The Strange Adventure Of James Shervinton

CHAPTER IX

Everything was ready at last, water, stores, arms, and ammunition, and the boat, with mainsail and jib hoisted, was lying just abreast of the station, in charge of Tematan and Tepi, surrounded by canoes.

In the house with me were Mrs. Krause and Niâbon; and Kaibuka and his head men, who had come to take formal charge of the station, and to bid us farewell. I handed old Kaibuka letters to be given to the supercargo of the firm’s next vessel, presented him and his colleagues with a new musket each, together with powder and bullets, and a small case of tobacco, and then we all went outside, and I locked the door formally, and handed him the key. He took it, unlocked the door, went inside a few steps, and then it was locked a second time, the key twisted in one of his pendant ear-lobes, and the ceremony was over. Then we all trooped down to the beach together, got into a canoe, and went on board.

Shaking hands with old Kaibuka and the rest of the natives who swarmed around us to say farewell, I told Tepi to lift the anchor, and in another five minutes the little craft began to move through the water towards the reef, accompanied by thirty or forty canoes and native boats under sail, all packed with natives of both sexes, shouting their farewells, and wishing us good fortune.

By sunset we had crossed over the wide, submerged reef, which for twenty miles runs due north and south on the lee side of Tarawa Lagoon, and hauling up to the wind just as darkness fell, we soon lost sight of our island friends, though we could still hear them shouting our names—“Simi,” “Niâbon,” “Lucia,” for some little time after.

The night was dark, but fine, and the light southeasterly breeze sent us along at about three knots over a very smooth sea. Tepi was standing for’ard on the lookout, for fear we might run into any fishing canoes from Taritai, Tematau was busying himself about our miniature galley, my two women passengers were rearranging their little cabin, and I steered.

“Well, here we are at last, Mrs. Krause –,” I began.

“Lucia, please.”

“Here we are at last, Lucia, then. I’m going to run along like this all night, until we get to the little island at the north end, and then put these gruntors ashore,” and I pointed to half a dozen pigs which were lying tied up on the deck. They had, with about fifty or sixty fowls, been presented to us by the natives, and as we should have given great offence by not accepting them, we had to endure their company for the present. Then all around us, stowed in every conceivable place, were bundles of young drinking coco-nuts, husked and unhusked, taking up a great deal of room, and weighing heavily, and three or four rolls of sleeping-mats, presented to Niâbon, were wedged into the cabin. All this collection would have to be either got rid of entirely or largely reduced, so I decided to bring up at the little islet of which I had spoken, and overhaul and re-stow the boat by daylight.

“Look astern,” cried Lucia, as I shall now call her; “isn’t it pretty? And see, there is another fleet ahead of us, and much nearer.”

The canoes we had left behind us had begun their flying-fish catching, and a long line of brightly burning, isolated flames was lighting up the sea all around, revealing the dark bodies of the fishers, with four paddles sending each canoe through the water, while in the bows stood a fifth, sweeping the water deftly with a scoop net attached to a pole twelve feet in length, his movements guided by a huge torch or flare of dried coco-nut leaves, held aloft by a naked boy standing on the canoe platform amidships. It was indeed a pretty sight, for at times the long line of fires would make a graceful sweeping curve, and then almost unite in a circle, then again open out with a fan-like movement, and advance once more. We watched the fleet astern a little while, and then found ourselves in the midst of the one we had seen ahead. There were over fifty canoes, all manned by Taritai people. They hailed us vociferously, wished us good luck, and as we sailed through their blazing lines of fire they threw so many flying-fish on board that not only the decks were covered, but hundreds, striking against the mainsail, fell into the cabin, and lay there like moving bars of brightest silver.

“Tiàkako, Simi! Tiàkapo, Lucia! Tiàkapo, Niàbon!” they shouted to us, as we drew away from them, after throwing them some tobacco.

By daylight we were abreast of the islet, and due north of us could just see the tops of the coco-nuts on Apaian Lagoon showing above the sea-line, ten miles distant, and then, to our annoyance, the wind died away, and there was every indication of there being a dead calm till the evening. However, it could not be helped, so we pulled in right up to the beach, and let the two women step ashore to get breakfast ready. Tepi, picking out the youngest and fattest of the pigs, knocked it on the head, and cutting the thongs of the others tumbled them over the side. They soon recovered themselves, and went off. Then followed a massacre of a dozen of the fowls, the liberation of the rest, and the throwing away of the greater portion of the heavy coconuts. The bundles of mats I threw ashore to Niâbon, as they would be useless to shield us from the rain which might fall during our stay on the island, and then we set to and washed down decks, made everything snug, and went ashore for breakfast, well satisfied with our work, and with the fact that the boat was six inches higher out of the Water.

