Читать книгу The Tapu Of Banderah - Becke Louis - Страница 5

Table of Contents

Banderah, the supreme chief of Mayou, was, vide Mr. Deighton’s report to his clerical superiors, “a man of much intelligence, favourably disposed to the spread of the Gospel, but, alas! of a worldly nature, and clinging for worldly reasons to the darkness.” In other words, Banderah, although by no means averse to the poorer natives of the island adopting Christianity in a very free and modified form, and contributing a certain amount of their possessions to the missionary cause, was yet a heathen, and intended to remain one. For Mr. Deighton he had conceived a personal liking, mingled with a wondering and contemptuous pity. During an intertribal war he had received a bullet in his thigh, which the missionary had succeeded, after much difficulty, in extracting. Consequently, his gratitude was unlimited, and he evinced it in a very practical manner, by commanding some hundreds of his subjects to become Christians under pain of death. And, being aware that polygamy would not be tolerated by Mr. Deighton, he went a step further, and ordered all those of these forced converts who had more than one wife to send them to his own harem. This addition to his family duties, was, however, amply compensated for by the labour of the surplus wives proving useful to him on his yam and taro plantations.

In his younger days Banderah had once made a voyage to Sydney, in the service of a trading captain, one Lannigan, whose name, in those days, was a name to conjure with from one end of Melanesia to the other, and for whose valour as a fighter and killer of men Banderah had acquired a respect he could never entertain for a missionary. This captain, however, died in Sydney, full of years and strong drink, and left the chief almost broken-hearted, to return a year later to Mayou.

In his curious, semi-savage character there were some good points, and one was that in compliance with the oft-expressed wishes and earnest entreaties of Blount and Mr. Deighton, he had agreed to put down the last remnants of cannibalism which had lingered among the coast tribes on the island down to the time of this story. And although the older men, and some of the priests of the heathen faith, had struggled against his drastic legislation, they finally gave in when Mr. Deighton, weeping tears of honest joy at such a marvellous and wholesale conversion, presented each convert with a new print shirt and a highly coloured picture of the Israelites crossing the Red Sea.

An hour after Blount had walked along the beach to Lak-a-lak, Banderah saw the captain of the schooner come ashore and walk up the path to Nathaniel Burrowes’ house, where he was warmly greeted by Burrowes and the German. He remained there for nearly an hour, and then came out again, and looking about him for a few moments, made direct for Banderah’s house, which stood about three hundred yards back from that of the American trader.

When close to the chiefs house the captain of the Starlight raised his head, and Banderah caught sight of his features and recognised him.

“How are you, Bandy?” said the seaman, walking smartly up to the chief, who was sitting on a mat inside his doorway, surrounded by a part of his harem and family, “you haven’t forgotten me, have you?”

“Oh, no, sir. I no forget you,” said the native, civilly enough, but without warmth. “How are you, Cap’en Bilker?”

“Sh’, don’t call me that, Bandy. I’m Captain Sykes now.”

“Yes?” and Banderah’s face at once assumed an expression of the most hopeless stupidity. “All right, Cap’en Sike. Come inside an’ sit down.”

“Right, my boy,” said Bilker genially, fumbling in his coat pocket, and producing a large flask of rum, “I’ve brought you a drink, Bandy; and I want to have a yarn with you.”

“All right,” and taking the flask from the captain’s hand without deigning to look at it, he passed it on to one of his wives. “What you want talk me about, Cap’en? You want me to get you some native for work on plantation?” and he smiled slily.

“No, no, Bandy. Nothing like that I don’t run a labour ship now. I’m a big fellow gentleman now. I’m captain of that yacht.”

The chief nodded, but said nothing. He knew Captain “Sykes” of old, and knew him to be an undoubted rascal. Indeed, about ten years before the cunning blackbirder captain had managed to take thirty of Banderah’s people away in his ship without paying for them; and the moment the chief recognised the sailor he set his keen native brain to work to devise a plan for getting square with him. And he meant to take deadly vengeance.

