choice. As an independent trader he had failed, chiefly because of the
A SON OF THE SUN
109
disastrous patronage of Tui Tulifau. To refuse credit to that merry
monarch was to invite confiscation; to grant him credit was certain
bankruptcy. After a year’s idleness on the beach, Ieremia had become
David Grief’s trader, and for a dozen years his service had been
honourable and efficient, for Grief had proven the first man who
successfully refused credit to the king or who collected when it had been
accorded.
leremia looked gravely over the rims of his glasses when his employer
entered, gravely marked the place in the Bible and set it aside, and gravely
shook hands.
“I am glad you came in person,” he said.
“How else could I come?” Grief laughed.
But Ieremia had no sense of humour, and he ignored the remark.
“The commercial situation on the island is damn bad,” he said with great
solemnity and an unctuous mouthing of the many-syllabled words. “My
ledger account is shocking.”
“Trade bad?”
“On the contrary. It has been excellent. The shelves are empty,
exceedingly empty. But-” His eyes glistened proudly. “But there are many
goods remaining in the storehouse; I have kept it carefully locked.”
“Been allowing Tui Tulifau too much credit?”
“On the contrary. There has been no credit at all. And every old account
has been settled up.”
“I don’t follow you, Ieremia,” Grief confessed. “What’s the joke?—shelves
empty, no credit, old accounts all square, storehouse carefully locked—
what’s the answer?”
Ieremia did not reply immediately. Reaching under the rear corner of the
mats, he drew forth a large cash-box. Grief noted and wondered that it was
not locked. The Samoan had always been fastidiously cautious in guarding
cash. The box seemed filled with paper money. He skinned off the top
note and passed it over.
“There is the answer.”
A SON OF THE SUN
110
Grief glanced at a fairly well executed banknote. “The First Royal Bank of
Fitu-Iva will pay to bearer on demand one pound sterling,” he read. In the
centre was the smudged likeness of a native face. At the bottom was the
signature of Tui Tulifau, and the signature of Fulualea, with the printed
information appended, “Chancellor of the Exchequer.”
“Who the deuce is Fulualea?” Grief demanded. “It’s Fijian, isn’t it?—
meaning the feathers of the sun?”
“Just so. It means the feathers of the sun. Thus does this base interloper
caption himself. He has come up from Fiji to turn Fitu-Iva upside down—
that is, commercially.”
“Some one of those smart Levuka boys, I suppose?”
Ieremia shook his head sadly. “No, this low fellow is a white man and a
scoundrel. He has taken a noble and high-sounding Fijian name and
dragged it in the dirt to suit his nefarious purposes. He has made Tui
Tulifau drunk. He has made him very drunk. He has kept him very drunk
all the time. In return, he has been made Chancellor of the Exchequer and
other things. He has issued this false paper and compelled the people to
receive it. He has levied a store tax, a copra tax, and a tobacco tax. There
are harbour dues and regulations, and other taxes. But the people are not
taxed—only the traders. When the copra tax was levied, I lowered the
purchasing price accordingly. Then the people began to grumble, and
Feathers of the Sun passed a new law, setting the old price back and
forbidding any man to lower it. Me he fined two pounds and five pigs, it
being well known that I possessed five pigs. You will find them entered in
the ledger. Hawkins, who is trader for the Fulcrum Company, was fined
first pigs, then gin, and, because he continued to make loud conversation,
the army came and burned his store. When I declined to sell, this Feathers
of the Sun fined me once more and promised to burn the store if again I
offended. So I sold all that was on the shelves, and there is the box full of
worthless paper. I shall be chagrined if you pay me my salary in paper, but
it would be just, no more than just. Now, what is to be done?”
Grief shrugged his shoulders. “I must first see this Feathers of the Sun and
size up the situation.”
“Then you must see him soon,” Ieremia advised. “Else he will have an
accumulation of many fines against you. Thus does he absorb all the coin
of the realm. He has it all now, save what has been buried in the ground.”
