below, beside the boilers, he heard his master singing and +rejoicing above him in the lighted chambers. When the water began to be hot the +Chinaman cried to his master; and Keawe went into the bathroom; and the +Chinaman heard him sing as he filled the marble basin; and heard him sing, and +the singing broken, as he undressed; until of a sudden, the song ceased. The +Chinaman listened, and listened; he called up the house to Keawe to ask if all +were well, and Keawe answered him “Yes,” and bade him go to bed; +but there was no more singing in the Bright House; and all night long, the +Chinaman heard his master’s feet go round and round the balconies without +repose. +</p> + +<p> +Now the truth of it was this: as Keawe undressed for his bath, he spied upon +his flesh a patch like a patch of lichen on a rock, and it was then that he +stopped singing. For he knew the likeness of that patch, and knew that he was +fallen in the Chinese Evil. <a name="citation5"></a><a href="#footnote5" +class="citation">[5]</a> +</p> + +<p> +Now, it is a sad thing for any man to fall into this sickness. And it would be +a sad thing for anyone to leave a house so beautiful and so commodious, and +depart from all his friends to the north coast of Molokai between the mighty +cliff and the sea-breakers. But what was that to the case of the man Keawe, he +who had met his love but yesterday, and won her but that morning, and now saw +all his hopes break, in a moment, like a piece of glass? +</p> + +<p> +Awhile he sat upon the edge of the bath; then sprang, with a cry, and ran +outside; and to and fro, to and fro, along the balcony, like one despairing. +</p> + +<p> +“Very willingly could I leave Hawaii, the home of my fathers,” +Keawe was thinking. “Very lightly could I leave my house, the +high-placed, the many-windowed, here upon the mountains. Very bravely could I +go to Molokai, to Kalaupapa by the cliffs, to live with the smitten and to +sleep there, far from my fathers. But what wrong have I done, what sin lies +upon my soul, that I should have encountered Kokua coming cool from the +sea-water in the evening? Kokua, the soul ensnarer! Kokua, the light of my +life! Her may I never wed, her may I look upon no longer, her may I no more +handle with my loving hand; and it is for this, it is for you, O Kokua! that I +pour my lamentations!” +</p> + +<p> +Now you are to observe what sort of a man Keawe was, for he might have dwelt +there in the Bright House for years, and no one been the wiser of his sickness; +but he reckoned nothing of that, if he must lose Kokua. And again, he might +have wed Kokua even as he was; and so many would have done, because they have +the souls of pigs; but Keawe loved the maid manfully, and he would do her no +hurt and bring her in no danger. +</p> + +<p> +A little beyond the midst of the night, there came in his mind the recollection +of that bottle. He went round to the back porch, and called to memory the day +when the devil had looked forth; and at the thought ice ran in his veins. +</p> + +<p> +“A dreadful thing is the bottle,” thought Keawe, “and +dreadful is the imp, and it is a dreadful thing to risk the flames of hell. But +what other hope have I to cure my sickness or to wed Kokua? What!” he +thought, “would I beard the devil once, only to get me a house, and not +face him again to win Kokua?” +</p> + +<p> +Thereupon he called to mind it was the next day the <i>Hall</i> went by on her +return to Honolulu. “There must I go first,” he thought, “and +see Lopaka. For the best hope that I have now is to find that same bottle I was +so pleased to be rid of.” +</p> + +<p> +Never a wink could he sleep; the food stuck in his throat; but he sent a letter +to Kiano, and about the time when the steamer would be coming, rode down beside +the cliff of the tombs. It rained; his horse went heavily; he looked up at the +black mouths of the caves, and he envied the dead that slept there and were +done with trouble; and called to mind how he had galloped by the day before, +and was astonished. So he came down to Hookena, and there was all the country +gathered for the steamer as usual. In the shed before the store they sat and +jested and passed the news; but there was no matter of speech in Keawe’s +bosom, and he sat in their midst and looked without on the rain falling on the +houses, and the surf beating among the rocks, and the sighs arose in his +throat. +</p> + +<p> +“Keawe of the Bright House is out of spirits,” said one to another. +Indeed, and so he was, and little wonder. +</p> + +<p> +Then the <i>Hall</i> came, and the whaleboat carried him on board. The +after-part of the ship was full of Haoles <a name="citation6"></a><a +href="#footnote6" class="citation">[6]</a> who had been to visit the volcano, +as their custom is; and the midst was crowded with Kanakas, and the forepart +with wild bulls from Hilo and horses from Kau; but Keawe sat apart from all in +his sorrow, and watched for the house of Kiano. There it sat, low upon the +shore in the black rocks, and shaded by the cocoa palms, and there by the door +was a red holoku, no greater than a fly, and going to and fro with a +fly’s busyness. “Ah, queen of my heart,” he cried, +“I’ll venture my dear soul to win you!” +</p> + +<p> +Soon after, darkness fell, and the cabins were lit up, and the Haoles sat and +played at the cards and drank whiskey as their custom is; but Keawe walked the +deck all night; and all the next day, as they steamed under the lee of Maui or +of Molokai, he was still pacing to and fro like a wild animal in a menagerie. +</p> + +<p> +Towards evening they passed Diamond Head, and came to the pier of Honolulu. +Keawe stepped out among the crowd and began to ask for Lopaka. It seemed he had +become the owner of a schooner—none better in the islands—and was +gone upon an adventure as far as Pola-Pola or Kahiki; so there was no help to +be looked for from Lopaka. Keawe called to mind a friend of his, a lawyer in +the town (I must not tell his name), and inquired of him. They said he was +grown suddenly rich, and had a fine new house upon Waikiki shore; and this put +a thought in Keawe’s head, and he called a hack and drove to the +lawyer’s house. +</p> + +<p> +The house was all brand new, and the trees in the garden no greater than +walking-sticks, and the lawyer, when he came, had the air of a man well +pleased. +</p> + +<p> +“What can I do to serve you?” said the lawyer. +</p> + +<p> +“You are a friend of Lopaka’s,” replied Keawe, “and +Lopaka purchased from me a certain piece of goods that I thought you might +enable me to trace.” +</p> + +<p> +The lawyer’s face became very dark. “I do not profess to +misunderstand you, Mr. Keawe,” said he, “though this is an ugly +business to be stirring in. You may be sure I know nothing, but yet I have a +guess, and if you would apply in a certain quarter I think you might have +news.” +</p> + +<p> +And he named the name of a man, which, again, I had better not repeat. So it +was for days, and Keawe went from one to another, finding everywhere new +clothes and carriages, and fine new houses and men everywhere in great +contentment, although, to be sure, when he hinted at his business their faces +would cloud over. +</p> + +<p> +“No doubt I am upon the track,” thought Keawe. “These new +clothes and carriages are all the gifts of the little imp, and these glad faces +are the faces of men who have taken their profit and got rid of the accursed +thing in safety. When I see pale cheeks and hear sighing, I shall know that I +am near the bottle.” +</p> + +<p> +So it befell at last that he was recommended to a Haole in Beritania Street. +When he came to the door, about the hour of the evening meal, there were the +usual marks of the new house, and the young garden, and the electric light +shining in the windows; but when the owner came, a shock of hope and fear ran +through Keawe; for here was a young man, white as a corpse, and black about the +eyes, the hair shedding from his head, and such a look in his countenance as a +man may have when he is waiting for the gallows. +</p> + +<p> +“Here it is, to be sure,” thought Keawe, and so with this man he +noways veiled his errand. “I am come to buy the bottle,” said he. +</p> + +<p> +At the word, the young Haole of Beritania Street reeled against the wall. +</p> + +<p> +“The bottle!” he gasped. “To buy the bottle!” Then he +seemed to choke, and seizing Keawe by the arm carried him into a room and +poured out wine in two glasses. +</p> + +<p> +“Here is my respects,” said Keawe, who had been much about with +Haoles in his time. “Yes,” he added, “I am come to buy the +bottle. What is the price by now?” +</p> + +<p> +At that word the young man let his glass slip through his fingers, and looked +upon Keawe like a ghost. +</p> + +<p> +“The price,” says he; “the price! You do not know the +price?” +</p> + +<p> +“It is for that I am asking you,” returned Keawe. “But why +are you so much concerned? Is there anything wrong about the price?” +</p> + +<p> +“It has dropped a great deal in value since your time, Mr. Keawe,” +said the young man stammering. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, well, I shall have the less to pay for it,” says Keawe. +“How much did it cost you?” +</p> + +<p> +The young man was as white as a sheet. “Two cents,” said he. +</p> + +<p> +“What?” cried Keawe, “two cents? Why, then, you can only sell +it for one. And he who buys it—” The words died upon Keawe’s +tongue; he who bought it could never sell it again, the bottle and the bottle +imp must abide with him until he died, and when he died must carry him to the +red end of hell. +</p> + +<p> +The young man of Beritania Street fell upon his knees. “For God’s +sake buy it!” he cried. “You can have all my fortune in the +bargain. I was mad when I bought it at that price. I had embezzled money at my +store; I was lost else; I must have gone to jail.” +</p> + +<p> +“Poor creature,” said Keawe, “you would risk your soul upon +so desperate an adventure, and to avoid the proper punishment of your own +disgrace; and you think I could hesitate with love in front of me. Give me the +bottle, and the change which I make sure you have all ready. Here is a +five-cent piece.” +</p> + +<p> +It was as Keawe supposed; the young man had the change ready in a drawer; the +bottle changed hands, and Keawe’s fingers were no sooner clasped upon the +stalk than he had breathed his wish to be a clean man. And, sure enough, when +he got home to his room, and stripped himself before a glass, his flesh was +whole like an infant’s. And here was the strange thing: he had no sooner +seen this miracle, than his mind was changed within him, and he cared naught +for the Chinese Evil, and little enough for Kokua; and had but the one thought, +that here he was bound to the bottle imp for time and for eternity, and had no +better hope but to be a cinder for ever in the flames of hell. Away ahead of +him he saw them blaze with his mind’s eye, and his soul shrank, and +darkness fell upon the light. +</p> + +<p> +When Keawe came to himself a little, he was aware it was the night when the +band played at the hotel. Thither he went, because he feared to be alone; and +there, among happy faces, walked to and fro, and heard the tunes go up and +down, and saw Berger beat the measure, and all the while he heard the flames +crackle, and saw the red fire burning in the bottomless pit. Of a sudden the +band played <i>Hiki-ao-ao</i>; that was a song that he had sung with Kokua, and +at the strain courage returned to him. +</p> + +<p> +“It is done now,” he thought, “and once more let me take the +good along with the evil.” +</p> + +<p> +So it befell that he returned to Hawaii by the first steamer, and as soon as it +could be managed he was wedded to Kokua, and carried her up the mountain side +to the Bright House. +</p> + +<p> +Now it was so with these two, that when they were together, Keawe’s heart +was stilled; but so soon as he was alone he fell into a brooding horror, and +heard the flames crackle, and saw the red fire burn in the bottomless pit. The +girl, indeed, had come to him wholly; her heart leapt in her side at sight of +him, her hand clung to his; and she was so fashioned from the hair upon her +head to the nails upon her toes that none could see her without joy. She was +pleasant in her nature. She had the good word always. Full of song she was, and +went to and fro in the Bright House, the brightest thing in its three storeys, +carolling like the birds. And Keawe beheld and heard her with delight, and then +must shrink upon one side, and weep and groan to think upon the price that he +had paid for her; and then he must dry his eyes, and wash his face, and go and +sit with her on the broad balconies, joining in her songs, and, with a sick +spirit, answering her smiles. +</p> + +<p> +There came a day when her feet began to be heavy and her songs more rare; and +now it was not Keawe only that would weep apart, but each would sunder from the +other and sit in opposite balconies with the whole width of the Bright House +betwixt. Keawe was so sunk in his despair, he scarce observed the change, and +was only glad he had more hours to sit alone and brood upon his destiny, and +was not so frequently condemned to pull a smiling face on a sick heart. But one +day, coming softly through the house, he heard the sound of a child sobbing, +and there was Kokua rolling her face upon the balcony floor, and weeping like +the lost. +</p> + +<p> +“You do well to weep in this house, Kokua,” he said. “And yet +I would give the head off my body that you (at least) might have been +happy.” +</p> + +<p> +“Happy!” she cried. “Keawe, when you lived alone in your +Bright House, you were the word of the island for a happy man; laughter and +song were in your mouth, and your face was as bright as the sunrise. Then you +wedded poor Kokua; and the good God knows what is amiss in her—but from +that day you have not smiled. Oh!” she cried, “what ails me? I +thought I was pretty, and I knew I loved him. What ails me that I throw this +cloud upon my husband?” +</p> + +<p> +“Poor Kokua,” said Keawe. He sat down by her side, and sought to +take her hand; but that she plucked away. “Poor Kokua,” he said, +again. “My poor child—my pretty. And I had thought all this while +to spare you! Well, you shall know all. Then, at least, you will pity poor +Keawe; then you will understand how much he loved you in the past—that he +dared hell for your possession—and how much he loves you still (the poor +condemned one), that he can yet call up a smile when he beholds you.” +</p> + +<p> +With that, he told her all, even from the beginning. +</p> + +<p> +“You have done this for me?” she cried “Ah, well, then what +do I care!”—and she clasped and wept upon him. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, child!” said Keawe, “and yet, when I consider of the +fire of hell, I care a good deal!” +</p> + +<p> +“Never tell me,” said she; “no man can be lost because he +loved Kokua, and no other fault. I tell you, Keawe, I shall save you with these +hands, or perish in your company. What! you loved me, and gave your soul, and +you think I will not die to save you in return?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, my dear! you might die a hundred times, and what difference would +that make?” he cried, “except to leave me lonely till the time +comes of my damnation?” +</p> + +<p> +“You know nothing,” said she. “I was educated in a school in +Honolulu; I am no common girl. And I tell you, I shall save my lover. What is +this you say about a cent? But all the world is not American. In England they +have a piece they call a farthing, which is about half a cent. Ah! +sorrow!” she cried, “that makes it scarcely better, for the buyer +must be lost, and we shall find none so brave as my Keawe! But, then, there is +France; they have a small coin there which they call a centime, and these go +five to the cent or there-about. We could not do better. Come, Keawe, let us go +to the French islands; let us go to Tahiti, as fast as ships can bear us. There +we have four centimes, three centimes, two centimes, one centime; four possible +sales to come and go on; and two of us to push the bargain. Come, my Keawe! +kiss me, and banish care. Kokua will defend you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Gift of God!” he cried. “I cannot think that God will punish +me for desiring aught so good! Be it as you will, then; take me where you +please: I put my life and my salvation in your hands.” +</p> + +<p> +Early the next day Kokua was about her preparations. She took Keawe’s +chest that he went with sailoring; and first she put the bottle in a corner; +and then packed it with the richest of their clothes and the bravest of the +knick-knacks in the house. “For,” said she, “we must seem to +be rich folks, or who will believe in the bottle?” All the time of her +preparation she was as gay as a bird; only when she looked upon Keawe, the +tears would spring in her eye, and she must run and kiss him. As for Keawe, a +weight was off his soul; now that he had his secret shared, and some hope in +front of him, he seemed like a new man, his feet went lightly on the earth, and +his breath was good to him again. Yet was terror still at his elbow; and ever +and again, as the wind blows out a taper, hope died in him, and he saw the +flames toss and the red fire burn in hell. +</p> + +<p> +It was given out in the country they were gone pleasuring to the States, which +was thought a strange thing, and yet not so strange as the truth, if any could +have guessed it. So they went to Honolulu in the <i>Hall</i>, and thence in the +<i>Umatilla</i> to San Francisco with a crowd of Haoles, and at San Francisco +took their passage by the mail brigantine, the <i>Tropic Bird</i>, for Papeete, +the chief place of the French in the south islands. Thither they came, after a +pleasant voyage, on a fair day of the Trade Wind, and saw the reef with the +surf breaking, and Motuiti with its palms, and the schooner riding within-side, +and the white houses of the town low down along the shore among green trees, +and overhead the mountains and the clouds of Tahiti, the wise island. +</p> + +<p> +It was judged the most wise to hire a house, which they did accordingly, +opposite the British Consul’s, to make a great parade of money, and +themselves conspicuous with carriages and horses. This it was very easy to do, +so long as they had the bottle in their possession; for Kokua was more bold +than Keawe, and, whenever she had a mind, called on the imp for twenty or a +hundred dollars. At this rate they soon grew to be remarked in the town; and +the strangers from Hawaii, their riding and their driving, the fine holokus and +the rich lace of Kokua, became the matter of much talk. +</p> + +<p> +They got on well after the first with the Tahitian language, which is indeed +like to the Hawaiian, with a change of certain letters; and as soon as they had +any freedom of speech, began to push the bottle. You are to consider it was not +an easy subject to introduce; it was not easy to persuade people you were in +earnest, when you offered to sell them for four centimes the spring of health +and riches inexhaustible. It was necessary besides to explain the dangers of +the bottle; and either people disbelieved the whole thing and laughed, or they +thought the more of the darker part, became overcast with gravity, and drew +away from Keawe and Kokua, as from persons who had dealings with the devil. So +far from gaining ground, these two began to find they were avoided in the town; +the children ran away from them screaming, a thing intolerable to Kokua; +Catholics crossed themselves as they went by; and all persons began with one +accord to disengage themselves from their advances. +</p> + +<p> +Depression fell upon their spirits. They would sit at night in their new house, +after a day’s weariness, and not exchange one word, or the silence would +be broken by Kokua bursting suddenly into sobs. Sometimes they would pray +together; sometimes they would have the bottle out upon the floor, and sit all +evening watching how the shadow hovered in the midst. At such times they would +be afraid to go to rest. It was long ere slumber came to them, and, if either +dozed off, it would be to wake and find the other silently weeping in the dark, +or, perhaps, to wake alone, the other having fled from the house and the +neighbourhood of that bottle, to pace under the bananas in the little garden, +or to wander on the beach by moonlight. +</p> + +<p> +One night it was so when Kokua awoke. Keawe was gone. She felt in the bed and +his place was cold. Then fear fell upon her, and she sat up in bed. A little +moonshine filtered through the shutters. The room was bright, and she could spy +the bottle on the floor. Outside it blew high, the great trees of the avenue +cried aloud, and the fallen leaves rattled in the verandah. In the midst of +this Kokua was aware of another sound; whether of a beast or of a man she could +scarce tell, but it was as sad as death, and cut her to the soul. Softly she +arose, set the