Nothing now remains of Korolamalama
“Nothing now remains of Korolamalama but the name and a few mounds.”
Ah, it was a great victory! Nothing now remains of Korolamalama but the name and a few mounds. Therefore the Vunisalevu was very glad, knowing that the right was triumphant, and that vengeance could never come again from Korolamalama. The whiteman? Oh, he was very grateful to them of course, for they had helped him out of their great love for him, and they asked for no reward, nor would they take one when it was offered to them—neither oil, nor mats, nor timber, nor anything of value. The captain was a good man, not like the white men of this day, who will cheat their own fathers for the sake of gain, but a generous man and a right-doer. His crew, perhaps, were wicked men, for they swore much and fought among themselves, so that we all feared them. What? How many times must I tell you that the captain wanted no reward? Nay, more, for as the women of Korolamalama were many, and food was scarce at the time, he offered to take some away; and the chief bade him come and choose from among them, and he came at night with four of his sailors. And all the women were brought to the chief’s house trembling, for they thought that evil was to befall them as the others. And the captain took a lantern and held it in the face of each in turn, taking hold of any that shrank back. And when he had seen all, he pointed to Sili and to Manana and to Latia, as the three whom he had chosen. And we were all surprised, for we thought that he would havechosen strong women who would work; but those he had pointed to were young maidens, children, and useless for work. The first two were the daughters of the woman Kurulawa, who stood by, and of low rank, but Latia was a chief’s daughter, and beautiful. But when the Vunisalevu told them they were to go with the white man, and the sailors came to take them, they cried aloud to the men to save them, and the other women caught them in their arms and wept, so that there was a very great uproar. But the sailors shook them all off except the woman Kurulawa, and her they struck, so that she fell upon the mats. Then they bound the hands of the three girls with ropes, and put pieces of wood in their mouths, and so stopped their cries—for one could not hear the other speak for the noise they made when they knew that the white men would take them.
* * * * * * *
I wonder where those women are now, if they be still alive! They were not on board when Captain Aneli came back the next year, and I forgot to ask him about them.
Ah, the white men of that day were braver than the white men who live among us now—be not angry, sir, if I say this—and Captain Aneli was the bravest of them all! Many great deeds he did in these seas besides the burning of Korolamalama and the slaughter of its people. I sailed eighteen months with him, and saw much fighting, not only upon the land but upon the sea also—among ourselves who sailed together. But Captain Aneli was fearless, and we all dreaded him after he slew the big white man and the Portugee who rebelled against him, and had flogged the Indian who prepared the food until he died. He loved me well, and gave me great gifts, teaching me to shoot with the little gun, and bidding me be always near him lest the evil-minded among the crew should again rebel against him. But when we reached New Zealand, and had been at anchor but two days, a man came from the shore and seized my captain, binding his wrists with iron fastenings that snapped to like the lock of a musket; and he was led away, shouting many evil words, and I saw him no more. I know not why this was done, but the man must have been one of thecaptain’s enemies and evil-minded, for he was a just man and brave.
And yet not all the captains of those days were like him, for there were some who were faint-hearted, like the white men of to-day, who think more of the love of women than of war, and whose hearts are weakened like a missionary’s. With such a one did I sail as I will relate.
After the captain was taken away we left the ship and dispersed, each going his own way; and I, with Tom the Manila man and others, drank white men’syangonain a house by the shore till we were intoxicated, and there was fighting and much anger. I do not know what we did until I awoke in the prison-house. Then I was taken before a chief, who judged me and awarded my punishment. But a man who stood by asked me whether I would sail with him if he released me from punishment, and I, not knowing what would be my punishment by the laws of these white men, and fearing to be flogged, besought him to set me free. So he paid money to the judge, who thereupon looked with favour on him and ordered me to be set at liberty. He was the captain of a two-masted ship, about to sail to the lands of these seas to exchangecloth and knives and axes for oil and the weapons of the place. And on the day we hove the anchor a white woman came on board, who was his wife, and sailed with him. He was a good man, this captain, but his mind was like a missionary’s, and he was not skilled in the ways of the sea. He had a large Bible which he was always reading in the cabin, while the woman lay sick in her bunk; and he often said to me—for by this time I had begun to understand his talk—“This is my compass and my anchor.” And once when he said this the mate was near, who, being a godless man but a good sailor, said, so that the captain might hear, “It would be better for the ship if he steered by the compass on board.”
Now the crew were like other white sailors, evil-minded, and lovers of forbidden words and strong drink. And even when there was no drink they would fight among themselves, but they all feared the mate, who, when giving orders, spoke but once, and instead of a second word smote, sometimes with a belaying-pin but oftenest with his naked fist, and that was the worst, for his arm was thick and knotted as yondilo-tree, and with his fist he could have split this rock. But me he did not smite, because I honoured him and did hisbidding cheerfully; nay, he even loved me, both for this and because my skin was black and I was a stranger, helpless, and without friends. He was a good sailor this mate, and often in the night when I was in his watch he would tell me stories of his cruises in the whale-ships, and I would tell him tales of blood from my own land. But he never spoke of the sea without contemptuous words towards the captain, whom he held to be no sailor but a missionary, accursed among sailors, and less than a man. He despised him, too, that he sailed with a woman, not being like the mate and other good sailors, who held women as fit only for the shore, and had a wife at every port to which they sailed. And I, too, hearing this, despised the captain in my heart, most of all when I saw how he subjected himself to the woman, as no man should do, and tended her as only slaves and low-born do, and they unwillingly. But for all this he was kind to me and did me many services, giving me from the cabin food in tin boxes, such as none other in the ship might taste but he and the woman.
All this time we were sailing northwards, the wind being south-east but light. And the air grew warm, and the spirit-light flashed in our wake at night,and the flying-fish, the birds of Nukuloa, took wing under our bows, and my heart grew light in the warm air, for I knew we were approaching my own land where only it is fit for man to live. We had left behind us the bitter winds that chill the marrow, and the sterile palmless shores, where men hurry ceaselessly to and fro, never resting but toiling ever, and the heart is filled with darkness and disgust of life and a great longing for rest. But though my heart was glad because I should soon be in that sweet land and see the green yam-vines, graceful as fair women in the dance, the captain became sorrowful, for the woman whom he tended was now sick, and for many days we had not seen her face, though we knew by his looks day by day that she grew worse.