The islet, though small, was unusually fertile for so low-lying a spot—it being in no part more than fifteen feet above high-water mark—for in addition to the inevitable coco-palms, which grew thickly from the water’s edge, there were hundreds of fine trees, among them being some noble and imposing jack-fruits, whose broad, bright green branches were almost level with the crowns of the palm-trees, their roots embedded in a rich, soft, black soil, formed by the fallen leaves of hundreds of years, mixed with decayed coral detritus.

Niâbon had spread the mats in a shady spot, and we all made a simple but hearty breakfast of grilled fowls, biscuit, and young coco-nuts. Then we lit our pipes and cigarettes of the good, strong black tobacco, and watched a shoal of fish leaping and playing about the boat, which, with loose, pendant cable, lay floating on a sea as smooth and as shining as a polished mirror.

The island, so Niâbon told me, had not been inhabited for a great number of years, though it was occasionally visited by natives for the purpose of collecting the ripe coco-nuts, and turning them into oil, and sometimes the white traders, living on Apaian, would stop there when they were on their way to Tarawa and Maiana Lagoons. The name of the island, she said, was Te Mata Toto (“The Bloody Eye”). “Why such a name?” I asked. “I will tell you some other time,” she replied; “not now, because I do not want Tepi to hear me talking about the place. With Tematau it would not matter, for although he knows the story, he is not a Tarawa man, and has nothing of which he need be afraid.”

We sat talking together for some little time, and as I looked at Lucia I could not but wonder at the marvellous manner in which she was recovering her health and strength. Her pallor, once so very manifest, had disappeared, as well as her languid step, and at this moment she was merrily reproving Tepi for smoking a pipe so old and dirty and so short in the stem that it was burning his nose.

The big man grinned, and said it was a lucky pipe. For when it was white, new, and long, and he was smoking it for the first time, he, with two other men, was fishing from a canoe, it fell from his mouth into the sea, and before he could dive for it was swallowed by a kura (rock-cod).

“How know you?” she asked.

“Because my mother found it in the belly of one of those we caught, when she was cooking it,” he replied promptly.

Presently Niâbon, who knew exactly to the smallest detail where everything was stowed in the boat, told him to look in one of the stern lockers for the fishing tackle, where he would find a small hand casting net, with which he and Tematau could go catch some grey mullet, while she, Lucia, and myself, walked round the island.

Bringing my gun with me—for there were great numbers of small golden plover flying past us towards the sand patches now being revealed by the ebbing tide, we started off, Niâbon leading, and conducting us directly towards the centre of the islet, which was less than three-quarters of a mile from shore to shore, and was the northernmost of a chain of five or six, almost connected with each other at low water, and forming the northern horn of the lagoon. À short walk brought us to a small cleared space, enclosed by some heavy timber. The ground was devoid of any foliage with the exception of some straggling, thorny bushes, growing up between the layers of what seemed to be a solid bed of coral slabs cast up by the action of the sea during heavy storms long years before.

“It was once a deep hole and was used as a well, long, long ago,” said Niâbon, “but the bones of seven white men lie there under the stones. Their bodies were thrown into the well, and then for two days some of the people of Tarawa threw stones upon them till the hole, which was five fathoms across from its sloping banks, and a fathom and a half down to where the fresh water lay, was filled, and only a flat surface of stones was to be seen. Come, let us get away to the other side, for the air here is hot and foul from the smell of the damp soil underneath these big trees. It is never dry, for the sun cannot get to it.”

We gladly followed her, and soon reached the other side of the island, which faced the lagoon, of which we had a glorious view as far as eye could see. Then Niâbon told us the story of the well—a story that, horrible as it was, was but a counterpart of many such tragedies which had taken place all over the North and South Pacific, more especially after the settlement of New South Wales, in 1788, and when sandal-wooding and whaling brought hundreds of ships into the South Seas, the former being too often manned and commanded by some of the greatest ruffians who ever dangled from the end of a rope.

The story was told to her by old Kaibuka, who himself had participated in the massacre, which had been planned and executed under the direct supervision of his father, his uncle, and himself. And it was not the only such affair in which he had been concerned—not on Tarawa alone, but on the neighbouring lagoon of Maiana. From Niâbon he had concealed nothing of his past life, and I honestly believe could not have done so had she wished otherwise, for the old fellow showed his respect and fear for her and her powers of “seeing beyond” to the same degree as did every other one of his people—man, woman, or child. Niâbon imagined that this particular case of cutting-off occurred about forty or fifty years previously, for Kaibuka told her that although he was young at the time, he was yet a full-grown man; but as he could not even guess at his present age, she had no very reliable data.

This island, he told her, was called Te Mata Toto (The Bloody Eye of the Land) from its being the northern eye or point of the lagoon, from which a watch was always kept in olden times to give warning to the inhabitants of the large villages on the opposite side of the approach of their hereditary enemies—the people of Apaian. The moment a fleet of canoes were seen crossing the ocean strait which divides the two islands, signal fires, always kept in readiness, were lit, and the villages would prepare to resist the invaders, who sometimes, however, would content themselves with an assault on the outpost stationed on the little island. As they generally outnumbered the defenders by ten to one, there was usually but one result—every one of the garrison was slaughtered, and the victors, after stripping the dead bodies of their valued armour of coco-nut fibre, and destroying their canoes and houses, would return to Apaian satisfied. For this reason—i.e., the many sanguinary encounters which took place on the little island—it was given its ominous name.