door ajar, and looked forth into the moonlit yard. There, under +the bananas, lay Keawe, his mouth in the dust, and as he lay he moaned. +</p> + +<p> +It was Kokua’s first thought to run forward and console him; her second +potently withheld her. Keawe had borne himself before his wife like a brave +man; it became her little in the hour of weakness to intrude upon his shame. +With the thought she drew back into the house. +</p> + +<p> +“Heaven!” she thought, “how careless have I been—how +weak! It is he, not I, that stands in this eternal peril; it was he, not I, +that took the curse upon his soul. It is for my sake, and for the love of a +creature of so little worth and such poor help, that he now beholds so close to +him the flames of hell—ay, and smells the smoke of it, lying without +there in the wind and moonlight. Am I so dull of spirit that never till now I +have surmised my duty, or have I seen it before and turned aside? But now, at +least, I take up my soul in both the hands of my affection; now I say farewell +to the white steps of heaven and the waiting faces of my friends. A love for a +love, and let mine be equalled with Keawe’s! A soul for a soul, and be it +mine to perish!” +</p> + +<p> +She was a deft woman with her hands, and was soon apparelled. She took in her +hands the change—the precious centimes they kept ever at their side; for +this coin is little used, and they had made provision at a Government office. +When she was forth in the avenue clouds came on the wind, and the moon was +blackened. The town slept, and she knew not whither to turn till she heard one +coughing in the shadow of the trees. +</p> + +<p> +“Old man,” said Kokua, “what do you here abroad in the cold +night?” +</p> + +<p> +The old man could scarce express himself for coughing, but she made out that he +was old and poor, and a stranger in the island. +</p> + +<p> +“Will you do me a service?” said Kokua. “As one stranger to +another, and as an old man to a young woman, will you help a daughter of +Hawaii?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah,” said the old man. “So you are the witch from the eight +islands, and even my old soul you seek to entangle. But I have heard of you, +and defy your wickedness.” +</p> + +<p> +“Sit down here,” said Kokua, “and let me tell you a +tale.” And she told him the story of Keawe from the beginning to the end. +</p> + +<p> +“And now,” said she, “I am his wife, whom he bought with his +soul’s welfare. And what should I do? If I went to him myself and offered +to buy it, he would refuse. But if you go, he will sell it eagerly; I will +await you here; you will buy it for four centimes, and I will buy it again for +three. And the Lord strengthen a poor girl!” +</p> + +<p> +“If you meant falsely,” said the old man, “I think God would +strike you dead.” +</p> + +<p> +“He would!” cried Kokua. “Be sure he would. I could not be so +treacherous—God would not suffer it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Give me the four centimes and await me here,” said the old man. +</p> + +<p> +Now, when Kokua stood alone in the street, her spirit died. The wind roared in +the trees, and it seemed to her the rushing of the flames of hell; the shadows +tossed in the light of the street lamp, and they seemed to her the snatching +hands of evil ones. If she had had the strength, she must have run away, and if +she had had the breath she must have screamed aloud; but, in truth, she could +do neither, and stood and trembled in the avenue, like an affrighted child. +</p> + +<p> +Then she saw the old man returning, and he had the bottle in his hand. +</p> + +<p> +“I have done your bidding,” said he. “I left your husband +weeping like a child; to-night he will sleep easy.” And he held the +bottle forth. +</p> + +<p> +“Before you give it me,” Kokua panted, “take the good with +the evil—ask to be delivered from your cough.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am an old man,” replied the other, “and too near the gate +of the grave to take a favour from the devil. But what is this? Why do you not +take the bottle? Do you hesitate?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not hesitate!” cried Kokua. “I am only weak. Give me a +moment. It is my hand resists, my flesh shrinks back from the accursed thing. +One moment only!” +</p> + +<p> +The old man looked upon Kokua kindly. “Poor child!” said he, +“you fear; your soul misgives you. Well, let me keep it. I am old, and +can never more be happy in this world, and as for the next—” +</p> + +<p> +“Give it me!” gasped Kokua. “There is your money. Do you +think I am so base as that? Give me the bottle.” +</p> + +<p> +“God bless you, child,” said the old man. +</p> + +<p> +Kokua concealed the bottle under her holoku, said farewell to the old man, and +walked off along the avenue, she cared not whither. For all roads were now the +same to her, and led equally to hell. Sometimes she walked, and sometimes ran; +sometimes she screamed out loud in the night, and sometimes lay by the wayside +in the dust and wept. All that she had heard of hell came back to her; she saw +the flames blaze, and she smelt the smoke, and her flesh withered on the coals. +</p> + +<p> +Near day she came to her mind again, and returned to the house. It was even as +the old man said—Keawe slumbered like a child. Kokua stood and gazed upon +his face. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, my husband,” said she, “it is your turn to sleep. When +you wake it will be your turn to sing and laugh. But for poor Kokua, alas! that +meant no evil—for poor Kokua no more sleep, no more singing, no more +delight, whether in earth or heaven.” +</p> + +<p> +With that she lay down in the bed by his side, and her misery was so extreme +that she fell in a deep slumber instantly. +</p> + +<p> +Late in the morning her husband woke her and gave her the good news. It seemed +he was silly with delight, for he paid no heed to her distress, ill though she +dissembled it. The words stuck in her mouth, it mattered not; Keawe did the +speaking. She ate not a bite, but who was to observe it? for Keawe cleared the +dish. Kokua saw and heard him, like some strange thing in a dream; there were +times when she forgot or doubted, and put her hands to her brow; to know +herself doomed and hear her husband babble, seemed so monstrous. +</p> + +<p> +All the while Keawe was eating and talking, and planning the time of their +return, and thanking her for saving him, and fondling her, and calling her the +true helper after all. He laughed at the old man that was fool enough to buy +that bottle. +</p> + +<p> +“A worthy old man he seemed,” Keawe said. “But no one can +judge by appearances. For why did the old reprobate require the bottle?” +</p> + +<p> +“My husband,” said Kokua, humbly, “his purpose may have been +good.” +</p> + +<p> +Keawe laughed like an angry man. +</p> + +<p> +“Fiddle-de-dee!” cried Keawe. “An old rogue, I tell you; and +an old ass to boot. For the bottle was hard enough to sell at four centimes; +and at three it will be quite impossible. The margin is not broad enough, the +thing begins to smell of scorching—brrr!” said he, and shuddered. +“It is true I bought it myself at a cent, when I knew not there were +smaller coins. I was a fool for my pains; there will never be found another: +and whoever has that bottle now will carry it to the pit.” +</p> + +<p> +“O my husband!” said Kokua. “Is it not a terrible thing to +save oneself by the eternal ruin of another? It seems to me I could not laugh. +I would be humbled. I would be filled with melancholy. I would pray for the +poor holder.” +</p> + +<p> +Then Keawe, because he felt the truth of what she said, grew the more angry. +“Heighty-teighty!” cried he. “You may be filled with +melancholy if you please. It is not the mind of a good wife. If you thought at +all of me, you would sit shamed.” +</p> + +<p> +Thereupon he went out, and Kokua was alone. +</p> + +<p> +What chance had she to sell that bottle at two centimes? None, she perceived. +And if she had any, here was her husband hurrying her away to a country where +there was nothing lower than a cent. And here—on the morrow of her +sacrifice—was her husband leaving her and blaming her. +</p> + +<p> +She would not even try to profit by what time she had, but sat in the house, +and now had the bottle out and viewed it with unutterable fear, and now, with +loathing, hid it out of sight. +</p> + +<p> +By-and-by, Keawe came back, and would have her take a drive. +</p> + +<p> +“My husband, I am ill,” she said. “I am out of heart. Excuse +me, I can take no pleasure.” +</p> + +<p> +Then was Keawe more wroth than ever. With her, because he thought she was +brooding over the case of the old man; and with himself, because he thought she +was right, and was ashamed to be so happy. +</p> + +<p> +“This is your truth,” cried he, “and this your affection! +Your husband is just saved from eternal ruin, which he encountered for the love +of you—and you can take no pleasure! Kokua, you have a disloyal +heart.” +</p> + +<p> +He went forth again furious, and wandered in the town all day. He met friends, +and drank with them; they hired a carriage and drove into the country, and +there drank again. All the time Keawe was ill at ease, because he was taking +this pastime while his wife was sad, and because he knew in his heart that she +was more right than he; and the knowledge made him drink the deeper. +</p> + +<p> +Now there was an old brutal Haole drinking with him, one that had been a +boatswain of a whaler, a runaway, a digger in gold mines, a convict in prisons. +He had a low mind and a foul mouth; he loved to drink and to see others +drunken; and he pressed the glass upon Keawe. Soon there was no more money in +the company. +</p> + +<p> +“Here, you!” says the boatswain, “you are rich, you have been +always saying. You have a bottle or some foolishness.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” says Keawe, “I am rich; I will go back and get some +money from my wife, who keeps it.