And on the day when the sea-birds first circled the ship, the wind being still fair but falling light, the mate ordered the sailor they called Bill—him with the red beard—to go aloft and shake out the topsail, which was furled; but he not moving quickly, but with murmurs and unwillingly, the mate spoke angrily to him, saying, “Goddam!” many times, and other evil words. Then the sailor turned back and struck the mate, calling upon the others to come and help him;for he was a sort of leader among them, through his quarrelsome nature and unwillingness to render due obedience to his chiefs. But the others stood as if uncertain, wishing to slay the mate, and yet afraid. And as he continued calling upon them, two of the crew joined him, and drove the mate against the cook-house, where he stood striking at them, for he was very strong. Then Bill took the cook’s axe that stood near and lifted it to strike, and I ran to help the mate, whom I loved. But before I could reach him another passed me very swiftly and flung himself upon Bill, as a falcon seizes asese, and strove with him a moment till both fell heavily upon the deck and rolled, so that Bill was underneath straining for breath, as the other had him by the throat. Then I wondered greatly, for I saw that he who had done this was the captain, whose body was thin and light like the body of a cat, and Bill was like abulumokaufor bulk. And when the two others saw what had befallen Bill they retreated towards the forecastle; but the mate followed them, striking them with his fists so that they went down the hatchway as a man who dives for turtle, their feet following them. But when we turned back the captain was gone to hiscabin, and Bill was still lying on the deck gasping for breath. And that night when it was my watch the mate came and sat with me near the wheel, for the night was clear and calm, and I was steering. He did not speak contemptuously of the captain, but wonderingly, as if he had suddenly become another whom he did not know. And while we still talked a sound came through the cabin skylight near us as of a woman’s voice, and of a man weeping. And then the weeping of the man drowned the voice of the woman, which was weak, and we both knew it for the captain’s voice, and the mate got up and went forward saying no word. But my heart was filled with a great contempt for the captain, since I hold it great shame for a man to weep. And a little later the wind died away, and the sails struck the mast with a noise like musketry, and then filled and struck again with the breath of the dying wind, and then hung loose from the yards as dead vines hang from the limbs of thedamanu-tree; for even the swell was calm, so that both the air and the restless sea were dead, and the ship lay under the stars as still as a canoe left on the sands by the ebbing tide. And when the bell had struck one, and the dawn was near, I lay upon the hatchway wishingfor sleep. And suddenly there was a terrible cry, so that we all started up asking ourselves whence it came and what it meant, for it was not the voice of a man but of some fierce animal. Then it came again, and we knew that it came from the cabin, and was the captain’s voice, but changed as the voice of a man whose senses have left him. And when it came a third time the mate said that the woman must be dead, for the captain’s voice was changed by grief, and he was calling the name of the woman, who would never answer him more. But after the third time the cry did not come again, but only a low moaning, continuously, as I have heard a man make after the battle when he has been clubbed, but his senses have returned to him, and he knows that they who are taking him are heating the oven for his body. And when the sun rose no wind came to fill the sails and cool the air. And beside the ship lay her image, complete to the last rope, as clear as in those glasses the traders sell to the women. And as the sun rose higher the sky turned to iron, and the sea threw back the brightness so that it burned the eyes; and the pitch grew wet in the seams and scorched the bare feet, gluing them to the deck. And we lay under theshadow of the masts and sails panting for breath. Only the sailmaker worked, making a hammock for the body of the woman. And all the while the moaning in the cabin never ceased, even for a moment. And when the sun was overhead, all things being prepared, the mate went to the cabin with the sailmaker. And we heard blows upon the cabin-door, and the captain was loudly called; but however loudly they knocked or called, when they ceased they still heard the moaning, mingled with broken words. So the mate came to us again, saying that he would wait until eight bells, and then force the door, for the weather was hot and the matter could not be delayed. But when eight bells were struck, the moaning still continuing, the mate called me, and I took the hammock and followed him down the companion. And the mate called loudly and struck upon the door. Then we listened and heard the voice as of one who sleeps and dreams evil dreams. Then stepping back, the mate ran upon the door, striking it heavily with his shoulder, and the door burst in, and the mate fell forward with the door into the cabin. And I, looking in, saw a foolish sight, for the captain was sitting on the floor of the cabin and had the bodyof the woman clasped in his arms as a mother holds her suckling child. And the woman was an ill sight, for she was axe-faced, like all the white women, and the flesh had left her face in her sickness, and being dead the eyes stared upward and the jaw had fallen. Yet for all this the captain, not seeing us, kissed the dead face as is the white man’s fashion with the lips, and moaned unceasingly. Then the mate touched him and spoke, but he seemed not to know him, and his eyes became fierce, and he cried to us to leave him. Seeing that we could do nothing without using force, we left him for that night. But when the morning came and there was still no wind, the mate again bade me follow him, and called to him also the carpenter and the boatswain, and we four entered the cabin and found him sitting as before, only quieter, but the woman’s face was much changed. And the mate spoke brave words to the captain, bidding him have courage and allow the woman’s body to be buried. And when he understood why we had come, and saw the hammock, he became like a wild sow who is wounded with a spear and turns to protect her young ones. Even so he turned to defend the body of the woman. But the mate seized him, and,with the help of the carpenter, held him fast, while we dragged the body from him. But so changed was it that it would not go into the hammock. So we carried it on deck out of his sight, while he struggled with the others, and the sailmaker ripped the hammock and sewed it up in haste, enclosing a shot at the feet. And when all was ready we carried it amidships and laid it on a grating, with a flag over it, and the mate nailed up the captain’s door lest he should do some fearful thing. Then the mate said some sacred words,—not many, for he could remember only a few,—and the men, being impatient lest ill-luck should befall the ship, threw up the grating and the body splashed into the sea, breaking the image of the ship into a thousand pieces. But scarcely had it sunk when it sprang up again as if alive, and most of the sailors fled in fear thinking it to be alive. But the mate, knowing the cause, cried that the shot was not heavy enough seeing that the body was much swollen. He shouted to us to pierce the hammock quickly to make the body sink. So a boat was lowered, and as no other would do it, I was sent with a sharp boat-hook to pierce the hammock. Now the body had drifted a few fathoms from the ship,and still danced up and down upright and immersed from the waist downwards. And as the boat drew near, and I stood up in the bows, I thought I saw the axe-face grinning at me through the canvas, and drawing away from me, so that I almost feared to strike lest it still lived. Then one of the sailors in the boat cried, “It is alive and will drown us!” and I held my hand in terror lest I should strike a live woman. But the mate cried from the ship, “Strike!” and I turned and saw that the ship was turning so that we were nearly opposite the cabin window, and the mate and all the sailors were beckoning to me to strike quickly. Then courage came to me, and standing up in the boat I struck at the woman with the boat-hook as a man strikes at his enemy with a spear, but as I struck, the woman only danced up and down the more, rocking to and fro, so that I could not strike hard to pierce the canvas. Then one of the men in the boat laughed to see the woman dance up and down so, and I laughed too, so that my arm became weak. But the mate cried to me again, and I balanced myself as a harpooner does before he strikes the whale, and as I balanced the boat-hook I turned and saw that the ship had swung so that we wereopposite the cabin windows. Then with all my force I threw the boat-hook into the soft body and drew it out again....
But as I struck there came a great and terrible cry from the ship, and I turned and saw the captain’s face at the window waving bleeding hands to me; for with his hands he had beaten out the thick glass, and he strove to force his body through but could not. Then he cried aloud again, such a cry as once I heard a man utter at Serua whom we had trapped in a cave whence there was no escape, and then his head fell forward and he was still. And the woman’s body which I had pierced sank slowly beneath the sea. But when they lifted the captain they found that he was dead, though his body had sustained no hurt.
