of pebbles, and chunks of coral-rock. And the seventy-five lusty
cannibals clung stoically to their tree-perches, enduring the rain
of missiles and snarling down promises of vengeance.
“There’ll be wars for forty years on Malaita on account of this,”
Sheldon laughed. “But I always fancy old Telepasse will never
again attempt to rush a plantation.”
“Eh, you old scoundrel,” he added, turning to the old chief, who
sat gibbering in impotent rage at the foot of the steps. “Now head
belong you bang ‘m too. Come on, Miss Lackland, bang ‘m just once.
It will be the crowning indignity.”
“Ugh, he’s too dirty. I’d rather give him a bath. Here, you,
Adamu Adam, give this devil-devil a wash. Soap and water! Fill
that wash-tub. Ornfiri, run and fetch ‘m scrub-brush.”
The Tahitians, back from their fishing and grinning at the bedlam
of the compound, entered into the joke.
“Tambo! Tambo!” shrieked the cannibals from the trees, appalled at
so awful a desecration, as they saw their chief tumbled into the
tub and the sacred dirt rubbed and soused from his body.
Joan, who had gone into the bungalow, tossed down a strip of white
calico, in which old Telepasse was promptly wrapped, and he stood
forth, resplendent and purified, withal he still spat and strangled
from the soap-suds with which Noa Noah had gargled his throat.
The house-boys were directed to fetch handcuffs, and, one by one,
the Lunga runaways were haled down out of their trees and made
fast. Sheldon ironed them in pairs, and ran a steel chain through
the links of the irons. Gogoomy was given a lecture for his
mutinous conduct and locked up for the afternoon. Then Sheldon
rewarded the plantation hands with an afternoon’s holiday, and,
when they had withdrawn from the compound, permitted the Port Adams
men to descend from the trees. And all afternoon he and Joan
loafed in the cool of the veranda and watched them diving down and
emptying their sunken canoes of the sand and rocks. It was
twilight when they embarked and paddled away with a few broken
paddles. A breeze had sprung up, and the Flibberty-Gibbet had
already sailed for Lunga to return the runaways.
CHAPTER XII–MR. MORGAN AND MR. RAFF
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60
Sheldon was back in the plantation superintending the building of a
bridge, when the schooner Malakula ran in close and dropped anchor.
Joan watched the taking in of sail and the swinging out of the boat
with a sailor’s interest, and herself met the two men who came
ashore. While one of the house-boys ran to fetch Sheldon, she had
the visitors served with whisky and soda, and sat and talked with
them.
They seemed awkward and constrained in her presence, and she caught
first one and then the other looking at her with secret curiosity.
She felt that they were weighing her, appraising her, and for the
first time the anomalous position she occupied on Berande sank
sharply home to her. On the other hand, they puzzled her. They
were neither traders nor sailors of any type she had known. Nor
did they talk like gentlemen, despite the fact that there was
nothing offensive in their bearing and that the veneer of ordinary
social nicety was theirs. Undoubtedly, they were men of affairs–
business men of a sort; but what affairs should they have in the
Solomons, and what business on Berande? The elder one, Morgan, was
a huge man, bronzed and moustached, with a deep bass voice and an
almost guttural speech, and the other, Raff, was slight and
effeminate, with nervous hands and watery, washed-out gray eyes,
who spoke with a faint indefinable accent that was hauntingly
reminiscent of the Cockney, and that was yet not Cockney of any
brand she had ever encountered. Whatever they were, they were
self-made men, she concluded; and she felt the impulse to shudder
at thought of falling into their hands in a business way. There,
they would be merciless.
She watched Sheldon closely when he arrived, and divined that he
was not particularly delighted to see them. But see them he must,
and so pressing was the need that, after a little perfunctory
general conversation, he led the two men into the stuffy office.
Later in the afternoon, she asked Lalaperu where they had gone.
“My word,” quoth Lalaperu; “plenty walk about, plenty look ‘m.