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s a bad idea, mate,” said the boatswain. “Never +you trust a petticoat with dollars. They’re all as false as water; you +keep an eye on her.” +</p> + +<p> +Now, this word struck in Keawe’s mind; for he was muddled with what he +had been drinking. +</p> + +<p> +“I should not wonder but she was false, indeed,” thought he. +“Why else should she be so cast down at my release? But I will show her I +am not the man to be fooled. I will catch her in the act.” +</p> + +<p> +Accordingly, when they were back in town, Keawe bade the boatswain wait for him +at the corner, by the old calaboose, and went forward up the avenue alone to +the door of his house. The night had come again; there was a light within, but +never a sound; and Keawe crept about the corner, opened the back door softly, +and looked in. +</p> + +<p> +There was Kokua on the floor, the lamp at her side; before her was a milk-white +bottle, with a round belly and a long neck; and as she viewed it, Kokua wrung +her hands. +</p> + +<p> +A long time Keawe stood and looked in the doorway. At first he was struck +stupid; and then fear fell upon him that the bargain had been made amiss, and +the bottle had come back to him as it came at San Francisco; and at that his +knees were loosened, and the fumes of the wine departed from his head like +mists off a river in the morning. And then he had another thought; and it was a +strange one, that made his cheeks to burn. +</p> + +<p> +“I must make sure of this,” thought he. +</p> + +<p> +So he closed the door, and went softly round the corner again, and then came +noisily in, as though he were but now returned. And, lo! by the time he opened +the front door no bottle was to be seen; and Kokua sat in a chair and started +up like one awakened out of sleep. +</p> + +<p> +“I have been drinking all day and making merry,” said Keawe. +“I have been with good companions, and now I only come back for money, +and return to drink and carouse with them again.” +</p> + +<p> +Both his face and voice were as stern as judgment, but Kokua was too troubled +to observe. +</p> + +<p> +“You do well to use your own, my husband,” said she, and her words +trembled. +</p> + +<p> +“O, I do well in all things,” said Keawe, and he went straight to +the chest and took out money. But he looked besides in the corner where they +kept the bottle, and there was no bottle there. +</p> + +<p> +At that the chest heaved upon the floor like a sea-billow, and the house span +about him like a wreath of smoke, for he saw he was lost now, and there was no +escape. “It is what I feared,” he thought. “It is she who has +bought it.” +</p> + +<p> +And then he came to himself a little and rose up; but the sweat streamed on his +face as thick as the rain and as cold as the well-water. +</p> + +<p> +“Kokua,” said he, “I said to you to-day what ill became me. +Now I return to carouse with my jolly companions,” and at that he laughed +a little quietly. “I will take more pleasure in the cup if you forgive +me.” +</p> + +<p> +She clasped his knees in a moment; she kissed his knees with flowing tears. +</p> + +<p> +“O,” she cried, “I asked but a kind word!” +</p> + +<p> +“Let us never one think hardly of the other,” said Keawe, and was +gone out of the house. +</p> + +<p> +Now, the money that Keawe had taken was only some of that store of centime +pieces they had laid in at their arrival. It was very sure he had no mind to be +drinking. His wife had given her soul for him, now he must give his for hers; +no other thought was in the world with him. +</p> + +<p> +At the corner, by the old calaboose, there was the boatswain waiting. +</p> + +<p> +“My wife has the bottle,” said Keawe, “and, unless you help +me to recover it, there can be no more money and no more liquor +to-night.” +</p> + +<p> +“You do not mean to say you are serious about that bottle?” cried +the boatswain. +</p> + +<p> +“There is the lamp,” said Keawe. “Do I look as if I was +jesting?” +</p> + +<p> +“That is so,” said the boatswain. “You look as serious as a +ghost.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, then,” said Keawe, “here are two centimes; you must go +to my wife in the house, and offer her these for the bottle, which (if I am not +much mistaken) she will give you instantly. Bring it to me here, and I will buy +it back from you for one; for that is the law with this bottle, that it still +must be sold for a less sum. But whatever you do, never breathe a word to her +that you have come from me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mate, I wonder are you making a fool of me?” asked the boatswain. +</p> + +<p> +“It will do you no harm if I am,” returned Keawe. +</p> + +<p> +“That is so, mate,” said the boatswain. +</p> + +<p> +“And if you doubt me,” added Keawe, “you can try. As soon as +you are clear of the house, wish to have your pocket full of money, or a bottle +of the best rum, or what you please, and you will see the virtue of the +thing.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very well, Kanaka,” says the boatswain. “I will try; but if +you are having your fun out of me, I will take my fun out of you with a +belaying pin.” +</p> + +<p> +So the whaler-man went off up the avenue; and Keawe stood and waited. It was +near the same spot where Kokua had waited the night before; but Keawe was more +resolved, and never faltered in his purpose; only his soul was bitter with +despair. +</p> + +<p> +It seemed a long time he had to wait before he heard a voice singing in the +darkness of the avenue. He knew the voice to be the boatswain’s; but it +was strange how drunken it appeared upon a sudden. +</p> + +<p> +Next, the man himself came stumbling into the light of the lamp. He had the +devil’s bottle buttoned in his coat; another bottle was in his hand; and +even as he came in view he raised it to his mouth and drank. +</p> + +<p> +“You have it,” said Keawe. “I see that.” +</p> + +<p> +“Hands off!” cried the boatswain, jumping back. “Take a step +near me, and I’ll smash your mouth. You thought you could make a +cat’s-paw of me, did you?” +</p> + +<p> +“What do you mean?” cried Keawe. +</p> + +<p> +“Mean?” cried the boatswain. “This is a pretty good bottle, +this is; that’s what I mean. How I got it for two centimes I can’t +make out; but I’m sure you shan’t have it for one.” +</p> + +<p> +“You mean you won’t sell?” gasped Keawe. +</p> + +<p> +“No, <i>sir</i>!” cried the boatswain. “But I’ll give +you a drink of the rum, if you like.” +</p> + +<p> +“I tell you,” said Keawe, “the man who has that bottle goes +to hell.” +</p> + +<p> +“I reckon I’m going anyway,” returned the sailor; “and +this bottle’s the best thing to go with I’ve struck yet. No, +sir!” he cried again, “this is my bottle now, and you can go and +fish for another.” +</p> + +<p> +“Can this be true?” Keawe cried. “For your own sake, I +beseech you, sell it me!” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t value any of your talk,” replied the boatswain. +“You thought I was a flat; now you see I’m not; and there’s +an end. If you won’t have a swallow of the rum, I’ll have one +myself. Here’s your health, and good-night to you!” +</p> + +<p> +So off he went down the avenue towards town, and there goes the bottle out of +the story. +</p> + +<p> +But Keawe ran to Kokua light as the wind; and great was their joy that night; +and great, since then, has been the peace of all their days in the Bright +House. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap08"></a>THE ISLE OF VOICES.</h2> + +<p> +Keola was married with Lehua, daughter of Kalamake, the wise man of Molokai, +and he kept his dwelling with the father of his wife. There was no man more +cunning than that prophet; he read the stars, he could divine by the bodies of +the dead, and by the means of evil creatures: he could go alone into the +highest parts of the mountain, into the region of the hobgoblins, and there he +would lay snares to entrap the spirits of the ancient. +</p> + +<p> +For this reason no man was more consulted in all the Kingdom of Hawaii. Prudent +people bought, and sold, and married, and laid out their lives by his counsels; +and the King had him twice to Kona to seek the treasures of Kamehameha. Neither +was any man more feared: of his enemies, some had dwindled in sickness by the +virtue of his incantations, and some had been spirited away, the life and the +clay both, so that folk looked in vain for so much as a bone of their bodies. +It was rumoured that he had the art or the gift of the old heroes. Men had seen +him at night upon the mountains, stepping from one cliff to the next; they had +seen him walking in the high forest, and his head and shoulders were above the +trees. +</p> + +<p> +This Kalamake was a strange man to see. He was come of the best blood in +Molokai and Maui, of a pure descent; and yet he was more white to look upon +than any foreigner: his hair the colour of dry grass, and his eyes red and very +blind, so that “Blind as Kalamake, that can see across to-morrow,” +was a byword in the islands. +</p> + +<p> +Of all these doings of his father-in-law, Keola knew a little by the common +repute, a little more he suspected, and the rest he ignored. But there was one +thing troubled him. Kalamake was a man that spared for nothing, whether to eat +or to drink, or to wear; and for all he paid in bright new dollars. +“Bright as Kalamake’s dollars,” was another saying in the +Eight Isles. Yet he neither sold, nor planted, nor took hire—only now and +then from his sorceries—and there was no source conceivable for so much +silver coin. +</p> + +<p> +It chanced one day Keola’s wife was gone upon a visit to Kaunakakai, on +the lee side of the island, and the men were forth at the sea-fishing. But +Keola was an idle dog, and he lay in the verandah and watched the surf beat on +the shore and the birds fly about the cliff. It was a chief thought with him +always—the thought of the bright dollars. When he lay down to bed he +would be wondering why they were so many, and when he woke at morn he would be +wondering why they were all new; and the thing was never absent from his mind. +But this day of all days he made sure in his heart of some discovery. For it +seems he had observed the place where Kalamake kept his treasure, which was a +lock-fast desk against the parlour wall, under the print of Kamehameha the +Fifth, and a photograph of Queen Victoria with her crown; and it seems again +that, no later than the night before, he found occasion to look in, and behold! +the bag lay there empty. And this was the day of the steamer; he could see her +smoke off Kalaupapa; and she must soon arrive with a month’s goods, +tinned salmon and gin, and all manner of rare luxuries for Kalamake. +</p> + +<p> +“Now if he can pay for his goods to-day,” Keola thought, “I +shall know for certain that the man is a warlock, and the dollars come out of +the Devil’s pocket.” +</p> + +<p> +While he was so thinking, there was his father-in-law behind him, looking +vexed. +</p> + +<p> +“Is that the steamer?