The Project Gutenberg eBook of Island Nights' Entertainments, by Robert Louis Stevenson

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Island Nights’ Entertainments

by Robert Louis Stevenson

Contents

THE BEACH OF FALESÁ.

CHAPTER I.
A SOUTH SEA BRIDAL.

I saw that island first when it was neither night nor morning. The moon was tothe west, setting, but still broad and bright. To the east, and right amidshipsof the dawn, which was all pink, the daystar sparkled like a diamond. The landbreeze blew in our faces, and smelt strong of wild lime and vanilla: otherthings besides, but these were the most plain; and the chill of it set mesneezing. 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 andmountains, and the rare smell of them, renewed my blood.

The captain blew out the binnacle lamp.

“There!” said he, “there goes a bit of smoke, Mr. Wiltshire,behind the break of the reef. That’s Falesá, where your station is, thelast village to the east; nobody lives to windward—I don’t knowwhy. Take my glass, and you can make the houses out.”

I took the glass; and the shores leaped nearer, and I saw the tangle of thewoods and the breach of the surf, and the brown roofs and the black insides ofhouses peeped among the trees.

“Do you catch a bit of white there to the east’ard?” thecaptain 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’vedropped into a soft thing here,’ says he.—‘So youhave,’ says I, ‘and time too!’ Poor Johnny! I never saw himagain but the once, and then he had changed his tune—couldn’t geton with the natives, or the whites, or something; and the next time we cameround there he was dead and buried. I took and put up a bit of a stick to him:‘John Adams, obiteighteen and sixty-eight. Go thou and dolikewise.’ I missed that man. I never could see much harm inJohnny.”

“What did he die of?” I inquired.

“Some kind of sickness,” says the captain. “It appears ittook him sudden. Seems he got up in the night, and filled up on Pain-Killer andKennedy’s Discovery. No go: he was booked beyond Kennedy. Then he hadtried to open a case of gin. No go again: not strong enough. Then he must haveturned to and run out on the verandah, and capsized over the rail. When theyfound him, the next day, he was clean crazy—carried on all the time aboutsomebody watering his copra. Poor John!”

“Was it thought to be the island?” I asked.

“Well, it was thought to be the island, or the trouble, orsomething,” he replied. “I never could hear but what it was ahealthy place. Our last man, Vigours, never turned a hair. He left because ofthe 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. Asfor 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 ifhe might live to be Old Kafoozleum. No, I guess it’s healthy.”

“There’s a boat coming now,” said I. “She’s rightin the pass; looks to be a sixteen-foot whale; two white men in the sternsheets.”

“That’s the boat that drowned Whistling Jimmie!” cried theCaptain; “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 aplace the beach is for talking. My belief, that Whistling Jimmie was the worstof the trouble; and he’s gone to glory, you see. What’ll you betthey ain’t after gin? Lay you five to two they take six cases.”

When these two traders came aboard I was pleased with the looks of them atonce, or, rather, with the looks of both, and the speech of one. I was sick forwhite neighbours after my four years at the line, which I always counted yearsof prison; getting tabooed, and going down to the Speak House to see and get ittaken off; buying gin and going on a break, and then repenting; sitting in thehouse at night with the lamp for company; or walking on the beach and wonderingwhat kind of a fool to call myself for being where I was. There were no otherwhites upon my island, and when I sailed to the next, rough customers made themost 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 stripedpyjamas and straw hats, and Case would have passed muster in a city. He wasyellow and smallish, had a hawk’s nose to his face, pale eyes, and hisbeard trimmed with scissors. No man knew his country, beyond he was of Englishspeech; 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 pieceof string or a cork or a pack of cards, and he could show you tricks equal toany professional. He could speak, when he chose, fit for a drawing-room; andwhen he chose he could blaspheme worse than a Yankee boatswain, and talk smartto sicken a Kanaka. The way he thought would pay best at the moment, that wasCase’s way, and it always seemed to come natural, and like as if he wasborn to it. He had the courage of a lion and the cunning of a rat; and ifhe’s not in hell to-day, there’s no such place. I know but one goodpoint to the man: that he was fond of his wife, and kind to her. She was aSamoa woman, and dyed her hair red, Samoa style; and when he came to die (as Ihave 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 BlackJack’s, and the most of Billy Randall’s in the bargain, for it wasCase that kept the books. So she went off home in the schoonerManu’a, and does the lady to this day in her own place.

But of all this on that first morning I knew no more than a fly. Case used melike a gentleman and like a friend, made me welcome to Falesá, and put hisservices at my disposal, which was the more helpful from my ignorance of thenative. All the better part of the day we sat drinking better acquaintance inthe cabin, and I never heard a man talk more to the point. There was no smartertrader, and none dodgier, in the islands. I thought Falesá seemed to be theright kind of a place; and the more I drank the lighter my heart. Our lasttrader had fled the place at half an hour’s notice, taking a chancepassage in a labour ship from up west. The captain, when he came, had found thestation closed, the keys left with the native pastor, and a letter from therunaway, confessing he was fairly frightened of his life. Since then the firmhad 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 goodtide, and the business of landing my trade was gone about lively. There was nocall for me to fool with it, Case said; nobody would touch my things, everyonewas honest in Falesá, only about chickens or an odd knife or an odd stick oftobacco; and the best I could do was to sit quiet till the vessel left, thencome 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, andthe schooner was under way before I set my foot on shore at Falesá.

I had a glass or two on board; I was just off a long cruise, and the groundheaved 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, ifthere is such a place, and more’s the pity if there isn’t! It wasgood to foot the grass, to look aloft at the green mountains, to see the menwith 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 thechildren in the town came trotting after with their shaven heads and theirbrown bodies, and raising a thin kind of a cheer in our wake, like crowingpoultry.

“By-the-bye,” says Case, “we must get you a wife.”

“That’s so,” said I; “I had forgotten.”

There was a crowd of girls about us, and I pulled myself up and looked amongthem like a Bashaw. They were all dressed out for the sake of the ship beingin; 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 Casetouched me.

“That’s pretty,” says he.

I saw one coming on the other side alone. She had been fishing; all she worewas a chemise, and it was wetted through. She was young and very slender for anisland maid, with a long face, a high forehead, and a shy, strange, blindishlook, between a cat’s and a baby’s.

“Who’s she?” said I. “She’ll do.”

“That’s Uma,” said Case, and he called her up and spoke toher in the native. I didn’t know what he said; but when he was in themidst she looked up at me quick and timid, like a child dodging a blow, thendown again, and presently smiled. She had a wide mouth, the lips and the chincut 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 thepretty Polynesian voice, looking him full in the face, heard him again inanswer, 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.

“I guess it’s all right,” said Case. “I guess you canhave her. I’ll make it square with the old lady. You can have your pickof the lot for a plug of tobacco,” he added, sneering.

I suppose it was the smile stuck in my memory, for I spoke back sharp.“She doesn’t look that sort,” I cried.

“I don’t know that she is,” said Case. “I believeshe’s as right as the mail. Keeps to herself, don’t go round withthe gang, and that. O no, don’t you misunderstand me—Uma’s onthe square.” He spoke eager, I thought, and that surprised and pleasedme. “Indeed,” he went on, “I shouldn’t make so sure ofgetting her, only she cottoned to the cut of your jib. All you have to do is tokeep dark and let me work the mother my own way; and I’ll bring the girlround to the captain’s for the marriage.”

I didn’t care for the word marriage, and I said so.

“Oh, there’s nothing to hurt in the marriage,” says he.“Black Jack’s the chaplain.”

By this time we had come in view of the house of these three white men; for anegro is counted a white man, and so is a Chinese! a strange idea, but commonin the islands. It was a board house with a strip of rickety verandah. Thestore was to the front, with a counter, scales, and the poorest possibledisplay of trade: a case or two of tinned meats; a barrel of hard bread; a fewbolts of cotton stuff, not to be compared with mine; the only thing wellrepresented being the contraband, firearms and liquor. “If these are myonly 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 anddrink.

In the back room was old Captain Randall, squatting on the floor nativefashion, fat and pale, naked to the waist, grey as a badger, and his eyes setwith drink. His body was covered with grey hair and crawled over by flies; onewas in the corner of his eye—he never heeded; and the mosquitoes hummedabout the man like bees. Any clean-minded man would have had the creature outat once and buried him; and to see him, and think he was seventy, and rememberhe had once commanded a ship, and come ashore in his smart togs, and talked bigin bars and consulates, and sat in club verandahs, turned me sick and sober.

He tried to get up when I came in, but that was hopeless; so he reached me ahand instead, and stumbled out some salutation.

“Papa’s [1] pretty full this morning,” observed Case.“We’ve had an epidemic here; and Captain Randall takes gin for aprophylactic—don’t you, Papa?”

“Never took such a thing in my life!” cried the captainindignantly. “Take gin for my health’s sake, Mr.Wha’s-ever-your-name—’s a precautionary measure.”

“That’s all right, Papa,” said Case. “But you’llhave to brace up. There’s going to be a marriage—Mr. Wiltshire hereis going to get spliced.”

The old man asked to whom.

“To Uma,” said Case.

“Uma!” cried the captain. “Wha’s he want Uma for?’s he come here for his health, anyway? Wha’ ’n hell’she want Uma for?”

“Dry up, Papa,” said Case. “’Tain’t youthat’s to marry her. I guess you’re not her godfather andgodmother. I guess Mr. Wiltshire’s going to please himself.”

With that he made an excuse to me that he must move about the marriage, andleft 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 wereparasites; 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 gorgerose at him, and the time I now passed in his company was like a nightmare.

The room was stifling hot and full of flies; for the house was dirty and lowand small, and stood in a bad place, behind the village, in the borders of thebush, and sheltered from the trade. The three men’s beds were on thefloor, 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 mealwhich was served us by Case’s wife; and there I was entertained all dayby that remains of man, his tongue stumbling among low old jokes and long oldstories, and his own wheezy laughter always ready, so that he had no sense ofmy depression. He was nipping gin all the while. Sometimes he fell asleep, andawoke again, whimpering and shivering, and every now and again he would ask mewhy I wanted to marry Uma. “My friend,” I was telling myself allday, “you must not come to be an old gentleman like this.”

It might be four in the afternoon, perhaps, when the back door was thrustslowly open, and a strange old native woman crawled into the house almost onher belly. She was swathed in black stuff to her heels; her hair was grey inswatches; her face was tattooed, which was not the practice in that island; hereyes big and bright and crazy. These she fixed upon me with a rapt expressionthat I saw to be part acting. She said no plain word, but smacked and mumbledwith her lips, and hummed aloud, like a child over its Christmas pudding. Shecame straight across the house, heading for me, and, as soon as she wasalongside, caught up my hand and purred and crooned over it like a great cat.From this she slipped into a kind of song.

“Who the devil’s this?” cried I, for the thing startled me.

“It’s Fa’avao,” says Randall; and I saw he had hitchedalong the floor into the farthest corner.

“You ain’t afraid of her?” I cried.

“Me ’fraid!” cried the captain. “My dear friend, I defyher! I don’t let her put her foot in here, only I suppose ’sdifferent to-day, for the marriage. ’s Uma’s mother.”

“Well, suppose it is; what’s she carrying on about?” I asked,more irritated, perhaps more frightened, than I cared to show; and the captaintold me she was making up a quantity of poetry in my praise because I was tomarry Uma. “All right, old lady,” says I, with rather a failure ofa laugh, “anything to oblige. But when you’re done with my hand,you might let me know.”

She did as though she understood; the song rose into a cry, and stopped; thewoman crouched out of the house the same way that she came in, and must haveplunged straight into the bush, for when I followed her to the door she hadalready vanished.

“These are rum manners,” said I.

“’s a rum crowd,” said the captain, and, to my surprise, hemade the sign of the cross on his bare bosom.

“Hillo!” says I, “are you a Papist?”

He repudiated the idea with contempt. “Hard-shell Baptis’,”said he. “But, my dear friend, the Papists got some good ideas too; andtha’ ’s one of ’em. You take my advice, and whenever you comeacross Uma or Fa’avao or Vigours, or any of that crowd, you take a leafout o’ the priests, and do what I do. Savvy?” says he, repeated thesign, and winked his dim eye at me. “No, sir!” he broke outagain, “no Papists here!” and for a long time entertained me withhis religious opinions.

I must have been taken with Uma from the first, or I should certainly have fledfrom that house, and got into the clean air, and the clean sea, or someconvenient 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 agirl upon my wedding-night.

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; herkilt 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 dozennecklaces of seeds and flowers; and behind her ears and in her hair she had thescarlet flowers of the hibiscus. She showed the best bearing for a brideconceivable, serious and still; and I thought shame to stand up with her inthat mean house and before that grinning negro. I thought shame, I say; for themountebank was dressed with a big paper collar, the book he made believe toread from was an odd volume of a novel, and the words of his service not fit tobe set down. My conscience smote me when we joined hands; and when she got hercertificate I was tempted to throw up the bargain and confess. Here is thedocument. It was Case that wrote it, signatures and all, in a leaf out of theledger:—

This is to certify that Uma, daughter of Fa’avao of Falesá, Island of——, is illegally married to Mr. John Wiltshire for one week, andMr. John Wiltshire is at liberty to send her to hell when he pleases.

JOHNBLACKAMOAR.
Chaplain to the hulks.

Extracted from the Register
by William T. Randall,
Master Mariner.

A nice paper to put in a girl’s hand and see her hide away like gold. Aman 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 themissionaries. If they had let the natives be, I had never needed thisdeception, but taken all the wives I wished, and left them when I pleased, witha clear conscience.

The more ashamed I was, the more hurry I was in to be gone; and our desiresthus jumping together, I made the less remark of a change in the traders. Casehad been all eagerness to keep me; now, as though he had attained a purpose, heseemed all eagerness to have me go. Uma, he said, could show me to my house,and the three bade us farewell indoors.

The night was nearly come; the village smelt of trees and flowers and the seaand bread-fruit-cooking; there came a fine roll of sea from the reef, and froma 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 captainand see, instead, the creature at my side. I felt for all the world as thoughshe were some girl at home in the Old Country, and, forgetting myself for theminute, took her hand to walk with. Her fingers nestled into mine, I heard herbreathe deep and quick, and all at once she caught my hand to her face andpressed it there. “You good!” she cried, and ran ahead of me, andstopped and looked back and smiled, and ran ahead of me again, thus guiding methrough the edge of the bush, and by a quiet way to my own house.

The truth is, Case had done the courting for me in style—told her I wasmad 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 hadher head nigh turned with vanity and gratitude. Now, of all this I had noguess; 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 madefools of in the bargain; and I told myself I must make a stand at once, andbring her to her bearings. But she looked so quaint and pretty as she ran awayand then awaited me, and the thing was done so like a child or a kind dog, thatthe best I could do was just to follow her whenever she went on, to listen forthe fall of her bare feet, and to watch in the dusk for the shining of herbody. And there was another thought came in my head. She played kitten with menow when we were alone; but in the house she had carried it the way a countessmight, so proud and humble. And what with her dress—for all there was solittle of it, and that native enough—what with her fine tapa and finescents, 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 tohear great singers at a concert, and no even mate for a poor trader likemyself.

She was the first in the house; and while I was still without I saw a matchflash and the lamplight kindle in the windows. The station was a wonderful fineplace, coral built, with quite a wide verandah, and the main room high andwide. My chests and cases had been piled in, and made rather of a mess; andthere, in the thick of the confusion, stood Uma by the table, awaiting me. Hershadow went all the way up behind her into the hollow of the iron roof; shestood against it bright, the lamplight shining on her skin. I stopped in thedoor, and she looked at me, not speaking, with eyes that were eager and yetdaunted; then she touched herself on the bosom.

“Me—your wifie,” she said. It had never taken me like thatbefore; but the want of her took and shook all through me, like the wind in theluff of a sail.

I could not speak if I had wanted; and if I could, I would not. I was ashamedto be so much moved about a native, ashamed of the marriage too, and thecertificate she had treasured in her kilt; and I turned aside and made believeto rummage among my cases. The first thing I lighted on was a case of gin, theonly one that I had brought; and, partly for the girl’s sake, and partlyfor horror of the recollections of old Randall, took a sudden resolve. I prizedthe lid off. One by one I drew the bottles with a pocket corkscrew, and sentUma out to pour the stuff from the verandah.

She came back after the last, and looked at me puzzled like.

“No good,” said I, for I was now a little better master of mytongue. “Man he drink, he no good.”

She agreed with this, but kept considering. “Why you bring him?”she asked presently. “Suppose you no want drink, you no bring him, Ithink.”

“That’s all right,” said I. “One time I want drink toomuch; now no want. You see, I no savvy I get one little wifie. Suppose I drinkgin, my little wifie he ’fraid.”

To speak to her kindly was about more than I was fit for; I had made my vow Iwould never let on to weakness with a native, and I had nothing for it but tostop.

She stood looking gravely down at me where I sat by the open case. “Ithink you good man,” she said. And suddenly she had fallen before me onthe floor. “I belong you all-e-same pig!” she cried.

CHAPTER II.
THE BAN.

I came on the verandah just before the sun rose on the morrow. My house was thelast on the east; there was a cape of woods and cliffs behind that hid thesunrise. To the west, a swift cold river ran down, and beyond was the green ofthe village, dotted with cocoa-palms and breadfruits and houses. The shutterswere 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 greenothers were stalking silent, wrapped in their many-coloured sleeping clotheslike Bedouins in Bible pictures. It was mortal still and solemn and chilly, andthe light of the dawn on the lagoon was like the shining of a fire.

But the thing that troubled me was nearer hand. Some dozen young men andchildren made a piece of a half-circle, flanking my house: the river dividedthem, some were on the near side, some on the far, and one on a boulder in themidst; and they all sat silent, wrapped in their sheets, and stared at me andmy house as straight as pointer dogs. I thought it strange as I went out. WhenI had bathed and come back again, and found them all there, and two or threemore along with them, I thought it stranger still. What could they see to gazeat in my house, I wondered, and went in.

But the thought of these starers stuck in my mind, and presently I came outagain. The sun was now up, but it was still behind the cape of woods. Say aquarter of an hour had come and gone. The crowd was greatly increased, the farbank 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, andall staring at my house. I have seen a house in a South Sea village thussurrounded, but then a trader was thrashing his wife inside, and she singingout. Here was nothing: the stove was alight, the smoke going up in a Christianmanner; all was shipshape and Bristol fashion. To be sure, there was a strangercome, but they had a chance to see that stranger yesterday, and took it quietenough. 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. Therest were like graven images: they stared at me, dumb and sorrowful, with theirbright eyes; and it came upon me things would look not much different if I wereon the platform of the gallows, and these good folk had come to see me hanged.

I felt I was getting daunted, and began to be afraid I looked it, which wouldnever do. Up I stood, made believe to stretch myself, came down the verandahstair, and strolled towards the river. There went a short buzz from one to theother, like what you hear in theatres when the curtain goes up; and some of thenearest gave back the matter of a pace. I saw a girl lay one hand on a youngman and make a gesture upward with the other; at the same time she saidsomething in the native with a gasping voice. Three little boys sat beside mypath, 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 lookedlike figures on a chimney-piece. Awhile they sat their ground, solemn asjudges. I came up hand over fist, doing my five knots, like a man that meantbusiness; 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 othertwo, trying to follow suit, got foul, came to ground together bawling, wriggledright out of their sheets mother-naked, and in a moment there were all three ofthem scampering for their lives and singing out like pigs. The natives, whowould never let a joke slip, even at a burial, laughed and let up, as short asa dog’s bark.

They say it scares a man to be alone. No such thing. What scares him in thedark or the high bush is that he can’t make sure, and there might be anarmy at his elbow. What scares him worst is to be right in the midst of acrowd, and have no guess of what they’re driving at. When that laughstopped, I stopped too. The boys had not yet made their offing, they were stillon the full stretch going the one way, when I had already gone about ship andwas 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, andwhat knocked me silly, this time no one laughed; only one old woman gave a kindof pious moan, the way you have heard Dissenters in their chapels at thesermon.

“I never saw such fools of Kanakas as your people here,” I saidonce to Uma, glancing out of the window at the starers.

“Savvy nothing,” says Uma, with a kind of disgusted air that shewas good at.

And that was all the talk we had upon the matter, for I was put out, and Umatook the thing so much as a matter of course that I was fairly ashamed.

All day, off and on, now fewer and now more, the fools sat about the west endof my house and across the river, waiting for the show, whatever thatwas—fire to come down from heaven, I suppose, and consume me, bones andbaggage. 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 Iheard them singing and clapping hands till, maybe, ten at night, and the nextday it seemed they had forgotten I existed. If fire had come down from heavenor the earth opened and swallowed me, there would have been nobody to see thesport or take the lesson, or whatever you like to call it. But I was to findthey hadn’t forgot either, and kept an eye lifting for phenomena over myway.

I was hard at it both these days getting my trade in order and taking stock ofwhat Vigours had left. This was a job that made me pretty sick, and kept mefrom thinking on much else. Ben had taken stock the trip before—I knew Icould trust Ben—but it was plain somebody had been making free in themeantime. I found I was out by what might easily cover six months’ salaryand profit, and I could have kicked myself all round the village to have beensuch a blamed ass, sitting boozing with that Case instead of attending to myown affairs and taking stock.

However, there’s no use crying over spilt milk. It was done now, andcouldn’t be undone. All I could do was to get what was left of it, and mynew stuff (my own choice) in order, to go round and get after the rats andcockroaches, and to fix up that store regular Sydney style. A fine show I madeof it; and the third morning when I had lit my pipe and stood in the door-wayand looked in, and turned and looked far up the mountain and saw the cocoanutswaving and posted up the tons of copra, and over the village green and saw theisland dandies and reckoned up the yards of print they wanted for their kiltsand dresses, I felt as if I was in the right place to make a fortune, and gohome again and start a public-house. There was I, sitting in that verandah, inas handsome a piece of scenery as you could find, a splendid sun, and a finefresh healthy trade that stirred up a man’s blood like sea-bathing; andthe 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 anavenue, and with the sign on a green tree.

So much for the morning, but the day passed and the devil anyone looked nearme, 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 thisstation of Falesá in particular; all the copra in the district wouldn’tpay for it (I had heard them say) in fifty years, which I supposed was anexaggeration. But when the day went, and no business came at all, I began toget downhearted; and, about three in the afternoon, I went out for a stroll tocheer me up. On the green I saw a white man coming with a cassock on, by whichand by the face of him I knew he was a priest. He was a good-natured old soulto look at, gone a little grizzled, and so dirty you could have written withhim on a piece of paper.