Look ‘m tree; look ‘m ground belong tree; look ‘m all fella bridge;
look ‘m copra-house; look ‘m grass-land; look ‘m river; look ‘m
whale-boat–my word, plenty big fella look ‘m too much.”
“What fella man them two fella?” she queried.
“Big fella marster along white man,” was the extent of his
description.
But Joan decided that they were men of importance in the Solomons,
and that their examination of the plantation and of its accounts
was of sinister significance.
At dinner no word was dropped that gave a hint of their errand.
The conversation was on general topics; but Joan could not help
noticing the troubled, absent expression that occasionally came
into Sheldon’s eyes. After coffee, she left them; and at midnight,
from across the compound, she could hear the low murmur of their
voices and see glowing the fiery ends of their cigars. Up early
herself, she found they had already departed on another tramp over
the plantation.
ADVENTURE
61
“What you think?” she asked Viaburi.
“Sheldon marster he go along finish short time little bit,” was the
answer.
“What you think?” she asked Ornfiri.
“Sheldon marster big fella walk about along Sydney. Yes, me t’ink
so. He finish along Berande.”
All day the examination of the plantation and the discussion went
on; and all day the skipper of the Malakula sent urgent messages
ashore for the two men to hasten. It was not until sunset that
they went down to the boat, and even then a final talk of nearly an
hour took place on the beach. Sheldon was combating something–
that she could plainly see; and that his two visitors were not
giving in she could also plainly see.
“What name?” she asked lightly, when Sheldon sat down to dinner.
He looked at her and smiled, but it was a very wan and wistful
smile.
“My word,” she went on. “One big fella talk. Sun he go down–
talk-talk; sun he come up–talk-talk; all the time talk-talk. What
name that fella talk-talk?
“Oh, nothing much.” He shrugged his shoulders. “They were trying
to buy Berande, that was all.”
She looked at him challengingly.
“It must have been more than that. It was you who wanted to sell.”
“Indeed, no, Miss Lackland; I assure you that I am far from
desiring to sell.”
“Don’t let us fence about it,” she urged. “Let it be straight talk
between us. You’re in trouble. I’m not a fool. Tell me.
Besides, I may be able to help, to–to suggest something.”
In the pause that followed, he seemed to debate, not so much
whether he would tell her, as how to begin to tell her.
“I’m American, you see,” she persisted, “and our American heritage
is a large parcel of business sense. I don’t like it myself, but I
know I’ve got it–at least more than you have. Let us talk it over
and find a way out. How much do you owe?”
“A thousand pounds, and a few trifles over–small bills, you know.
Then, too, thirty of the boys finish their time next week, and
their balances will average ten pounds each. But what is the need
of bothering your head with it? Really, you know–”
“What is Berande worth?–right now?”
ADVENTURE
62
“Whatever Morgan and Raff are willing to pay for it.” A glance at
her hurt expression decided him. “Hughie and I have sunk eight
thousand pounds in it, and our time. It is a good property, and
worth more than that. But it has three years to run before its
returns begin to come in. That is why Hughie and I engaged in
trading and recruiting. The Jessie and our stations came very near
to paying the running expenses of Berande.”
“And Morgan and Raff offered you what?”
“A thousand pounds clear, after paying all bills.”
“The thieves!” she cried.
“No, they’re good business men, that is all. As they told me, a
thing is worth no more than one is willing to pay or to receive.”
“And how much do you need to carry on Berande for three years?”
Joan hurried on.
“Two hundred boys at six pounds a year means thirty-six hundred
pounds–that’s the main item.”
“My, how cheap labour does mount up! Thirty-six hundred pounds,
eighteen thousand dollars, just for a lot of cannibals! Yet the
place is good security. You could go down to Sydney and raise the
money.”
He shook his head.
“You can’t get them to look at plantations down there. They’ve
been taken in too often. But I do hate to give the place up–more
for Hughie’s sake, I swear, than my own. He was bound up in it.