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Keola. “She has but to call at Pelekunu, and then +she will be here.” +</p> + +<p> +“There is no help for it then,” returned Kalamake, “and I +must take you in my confidence, Keola, for the lack of anyone better. Come here +within the house.” +</p> + +<p> +So they stepped together into the parlour, which was a very fine room, papered +and hung with prints, and furnished with a rocking-chair, and a table and a +sofa in the European style. There was a shelf of books besides, and a family +Bible in the midst of the table, and the lock-fast writing desk against the +wall; so that anyone could see it was the house of a man of substance. +</p> + +<p> +Kalamake made Keola close the shutters of the windows, while he himself locked +all the doors and set open the lid of the desk. From this he brought forth a +pair of necklaces hung with charms and shells, a bundle of dried herbs, and the +dried leaves of trees, and a green branch of palm. +</p> + +<p> +“What I am about,” said he, “is a thing beyond wonder. The +men of old were wise; they wrought marvels, and this among the rest; but that +was at night, in the dark, under the fit stars and in the desert. The same will +I do here in my own house and under the plain eye of day.” +</p> + +<p> +So saying, he put the bible under the cushion of the sofa so that it was all +covered, brought out from the same place a mat of a wonderfully fine texture, +and heaped the herbs and leaves on sand in a tin pan. And then he and Keola put +on the necklaces and took their stand upon the opposite corners of the mat. +</p> + +<p> +“The time comes,” said the warlock; “be not afraid.” +</p> + +<p> +With that he set flame to the herbs, and began to mutter and wave the branch of +palm. At first the light was dim because of the closed shutters; but the herbs +caught strongly afire, and the flames beat upon Keola, and the room glowed with +the burning; and next the smoke rose and made his head swim and his eyes +darken, and the sound of Kalamake muttering ran in his ears. And suddenly, to +the mat on which they were standing came a snatch or twitch, that seemed to be +more swift than lightning. In the same wink the room was gone and the house, +the breath all beaten from Keola’s body. Volumes of light rolled upon his +eyes and head, and he found himself transported to a beach of the sea under a +strong sun, with a great surf roaring: he and the warlock standing there on the +same mat, speechless, gasping and grasping at one another, and passing their +hands before their eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“What was this?” cried Keola, who came to himself the first, +because he was the younger. “The pang of it was like death.” +</p> + +<p> +“It matters not,” panted Kalamake. “It is now done.” +</p> + +<p> +“And, in the name of God, where are we?” cried Keola. +</p> + +<p> +“That is not the question,” replied the sorcerer. “Being +here, we have matter in our hands, and that we must attend to. Go, while I +recover my breath, into the borders of the wood, and bring me the leaves of +such and such a herb, and such and such a tree, which you will find to grow +there plentifully—three handfuls of each. And be speedy. We must be home +again before the steamer comes; it would seem strange if we had +disappeared.” And he sat on the sand and panted. +</p> + +<p> +Keola went up the beach, which was of shining sand and coral, strewn with +singular shells; and he thought in his heart— +</p> + +<p> +“How do I not know this beach? I will come here again and gather +shells.” +</p> + +<p> +In front of him was a line of palms against the sky; not like the palms of the +Eight Islands, but tall and fresh and beautiful, and hanging out withered fans +like gold among the green, and he thought in his heart— +</p> + +<p> +“It is strange I should not have found this grove. I will come here +again, when it is warm, to sleep.” And he thought, “How warm it has +grown suddenly!” For it was winter in Hawaii, and the day had been chill. +And he thought also, “Where are the grey mountains? And where is the high +cliff with the hanging forest and the wheeling birds?” And the more he +considered, the less he might conceive in what quarter of the islands he was +fallen. +</p> + +<p> +In the border of the grove, where it met the beach, the herb was growing, but +the tree further back. Now, as Keola went toward the tree, he was aware of a +young woman who had nothing on her body but a belt of leaves. +</p> + +<p> +“Well!” thought Keola, “they are not very particular about +their dress in this part of the country.” And he paused, supposing she +would observe him and escape; and seeing that she still looked before her, +stood and hummed aloud. Up she leaped at the sound. Her face was ashen; she +looked this way and that, and her mouth gaped with the terror of her soul. But +it was a strange thing that her eyes did not rest upon Keola. +</p> + +<p> +“Good day,” said he. “You need not be so frightened; I will +not eat you.” And he had scarce opened his mouth before the young woman +fled into the bush. +</p> + +<p> +“These are strange manners,” thought Keola. And, not thinking what +he did, ran after her. +</p> + +<p> +As she ran, the girl kept crying in some speech that was not practised in +Hawaii, yet some of the words were the same, and he knew she kept calling and +warning others. And presently he saw more people running—men, women and +children, one with another, all running and crying like people at a fire. And +with that he began to grow afraid himself, and returned to Kalamake bringing +the leaves. Him he told what he had seen. +</p> + +<p> +“You must pay no heed,” said Kalamake. “All this is like a +dream and shadows. All will disappear and be forgotten.” +</p> + +<p> +“It seemed none saw me,” said Keola. +</p> + +<p> +“And none did,” replied the sorcerer. “We walk here in the +broad sun invisible by reason of these charms. Yet they hear us; and therefore +it is well to speak softly, as I do.” +</p> + +<p> +With that he made a circle round the mat with stones, and in the midst he set +the leaves. +</p> + +<p> +“It will be your part,” said he, “to keep the leaves alight, +and feed the fire slowly. While they blaze (which is but for a little moment) I +must do my errand; and before the ashes blacken, the same power that brought us +carries us away. Be ready now with the match; and do you call me in good time +lest the flames burn out and I be left.” +</p> + +<p> +As soon as the leaves caught, the sorcerer leaped like a deer out of the +circle, and began to race along the beach like a hound that has been bathing. +As he ran, he kept stooping to snatch shells; and it seemed to Keola that they +glittered as he took them. The leaves blazed with a clear flame that consumed +them swiftly; and presently Keola had but a handful left, and the sorcerer was +far off, running and stopping. +</p> + +<p> +“Back!” cried Keola. “Back! The leaves are near done.” +</p> + +<p> +At that Kalamake turned, and if he had run before, now he flew. But fast as he +ran, the leaves burned faster. The flame was ready to expire when, with a great +leap, he bounded on the mat. The wind of his leaping blew it out; and with that +the beach was gone, and the sun and the sea, and they stood once more in the +dimness of the shuttered parlour, and were once more shaken and blinded; and on +the mat betwixt them lay a pile of shining dollars. Keola ran to the shutters; +and there was the steamer tossing in the swell close in. +</p> + +<p> +The same night Kalamake took his son-in-law apart, and gave him five dollars in +his hand. +</p> + +<p> +“Keola,” said he, “if you are a wise man (which I am doubtful +of) you will think you slept this afternoon on the verandah, and dreamed as you +were sleeping. I am a man of few words, and I have for my helpers people of +short memories.” +</p> + +<p> +Never a word more said Kalamake, nor referred again to that affair. But it ran +all the while in Keola’s head—if he were lazy before, he would now +do nothing. +</p> + +<p> +“Why should I work,” thought he, “when I have a father-in-law +who makes dollars of sea-shells?” +</p> + +<p> +Presently his share was spent. He spent it all upon fine clothes. And then he +was sorry: +</p> + +<p> +“For,” thought he, “I had done better to have bought a +concertina, with which I might have entertained myself all day long.” And +then he began to grow vexed with Kalamake. +</p> + +<p> +“This man has the soul of a dog,” thought he. “He can gather +dollars when he pleases on the beach, and he leaves me to pine for a +concertina! Let him beware: I am no child, I am as cunning as he, and hold his +secret.” With that he spoke to his wife Lehua, and complained of her +father’s manners. +</p> + +<p> +“I would let my father be,” said Lehua. “He is a dangerous +man to cross.” +</p> + +<p> +“I care that for him!” cried Keola; and snapped his fingers. +“I have him by the nose. I can make him do what I please.” And he +told Lehua the story. +</p> + +<p> +But she shook her head. +</p> + +<p> +“You may do what you like,” said she; “but as sure as you +thwart my father, you will be no more heard of. Think of this person, and that +person; think of Hua, who was a noble of the House of Representatives, and went +to Honolulu every year; and not a bone or a hair of him was found. Remember +Kamau, and how he wasted to a thread, so that his wife lifted him with one +hand. Keola, you are a baby in my father’s hands; he will take you with +his thumb and finger and eat you like a shrimp.” +</p> + +<p> +Now Keola was truly afraid of Kalamake, but he was vain too; and these words of +his wife’s incensed him. +</p> + +<p> +“Very well,” said he, “if that is what you think of me, I +will show how much you are deceived.” And he went straight to where his +father-in-law was sitting in the parlour. +</p> + +<p> +“Kalamake,” said he, “I want a concertina.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you, indeed?” said Kalamake. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said he, “and I may as well tell you plainly, I mean +to have it. A man who picks up dollars on the beach can certainly afford a +concertina.” +</p> + +<p> +“I had no idea you had so much spirit,” replied the sorcerer. +“I thought you were a timid, useless lad, and I cannot describe how much +pleased I am to find I was mistaken. Now I begin to think I may have found an +assistant and successor in my difficult business. A concertina? You shall have +the best in Honolulu. And to-night, as soon as it is dark, you and I will go +and find the money.” +</p> + +<p> +“Shall we return to the beach?” asked Keola. +</p> + +<p> +“No, no!” replied Kalamake; “you must begin to learn more of +my secrets. Last time I taught you to pick shells; this time I shall teach you +to catch fish. Are you strong enough to launch Pili’s boat?” +</p> + +<p> +“I think I am,” returned Keola. “But why should we not take +your own, which is afloat already?” +</p> + +<p> +“I have a reason which you will understand thoroughly before +to-morrow,” said Kalamake. “Pili’s boat is the better suited +for my purpose. So, if you please, let us meet there as soon as it is dark; and +in the meanwhile, let us keep our own counsel, for there is no cause to let the +family into our business.” +</p> + +<p> +Honey is not more sweet than was the voice of Kalamake, and Keola could scarce +contain his satisfaction. +</p> + +<p> +“I might have had my concertina weeks ago,” thought he, “and +there is nothing needed in this world but a little courage.” +</p> + +<p> +Presently after he spied Lehua weeping, and was half in a mind to tell her all +was well. +</p> + +<p> +“But no,” thinks he; “I shall wait till I can show her the +concertina; we shall see what the chit will do then. Perhaps she will +understand in the future that her husband is a man of some intelligence.” +</p> + +<p> +As soon as it was dark father and son-in-law launched Pili’s boat and set +the sail. There was a great sea, and it blew strong from the leeward; but the +boat was swift and light and dry, and skimmed the waves. The wizard had a +lantern, which he lit and held with his finger through the ring; and the two +sat in the stern and smoked cigars, of which Kalamake had always a provision, +and spoke like friends of magic and the great sums of money which they could +make by its exercise, and what they should buy first, and what second; and +Kalamake talked like a father. +</p> + +<p> +Presently he looked all about, and above him at the stars, and back at the +island, which was already three parts sunk under the sea, and he seemed to +consider ripely his position. +</p> + +<p> +“Look!” says he, “there is Molokai already far behind us, and +Maui like a cloud; and by the bearing of these three stars I know I am come +where I desire. This part of the sea is called the Sea of the Dead. It is in +this place extraordinarily deep, and the floor is all covered with the bones of +men, and in the holes of this part gods and goblins keep their habitation. The +flow of the sea is to the north, stronger than a shark can swim, and any man +who shall here be thrown out of a ship it bears away like a wild horse into the +uttermost ocean. Presently he is spent and goes down, and his bones are +scattered with the rest, and the gods devour his spirit.” +</p> + +<p> +Fear came on Keola at the words, and he looked, and by the light of the stars +and the lantern, the warlock seemed to change. +</p> + +<p> +“What ails you?” cried Keola, quick and sharp. +</p> + +<p> +“It is not I who am ailing,” said the wizard; “but there is +one here very sick.” +</p> + +<p> +With that he changed his grasp upon the lantern, and, behold I as he drew his +finger from the ring, the finger stuck and the ring was burst, and his hand was +grown to be of the bigness of three. +</p> + +<p> +At that sight Keola screamed and covered his face. +</p> + +<p> +But Kalamake held up the lantern. “Look rather at my face!” said +he—and his head was huge as a barrel; and still he grew and grew as a +cloud grows on a mountain, and Keola sat before him screaming, and the boat +raced on the great seas. +</p> + +<p> +“And now,” said the wizard, “what do you think about that +concertina? and are you sure you would not rather have a flute? No?” says +he; “that is well, for I do not like my family to be changeable of +purpose. But I begin to think I had better get out of this paltry boat, for my +bulk swells to a very unusual degree, and if we are not the more careful, she +will presently be swamped.” +</p> + +<p> +With that he threw his legs over the side. Even as he did so, the greatness of +the man grew thirty-fold and forty-fold as swift as sight or thinking, so that +he stood in the deep seas to the armpits, and his head and shoulders rose like +a high isle, and the swell beat and burst upon his bosom, as it beats and +breaks against a cliff. The boat ran still to the north, but he reached out his +hand, and took the gunwale by the finger and thumb, and broke the side like a +biscuit, and Keola was spilled into the sea. And the pieces of the boat the +sorcerer crushed in the hollow of his hand and flung miles away into the night. +</p> + +<p> +“Excuse me taking the lantern,” said he; “for I have a long +wade before me, and the land is far, and the bottom of the sea uneven, and I +feel the bones under my toes.” +</p> + +<p> +And he turned and went off walking with great strides; and as often as Keola +sank in the trough he could see him no longer; but as often as he was heaved +upon the crest, there he was striding and dwindling, and he held the lamp high +over his head, and the waves broke white about him as he went. +</p> + +<p> +Since first the islands were fished out of the sea, there was never a man so +terrified as this Keola. He swam indeed, but he swam as puppies swim when they +are cast in to drown, and knew not wherefore. He could but think of the +hugeness of the swelling of the warlock, of that face which was great as a +mountain, of those shoulders that were broad as an isle, and of the seas that +beat on them in vain. He thought, too, of the concertina, and shame took hold +upon him; and of the dead men’s bones, and fear shook him. +</p> + +<p> +Of a sudden he was aware of something dark against the stars that tossed, and a +light below, and a brightness of the cloven sea; and he heard speech of men. He +cried out aloud and a voice answered; and in a twinkling the bows of a ship +hung above him on a wave like a thing balanced, and swooped down. He caught +with his two hands in the chains of her, and the next moment was buried in the +rushing seas, and the next hauled on board by seamen. +</p> + +<p> +They gave him gin and biscuit and dry clothes, and asked him how he came where +they found him, and whether the light which they had seen was the lighthouse, +Lae o Ka Laau. But Keola knew white men are like children and only believe +their own stories; so about himself he told them what he pleased, and as for +the light (which was Kalamake’s lantern) he vowed he had seen none. +</p> + +<p> +This ship was a schooner bound for Honolulu, and then to trade in the low +islands; and by a very good chance for Keola she had lost a man off the +bowsprit in a squall. It was no use talking. Keola durst not stay in the Eight +Islands. Word goes so quickly, and all men are so fond to talk and carry news, +that if he hid in the north end of Kauai or in the south end of Kau, the wizard +would have wind of it before a month, and he must perish. So he did what seemed +the most prudent, and shipped sailor in the place of the man who had been +drowned. +</p> + +<p> +In some ways the ship was a good place. The food was extraordinarily rich and +plenty, with biscuits and salt beef every day, and pea-soup and puddings made +of flour and suet twice a week, so that Keola grew fat. The captain also was a +good man, and the crew no worse than other whites. The trouble was the mate, +who was the most difficult man to please Keola had ever met with, and beat and +cursed him daily, both for what he did and what he did not. The blows that he +dealt were very sore, for he was strong; and the words he used were very +unpalatable, for Keola was come of a good family and accustomed to respect. And +what was the worst of all, whenever Keola found a chance to sleep, there was +the mate awake and stirring him up with a rope’s end. Keola saw it would +never do; and he made up his mind to run away. +</p> + +<p> +They were about a month out from Honolulu when they made the land. It was a +fine starry night, the sea was smooth as well as the sky fair; it blew a steady +trade; and there was the island on their weather bow, a ribbon of palm trees +lying flat along the sea. The captain and the mate looked at it with the night +glass, and named the name of it, and talked of it, beside the wheel where Keola +was steering. It seemed it was an isle where no traders came. By the +captain’s way, it was an isle besides where no man dwelt; but the mate +thought otherwise. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t give a cent for the directory,” said he, +“I’ve been past here one night in the schooner <i>Eugenie</i>; it +was just such a night as this; they were fishing with torches, and the beach +was thick with lights like a town.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, well,” says the captain, “its steep-to, that’s +the great point; and there ain’t any outlying dangers by the chart, so +we’ll just hug the lee side of it. Keep her romping full, don’t I +tell you!” he cried to Keola, who was listening so hard that he forgot to +steer. +</p> + +<p> +And the mate cursed him, and swore that Kanaka was for no use in the world, and +if he got started after him with a belaying pin, it would be a cold day for +Keola. +</p> + +<p> +And so the captain and mate lay down on the house together, and Keola was left +to himself. +</p> + +<p> +“This island will do very well for me,” he thought; “if no +traders deal there, the mate will never come. And as for Kalamake, it is not +possible he can ever get as far as this.” +</p> + +<p> +With that he kept edging the schooner nearer in. He had to do this quietly, for +it was the trouble with these white men, and above all with the mate, that you +could never be sure of them; they would all be sleeping sound, or else +pretending, and if a sail shook, they would jump to their feet and fall on you +with a rope’s end. So Keola edged her up little by little, and kept all +drawing. And presently the land was close on board, and the sound of the sea on +the sides of it grew loud. +</p> + +<p> +With that, the mate sat up suddenly upon the house. +</p> + +<p> +“What are you doing?” he roars. “You’ll have the ship +ashore!” +</p> + +<p> +And he made one bound for Keola, and Keola made another clean over the rail and +plump into the starry sea. When he came up again, the schooner had payed off on +her true course, and the mate stood by the wheel himself, and Keola heard him +cursing. The sea was smooth under the lee of the island; it was warm besides, +and Keola had his sailor’s knife, so he had no fear of sharks. A little +way before him the