Now I think that this white man was the most foolish of all the white men in the world, for though white men commit great foolishness for the sake of women, because of their beauty, yet none are so foolish as to desire their dead bodies, and this woman was not beautiful even when she lived, for she was axe-faced.
Of the ancient Fijian ceremonies few now survive. The early missionaries are unjustly charged with bigotry and Philistinism, in having waged war on all native ceremonial connected, however remotely, with their heathen creeds. But the Wesleyan missionaries were before all things practical, and knew that if Christianity was to take root at all it must have bare soil, from which every weed had been carefully torn up; for savage converts have an easy-going tendency towards engrafting Christianity upon their old beliefs,—in discovering that Jehovah is only another name for Krishna or Ndengei, and that the ritual that pleased the one cannot be unacceptable to the other.
But in one corner of Fiji, the island of Mbengga, a curious observance of mythological origin has escaped the general destruction, probably because the worthyiconoclasts had never heard of it. Once every year themasáwe, a dracæna that grows in profusion on the grassy hillsides of the island, becomes fit to yield the sugar of which its fibrous root is full. To render it fit to eat, the roots must be baked among hot stones for four days. A great pit is dug, and filled with large stones and blazing logs, and when these have burned down, and the stones are at white heat, the oven is ready for themasáwe. It is at this stage that the clan Na Ivilankata, favoured of the gods, is called on to “leap into the oven” (rikata na lovo), and walk unharmed upon the hot stones that would scorch and wither the feet of any but the descendants of the dauntless Tui Nkualita. Twice only had Europeans been fortunate enough to see themasáwecooked, and so marvellous had been the tales they told, and so cynical the scepticism with which they had been received, that nothing short of another performance before witnesses and the photographic camera would have satisfied the average “old hand.”
As we steamed up to the chief’s village of Waisoma, a cloud of blue smoke rolling up among the palms told us that the fire was newly lighted. We found a shallow pit, nineteen feet wide, dug in the sandy soil, a stone’s throw from high-water mark, in a small clearing amongthe cocoa-nuts between the beach and the dense forest. The pit was piled high with great blazing logs and round stones the size of a man’s head. Mingled with the crackling roar of the fire were loud reports as splinters flew off from the stones, warning us to guard our eyes. A number of men were dragging up more logs and rolling them into the blaze, while, above all, on the very brink of the fiery pit, stood Jonathan Dambea, directing the proceedings with an air of noble calm. As the stones would not be hot enough for four hours, there was ample time to hear the tradition that warrants the observance of the strange ceremony we were to see; and so seated on the spotless mats in Jonathan’s house, I listened while a grey-headed elder told me the story, pausing only to ask his fellows to corroborate, or to supply some incident that had slipped his memory.
“On an evening,” he said, “very long ago, the men of Navakaisese had collected in their sleeping-house for the night. Now the name of that house was Nakauyema. And they were telling stories, each trying to surpass the other in the story that he told. And one of them, whose name I have forgotten, called upon each to name the reward (nambu) he would give him for the story he was about to tell; for it is our customthus to encourage a good story-teller, each one bringing to him on the morrow thenambuhe has promised. And some promised one thing and some another. But Tui Nkualita, a chief and warrior of the Na Ivilankata clan, cried ‘Mynambushall be an eel!’ Then the story was told, and the night passed. And on the morrow Tui Nkualita remembered the spring called Namoliwai, that he had seen a large eel in it. And when he came to it, and, kneeling on the brink, plunged his hand into it, he could not feel the bottom though the water reached his shoulder, for the pool was deeper than formerly; and he reached yet farther down, following the rocky hole with his hand, and he touched something. He drew it out, and saw that it was a child’s cradle-mat. Then, wondering greatly, he plunged his arm into the pool, and reached yet farther down, and touched something. And as he felt it, he knew it for the fingers of a man. ‘Whoever this may be,’ he said within himself, ‘he shall be mynambu.’ And he plunged half his body into the water, feeling with his hand until he touched a man’s head. Then grasping the hair he dragged it upwards, and planting his feet firmly, he drew forth the body of a man, and held it fast on the brink of the spring.
“‘Whoever you are,’ he cried, ‘you shall be mynambu.’
“‘You must save me,’ answered the man, ‘for I am a chief, and have a village of my own, and many others who pay tribute to me.’
“‘What is your name?’
“‘Tui na Moliwai (chief of Moliwai).’
“‘I know all the chiefs of Mbengga, and many also on the mainland, but I never heard of Tui na Moliwai. I only know that you must come with me and be mynambu.’
“‘Have pity on me, and let me live.’
“‘Let you live? Why, of what use will you be to me alive?’
“‘I will be your guardian spirit in war.’
“‘No. Mbengga is small, and I am mightier than all others in war.’
“‘Then I will be your god of safe voyages.’
“‘I am no sailor. My home is the land, and I hate the sea.’
“‘Then let me help you on thetinka-ground.’
“‘When the game is played my lance flies truer and stronger than them all.’
“‘Then I will make you beloved of women.’
“‘I have a wife who loves me, and I want no other. What else?’
“‘Then I will do more than all these. You shall pass unharmed through fire.’
“‘If you can do that I may spare you; but if you fail you shall be mynambu.’
“Then the god gathered brushwood together, and piled it with stones in a little hollow, and made fire, and lighted it, and they sat down to wait until the stones grew hot. And when the wood had burned to ashes, and the stones were red with heat, the god rose and took Tui Nkualita by the hand, saying, ‘Come, let us go into the oven.’
“‘What! And be roasted while living?’
“‘Nay,’ returned the god, ‘I would not return evil for good. It shall not burn you.’
“Then Tui Nkualita took his hand, and lay on the hot stones, finding them cool and pleasant to his body.
“And Tui na Moliwai said, ‘You shall stay four days in the oven, and be unhurt.’
“‘Four days! And who shall find food for my wife and children while I am there? No! Let me only pass through the fire as I have done, and come out unharmed. I ask no more than this.’
“‘It is well. This gift shall be yours and your descendants’ for ever. Whether you stay here or go to other countries, this power shall remain with you.’
“So Tui Nkualita let Tui na Moliwai go alive, and returned to his home at Navakaisese, telling no one what had befallen him. But on the day when masáwe was cooked at Wakanisalato, and the oven was heated, Tui Nkualita rose and sprang into the great pit, trampling the burning stones unharmed, and treading down the green leaves as they were thrown to line the oven, so that he was hidden in the steam. And the people raised a great shout, wondering much when they saw him come out alive and unharmed. Thus it came about that whenevermasáweis cooked in Mbengga, the people of Rukua and Sawau must first leap into the oven to make the baking good; and if yams or other food were put into the oven with themasáwe, they would be taken out at the end of four days still raw.
