Читать книгу Drums of Mer - Ion Idriess - Страница 13

Mer slept – with Silence for her blanket and Death for her bedmate. Suddenly Death ripped the blanket aside and sprang erect to the rolling drums of Mer.

Those shark-jaw drums! Unhappy, sobbing drums that swelled to pulsing waves of sound which drowned the quiet of valleys and villages and boomed across the bays far out to sea, drums that throbbed the knell of death from the heart of great Gelam.

Jakara sprang from his sleeping-mat and listened in breathless alarm: with alert body and tingling ears he drank in the warning of the drums. Every glade in the island echoed their changeful sound, grown now to a rolling throb, dreadful in its intense effect upon the passions of men. The echoing sea, and the air, and every tree and rock and leaf were sobbing into the ears of men a physical hysteria.

Jakara laughed, for the thrill of a maddened energy was racing through his blood. He snatched out Lightning, and the steel trilled to the drums. Drums of war! A thousand men sprang to club and bow and arrow, to spear and shark-tooth sword. A rumble of feet came from the houses as men hastened into the night; women lay a second longer, then, like tigresses, snatched their babes and leaped out beside their men; tousled-haired maids, all frightened-eyed, sat up, crouching, from sleeping-mats; children clung to their parents’ legs, and stared out into the night.

Then came an eerie whisper – of relief – in many villages for the boo shells brayed of an embarkation for war, not of a night attack upon Mer. So, joining the song of the drum and the boo, roared up a note of exultation: with those steely rays of dawn Mer was an awakened ant-bed.

Stridently called the boo shells, bold, insistent, compelling. The misty valleys echoed while the damp cliffs blared their challenge across the now lightening sea. From every village poured terribly excited men: scolding, advising, questioning, laughing, and crying, wives rushed after them to twine across their hurrying backs dilly-bags of sling-stones. Maids with thumping hearts tripped along, scanning the lads who pushed roughly by. Naked children came running and screaming war-songs, and dogs with bristling back and tails erect snarled at scampering strangers. Along every village path the bushes swayed and hissed at being brushed aside as things of no account. From jungle tracks across the shadowed beaches welled out lines of scurrying people, all disappearing into jungle again, all hurrying to the increasing sound of the boo shell, all bustling in the one direction, while the island and its sea-washed sides and hilly slopes between soon became deserted. All the paths gradually converged under the palms of Maiad.

The sun crimsoned Gelam, and a black cloud streaked the crimson with flame. As village clan after clan poured upon Maiad beach, their shouts were drowned in the roar of welcome from the gathering throng. A roar of the Beizam-le, of the Zagareb-le, of the crocodile men, and the dog men, and the pigeon men – a roar that rose with the clashing weapons and shrill of fighting rattles and with the booming boos, to merge with the methodical sobbing drums of Mer. And high above the Zogo-house rose a steady prism of light, a weird blue light that shone only at war or at the death of a Zogo or at some great Island calamity or victory. It was from the booya, a round stone which was a miracle to Jakara, in that it emitted this piercing light from some property held within itself. Set in a large bamboo socket heavily decorated in designs of the Bomai-Malu with teeth, shells, hair, and colours, only three of these light-belching stones are known to have been in existence, one the property of Mer, one of Eroob, and one of Ugar. A secret, as yet not rediscovered by white men, was lost with these stones when the Zogo-le of the Eastern Islands nation, foreseeing the inevitable conquest by the whites, buried their secrets.

Unexpectedly, Jakara felt quick warm fingers on his arm. He liked the Pretty Lamar as she deftly fastened a palm-leaf armlet above his elbow. Though she smiled so gaily, he felt her fingers trembling. “A good luck armlet for Jakara the Unkillable,” she whispered. “The leaf has slept against my heart. It will guard Jakara from any weapon, though it may not save his heart for me.” With a gay wave of farewell she stepped back among the people.

Distinct from the excited crowd, each village chief, in perfect discipline, took his orders from Bogo. And now arose a peculiar note, a wailing of anguished men who were detailed to stand by Mer. With the quick orderliness of perfected plans, each village quota marched to the sands, where ten huge war-canoes were drawn up in alignment. Within them, packed to a nicety, and loaded to suit the rising wind, were foodstuffs and massed bundles of arrows and bamboos of water. The canoes comfortably averaged forty men each. Several of the grizzly weapons which these men carried are worth mentioning.