One day Kaibuka was sent to command a party of ten men who formed the garrison and who were keeping a keen watch—for a raid was again expected—when a small, square-rigged vessel was seen heading for the island.

She came boldly on, and dropped anchor close to the shore, lowered a boat, and five men came on shore. They were all armed, and at first were cautious about advancing up the beach to Kaibuka and his men, but seeing that the latter possessed no firearms, they came on, and Kaibuka, throwing down his club and spear, walked down and shook hands with them in a very friendly manner, and was at once addressed by one of them in the Gilbert Island tongue, though he could not speak it very well. He told Kaibuka that the ship was going to China, and that he was a passenger; that he had been living on Temana (an island far to the south-east) but had tired of it, and so, when the ship called there to get some food, of which she was badly in want, he came away with her, the captain, in return for his services as interpreter, promising to give him a passage to the island of Makin, where were living four or five white men. He then asked Kaibuka if there was any drinking water on the little island, and any food—of any kind whatever—to be obtained.

The white men were at once taken and shown the well, at which they were very pleased, and two of them went back to the ship for water-casks, the others remaining on shore bartering with Kaibuka’s people for some fish, a turtle, and coco-nuts, paying for them in tobacco and knives, and promising them a keg of rum if twenty turtle and a boat-load of full-grown coco-nuts were brought them within a few days. Turtle, however, were scarce, but Kaibuka said that there were a good many captive ones in the turtle ponds at the main village, and he would send over for some. And then his brain began to work. He suggested that two or three of the white men should go with his messenger; but they were too wary, and made excuses, which Kaibuka took in seeming good part, saying it did not matter, but that he would send a man over at once to his father to tell him to bring as many turtle as could be obtained. The captain and interpreter were satisfied with this, and returned on board, declining to let any of the curious natives come with them—on the plea that they would be too busy repairing some water-casks which they hoped Kaibuka and his men would help fill in the morning.

Then the young chief called to his messenger.

“Tell my father and my uncle that I can see but seven men altogether on the ship, but each one carries a gun, pistol, and cutlass, and two are always on guard. Tell him, too, to bring some turtle and fish, and let some young women who can dance well come with him as well. But my uncle and some of our best men must follow in their canoes at night, and make no noise. They must land and hide in the bush, and stay there till my father speaks.”

Early on the following morning the captain again landed, and was pleased to find Kaibuka’s father, accompanied by some unarmed men and eight or ten handsome young women, awaiting him on the beach. He had, he said, brought but five turtle that day, but would fetch an equal number or more on the morrow if they could be obtained. The captain was pleased. Fresh food, he said, he was very anxious to obtain, as they had nothing on board but salt beef and mouldy biscuit. He gave old Takai (Kaibuka’s father) some tobacco, and a knife, and said that the young women might go on board and dance for the amusement of the sailors. This was exactly what the old man desired, for he could, from them, obtain definite information as to the condition of affairs on board the ship, for it was very evident that the captain was determined not to be led into fancied security by the friendly demeanour of the natives, but meant to keep himself and crew well prepared to resist a surprise.

During this time the young Kaibuka and the interpreter—the white man from Temana—had become quite friendly, and that evening, whilst the young women were still on board, he came on shore alone, and calling Kaibuka aside from the other natives, said he wanted to speak to him privately. As soon as they were alone, he boldly avowed his intention of capturing the ship, and murdering all the other white men if Kaibuka and his people would assist him. The matter, he said, could be easily done. He and some other white men—two of whom were now living at Makin Island—had once stolen a ship when they were prisoners in Van Diemen’s Land, had killed five or six soldiers and some of the crew, and sailed away with her to Fiji; and they had got much plunder from her.

“What is to be got from this ship?” asked Kaibuka, who had heard this particular story from some traders and knew it to be true.

“Casks and casks of rum, and kegs of powder and bullets, hundreds of muskets, swords, knives, and axes and beads—all that man can want—for this ship is going to a far-off cold country to barter these things for furs.”

Kaibuka then inquired what share of the plunder he and his people should have if they captured the ship.

Half, replied the white man. Half of everything that was in the ship’s hold and in the cabin, except some small square boxes of silver money—ten in all—for which he (Kaibuka) would have no use. And he could have two of the four big guns on the deck if he wished; but the ship herself was not to be harmed, nor any of her sails or rigging taken away. And Kaibuka would lend him two or three men to sail her to Makin, where he (the white man) would reward them well, and where they could remain till some ship brought them back to Tarawa.