“Last year we went to a great feast at Rewa, and one of the Rewa chiefs jested with us as we stood by the ovens, saying, ‘Come, leap into our ovens, as you do into your own.’ And we told them that it istabuto say this of any oven but themasáweoven, and that thefood in the smoking-pits would not be cooked. And our words came true, for when the ovens were dug they found the pig and the yams raw as they were put in.”
When the wood was all out
“When the wood was all out there remained a conical pile of glowing stones.”
When we were at last summoned, the fire had been burning for more than four hours. The pit was filled with a white-hot mass shooting out little tongues of white flame, and throwing out a heat beside which the scorching sun was a pleasant relief. A number of men were engaged with long poles, to which a loop of thick vine had been attached, in noosing the pieces of unburnt wood by twisting the pole, like a horse’s twitch, until the loop was tight, and dragging the log out by main force. When the wood was all out there remained a conical pile of glowing stones in the middle of the pit. Ten men now drove the butts of green saplings into the base of the pile, and held the upper end while a stout vine was passed behind the row of saplings. A dozen men grasped each end of the vine, and with loud shouts hauled with all their might. The saplings, like the teeth of an enormous rake, tore through the pile of stones, flattening them out towards the opposite edge of the pit. The saplings were then driven in on the other side, and the stones raked in the opposite direction, then sideways, until the bottom of the pit wascovered with an even layer of hot stones. This process had taken fully half an hour, but any doubt as to the heat of the stones at the end was set at rest by the tongues of flame that played continually among them. The cameras were hard at work, and a large crowd of people pressed inwards towards the pit as the moment drew near. A Zanzibar negro and his wife, drifted from heaven knows where, half-castes with Samoan mothers, with Fijian mothers and unknown fathers, mingled with the crowd of natives from the neighbouring mainland. They were all excited except Jonathan, who preserved, even in the supreme moment, the air of holy calm that never leaves his face. All eyes are fixed expectant on the dense bush behind the clearing, whence the Shadrachs, Meshachs, and Abednegos of the Pacific are to emerge. There is a cry of “Vutu! Vutu!” and forth from the bush, two and two, march fifteen men, dressed in garlands and fringes. They tramp straight to the brink of the pit. The leading pair show something like fear in their faces, but do not pause, perhaps because the rest would force them to move forward. They step down upon the stones and continue their march round the pit, planting their feet squarely and firmly on each stone. The cameras snap,the crowd surges forward, the bystanders fling in great bundles of green leaves. But the bundles strike the last man of the procession and cut him off from his fellows; so he stays where he is, trampling down the leaves as they are thrown to line the pit, in a dense cloud of steam from the boiling sap. The rest leap back to his assistance, shouting and trampling, and the pit turns into the mouth of an Inferno, filled with dusky frenzied fiends, half seen through the dense volume that rolls up to heaven and darkens the sunlight. After the leaves, palm-leaf baskets of the dracæna root are flung to them, more leaves, and then bystanders and every one joins in shovelling earth over all till the pit is gone, and a smoking mound of fresh earth takes its place. This will keep hot for four days, and then themasáwewill be cooked.
As the procession had filed up to the pit, by a preconcerted arrangement with the noble Jonathan, a large stone had been hooked out of the pit to the feet of one of the party, who poised a pocket-handkerchief over it, and dropped it lightly upon the stone when the first man leaped into the oven, and snatched what remained of it up as the last left the stones. During the fifteen or twenty seconds it lay there every fold that touchedthe stone was charred, and the rest of it scorched yellow. So the stones were not cool. We caught four or five of the performers as they came out, and closely examined their feet. They were cool, and showed no trace of scorching, nor were their anklets of dried tree-fern leaf burnt. This, Jonathan explained, is part of the miracle; for dried tree-fern is as combustible as tinder, and there were flames shooting out among the stones. Sceptics had affirmed that the skin of a Fijian’s foot being a quarter of an inch thick, he would not feel a burn. Whether this be true or not of the ball and heel, the instep is covered with skin no thicker than our own, and we saw the men plant their insteps fairly on the stone. Clearly eternity can have no terrors for these simple natives.
I think that most of the sceptics were impressed. Even the skipper of the steamer, who was once a conjurer, and ate fire at a variety entertainment, said it was “very fair for niggers,” but darkly hinted that he could improve upon it.
Seated by a bowl ofkavaand a candle stuck in a bottle-neck, Jonathan underwent my cross-examination with calm good-humour. Why were the young men afraid? Because only five of the fifteen had everpassed through the fire before. The regular performers were elderly men, and they had reflected upon our distinguished rank, and the rumour that picture-machines would be brought, and selected good-looking youths rather than ugly old men. The handkerchief was burned? Well, if it had been thrown into the middle of the pit, instead of upon an isolated stone, it would not have been even singed, for the linen being of human manufacture would share the god’s gift to men. Would a strange man share the gift? Certainly, if he went with one of the tribe. If I had told him my wishes sooner he would have taken me in barefooted, and I should have found the stones cool and pleasant. Yes, it was true that one of the men had nearly fallen, but the others ran to hold him up. Would he have been burnt if he had fallen? He thought not. Then why were the people so anxious to save him from falling? Well—they remembered a man who fell many years ago, and yes—he certainly was burnt on the shoulders and side, but a wise man patted the burns, and they dried up and ceased paining him. Any trick? Here Jonathan’s ample face shrunk smaller, and a shadow passed over his candid eye. “If there had been any trick it would have come to light long ago. The whole worldwould know. Perhaps I do not believe the story of Tui na Moliwai, but I do believe that my tribe has been given to pass unharmed through the fire.” Oh, wily Jonathan!
Perhaps the Na Ivilankata clan have no secret, and there is nothing wonderful in their performance, but, miracle or not, I am very glad I saw it.
“Allen, come out! Hang it, man, it’s not before your time! Why, it’s five o’clock.”
“But the boss——”
“Blow the boss! He didn’t buy your body and soul for eight-six-eight a-month?”
“But suppose I lose my billet——”
“That’s what I want you for. Look here! Life’s not worth living at this rate. If it wasn’t for my wife I’d have chucked it long ago, for I’m sick to death of stocks and shares: there’s no excitement when you make a hit, because you don’t win enough, and it’s no fun losing, because you always lose too much.”
“Yes. It’s all very well for you, Benion,—you can afford it; but if I had half your money, I’d steer clear of specs. altogether.”
“No, you wouldn’t, my boy! The only fun of having money left one is to try to make it grow. I expect you chuck some of your wretched screw away betting on these beggarly races where every horse is run crooked.”
“Why, how much do you suppose I have over after paying for my living?” asked the younger man, indignantly.
“I know, old chap. Can’t think how you manage to live on it as it is. Now, look here! Can you keep your mouth shut?”
“No.”
“Don’t play the fool. I think you can,” said Benion, examining him doubtfully. “I always liked your looks, or I shouldn’t want now to make your fortune. I suppose you’d stick to me if I made your fortune?”
“Better try!” laughed Allen.