The kamoose was an arrow with a barbed but detachable head which stayed in the body when struck. The arrow-head fitted into a hollow socket in the haft, and the haft fell away with the shock of contact. The doad showed remarkable mechanical ingenuity. It was a short bolt rather than an arrow-head. It also fitted into a bamboo haft, with a screwing motion. The point was broad and fashioned with a view to penetrative power. Running down from the point for a length of five inches were two flanges of broad tempered bamboo. These had each three sides, razor-keen. Underneath them, pressed against the hard-wood of the arrow-head proper, were compressed springs of bamboo. Immediately the arrow-head pierced the body, the springs were loosened, and the flanges flew out with a twisting motion, thus making a whirling disk ten inches in diameter, which cut up the opponent’s body inside. The weapon was also designed with a view to terrible shock. No man ever arose when once the doad entered the body. It was fitted into a bamboo haft, and fired like a bolt from a very strong bow. Crossing the centre of the bow was a bamboo tube: the haft was thrust through this, then the doad was fitted on. At the butt-end of the haft were two knobs, which would not allow the haft to pass completely through the tube. The bow was drawn to its full limit and the string loosened. The haft shot out, but the knobs caught against the bamboo with frightful force, adding to the doad a spinning motion as it thrummed heavily with terrific speed on its way. Some men carried slings of plaited fibre, and expert marksmen could bring down a bird on the wing.

The men did not all carry the same weapons. Every man carried his gaba-gaba, and each wore, hanging from his neck, the upi, the bamboo head-knife, and the singai loop. Each man was an expert with one weapon and different villagers were adepts at different arms. Thus there were the sword men, the club men, the arrow men, the doad men, the sukari men, and so on. The gaba-gaba and bow and arrow were the favourite weapons. The bone dagger was a deadly thing at close quarters. It was carved from the shin-bone of a man or a cassowary.

With warriors lining the canoe sides and with song from every throat, the vessels were rushed into the water, and, as they splashed, each man sprang to his place. Up flew the sails, and the wind bellied them into life. The women of Mer, how they sang! How their black eyes flashed while they screamed to the maddening rhythm of the war-song! As the bows of the canoes dipped to the bay, the very hills echoed back the song from the men, the sun bronzed their muscles and proudly ornamented chests. Cheerily they waved the dadu, with each canoe proudly flying its own dadu, a coconut-leaf flag at the end of a pole in the stern.

The crowd rushed the departing canoes, and in hundreds the forgotten children plunged into the water, swimming and shrilling their triumph song. The girls and women swam through the foaming wakes until the free sea-breeze hurried the canoes over the reef. The women swam far out, tailing off like sheep until distance made mellow the song from the canoes. And on the beach face downward lay the men who were not allowed to go and fight. Then the crowd, with drenched hair, ran panting up the grassy headlands, shrilling their wild, grim song with straining voices until the canoes grew dim on the misty sea. And over all, permeating the hysteria, even within the throb of the drums, brooded the spirit of C’Zarcke.

In Kebisu’s canoe were also Jakara and Eyes of the Sea. A shrewd move this of Kebisu’s, going ajaunting with but a few warriors and, above all, women! Thus by telepathic communication the Maid-le of enemy islands would conclude that Kebisu had been paying but a ceremonial visit to Mer.

They would not visualize him standing now, handling the Eagle’s Claws, his eyes fierce as that pirate of the air! These claws were a pair, and were symbolically used by the chiefs of clans when fighting on sea or shore. Thus, in a few nights to come, as the canoes crept closer to the doomed island, Kebisu would grip those claws tightly and thrusting them in the direction of the Two Brothers, haul the claws slowly back towards him, muttering the while. This signified his “grip” on the island, and the final rush of the canoes would symbolize the rending of the talons. Similarly, if a sea-fight occurred, the Eagle’s Claws would be thrust out to “grip” the enemy canoes. Symbolical, of course, but with a distinct meaning which added materially to the fighting-power of these people.

Jakara looked at Eyes of the Sea, and she smiled cheerily, then blushed, vaguely annoyed at not understanding why she wrapped her disarrayed skirt around her. Had there been only tribesmen present, she would never have thought of her skirt, for all had great things to think of far above the limbs of a girl. Jakara the Lamar was different, his ways were new and uncertain. He always seemed to be expecting something different of her, something she did not quite understand. She was annoyed with herself, too, that she wanted to be as this man expected her to be. Still, he was handsome and a noted chief! So were other men also, but this Lamar attracted her most strangely. Many a girl pined to be his humblest slave. Lively curiosity puzzled her as to why he refused to wear the head-mai, insignia of warriorhood. She sat almost buried between fat bunches of bananas, and Jakara stepped over an outrigger spar and squeezed down beside her. His manner was possessive, and the quick men of Tutu laughed with their eyes, and nudged insinuations. And Jakara laughed with the girl and said pleasant things, and talked as if he owned her, and she joked back, thrilled by the hard grey eyes that spoke so meaningly while his lips talked lightly. Girls of Tutu from adjoining canoes called to Kebisu’s warriors, who answered amid laughter at the lovers among the bananas.