trees stopped; there was a break in the line of the land +like the mouth of a harbour; and the tide, which was then flowing, took him up +and carried him through. One minute he was without, and the next within: had +floated there in a wide shallow water, bright with ten thousand stars, and all +about him was the ring of the land, with its string of palm trees. And he was +amazed, because this was a kind of island he had never heard of. +</p> + +<p> +The time of Keola in that place was in two periods—the period when he was +alone, and the period when he was there with the tribe. At first he sought +everywhere and found no man; only some houses standing in a hamlet, and the +marks of fires. But the ashes of the fires were cold and the rains had washed +them away; and the winds had blown, and some of the huts were overthrown. It +was here he took his dwelling, and he made a fire drill, and a shell hook, and +fished and cooked his fish, and climbed after green cocoanuts, the juice of +which he drank, for in all the isle there was no water. The days were long to +him, and the nights terrifying. He made a lamp of cocoa-shell, and drew the oil +of the ripe nuts, and made a wick of fibre; and when evening came he closed up +his hut, and lit his lamp, and lay and trembled till morning. Many a time he +thought in his heart he would have been better in the bottom of the sea, his +bones rolling there with the others. +</p> + +<p> +All this while he kept by the inside of the island, for the huts were on the +shore of the lagoon, and it was there the palms grew best, and the lagoon +itself abounded with good fish. And to the outer slide he went once only, and +he looked but the once at the beach of the ocean, and came away shaking. For +the look of it, with its bright sand, and strewn shells, and strong sun and +surf, went sore against his inclination. +</p> + +<p> +“It cannot be,” he thought, “and yet it is very like. And how +do I know? These white men, although they pretend to know where they are +sailing, must take their chance like other people. So that after all we may +have sailed in a circle, and I may be quite near to Molokai, and this may be +the very beach where my father-in-law gathers his dollars.” +</p> + +<p> +So after that he was prudent, and kept to the land side. +</p> + +<p> +It was perhaps a month later, when the people of the place arrived—the +fill of six great boats. They were a fine race of men, and spoke a tongue that +sounded very different from the tongue of Hawaii, but so many of the words were +the same that it was not difficult to understand. The men besides were very +courteous, and the women very towardly; and they made Keola welcome, and built +him a house, and gave him a wife; and what surprised him the most, he was never +sent to work with the young men. +</p> + +<p> +And now Keola had three periods. First he had a period of being very sad, and +then he had a period when he was pretty merry. Last of all came the third, when +he was the most terrified man in the four oceans. +</p> + +<p> +The cause of the first period was the girl he had to wife. He was in doubt +about the island, and he might have been in doubt about the speech, of which he +had heard so little when he came there with the wizard on the mat. But about +his wife there was no mistake conceivable, for she was the same girl that ran +from him crying in the wood. So he had sailed all this way, and might as well +have stayed in Molokai; and had left home and wife and all his friends for no +other cause but to escape his enemy, and the place he had come to was that +wizard’s hunting ground, and the shore where he walked invisible. It was +at this period when he kept the most close to the lagoon side, and as far as he +dared, abode in the cover of his hut. +</p> + +<p> +The cause of the second period was talk he heard from his wife and the chief +islanders. Keola himself said little. He was never so sure of his new friends, +for he judged they were too civil to be wholesome, and since he had grown +better acquainted with his father-in-law the man had grown more cautious. So he +told them nothing of himself, but only his name and descent, and that he came +from the Eight Islands, and what fine islands they were; and about the +king’s palace in Honolulu, and how he was a chief friend of the king and +the missionaries. But he put many questions and learned much. The island where +he was was called the Isle of Voices; it belonged to the tribe, but they made +their home upon another, three hours’ sail to the southward. There they +lived and had their permanent houses, and it was a rich island, where were eggs +and chickens and pigs, and ships came trading with rum and tobacco. It was +there the schooner had gone after Keola deserted; there, too, the mate had +died, like the fool of a white man as he was. It seems, when the ship came, it +was the beginning of the sickly season in that isle, when the fish of the +lagoon are poisonous, and all who eat of them swell up and die. The mate was +told of it; he saw the boats preparing, because in that season the people leave +that island and sail to the Isle of Voices; but he was a fool of a white man, +who would believe no stories but his own, and he caught one of these fish, +cooked it and ate it, and swelled up and died, which was good news to Keola. As +for the Isle of Voices, it lay solitary the most part of the year; only now and +then a boat’s crew came for copra, and in the bad season, when the fish +at the main isle were poisonous, the tribe dwelt there in a body. It had its +name from a marvel, for it seemed the seaside of it was all beset with +invisible devils; day and night you heard them talking one with another in +strange tongues; day and night little fires blazed up and were extinguished on +the beach; and what was the cause of these doings no man might conceive. Keola +asked them if it were the same in their own island where they stayed, and they +told him no, not there; nor yet in any other of some hundred isles that lay all +about them in that sea; but it was a thing peculiar to the Isle of Voices. They +told him also that these fires and voices were ever on the seaside and in the +seaward fringes of the wood, and a man might dwell by the lagoon two thousand +years (if he could live so long) and never be any way troubled; and even on the +seaside the devils did no harm if let alone. Only once a chief had cast a spear +at one of the voices, and the same night he fell out of a cocoanut palm and was +killed. +</p> + +<p> +Keola thought a good bit with himself. He saw he would be all right when the +tribe returned to the main island, and right enough where he was, if he kept by +the lagoon, yet he had a mind to make things righter if he could. So he told +the high chief he had once been in an isle that was pestered the same way, and +the folk had found a means to cure that trouble. +</p> + +<p> +“There was a tree growing in the bush there,” says he, “and +it seems these devils came to get the leaves of it. So the people of the isle +cut down the tree wherever it was found, and the devils came no more.” +</p> + +<p> +They asked what kind of tree this was, and he showed them the tree of which +Kalamake burned the leaves. They found it hard to believe, yet the idea tickled +them. Night after night the old men debated it in their councils, but the high +chief (though he was a brave man) was afraid of the matter, and reminded them +daily of the chief who cast a spear against the voices and was killed, and the +thought of that brought all to a stand again. +</p> + +<p> +Though he could not yet bring about the destruction of the trees, Keola was +well enough pleased, and began to look about him and take pleasure in his days; +and, among other things, he was the kinder to his wife, so that the girl began +to love him greatly. One day he came to the hut, and she lay on the ground +lamenting. +</p> + +<p> +“Why,” said Keola, “what is wrong with you now?” +</p> + +<p> +She declared it was nothing. +</p> + +<p> +The same night she woke him. The lamp burned very low, but he saw by her face +she was in sorrow. +</p> + +<p> +“Keola,” she said, “put your ear to my mouth that I may +whisper, for no one must hear us. Two days before the boats begin to be got +ready, go you to the sea-side of the isle and lie in a thicket. We shall choose +that place before-hand, you and I; and hide food; and every night I shall come +near by there singing. So when a night comes and you do not hear me, you shall +know we are clean gone out of the island, and you may come forth again in +safety.” +</p> + +<p> +The soul of Keola died within him. +</p> + +<p> +“What is this?” he cried. “I cannot live among devils. I will +not be left behind upon this isle. I am dying to leave it.” +</p> + +<p> +“You will never leave it alive, my poor Keola,” said the girl; +“for to tell you the truth, my people are eaters of men; but this they +keep secret. And the reason they will kill you before we leave is because in +our island ships come, and Donat-Kimaran comes and talks for the French, and +there is a white trader there in a house with a verandah, and a catechist. Oh, +that is a fine place indeed! The trader has barrels filled with flour, and a +French warship once came in the lagoon and gave everybody wine and biscuit. Ah, +my poor Keola, I wish I could take you there, for great is my love to you, and +it is the finest place in the seas except Papeete.” +</p> + +<p> +So now Keola was the most terrified man in the four oceans. He had heard tell +of eaters of men in the south islands, and the thing had always been a fear to +him; and here it was knocking at his door. He had heard besides, by travellers, +of their practices, and how when they are in a mind to eat a man, they cherish +and fondle him like a mother with a favourite baby. And he saw this must be his +own case; and that was why he had been housed, and fed, and wived, and +liberated from all work; and why the old men and the chiefs discoursed with him +like a person of weight. So he lay on his bed and railed upon his destiny; and +the flesh curdled on his bones. +</p> + +<p> +The next day the people of the tribe were very civil, as their way was. They +were elegant speakers, and they made beautiful poetry, and jested at meals, so +that a missionary must have died laughing. It was little enough Keola cared for +their fine ways; all he saw was the white teeth shining in their mouths, and +his gorge rose at the sight; and when they were done eating, he went and lay in +the bush like a dead man. +</p> + +<p> +The