The first warning was the firing of rifles from the peninsula, where Brown
and his two Raiateans signalled the retreat and followed the besiegers
through the jungle to the beach. From the eyrie on the face of the rock
Grief could see nothing for another hour, when the Rattler appeared,
making for the passage. As before, the captive Fuatino men towed in the
whaleboat. Mauriri, under direction of Grief, called down instructions to
them as they passed slowly beneath. By Grief’s side lay several bundles of
dynamite sticks, well-lashed together and with extremely short fuses.
The deck of the Rattler was populous. For’ard, rifle in hand, among the
Raiatean sailors, stood a desperado whom Mauriri announced was Raoul’s
brother. Aft, by the helmsman, stood another. Attached to him, tied waist
to waist, with slack, was Mataara, the old Queen. On the other side of the
helmsman, his arm in a sling, was Captain Glass. Amidships, as before,
was Raoul, and with him, lashed waist to waist, was Naumoo.
“Good morning, Mister David Grief,” Raoul called up.
“And yet I warned you that only in double irons would you leave the
island,” Grief murmured down with a sad inflection.
“You can’t kill all your people I have on board,” was the answer.
The schooner, moving slowly, jerk by jerk, as the men pulled in the
whaleboat, was almost directly beneath. The rowers, without ceasing,
slacked on their oars, and were immediately threatened with the rifle of
the man who stood for’ard.
“Throw, Big Brother!” Naumoo called up in the Fuatino tongue. “I am
filled with sorrow and am willed to die. His knife is ready with which to
A SON OF THE SUN
59
cut the rope, but I shall hold him tight. Be not afraid, Big Brother. Throw,
and throw straight, and good-bye.”
Grief hesitated, then lowered the fire-stick which he had been blowing
bright.
“Throw!” the Goat Man urged.
Still Grief hesitated.
“If they get to sea, Big Brother, Naumoo dies just the same. And there are
all the others. What is her life against the many?”
“If you drop any dynamite, or fire a single shot, we’ll kill all on board,”
Raoul cried up to them. “I’ve got you, David Grief. You can’t kill these
people, and I can. Shut up, you!”
This last was addressed to Naumoo, who was calling up in her native
tongue and whom Raoul seized by the neck with one hand to choke to
silence. In turn, she locked both arms about him and looked up
beseechingly to Grief.
“Throw it, Mr. Grief, and be damned to them,” Captain Glass rumbled in
his deep voice. “They’re bloody murderers, and the cabin’s full of them.”
The desperado who was fastened to the old Queen swung half about to
menace Captain Glass with his rifle, when Tehaa, from his position farther
along the Rock, pulled trigger on him. The rifle dropped from the man’s
hand, and on his face was an expression of intense surprise as his legs
crumpled under him and he sank down on deck, dragging the Queen with
him.
“Port! Hard a port!” Grief cried.
Captain Glass and the Kanaka whirled the wheel over, and the bow of the
Rattler headed in for the Rock. Amidships Raoul still struggled with
Naumoo. His brother ran from for’ard to his aid, being missed by the
fusillade of quick shots from Tehaa and the Goat Man. As Raoul’s brother
placed the muzzle of his rifle to Naumoo’s side Grief touched the fire-stick
to the match-head in the split end of the fuse. Even as with both hands he
tossed the big bundle of dynamite, the rifle went off, and Naumoo’s fall to
the deck was simultaneous with the fall of the dynamite. This time the fuse
was short enough. The explosion occurred at the instant the deck was
reached, and that portion of the Rattler, along with Raoul, his brother, and
Naumoo, forever disappeared.
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60
The schooner’s side was shattered, and she began immediately to settle.
For’ard, every Raiatean sailor dived overboard. Captain Glass met the first
man springing up the companionway from the cabin, with a kick full in the
face, but was overborne and trampled on by the rush. Following the
desperadoes came the Huahine women, and as they went overboard, the
Rattler sank on an even keel close to the base of the Rock. Her cross-trees
still stuck out when she reached bottom.