III
A SON OF THE SUN
111
On his way back along the Broom Road, under the lighted lamps that
marked the entrance to the palace grounds, Grief encountered a short,
rotund gentleman, in unstarched ducks, smooth-shaven and of florid
complexion, who was just emerging. Something about his tentative,
saturated gait was familiar. Grief knew it on the instant. On the beaches of
a dozen South Sea ports had he seen it before.
“Of all men, Cornelius Deasy!” he cried.
“If it ain’t Grief himself, the old devil,” was the return greeting, as they
shook hands.
“If you’ll come on board I’ve some choice smoky Irish,” Grief invited.
Cornelius threw back his shoulders and stiffened.
“Nothing doin’, Mr. Grief. ‘Tis Fulualea I am now. No blarneyin’ of old
times for me. Also, and by the leave of his gracious Majesty King Tulifau,
’tis Chancellor of the Exchequer I am, an’ Chief Justice I am, save in
moments of royal sport when the king himself chooses to toy with the
wheels of justice.”
Grief whistled his amazement. “So you’re Feathers of the Sun!”
“I prefer the native idiom,” was the correction. “Fulualea, an’ it please you.
Not forgettin’ old times, Mr. Grief, it sorrows the heart of me to break you
the news. You’ll have to pay your legitimate import duties same as any
other trader with mind intent on robbin’ the gentle Polynesian savage on
coral isles implanted.—Where was I? Ah! I remember. You’ve violated
the regulations. With malice intent have you entered the port of Fitu-Iva
after sunset without sidelights burnin’. Don’t interrupt. With my own eyes
did I see you. For which offence are you fined the sum of five pounds.
Have you any gin? ‘Tis a serious offence. Not lightly are the lives of the
mariners of our commodious port to be risked for the savin’ of a
penny’orth of oil. Did I ask: have you any gin? ‘Tis the harbour master that
asks.”
“You’ve taken a lot on your shoulders,” Grief grinned.
“‘Tis the white man’s burden. These rapscallion traders have been puttin’ it
all over poor Tui Tulifau, the best-hearted old monarch that ever sat a
South Sea throne an’ mopped grog-root from the imperial calabash. ‘Tis I,
Cornelius—Fulualea, rather—that am here to see justice done. Much as I
dislike the doin’ of it, as harbour master ’tis my duty to find you guilty of
breach of quarantine.”
A SON OF THE SUN
112
“Quarantine?”
“‘Tis the rulin’ of the port doctor. No intercourse with the shore till the ship
is passed. What dire calamity to the confidin’ native if chicken pox or
whoopin’ cough was aboard of you! Who is there to protect the gentle,
confidin’ Polynesian? I, Fulualea, the Feathers of the Sun, on my high
mission.”
“Who in hell is the port doctor?” Grief queried.
“‘Tis me, Fulualea. Your offence is serious. Consider yourself fined five
cases of first-quality Holland gin.”
Grief laughed heartily. “We’ll compromise, Cornelius. Come aboard and
have a drink.”
The Feathers of the Sun waved the proffer aside grandly. “‘Tis bribery. I’ll
have none of it—me faithful to my salt. And wherefore did you not
present your ship’s papers? As chief of the custom house you are fined five
pounds and two more cases of gin.”
“Look here, Cornelius. A joke’s a joke, but this one has gone far enough.
This is not Levuka. I’ve half a mind to pull your nose for you. You can’t
buck me.”
The Feathers of the Sun retreated unsteadily and in alarm.
“Lay no violence on me,” he threatened. “You’re right. This is not Levuka.
And by the same token, with Tui Tulifau and the royal army behind me,
buck you is just the thing I can and will. You’ll pay them fines promptly,
or I’ll confiscate your vessel. You’re not the first. What does that Chink
pearl-buyer, Peter Gee, do but slip into harbour, violatin’ all regulations an’
makin’ rough house for the matter of a few paltry fines. No; he wouldn’t
pay ’em, and he’s on the beach now thinkin’ it over.”
“You don’t mean to say—”
“Sure an’ I do. In the high exercise of office I seized his schooner. A fifth
of the loyal army is now in charge on board of her. She’ll be sold this day
week. Some ten tons of shell in the hold, and I’m wonderin’ if I can trade it