Jakara noted a scowl behind Beizam’s laugh as he called boyishly from his canoe: “Blue eyes of Tutu, how quick you were to tie upon Jakara’s arm the band of love!”

Jakara had to satisfy the instant curiosity of the girl. “So Jakara already loves,” she said merrily in reproof, and refused to accept his denial.

Little waves rolled to spank the sterns of the canoes, but could not quite reach, while the derisive wind hissed spray once and again into the jaws of crocodile and shark. The warriors grimly remarked that soon their figureheads would drink of something else. The sun sparkled on the water, and life seemed very happy. Then Eroob stood out grandly, with the grassy slopes of Lalour climbing down into the sea. Presently came faintly the boo shells: the warriors answered with one voice and broke again into the war-song, while all eyes searched Eroob – except those of Jakara, pained that the girl had turned from him to gaze in intense excitement at the emerald valleys and golden beaches.

She turned such an excited face! “Oh, Jakara, you hear them? The boo shells of Eroob! Hark! the sea throws back their voices, and they growl like the spirit of thunder. Hear the drums of Eroob! Oh, how they throb out the deep song that carries with it the wail of a child! The drums of Eroob, calling. the men to war! Oh, how I wish I were a man! Jakara, how proud you are! You are a leader of men!”

She leaned towards him, and he thrilled to the adoration in her face and voice. But he was deeply pained. This was no fondness for him, this was simply native hero-worship. Her eyes sought the circlet at his neck, so that he could feel the accusation.

“Jakara,” she whispered, “where is your head-mai?”

Startled, he stared at her. “I have not got one.”

“Why not?”

Jakara drew a long breath; the kindness left his eyes. “Because I am a white man,” he snarled, “you little white savage!”

She sat back among the bananas, then turned again towards Eroob, bewilderment in her eyes.

The boo shells brayed loudly, and the drums throbbed from the heart of Lalour. Its green slopes became blackened as with ants that came crawling up from every jungle path until the lookout knolls were covered and the lazy waves hummed to the roar: “Kebisu! Kebisu! Kebisu!” And boo shells from sea and land joined chorus, a blasting of loud musical sound, each shell a note to itself, long-drawn-out, insistent, the voices in the song of the rolling drums of Eroob. The ants with one accord ran down the slopes and disappeared down the jungly ravines to burst forth on the village paths and spread out thickly upon the little beaches. They ran along the beaches and disappeared among Saidee’s palms, and reappeared farther along the beach, while behind them hurried still more files, and others, all singing the stirring song of the war-god, all the clans hurrying for Medigee Bay. A great throng, with the screaming chorus of the women, hastened on while Kebisu’s canoes raced parallel towards the point. Like pigeon-hawks under a sure leader, the canoes swept into the bay, and, as they skimmed the great Sai, their inverted V-shaped formation in pairs came gracefully about, with Kebisu’s foaming canoe leading up through the lines until the flotilla was facing out to sea in inverted V-shape again. With bows to the wind the flotilla floated like waiting swans.

On the pretty beach at Medigee a mad crowd surged around eight canoes, but never delaying the detailed men who, breasting the vessels, rushed them to the water and swung up the big sails. As they took the breeze, Kebisu’s sails filled, and the flotilla, in two inverted V’s, stood out to sea to a repetition of the leave-taking at Mer. Kebisu, his brawny chest swelling with pride of life and power, turned to Jakara, the exultation in his smile making vividly alive the shrewd, savage face.

“Give me a fleet such as these, and not only a flotilla, and we would conquer the world, Jakara,” he laughed, in his big rolling voice.

Jakara smiled. “All the earth would tremble if they knew of the power of the Strait, Kebisu; and if my world knew of the wisdom of the Zogo-le, they would wonder much.”

“And the plans of Jakara the Cunning,” answered the big Mamoose; “do they include the maid?” And with a laugh at the bashful girl, he turned again to thrill at the picture of his canoes.

