Produced by David Widger
THE STRANGE ADVENTURE OF JAMES SHERVINTON
By Louis Becke
T. FISHER UNWIN, 1902
LONDON
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CHAPTER I
The night was close and stifling, and the dulled bellowing of the surfon the weather side of the island told me that the calm was about tobreak at last, and in another hour or so the thirsty, sandy soil wouldbe drenched with the long-expected rain, and the drooping palms andpandanus trees wave their wearied branches to the cooling trade-windonce more.
I rose from my rough bed of cane-work and mats, and, lighting my pipe,went outside, walked down to the beach, and seating myself on a canoe,looked out upon the wide expanse of ocean, heaving under a dark andlowering sky, and wondered moodily why I was ever such an idiot as totake charge of a trading station on such a God-forsaken place as TarawaIsland in the Gilbert Group.
My house--or rather the collection of thatched huts which formed thetrading station--stood quite apart from the native village, but not sofar that I could not hear the murmur of voices talking in their deep,hoarse, guttural tongue, and see, moving to and fro on the beach, thefigures of women and children sent out to see that the fleet of canoeslying on the beach was safe beyond the reach of the waves which thecoming storm would send in sweeping, endless lines across the outer reefto the foot of the coco-palms fringing the low-lying, monotonous shore.
The day had been a more than usually depressing one with me; and I hadhad many depressing days for the last four months. First of all, eversince I had landed on the island, nearly half a year before, I hadsuffered from bad health. Malarial fever, contracted in the gloomy,rain-soaked forests of New Ireland and New Britain, had poisonedmy blood, soured my temper, and all but made me an old man atseven-and-twenty years of age. Violent attacks of ague, recurring withpersistent and diabolical regularity every week for many months, had soweakened me, that although I was able to attend to my business and dojustice to my employers, I felt that I should never live to see the endof my two years' engagement unless I either shook off the fever or wasenabled to leave the torrid regions of the Equatorial Pacific for acooler climate--such as Samoa or the Marquesas or Society Islands. Theknowledge, moreover, of the fact that the fever was slowly but surelykilling me, and that there was no prospect of my being relieved by myemployers and sent elsewhere--for I had neither money, friends, norinfluence--was an additional factor towards sending me into such amorbid condition of mind that I had often contemplated the idea--weakand ill as I was--of leaving the island alone in my whaleboat, andsetting sail for Fiji or Samoa, more than a thousand miles distant.
Most people may, perhaps, think that such an idea could only emanatein the brain of a lunatic; but such things had been done, time and timeagain, in my own knowledge in the Pacific, and as the fever racked mybones and tortured my brain, and the fear of death upon this lonelyisland assailed me in the long, long hours of night as I lay groaningand sweltering, or shaking with ague upon my couch of mats, the thoughtof the whale-boat so constantly recurred to me even in my more cheerfulmoments, when I was free from pain, that eventually I half formed aresolution to make the attempt.
For at the root of the despondency that ever overpowered me after aviolent attack of ague there was a potent and never dormant agent urgingme to action which kept me alive; and that was my personal vanity anddesire to distinguish myself before I died, or when I died.
For ten years I had sailed in the South Seas, and had had my full shareof adventure and exciting episode, young as I was, as befell those who,in the "sixties" and "seventies," ranged the Western and North-WesternPacific. But though I had been thrice through the murderous SolomonGroup as "recruiter" for a Fijian labour vessel--"blackbirders" or"slavers" these craft are designated by good people who know nothing ofthe subject, and judge the Pacific Islands labour trade by two or threedreadful massacres perpetrated by Englishmen in the past--I had "neverdone anything."
And to have "done something" in those days meant something worth talkingabout, something that would give a man a name and a place in the ranksof the daring men who had spent nearly all their lives in the SouthSeas. Little Barney Watt, the chief engineer of the _Ripple_, when thecaptain and most of the crew had been slaughtered by the niggers ofBougainville Island, had shut himself up in the deck-house, and, woundedbadly as he was, shot seventeen of them dead with his Winchester, andcleared the steamer's decks. Then, with no other white man to help, hesucceeded in bringing the _Ripple_ to Sydney; Cameron, the shark-fisher,after his crew mutinied at Wake Island, escaped with his native wifein a dinghy, and made a voyage of fifteen hundred miles to the MarshallGroup; Collier, of Tahiti, when the barque of which he was mate wasseized by the native passengers off Peru Island and every white man ofthe crew but himself was murdered, blew up the vessel's main deck andkilled seventy of the treacherous savages. Then, with but three nativeseamen and two little native girls to assist him, he sailed the barqueback safely to Tahiti. And wherever men gathered together in the SouthSeas--in Levuka, in Apia, in Honolulu, in Papeite--you would hear themtalk of "Barney Watt," and "Cameron," and "Jack Collier."