Benion, with a great air of mystery, drew him out of Macquarie Street among the trees that grew in that part of Sydney which is now called Hyde Park. When they were a hundred yards from any possible listener he unburdened his soul in a hoarse whisper. “There will never be a chance like this again. A schooner came in last night from Honolulu in ballast, and thetwo chaps that own her talk of fitting her out for a trading voyage in the islands—in a devil of a hurry too. There was a lot of talk about it, and all sorts of yarns flying about, because people going to the islands aren’t, as a rule, in a hurry, and don’t mind being asked questions.”
“What sort of looking chaps are they?”
“Oh, Yankees, I expect; but they are burnt as dark as niggers, and wear red sashes round their waists with belts over them,—the rig they wear in the islands, they say. Anyhow, when men want a shipload of goods in a hurry, and do the mystery-man about where they’re going to, it’s pretty clear that there’s money in it, and that they don’t want any one else to get before them. But I mean to be before them.”
“What——”
“You’ve come here to listen and not to ask questions. If I let you into this thing, which will be worked, mind, with my capital, what will you give in return?”
“Can’t give anything but my work.”
“Exactly. Well, then, it’s this way. I’ll make you my partner on a quarter share of all that’s made out of it; you on your side promise to work all you know until we break partnership by mutual consent. Aquarter share ought to make your fortune if we have luck; but when I want a man to work I don’t believe in starving him. Nowwillyou work, andwillyou keep your mouth shut, andwillyou stick to me? I don’t want any paper—your word will do.”
“Of course I will, Benion. I’ll swear if you like.”
“No. A man’s word is as good as his oath. If he breaks the one he’s bound to break the other.”
The two had come to a stand-still facing each other, but now Benion took his companion’s arm, and began to walk rapidly away from the houses.
“This morning,” he went on, “I made friends with one of the schooner’s crew. He was just going aboard, but when I talked of drinks he turned back with me. The poor devil had been kept pretty short on board. He wouldn’t talk at first, but put the liquor away until at last he got to think I was his oldest friend. He’d deserted from a whaler in Honolulu, and the owners of this schooner got him to sail on double wages at two hours’ notice. ‘And all to trade in the islands?’ I said. ‘Islands, be blowed!’ he said; ‘it’s something better than that!’ ‘Ah, well, I wish you luck,’ I said, getting up as if to go; but he didn’t want to move, and said, ‘And suppose itwastrading—what then?’‘Nothing,’ I said. ‘Wal, do yer callgoldnothing?’ he said, winking with one of his wicked eyes. ‘Don’t come one of your sailor’s yarns over me,’ I said. ‘It’s true, so help me,’ he answered; and then he looked round to see that no one was listening, and leaned forward till I could scarcely bear the smell of gin and tobacco-quid, and whispered, ‘They’ve found gold in Californy, and they’re stuck up for all kinds of trade. The ship that brought the news was leaking like a sieve, and my owners, as keeps a store in Honolulu, bought this schooner and got a crew together in less than a day, and we’re to fill up and get away to-day so as to be the first in the field. If they gets a week’s starttheywon’t have to keep store any more, ’cos bloomin’ nuggets of gold is the only money they use over in Californy, and they can stick it on ’cos the diggers is starving.’ ‘They’ll be getting stuff round from New York,’ I said. ‘That’s what they’re scared of,’ he said, ‘only they think that ships from New York are likelier to bring more diggers than stores.’
“So then I made my friend as drunk as he could carry, and saw him down to the quay, and I went off to find out what the owners had been up to. I found out that they’d been to some of the wholesale houses,buying up tools and clothing and provisions, and I heard from Jakes that they’d been inquiring for a timber-yard. Well, you know Hathaway’s a friend of mine, and when I got to him I found sure enough that my friends had been ordering timber, for a frame-house in the islands, they said, but old Hathaway said there were doors and locks enough for a prison. So I gave the old man the tip not to deliver the order before the end of the week. Didn’t give any reasons, and he didn’t ask any,—said it would be the devil’s own job anyway to get the stuff off to-morrow as the island chaps wanted.”
“Then are we going with them?” asked Allen.
“Not much, my boy; we’re going without ’em.”
“What! Take their vessel, d’you mean?” said the younger man, with open mouth.
“No. There are better vessels than theirs: just listen, and don’t ask questions. After I’d seen Hathaway I went to Thorne. I’ve done a goodish bit of business with him lately. Got him to give me a list of vessels he has lying idle,—seven of them, a bark, two brigs, and the rest schooners: told him a friend of mine wanted a fast boat for the island trade, but the old chap ’d got wind o’ something and asked mewhether my friend was Mr Wilson of Honolulu. When he saw that I wouldn’t be pumped he doubled the charter. But we came to terms. He will let me have the Amaranth, the smartest thing in port, bark-rigged, seven hundred tons register. She’s just discharged, and will be ready for sea as soon as her cargo’s aboard. After that I went the round of the wholesale houses. I know some one in each of them, and by a little manœuvring I squared it to have my stuff delivered before Wilson’s. Then I saw Hathaway again, and doubled Wilson’s order,—mine, of course, to have preference. And, last of all, I engaged the Amaranth’s skipper, and got him to pick up a crew to sign indentures this afternoon,—not a bad day’s work!”
Allen’s bewilderment had been growing at each sentence of his companion’s story. “But what will it all cost?” he asked.
“Never you mind about that, my boy. You haven’t got to pay for it. If we’re quick enough and keep our mouths shut your share ought to be more than all this racket will cost me. Our only danger is a slow passage. The whole town’s talking about the business, and even if we get away before the Reindeer—Wilson’s schooner—the chances are that the thing will leak out and thewhole town be after us. Now you go home and give your boss notice, and come and breakfast with me to-morrow. We’ll go on board in the morning and out with the afternoon ebb-tide, cleared at the Customs for a trading voyage in the islands. Once outside the Heads we can laugh at the Customs and everybody else, for nothing but a steamer could catch us.”
Allen found the Benion establishment in a state of disruption. A cart was at the door, and his friend in his shirt-sleeves, none too clean, was sitting on the lid of a box in the hall trying to snap the hasp.
“Just in time, my boy,” he shouted; “just sit down here and save me from breaking the Third Commandment again.”
Mrs Benion, harassed and red-eyed, was bustling about breakfast. When she had left them her husband whispered, “Talk as if we were coming back in a couple of months. She don’t half like my going. Says she dreamt she saw me in the water swimming for my life, and thinks she won’t see me again, so we must let her down easy.”
It was a miserable breakfast. The poor wife pretended that she had a cold to disguise her tears, and Benion poured forth a flood of artificial and forcedgaiety that deceived no one. But it was over at last, and Allen went out to the street-door to leave the man and wife together. At last Benion pushed past him with his head down, saying, “She wants to say good-bye to you, Allen; go in, like a good fellow, and then follow me down.”
He found the dining-room door open. She was standing near the table repressing her sobs with evident effort. She looked him full in the eyes. “Youwilltake care of him,” she said passionately, “and not let him run into danger,—he is so rash. I can trust you, for he has been so good to you, hasn’t he?”