next day it was the same, and then his wife followed him. +</p> + +<p> +“Keola,” she said, “if you do not eat, I tell you plainly you +will be killed and cooked to-morrow. Some of the old chiefs are murmuring +already. They think you are fallen sick and must lose flesh.” +</p> + +<p> +With that Keola got to his feet, and anger burned in him. +</p> + +<p> +“It is little I care one way or the other,” said he. “I am +between the devil and the deep sea. Since die I must, let me die the quickest +way; and since I must be eaten at the best of it, let me rather be eaten by +hobgoblins than by men. Farewell,” said he, and he left her standing, and +walked to the sea-side of that island. +</p> + +<p> +It was all bare in the strong sun; there was no sign of man, only the beach was +trodden, and all about him as he went, the voices talked and whispered, and the +little fires sprang up and burned down. All tongues of the earth were spoken +there; the French, the Dutch, the Russian, the Tamil, the Chinese. Whatever +land knew sorcery, there were some of its people whispering in Keola’s +ear. That beach was thick as a cried fair, yet no man seen; and as he walked he +saw the shells vanish before him, and no man to pick them up. I think the devil +would have been afraid to be alone in such a company; but Keola was past fear +and courted death. When the fires sprang up, he charged for them like a bull. +Bodiless voices called to and fro; unseen hands poured sand upon the flames; +and they were gone from the beach before he reached them. +</p> + +<p> +“It is plain Kalamake is not here,” he thought, “or I must +have been killed long since.” +</p> + +<p> +With that he sat him down in the margin of the wood, for he was tired, and put +his chin upon his hands. The business before his eyes continued: the beach +babbled with voices, and the fires sprang up and sank, and the shells vanished +and were renewed again even while he looked. +</p> + +<p> +“It was a by-day when I was here before,” he thought, “for it +was nothing to this.” +</p> + +<p> +And his head was dizzy with the thought of these millions and millions of +dollars, and all these hundreds and hundreds of persons culling them upon the +beach and flying in the air higher and swifter than eagles. +</p> + +<p> +“And to think how they have fooled me with their talk of mints,” +says he, “and that money was made there, when it is clear that all the +new coin in all the world is gathered on these sands! But I will know better +the next time!” said he. +</p> + +<p> +And at last, he knew not very well how or when, sleep feel on Keola, and he +forgot the island and all his sorrows. +</p> + +<p> +Early the next day, before the sun was yet up, a bustle woke him. He awoke in +fear, for he thought the tribe had caught him napping: but it was no such +matter. Only, on the beach in front of him, the bodiless voices called and +shouted one upon another, and it seemed they all passed and swept beside him up +the coast of the island. +</p> + +<p> +“What is afoot now?” thinks Keola. And it was plain to him it was +something beyond ordinary, for the fires were not lighted nor the shells taken, +but the bodiless voices kept posting up the beach, and hailing and dying away; +and others following, and by the sound of them these wizards should be angry. +</p> + +<p> +“It is not me they are angry at,” thought Keola, “for they +pass me close.” +</p> + +<p> +As when hounds go by, or horses in a race, or city folk coursing to a fire, and +all men join and follow after, so it was now with Keola; and he knew not what +he did, nor why he did it, but there, lo and behold! he was running with the +voices. +</p> + +<p> +So he turned one point of the island, and this brought him in view of a second; +and there he remembered the wizard trees to have been growing by the score +together in a wood. From this point there went up a hubbub of men crying not to +be described; and by the sound of them, those that he ran with shaped their +course for the same quarter. A little nearer, and there began to mingle with +the outcry the crash of many axes. And at this a thought came at last into his +mind that the high chief had consented; that the men of the tribe had set-to +cutting down these trees; that word had gone about the isle from sorcerer to +sorcerer, and these were all now assembling to defend their trees. Desire of +strange things swept him on. He posted with the voices, crossed the beach, and +came into the borders of the wood, and stood astonished. One tree had fallen, +others were part hewed away. There was the tribe clustered. They were back to +back, and bodies lay, and blood flowed among their feet. The hue of fear was on +all their faces; their voices went up to heaven shrill as a weasel’s cry. +</p> + +<p> +Have you seen a child when he is all alone and has a wooden sword, and fights, +leaping and hewing with the empty air? Even so the man-eaters huddled back to +back, and heaved up their axes, and laid on, and screamed as they laid on, and +behold! no man to contend with them! only here and there Keola saw an axe +swinging over against them without hands; and time and again a man of the tribe +would fall before it, clove in twain or burst asunder, and his soul sped +howling. +</p> + +<p> +For awhile Keola looked upon this prodigy like one that dreams, and then fear +took him by the midst as sharp as death, that he should behold such doings. +Even in that same flash the high chief of the clan espied him standing, and +pointed and called out his name. Thereat the whole tribe saw him also, and +their eyes flashed, and their teeth clashed. +</p> + +<p> +“I am too long here,” thought Keola, and ran further out of the +wood and down the beach, not caring whither. +</p> + +<p> +“Keola!” said, a voice close by upon the empty sand. +</p> + +<p> +“Lehua! is that you?” he cried, and gasped, and looked in vain for +her; but by the eyesight he was stark alone. +</p> + +<p> +“I saw you pass before,” the voice answered: “but you would +not hear me. Quick! get the leaves and the herbs, and let us free.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are there with the mat?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Here, at your side;” said she. And he felt her arms about him. +“Quick! the leaves and the herbs, before my father can get back!” +</p> + +<p> +So Keola ran for his life, and fetched the wizard fuel; and Lehua guided him +back, and set his feet upon the mat, and made the fire. All the time of its +burning, the sound of the battle towered out of the wood; the wizards and the +man-eaters hard at fight; the wizards, the viewless ones, roaring out aloud +like bulls upon a mountain, and the men of the tribe replying shrill and savage +out of the terror of their souls. And all the time of the burning, Keola stood +there and listened, and shook, and watched how the unseen hands of Lehua poured +the leaves. She poured them fast, and the flame burned high, and scorched +Keola’s hands; and she speeded and blew the burning with her breath. The +last leaf was eaten, the flame fell, and the shock followed, and there were +Keola and Lehua in the room at home. +</p> + +<p> +Now, when Keola could see his wife at last he was mighty pleased, and he was +mighty pleased to be home again in Molokai and sit down beside a bowl of +poi—for they make no poi on board ships, and there was none in the Isle +of Voices—and he was out of the body with pleasure to be clean escaped +out of the hands of the eaters of men. But there was another matter not so +clear, and Lehua and Keola talked of it all night and were troubled. There was +Kalamake left upon the isle. If, by the blessing of God, he could but stick +there, all were well; but should he escape and return to Molokai, it would be +an ill day for his daughter and her husband. They spoke of his gift of +swelling, and whether he could wade that distance in the seas. But Keola knew +by this time where that island was—and that is to say, in the Low or +Dangerous Archipelago. So they fetched the atlas and looked upon the distance +in the map, and by what they could make of it, it seemed a far way for an old +gentleman to walk. Still, it would not do to make too sure of a warlock like +Kalamake, and they determined at last to take counsel of a white missionary. +</p> + +<p> +So the first one that came by, Keola told him everything. And the missionary +was very sharp on him for taking the second wife in the low island; but for all +the rest, he vowed he could make neither head nor tail of it. +</p> + +<p> +“However,” says he, “if you think this money of your +father’s ill gotten, my advice to you would be, give some of it to the +lepers and some to the missionary fund. And as for this extraordinary +rigmarole, you cannot do better than keep it to yourselves.” +</p> + +<p> +But he warned the police at Honolulu that, by all he could make out, Kalamake +and Keola had been coining false money, and it would not be amiss to watch +them. +</p> + +<p> +Keola and Lehua took his advice, and gave many dollars to the lepers and the +fund. And no doubt the advice must have been good, for from that day to this, +Kalamake has never more been heard of. But whether he was slain in the battle +by the trees, or whether he is still kicking his heels upon the Isle of Voices, +who shall say? +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>Footnotes:</h2> + +<p> +<a name="footnote1"></a><a href="#citation1" class="footnote">[1]</a> Please +pronounce <i>pappa</i> throughout. +</p> + +<p> +<a name="footnote2"></a><a href="#citation2" class="footnote">[2]</a> Alas! +</p> + +<p> +<a name="footnote3"></a><a href="#citation3" class="footnote">[3]</a> Aeolian +</p> + +<p> +<a name="footnote4"></a><a href="#citation4" class="footnote">[4]</a> Yes. +</p> + +<p> +<a name="footnote5"></a><a href="#citation5" class="footnote">[5]</a> Leprosy. +</p> + +<p> +<a name="footnote6"></a><a href="#citation6" class="footnote">[6]</a> Whites. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div style='display:block;margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ISLAND NIGHTS’ ENTERTAINMENTS ***</div> +<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0;'>This file should be named 329-h.htm or 329-h.zip</div> +<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0;'>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in https://www.gutenberg.org/3/2/329/</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will +be renamed. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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