“Good day, sir,” said I.

He answered me eagerly in native.

“Don’t you speak any English?” said I.

“French,” says he.

“Well,” said I, “I’m sorry, but I can’t doanything there.”

He tried me awhile in the French, and then again in native, which he seemed tothink was the best chance. I made out he was after more than passing the timeof day with me, but had something to communicate, and I listened the harder. Iheard the names of Adams and Case and of Randall—Randall theoftenest—and the word “poison,” or something like it, and anative word that he said very often. I went home, repeating it to myself.

“What does fussy-ocky mean?” I asked of Uma, for that was as nearas I could come to it.

“Make dead,” said she.

“The devil it does!” says I. “Did ever you hear that Case hadpoisoned Johnnie Adams?”

“Every man he savvy that,” says Uma, scornful-like. “Give himwhite sand—bad sand. He got the bottle still. Suppose he give you gin,you no take him.”

Now I had heard much the same sort of story in other islands, and the samewhite powder always to the front, which made me think the less of it. For allthat, I went over to Randall’s place to see what I could pick up, andfound Case on the doorstep, cleaning a gun.

“Good shooting here?” says I.

“A 1,” says he. “The bush is full of all kinds of birds. Iwish copra was as plenty,” says he—I thought,slyly—“but there don’t seem anything doing.”

I could see Black Jack in the store, serving a customer.

“That looks like business, though,” said I.

“That’s the first sale we’ve made in three weeks,” saidhe.

“You don’t tell me?” says I. “Three weeks? Well,well.”

“If you don’t believe me,” he cries, a little hot, “youcan go and look at the copra-house. It’s half empty to this blessedhour.”

“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.”

“That’s so,” says he, with a bit of a laugh.

“By-the-bye,” I said, “what sort of a party is that priest?Seems rather a friendly sort.”

At this Case laughed right out loud. “Ah!” says he, “I seewhat ails you now. Galuchet’s been at you.”—FatherGalosheswas the name he went by most, but Case always gave it the Frenchquirk, which was another reason we had for thinking him above the common.

“Yes, I have seen him,” I says. “I made out he didn’tthink much of your Captain Randall.”

“That he don’t!” says Case. “It was the trouble aboutpoor Adams. The last day, when he lay dying, there was young Buncombe round.Ever met Buncombe?”

I told him no.

“He’s a cure, is Buncombe!” laughs Case. “Well,Buncombe took it in his head that, as there was no other clergyman about, barKanaka pastors, we ought to call in Father Galuchet, and have the old manadministered and take the sacrament. It was all the same to me, you maysuppose; but I said I thought Adams was the fellow to consult. He was jawingaway about watered copra and a sight of foolery. ‘Look here,’ Isaid, ‘you’re pretty sick. Would you like to see Galoshes?’He sat right up on his elbow. ‘Get the priest,’ says he, ‘getthe priest; don’t let me die here like a dog!’ He spoke kind offierce 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 inhis 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 tookand locked the door. Buncombe told him he was bigoted, and I thought he wouldhave had a fit. ‘Bigoted!’ he says. ‘Me bigoted? Have I livedto hear it from a jackanapes like you?’ And he made for Buncombe, and Ihad to hold them apart; and there was Adams in the middle, gone luny again, andcarrying on about copra like a born fool. It was good as the play, and I wasabout 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, didJohn Adams,” says Case, with a kind of a sudden sternness.

“And what became of the priest?” I asked.

“The priest?” says Case. “O! he was hammering on the dooroutside, and crying on the natives to come and beat it in, and singing out itwas a soul he wished to save, and that. He was in a rare taking, was thepriest. But what would you have? Johnny had slipped his cable; no more Johnnyin the market; and the administration racket clean played out. Next thing, wordcame to Randall the priest was praying upon Johnny’s grave. Papa waspretty full, and got a club, and lit out straight for the place, and there wasGaloshes on his knees, and a lot of natives looking on. You wouldn’tthink Papa cared—that much about anything, unless it was liquor; but heand the priest stuck to it two hours, slanging each other in native, and everytime Galoshes tried to kneel down Papa went for him with the club. There neverwere such larks in Falesá. The end of it was that Captain Randall knocked overwith 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 chiefsabout the outrage, as he called it. That was no account, for our chiefs areProtestant here; and, anyway, he had been making trouble about the drum formorning school, and they were glad to give him a wipe. Now he swears oldRandall gave Adams poison or something, and when the two meet they grin at eachother like baboons.”

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 sickeningyarn. However, Case never set up to be soft, only to be square and hearty, anda man all round; and, to tell the truth, he puzzled me entirely.

I went home and asked Uma if she were a Popey, which I had made out to be thenative word for Catholics.

“E le ai!” says she. She always used the native when shemeant “no” more than usually strong, and, indeed, there’smore of it. “No good Popey,” she added.

Then I asked her about Adams and the priest, and she told me much the same yarnin her own way. So that I was left not much farther on, but inclined, upon thewhole, to think the bottom of the matter was the row about the sacrament, andthe poisoning only talk.

The next day was a Sunday, when there was no business to be looked for. Umaasked me in the morning if I was going to “pray”; I told her shebet not, and she stopped home herself with no more words. I thought this seemedunlike a native, and a native woman, and a woman that had new clothes to showoff; however, it suited me to the ground, and I made the less of it. The queerthing was that I came next door to going to church after all, a thing I’mlittle likely to forget. I had turned out for a stroll, and heard the hymn tuneup. You know how it is. If you hear folk singing, it seems to draw you; andpretty soon I found myself alongside the church. It was a little long lowplace, coral built, rounded off at both ends like a whale-boat, a big nativeroof on the top of it, windows without sashes and doorways without doors. Istuck my head into one of the windows, and the sight was so new to me—forthings went quite different in the islands I was acquainted with—that Istayed and looked on. The congregation sat on the floor on mats, the women onone side, the men on the other, all rigged out to kill—the women withdresses 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; andby the way he wagged his hand, and worked his voice, and made his points, andseemed 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 inthe pulpit; his eyes bulged out of his head, his hand rose and pointed at melike as if against his will, and the sermon stopped right there.

It isn’t a fine thing to say for yourself, but I ran away; and if thesame kind of a shock was given me, I should run away again to-morrow. To seethat palavering Kanaka struck all of a heap at the mere sight of me gave me afeeling as if the bottom had dropped out of the world. I went right home, andstayed there, and said nothing. You might think I would tell Uma, but that wasagainst my system. You might have thought I would have gone over and consultedCase; but the truth was I was ashamed to speak of such a thing, I thoughteveryone would blurt out laughing in my face. So I held my tongue, and thoughtall the more; and the more I thought, the less I liked the business.

By Monday night I got it clearly in my head I must be tabooed. A new store tostand open two days in a village and not a man or woman come to see the tradewas past believing.

“Uma,” said I, “I think I’m tabooed.”

“I think so,” said she.

I thought awhile whether I should ask her more, but it’s a bad idea toset natives up with any notion of consulting them, so I went to Case. It wasdark, and he was sitting alone, as he did mostly, smoking on the stairs.

“Case,” said I, “here’s a queer thing. I’mtabooed.”

“O, fudge!” says he; “’tain’t the practice inthese islands.”

“That may be, or it mayn’t,” said I. “It’s thepractice where I was before. You can bet I know what it’s like; and Itell it you for a fact, I’m tabooed.”

“Well,” said he, “what have you been doing?”

“That’s what I want to find out,” said I.

“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 toPapa.”

“Thank you,” I said, “I’d rather stay right out here onthe verandah. Your house is so close.”

“I’ll call Papa out here, then,” says he.

“My dear fellow,” I says, “I wish you wouldn’t. Thefact is, I don’t take to Mr. Randall.”

Case laughed, took a lantern from the store, and set out into the village. Hewas gone perhaps a quarter of an hour, and he looked mighty serious when hecame back.

“Well,” said he, clapping down the lantern on the verandah steps,“I would never have believed it. I don’t know where the impudenceof these Kanakas ’ll go next; they seem to have lost all idea of respectfor whites. What we want is a man-of-war—a German, if we could—theyknow how to manage Kanakas.”

“I amtabooed, then?” I cried.

“Something of the sort,” said he. “It’s the worst thingof 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 itout with the chiefs. They’re afraid of me, or they used to be; but theirheads 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 agreat deal of resolution, “I count it all of our quarrel, I count it theWhite Man’s Quarrel, and I’ll stand to it through thick and thin,and there’s my hand on it.”

“Have you found out what’s the reason?” I asked.

“Not yet,” said Case. “But we’ll fix them downto-morrow.”

Altogether I was pretty well pleased with his attitude, and almost more thenext day, when we met to go before the chiefs, to see him so stern andresolved. The chiefs awaited us in one of their big oval houses, which wasmarked out to us from a long way off by the crowd about the eaves, a hundredstrong if there was one—men, women, and children. Many of the men were ontheir way to work and wore green wreaths, and it put me in thoughts of the 1stof May at home. This crowd opened and buzzed about the pair of us as we wentin, with a sudden angry animation. Five chiefs were there; four mighty statelymen, the fifth old and puckered. They sat on mats in their white kilts andjackets; they had fans in their hands, like fine ladies; and two of the youngerones wore Catholic medals, which gave me matter of reflection. Our place wasset, and the mats laid for us over against these grandees, on the near side ofthe house; the midst was empty; the crowd, close at our backs, murmured andcraned and jostled to look on, and the shadows of them tossed in front of us onthe clean pebbles of the floor. I was just a hair put out by the excitement ofthe commons, but the quiet civil appearance of the chiefs reassured me, all themore 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 sometimesknocking with his knuckles on the mat. One thing was clear: there was no signof anger in the chiefs.

“What’s he been saying?” I asked, when he had done.

“O, just that they’re glad to see you, and they understand by meyou wish to make some kind of complaint, and you’re to fire away, andthey’ll do the square thing.”

“It took a precious long time to say that,” said I.

“O, the rest was sawder and bonjourand that,” said Case.“You know what Kanakas are.”

“Well, they don’t get much bonjourout 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 thanthey go and taboo me, and no one dare come near my place! Tell them Idon’t mean to fly in the face of anything legal; and if what theywant’s a present, I’ll do what’s fair. I don’t blameany man looking out for himself, tell them, for that’s human nature; butif 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 thereason of this treatment as a white man and a British subject.”

That was my speech. I know how to deal with Kanakas: give them plain sense andfair dealing, and—I’ll do them that much justice—they knuckleunder 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 theyhad, it would be a good joke if it was to apply to a white man. It would be astrange 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 prettybig. Then Case translated it—or made believe to, rather—and thefirst 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, andhe answered it, and all hands (both chiefs and commons) laughed out aloud, andlooked at me. Last of all, the puckered old fellow and the big young chief thatspoke first started in to put Case through a kind of catechism. Sometimes Imade out that Case was trying to fence, and they stuck to him like hounds, andthe sweat ran down his face, which was no very pleasant sight to me, and atsome 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 wereasking Case about my marriage, and he must have had a tough job of it to clearhis feet. But leave Case alone; he had the brains to run a parliament.

“Well, is that all?” I asked, when a pause came.

“Come along,” says he, mopping his face; “I’ll tell yououtside.”

“Do you mean they won’t take the taboo off?” I cried.

“It’s something queer,” said he. “I’ll tell yououtside. Better come away.”

“I won’t take it at their hands,” cried I. “Iain’t that kind of a man. You don’t find me turn my back on aparcel of Kanakas.”

“You’d better,” said Case.

He looked at me with a signal in his eye; and the five chiefs looked at mecivilly enough, but kind of pointed; and the people looked at me and craned andjostled. I remembered the folks that watched my house, and how the pastor hadjumped in his pulpit at the bare sight of me; and the whole business seemed soout of the way that I rose and followed Case. The crowd opened again to let usthrough, but wider than before, the children on the skirts running and singingout, and as we two white men walked away they all stood and watched us.

“And now,” said I, “what is all this about?”

“The truth is I can’t rightly make it out myself. They have a downon you,” says Case.

“Taboo a man because they have a down on him!” I cried. “Inever heard the like.”

“It’s worse than that, you see,” said Case. “Youain’t tabooed—I told you that couldn’t be. The peoplewon’t go near you, Wiltshire, and there’s where it is.”

“They won’t go near me? What do you mean by that? Why won’tthey go near me?” I cried.

Case hesitated. “Seems they’re frightened,” says he, in a lowvoice.

I stopped dead short. “Frightened?” I repeated. “Are you gonecrazy, Case? What are they frightened of?”

“I wish I could make out,” Case answered, shaking his head.“Appears like one of their tomfool superstitions. That’s what Idon’t cotton to,” he said. “It’s like the businessabout Vigours.”

“I’d like to know what you mean by that, and I’ll trouble youto tell me,” says I.

“Well, you know, Vigours lit out and left all standing,” said he.“It was some superstition business—I never got the hang of it butit began to look bad before the end.”

“I’ve heard a different story about that,” said I, “andI had better tell you so. I heard he ran away because of you.”

“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 himoff. ‘What would you do, old man?’ says he. ‘Get,’ saysI, ‘and not think twice about it.’ I was the gladdest kind of manto see him clear away. It ain’t my notion to turn my back on a mate whenhe’s in a tight place, but there was that much trouble in the villagethat I couldn’t see where it might likely end. I was a fool to be so muchabout with Vigours. They cast it up to me to-day. Didn’t you hearMaea—that’s the young chief, the big one—ripping out about‘Vika’? That was him they were after. They don’t seem toforget it, somehow.”

“This is all very well,” said I, “but it don’t tell mewhat’s wrong; it don’t tell me what they’re afraidof—what their idea is.”

“Well, I wish I knew,” said Case. “I can’t say fairerthan that.”

“You might have asked, I think,” says I.

“And so I did,” says he. “But you must have seen foryourself, 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’min the scrape myself, I think first of my own bacon. The loss of me isI’m too good-natured. And I’ll take the freedom of telling you youshow a queer kind of gratitude to a man who’s got into all this messalong of your affairs.”

“There’s a thing I am thinking of,” said I. “You were afool to be so much about with Vigours. One comfort, you haven’t been muchabout with me. I notice you’ve never been inside my house. Own up now;you had word of this before?”

“It’s a fact I haven’t been,” said he. “It was anoversight, and I am sorry for it, Wiltshire. But about coming now, I’llbe quite plain.”

“You mean you won’t?” I asked.

“Awfully sorry, old man, but that’s the size of it,” saysCase.

“In short, you’re afraid?” says I.

“In short, I’m afraid,” says he.

“And I’m still to be tabooed for nothing?” I asked

“I tell you you’re not tabooed,” said he. “The Kanakaswon’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 backtheir 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 inyour store whether they want to or not? You don’t mean to tell meyou’ve got the gall for that? And if you had, it would be a queer thingto propose to me. I would just like to point out to you, Wiltshire, thatI’m a trader myself.”

“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 ofthe 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 shakemyself. And I don’t know any native, and you’re the only man hereworth mention that speaks English, and you have the gall to up and hint to memy life’s in danger, and all you’ve got to tell me is youdon’t know why!”

“Well, it isall I have to tell you,” said he. “Idon’t know—I wish I did.”

“And so you turn your back and leave me to myself! Is that theposition?” says I.

“If you like to put it nasty,” says he. “I don’t put itso. I say merely, ‘I’m going to keep clear of you; or, if Idon’t, I’ll get in danger for myself.’”

“Well,” says I, “you’re a nice kind of a whiteman!”

“O, I understand; you’re riled,” said he. “I would bemyself. I can make excuses.”

“All right,” I said, “go and make excuses somewhere else.Here’s my way, there’s yours!”

With that we parted, and I went straight home, in a hot temper, and found Umatrying on a lot of trade goods like a baby.

“Here,” I said, “you quit that foolery! Here’s a prettymess to have made, as if I wasn’t bothered enough anyway! And I thought Itold you to get dinner!”

And then I believe I gave her a bit of the rough side of my tongue, as shedeserved. She stood up at once, like a sentry to his officer; for I must sayshe was always well brought up, and had a great respect for whites.

“And now,” says I, “you belong round here, you’re boundto understand this. What am I tabooed for, anyway? Or, if I ain’ttabooed, what makes the folks afraid of me?”

She stood and looked at me with eyes like saucers.

“You no savvy?” she gasps at last.

“No,” said I. “How would you expect me to? We don’thave any such craziness where I come from.”

“Ese no tell you?” she asked again.

(Esewas the name the natives had for Case; it may mean foreign, orextraordinary; or it might mean a mummy apple; but most like it was only hisown name misheard and put in a Kanaka spelling.)

“Not much,” said I.

“D-n Ese!” she cried.

You might think it funny to hear this Kanaka girl come out with a big swear. Nosuch thing. There was no swearing in her—no, nor anger; she was beyondanger, and meant the word simple and serious. She stood there straight as shesaid it. I cannot justly say that I ever saw a woman look like that before orafter, and it struck me mum. Then she made a kind of an obeisance, but it wasthe proudest kind, and threw her hands out open.

“I ’shamed,” she said. “I think you savvy. Ese he tellme you savvy, he tell me you no mind, tell me you love me too much. Taboobelong me,” she said, touching herself on the bosom, as she had done uponour wedding-night. “Now I go ’way, taboo he go ’way too. Thenyou get too much copra. You like more better, I think. Tofâ,alii,” says she in the native—“Farewell, chief!”

“Hold on!” I cried. “Don’t be in such a hurry.”

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.

“Uma,” said I, “hear reason. I didn’t know, andthat’s a fact; and Case seems to have played it pretty mean upon the pairof us. But I do know now, and I don’t mind; I love you too much. You nogo ’way, you no leave me, I too much sorry.”

“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.

Well, I’m no scholar, but I wasn’t born yesterday, and I thoughtthe worst of that trouble was over. However, there she lay—her backturned, 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 whenhe’s in love; for there’s no use mincing things—Kanaka andall, I was in love with her, or just as good. I tried to take her hand, but shewould none of that. “Uma,” I said, “there’s no sense incarrying on like this. I want you stop here, I want my little wifie, I tell youtrue.”

“No tell me true,” she sobbed.

“All right,” says I, “I’ll wait till you’rethrough with this.” And I sat right down beside her on the floor, and setto 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, andpresently stopped; and the next thing I knew, she raised her face to mime.

“You tell me true? You like me stop?” she asked.

“Uma,” I said, “I would rather have you than all the copra inthe South Seas,” which was a very big expression, and the strangest thingwas that I meant it.

She threw her arms about me, sprang close up, and pressed her face to mine inthe island way of kissing, so that I was all wetted with her tears, and myheart went out to her wholly. I never had anything so near me as this littlebrown 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 queerplace; I was ashamed that I had spoken rough to her: and she was a woman, andmy wife, and a kind of a baby besides that I was sorry for; and the salt of hertears was in my mouth. And I forgot Case and the natives; and I forgot that Iknew nothing of the story, or only remembered it to banish the remembrance; andI forgot that I was to get no copra, and so could make no livelihood; and Iforgot my employers, and the strange kind of service I was doing them, when Ipreferred my fancy to their business; and I forgot even that Uma was no truewife of mine, but just a maid beguiled, and that in a pretty shabby style. Butthat is to look too far on. I will come to that part of it next.

It was late before we thought of getting dinner. The stove was out, and gonestone-cold; but we fired up after a while, and cooked each a dish, helping andhindering each other, and making a play of it like children. I was so greedy ofher nearness that I sat down to dinner with my lass upon my knee, made sure ofher with one hand, and ate with the other. Ay, and more than that. She was theworst cook I suppose God made; the things she set her hand to it would havesickened an honest horse to eat of; yet I made my meal that day on Uma’scookery, and can never call to mind to have been better pleased.

I didn’t pretend to myself, and I didn’t pretend to her. I saw Iwas clean gone; and if she was to make a fool of me, she must. And I suppose itwas this that set her talking, for now she made sure that we were friends. Alot she told me, sitting in my lap and eating my dish, as I ate hers, fromfoolery—a lot about herself and her mother and Case, all which would bevery tedious, and fill sheets if I set it down in Beach de Mar, but which Imust give a hint of in plain English, and one thing about myself which had avery big effect on my concerns, as you are soon to hear.

It seems she was born in one of the Line Islands; had been only two or threeyears in these parts, where she had come with a white man, who was married toher mother and then died; and only the one year in Falesá. Before that they hadbeen a good deal on the move, trekking about after the white man, who was oneof those rolling stones that keep going round after a soft job. They talk aboutlooking for gold at the end of a rainbow; but if a man wants an employmentthat’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 neverhear 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 beachcombercarried the woman and her daughter all over the shop, but mostly toout-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 justas glad he had kept Uma clear of Apia and Papeete and these flash towns. Atlast he struck Fale-alii on this island, got some trade—the Lord knowshow!—muddled it all away in the usual style, and died worth next tonothing, bar a bit of land at Falesá that he had got for a bad debt, which waswhat put it in the minds of the mother and daughter to come there and live. Itseems 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 hadhis eye on her from the beginning. However, they had scarce settled, when upturned 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 “verypretty,” Uma said; and, altogether, it was an extraordinary match for apenniless girl and an out-islander.

At the first word of this I got downright sick with jealousy.

“And you mean to say you would have married him?” I cried.

“Ioe, yes,” said she. “I like too much!”

“Well!” I said. “And suppose I had come round after?”

“I like you more better now,” said she. “But, suppose I marryIoane, I one good wife. I no common Kanaka. Good girl!” says she.

Well, I had to be pleased with that; but I promise you I didn’t careabout the business one little bit. And I liked the end of that yarn no betterthan the beginning. For it seems this proposal of marriage was the start of allthe trouble. It seems, before that, Uma and her mother had been looked downupon, 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 havebeen 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 thisUma and her mother had found themselves alone. None called at their house, nonespoke to them on the roads. If they went to church, the other women drew theirmats away and left them in a clear place by themselves. It was a regularexcommunication, like what you read of in the Middle Ages; and the cause orsense of it beyond guessing. It was some tala pepelo, Uma said, somelie, some calumny; and all she knew of it was that the girls who had beenjealous of her luck with Ioane used to twit her with his desertion, and cryout, 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,” shesaid.

The only soul that came about them after this desertion was Master Case. Evenhe was chary of showing himself, and turned up mostly by night; and pretty soonhe 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.

“Well,” I said, sneering, “and I suppose you thought Case‘very pretty’ and ‘liked too much’?”

“Now you talk silly,” said she. “White man, he come here, Imarry him all-e-same Kanaka; very well then, he marry me all-e-same whitewoman. 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 bigheart—you no ’shamed island-girl. That thing I love you for toomuch. I proud.”