“You can sing again, Eyes of the Sea,” said Jakara gruffly; “Kebisu notices us no more.”

“You do not like me to sing,” flashed the girl. “Why so, Jakara the Strange?”

Jakara’s stern face relaxed. He leaned towards her, and said gently: “Because, Eyes of the Sea, you are white! A girl of the white people should not sing at the sight of savages bound for murder and things more terrible.”

Her voice was troubled, her face defiant: “But, Jakara, these are our warriors going to fight a people who have slaughtered numbers of us and would kill us all, were it not for our fighting men: they would carry our heads back on the koon. Besides, I am one of them, and I am very proud. They are my people!”

“Listen, Eyes of the Sea,” Jakara said earnestly; “can’t you realize that you belong to another race? These very people slaughtered your own father and mother and would have done so to you, had you not been claimed as a Lamar. We are English, you and I, white people! Don’t you understand that we must keep our pride of race and cling to the ideals of our own people?”

Jakara ceased at the puzzled frown on the angry little face. “They should call you ‘Jakara the Mad.’ These are my people! I will have no other.”

Just then Beizam, from the fighting-platform of his canoe, called to her, and, beckoning with his shark tooth sword out to sea, laughed aloud as he started the war-song again. The girl jumped up among the bananas, a figure of graceful youth and wild loveliness, stretched out her arms towards the foaming canoes of the Mamoose of Eroob, and joined in the wildly musical song.

Jakara frowned at the koon she had mentioned. This ominous pole stood aft in every canoe, its masthead gay with leaves and cassowary feathers, a single great plume at the very tip. Down below at an angle, lashed to the pole, were two shorter poles. On these would be hung the heads of slain enemies.

The sun sank like a ball of fire and crimsoned the rolling waves. From the Erubian canoes a voice inquired why the sail of Kebisu had stained to red? To the swish-swish-sh-sh-sh of the sea and the trill of the wind, the canoes sped on while night splashed the sky with brilliants. Then a half-moon peeped from a fleecy cloud and silvered a road upon the sea. The voices from canoe to canoe tinkled with laughter and song. Just before the moon disappeared a blue flame shot up from black Ugar and was answered from Kebisu’s canoe by the blaring, far-reaching call of a boo. The canoe men shouted the chorus, the strange wild music speeding into the night. The blur of Ugar was speckled with torch-flame, and a hundred fire-flies burst into light upon the beach, while from every village rose the counter-challenge of the boo. Kebisu’s canoe men burst into the war-song, which was returned from Ugar by voices fresh with excitement.

Into the bay sped the canoes and came about with eerie precision in the night light, rocking quietly while five fighting-canoes of Ugar took swift form as they sped out from the beach. Then on again to wilder song, with clarion voices of the boo. And right out in the bay fire-flies suddenly dimmed as the torches of swimmers were drowned by the sea.

Through dark night sped the canoes, and stars speckled the warriors’ faces with dancing points of. light. By the stars Kebisu sailed, for the stars in their courses had for centuries been familiar to the navigating Islanders of the Strait. At dawn appeared a low small island, only a sandbank capped by mangroves and surrounded by the greatest coral reef (apart from the mother Barrier) in the world.

The island of Tutu was named by Bligh, “Warrior Island,” because while in 1792 the great navigator in H.M.S. Providence, accompanied by the brig Assistant, had all the boats out taking soundings in Basilisk Pass, the Tutu men attacked with an enveloping fleet. The boats met them with musketry, but were forced to fly to the man-o’-war. Captain Portlock signalled for assistance, and the Providence came up. The cannon of both vessels had to rake the canoes with grapeshot before they broke their way through. The warriors got so close to boarding the brig that they killed one sailor and wounded several. Kebisu’s boastful warriors claimed that their fathers had won the victory because “the Lamar ships never came back.” Furthermore they asserted that they were as good warriors as their fathers had been. To-day, in their dances, the descendants of these men pertly commemorate the event in which they claim that their forefathers hammered His Majesty’s ships of war. Bligh described the Tutu men as “dexterous sailors and formidable warriors.”

And now the people of Tutu crowded the coral-specked beach in mad hero-worship at the return of their chief. But the boos were silent, and bursts of song were sternly suppressed, although all was hysterical excitement. A huge feast was spread, and the warriors ate, and continued to eat, and the women tried to force them to eat more. The Maid-le of Tutu walked among the groups with Kebisu and the Mamooses, and impressed upon the chiefs that they should urge their men to sleep and, above all, suppress dancing and singing.