“Banderah, old man,” and the captain laid one hand on the chiefs naked knee, “I meant to pay you for those men when I came back next trip. But I was taken by a man-of-war,” here Bilker crossed his wrists to signify that he had been handcuffed; “taken to Sydney, put me in calaboose—ten years.”

“You lie,” said Banderah quietly, but with a danger spark in his eye, “man-o’-war no make you fas’ for a long time after you steal my men. Plenty people tell me you make two more voyage; then man-o’-war catch you an’ make you fas’.”

“Don’t you believe ’em, Banderah,” began the ex-blackbirder, when the chief interrupted him—

“What you do with my brother?” he said suddenly; “he die too, in Fiji?”

The white man’s face paled. “I don’t know, Banderah. I didn’t know your brother was aboard when my mate put the hatches on. I thought he had gone ashore. I never meant to take him away to Fiji anyway.”

“All right; never mind that. But what you want talk to me about?” And then, as if to put his visitor at his ease, he added, “You dam rogue, me dam rogue.”

“Yes, yes,” assented Captain Bilker cheerfully; “but look here now, Bandy, I’m not only going to pay you for those men I took, but give you a lot of money as well—any amount of money; make you a big, rich chief; big as Maafu Tonga.{*} But I want you to help me.”

* Maafu of Tonga, the once dreaded rival of King Cacobau of Fiji. He died in 1877.

“You speak me true?” inquired the chief.

“I swear it,” answered the captain promptly, extending his hand, which, however, Banderah did not appear to see.

“All right,” he said presently, after a silence of a few moments; then making a sign for his women and slaves to withdraw to the further end of the room, so that their muttered talk might not disturb the white man and himself, he lit his pipe and said, “Go on, tell me what you want me to do, Cap’en.”

“Look,” said the ex-blackbirder, laying a finger on the chiefs arm and speaking in a low voice, “these two white men on board the yacht have got any amount of money, gold, sovereigns—boxes and boxes of it They stole it; I know they stole it, although I didn’t see them do it.”

Banderah nodded his huge, frizzy head. “I savee. These two fellow rogue, all same you an’ me.”

“See, now, look here, Banderah. I mean to have that gold, and I want you to help me to get it. As soon as these men on board are dead I will give you a thousand golden sovereigns—five thousand dollar. Then I’ll go away in the schooner. Now, listen, and I’ll tell you how to do it. The Yankee and Peter are going to help.”

Then Captain Bilker, alias Sykes, unfolded his plan as follows: Banderah was to entice De Vere and his friend some miles into the interior, where there was a large swamp covered with wild-fowl. Here they were to be clubbed by Banderah and his people, and the bodies thrown into the swamp. Then Bilker, accompanied by Schwartzkoff and Burrowes, were to go on board the schooner and settle the mate and the white steward.

“How much sovereign you goin’ to give Peter and Missa Burrowes?” asked Banderah.

“Five hundred,” answered Bilker; “five hundred between them. But I will give you a thousand.”

“You no ’fraid man-o’-war catch you by and by?” inquired Banderah.

“No. Who’s going to tell about it? You and your people won’t.”

“What ’bout Missa Blount? What ’bout mission’ry?”

Bilker grinned savagely. “Peter and Burrowes say they will kill Blount if I give them another five hundred sovereigns.”

“What ’bout mission’ry and mission’ry woman?”

For a moment or two Bilker, crime-hardened villain as he was, hesitated. Then he raised his head and looked into the dark face of the native chief. Its set, savage expression gave him confidence.

“Plenty missionaries get killed. And, all the man-o’-war captains know that the Mayou bush-men{*} are very savage. Some day—in about a week after I have gone away in the schooner, you will take the missionary and his wife to the little bush town, that Peter and Burrowes tell me he goes to sometimes. They will sleep there that night. You and some of your people will go with them and sleep in the same house with them. You do that sometimes, Banderah, eh?”

* “Bushmen,” a term applied to natives living in the interior of the Melanesian Islands.

“Yes, sometimes.”