I don’t know that ever I felt sicker all the days of my life. I laid downmy fork, and I put away “the island-girl”; I didn’t seemsomehow to have any use for either, and I went and walked up and down in thehouse, and Uma followed me with her eyes, for she was troubled, and smallwonder! But troubled was no word for it with me. I so wanted, and so feared, tomake a clean breast of the sweep that I had been.

And just then there came a sound of singing out of the sea; it sprang upsuddenly clear and near, as the boat turned the headland, and Uma, running tothe window, cried out it was “Misi” come upon his rounds.

I thought it was a strange thing I should be glad to have a missionary; but, ifit was strange, it was still true.

“Uma,” said I, “you stop here in this room, and don’tbudge a foot out of it till I come back.”

CHAPTER III.
THE MISSIONARY.

As I came out on the verandah, the mission-boat was shooting for the mouth ofthe 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; somefour-and-twenty paddles flashing and dipping, true to the boat-song; and themissionary under the awning, in his white clothes, reading in a book, and sethim up! It was pretty to see and hear; there’s no smarter sight in theislands than a missionary boat with a good crew and a good pipe to them; and Iconsidered it for half a minute, with a bit of envy perhaps, and then strolleddown towards the river.

From the opposite side there was another man aiming for the same place, but heran and got there first. It was Case; doubtless his idea was to keep me apartfrom the missionary, who might serve me as interpreter; but my mind was uponother things. I was thinking how he had jockeyed us about the marriage, andtried his hand on Uma before; and at the sight of him rage flew into mynostrils.

“Get out of that, you low, swindling thief!” I cried.

“What’s that you say?” says he.

I gave him the word again, and rammed it down with a good oath. “And ifever I catch you within six fathoms of my house,” I cried,“I’ll clap a bullet in your measly carcase.”

“You must do as you like about your house,” said he, “where Itold you I have no thought of going; but this is a public place.”

“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 noticeto clear out.”

“I don’t take it, though,” says Case.

“I’ll show you, then,” said I.

“We’ll have to see about that,” said he.

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 tothat height of wrath that I could have bit into a chisel. I gave him first theone and then the other, so that I could hear his head rattle and crack, and hewent down straight.

“Have you had enough?” cried I. But he only looked up white andblank, and the blood spread upon his face like wine upon a napkin. “Haveyou had enough?” I cried again. “Speak up, and don’t liemalingering there, or I’ll take my feet to you.”

He sat up at that, and held his head—by the look of him you could see itwas spinning—and the blood poured on his pyjamas.

“I’ve had enough for this time,” says he, and he got upstaggering, and went off by the way that he had come.

The boat was close in; I saw the missionary had laid his book to one side, andI smiled to myself. “He’ll know I’m a man, anyway,”thinks I.

This was the first time, in all my years in the Pacific, I had ever exchangedtwo words with any missionary, let alone asked one for a favour. I didn’tlike 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 insteadof with other white men like themselves. I had on a rig of clean stripedpyjamas—for, of course, I had dressed decent to go before the chiefs; butwhen I saw the missionary step out of this boat in the regular uniform, whiteduck clothes, pith helmet, white shirt and tie, and yellow boots to his feet, Icould 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 truthwas he had a fever on, and had just had a chill in the boat.

“Mr. Tarleton, I believe?” says I, for I had got his name.

“And you, I suppose, are the new trader?” says he.

“I want to tell you first that I don’t hold with missions,” Iwent 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.”

“You are perfectly entitled to your opinions,” says he, looking abit ugly, “but I have no call to hear them.”

“It so happens that you’ve got to hear them,” I said.“I’m no missionary, nor missionary lover; I’m no Kanaka, norfavourer 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 towipe your boots on. I hope that’s plain!”

“Yes, my man,” said he. “It’s more plain thancreditable. When you are sober, you’ll be sorry for this.”

He tried to pass on, but I stopped him with my hand. The Kanakas were beginningto growl. Guess they didn’t like my tone, for I spoke to that man as freeas I would to you.

“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 whatyou call your Christianity.”

He was silent for a moment. Then he smiled. “You are rather a strangesort of man,” says he.

“I’m the sort of man God made me,” says I. “Idon’t set up to be a gentleman,” I said.

“I am not quite so sure,” said he. “And what can I do foryou, Mr.—?”

“Wiltshire,” I says, “though I’m mostly called Welsher;but Wiltshire is the way it’s spelt, if the people on the beach couldonly get their tongues about it. And what do I want? Well, I’ll tell youthe first thing. I’m what you call a sinner—what I call asweep—and I want you to help me make it up to a person I’vedeceived.”

He turned and spoke to his crew in the native. “And now I am at yourservice,” said he, “but only for the time my crew are dining. Imust be much farther down the coast before night. I was delayed at Papa-Malulutill this morning, and I have an engagement in Fale-alii to-morrownight.”

I led the way to my house in silence, and rather pleased with myself for theway I had managed the talk, for I like a man to keep his self-respect.

“I was sorry to see you fighting,” says he.

“O, that’s part of the yarn I want to tell you,” I said.“That’s service number two. After you’ve heard ityou’ll let me know whether you’re sorry or not.”

We walked right in through the store, and I was surprised to find Uma hadcleared away the dinner things. This was so unlike her ways that I saw she haddone it out of gratitude, and liked her the better. She and Mr. Tarleton calledeach other by name, and he was very civil to her seemingly. But I thoughtlittle of that; they can always find civility for a Kanaka, it’s us whitemen they lord it over. Besides, I didn’t want much Tarleton just then. Iwas going to do my pitch.

“Uma,” said I, “give us your marriage certificate.” Shelooked put out. “Come,” said I, “you can trust me. Hand itup.”

She had it about her person, as usual; I believe she thought it was a pass toheaven, and if she died without having it handy she would go to hell. Icouldn’t see where she put it the first time, I couldn’t see nowwhere she took it from; it seemed to jump into her hand like that Blavatskybusiness in the papers. But it’s the same way with all island women, andI guess they’re taught it when young.

“Now,” said I, with the certificate in my hand, “I wasmarried to this girl by Black Jack the negro. The certificate was wrote byCase, and it’s a dandy piece of literature, I promise you. Since thenI’ve found that there’s a kind of cry in the place against thiswife of mine, and so long as I keep her I cannot trade. Now, what would any mando in my place, if he was a man?” I said. “The first thing he woulddo is this, I guess.” And I took and tore up the certificate and bungedthe pieces on the floor.

“Aué!” [2] cried Uma, and began to clap her hands; but I caughtone of them in mine.

“And the second thing that he would do,” said I, “if he waswhat I would call a man and you would call a man, Mr. Tarleton, is to bring thegirl right before you or any other missionary, and to up and say: ‘I waswrong married to this wife of mine, but I think a heap of her, and now I wantto be married to her right.’ Fire away, Mr. Tarleton. And I guessyou’d better do it in native; it’ll please the old lady,” Isaid, giving her the proper name of a man’s wife upon the spot.

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 assome—and shook hands with the pair of us.

“Mr. Wiltshire,” he says, when he had made out the lines and packedoff the witnesses, “I have to thank you for a very lively pleasure. Ihave rarely performed the marriage ceremony with more grateful emotions.”

That was what you would call talking. He was going on, besides, with more ofit, and I was ready for as much taffy as he had in stock, for I felt good. ButUma had been taken up with something half through the marriage, and cutstraight in.

“How your hand he get hurt?” she asked.

“You ask Case’s head, old lady,” says I.

She jumped with joy, and sang out.

“You haven’t made much of a Christian of this one,” says I toMr. Tarleton.

“We didn’t think her one of our worst,” says he, “whenshe was at Fale-alii; and if Uma bears malice I shall be tempted to fancy shehas good cause.”

“Well, there we are at service number two,” said I. “I wantto tell you our yarn, and see if you can let a little daylight in.”

“Is it long?” he asked.

“Yes,” I cried; “it’s a goodish bit of a yarn!”

“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 eatensince five this morning, and, unless you can let me have something I am notlikely to eat again before seven or eight to-night.”

“By God, we’ll give you dinner!” I cried.

I was a little caught up at my swearing, just when all was going straight; andso was the missionary, I suppose, but he made believe to look out of thewindow, and thanked us.

So we ran him up a bit of a meal. I was bound to let the old lady have a handin it, to show off, so I deputised her to brew the tea. I don’t think Iever met such tea as she turned out. But that was not the worst, for she gotround with the salt-box, which she considered an extra European touch, andturned my stew into sea-water. Altogether, Mr. Tarleton had a devil of a dinnerof it; but he had plenty entertainment by the way, for all the while that wewere cooking, and afterwards, when he was making believe to eat, I kept postinghim up on Master Case and the beach of Falesá, and he putting questions thatshowed he was following close.

“Well,” said he at last, “I am afraid you have a dangerousenemy. This man Case is very clever and seems really wicked. I must tell you Ihave had my eye on him for nearly a year, and have rather had the worst of ourencounters. About the time when the last representative of your firm ran sosuddenly away, I had a letter from Namu, the native pastor, begging me to cometo Falesá at my earliest convenience, as his flock were all ‘adoptingCatholic practices.’ I had great confidence in Namu; I fear it only showshow easily we are deceived. No one could hear him preach and not be persuadedhe was a man of extraordinary parts. All our islanders easily acquire a kind ofeloquence, and can roll out and illustrate, with a great deal of vigour andfancy, second-hand sermons; but Namu’s sermons are his own, and I cannotdeny that I have found them means of grace. Moreover, he has a keen curiosityin secular things, does not fear work, is clever at carpentering, and has madehimself so much respected among the neighbouring pastors that we call him, in ajest which is half serious, the Bishop of the East. In short, I was proud ofthe man; all the more puzzled by his letter, and took an occasion to come thisway. The morning before my arrival, Vigours had been sent on board theLion, and Namu was perfectly at his ease, apparently ashamed of hisletter, 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 peopleusing the sign of the cross, but since he had learned the explanation his mindwas satisfied. For Vigours had the Evil Eye, a common thing in a country ofEurope 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.

“‘And I explain it, Misi,’ said Namu, ‘in this way: Thecountry in Europe is a Popey country, and the devil of the Evil Eye may be aCatholic 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, butwhen it is used only to protect men from a devil, which is a thing harmless initself, 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 ginis 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 ofdevils.

“‘And who has been telling you about the Evil Eye?’ I asked.

“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 traderat 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 beingpoisoned, to which I had paid no great heed; but it came back to me at themoment.

“‘And is this Case a man of a sanctified life?’ I asked.

“He admitted he was not; for, though he did not drink, he was profligatewith women, and had no religion.

“‘Then,’ said I, ‘I think the less you have to do withhim the better.’

“But it is not easy to have the last word with a man like Namu. He wasready in a moment with an illustration. ‘Misi,’ said he, ‘youhave told me there were wise men, not pastors, not even holy, who knew manythings useful to be taught—about trees for instance, and beasts, and toprint books, and about the stones that are burned to make knives of. Such menteach you in your college, and you learn from them, but take care not to learnto be unholy. Misi, Case is my college.’

“I knew not what to say. Mr. Vigours had evidently been driven out ofFalesá by the machinations of Case and with something not very unlike thecollusion of my pastor. I called to mind it was Namu who had reassured me aboutAdams and traced the rumour to the ill-will of the priest. And I saw I mustinform myself more thoroughly from an impartial source. There is an old rascalof a chief here, Faiaso, whom I dare say you saw to-day at the council; he hasbeen all his life turbulent and sly, a great fomenter of rebellions, and athorn in the side of the mission and the island. For all that he is veryshrewd, and, except in politics or about his own misdemeanours, a teller of thetruth. I went to his house, told him what I had heard, and besought him to befrank. I do not think I had ever a more painful interview. Perhaps you willunderstand me, Mr. Wiltshire, if I tell you that I am perfectly serious inthese old wives’ tales with which you reproached me, and as anxious to dowell 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 manas one of the first ripe fruits of the mission. And now I was informed that hehad fallen in a sort of dependence upon Case. The beginning of it was notcorrupt; it began, doubtless, in fear and respect, produced by trickery andpretence; 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 inCase’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 hadwrought most evil; and with a certain following among the chiefs, and thepastor in his pocket, the man was as good as master of the village. You knowsomething of Vigours and Adams, but perhaps you have never heard of oldUnderhill, Adams’ predecessor. He was a quiet, mild old fellow, Iremember, and we were told he had died suddenly: white men die very suddenly inFalesá. The truth, as I now heard it, made my blood run cold. It seems he wasstruck with a general palsy, all of him dead but one eye, which he continuallywinked. Word was started that the helpless old man was now a devil, and thisvile fellow Case worked upon the natives’ fears, which he professed toshare, and pretended he durst not go into the house alone. At last a grave wasdug, 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.

“I felt myself in a very difficult position. Perhaps it was my duty tohave denounced Namu and had him deposed. Perhaps I think so now, but at thetime it seemed less clear. He had a great influence, it might prove greaterthan mine. The natives are prone to superstition; perhaps by stirring them up Imight but ingrain and spread these dangerous fancies. And Namu besides, apartfrom this novel and accursed influence, was a good pastor, an able man, andspiritually minded. Where should I look for a better? How was I to find asgood? At that moment, with Namu’s failure fresh in my view, the work ofmy life appeared a mockery; hope was dead in me. I would rather repair suchtools as I had than go abroad in quest of others that must certainly proveworse; and a scandal is, at the best, a thing to be avoided when humanlypossible. Right or wrong, then, I determined on a quiet course. All that nightI denounced and reasoned with the erring pastor, twitted him with his ignoranceand want of faith, twitted him with his wretched attitude, making clean theoutside of the cup and platter, callously helping at a murder, childishlyflying in excitement about a few childish, unnecessary, and inconvenientgestures; and long before day I had him on his knees and bathed in the tears ofwhat 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 thevoice, distinguishing the true spiritual power, and referring with suchplainness 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 hadbeen wanting in faith and conduct, and was convinced of sin. So far, then, allwas well; but there was one unfortunate circumstance. It was nearing the timeof our ‘May’ in the island, when the native contributions to themissions are received; it fell in my duty to make a notification on thesubject, and this gave my enemy his chance, by which he was not slow to profit.

“News of the whole proceedings must have been carried to Case as soon aschurch was over, and the same afternoon he made an occasion to meet me in themidst of the village. He came up with so much intentness and animosity that Ifelt it would be damaging to avoid him.

“‘So,’ says he, in native, ‘here is the holy man. Hehas been preaching against me, but that was not in his heart. He has beenpreaching upon the love of God; but that was not in his heart, it was betweenhis teeth. Will you know what was in his heart?’—cries he. ‘Iwill show it you!’ And, making a snatch at my head, he made believe topluck out a dollar, and held it in the air.

“There went that rumour through the crowd with which Polynesians receivea prodigy. As for myself, I stood amazed. The thing was a common conjuringtrick which I have seen performed at home a score of times; but how was I toconvince the villagers of that? I wished I had learned legerdemain instead ofHebrew, that I might have paid the fellow out with his own coin. But there Iwas; I could not stand there silent, and the best I could find to say was weak.

“‘I will trouble you not to lay hands on me again,’ said I.

“‘I have no such thought,’ said he, ‘nor will I depriveyou of your dollar. Here it is,’ he said, and flung it at my feet. I amtold it lay where it fell three days.”

“I must say it was well played, said I.

“O! he is clever,” said Mr. Tarleton, “and you can now seefor yourself how dangerous. He was a party to the horrid death of theparalytic; he is accused of poisoning Adams; he drove Vigours out of the placeby lies that might have led to murder; and there is no question but he has nowmade 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 andinvention.”

“He gives himself a sight of trouble,” says I. “And afterall, what for?”

“Why, how many tons of copra may they make in this district?” askedthe missionary.

“I daresay as much as sixty tons,” says I.

“And what is the profit to the local trader?” he asked.

“You may call it, three pounds,” said I.

“Then you can reckon for yourself how much he does it for,” saidMr. Tarleton. “But the more important thing is to defeat him. It is clearhe spread some report against Uma, in order to isolate and have his wicked willof her. Failing of that, and seeing a new rival come upon the scene, he usedher 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?”

“Stop away all-e-same,” says Uma.

“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 himhe is observed; it will be strange if he allow anything to go on amiss when heis put upon his guard. At the same time, this precaution may fail, and then youmust turn elsewhere. You have two people at hand to whom you might apply. Thereis, 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 isold Faiaso. Ah! if it had been some years ago you would have needed no oneelse; 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 comesto the worst, you must send up or come yourself to Fale-alii, and, though I amnot due at this end of the island for a month, I will just see what can bedone.”

So Mr. Tarleton said farewell; and half an hour later the crew were singing andthe paddles flashing in the missionary-boat.

CHAPTER IV.
DEVIL-WORK.

Near a month went by without much doing. The same night of our marriageGaloshes called round, and made himself mighty civil, and got into a habit ofdropping in about dark and smoking his pipe with the family. He could talk toUma, of course, and started to teach me native and French at the same time. Hewas a kind old buffer, though the dirtiest you would wish to see, and hemuddled me up with foreign languages worse than the tower of Babel.

That was one employment we had, and it made me feel less lonesome; but therewas no profit in the thing, for though the priest came and sat and yarned, noneof his folks could be enticed into my store; and if it hadn’t been forthe other occupation I struck out, there wouldn’t have been a pound ofcopra in the house. This was the idea: Fa’avao (Uma’s mother) had ascore of bearing trees. Of course we could get no labour, being all as good astabooed, 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 understoodhow much the natives cheated me till I had made that four hundred pounds of myown hand—and it weighed so light I felt inclined to take and water itmyself.

When we were at the job a good many Kanakas used to put in the best of the daylooking on, and once that nigger turned up. He stood back with the natives andlaughed and did the big don and the funny dog, till I began to get riled.

“Here, you nigger!” says I.

“I don’t address myself to you, Sah,” says the nigger.“Only speak to gen’le’um.”

“I know,” says I, “but it happens I was addressing myself toyou, Mr. Black Jack. And all I want to know is just this: did you seeCase’s figurehead about a week ago?”

“No, Sah,” says he.

“That’s all right, then,” says I; “for I’ll showyou the own brother to it, only black, in the inside of about twominutes.”

And I began to walk towards him, quite slow, and my hands down; only there wastrouble in my eye, if anybody took the pains to look.

“You’re a low, obstropulous fellow, Sah,” says he.

“You bet!” says I.

By that time he thought I was about as near as convenient, and lit out so itwould have done your heart good to see him travel. And that was all I saw ofthat precious gang until what I am about to tell you.

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 thecape which shut up the village and my station from the east. A path went aboutthe end of it, and led into the next bay. A strong wind blew here daily, and asthe line of the barrier reef stopped at the end of the cape, a heavy surf ranon the shores of the bay. A little cliffy hill cut the valley in two parts, andstood close on the beach; and at high water the sea broke right on the face ofit, so that all passage was stopped. Woody mountains hemmed the place allround; the barrier to the east was particularly steep and leafy, the lowerparts of it, along the sea, falling in sheer black cliffs streaked withcinnabar; the upper part lumpy with the tops of the great trees. Some of thetrees were bright green, and some red, and the sand of the beach as black asyour shoes. Many birds hovered round the bay, some of them snow-white; and theflying-fox (or vampire) flew there in broad daylight, gnashing its teeth.

For a long while I came as far as this shooting, and went no farther. There wasno sign of any path beyond, and the cocoa-palms in the front of the foot of thevalley were the last this way. For the whole “eye” of the island,as natives call the windward end, lay desert. From Falesá round about toPapa-malulu, there was neither house, nor man, nor planted fruit-tree; and thereef being mostly absent, and the shores bluff, the sea beat direct amongcrags, and there was scarce a landing-place.

I should tell you that after I began to go in the woods, although no oneoffered to come near my store, I found people willing enough to pass the timeof day with me where nobody could see them; and as I had begun to pick upnative, and most of them had a word or two of English, I began to hold littleodds and ends of conversation, not to much purpose to be sure, but they tookoff the worst of the feeling, for it’s a miserable thing to be made aleper of.

It chanced one day towards the end of the month, that I was sitting in this bayin the edge of the bush, looking east, with a Kanaka. I had given him a fill oftobacco, and we were making out to talk as best we could; indeed, he had moreEnglish than most.

I asked him if there was no road going eastward.

“One time one road,” said he. “Now he dead.”

“Nobody he go there?” I asked.

“No good,” said he. “Too much devil he stop there.”

“Oho!” says I, “got-um plenty devil, that bush?”

“Man devil, woman devil; too much devil,” said my friend.“Stop there all-e-time. Man he go there, no come back.”

I thought if this fellow was so well posted on devils and spoke of them sofree, which is not common, I had better fish for a little information aboutmyself and Uma.

“You think me one devil?” I asked.

“No think devil,” said he soothingly. “Think all-e-samefool.”

“Uma, she devil?” I asked again.

“No, no; no devil. Devil stop bush,” said the young man.

I was looking in front of me across the bay, and I saw the hanging front of thewoods pushed suddenly open, and Case, with a gun in his hand, step forth intothe 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 scuttledfrom all round him to their holes.

“Hullo, my friend!” says I, “you no talk all-e-same true. Esehe go, he come back.”

“Ese no all-e-same; Ese Tiapolo,” says my friend; and, witha “Good-bye,” slunk off among the trees.

I watched Case all round the beach, where the tide was low; and let him pass meon the homeward way to Falesá. He was in deep thought, and the birds seemed toknow it, trotting quite near him on the sand, or wheeling and calling in hisears. When he passed me I could see by the working of his lips that he wastalking to himself, and what pleased me mightily, he had still my trade mark onhis brow, I tell you the plain truth: I had a mind to give him a gunful in hisugly mug, but I thought better of it.

All this time, and all the time I was following home, I kept repeating thatnative word, which I remembered by “Polly, put the kettle on and make usall some tea,” tea-a-pollo.

“Uma,” says I, when I got back, “what does Tiapolomean?”

“Devil,” says she.

“I thought aituwas the word for that,” I said.

“Aitu’nother kind of devil,” said she; “stopbush, eat Kanaka. Tiapolo big chief devil, stop home; all-e-same Christiandevil.”

“Well then,” said I, “I’m no farther forward. How canCase be Tiapolo?”

“No all-e-same,” said she. “Ese belong Tiapolo; Tiapolo toomuch like; Ese all-e-same his son. Suppose Ese he wish something, Tiapolo hemake him.”

“That’s mighty convenient for Ese,” says I. “And whatkind of things does he make for him?”