Looking down, Grief could see all that occurred beneath the surface. He
saw Mataara, a fathom deep, unfasten herself from the dead pirate and
swim upward. As her head emerged she saw Captain Glass, who could not
swim, sinking several yards away. The Queen, old woman that she was,
but an islander, turned over, swam down to him, and held him up as she
struck out for the unsubmerged cross-trees.
Five heads, blond and brown, were mingled with the dark heads of
Polynesia that dotted the surface. Grief, rifle in hand, watched for a chance
to shoot. The Goat Man, after a minute, was successful, and they saw the
body of one man sink sluggishly. But to the Raiatean sailors, big and
brawny, half fish, was the vengeance given. Swimming swiftly, they
singled out the blond heads and the brown. Those from above watched the
four surviving desperadoes, clutched and locked, dragged far down
beneath and drowned like curs.
In ten minutes everything was over. The Huahine women, laughing and
giggling, were holding on to the sides of the whaleboat which had done
the towing. The Raiatean sailors, waiting for orders, were about the crosstree
to which Captain Glass and Mataara clung.
“The poor old Rattler,” Captain Glass lamented.
“Nothing of the sort,” Grief answered. “In a week we’ll have her raised,
new timbers amidships, and we’ll be on our way.” And to the Queen,
“How is it with you, Sister?”
“Naumoo is gone, and Motauri, Brother, but Fuatino is ours again. The
day is young. Word shall be sent to all my people in the high places with
the goats. And to-night, once again, and as never before, we shall feast and
rejoice in the Big House.”
“She’s been needing new timbers abaft the beam there for years,” quoth
Captain Glass. “But the chronometers will be out of commission for the
rest of the cruise.”
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61
The Jokers of New Gibbon
(First published in The Saturday Evening Post, v. 184, November 19, 1911:
18-19, 65-66)
I
“I’m almost afraid to take you in to New Gibbon,” David Grief said. “It
wasn’t until you and the British gave me a free hand and let the place alone
that any results were accomplished.”
Wallenstein, the German Resident Commissioner from Bougainville,
poured himself a long Scotch and soda and smiled.
“We take off our hats to you, Mr. Grief,” he said in perfectly good
English. “What you have done on the devil island is a miracle. And we
shall continue not to interfere. It is a devil island, and old Koho is the big
chief devil of them all. We never could bring him to terms. He is a liar,
and he is no fool. He is a black Napoleon, a head-hunting, man-eating
Talleyrand. I remember six years ago, when I landed there in the British
cruiser. The niggers cleared out for the bush, of course, but we found
several who couldn’t get away. One was his latest wife. She had been hung
up by one arm in the sun for two days and nights. We cut her down, but
she died just the same. And staked out in the fresh running water, up to
their necks, were three more women. All their bones were broken and their
joints crushed. The process is supposed to make them tender for the
eating. They were still alive. Their vitality was remarkable. One woman,
the oldest, lingered nearly ten days. Well, that was a sample of Koho’s
diet. No wonder he’s a wild beast. How you ever pacified him is our
everlasting puzzlement.”
“I wouldn’t call him exactly pacified,” Grief answered. “Though he comes
in once in a while and eats out of the hand.”
“That’s more than we accomplished with our cruisers. Neither the German
nor the English ever laid eyes on him. You were the first.”
“No; McTavish was the first,” Grief disclaimed.
“Ah, yes, I remember him—the little, dried-up Scotchman.” Wallenstein
sipped his whiskey. “He’s called the Trouble-mender, isn’t he?”
A SON OF THE SUN
62
Grief nodded.
“And they say the screw you pay him is bigger than mine or the British
Resident’s?”
“I’m afraid it is,” Grief admitted. “You see, and no offence, he’s really
worth it. He spends his time wherever the trouble is. He is a wizard. He’s
the one who got me my lodgment on New Gibbon. He’s down on Malaita
now, starting a plantation for me.”
“The first?”
“There’s not even a trading station on all Malaita. The recruiters still use