Should I, "Jim Sherry," ever succeed in doing something similar? WouldFate be kind to me and give me a chance to distinguish myself, not onlyamong my fellows, but to make my name known to that outside world fromwhich in a fit of sullen resentment I had so long severed myself?
As I sat on the mat-covered canoe, moody yet feverish, the first squallof rain came sweeping shoreward from the darkened sea-rim, and in afew minutes my burning skin was drenched and cooled from head to foot.Heedless of the storm, however, I remained without moving, watching thecurling, phosphorescent breakers tumbling on the reef and listening witha feeling of pleasure to the rush and seethe of the rain squalls as theyswept through the dense groves of coco-palms behind me.
Presently I rose, and walking over to my boat-shed, which was but a fewyards distant, I endeavoured to close the rough wooden doors so asto prevent the rain from blowing in and flooding the ground. But mystrength was not equal to the task, for a puff of more than usualviolence not only tore the handle of the door from my hand, but blew meinside the house. Feeling my way in the darkness along the boat's side,I reached her stern, where I was sheltered, and searched my saturatedpockets to see if by any chance I had a box of matches, so that I couldlight my boat's lantern and have a look round the shed. I found a fewloose ones, but so wetted as to be useless, and was just about to returnto my dwelling-house in disgust, when I heard my name called softly, anda hand touched my knee.
"Who is it?" I said, greatly startled that any one should be in theboat-shed at such a time.
"'Tis I, Niabon, the Danger Island girl; and Tematau lieth here on theground near me. His master hath beaten him so that he is near to death.And we have come to seek aid from thee."
I knew the speaker, but did not question her any further at the time,beyond asking her if he whom she called Tematau could rise and walk tothe house. She replied in the affirmative, but the injured man was soweak that the girl and I had to support him between us and grope ourway over to the house in face of the furious wind and driving rain. Themoment we were inside we laid the injured man down, and I struck a matchand lit a lamp, whilst Niabon shut and locked the door, not againstany possible intruders, but to keep out the rain and wind. Then, beforedoing anything else, I went into the store-room and got the woman achange of clothes--a rough, ready-made print gown such as the nativewomen occasionally wear--and a warm rug for the man, who was wearingonly the usual _airiri_ or girdle of long grass, and then, changingmy own sodden garments as quickly as possible, Niabon and I gave ouratt
ention to her companion.
The poor fellow had been fearfully beaten. The whole of his back, arms,and thighs were in a dreadful state, and the rain had caused the woundsto bleed afresh. But the worst injury was a deep cut on the face,extending from the lower left eyelid to the lobe of the ear, andexposing the bone. My surgery was none of the best, but I succeeded atlast in sewing up the wound satisfactorily, the patient bearing the painwithout flinching, and pressing my hand in gratitude when I told him Icould do no more. As for his other injuries, the girl assured me thatshe herself would apply proper native remedies in the morning; and,knowing how very clever these natives are in such matters, I attemptednothing further beyond giving the man a glass or two of grog and a tinof sardines and some bread to eat.
"Niabon," I said to the girl, whose face was stern and set, "thou, too,must eat and then lie on my conch and sleep. I will sit here and read mybook and watch the sick man, for the fever is in my bones to-night and Icannot sleep. So eat and rest."
She shook her head. "Nay, I feel no hunger, Simi,{*} and I would sithere with thee if it offend not. And then when the cold seizeth theeat the time when the dawn pushes away the night I can boil thee thycoffee."
* Jim--pronounced Seemee.
I was somewhat surprised that she knew that at dawn I usually had anattack of ague, for she lived ten miles away, and seldom even met anyof the natives of the village where I was stationed, though she was wellknown to them by reputation. However, I was too ill and wearied at thetime to think anything more of the matter, so after thanking her for heroffer to sit up and attend the unfortunate Tematau I lay down on a canelounge in the room and watched her making a cigarette.