Well, out came a rigmarole of all sorts of stories, many of which (like thedollar he took from Mr. Tarleton’s head) were plain enough to me, butothers I could make nothing of; and the thing that most surprised the Kanakaswas what surprised me least—namely, that he would go in the desert amongall the aitus. Some of the boldest, however, had accompanied him, andhad heard him speak with the dead and give them orders, and, safe in hisprotection, had returned unscathed. Some said he had a church there, where heworshipped Tiapolo, and Tiapolo appeared to him; others swore that there was nosorcery at all, that he performed his miracles by the power of prayer, and thechurch was no church, but a prison, in which he had confined a dangerousaitu. Namu had been in the bush with him once, and returned glorifyingGod for these wonders. Altogether, I began to have a glimmer of the man’sposition, and the means by which he had acquired it, and, though I saw he was atough nut to crack, I was noways cast down.

“Very well,” said I, “I’ll have a look at MasterCase’s place of worship myself, and we’ll see about theglorifying.”

At this Uma fell in a terrible taking; if I went in the high bush I shouldnever return; none could go there but by the protection of Tiapolo.

“I’ll chance it on God’s,” said I. “I’m agood sort of a fellow, Uma, as fellows go, and I guess God’ll con methrough.”

She was silent for a while. “I think,” said she, mightysolemn—and then, presently—“Victoreea, he big chief?”

“You bet!” said I.

“He like you too much?” she asked again.

I told her, with a grin, I believed the old lady was rather partial to me.

“All right,” said she. “Victoreea he big chief, like you toomuch. No can help you here in Falesá; no can do—too far off. Maea hesmall 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. Tiapolohe small chief—he like too much make-see, work very hard.”

“I’ll have to hand you over to Mr. Tarleton,” said I.“Your theology’s out of its bearings, Uma.”

However, we stuck to this business all the evening, and, with the stories shetold me of the desert and its dangers, she came near frightening herself into afit. I don’t remember half a quarter of them, of course, for I paidlittle heed; but two come back to me kind of clear.

About six miles up the coast there is a sheltered cove they callFanga-anaana—“the haven full of caves.” I’veseen it from the sea myself, as near as I could get my boys to venture in; andit’s a little strip of yellow sand. Black cliffs overhang it, full of theblack 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 verypretty,” Uma said, which was the loss of them. It blew strong, there wasa heavy head sea, and by the time they opened Fanga-anaana, and saw the whitecascade and the shady beach, they were all tired and thirsty, and their waterhad 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 avery 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, andthere were no living folk nearer than six miles the one way, and maybe twelvethe 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, andthe water excellent. They walked round the beach, but could see nowhere any wayto mount the cliffs, which made them easier in their mind; and at last they satdown to make a meal on the food they had brought with them. They were scarceset, when there came out of the mouth of one of the black caves six of the mostbeautiful ladies ever seen: they had flowers in their hair, and the mostbeautiful breasts, and necklaces of scarlet seeds; and began to jest with theseyoung 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 thatwas all he knew of it, until his friends came back, and made him sit up, andthey put to sea again out of the bay, which was now quite desert, and no wordof the six ladies. But, what frightened Lotu most, not one of the fiveremembered anything of what had passed, but they were all like drunken men, andsang and laughed in the boat, and skylarked. The wind freshened and camesqually, and the sea rose extraordinary high; it was such weather as any man inthe islands would have turned his back to and fled home to Falesá; but thesefive were like crazy folk, and cracked on all sail and drove their boat intothe seas. Lotu went to the bailing; none of the others thought to help him, butsang and skylarked and carried on, and spoke singular things beyond aman’s comprehension, and laughed out loud when they said them. So therest of the day Lotu bailed for his life in the bottom of the boat, and was alldrenched with sweat and cold sea-water; and none heeded him. Against allexpectation, they came safe in a dreadful tempest to Papa-malulu, where thepalms were singing out, and the cocoa-nuts flying like cannon-balls about thevillage green; and the same night the five young gentlemen sickened, and spokenever a reasonable word until they died.

“And do you mean to tell me you can swallow a yarn like that?” Iasked.

She told me the thing was well known, and with handsome young men alone it waseven common; but this was the only case where five had been slain the same dayand in a company by the love of the women-devils; and it had made a great stirin the island, and she would be crazy if she doubted.

“Well, anyway,” says I, “you needn’t be frightenedabout me. I’ve no use for the women-devils. You’re all the women Iwant, and all the devil too, old lady.”

To this she answered there were other sorts, and she had seen one with her owneyes. She had gone one day alone to the next bay, and, perhaps, got too nearthe margin of the bad place. The boughs of the high bush overshadowed her fromthe cant of the hill, but she herself was outside on a flat place, very stonyand growing full of young mummy-apples four and five feet high. It was a darkday in the rainy season, and now there came squalls that tore off the leavesand sent them flying, and now it was all still as in a house. It was in one ofthese still times that a whole gang of birds and flying foxes came pegging outof the bush like creatures frightened. Presently after she heard a rustlenearer hand, and saw, coming out of the margin of the trees, among themummy-apples, the appearance of a lean grey old boar. It seemed to think as itcame, like a person; and all of a sudden, as she looked at it coming, she wasaware it was no boar but a thing that was a man with a man’s thoughts. Atthat she ran, and the pig after her, and as the pig ran it holla’d aloud,so that the place rang with it.

“I wish I had been there with my gun,” said I. “I guess thatpig would have holla’d so as to surprise himself.”

But she told me a gun was of no use with the like of these, which were thespirits of the dead.

Well, this kind of talk put in the evening, which was the best of it; but ofcourse it didn’t change my notion, and the next day, with my gun and agood 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 somekind of establishment in the bush I reckoned I should find a path. Thebeginning of the desert was marked off by a wall, to call it so, for it wasmore 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 thejourney in a hundred years, the natives sticking chiefly to the sea and theirlittle colonies along the coast, and that part being mortal high and steep andfull 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 sensitiveplants. Just across, the bush begins outright; high bush at that, trees goingup like the masts of ships, and ropes of liana hanging down like a ship’srigging, and nasty orchids growing in the forks like funguses. The ground wherethere was no underwood looked to be a heap of boulders. I saw many greenpigeons which I might have shot, only I was there with a different idea. Anumber of butterflies flopped up and down along the ground like dead leaves;sometimes I would hear a bird calling, sometimes the wind overhead, and alwaysthe sea along the coast.

But the queerness of the place it’s more difficult to tell of, unless toone who has been alone in the high bush himself. The brightest kind of a day itis always dim down there. A man can see to the end of nothing; whichever way helooks the wood shuts up, one bough folding with another like the fingers ofyour hand; and whenever he listens he hears always something new—mentalking, children laughing, the strokes of an axe a far way ahead of him, andsometimes a sort of a quick, stealthy scurry near at hand that makes him jumpand look to his weapons. It’s all very well for him to tell himself thathe’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 valuenative talk a fourpenny-piece; it’s a thing that’s natural in thebush, and that’s the end of it.

As I got near the top of the hill, for the ground of the wood goes up in thisplace steep as a ladder, the wind began to sound straight on, and the leaves totoss and switch open and let in the sun. This suited me better; it was the samenoise all the time, and nothing to startle. Well, I had got to a place wherethere was an underwood of what they call wild cocoanut—mighty pretty withits scarlet fruit—when there came a sound of singing in the wind that Ithought I had never heard the like of. It was all very fine to tell myself itwas the branches; I knew better. It was all very fine to tell myself it was abird; I knew never a bird that sang like that. It rose and swelled, and diedaway and swelled again; and now I thought it was like someone weeping, onlyprettier; and now I thought it was like harps; and there was one thing I madesure of, it was a sight too sweet to be wholesome in a place like that. You maylaugh if you like; but I declare I called to mind the six young ladies thatcame, with their scarlet necklaces, out of the cave at Fanga-anaana, andwondered if they sang like that. We laugh at the natives and theirsuperstitions; but see how many traders take them up, splendidly educated whitemen, 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 kindof weeds; and as I stood there and listened to that wailing I twittered in myshoes.

You may call me a coward to be frightened; I thought myself brave enough to goon ahead. But I went mighty carefully, with my gun cocked, spying all about melike a hunter, fully expecting to see a handsome young woman sitting somewherein the bush, and fully determined (if I did) to try her with a charge ofduck-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 ofme burst open, and I saw for a second something hanging in a tree. It was gonein a wink, the puff blowing by and the leaves closing. I tell you the truth: Ihad made up my mind to see an aitu; and if the thing had looked like apig or a woman, it wouldn’t have given me the same turn. The trouble wasthat it seemed kind of square, and the idea of a square thing that was aliveand sang knocked me sick and silly. I must have stood quite a while; and I madepretty certain it was right out of the same tree that the singing came. Then Ibegan to come to myself a bit.

“Well,” says I, “if this is really so, if this is a placewhere there are square things that sing, I’m gone up anyway. Let’shave my fun for my money.”

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 prayingthe strange sounds came out of the tree, and went up and down, and changed, forall the world like music, only you could see it wasn’t human—therewas nothing there that you could whistle.

As soon as I had made an end in proper style, I laid down my gun, stuck myknife between my teeth, walked right up to that tree, and began to climb. Itell you my heart was like ice. But presently, as I went up, I caught anotherglimpse 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.

A box it was, sure enough, and a candle-box at that, with the brand upon theside of it; and it had banjo strings stretched so as to sound when the windblew. I believe they call the thing a Tyrolean [3] harp, whatever that may mean.

“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 wouldnot be far away.

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 callthem trees for the bigness, but in truth they were just big weeds, and sappy tocut through like carrot. From all this crowd and kind of vegetation, I was justthinking to myself, the place might have once been cleared, when I came on mynose over a pile of stones, and saw in a moment it was some kind of a work ofman. The Lord knows when it was made or when deserted, for this part of theisland has lain undisturbed since long before the whites came. A few stepsbeyond I hit into the path I had been always looking for. It was narrow, butwell beaten, and I saw that Case had plenty of disciples. It seems, indeed, itwas a piece of fashionable boldness to venture up here with the trader, and ayoung 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 likeKanakas; but, if you look at it another way, it’s mighty like white folkstoo.

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 wastumbledown and plainly very old, but built of big stones very well laid; andthere is no native alive to-day upon that island that could dream of such apiece of building. Along all the top of it was a line of queer figures, idolsor 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 inthe wind, and some of them worked with the tugging. There are islands up westwhere they make these kind of figures till to-day; but if ever they were madein this island, the practice and the very recollection of it are now longforgotten. And the singular thing was that all these bogies were as fresh astoys out of a shop.

Then it came in my mind that Case had let out to me the first day that he was agood forger of island curiosities, a thing by which so many traders turn anhonest penny. And with that I saw the whole business, and how this displayserved the man a double purpose: first of all, to season his curiosities, andthen to frighten those that came to visit him.

But I should tell you (what made the thing more curious) that all the time theTyrolean harps were harping round me in the trees, and even while I looked, agreen-and-yellow bird (that, I suppose, was building) began to tear the hairoff the head of one of the figures.

A little farther on I found the best curiosity of the museum. The first I sawof it was a longish mound of earth with a twist to it. Digging off the earthwith my hands, I found underneath tarpaulin stretched on boards, so that thiswas plainly the roof of a cellar. It stood right on the top of the hill, andthe entrance was on the far side, between two rocks, like the entrance to acave. I went as far in as the bend, and, looking round the corner, saw ashining face. It was big and ugly, like a pantomime mask, and the brightness ofit waxed and dwindled, and at times it smoked.

“Oho!” says I, “luminous paint!”

And I must say I rather admired the man’s ingenuity. With a box of toolsand a few mighty simple contrivances he had made out to have a devil of atemple. Any poor Kanaka brought up here in the dark, with the harps whining allround him, and shown that smoking face in the bottom of a hole, would make nokind 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 anyway 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, likethe boys again, are middling honest and yet think it rather larks to steal, andare easy scared and rather like to be so. I remember a boy I was at school withat 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, andwe loved it. And then it came in my mind how the master had once flogged thatboy, and the surprise we were all in to see the sorcerer catch it and bum likeanybody else. Thinks I to myself, “I must find some way of fixing it sofor Master Case.” And the next moment I had my idea.

I went back by the path, which, when once you had found it, was quite plain andeasy walking; and when I stepped out on the black sands, who should I see butMaster Case himself. I cocked my gun and held it handy, and we marched up andpassed without a word, each keeping the tail of his eye on the other; and nosooner had we passed than we each wheeled round like fellows drilling, andstood 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.

“You’ve shot nothing,” says Case.

“I’m not on the shoot to-day,” said I.

“Well, the devil go with you for me,” says he.

“The same to you,” says I.

But we stuck just the way we were; no fear of either of us moving.

Case laughed. “We can’t stop here all day, though,” said he.

“Don’t let me detain you,” says I.

He laughed again. “Look here, Wiltshire, do you think me a fool?”he asked.

“More of a knave, if you want to know,” says I.

“Well, do you think it would better me to shoot you here, on this openbeach?” said he. “Because I don’t. Folks come fishing everyday. There may be a score of them up the valley now, making copra; there mightbe half a dozen on the hill behind you, after pigeons; they might be watchingus this minute, and I shouldn’t wonder. I give you my word I don’twant to shoot you. Why should I? You don’t hinder me any. Youhaven’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 callit—and I don’t care where you vegetate, nor yet how long. Give meyour word you don’t mean to shoot me, and I’ll give you a lead andwalk away.”

“Well,” said I, “You’re frank and pleasant, ain’tyou? And I’ll be the same. I don’t mean to shoot you to-day. Whyshould 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 onyour head to this blooming hour, and I’ve more cooking for you. I’mnot a paralee, like Underhill. My name ain’t Adams, and it ain’tVigours; and I mean to show you that you’ve met your match.”

“This is a silly way to talk,” said he. “This is not the talkto make me move on with.”

“All right,” said I, “stay where you are. I ain’t inany hurry, and you know it. I can put in a day on this beach and never mind. Iain’t got any copra to bother with. I ain’t got any luminous paintto see to.”

I was sorry I said that last, but it whipped out before I knew. I could see ittook the wind out of his sails, and he stood and stared at me with his browdrawn up. Then I suppose he made up his mind he must get to the bottom of this.

“I take you at your word,” says he, and turned his back, and walkedright into the devil’s bush.

I let him go, of course, for I had passed my word. But I watched him as long ashe was in sight, and after he was gone lit out for cover as lively as you wouldwant to see, and went the rest of the way home under the bush, for Ididn’t trust him sixpence-worth. One thing I saw, I had been ass enoughto give him warning, and that which I meant to do I must do at once.

You would think I had had about enough excitement for one morning, but therewas another turn waiting me. As soon as I got far enough round the cape to seemy house I made out there were strangers there; a little farther, and no doubtabout it. There was a couple of armed sentinels squatting at my door. I couldonly suppose the trouble about Uma must have come to a head, and the stationbeen seized. For aught I could think, Uma was taken up already, and these armedmen were waiting to do the like with me.

However, as I came nearer, which I did at top speed, I saw there was a thirdnative sitting on the verandah like a guest, and Uma was talking with him likea hostess. Nearer still I made out it was the big young chief, Maea, and thathe was smiling away and smoking. And what was he smoking? None of your Europeancigarettes fit for a cat, not even the genuine big, knock-me-down nativearticle that a fellow can really put in the time with if his pipe isbroke—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 headthat the trouble was over, and Maea had come round.

Uma pointed me out to him as I came up, and he met me at the head of my ownstairs like a thorough gentleman.

“Vilivili,” said he, which was the best they could make of my name,“I pleased.”

There is no doubt when an island chief wants to be civil he can do it. I sawthe 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 shookhands with that Kanaka like as if he was the best white man in Europe.

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 himselfup, got a couple of his retainers cleaned and armed to kind of make the thingmore public, and, just waiting till Case was clear of the village, came roundto put the whole of his business my way. He was rich as well as powerful. Isuppose that man was worth fifty thousand nuts per annum. I gave him the priceof the beach and a quarter cent better, and as for credit, I would haveadvanced him the inside of the store and the fittings besides, I was so pleasedto see him. I must say he bought like a gentleman: rice and tins and biscuitsenough for a week’s feast, and stuffs by the bolt. He was agreeablebesides; he had plenty fun to him; and we cracked jests together, mostlythrough the interpreter, because he had mighty little English, and my nativewas still off colour. One thing I made out: he could never really have thoughtmuch harm of Uma; he could never have been really frightened, and must justhave made believe from dodginess, and because he thought Case had a strong pullin the village and could help him on.

This set me thinking that both he and I were in a tightish place. What he haddone was to fly in the face of the whole village, and the thing might cost himhis authority. More than that, after my talk with Case on the beach, I thoughtit might very well cost me my life. Case had as good as said he would pot me ifever I got any copra; he would come home to find the best business in thevillage had changed hands; and the best thing I thought I could do was to getin first with the potting.

“See here, Uma,” says I, “tell him I’m sorry I made himwait, but I was up looking at Case’s Tiapolo store in the bush.”

“He want savvy if you no ’fraid?” translated Uma.

I laughed out. “Not much!” says I. “Tell him the place is ablooming toy-shop! Tell him in England we give these things to the kids to playwith.”

“He want savvy if you hear devil sing?” she asked next.

“Look here,” I said, “I can’t do it now becauseI’ve got no banjo-strings in stock; but the next time the ship comesround 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 asI can get the strings I’ll make one for his picaninnies. The name of theconcern is a Tyrolean harp; and you can tell him the name means in English thatnobody but dam-fools give a cent for it.”

This time he was so pleased he had to try his English again. “You talktrue?” says he.

“Rather!” said I. “Talk all-e-same Bible. Bring out a Biblehere, 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.”

It appeared he wasn’t; he could venture as far as that by day and incompany.

“That’s the ticket, then!” said I. “Tell him theman’s a fraud and the place foolishness, and if he’ll go up thereto-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 toCase, and I’m a dead man! I’m playing his game, tell him, and if hesays one word my blood will be at his door and be the damnation of him here andafter.”

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?”

“No sir,” says I, “no such foolishness. I’ve come hereto trade, tell him, and not to make friends. But, as to Case, I’ll sendthat man to glory!”

So off Maea went, pretty well pleased, as I could see.

CHAPTER V.
NIGHT IN THE BUSH.

Well, I was committed now; Tiapolo had to be smashed up before next day, and myhands were pretty full, not only with preparations, but with argument. My housewas like a mechanics’ debating society: Uma was so made up that Ishouldn’t go into the bush by night, or that, if I did, I was never tocome back again. You know her style of arguing: you’ve had a specimenabout Queen Victoria and the devil; and I leave you to fancy if I was tired ofit before dark.

At last I had a good idea. What was the use of casting my pearls before her? Ithought; some of her own chopped hay would be likelier to do the business.

“I’ll tell you what, then,” said I. “You fish out yourBible, and I’ll take that up along with me. That’ll make meright.”

She swore a Bible was no use.

“That’s just your Kanaka ignorance,” said I. “Bring theBible out.”

She brought it, and I turned to the title-page, where I thought there wouldlikely be some English, and so there was. “There!” said I.“Look at that! ‘London: Printed for the British andForeign Bible Society, Blackfriars,’ and the date, which Ican’t read, owing to its being in these X’s. There’s no devilin hell can look near the Bible Society, Blackfriars. Why, you silly!” Isaid, “how do you suppose we get along with our own aitusat home?All Bible Society!”

“I think you no got any,” said she. “White man, he tell meyou no got.”

“Sounds likely, don’t it?” I asked. “Why would theseislands all be chock full of them and none in Europe?”

“Well, you no got breadfruit,” said she.

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 wordI’ve got to say.”

The night fell extraordinary dark, clouds coming up with sundown andoverspreading all; not a star showed; there was only an end of a moon, and thatnot due before the small hours. Round the village, what with the lights and thefires 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 wereall 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, andknife, and lantern, and patent matches, all necessary. And then there was thereal plant of the affair in hand, a mortal weight of gunpowder, a pair ofdynamite fishing-bombs, and two or three pieces of slow match that I had hauledout of the tin cases and spliced together the best way I could; for the matchwas only trade stuff, and a man would be crazy that trusted it. Altogether, yousee, I had the materials of a pretty good blow-up! Expense was nothing to me; Iwanted that thing done right.

As long as I was in the open, and had the lamp in my house to steer by, I didwell. 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 inhis bed-room. I knew it was risky to light up, for my lantern would be visibleall the way to the point of the cape, and as no one went there after dark, itwould be talked about, and come to Case’s ears. But what was I to do? Ihad 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.

As long as I was on the path I walked hard, but when I came to the black beachI had to run. For the tide was now nearly flowed; and to get through with mypowder dry between the surf and the steep hill, took all the quickness Ipossessed. As it was, even, the wash caught me to the knees, and I came nearfalling on a stone. All this time the hurry I was in, and the free air andsmell of the sea, kept my spirits lively; but when I was once in the bush andbegan to climb the path I took it easier. The fearsomeness of the wood had beena good bit rubbed off for me by Master Case’s banjo-strings and gravenimages, yet I thought it was a dreary walk, and guessed, when the discipleswent up there, they must be badly scared. The light of the lantern, strikingamong 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 ofturning shadows. They came to meet you, solid and quick like giants, and thenspan off and vanished; they hove up over your head like clubs, and flew awayinto the night like birds. The floor of the bush glimmered with dead wood, theway the match-box used to shine after you had struck a lucifer. Big, cold dropsfell 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 harpswere silent.

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 theshining of the lantern, with their painted faces and shell eyes, and theirclothes and their hair hanging. One after another I pulled them all up andpiled them in a bundle on the cellar roof, so as they might go to glory withthe 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 doingfine.

“Cheer up,” says I. “You’re booked.”

It was my first idea to light up and be getting homeward; for the darkness andthe glimmer of the dead wood and the shadows of the lantern made me lonely. ButI knew where one of the harps hung; it seemed a pity it shouldn’t go withthe rest; and at the same time I couldn’t help letting on to myself thatI was mortal tired of my employment, and would like best to be at home and havethe door shut. I stepped out of the cellar and argued it fore and back. Therewas a sound of the sea far down below me on the coast; nearer hand not a leafstirred; 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 oflittle noises. Little noises they were, and nothing to hurt—a bit of acrackle, a bit of a rush—but the breath jumped right out of me and mythroat went as dry as a biscuit. It wasn’t Case I was afraid of, whichwould have been common-sense; I never thought of Case; what took me, as sharpas 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 onmyself, and stepped out, and held up the lantern (like a fool) and looked allround.

In the direction of the village and the path there was nothing to be seen; butwhen 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 thelight shine on her bare arms and her bright eyes, and there went out of me ayell so big that I thought it was my death.