“Of course I will, Mrs Benion; don’t be afraid. We’ll be back safe enough with our fortunes made before you’ve had time to miss us.” And he left her, hearing her first sob as he reached the door. Inwardly he thanked the fates that he was not married, for he felt vaguely that Benion was doing wrong in going. But of course he would come back safely, or, if anything were to happen, he himself would never return to Sydney to face the sorrow in that woman’s eyes.
The Amaranth was taking in the last of her cargowhen they boarded her. She was full to the hatches, but a small deck-load of timber had to be stowed before they weighed anchor. About three o’clock she ran down to the Heads with the ebb-tide, and dropped her pilot before dark. Once clear of the land, Benion was in the wildest spirits; for they had at least a day’s start of the Reindeer, and they were a faster vessel and a bigger one. After dinner the captain was taken into their confidence; but the vision of gold-fields failed to tempt him, and he became restive. He not unnaturally wanted to know why he had not been told before. It was ten to one, he said, that his crew would desert, and where was he to get another? But Benion was prepared for this argument. If the gold-fields were good enough to make the crew desert, they were probably better than captain’s wages. Besides,hewould be answerable to the owners. The crew had been got together in a hurry, and as there had been no selection, there was more than the usual proportion of grumblers. The wages were high, for it would have taken more than a day to get a complement for a cruise among the islands at the ordinary wages; but the islands were unpopular, and the men were half-hearted. When Benion had argued the captain into tacit acquiescence,he suggested that the crew should be let into the secret. “They’ve got to know it some time,” he said, “and why not now? When they know about the gold they’ll be as keen about the voyage as we are.”
He was right. From the time the announcement was made the work of the ship went like clockwork, and the voyage ended happily, and without any more grumbling: for since the days of the Argonauts, gold, whether in fleece or nugget, has ever had a powerful hold upon the imagination of sailors.
They made the land at sunrise. It was a perfect morning, fresh, but not cold. Before them were two mountain-ranges separated by a valley which, together with all the low-lying land, was filled with woolly vapour, absolutely motionless, and so level that it looked like the waters of a lake from which the mountain-tops emerged distinct in the clear air like islands. Then the rising sun struck them and crept down their sides in a flood of light till it touched the surface of the lake of vapour, tinging it with gold; and, as if by magic, the whole lake was set in motion, and rolled up the valley, where it was caught by the sea-breeze and whirled in great convolutions into the higher air, where it vanished.
They steered for two low promontories, upon one of which stood a ruinous fort bearing the Mexican flag. As they neared it the swell increased, for they were approaching the bar. The sea, so calm outside, broke angrily upon a sunken reef on their left, but the flood-tide helped them, and in a moment they were floating in calm water beyond the fort, with a magnificent view before them,—a broad sheet of water indented with coves and backed with pasture and woodland of the brightest green. The foreshore was less beautiful, for the tide was still low, and the beach was a waste of mud, from which a fetid steam had begun to rise that set the landscape a-dance. They dropped anchor between two barks that had every appearance of being deserted. Their running-gear was hanging loose, their yards were braced all ways as for a funeral, and their decks were littered with stores and rubbish as if the crew had left them in haste. Stranded on the mud was the hull of a schooner, her top-hamper touching the ground as she lay careened over. On shore the only dwellings to be seen were some ruined walls, round which a number of rough shanties of packing-cases, wreckage, and ships’ copper were clustered, and beyond these some hundreds of tents gleamed white in the morning sunlight fromthe fringe of forest trees. Such was the city of San Francisco in 1849.
Benion and Allen lost no time in going on shore. They stepped from the boat into a crowd of the hangers-on of the gold-field,—surely the strangest seething of humanity that the modern world can show! There were men of every nation and shade of colour, of every grade of society, of every creed and occupation, all flung together with the burning fever of gold-hunting hot upon them. And there were besides the ministers to their pleasures, their necessities, and their vices: storekeepers, without stores to sell; faro-bank keepers; saloon-keepers, cleared of their stock-in-trade; and the ministers to yet lower vices. Hundreds of new arrivals, unprovided with the few stores necessary to support life, and unable to buy at the famine prices of the place, were still awaiting the arrival of a ship.
As soon as it became known that Benion had brought stores he was set upon by the storekeepers and liquor-sellers, but he had made a stern resolve to retail everything himself and let no middleman profit from him. But the Reindeer might be in at any moment to compete with him, so that, after fixing upon a site for histent, he sent part of his cargo ashore that very afternoon, and ensconced Allen as storeman.
So Allen bartered goods for gold-dust; and as their hoard increased, the friendship that is born of hardships endured in common grew between them.
The wind that had been blowing fresh all day from the south-east had by evening freshened into a gale, and the schooner was running before it with reefed mainsail. As the sun sank red among the storm-clouds, and lit the western horizon with a lurid glare, something more solid than a cloud interrupted the unbroken line. The man at the wheel saw it, and called the attention of the mate whose watch it was.
“Land ahead, sir!”
“That be hanged for a yarn! There’s no land within two hundred miles of us, and what there is ain’t in that quarter.”
“What is the nearest land?” asked Benion.
“The Fijis. The old man took sights this morning and reckoned we’d pass to the nor’rard of the Fijis some time to-morrow if the wind held. They’re marked inthe charts as high land, and we ought to see them thirty miles off or more.” Then shading his eyes with his hand, he gazed at the spot on the fast darkening horizon that looked now more than ever like a cloud.
“Why, you must have the jimmies if you call that land!” he said over his shoulder. “Keep her up half a point.” He glanced at the compass-card, spat over the lee-rail, and went forward.
In a few moments the white foam-flakes turned to grey, faded and vanished, and night fell like a great black cloth flung over the troubled sea. With the darkness the wind seemed to get stronger, the seas bigger, and the vessel more frail and helpless. She was advancing by a series of bounds as each great roller overtook and lifted her stern, poised and flung her forward, and then surged roaring past her, leaving her as it were stranded in the gulf between it and the next, whose swelling base the stern began again to climb.
At eight o’clock the captain came on deck, glanced aloft and to windward, and ordered the look-out to be doubled. Benion was sitting on the main-hatch smoking, and emitting a shower of sparks from his pipe with each gust of wind.
“Anywhere near land, cap?” he shouted.
“No; but we ought to sight it to-morrow, and in these coral waters one likes to keep a good look-out. You never know when you may hit upon a new reef.”
The ship tore through the seas for half-an-hour, when there was a shout from the look-out, “Breakers ahead!”
The captain dashed to the wheel and put the helm down, and the schooner came up into the wind, shivering with the shock of the great seas as they struck her and washed the decks from stem to stern. The wind was howling through the rigging, cracking the sails like whip-lashes, now that the ship was no longer running before it, but a practised ear could hear a distant roar, distinct from that of the wind and seas, that broke on the ship. Both watches were hauling in the sheets and reefing, and then the schooner’s head was payed off a little so as to clear the shore, if shore it was. Benion and Allen were straining their eyes to leeward in the hope of seeing the danger, but they could distinguish nothing from the dark waste of grey water.