This was perfectly true. The bush tribes on Mayou, although at war with Banderah and his coast tribes, yet occasionally met their foes in an amicable manner at a bush village called Rogga, which had been for many decades a neutral ground. Here Banderah and his people, carrying fish, tobacco, and bamboos filled with salt water,{*} would meet small parties of bush people, who, in exchange for the commodities brought by Banderah, would give him yams, hogs, and wild pigeons. At several of these meetings Mr. Deighton had been present, in the vain hope that he might establish friendly relations with the savage and cannibal people of the interior.

* Having no salt, the bush tribes of Melanesia, who dare not visit the coast, buy salt water from the coast tribes. They meet at a spot which is always sacredly kept as a neutral ground.

“Well,” resumed the ruffian, “you will sleep at Rogga with the missionary and his wife. In the morning, when you and your people awake, the missionary and his wife will be dead. Then you will hurry to this place; you will go on board the man-of-war and tell the captain that the bad bushmen killed them when they were asleep.”

“I savee. Everybody savee Mayou man-a-bush like kill white men.”

“That’s it, Bandy. No one will say you did it.”

“What ’bout Peter an’ Burrowes? Perhaps by and by those two fellow get mad with me some day, and tell man-o’-war I bin kill three white man and one white woman.”

“Banderah,” and Bilker slapped him on the shoulder, “you’re a damned smart fellow! There’s no mistake about that. Now look here, I want you to get another thousand sovereigns—the thousand I am going to give to Burrowes and Peter. And after the man-a-bush have killed the missionary and his wife, they are coming down to the beach one night soon after, and will kill the two white men. Then there will be no more white men left, and you’ll be the biggest chief in the world—as big as Maafu Tonga.”

A curious smile stole over the grim features of the chief.

“By God! Cap’en, you savee too much; you dam fine man altogether.”

“Well, look here now, Banderah. Are you going to do it?”

“Yes, I do it right enough.”

“When?”

“To-mollow.”

“To-morrow will do. And, look here, Bandy, I’m going to give you ten sovereigns each for the men I took away from you.”

“All right,” answered the chief, “now you go away. I want go and look out for some good men come along me to-mollow.”

“Right you are, Banderah. Take plenty good men. You know what to do—white men walk along swamp to shoot duck, then one, two,” and Captain Bilker made a motion with his right hand that was perfectly comprehensible to the chief.

Banderah sat perfectly quiet on his mat and watched the captain return to Burrowes’ house, from where a short time after he emerged, accompanied by his two fellow-conspirators. Then the three of them hailed the schooner. A boat put off and took them on board.

* * * * *

An hour or two later Blount returned along the beach from Lak-a-lak, and walked slowly up the path to his house. Just as he entered the door the sounds of revelry came over to him from the schooner, whose lights were beginning to glimmer through the quick-falling darkness of the tropic night. Some one on board was playing an accordion, and presently he caught the words of a song—

“Remember, too, the patriots’ gore

That flecked the streets of Baltimore;

Maryland, my Maryland.”

“Burrowes only sings that when he’s very drunk,” he said to himself, as he sat down to drink a cup of coffee brought to him by his eldest daughter Taya. “No doubt he and that anointed sweep Bilker are having a very happy time together.”

“Father,” said the girl in the native tongue, as he put down his cup, “Banderah is here. He came but now, and will not come inside, but waits for thee in the copra-house, lest he be seen talking to thee.”

“What the devil is wrong?” muttered Blount, as without waiting to touch the coffee prepared for him he went outside to the copra-house.

In half an hour he and the native chief came out together, and as they stood for a minute in the broad streak of light that streamed out from the lamp on the table in the big room, Taya, who sat in the doorway, saw her father’s face was set and stern-looking.

“Shed thou no blood, Banderah,” he said in the native tongue, “not even that of these two dogs who have eaten and drunk in my house for four years.”

“Challi,{*} that is hard. Already are my people thirsty for the blood of this dog of a captain—he who stole thirty and one of my people. And because of my brother, who was stolen with them, have I promised them vengeance. But the other two who are with him on the ship I will spare.”

* Charlie

“As you will. And as for these two dogs who have planned to kill me, with them I shall deal myself. If, when the schooner saileth away from here, these men go not with her, then shall I shoot them dead.”

“Good,” and then grasping the white man’s hand, the chief pressed his nose to his, and vanished in the darkness.