“Ah! No sing out!” says the devil-woman, in a kind of a highwhisper. “Why you talk big voice? Put out light! Ese he come.”

“My God Almighty, Uma, is that you?” says I.

“Ioe,” [4] says she. “I come quick. Ese here soon.”

“You come alone?” I asked. “You no ’fraid?”

“Ah, too much ’fraid!” she whispered, clutching me. “Ithink die.”

“Well,” says I, with a kind of a weak grin, “I’m notthe one to laugh at you, Mrs. Wiltshire, for I’m about the worst scaredman in the South Pacific myself.”

She told me in two words what brought her. I was scarce gone, it seems, whenFa’avao came in, and the old woman had met Black Jack running as hard ashe was fit from our house to Case’s. Uma neither spoke nor stopped, butlit right out to come and warn me. She was so close at my heels that thelantern was her guide across the beach, and afterwards, by the glimmer of it inthe trees, she got her line up hill. It was only when I had got to the top orwas in the cellar that she wandered Lord knows where! and lost a sight ofprecious time, afraid to call out lest Case was at the heels of her, andfalling in the bush, so that she was all knocked and bruised. That must havebeen when she got too far to the southward, and how she came to take me in theflank at last and frighten me beyond what I’ve got the words to tell of.

Well, anything was better than a devil-woman, but I thought her yarn seriousenough. Black Jack had no call to be about my house, unless he was set there towatch; and it looked to me as if my tomfool word about the paint, and perhapssome chatter of Maea’s, had got us all in a clove hitch. One thing wasclear: Uma and I were here for the night; we daren’t try to go homebefore day, and even then it would be safer to strike round up the mountain andcome in by the back of the village, or we might walk into an ambuscade. It wasplain, too, that the mine should be sprung immediately, or Case might be intime to stop it.

I marched into the tunnel, Uma keeping tight hold of me, opened my lantern andlit the match. The first length of it burned like a spill of paper, and I stoodstupid, watching it burn, and thinking we were going aloft with Tiapolo, whichwas none of my views. The second took to a better rate, though faster than Icared 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 thebush until I thought it might be safe, and lay down together by a tree.

“Old lady,” I said, “I won’t forget this night.You’re a trump, and that’s what’s wrong with you.”

She humped herself close up to me. She had run out the way she was, withnothing on her but her kilt; and she was all wet with the dews and the sea onthe black beach, and shook straight on with cold and the terror of the dark andthe devils.

“Too much ’fraid,” was all she said.

The far side of Case’s hill goes down near as steep as a precipice intothe next valley. We were on the very edge of it, and I could see the dead woodshine 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 aworse mistake about the lantern, which I should have left lighted, so that Icould have had a crack at Case when he stepped into the shine of it. And evenif I hadn’t had the wit to do that, it seemed a senseless thing to leavethe 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 havetrusted the match, I might have run in still and rescued it. But who was goingto trust the match? You know what trade is. The stuff was good enough forKanakas to go fishing with, where they’ve got to look lively anyway, andthe most they risk is only to have their hand blown off. But for anyone thatwanted to fool around a blow-up like mine that match was rubbish.

Altogether the best I could do was to lie still, see my shot-gun handy, andwait for the explosion. But it was a solemn kind of a business. The blacknessof the night was like solid; the only thing you could see was the nasty bogyglimmer of the dead wood, and that showed you nothing but itself; and as forsounds, I stretched my ears till I thought I could have heard the match burn inthe tunnel, and that bush was as silent as a coffin. Now and then there was abit of a crack; but whether it was near or far, whether it was Case stubbinghis toes within a few yards of me, or a tree breaking miles away, I knew nomore than the babe unborn.

And then, all of a sudden, Vesuvius went off. It was a long time coming; butwhen it came (though I say it that shouldn’t) no man could ask to see abetter. At first it was just a son of a gun of a row, and a spout of fire, andthe 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 theair, fell within a couple of fathoms of where we lay, and bounded over the edgeof the hill, and went pounding down into the next valley. I saw I had ratherundercalculated our distance, or over-done the dynamite and powder, which youplease.

And presently I saw I had made another slip. The noise of the thing began todie off, shaking the island; the dazzle was over; and yet the nightdidn’t come back the way I expected. For the whole wood was scatteredwith red coals and brands from the explosion; they were all round me on theflat; some had fallen below in the valley, and some stuck and flared in thetree-tops. I had no fear of fire, for these forests are too wet to kindle. Butthe trouble was that the place was all lit up-not very bright, but good enoughto get a shot by; and the way the coals were scattered, it was just as likelyCase 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 seemedto have been knocked right out of her by the bang and blaze of it.

There was one bad point in my game. One of the blessed graven images had comedown all afire, hair and clothes and body, not four yards away from me. I casta mighty noticing glance all round; there was still no Case, and I made up mymind I must get rid of that burning stick before he came, or I should be shotthere like a dog.

It was my first idea to have crawled, and then I thought speed was the mainthing, and stood half up to make a rush. The same moment from somewhere betweenme and the sea there came a flash and a report, and a rifle bullet screeched inmy ear. I swung straight round and up with my gun, but the brute had aWinchester, and before I could as much as see him his second shot knocked meover like a nine-pin. I seemed to fly in the air, then came down by the run andlay half a minute, silly; and then I found my hands empty, and my gun had flownover my head as I fell. It makes a man mighty wide awake to be in the kind ofbox that I was in. I scarcely knew where I was hurt, or whether I was hurt ornot, but turned right over on my face to crawl after my weapon. Unless you havetried to get about with a smashed leg you don’t know what pain is, and Ilet out a howl like a bullock’s.

This was the unluckiest noise that ever I made in my life. Up to then Uma hadstuck 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 crackedagain, and down she went.

I had sat up, leg and all, to stop her; but when I saw her tumble I clappeddown again where I was, lay still, and felt the handle of my knife. I had beenscurried and put out before. No more of that for me. He had knocked over mygirl, I had got to fix him for it; and I lay there and gritted my teeth, andfooted up the chances. My leg was broke, my gun was gone. Case had still tenshots in his Winchester. It looked a kind of hopeless business. But I neverdespaired nor thought upon despairing: that man had got to go.

For a goodish bit not one of us let on. Then I heard Case begin to move nearerin the bush, but mighty careful. The image had burned out; there were only afew coals left here and there, and the wood was main dark, but had a kind of alow glow in it like a fire on its last legs. It was by this that I made outCase’s head looking at me over a big tuft of ferns, and at the same timethe brute saw me and shouldered his Winchester. I lay quite still, and as goodas looked into the barrel: it was my last chance, but I thought my heart wouldhave come right out of its bearings. Then he fired. Lucky for me it was noshot-gun, for the bullet struck within an inch of me and knocked the dirt in myeyes.

Just you try and see if you can lie quiet, and let a man take a sitting shot atyou and miss you by a hair. But I did, and lucky too. A while Case stood withthe Winchester at the port-arms; then he gave a little laugh to himself, andstepped round the ferns.

“Laugh!” thought I. “If you had the wit of a louse you wouldbe praying!”

I was all as taut as a ship’s hawser or the spring of a watch, and assoon as he came within reach of me I had him by the ankle, plucked the feetright out from under him, laid him out, and was upon the top of him, broken legand all, before he breathed. His Winchester had gone the same road as myshot-gun; it was nothing to me—I defied him now. I’m a prettystrong 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 hishands together, more like a frightened woman, so that I caught both of themwith my left. This wakened him up, and he fastened his teeth in my forearm likea weasel. Much I cared. My leg gave me all the pain I had any use for, and Idrew my knife and got it in the place.

“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’sgoing to knock your blooming soul right out of you!”

With that I gave him the cold steel for all I was worth. His body kicked underme like a spring sofa; he gave a dreadful kind of a long moan, and lay still.

“I wonder if you’re dead? I hope so!” I thought, for my headwas swimming. But I wasn’t going to take chances; I had his own exampletoo close before me for that; and I tried to draw the knife out to give it himagain. The blood came over my hands, I remember, hot as tea; and with that Ifainted clean away, and fell with my head on the man’s mouth.

When I came to myself it was pitch dark; the cinders had burned out; there wasnothing to be seen but the shine of the dead wood, and I couldn’tremember 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 knifeagain a half-a-dozen times up to the handle. I believe he was dead already, butit did him no harm and did me good.

“I bet you’re dead now,” I said, and then I called to Uma.

Nothing answered, and I made a move to go and grope for her, fouled my brokenleg, and fainted again.

When I came to myself the second time the clouds had all cleared away, except afew 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 showedup 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 stillhalf resting on, looking right up into the sky with his open eyes, no palerthan when he was alive; and a little way off Uma tumbled on her side. I gotover 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 appearsshe was afraid to cry out loud, because of the aitus. Altogether she wasnot much hurt, but scared beyond belief; she had come to her senses a longwhile 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 ploughedup her shoulder, and she had lost a main quantity of blood; but I soon had thattied 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 towait for morning. Uma was for neither use nor ornament, and could only clutchhold of me and shake and cry. I don’t suppose there was ever anybodyworse scared, and, to do her justice, she had had a lively night of it. As forme, I was in a good bit of pain and fever, but not so bad when I sat still; andevery time I looked over to Case I could have sung and whistled. Talk aboutmeat and drink! To see that man lying there dead as a herring filled me full.

The night birds stopped after a while; and then the light began to change, theeast came orange, the whole wood began to whirr with singing like a musicalbox, and there was the broad day.

I didn’t expect Maea for a long while yet; and, indeed, I thought therewas an off-chance he might go back on the whole idea and not come at all. I wasthe better pleased when, about an hour after daylight, I heard sticks smashingand a lot of Kanakas laughing, and singing out to keep their courage up. Umasat up quite brisk at the first word of it; and presently we saw a party comestringing out of the path, Maea in front, and behind him a white man in a pithhelmet. 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.

They buried Case upon the field of glory, right in the hole where he had keptthe 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 sickview of the dear departed’s prospects, and seemed to have his own ideasof 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 Kanakasplainly Case was damned, and a good riddance; but I never could get him to seeit my way. Then they made me a litter of poles and carried me down to thestation. 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, andUma’s, and Maea’s, wrote it all out fine, and had us sign it; andthen he got the chiefs and marched over to Papa Randall’s to seizeCase’s papers.

All they found was a bit of a diary, kept for a good many years, and all aboutthe price of copra, and chickens being stolen, and that; and the books of thebusiness and the will I told you of in the beginning, by both of which thewhole thing (stock, lock, and barrel) appeared to belong to the Samoa woman. Itwas I that bought her out at a mighty reasonable figure, for she was in a hurryto get home. As for Randall and the black, they had to tramp; got into somekind of a station on the Papa-malulu side; did very bad business, for the truthis neither of the pair was fit for it, and lived mostly on fish, which was themeans of Randall’s death. It seems there was a nice shoal in one day, andpapa went after them with the dynamite; either the match burned too fast, orpapa was full, or both, but the shell went off (in the usual way) before hethrew it, and where was papa’s hand? Well, there’s nothing to hurtin that; the islands up north are all full of one-handed men, like the partiesin the “Arabian Nights”; but either Randall was too old, or hedrank too much, and the short and the long of it was that he died. Pretty soonafter, the nigger was turned out of the island for stealing from white men, andwent off to the west, where he found men of his own colour, in case he likedthat, and the men of his own colour took and ate him at some kind of acorroborree, and I’m sure I hope he was to their fancy!

So there was I, left alone in my glory at Falesá; and when the schooner cameround I filled her up, and gave her a deck-cargo half as high as the house. Imust say Mr. Tarleton did the right thing by us; but he took a meanish kind ofa revenge.

“Now, Mr. Wiltshire,” said he, “I’ve put you all squarewith everybody here. It wasn’t difficult to do, Case being gone; but Ihave done it, and given my pledge besides that you will deal fairly with thenatives. I must ask you to keep my word.”

Well, so I did. I used to be bothered about my balances, but I reasoned it outthis way: We all have queerish balances; and the natives all know it, and watertheir copra in a proportion so that it’s fair all round; but the truthis, it did use to bother me, and, though I did well in Falesá, I was half gladwhen the firm moved me on to another station, where I was under no kind of apledge and could look my balances in the face.

As for the old lady, you know her as well as I do. She’s only the onefault. If you don’t keep your eye lifting she would give away the roofoff the station. Well, it seems it’s natural in Kanakas. She’sturned a powerful big woman now, and could throw a London bobby over hershoulder. But that’s natural in Kanakas too, and there’s no mannerof doubt that she’s an A 1 wife.

Mr. Tarleton’s gone home, his trick being over. He was the bestmissionary I ever struck, and now, it seems, he’s parsonising downSomerset way. Well, that’s best for him; he’ll have no Kanakasthere to get luny over.

My public-house? Not a bit of it, nor ever likely. I’m stuck here, Ifancy. I don’t like to leave the kids, you see: and—there’sno use talking—they’re better here than what they would be in awhite man’s country, though Ben took the eldest up to Auckland, wherehe’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, andthere’s nobody thinks less of half-castes than I do; but they’remine, and about all I’ve got. I can’t reconcile my mind to theirtaking up with Kanakas, and I’d like to know where I’m to find thewhites?

THE BOTTLE IMP.

Note.—Any student of that very unliterary product, the English drama ofthe early part of the century, will here recognise the name and the root ideaof a piece once rendered popular by the redoubtable O. Smith. The root idea isthere and identical, and yet I hope I have made it a new thing. And the factthat the tale has been designed and written for a Polynesian audience may lendit some extraneous interest nearer home.—R. L. S.

There was a man of the Island of Hawaii, whom I shall call Keawe; for the truthis, he still lives, and his name must be kept secret; but the place of hisbirth was not far from Honaunau, where the bones of Keawe the Great lie hiddenin a cave. This man was poor, brave, and active; he could read and write like aschoolmaster; he was a first-rate mariner besides, sailed for some time in theisland steamers, and steered a whaleboat on the Hamakua coast. At length itcame in Keawe’s mind to have a sight of the great world and foreigncities, and he shipped on a vessel bound to San Francisco.

This is a fine town, with a fine harbour, and rich people uncountable; and, inparticular, there is one hill which is covered with palaces. Upon this hillKeawe was one day taking a walk with his pocket full of money, viewing thegreat houses upon either hand with pleasure, “What fine houses theseare!” he was thinking, “and how happy must those people be whodwell in them, and take no care for the morrow!” The thought was in hismind when he came abreast of a house that was smaller than some others, but allfinished 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 werebright like diamond; and Keawe stopped and wondered at the excellence of all hesaw. So stopping, he was aware of a man that looked forth upon him through awindow so clear that Keawe could see him as you see a fish in a pool upon thereef. The man was elderly, with a bald head and a black beard; and his face washeavy with sorrow, and he bitterly sighed. And the truth of it is, that asKeawe looked in upon the man, and the man looked out upon Keawe, each enviedthe other.

All of a sudden, the man smiled and nodded, and beckoned Keawe to enter, andmet him at the door of the house.

“This is a fine house of mine,” said the man, and bitterly sighed.“Would you not care to view the chambers?”

So he led Keawe all over it, from the cellar to the roof, and there was nothingthere that was not perfect of its kind, and Keawe was astonished.

“Truly,” said Keawe, “this is a beautiful house; if I livedin the like of it, I should be laughing all day long. How comes it, then, thatyou should be sighing?”

“There is no reason,” said the man, “why you should not havea house in all points similar to this, and finer, if you wish. You have somemoney, I suppose?”

“I have fifty dollars,” said Keawe; “but a house like thiswill cost more than fifty dollars.”

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 atfifty dollars.”

“The house?” asked Keawe.

“No, not the house,” replied the man; “but the bottle. For, Imust 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 thana pint. This is it.”

And he opened a lockfast place, and took out a round-bellied bottle with a longneck; the glass of it was white like milk, with changing rainbow colours in thegrain. Withinsides something obscurely moved, like a shadow and a fire.

“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.”

So Keawe took the bottle up and dashed it on the floor till he was weary; butit jumped on the floor like a child’s ball, and was not injured.

“This is a strange thing,” said Keawe. “For by the touch ofit, as well as by the look, the bottle should be of glass.”

“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 init, and that is the shadow we behold there moving: or so I suppose. If any manbuy 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 arehis at the word uttered. Napoleon had this bottle, and by it he grew to be theking of the world; but he sold it at the last, and fell. Captain Cook had thisbottle, 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 theprotection; and unless a man remain content with what he has, ill will befallhim.”

“And yet you talk of selling it yourself?” Keawe said.

“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.”

“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 tobe damned.”

“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, andthen sell it to someone else, as I do to you, and finish your life incomfort.”

“Well, I observe two things,” said Keawe. “All the time youkeep sighing like a maid in love, that is one; and, for the other, you sellthis bottle very cheap.”

“I have told you already why I sigh,” said the man. “It isbecause I fear my health is breaking up; and, as you said yourself, to die andgo to the devil is a pity for anyone. As for why I sell so cheap, I mustexplain to you there is a peculiarity about the bottle. Long ago, when thedevil brought it first upon earth, it was extremely expensive, and was soldfirst of all to Prester John for many millions of dollars; but it cannot besold at all, unless sold at a loss. If you sell it for as much as you paid forit, back it comes to you again like a homing pigeon. It follows that the pricehas kept falling in these centuries, and the bottle is now remarkably cheap. Ibought it myself from one of my great neighbours on this hill, and the price Ipaid was only ninety dollars. I could sell it for as high as eighty-ninedollars and ninety-nine cents, but not a penny dearer, or back the thing mustcome to me. Now, about this there are two bothers. First, when you offer abottle 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 intoit. Only remember it must be coined money that you sell it for.”

“How am I to know that this is all true?” asked Keawe.

“Some of it you can try at once,” replied the man. “Give meyour fifty dollars, take the bottle, and wish your fifty dollars back into yourpocket. If that does not happen, I pledge you my honour I will cry off thebargain and restore your money.”

“You are not deceiving me?” said Keawe.

The man bound himself with a great oath.

“Well, I will risk that much,” said Keawe, “for that can dono harm.” And he paid over his money to the man, and the man handed himthe bottle.

“Imp of the bottle,” said Keawe, “I want my fifty dollarsback.” And sure enough he had scarce said the word before his pocket wasas heavy as ever.

“To be sure this is a wonderful bottle,” said Keawe.

“And now good-morning to you, my fine fellow, and the devil go with youfor me!” said the man.

“Hold on,” said Keawe, “I don’t want any more of thisfun. Here, take your bottle back.”

“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 onlyconcerned to see the back of you.” And with that he rang for his Chineseservant, and had Keawe shown out of the house.

Now, when Keawe was in the street, with the bottle under his arm, he began tothink. “If all is true about this bottle, I may have made a losingbargain,” thinks he. “But perhaps the man was only foolingme.” The first thing he did was to count his money; the sum wasexact—forty-nine dollars American money, and one Chili piece. “Thatlooks like the truth,” said Keawe. “Now I will try anotherpart.”

The streets in that part of the city were as clean as a ship’s decks, andthough it was noon, there were no passengers. Keawe set the bottle in thegutter 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 turneda corner; but he had scarce done so, when something knocked upon his elbow, andbehold! it was the long neck sticking up; and as for the round belly, it wasjammed into the pocket of his pilot-coat.

“And that looks like the truth,” said Keawe.

The next thing he did was to buy a cork-screw in a shop, and go apart into asecret place in the fields. And there he tried to draw the cork, but as oftenas he put the screw in, out it came again, and the cork as whole as ever.

“This is some new sort of cork,” said Keawe, and all at once hebegan to shake and sweat, for he was afraid of that bottle.

On his way back to the port-side, he saw a shop where a man sold shells andclubs from the wild islands, old heathen deities, old coined money, picturesfrom China and Japan, and all manner of things that sailors bring in theirsea-chests. And here he had an idea. So he went in and offered the bottle for ahundred dollars. The man of the shop laughed at him at the first, and offeredhim five; but, indeed, it was a curious bottle—such glass was never blownin 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 disputedawhile after the manner of his kind, the shop-man gave Keawe sixty silverdollars for the thing, and set it on a shelf in the midst of his window.

“Now,” said Keawe, “I have sold that for sixty which I boughtfor fifty—or, to say truth, a little less, because one of my dollars wasfrom Chili. Now I shall know the truth upon another point.”

So he went back on board his ship, and, when he opened his chest, there was thebottle, and had come more quickly than himself. Now Keawe had a mate on boardwhose name was Lopaka.

“What ails you?” said Lopaka, “that you stare in yourchest?”

They were alone in the ship’s forecastle, and Keawe bound him to secrecy,and told all.

“This is a very strange affair,” said Lopaka; “and I fear youwill be in trouble about this bottle. But there is one point veryclear—that you are sure of the trouble, and you had better have theprofit 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 anidea of my own to get a schooner, and go trading through the islands.”

“That is not my idea,” said Keawe; “but to have a beautifulhouse and garden on the Kona Coast, where I was born, the sun shining in at thedoor, flowers in the garden, glass in the windows, pictures on the walls, andtoys and fine carpets on the tables, for all the world like the house I was inthis day—only a storey higher, and with balconies all about like theKing’s palace; and to live there without care and make merry with myfriends and relatives.”

“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, andask a schooner.”

Upon that they were agreed, and it was not long before the ship returned toHonolulu, carrying Keawe and Lopaka, and the bottle. They were scarce comeashore when they met a friend upon the beach, who began at once to condole withKeawe.

“I do not know what I am to be condoled about,” said Keawe.

“Is it possible you have not heard,” said the friend, “youruncle—that good old man—is dead, and your cousin—thatbeautiful boy—was drowned at sea?”

Keawe was filled with sorrow, and, beginning to weep and to lament, he forgotabout the bottle. But Lopaka was thinking to himself, and presently, whenKeawe’s grief was a little abated, “I have been thinking,”said Lopaka. “Had not your uncle lands in Hawaii, in the district ofKau?”

“No,” said Keawe, “not in Kau; they are on themountain-side—a little way south of Hookena.”

“These lands will now be yours?” asked Lopaka.

“And so they will,” says Keawe, and began again to lament for hisrelatives.

“No,” said Lopaka, “do not lament at present. I have athought in my mind. How if this should be the doing of the bottle? For here isthe place ready for your house.”

“If this be so,” cried Keawe, “it is a very ill way to serveme by killing my relatives. But it may be, indeed; for it was in just such astation that I saw the house with my mind’s eye.”

“The house, however, is not yet built,” said Lopaka.