“This sort of thing makes me wish that we hadn’t put all our eggs in one basket,” said Benion. “If we had fetched up on that reef and got off it alive, we shouldn’t have a penny in the world.”
“We ought to have insured the box and shipped it to New York in one of the steamers,” replied Allen.
“It seemed such sheer folly to pay the insurance rates that Carter asked, I thought it was better to take the risk of shipwreck. If the gold is lost we shall probably go to the bottom with it. If we get home with it safe we can take it easy all our days. It’s a fair risk.”
The mate meanwhile had climbed into the top and presently reported that he could see breakers, but that they had cleared the corner of the reef, and might now stand away a little. The ship’s head fell off until the wind was again on the quarter, and she was running free. The two men were soaked to the skin with the spray when the vessel was close-hauled, but Benion would not go below to change, feeling that if this were land the captain was at least two hundred miles out of his reckoning, and they might go ashore at any moment. But several hours passed without more alarms, and he at last fell asleep on the hatch in his wet clothes. It was a troubled half sleep, in which every sound entered into his dreams mingled with the monotonous roar of the seas. Suddenly some one in his dream shouted “Land ahead!” There was a rush of booted feet pasthim; he started up, and saw a dark mass looming above the ship.
As she came up into the wind a sea struck her forward and stopped her dead, the next seemed to hurl her sideways, and before she could get way on she fell with a reeling shock upon the reef, rolled sideways amid the boiling surf, and each successive wave fell upon her with a hungry yell and swept her from stem to stern, hammering and grinding the wounded hull upon the sharp coral.
At the first shock Benion fell against the starboard bulwarks, and before he could grasp the slippery rail a great sea swept the deck and washed him to leeward into the darkness. Dazed and without power of reasoning, he allowed himself to drift, instinctively keeping his body upright in the water.
Allen meanwhile was still on the doomed ship. He was asleep when she struck, and the shock flung him out of his bunk against the opposite bulk-head. Bruised and stunned as he was, he realised what had happened. The floor of the cabin was at a sharp angle, and the bilge timbers groaned and cracked as each pitiless sea lifted the ship and dashed her on the reef with a grinding crash. To steady himself against the shocks heplanted his foot against a box over which the water was washing. It was Benion’s strong box, that had slid from its lashings under the bunk. What were life worth, he thought, to either of them if this were lost? It were better to die trying to save their fortune than to battle for life, leaving this to certain destruction in the wreck. He grasped it by the iron handle and dragged it up the companion, using all his strength, for it was heavy, and the ladder slanted at a sharp angle. Holding on by the brass rail, he looked out upon the slippery decks. The top-mast, with all its ruin of yards, ropes, and blocks, swung heavily by the wire-rigging and thrashed the deck at every heave of the hull, and several of the crew were hacking at the foremast with an axe. Nearer to him, in the waist of the ship, three men seemed to be making a raft by lashing some spare planks and spars together. Suddenly, with a splitting noise, the foremast with all its wreckage went overboard, and the schooner partly righted herself. As each sea lifted her she gradually came up head to wind, for both anchors had been let go; and she lay there for a space without lifting to the seas, for she was now waterlogged. The crest of every sea swept the decks; but Allen, though blinded andsuffocated by the spray, still held firmly to the cabin-trunk, which protected him from the waves. But a huge sea, gathering volume in the shallow water, swept roaring down upon them, and trembling over the bows, carried everything before it. The whole cabin-trunk gave way with the wrench, and Allen suddenly found himself up to his neck in the water, away from the ship, but still clinging to the brass rail of the cabin-trunk, and still holding the iron handle of Benion’s box in his right hand. The water splashing in his face impeded both breath and vision, but he thought he could see the dim outline of the ship to windward. The water was almost calm around him, for he was floating inside the reef, but there was sufficient “send” in the waves to set him steadily inshore. At last the cabin-trunk grounded, rose again for the next wave, struck more heavily, and remained immovable, while the waves surged powerlessly round it. The water was only waist-deep, and Allen, still grasping the precious box, stumbled over the rough coral until he found himself on dry sand, dripping and chilled to the bone by the wind, warm though it was. A dark wall of bush close to him recalled grim stories of cannibal natives. If he was in danger, the first thing to be done was to hidethe box. Full of this one thought, he dragged it by the handle through the soft sand into the shadow of the trees. The ground was carpeted with the leaves of some trailing vine, that caught his feet and would have thrown him had he not recovered himself against the trunk of a tree. He felt it with his hands. It was gnarled and knotted, and of so great a girth that his extended arms would not reach the half of its circumference. This would be a landmark, he thought, for it must be larger than its fellows. He knelt down and plunged his hands into the sand at the root, tearing up the vines, and scooping out a hole large enough to hold the box; but when he began to lower it into the hole the corners caught the loose sand and half-filled the hole. A third of the box remained above ground, but he dared not delay, for a nervous terror of interruption had seized him. Through the roar of the wind he fancied that he heard other sounds. He shovelled the loose sand against the sides of the box, and, tearing up the vines within his reach, he piled them above it. Then he stood up with a strange feeling of safety and self-reliance. Come what might, if he and Benion escaped, their money was safe. But where was Benion? He remembered for the first time that he had not seenhim since the evening. What if he was the only man left alive? It was a new thought, terrible at first until he remembered the box buried at his feet. If Benion were dead, then all would be his lawfully and without blame. What possibilities would life then have? He had often dreamed on the diggings of what it would be to be rich, but the possibility of riches for him had never seemed near until this moment. He knew the disloyalty of the thought, for close upon its heels came a half-formed wish that Benion might be dead. Gratitude had not died out before this great temptation, for he could be grateful to his benefactor’s memory if he could no longer show gratitude to him in the flesh.
While he stood irresolute he heard a distant shout. Not doubting that it came from one of his comrades, he started along the shore in the direction of the sound. In two hundred yards he came to a rocky bluff from which great boulders had fallen upon the sand, forming a barrier right down to the sea at low tide. Through these the sea was dashing furiously, and it was so dark that he dared go no farther. He sat down in a recess hollowed out of the cliff-foot by the sea at high tide, and sheltered from the wind:his exhaustion conquered, and he fell asleep in his wet clothes as he was.
When he awoke the eastern sky was grey, and broad golden streaks shot up from the horizon. The wind had moderated, but great masses of flying scud told what the night had been. He was stiff and chilled from his wet clothes, but he crawled out from his shelter, and found himself face to face with a man, dripping, cold, and miserable as himself. It was Jansen, one of the sailors, a Norwegian, one of those Allen had seen trying to make a raft. He too had spent the night lying on the shore, and he believed that besides themselves none were left alive. While they were talking the sun rose, and straightway their prospects assumed a less gloomy hue. The wreck was hidden from them by a curve of the shore heavily timbered. They ran to this and saw the schooner dismasted, lying helpless on her side. Every sea washed over her, and she seemed to be breaking up. Landwards the forest was a mere fringe, clothing the foot of great basaltic cliffs that rose sheer to a plateau which they could not see. Every crevice of the limestone had been seized upon by enterprising tree-ferns and banian-trees, and only where the face was sosmooth as to afford no clinging-place was the rock naked.