"Shall I fill thy pipe, Simi?" she asked me as she approached me ina manner so self-reliant and unconcerned, and yet so dignified,that physically and mentally exhausted as I was I could not but feelastonished. For to me she was nothing more--as far as her appearancewent--than an ordinary native woman, although I had quite often heardher name spoken in whispers as one who had dealings with the spirits andwho had supernatural protection, and all that sort of stuff.
"No, thank you, Niabon," I replied, unintentionally speaking in English,"I must not smoke again tonight."
She smiled and seated herself on a mat beside my couch, then risingsuddenly she placed her hand on mine, and said as she looked into myeyes--
"Why do you speak Englis* to me, Simi? Who has been tell you Iunderstan' Englis'?"
"No one, Niabon. I did not know you could speak English or evenunderstand it. Who taught you?"
"I shall tell thee at some other time," she replied in the Tarawadialect, and then pointing to the figure of her companion she said shewas sure a smoke would do him good. I gave her a new clay pipe, whichshe filled, lit, and placed in Tematau's mouth. He drew at it with sucha deep sigh of satisfaction that the woman's stern features relaxed intoa smile.
"My blessing on thee, Simi," said the man, as he blew a stream of smokethrough his nostrils; "in but a few days I shall be strong, and thenthere shall be but one white man alive on Tarawa--thyself."
Niabon angrily bade him be silent and make no threats; it would be timeenough, she said, to talk of revenge when he was able to put a gun tohis shoulder or a hand to his knife.
"How came this thing about?" I asked her presently.
"The German sent Tematau away in his boat to one of the little islandsat the far end of the lagoon to gather coco-nuts, and bade him hastenback quickly. Tematau and those with him filled the boat with huskedcoco-nuts, and were sailing homewards in the night when she struck ona reef and tore a great hole in her side. Then the surf broke her inpieces, and Tematau and the other men had to swim long hours to reachthe shore. And as thou knowest, the north end of the lagoon hath manysharks, and it is bad to swim there at night even for a little time."
"Bad indeed, Niabon," I said, with a shudder; "'tis a wonder that anyone of them reached the shore."
She smiled mysteriously. "They were safe, for each one had around hisneck a cord of black cinnet interwoven with the hair of a sea-ghost. Sothey came to no harm."
She spoke with such calm assurance that I carefully abstained from evena smile. Then she went on--
"When they reached the white man's house and told him that the boatwas lost he became mad with rage, and seizing a hatchet he hurled it atTematau and cut his face open. Then as he fell to the ground the Germanseized a whip of twisted shark-skin and beat him until he could beat nolonger."
Then she went on to tell me that the unfortunate man was carried to thehouse where she lived, and she, knowing that I should be well able andwilling to protect him, decided to bring him to me. The only difficultythat presented itself to her was that the people of the village in whichI lived, though not exactly at enmity with the natives of the north endof the island, were distinctly averse to holding any more communicationwith them than was absolutely necessary, and a refugee such as Tematauwould either be turned back or kept as a slave. For, for nearlyfifty-five years internecine feuds had been kept alive among thevarious clans on the island, and had caused terrible slaughter on manyoccasions. Whole villages had been given to the flames, and every soul,even children in arms, massacred by the conquering party. The advent ofwhite men as traders had, however, been of great advantage to the islandgenerally in one respect--the savage, intractable inhabitants beganto recognise the fact that so long as they warred among themselves thewhite man would be averse to remaining among them, and consequently forthe four years previous to my arrival on Tarawa there had been no tribalbattle, though isolated murders were by no means uncommon. But owing tothe white men's influence an amicable arrangement was always arrived atby the contending parties, i.e., the relatives of the murdered man andthe aggressors.
It was for this reason that Niabon had brought the injured man to myvillage by a very circuitous route, so as to avoid meeting any of thepeople. Once he and she were inside my house to claim my protectionthere would be no further difficulty. She had succeeded in getting hercompanion into my boat-shed unobserved, and when the storm burst waspatiently awaiting darkness so that she might bring the man to me.
That was her story, and now I will relate something of the woman herselfand of the white man of whom she had spoken, the German trader Krause.