“No, nor like to be!” said Keawe; “for though my uncle hassome coffee and ava and bananas, it will not be more than will keep me incomfort; and the rest of that land is the black lava.”

“Let us go to the lawyer,” said Lopaka; “I have still thisidea in my mind.”

Now, when they came to the lawyer’s, it appeared Keawe’s uncle hadgrown monstrous rich in the last days, and there was a fund of money.

“And here is the money for the house!” cried Lopaka.

“If you are thinking of a new house,” said the lawyer, “hereis the card of a new architect, of whom they tell me great things.”

“Better and better!” cried Lopaka. “Here is all made plainfor us. Let us continue to obey orders.”

So they went to the architect, and he had drawings of houses on his table.

“You want something out of the way,” said the architect. “Howdo you like this?” and he handed a drawing to Keawe.

Now, when Keawe set eyes on the drawing, he cried out aloud, for it was thepicture of his thought exactly drawn.

“I am in for this house,” thought he. “Little as I like theway it comes to me, I am in for it now, and I may as well take the good alongwith the evil.”

So he told the architect all that he wished, and how he would have that housefurnished, and about the pictures on the wall and the knick-knacks on thetables; and he asked the man plainly for how much he would undertake the wholeaffair.

The architect put many questions, and took his pen and made a computation; andwhen he had done he named the very sum that Keawe had inherited.

Lopaka and Keawe looked at one another and nodded.

“It is quite clear,” thought Keawe, “that I am to have thishouse, whether or no. It comes from the devil, and I fear I will get littlegood by that; and of one thing I am sure, I will make no more wishes as long asI have this bottle. But with the house I am saddled, and I may as well take thegood along with the evil.”

So he made his terms with the architect, and they signed a paper; and Keawe andLopaka took ship again and sailed to Australia; for it was concluded betweenthem they should not interfere at all, but leave the architect and the bottleimp to build and to adorn that house at their own pleasure.

The voyage was a good voyage, only all the time Keawe was holding in hisbreath, for he had sworn he would utter no more wishes, and take no morefavours from the devil. The time was up when they got back. The architect toldthem that the house was ready, and Keawe and Lopaka took a passage in theHall, and went down Kona way to view the house, and see if all had beendone fitly according to the thought that was in Keawe’s mind.

Now the house stood on the mountain side, visible to ships. Above, the forestran up into the clouds of rain; below, the black lava fell in cliffs, where thekings of old lay buried. A garden bloomed about that house with every hue offlowers; and there was an orchard of papaia on the one hand and an orchard ofbreadfruit on the other, and right in front, toward the sea, a ship’smast had been rigged up and bore a flag. As for the house, it was three storeyshigh, with great chambers and broad balconies on each. The windows were ofglass, so excellent that it was as clear as water and as bright as day. Allmanner of furniture adorned the chambers. Pictures hung upon the wall in goldenframes: 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 acolour as those Keawe found hanging in his house. As for the knick-knacks, theywere extraordinary fine; chiming clocks and musical boxes, little men withnodding heads, books filled with pictures, weapons of price from all quartersof the world, and the most elegant puzzles to entertain the leisure of asolitary man. And as no one would care to live in such chambers, only to walkthrough and view them, the balconies were made so broad that a whole town mighthave lived upon them in delight; and Keawe knew not which to prefer, whetherthe back porch, where you got the land breeze, and looked upon the orchards andthe 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 Hallgoing byonce a week or so between Hookena and the hills of Pele, or the schoonersplying up the coast for wood and ava and bananas.

When they had viewed all, Keawe and Lopaka sat on the porch.

“Well,” asked Lopaka, “is it all as you designed?”

“Words cannot utter it,” said Keawe. “It is better than Idreamed, and I am sick with satisfaction.”

“There is but one thing to consider,” said Lopaka; “all thismay be quite natural, and the bottle imp have nothing whatever to say to it. IfI were to buy the bottle, and got no schooner after all, I should have put myhand in the fire for nothing. I gave you my word, I know; but yet I think youwould not grudge me one more proof.”

“I have sworn I would take no more favours,” said Keawe. “Ihave gone already deep enough.”

“This is no favour I am thinking of,” replied Lopaka. “It isonly to see the imp himself. There is nothing to be gained by that, and sonothing to be ashamed of; and yet, if I once saw him, I should be sure of thewhole 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.”

“There is only one thing I am afraid of,” said Keawe. “Theimp may be very ugly to view; and if you once set eyes upon him you might bevery undesirous of the bottle.”

“I am a man of my word,” said Lopaka. “And here is the moneybetwixt us.”

“Very well,” replied Keawe. “I have a curiosity myself. Socome, let us have one look at you, Mr. Imp.”

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 nighthad 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.

“I am a man of my word,” said he, “and had need to be so, orI would not touch this bottle with my foot. Well, I shall get my schooner and adollar or two for my pocket; and then I will be rid of this devil as fast as Ican. For to tell you the plain truth, the look of him has cast me down.”

“Lopaka,” said Keawe, “do not you think any worse of me thanyou can help; I know it is night, and the roads bad, and the pass by the tombsan ill place to go by so late, but I declare since I have seen that littleface, I cannot eat or sleep or pray till it is gone from me. I will give you alantern and a basket to put the bottle in, and any picture or fine thing in allmy house that takes your fancy;—and be gone at once, and go sleep atHookena with Nahinu.”

“Keawe,” said Lopaka, “many a man would take this ill; aboveall, when I am doing you a turn so friendly, as to keep my word and buy thebottle; 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 hisconscience, and such a bottle under his arm. But for my part, I am so extremelyterrified myself, I have not the heart to blame you. Here I go then; and I prayGod you may be happy in your house, and I fortunate with my schooner, and bothget to heaven in the end in spite of the devil and his bottle.”

So Lopaka went down the mountain; and Keawe stood in his front balcony, andlistened to the clink of the horse’s shoes, and watched the lantern goshining down the path, and along the cliff of caves where the old dead areburied; and all the time he trembled and clasped his hands, and prayed for hisfriend, and gave glory to God that he himself was escaped out of that trouble.

But the next day came very brightly, and that new house of his was sodelightful to behold that he forgot his terrors. One day followed another, andKeawe dwelt there in perpetual joy. He had his place on the back porch; it wasthere he ate and lived, and read the stories in the Honolulu newspapers; butwhen 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 Ka-HaleNui—the Great House—in all Kona; and sometimes the BrightHouse, for Keawe kept a Chinaman, who was all day dusting and furbishing; andthe glass, and the gilt, and the fine stuffs, and the pictures, shone as brightas the morning. As for Keawe himself, he could not walk in the chambers withoutsinging, his heart was so enlarged; and when ships sailed by upon the sea, hewould fly his colours on the mast.

So time went by, until one day Keawe went upon a visit as far as Kailua tocertain of his friends. There he was well feasted; and left as soon as he couldthe next morning, and rode hard, for he was impatient to behold his beautifulhouse; and, besides, the night then coming on was the night in which the deadof old days go abroad in the sides of Kona; and having already meddled with thedevil, he was the more chary of meeting with the dead. A little beyondHonaunau, looking far ahead, he was aware of a woman bathing in the edge of thesea; and she seemed a well-grown girl, but he thought no more of it. Then hesaw her white shift flutter as she put it on, and then her red holoku; and bythe time he came abreast of her she was done with her toilet, and had come upfrom the sea, and stood by the track-side in her red holoku, and she was allfreshened with the bath, and her eyes shone and were kind. Now Keawe no soonerbeheld her than he drew rein.

“I thought I knew everyone in this country,” said he. “Howcomes it that I do not know you?”

“I am Kokua, daughter of Kiano,” said the girl, “and I havejust returned from Oahu. Who are you?”

“I will tell you who I am in a little,” said Keawe, dismountingfrom his horse, “but not now. For I have a thought in my mind, and if youknew who I was, you might have heard of me, and would not give me a trueanswer. But tell me, first of all, one thing: Are you married?”

At this Kokua laughed out aloud. “It is you who ask questions,” shesaid. “Are you married yourself?”

“Indeed, Kokua, I am not,” replied Keawe, “and never thoughtto be until this hour. But here is the plain truth. I have met you here at theroadside, and I saw your eyes, which are like the stars, and my heart went toyou as swift as a bird. And so now, if you want none of me, say so, and I willgo 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, andto-morrow I will talk with the good man.”

Kokua said never a word, but she looked at the sea and laughed.

“Kokua,” said Keawe, “if you say nothing, I will take thatfor the good answer; so let us be stepping to your father’s door.”

She went on ahead of him, still without speech; only sometimes she glanced backand glanced away again, and she kept the strings of her hat in her mouth.

Now, when they had come to the door, Kiano came out on his verandah, and criedout and welcomed Keawe by name. At that the girl looked over, for the fame ofthe great house had come to her ears; and, to be sure, it was a greattemptation. All that evening they were very merry together; and the girl was asbold as brass under the eyes of her parents, and made a mock of Keawe, for shehad a quick wit. The next day he had a word with Kiano, and found the girlalone.

“Kokua,” said he, “you made a mock of me all the evening; andit is still time to bid me go. I would not tell you who I was, because I haveso fine a house, and I feared you would think too much of that house and toolittle of the man that loves you. Now you know all, and if you wish to haveseen the last of me, say so at once.”

“No,” said Kokua; but this time she did not laugh, nor did Keaweask for more.

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 rangin the maiden’s head; she heard his voice in the breach of the surf uponthe lava, and for this young man that she had seen but twice she would haveleft father and mother and her native islands. As for Keawe himself, his horseflew up the path of the mountain under the cliff of tombs, and the sound of thehoofs, and the sound of Keawe singing to himself for pleasure, echoed in thecaverns of the dead. He came to the Bright House, and still he was singing. Hesat and ate in the broad balcony, and the Chinaman wondered at his master, tohear how he sang between the mouthfuls. The sun went down into the sea, and thenight came; and Keawe walked the balconies by lamplight, high on the mountains,and the voice of his singing startled men on ships.

“Here am I now upon my high place,” he said to himself. “Lifemay be no better; this is the mountain top; and all shelves about me toward theworse. For the first time I will light up the chambers, and bathe in my finebath with the hot water and the cold, and sleep alone in the bed of my bridalchamber.”

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 andrejoicing above him in the lighted chambers. When the water began to be hot theChinaman cried to his master; and Keawe went into the bathroom; and theChinaman heard him sing as he filled the marble basin; and heard him sing, andthe singing broken, as he undressed; until of a sudden, the song ceased. TheChinaman listened, and listened; he called up the house to Keawe to ask if allwere 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, theChinaman heard his master’s feet go round and round the balconies withoutrepose.

Now the truth of it was this: as Keawe undressed for his bath, he spied uponhis flesh a patch like a patch of lichen on a rock, and it was then that hestopped singing. For he knew the likeness of that patch, and knew that he wasfallen in the Chinese Evil. [5]

Now, it is a sad thing for any man to fall into this sickness. And it would bea sad thing for anyone to leave a house so beautiful and so commodious, anddepart from all his friends to the north coast of Molokai between the mightycliff and the sea-breakers. But what was that to the case of the man Keawe, hewho had met his love but yesterday, and won her but that morning, and now sawall his hopes break, in a moment, like a piece of glass?

Awhile he sat upon the edge of the bath; then sprang, with a cry, and ranoutside; and to and fro, to and fro, along the balcony, like one despairing.

“Very willingly could I leave Hawaii, the home of my fathers,”Keawe was thinking. “Very lightly could I leave my house, thehigh-placed, the many-windowed, here upon the mountains. Very bravely could Igo to Molokai, to Kalaupapa by the cliffs, to live with the smitten and tosleep there, far from my fathers. But what wrong have I done, what sin liesupon my soul, that I should have encountered Kokua coming cool from thesea-water in the evening? Kokua, the soul ensnarer! Kokua, the light of mylife! Her may I never wed, her may I look upon no longer, her may I no morehandle with my loving hand; and it is for this, it is for you, O Kokua! that Ipour my lamentations!”

Now you are to observe what sort of a man Keawe was, for he might have dweltthere 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 mighthave wed Kokua even as he was; and so many would have done, because they havethe souls of pigs; but Keawe loved the maid manfully, and he would do her nohurt and bring her in no danger.

A little beyond the midst of the night, there came in his mind the recollectionof that bottle. He went round to the back porch, and called to memory the daywhen the devil had looked forth; and at the thought ice ran in his veins.

“A dreadful thing is the bottle,” thought Keawe, “anddreadful is the imp, and it is a dreadful thing to risk the flames of hell. Butwhat other hope have I to cure my sickness or to wed Kokua? What!” hethought, “would I beard the devil once, only to get me a house, and notface him again to win Kokua?”

Thereupon he called to mind it was the next day the Hallwent by on herreturn to Honolulu. “There must I go first,” he thought, “andsee Lopaka. For the best hope that I have now is to find that same bottle I wasso pleased to be rid of.”

Never a wink could he sleep; the food stuck in his throat; but he sent a letterto Kiano, and about the time when the steamer would be coming, rode down besidethe cliff of the tombs. It rained; his horse went heavily; he looked up at theblack mouths of the caves, and he envied the dead that slept there and weredone 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 countrygathered for the steamer as usual. In the shed before the store they sat andjested and passed the news; but there was no matter of speech in Keawe’sbosom, and he sat in their midst and looked without on the rain falling on thehouses, and the surf beating among the rocks, and the sighs arose in histhroat.

“Keawe of the Bright House is out of spirits,” said one to another.Indeed, and so he was, and little wonder.

Then the Hallcame, and the whaleboat carried him on board. Theafter-part of the ship was full of Haoles [6] who had been to visit the volcano,as their custom is; and the midst was crowded with Kanakas, and the forepartwith wild bulls from Hilo and horses from Kau; but Keawe sat apart from all inhis sorrow, and watched for the house of Kiano. There it sat, low upon theshore in the black rocks, and shaded by the cocoa palms, and there by the doorwas a red holoku, no greater than a fly, and going to and fro with afly’s busyness. “Ah, queen of my heart,” he cried,“I’ll venture my dear soul to win you!”

Soon after, darkness fell, and the cabins were lit up, and the Haoles sat andplayed at the cards and drank whiskey as their custom is; but Keawe walked thedeck all night; and all the next day, as they steamed under the lee of Maui orof Molokai, he was still pacing to and fro like a wild animal in a menagerie.

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 hadbecome the owner of a schooner—none better in the islands—and wasgone upon an adventure as far as Pola-Pola or Kahiki; so there was no help tobe looked for from Lopaka. Keawe called to mind a friend of his, a lawyer inthe town (I must not tell his name), and inquired of him. They said he wasgrown suddenly rich, and had a fine new house upon Waikiki shore; and this puta thought in Keawe’s head, and he called a hack and drove to thelawyer’s house.

The house was all brand new, and the trees in the garden no greater thanwalking-sticks, and the lawyer, when he came, had the air of a man wellpleased.

“What can I do to serve you?” said the lawyer.

“You are a friend of Lopaka’s,” replied Keawe, “andLopaka purchased from me a certain piece of goods that I thought you mightenable me to trace.”

The lawyer’s face became very dark. “I do not profess tomisunderstand you, Mr. Keawe,” said he, “though this is an uglybusiness to be stirring in. You may be sure I know nothing, but yet I have aguess, and if you would apply in a certain quarter I think you might havenews.”

And he named the name of a man, which, again, I had better not repeat. So itwas for days, and Keawe went from one to another, finding everywhere newclothes and carriages, and fine new houses and men everywhere in greatcontentment, although, to be sure, when he hinted at his business their faceswould cloud over.

“No doubt I am upon the track,” thought Keawe. “These newclothes and carriages are all the gifts of the little imp, and these glad facesare the faces of men who have taken their profit and got rid of the accursedthing in safety. When I see pale cheeks and hear sighing, I shall know that Iam near the bottle.”

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 theusual marks of the new house, and the young garden, and the electric lightshining in the windows; but when the owner came, a shock of hope and fear ranthrough Keawe; for here was a young man, white as a corpse, and black about theeyes, the hair shedding from his head, and such a look in his countenance as aman may have when he is waiting for the gallows.

“Here it is, to be sure,” thought Keawe, and so with this man henoways veiled his errand. “I am come to buy the bottle,” said he.

At the word, the young Haole of Beritania Street reeled against the wall.

“The bottle!” he gasped. “To buy the bottle!” Then heseemed to choke, and seizing Keawe by the arm carried him into a room andpoured out wine in two glasses.

“Here is my respects,” said Keawe, who had been much about withHaoles in his time. “Yes,” he added, “I am come to buy thebottle. What is the price by now?”

At that word the young man let his glass slip through his fingers, and lookedupon Keawe like a ghost.

“The price,” says he; “the price! You do not know theprice?”

“It is for that I am asking you,” returned Keawe. “But whyare you so much concerned? Is there anything wrong about the price?”

“It has dropped a great deal in value since your time, Mr. Keawe,”said the young man stammering.

“Well, well, I shall have the less to pay for it,” says Keawe.“How much did it cost you?”

The young man was as white as a sheet. “Two cents,” said he.

“What?” cried Keawe, “two cents? Why, then, you can only sellit for one. And he who buys it—” The words died upon Keawe’stongue; he who bought it could never sell it again, the bottle and the bottleimp must abide with him until he died, and when he died must carry him to thered end of hell.

The young man of Beritania Street fell upon his knees. “For God’ssake buy it!” he cried. “You can have all my fortune in thebargain. I was mad when I bought it at that price. I had embezzled money at mystore; I was lost else; I must have gone to jail.”

“Poor creature,” said Keawe, “you would risk your soul uponso desperate an adventure, and to avoid the proper punishment of your owndisgrace; and you think I could hesitate with love in front of me. Give me thebottle, and the change which I make sure you have all ready. Here is afive-cent piece.”

It was as Keawe supposed; the young man had the change ready in a drawer; thebottle changed hands, and Keawe’s fingers were no sooner clasped upon thestalk than he had breathed his wish to be a clean man. And, sure enough, whenhe got home to his room, and stripped himself before a glass, his flesh waswhole like an infant’s. And here was the strange thing: he had no soonerseen this miracle, than his mind was changed within him, and he cared naughtfor 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 nobetter hope but to be a cinder for ever in the flames of hell. Away ahead ofhim he saw them blaze with his mind’s eye, and his soul shrank, anddarkness fell upon the light.

When Keawe came to himself a little, he was aware it was the night when theband played at the hotel. Thither he went, because he feared to be alone; andthere, among happy faces, walked to and fro, and heard the tunes go up anddown, and saw Berger beat the measure, and all the while he heard the flamescrackle, and saw the red fire burning in the bottomless pit. Of a sudden theband played Hiki-ao-ao; that was a song that he had sung with Kokua, andat the strain courage returned to him.

“It is done now,” he thought, “and once more let me take thegood along with the evil.”

So it befell that he returned to Hawaii by the first steamer, and as soon as itcould be managed he was wedded to Kokua, and carried her up the mountain sideto the Bright House.

Now it was so with these two, that when they were together, Keawe’s heartwas stilled; but so soon as he was alone he fell into a brooding horror, andheard the flames crackle, and saw the red fire burn in the bottomless pit. Thegirl, indeed, had come to him wholly; her heart leapt in her side at sight ofhim, her hand clung to his; and she was so fashioned from the hair upon herhead to the nails upon her toes that none could see her without joy. She waspleasant in her nature. She had the good word always. Full of song she was, andwent 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 thenmust shrink upon one side, and weep and groan to think upon the price that hehad paid for her; and then he must dry his eyes, and wash his face, and go andsit with her on the broad balconies, joining in her songs, and, with a sickspirit, answering her smiles.

There came a day when her feet began to be heavy and her songs more rare; andnow it was not Keawe only that would weep apart, but each would sunder from theother and sit in opposite balconies with the whole width of the Bright Housebetwixt. Keawe was so sunk in his despair, he scarce observed the change, andwas only glad he had more hours to sit alone and brood upon his destiny, andwas not so frequently condemned to pull a smiling face on a sick heart. But oneday, 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 likethe lost.

“You do well to weep in this house, Kokua,” he said. “And yetI would give the head off my body that you (at least) might have beenhappy.”

“Happy!” she cried. “Keawe, when you lived alone in yourBright House, you were the word of the island for a happy man; laughter andsong were in your mouth, and your face was as bright as the sunrise. Then youwedded poor Kokua; and the good God knows what is amiss in her—but fromthat day you have not smiled. Oh!” she cried, “what ails me? Ithought I was pretty, and I knew I loved him. What ails me that I throw thiscloud upon my husband?”

“Poor Kokua,” said Keawe. He sat down by her side, and sought totake her hand; but that she plucked away. “Poor Kokua,” he said,again. “My poor child—my pretty. And I had thought all this whileto spare you! Well, you shall know all. Then, at least, you will pity poorKeawe; then you will understand how much he loved you in the past—that hedared hell for your possession—and how much he loves you still (the poorcondemned one), that he can yet call up a smile when he beholds you.”

With that, he told her all, even from the beginning.

“You have done this for me?” she cried “Ah, well, then whatdo I care!”—and she clasped and wept upon him.

“Ah, child!” said Keawe, “and yet, when I consider of thefire of hell, I care a good deal!”

“Never tell me,” said she; “no man can be lost because heloved Kokua, and no other fault. I tell you, Keawe, I shall save you with thesehands, or perish in your company. What! you loved me, and gave your soul, andyou think I will not die to save you in return?”

“Ah, my dear! you might die a hundred times, and what difference wouldthat make?” he cried, “except to leave me lonely till the timecomes of my damnation?”

“You know nothing,” said she. “I was educated in a school inHonolulu; I am no common girl. And I tell you, I shall save my lover. What isthis you say about a cent? But all the world is not American. In England theyhave a piece they call a farthing, which is about half a cent. Ah!sorrow!” she cried, “that makes it scarcely better, for the buyermust be lost, and we shall find none so brave as my Keawe! But, then, there isFrance; they have a small coin there which they call a centime, and these gofive to the cent or there-about. We could not do better. Come, Keawe, let us goto the French islands; let us go to Tahiti, as fast as ships can bear us. Therewe have four centimes, three centimes, two centimes, one centime; four possiblesales 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.”

“Gift of God!” he cried. “I cannot think that God will punishme for desiring aught so good! Be it as you will, then; take me where youplease: I put my life and my salvation in your hands.”