The two men wandered aimlessly along the narrow strip of sand left between the high tide and the trees, and upon rounding a projecting tree, came suddenly upon a thin column of smoke rising from the outer edge of the bush. Their first instinct was to take cover behind a tree, for they had the fear of cannibals ever before their eyes, but Allen caught sight of a figure crouching among the undergrowth. Cannibal savages do not wear blouses and trousers, nor even red beards, and to whom could such a beard belong but Macevoy, A.B.? They found a group of their shipmates crouching half-naked round a fire of drift-wood, destined, when the smoke should subside, to dry their clothes.
“Jansen and Allen! That makes fourteen. There are only five missing now. Could Castles swim, do any of you know?” asked the boatswain.
“Castles went to the bottom, if he had any swimming to do,” growled Macevoy.
The men had got ashore at different times during the night,—some clinging to spars and oars, and others, washed off before they could seize anything, hadswum until they drifted into shallow water. Five only were missing—Benion, the cook, and three seamen; but they might have landed on a different part of the beach. The captain now proposed that two parties should follow the beach in opposite directions, to look for the missing men and to find fresh water, while the rest collected wood for a raft on which to bring off provisions from the wreck before she broke up, for they were desperately hungry. Allen chose to stay with the main body, who soon collected enough fallen timber for a raft, and lashed the logs together with the thick creepers that hung in festoons from every tree. When it was finished the tide had ebbed too far for launching it, and they could therefore do nothing more until the afternoon. They were about to disperse in search of food when one of the search-parties returned carrying a body between them.
“Who is it?” shouted the captain.
“Benion,” answered the leading man.
Allen felt a thrill of guilty anticipation. Then he was dead after all, and the gold would be his! The party came up and laid their burden gently down. He was still alive. They had found him lying, helpless and half-stunned, on the beach with a sprainedankle, and only strength enough to crawl out of reach of the high tide.
By mid-day they knew all there was to know about their island. It was pear-shaped, and barely a mile in diameter,—a mere lump of limestone pushed up from the ocean-bed, with a fringe of coral at its base. The cliffs were unbroken save in one place, where some old earthquake had split a jagged fissure in the rock almost down to the sea-level. This little gorge, choked with vegetation, would have contained water had the island been larger; but as it was, they could only find a little moisture oozing from the cliff-face. Some of them climbed the gorge to the plateau above, and saw the narrow light-green circle of the reef edged with foam: saw an island near them, and two or three others so far away that they blended with the clouds, but saw no sign of man, nor any hope of rescue but by their own efforts.
As soon as Benion was brought in, Allen was possessed with a fear of being left alone with him. When the raft was launched, he joined the two men told off to go to the wreck. It was evening before they returned, with scarcely any stores, towing the largest of the ship’s boats, staved and broken, butnot beyond repair. At night over the fire they took counsel. To stay for more than a week at this place would mean starvation. The island must be one of the Fiji group, which the captain had supposed to be two hundred miles to the southward. Some of them had heard that there were white men there; and the party that had climbed the cliff had seen the outline of a large island down the wind. There was only one course open to them—to repair the broken boat and set sail. Benion beckoned to Allen from the ivi-tree under which he was lying. The men were some feet away, and they could talk undisturbed.
“Did you bring off the box on the raft?” he asked, eagerly.
“No,” replied Allen; “the cabin was full of water.” Benion started up, forgetting his injury until the pain reminded him. “Good God!” he cried, “it must be there—under my bunk. No one in the ship knew of it but you, and it couldn’t float away. I’ll find it myself to-morrow, even if I smash my ankle looking for it. You seem to take it very calmly,” he added, fiercely; “have you forgotten that your share is in it as well as mine?”
“Forgotten! No; but I am too pleased at having saved my skin to think about it yet.”
“Your skin!” retorted Benion, contemptuously. “What good will yourskinbe to you if you have nothing to put on or into it? If that box is lost, I would to God I might lie where it lies!”
His distress was so great that Allen felt an almost invincible desire to tell him the truth. But why should he tell him now, in his present state of excitement? How could he explain away the lie that had come so readily to his lips? In his excitement Benion would suspect that he meant to steal the money, and then good-bye to any future hope of assistance. Why, Benion might repudiate all his verbal promises of partnership, and he had no writing to show. And had he not worked harder than Benion at the diggings?—been a hewer of wood and a drawer of water while his partner sat at ease? How was he to be recompensed for all this? And his share was to be so little, while with both shares he might live a new life in some country where they would never meet.
“Was the box fixed under your bunk?” he asked quickly, seeing the other’s eyes fixed inquiringly upon him.
“Lashed, do you mean? No. I had it out yesterday, and forgot to lash it again.”
“Then it must have slid out,” replied Allen. “The schooner is lying on her side, and your bunk is now where the ceiling used to be. Don’t be afraid. I’ll go off to-morrow and have another hunt for it.”
But during the night the wind rose again, and at high tide a heavy sea was thundering on the reef where the poor schooner lay in the darkness. The dawn showed a flying scud from the south-east, and a grey ocean streaked with foam. Spray was driving over the wreck, blurring her outline, but it could be seen that she lay lower in the water. The men busied themselves in repairing the boat, and collecting firewood. Some of them scoured the reef at low water, catching small fish and sea-slugs from the pools. Benion dragged himself to a spot whence he could see the wreck, and lay there gazing at her with fierce anxiety, and shuddering as each great sea struck and enveloped her in white foam, as if he felt the blows on his own body. He would not touch food, nor answer any one that spoke to him, and the men left him alone at last, significantly touching their foreheads. “Left ’is wits aboard by the looks of ’im, and wants to hailthem to come ashore,” was their diagnosis of the case. Allen came in late from fishing on the lee side of the island, and busied himself at the fire that was farthest from his partner.
The gale lasted all the next day, and brought up drenching rain-squalls; but at midnight it suddenly died away, the stars came out, and from every branch above the sleeping men the crickets burst into song, to the tenor of the little wavelets sucking back the shingle, and the bass of the great ocean-rollers breaking on the outer reef.
The men were astir before daylight to get the raft afloat at high tide. But when the sun rose, and they looked for the dark outline of the stranded schooner, they saw nothing to interrupt the broad golden pathway but a strong eddy in the breaking swell, as if a rock lay beneath the surface. The schooner was gone. Torn, battered, and smashed into match-wood—only her bones lay jammed on the reef; the rest of her was strewn broadcast along the beach where the tide had left it,—broken planks, spars, blocks, casks, chests, and rope half buried in the sand. Benion had one last hope—his box might be among the wreckage in spite of its weight. In his despair he forgot the painof his sprained ankle, and half hobbled, half crawled after the men who had gone out to collect the stores worth saving. Kneeling on the sand at high-water mark, he eagerly scanned each man’s burden as he passed, asking them whether they had seen an iron-bound box.