Early the next day Kokua was about her preparations. She took Keawe’schest 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 theknick-knacks in the house. “For,” said she, “we must seem tobe rich folks, or who will believe in the bottle?” All the time of herpreparation she was as gay as a bird; only when she looked upon Keawe, thetears would spring in her eye, and she must run and kiss him. As for Keawe, aweight was off his soul; now that he had his secret shared, and some hope infront of him, he seemed like a new man, his feet went lightly on the earth, andhis breath was good to him again. Yet was terror still at his elbow; and everand again, as the wind blows out a taper, hope died in him, and he saw theflames toss and the red fire burn in hell.

It was given out in the country they were gone pleasuring to the States, whichwas thought a strange thing, and yet not so strange as the truth, if any couldhave guessed it. So they went to Honolulu in the Hall, and thence in theUmatillato San Francisco with a crowd of Haoles, and at San Franciscotook their passage by the mail brigantine, the Tropic Bird, for Papeete,the chief place of the French in the south islands. Thither they came, after apleasant voyage, on a fair day of the Trade Wind, and saw the reef with thesurf 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.

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, andthemselves 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 boldthan Keawe, and, whenever she had a mind, called on the imp for twenty or ahundred dollars. At this rate they soon grew to be remarked in the town; andthe strangers from Hawaii, their riding and their driving, the fine holokus andthe rich lace of Kokua, became the matter of much talk.

They got on well after the first with the Tahitian language, which is indeedlike to the Hawaiian, with a change of certain letters; and as soon as they hadany freedom of speech, began to push the bottle. You are to consider it was notan easy subject to introduce; it was not easy to persuade people you were inearnest, when you offered to sell them for four centimes the spring of healthand riches inexhaustible. It was necessary besides to explain the dangers ofthe bottle; and either people disbelieved the whole thing and laughed, or theythought the more of the darker part, became overcast with gravity, and drewaway from Keawe and Kokua, as from persons who had dealings with the devil. Sofar 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 oneaccord to disengage themselves from their advances.

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 wouldbe broken by Kokua bursting suddenly into sobs. Sometimes they would praytogether; sometimes they would have the bottle out upon the floor, and sit allevening watching how the shadow hovered in the midst. At such times they wouldbe afraid to go to rest. It was long ere slumber came to them, and, if eitherdozed 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 theneighbourhood of that bottle, to pace under the bananas in the little garden,or to wander on the beach by moonlight.

One night it was so when Kokua awoke. Keawe was gone. She felt in the bed andhis place was cold. Then fear fell upon her, and she sat up in bed. A littlemoonshine filtered through the shutters. The room was bright, and she could spythe bottle on the floor. Outside it blew high, the great trees of the avenuecried aloud, and the fallen leaves rattled in the verandah. In the midst ofthis Kokua was aware of another sound; whether of a beast or of a man she couldscarce tell, but it was as sad as death, and cut her to the soul. Softly shearose, set the door ajar, and looked forth into the moonlit yard. There, underthe bananas, lay Keawe, his mouth in the dust, and as he lay he moaned.

It was Kokua’s first thought to run forward and console him; her secondpotently withheld her. Keawe had borne himself before his wife like a braveman; it became her little in the hour of weakness to intrude upon his shame.With the thought she drew back into the house.

“Heaven!” she thought, “how careless have I been—howweak! 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 acreature of so little worth and such poor help, that he now beholds so close tohim the flames of hell—ay, and smells the smoke of it, lying withoutthere in the wind and moonlight. Am I so dull of spirit that never till now Ihave surmised my duty, or have I seen it before and turned aside? But now, atleast, I take up my soul in both the hands of my affection; now I say farewellto the white steps of heaven and the waiting faces of my friends. A love for alove, and let mine be equalled with Keawe’s! A soul for a soul, and be itmine to perish!”

She was a deft woman with her hands, and was soon apparelled. She took in herhands the change—the precious centimes they kept ever at their side; forthis 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 wasblackened. The town slept, and she knew not whither to turn till she heard onecoughing in the shadow of the trees.

“Old man,” said Kokua, “what do you here abroad in the coldnight?”

The old man could scarce express himself for coughing, but she made out that hewas old and poor, and a stranger in the island.

“Will you do me a service?” said Kokua. “As one stranger toanother, and as an old man to a young woman, will you help a daughter ofHawaii?”

“Ah,” said the old man. “So you are the witch from the eightislands, and even my old soul you seek to entangle. But I have heard of you,and defy your wickedness.”

“Sit down here,” said Kokua, “and let me tell you atale.” And she told him the story of Keawe from the beginning to the end.

“And now,” said she, “I am his wife, whom he bought with hissoul’s welfare. And what should I do? If I went to him myself and offeredto buy it, he would refuse. But if you go, he will sell it eagerly; I willawait you here; you will buy it for four centimes, and I will buy it again forthree. And the Lord strengthen a poor girl!”

“If you meant falsely,” said the old man, “I think God wouldstrike you dead.”

“He would!” cried Kokua. “Be sure he would. I could not be sotreacherous—God would not suffer it.”

“Give me the four centimes and await me here,” said the old man.

Now, when Kokua stood alone in the street, her spirit died. The wind roared inthe trees, and it seemed to her the rushing of the flames of hell; the shadowstossed in the light of the street lamp, and they seemed to her the snatchinghands of evil ones. If she had had the strength, she must have run away, and ifshe had had the breath she must have screamed aloud; but, in truth, she coulddo neither, and stood and trembled in the avenue, like an affrighted child.

Then she saw the old man returning, and he had the bottle in his hand.

“I have done your bidding,” said he. “I left your husbandweeping like a child; to-night he will sleep easy.” And he held thebottle forth.

“Before you give it me,” Kokua panted, “take the good withthe evil—ask to be delivered from your cough.”

“I am an old man,” replied the other, “and too near the gateof the grave to take a favour from the devil. But what is this? Why do you nottake the bottle? Do you hesitate?”

“Not hesitate!” cried Kokua. “I am only weak. Give me amoment. It is my hand resists, my flesh shrinks back from the accursed thing.One moment only!”

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, andcan never more be happy in this world, and as for the next—”

“Give it me!” gasped Kokua. “There is your money. Do youthink I am so base as that? Give me the bottle.”

“God bless you, child,” said the old man.

Kokua concealed the bottle under her holoku, said farewell to the old man, andwalked off along the avenue, she cared not whither. For all roads were now thesame 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 waysidein the dust and wept. All that she had heard of hell came back to her; she sawthe flames blaze, and she smelt the smoke, and her flesh withered on the coals.

Near day she came to her mind again, and returned to the house. It was even asthe old man said—Keawe slumbered like a child. Kokua stood and gazed uponhis face.

“Now, my husband,” said she, “it is your turn to sleep. Whenyou wake it will be your turn to sing and laugh. But for poor Kokua, alas! thatmeant no evil—for poor Kokua no more sleep, no more singing, no moredelight, whether in earth or heaven.”

With that she lay down in the bed by his side, and her misery was so extremethat she fell in a deep slumber instantly.

Late in the morning her husband woke her and gave her the good news. It seemedhe was silly with delight, for he paid no heed to her distress, ill though shedissembled it. The words stuck in her mouth, it mattered not; Keawe did thespeaking. She ate not a bite, but who was to observe it? for Keawe cleared thedish. Kokua saw and heard him, like some strange thing in a dream; there weretimes when she forgot or doubted, and put her hands to her brow; to knowherself doomed and hear her husband babble, seemed so monstrous.

All the while Keawe was eating and talking, and planning the time of theirreturn, and thanking her for saving him, and fondling her, and calling her thetrue helper after all. He laughed at the old man that was fool enough to buythat bottle.

“A worthy old man he seemed,” Keawe said. “But no one canjudge by appearances. For why did the old reprobate require the bottle?”

“My husband,” said Kokua, humbly, “his purpose may have beengood.”

Keawe laughed like an angry man.

“Fiddle-de-dee!” cried Keawe. “An old rogue, I tell you; andan 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, thething 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 weresmaller 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.”

“O my husband!” said Kokua. “Is it not a terrible thing tosave 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 thepoor holder.”

Then Keawe, because he felt the truth of what she said, grew the more angry.“Heighty-teighty!” cried he. “You may be filled withmelancholy if you please. It is not the mind of a good wife. If you thought atall of me, you would sit shamed.”

Thereupon he went out, and Kokua was alone.

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 wherethere was nothing lower than a cent. And here—on the morrow of hersacrifice—was her husband leaving her and blaming her.

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, withloathing, hid it out of sight.

By-and-by, Keawe came back, and would have her take a drive.

“My husband, I am ill,” she said. “I am out of heart. Excuseme, I can take no pleasure.”

Then was Keawe more wroth than ever. With her, because he thought she wasbrooding over the case of the old man; and with himself, because he thought shewas right, and was ashamed to be so happy.

“This is your truth,” cried he, “and this your affection!Your husband is just saved from eternal ruin, which he encountered for the loveof you—and you can take no pleasure! Kokua, you have a disloyalheart.”

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, andthere drank again. All the time Keawe was ill at ease, because he was takingthis pastime while his wife was sad, and because he knew in his heart that shewas more right than he; and the knowledge made him drink the deeper.

Now there was an old brutal Haole drinking with him, one that had been aboatswain 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 othersdrunken; and he pressed the glass upon Keawe. Soon there was no more money inthe company.

“Here, you!” says the boatswain, “you are rich, you have beenalways saying. You have a bottle or some foolishness.”

“Yes,” says Keawe, “I am rich; I will go back and get somemoney from my wife, who keeps it.”

“That’s a bad idea, mate,” said the boatswain. “Neveryou trust a petticoat with dollars. They’re all as false as water; youkeep an eye on her.”

Now, this word struck in Keawe’s mind; for he was muddled with what hehad been drinking.

“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 Iam not the man to be fooled. I will catch her in the act.”

Accordingly, when they were back in town, Keawe bade the boatswain wait for himat the corner, by the old calaboose, and went forward up the avenue alone tothe door of his house. The night had come again; there was a light within, butnever a sound; and Keawe crept about the corner, opened the back door softly,and looked in.

There was Kokua on the floor, the lamp at her side; before her was a milk-whitebottle, with a round belly and a long neck; and as she viewed it, Kokua wrungher hands.

A long time Keawe stood and looked in the doorway. At first he was struckstupid; and then fear fell upon him that the bargain had been made amiss, andthe bottle had come back to him as it came at San Francisco; and at that hisknees were loosened, and the fumes of the wine departed from his head likemists off a river in the morning. And then he had another thought; and it was astrange one, that made his cheeks to burn.

“I must make sure of this,” thought he.

So he closed the door, and went softly round the corner again, and then camenoisily in, as though he were but now returned. And, lo! by the time he openedthe front door no bottle was to be seen; and Kokua sat in a chair and startedup like one awakened out of sleep.

“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.”

Both his face and voice were as stern as judgment, but Kokua was too troubledto observe.

“You do well to use your own, my husband,” said she, and her wordstrembled.

“O, I do well in all things,” said Keawe, and he went straight tothe chest and took out money. But he looked besides in the corner where theykept the bottle, and there was no bottle there.

At that the chest heaved upon the floor like a sea-billow, and the house spanabout him like a wreath of smoke, for he saw he was lost now, and there was noescape. “It is what I feared,” he thought. “It is she who hasbought it.”

And then he came to himself a little and rose up; but the sweat streamed on hisface as thick as the rain and as cold as the well-water.

“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 laugheda little quietly. “I will take more pleasure in the cup if you forgiveme.”

She clasped his knees in a moment; she kissed his knees with flowing tears.

“O,” she cried, “I asked but a kind word!”

“Let us never one think hardly of the other,” said Keawe, and wasgone out of the house.

Now, the money that Keawe had taken was only some of that store of centimepieces they had laid in at their arrival. It was very sure he had no mind to bedrinking. His wife had given her soul for him, now he must give his for hers;no other thought was in the world with him.

At the corner, by the old calaboose, there was the boatswain waiting.

“My wife has the bottle,” said Keawe, “and, unless you helpme to recover it, there can be no more money and no more liquorto-night.”

“You do not mean to say you are serious about that bottle?” criedthe boatswain.

“There is the lamp,” said Keawe. “Do I look as if I wasjesting?”

“That is so,” said the boatswain. “You look as serious as aghost.”

“Well, then,” said Keawe, “here are two centimes; you must goto my wife in the house, and offer her these for the bottle, which (if I am notmuch mistaken) she will give you instantly. Bring it to me here, and I will buyit back from you for one; for that is the law with this bottle, that it stillmust be sold for a less sum. But whatever you do, never breathe a word to herthat you have come from me.”

“Mate, I wonder are you making a fool of me?” asked the boatswain.

“It will do you no harm if I am,” returned Keawe.

“That is so, mate,” said the boatswain.

“And if you doubt me,” added Keawe, “you can try. As soon asyou are clear of the house, wish to have your pocket full of money, or a bottleof the best rum, or what you please, and you will see the virtue of thething.”

“Very well, Kanaka,” says the boatswain. “I will try; but ifyou are having your fun out of me, I will take my fun out of you with abelaying pin.”

So the whaler-man went off up the avenue; and Keawe stood and waited. It wasnear the same spot where Kokua had waited the night before; but Keawe was moreresolved, and never faltered in his purpose; only his soul was bitter withdespair.

It seemed a long time he had to wait before he heard a voice singing in thedarkness of the avenue. He knew the voice to be the boatswain’s; but itwas strange how drunken it appeared upon a sudden.

Next, the man himself came stumbling into the light of the lamp. He had thedevil’s bottle buttoned in his coat; another bottle was in his hand; andeven as he came in view he raised it to his mouth and drank.

“You have it,” said Keawe. “I see that.”

“Hands off!” cried the boatswain, jumping back. “Take a stepnear me, and I’ll smash your mouth. You thought you could make acat’s-paw of me, did you?”

“What do you mean?” cried Keawe.

“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’tmake out; but I’m sure you shan’t have it for one.”

“You mean you won’t sell?” gasped Keawe.

“No, sir!” cried the boatswain. “But I’ll giveyou a drink of the rum, if you like.”

“I tell you,” said Keawe, “the man who has that bottle goesto hell.”

“I reckon I’m going anyway,” returned the sailor; “andthis 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 andfish for another.”

“Can this be true?” Keawe cried. “For your own sake, Ibeseech you, sell it me!”

“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’san end. If you won’t have a swallow of the rum, I’ll have onemyself. Here’s your health, and good-night to you!”

So off he went down the avenue towards town, and there goes the bottle out ofthe story.

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 BrightHouse.

THE ISLE OF VOICES.

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 morecunning than that prophet; he read the stars, he could divine by the bodies ofthe dead, and by the means of evil creatures: he could go alone into thehighest parts of the mountain, into the region of the hobgoblins, and there hewould lay snares to entrap the spirits of the ancient.

For this reason no man was more consulted in all the Kingdom of Hawaii. Prudentpeople 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. Neitherwas any man more feared: of his enemies, some had dwindled in sickness by thevirtue of his incantations, and some had been spirited away, the life and theclay 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 seenhim at night upon the mountains, stepping from one cliff to the next; they hadseen him walking in the high forest, and his head and shoulders were above thetrees.

This Kalamake was a strange man to see. He was come of the best blood inMolokai and Maui, of a pure descent; and yet he was more white to look uponthan any foreigner: his hair the colour of dry grass, and his eyes red and veryblind, so that “Blind as Kalamake, that can see across to-morrow,”was a byword in the islands.

Of all these doings of his father-in-law, Keola knew a little by the commonrepute, a little more he suspected, and the rest he ignored. But there was onething troubled him. Kalamake was a man that spared for nothing, whether to eator to drink, or to wear; and for all he paid in bright new dollars.“Bright as Kalamake’s dollars,” was another saying in theEight Isles. Yet he neither sold, nor planted, nor took hire—only now andthen from his sorceries—and there was no source conceivable for so muchsilver coin.

It chanced one day Keola’s wife was gone upon a visit to Kaunakakai, onthe lee side of the island, and the men were forth at the sea-fishing. ButKeola was an idle dog, and he lay in the verandah and watched the surf beat onthe shore and the birds fly about the cliff. It was a chief thought with himalways—the thought of the bright dollars. When he lay down to bed hewould be wondering why they were so many, and when he woke at morn he would bewondering 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 itseems he had observed the place where Kalamake kept his treasure, which was alock-fast desk against the parlour wall, under the print of Kamehameha theFifth, and a photograph of Queen Victoria with her crown; and it seems againthat, 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 hersmoke off Kalaupapa; and she must soon arrive with a month’s goods,tinned salmon and gin, and all manner of rare luxuries for Kalamake.

“Now if he can pay for his goods to-day,” Keola thought, “Ishall know for certain that the man is a warlock, and the dollars come out ofthe Devil’s pocket.”

While he was so thinking, there was his father-in-law behind him, lookingvexed.

“Is that the steamer?” he asked.

“Yes,” said Keola. “She has but to call at Pelekunu, and thenshe will be here.”

“There is no help for it then,” returned Kalamake, “and Imust take you in my confidence, Keola, for the lack of anyone better. Come herewithin the house.”

So they stepped together into the parlour, which was a very fine room, paperedand hung with prints, and furnished with a rocking-chair, and a table and asofa in the European style. There was a shelf of books besides, and a familyBible in the midst of the table, and the lock-fast writing desk against thewall; so that anyone could see it was the house of a man of substance.

Kalamake made Keola close the shutters of the windows, while he himself lockedall the doors and set open the lid of the desk. From this he brought forth apair of necklaces hung with charms and shells, a bundle of dried herbs, and thedried leaves of trees, and a green branch of palm.

“What I am about,” said he, “is a thing beyond wonder. Themen of old were wise; they wrought marvels, and this among the rest; but thatwas at night, in the dark, under the fit stars and in the desert. The same willI do here in my own house and under the plain eye of day.”

So saying, he put the bible under the cushion of the sofa so that it was allcovered, 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 puton the necklaces and took their stand upon the opposite corners of the mat.

“The time comes,” said the warlock; “be not afraid.”

With that he set flame to the herbs, and began to mutter and wave the branch ofpalm. At first the light was dim because of the closed shutters; but the herbscaught strongly afire, and the flames beat upon Keola, and the room glowed withthe burning; and next the smoke rose and made his head swim and his eyesdarken, and the sound of Kalamake muttering ran in his ears. And suddenly, tothe mat on which they were standing came a snatch or twitch, that seemed to bemore 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 hiseyes and head, and he found himself transported to a beach of the sea under astrong sun, with a great surf roaring: he and the warlock standing there on thesame mat, speechless, gasping and grasping at one another, and passing theirhands before their eyes.

“What was this?” cried Keola, who came to himself the first,because he was the younger. “The pang of it was like death.”

“It matters not,” panted Kalamake. “It is now done.”

“And, in the name of God, where are we?” cried Keola.

“That is not the question,” replied the sorcerer. “Beinghere, we have matter in our hands, and that we must attend to. Go, while Irecover my breath, into the borders of the wood, and bring me the leaves ofsuch and such a herb, and such and such a tree, which you will find to growthere plentifully—three handfuls of each. And be speedy. We must be homeagain before the steamer comes; it would seem strange if we haddisappeared.” And he sat on the sand and panted.

Keola went up the beach, which was of shining sand and coral, strewn withsingular shells; and he thought in his heart—

“How do I not know this beach? I will come here again and gathershells.”

In front of him was a line of palms against the sky; not like the palms of theEight Islands, but tall and fresh and beautiful, and hanging out withered fanslike gold among the green, and he thought in his heart—

“It is strange I should not have found this grove. I will come hereagain, when it is warm, to sleep.” And he thought, “How warm it hasgrown 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 highcliff with the hanging forest and the wheeling birds?” And the more heconsidered, the less he might conceive in what quarter of the islands he wasfallen.

In the border of the grove, where it met the beach, the herb was growing, butthe tree further back. Now, as Keola went toward the tree, he was aware of ayoung woman who had nothing on her body but a belt of leaves.

“Well!” thought Keola, “they are not very particular abouttheir dress in this part of the country.” And he paused, supposing shewould 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; shelooked this way and that, and her mouth gaped with the terror of her soul. Butit was a strange thing that her eyes did not rest upon Keola.

“Good day,” said he. “You need not be so frightened; I willnot eat you.” And he had scarce opened his mouth before the young womanfled into the bush.

“These are strange manners,” thought Keola. And, not thinking whathe did, ran after her.

As she ran, the girl kept crying in some speech that was not practised inHawaii, yet some of the words were the same, and he knew she kept calling andwarning others. And presently he saw more people running—men, women andchildren, one with another, all running and crying like people at a fire. Andwith that he began to grow afraid himself, and returned to Kalamake bringingthe leaves. Him he told what he had seen.

“You must pay no heed,” said Kalamake. “All this is like adream and shadows. All will disappear and be forgotten.”

“It seemed none saw me,” said Keola.

“And none did,” replied the sorcerer. “We walk here in thebroad sun invisible by reason of these charms. Yet they hear us; and thereforeit is well to speak softly, as I do.”

With that he made a circle round the mat with stones, and in the midst he setthe leaves.

“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) Imust do my errand; and before the ashes blacken, the same power that brought uscarries us away. Be ready now with the match; and do you call me in good timelest the flames burn out and I be left.”

As soon as the leaves caught, the sorcerer leaped like a deer out of thecircle, 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 theyglittered as he took them. The leaves blazed with a clear flame that consumedthem swiftly; and presently Keola had but a handful left, and the sorcerer wasfar off, running and stopping.

“Back!” cried Keola. “Back! The leaves are near done.”

At that Kalamake turned, and if he had run before, now he flew. But fast as heran, the leaves burned faster. The flame was ready to expire when, with a greatleap, he bounded on the mat. The wind of his leaping blew it out; and with thatthe beach was gone, and the sun and the sea, and they stood once more in thedimness of the shuttered parlour, and were once more shaken and blinded; and onthe 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.

The same night Kalamake took his son-in-law apart, and gave him five dollars inhis hand.

“Keola,” said he, “if you are a wise man (which I am doubtfulof) you will think you slept this afternoon on the verandah, and dreamed as youwere sleeping. I am a man of few words, and I have for my helpers people ofshort memories.”

Never a word more said Kalamake, nor referred again to that affair. But it ranall the while in Keola’s head—if he were lazy before, he would nowdo nothing.

“Why should I work,” thought he, “when I have a father-in-lawwho makes dollars of sea-shells?”

Presently his share was spent. He spent it all upon fine clothes. And then hewas sorry:

“For,” thought he, “I had done better to have bought aconcertina, with which I might have entertained myself all day long.” Andthen he began to grow vexed with Kalamake.

“This man has the soul of a dog,” thought he. “He can gatherdollars when he pleases on the beach, and he leaves me to pine for aconcertina! Let him beware: I am no child, I am as cunning as he, and hold hissecret.” With that he spoke to his wife Lehua, and complained of herfather’s manners.

“I would let my father be,” said Lehua. “He is a dangerousman to cross.”

“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 hetold Lehua the story.

But she shook her head.

“You may do what you like,” said she; “but as sure as youthwart my father, you will be no more heard of. Think of this person, and thatperson; think of Hua, who was a noble of the House of Representatives, and wentto Honolulu every year; and not a bone or a hair of him was found. RememberKamau, and how he wasted to a thread, so that his wife lifted him with onehand. Keola, you are a baby in my father’s hands; he will take you withhis thumb and finger and eat you like a shrimp.”

Now Keola was truly afraid of Kalamake, but he was vain too; and these words ofhis wife’s incensed him.

“Very well,” said he, “if that is what you think of me, Iwill show how much you are deceived.” And he went straight to where hisfather-in-law was sitting in the parlour.

“Kalamake,” said he, “I want a concertina.”

“Do you, indeed?” said Kalamake.

“Yes,” said he, “and I may as well tell you plainly, I meanto have it. A man who picks up dollars on the beach can certainly afford aconcertina.”

“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 muchpleased I am to find I was mistaken. Now I begin to think I may have found anassistant and successor in my difficult business. A concertina? You shall havethe best in Honolulu. And to-night, as soon as it is dark, you and I will goand find the money.”

“Shall we return to the beach?” asked Keola.

“No, no!” replied Kalamake; “you must begin to learn more ofmy secrets. Last time I taught you to pick shells; this time I shall teach youto catch fish. Are you strong enough to launch Pili’s boat?”

“I think I am,” returned Keola. “But why should we not takeyour own, which is afloat already?”

“I have a reason which you will understand thoroughly beforeto-morrow,” said Kalamake. “Pili’s boat is the better suitedfor my purpose. So, if you please, let us meet there as soon as it is dark; andin the meanwhile, let us keep our own counsel, for there is no cause to let thefamily into our business.”

Honey is not more sweet than was the voice of Kalamake, and Keola could scarcecontain his satisfaction.

“I might have had my concertina weeks ago,” thought he, “andthere is nothing needed in this world but a little courage.”

Presently after he spied Lehua weeping, and was half in a mind to tell her allwas well.

“But no,” thinks he; “I shall wait till I can show her theconcertina; we shall see what the chit will do then. Perhaps she willunderstand in the future that her husband is a man of some intelligence.”

As soon as it was dark father and son-in-law launched Pili’s boat and setthe sail. There was a great sea, and it blew strong from the leeward; but theboat was swift and light and dry, and skimmed the waves. The wizard had alantern, which he lit and held with his finger through the ring; and the twosat 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 couldmake by its exercise, and what they should buy first, and what second; andKalamake talked like a father.

Presently he looked all about, and above him at the stars, and back at theisland, which was already three parts sunk under the sea, and he seemed toconsider ripely his position.

“Look!” says he, “there is Molokai already far behind us, andMaui like a cloud; and by the bearing of these three stars I know I am comewhere I desire. This part of the sea is called the Sea of the Dead. It is inthis place extraordinarily deep, and the floor is all covered with the bones ofmen, and in the holes of this part gods and goblins keep their habitation. Theflow of the sea is to the north, stronger than a shark can swim, and any manwho shall here be thrown out of a ship it bears away like a wild horse into theuttermost ocean. Presently he is spent and goes down, and his bones arescattered with the rest, and the gods devour his spirit.”

Fear came on Keola at the words, and he looked, and by the light of the starsand the lantern, the warlock seemed to change.

“What ails you?” cried Keola, quick and sharp.

“It is not I who am ailing,” said the wizard; “but there isone here very sick.”

With that he changed his grasp upon the lantern, and, behold I as he drew hisfinger from the ring, the finger stuck and the ring was burst, and his hand wasgrown to be of the bigness of three.

At that sight Keola screamed and covered his face.

But Kalamake held up the lantern. “Look rather at my face!” saidhe—and his head was huge as a barrel; and still he grew and grew as acloud grows on a mountain, and Keola sat before him screaming, and the boatraced on the great seas.

“And now,” said the wizard, “what do you think about thatconcertina? and are you sure you would not rather have a flute? No?” sayshe; “that is well, for I do not like my family to be changeable ofpurpose. But I begin to think I had better get out of this paltry boat, for mybulk swells to a very unusual degree, and if we are not the more careful, shewill presently be swamped.”

With that he threw his legs over the side. Even as he did so, the greatness ofthe man grew thirty-fold and forty-fold as swift as sight or thinking, so thathe stood in the deep seas to the armpits, and his head and shoulders rose likea high isle, and the swell beat and burst upon his bosom, as it beats andbreaks against a cliff. The boat ran still to the north, but he reached out hishand, and took the gunwale by the finger and thumb, and broke the side like abiscuit, and Keola was spilled into the sea. And the pieces of the boat thesorcerer crushed in the hollow of his hand and flung miles away into the night.

“Excuse me taking the lantern,” said he; “for I have a longwade before me, and the land is far, and the bottom of the sea uneven, and Ifeel the bones under my toes.”

And he turned and went off walking with great strides; and as often as Keolasank in the trough he could see him no longer; but as often as he was heavedupon the crest, there he was striding and dwindling, and he held the lamp highover his head, and the waves broke white about him as he went.

Since first the islands were fished out of the sea, there was never a man soterrified as this Keola. He swam indeed, but he swam as puppies swim when theyare cast in to drown, and knew not wherefore. He could but think of thehugeness of the swelling of the warlock, of that face which was great as amountain, of those shoulders that were broad as an isle, and of the seas thatbeat on them in vain. He thought, too, of the concertina, and shame took holdupon him; and of the dead men’s bones, and fear shook him.

Of a sudden he was aware of something dark against the stars that tossed, and alight below, and a brightness of the cloven sea; and he heard speech of men. Hecried out aloud and a voice answered; and in a twinkling the bows of a shiphung above him on a wave like a thing balanced, and swooped down. He caughtwith his two hands in the chains of her, and the next moment was buried in therushing seas, and the next hauled on board by seamen.

They gave him gin and biscuit and dry clothes, and asked him how he came wherethey 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 believetheir own stories; so about himself he told them what he pleased, and as forthe light (which was Kalamake’s lantern) he vowed he had seen none.

This ship was a schooner bound for Honolulu, and then to trade in the lowislands; and by a very good chance for Keola she had lost a man off thebowsprit in a squall. It was no use talking. Keola durst not stay in the EightIslands. 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 wizardwould have wind of it before a month, and he must perish. So he did what seemedthe most prudent, and shipped sailor in the place of the man who had beendrowned.

In some ways the ship was a good place. The food was extraordinarily rich andplenty, with biscuits and salt beef every day, and pea-soup and puddings madeof flour and suet twice a week, so that Keola grew fat. The captain also was agood 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 andcursed him daily, both for what he did and what he did not. The blows that hedealt were very sore, for he was strong; and the words he used were veryunpalatable, for Keola was come of a good family and accustomed to respect. Andwhat was the worst of all, whenever Keola found a chance to sleep, there wasthe mate awake and stirring him up with a rope’s end. Keola saw it wouldnever do; and he made up his mind to run away.

They were about a month out from Honolulu when they made the land. It was afine starry night, the sea was smooth as well as the sky fair; it blew a steadytrade; and there was the island on their weather bow, a ribbon of palm treeslying flat along the sea. The captain and the mate looked at it with the nightglass, and named the name of it, and talked of it, beside the wheel where Keolawas steering. It seemed it was an isle where no traders came. By thecaptain’s way, it was an isle besides where no man dwelt; but the matethought otherwise.

“I don’t give a cent for the directory,” said he,“I’ve been past here one night in the schooner Eugenie; itwas just such a night as this; they were fishing with torches, and the beachwas thick with lights like a town.”

“Well, well,” says the captain, “its steep-to, that’sthe great point; and there ain’t any outlying dangers by the chart, sowe’ll just hug the lee side of it. Keep her romping full, don’t Itell you!” he cried to Keola, who was listening so hard that he forgot tosteer.

And the mate cursed him, and swore that Kanaka was for no use in the world, andif he got started after him with a belaying pin, it would be a cold day forKeola.

And so the captain and mate lay down on the house together, and Keola was leftto himself.

“This island will do very well for me,” he thought; “if notraders deal there, the mate will never come. And as for Kalamake, it is notpossible he can ever get as far as this.”

With that he kept edging the schooner nearer in. He had to do this quietly, forit was the trouble with these white men, and above all with the mate, that youcould never be sure of them; they would all be sleeping sound, or elsepretending, and if a sail shook, they would jump to their feet and fall on youwith a rope’s end. So Keola edged her up little by little, and kept alldrawing. And presently the land was close on board, and the sound of the sea onthe sides of it grew loud.

With that, the mate sat up suddenly upon the house.

“What are you doing?” he roars. “You’ll have the shipashore!”

And he made one bound for Keola, and Keola made another clean over the rail andplump into the starry sea. When he came up again, the schooner had payed off onher true course, and the mate stood by the wheel himself, and Keola heard himcursing. 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 littleway before him the trees stopped; there was a break in the line of the landlike the mouth of a harbour; and the tide, which was then flowing, took him upand carried him through. One minute he was without, and the next within: hadfloated there in a wide shallow water, bright with ten thousand stars, and allabout him was the ring of the land, with its string of palm trees. And he wasamazed, because this was a kind of island he had never heard of.

The time of Keola in that place was in two periods—the period when he wasalone, and the period when he was there with the tribe. At first he soughteverywhere and found no man; only some houses standing in a hamlet, and themarks of fires. But the ashes of the fires were cold and the rains had washedthem away; and the winds had blown, and some of the huts were overthrown. Itwas here he took his dwelling, and he made a fire drill, and a shell hook, andfished and cooked his fish, and climbed after green cocoanuts, the juice ofwhich he drank, for in all the isle there was no water. The days were long tohim, and the nights terrifying. He made a lamp of cocoa-shell, and drew the oilof the ripe nuts, and made a wick of fibre; and when evening came he closed uphis hut, and lit his lamp, and lay and trembled till morning. Many a time hethought in his heart he would have been better in the bottom of the sea, hisbones rolling there with the others.

All this while he kept by the inside of the island, for the huts were on theshore of the lagoon, and it was there the palms grew best, and the lagoonitself abounded with good fish. And to the outer slide he went once only, andhe looked but the once at the beach of the ocean, and came away shaking. Forthe look of it, with its bright sand, and strewn shells, and strong sun andsurf, went sore against his inclination.

“It cannot be,” he thought, “and yet it is very like. And howdo I know? These white men, although they pretend to know where they aresailing, must take their chance like other people. So that after all we mayhave sailed in a circle, and I may be quite near to Molokai, and this may bethe very beach where my father-in-law gathers his dollars.”

So after that he was prudent, and kept to the land side.

It was perhaps a month later, when the people of the place arrived—thefill of six great boats. They were a fine race of men, and spoke a tongue thatsounded very different from the tongue of Hawaii, but so many of the words werethe same that it was not difficult to understand. The men besides were verycourteous, and the women very towardly; and they made Keola welcome, and builthim a house, and gave him a wife; and what surprised him the most, he was neversent to work with the young men.

And now Keola had three periods. First he had a period of being very sad, andthen he had a period when he was pretty merry. Last of all came the third, whenhe was the most terrified man in the four oceans.

The cause of the first period was the girl he had to wife. He was in doubtabout the island, and he might have been in doubt about the speech, of which hehad heard so little when he came there with the wizard on the mat. But abouthis wife there was no mistake conceivable, for she was the same girl that ranfrom him crying in the wood. So he had sailed all this way, and might as wellhave stayed in Molokai; and had left home and wife and all his friends for noother cause but to escape his enemy, and the place he had come to was thatwizard’s hunting ground, and the shore where he walked invisible. It wasat this period when he kept the most close to the lagoon side, and as far as hedared, abode in the cover of his hut.

The cause of the second period was talk he heard from his wife and the chiefislanders. 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 grownbetter acquainted with his father-in-law the man had grown more cautious. So hetold them nothing of himself, but only his name and descent, and that he camefrom the Eight Islands, and what fine islands they were; and about theking’s palace in Honolulu, and how he was a chief friend of the king andthe missionaries. But he put many questions and learned much. The island wherehe was was called the Isle of Voices; it belonged to the tribe, but they madetheir home upon another, three hours’ sail to the southward. There theylived and had their permanent houses, and it was a rich island, where were eggsand chickens and pigs, and ships came trading with rum and tobacco. It wasthere the schooner had gone after Keola deserted; there, too, the mate haddied, like the fool of a white man as he was. It seems, when the ship came, itwas the beginning of the sickly season in that isle, when the fish of thelagoon are poisonous, and all who eat of them swell up and die. The mate wastold of it; he saw the boats preparing, because in that season the people leavethat 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. Asfor the Isle of Voices, it lay solitary the most part of the year; only now andthen a boat’s crew came for copra, and in the bad season, when the fishat the main isle were poisonous, the tribe dwelt there in a body. It had itsname from a marvel, for it seemed the seaside of it was all beset withinvisible devils; day and night you heard them talking one with another instrange tongues; day and night little fires blazed up and were extinguished onthe beach; and what was the cause of these doings no man might conceive. Keolaasked them if it were the same in their own island where they stayed, and theytold him no, not there; nor yet in any other of some hundred isles that lay allabout them in that sea; but it was a thing peculiar to the Isle of Voices. Theytold him also that these fires and voices were ever on the seaside and in theseaward fringes of the wood, and a man might dwell by the lagoon two thousandyears (if he could live so long) and never be any way troubled; and even on theseaside the devils did no harm if let alone. Only once a chief had cast a spearat one of the voices, and the same night he fell out of a cocoanut palm and waskilled.

Keola thought a good bit with himself. He saw he would be all right when thetribe returned to the main island, and right enough where he was, if he kept bythe lagoon, yet he had a mind to make things righter if he could. So he toldthe high chief he had once been in an isle that was pestered the same way, andthe folk had found a means to cure that trouble.

“There was a tree growing in the bush there,” says he, “andit seems these devils came to get the leaves of it. So the people of the islecut down the tree wherever it was found, and the devils came no more.”

They asked what kind of tree this was, and he showed them the tree of whichKalamake burned the leaves. They found it hard to believe, yet the idea tickledthem. Night after night the old men debated it in their councils, but the highchief (though he was a brave man) was afraid of the matter, and reminded themdaily of the chief who cast a spear against the voices and was killed, and thethought of that brought all to a stand again.

Though he could not yet bring about the destruction of the trees, Keola waswell 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 beganto love him greatly. One day he came to the hut, and she lay on the groundlamenting.

“Why,” said Keola, “what is wrong with you now?”

She declared it was nothing.

The same night she woke him. The lamp burned very low, but he saw by her faceshe was in sorrow.

“Keola,” she said, “put your ear to my mouth that I maywhisper, for no one must hear us. Two days before the boats begin to be gotready, go you to the sea-side of the isle and lie in a thicket. We shall choosethat place before-hand, you and I; and hide food; and every night I shall comenear by there singing. So when a night comes and you do not hear me, you shallknow we are clean gone out of the island, and you may come forth again insafety.”

The soul of Keola died within him.

“What is this?” he cried. “I cannot live among devils. I willnot be left behind upon this isle. I am dying to leave it.”

“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 theykeep secret. And the reason they will kill you before we leave is because inour island ships come, and Donat-Kimaran comes and talks for the French, andthere 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 aFrench 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, andit is the finest place in the seas except Papeete.”

So now Keola was the most terrified man in the four oceans. He had heard tellof eaters of men in the south islands, and the thing had always been a fear tohim; 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 cherishand fondle him like a mother with a favourite baby. And he saw this must be hisown case; and that was why he had been housed, and fed, and wived, andliberated from all work; and why the old men and the chiefs discoursed with himlike a person of weight. So he lay on his bed and railed upon his destiny; andthe flesh curdled on his bones.

The next day the people of the tribe were very civil, as their way was. Theywere elegant speakers, and they made beautiful poetry, and jested at meals, sothat a missionary must have died laughing. It was little enough Keola cared fortheir fine ways; all he saw was the white teeth shining in their mouths, andhis gorge rose at the sight; and when they were done eating, he went and lay inthe bush like a dead man.

The next day it was the same, and then his wife followed him.

“Keola,” she said, “if you do not eat, I tell you plainly youwill be killed and cooked to-morrow. Some of the old chiefs are murmuringalready. They think you are fallen sick and must lose flesh.”

With that Keola got to his feet, and anger burned in him.

“It is little I care one way or the other,” said he. “I ambetween the devil and the deep sea. Since die I must, let me die the quickestway; and since I must be eaten at the best of it, let me rather be eaten byhobgoblins than by men. Farewell,” said he, and he left her standing, andwalked to the sea-side of that island.

It was all bare in the strong sun; there was no sign of man, only the beach wastrodden, and all about him as he went, the voices talked and whispered, and thelittle fires sprang up and burned down. All tongues of the earth were spokenthere; the French, the Dutch, the Russian, the Tamil, the Chinese. Whateverland knew sorcery, there were some of its people whispering in Keola’sear. That beach was thick as a cried fair, yet no man seen; and as he walked hesaw the shells vanish before him, and no man to pick them up. I think the devilwould have been afraid to be alone in such a company; but Keola was past fearand 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.

“It is plain Kalamake is not here,” he thought, “or I musthave been killed long since.”

With that he sat him down in the margin of the wood, for he was tired, and puthis chin upon his hands. The business before his eyes continued: the beachbabbled with voices, and the fires sprang up and sank, and the shells vanishedand were renewed again even while he looked.

“It was a by-day when I was here before,” he thought, “for itwas nothing to this.”

And his head was dizzy with the thought of these millions and millions ofdollars, and all these hundreds and hundreds of persons culling them upon thebeach and flying in the air higher and swifter than eagles.

“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 thenew coin in all the world is gathered on these sands! But I will know betterthe next time!” said he.

And at last, he knew not very well how or when, sleep feel on Keola, and heforgot the island and all his sorrows.

Early the next day, before the sun was yet up, a bustle woke him. He awoke infear, for he thought the tribe had caught him napping: but it was no suchmatter. Only, on the beach in front of him, the bodiless voices called andshouted one upon another, and it seemed they all passed and swept beside him upthe coast of the island.

“What is afoot now?” thinks Keola. And it was plain to him it wassomething 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.

“It is not me they are angry at,” thought Keola, “for theypass me close.”

As when hounds go by, or horses in a race, or city folk coursing to a fire, andall men join and follow after, so it was now with Keola; and he knew not whathe did, nor why he did it, but there, lo and behold! he was running with thevoices.

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 scoretogether in a wood. From this point there went up a hubbub of men crying not tobe described; and by the sound of them, those that he ran with shaped theircourse for the same quarter. A little nearer, and there began to mingle withthe outcry the crash of many axes. And at this a thought came at last into hismind that the high chief had consented; that the men of the tribe had set-tocutting down these trees; that word had gone about the isle from sorcerer tosorcerer, and these were all now assembling to defend their trees. Desire ofstrange things swept him on. He posted with the voices, crossed the beach, andcame 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 toback, and bodies lay, and blood flowed among their feet. The hue of fear was onall their faces; their voices went up to heaven shrill as a weasel’s cry.

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 toback, and heaved up their axes, and laid on, and screamed as they laid on, andbehold! no man to contend with them! only here and there Keola saw an axeswinging over against them without hands; and time and again a man of the tribewould fall before it, clove in twain or burst asunder, and his soul spedhowling.

For awhile Keola looked upon this prodigy like one that dreams, and then feartook 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, andpointed and called out his name. Thereat the whole tribe saw him also, andtheir eyes flashed, and their teeth clashed.

“I am too long here,” thought Keola, and ran further out of thewood and down the beach, not caring whither.

“Keola!” said, a voice close by upon the empty sand.

“Lehua! is that you?” he cried, and gasped, and looked in vain forher; but by the eyesight he was stark alone.

“I saw you pass before,” the voice answered: “but you wouldnot hear me. Quick! get the leaves and the herbs, and let us free.”

“You are there with the mat?” he asked.

“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!”

So Keola ran for his life, and fetched the wizard fuel; and Lehua guided himback, and set his feet upon the mat, and made the fire. All the time of itsburning, the sound of the battle towered out of the wood; the wizards and theman-eaters hard at fight; the wizards, the viewless ones, roaring out aloudlike bulls upon a mountain, and the men of the tribe replying shrill and savageout of the terror of their souls. And all the time of the burning, Keola stoodthere and listened, and shook, and watched how the unseen hands of Lehua pouredthe leaves. She poured them fast, and the flame burned high, and scorchedKeola’s hands; and she speeded and blew the burning with her breath. Thelast leaf was eaten, the flame fell, and the shock followed, and there wereKeola and Lehua in the room at home.

Now, when Keola could see his wife at last he was mighty pleased, and he wasmighty pleased to be home again in Molokai and sit down beside a bowl ofpoi—for they make no poi on board ships, and there was none in the Isleof Voices—and he was out of the body with pleasure to be clean escapedout of the hands of the eaters of men. But there was another matter not soclear, and Lehua and Keola talked of it all night and were troubled. There wasKalamake left upon the isle. If, by the blessing of God, he could but stickthere, all were well; but should he escape and return to Molokai, it would bean ill day for his daughter and her husband. They spoke of his gift ofswelling, and whether he could wade that distance in the seas. But Keola knewby this time where that island was—and that is to say, in the Low orDangerous Archipelago. So they fetched the atlas and looked upon the distancein the map, and by what they could make of it, it seemed a far way for an oldgentleman to walk. Still, it would not do to make too sure of a warlock likeKalamake, and they determined at last to take counsel of a white missionary.

So the first one that came by, Keola told him everything. And the missionarywas very sharp on him for taking the second wife in the low island; but for allthe rest, he vowed he could make neither head nor tail of it.

“However,” says he, “if you think this money of yourfather’s ill gotten, my advice to you would be, give some of it to thelepers and some to the missionary fund. And as for this extraordinaryrigmarole, you cannot do better than keep it to yourselves.”

But he warned the police at Honolulu that, by all he could make out, Kalamakeand Keola had been coining false money, and it would not be amiss to watchthem.

Keola and Lehua took his advice, and gave many dollars to the lepers and thefund. 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 battleby the trees, or whether he is still kicking his heels upon the Isle of Voices,who shall say?

Footnotes:

[1] Pleasepronounce pappathroughout.

[2] Alas!

[3] Aeolian

[4] Yes.

[5] Leprosy.

[6] Whites.

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