Adventure by Jack London

Sheldon nodded and stood up, facing the blacks.

“Manonmie!” he called.

Manonmie stood forth and waited.

“You fella boy bad fella too much,” Sheldon charged. “You steal ‘m

plenty. You steal ‘m one fella towel, one fella cane-knife, two-

ten fella cartridge. My word, plenty bad fella steal ‘m you. Me

cross along you too much. S’pose you like ‘m, me take ‘m one fella

pound along you in big book. S’pose you no like ‘m me take ‘m one

fella pound, then me send you fella along Tulagi catch ‘m one

strong fella government whipping. Plenty New Georgia boys, plenty

Ysabel boys stop along jail along Tulagi. Them fella no like

Malaita boys little bit. My word, they give ‘m you strong fella

whipping. What you say?”

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“You take ‘m one fella pound along me,” was the answer.

And Manonmie, patently relieved, stepped back, while Sheldon

entered the fine in the plantation labour journal.

Boy after boy, he called the offenders out and gave them their

choice; and, boy by boy, each one elected to pay the fine imposed.

Some fines were as low as several shillings; while in the more

serious cases, such as thefts of guns and ammunition, the fines

were correspondingly heavy.

Gogoomy and his five tribesmen were fined three pounds each, and at

Gogoomy’s guttural command they refused to pay.

“S’pose you go along Tulagi,” Sheldon warned him, “you catch ‘m

strong fella whipping and you stop along jail three fella year.

Mr. Burnett, he look ‘m along Winchester, look ‘m along cartridge,

look ‘m along revolver, look ‘m along black powder, look ‘m along

dynamite–my word, he cross too much, he give you three fella year

along jail. S’pose you no like ‘m pay three fella pound you stop

along jail. Savvee?”

Gogoomy wavered.

“It’s true–that’s what Burnett would give them,” Sheldon said in

an aside to Joan.

“You take ‘m three fella pound along me,” Gogoomy muttered, at the

same time scowling his hatred at Sheldon, and transferring half the

scowl to Joan and Kwaque. “Me finish along you, you catch ‘m big

fella trouble, my word. Father belong me big fella chief along

Port Adams.”

“That will do,” Sheldon warned him. “You shut mouth belong you.”

“Me no fright,” the son of a chief retorted, by his insolence

increasing his stature in the eyes of his fellows.

“Lock him up for to-night,” Sheldon said to Kwaque. “Sun he come

up put ‘m that fella and five fella belong him along grass-cutting.

Savvee?”

Kwaque grinned.

“Me savvee,” he said. “Cut ‘m grass, ngari-ngari {4} stop ‘m along

grass. My word!”

“There will be trouble with Gogoomy yet,” Sheldon said to Joan, as

the boss-boys marshalled their gangs and led them away to their

work. “Keep an eye on him. Be careful when you are riding alone

on the plantation. The loss of those Winchesters and all that

ammunition has hit him harder than your cuffing did. He is dead-

ripe for mischief.”

CHAPTER XXII–GOGOOMY FINISHES ALONG KWAQUE ALTOGETHER

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“I wonder what has become of Tudor. It’s two months since he

disappeared into the bush, and not a word of him after he left

Binu.”

Joan Lackland was sitting astride her horse by the bank of the

Balesuna where the sweet corn had been planted, and Sheldon, who

had come across from the house on foot, was leaning against her

horse’s shoulder.

“Yes, it is along time for no news to have trickled down,” he

answered, watching her keenly from under his hat-brim and wondering

as to the measure of her anxiety for the adventurous gold-hunter;

“but Tudor will come out all right. He did a thing at the start

that I wouldn’t have given him or any other man credit for–

persuaded Binu Charley to go along with him. I’ll wager no other

Binu nigger has ever gone so far into the bush unless to be kai-

kai’d. As for Tudor–”

“Look! look!” Joan cried in a low voice, pointing across the

narrow stream to a slack eddy where a huge crocodile drifted like a

log awash. “My! I wish I had my rifle.”

The crocodile, leaving scarcely a ripple behind, sank down and

disappeared.

“A Binu man was in early this morning–for medicine,” Sheldon

remarked. “It may have been that very brute that was responsible.

A dozen of the Binu women were out, and the foremost one stepped

right on a big crocodile. It was by the edge of the water, and he

tumbled her over and got her by the leg. All the other women got

hold of her and pulled. And in the tug of war she lost her leg,

below the knee, he said. I gave him a stock of antiseptics.

She’ll pull through, I fancy.”

“Ugh–the filthy beasts,” Joan gulped shudderingly. “I hate them!

I hate them!”

“And yet you go diving among sharks,” Sheldon chided.

“They’re only fish-sharks. And as long as there are plenty of fish

there is no danger. It is only when they’re famished that they’re

liable to take a bite.”

Sheldon shuddered inwardly at the swift vision that arose of the

dainty flesh of her in a shark’s many-toothed maw.

“I wish you wouldn’t, just the same,” he said slowly. “You

acknowledge there is a risk.”

“But that’s half the fun of it,” she cried.

A trite platitude about his not caring to lose her was on his lips,

but he refrained from uttering it. Another conclusion he had

arrived at was that she was not to be nagged. Continual, or even

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occasional, reminders of his feeling for her would constitute a

tactical error of no mean dimensions.

“Some for the book of verse, some for the simple life, and some for

the shark’s belly,” he laughed grimly, then added: “Just the same,

I wish I could swim as well as you. Maybe it would beget

confidence such as you have.”

“Do you know, I think it would be nice to be married to a man such

as you seem to be becoming,” she remarked, with one of her abrupt

changes that always astounded him. “I should think you could be

trained into a very good husband–you know, not one of the

domineering kind, but one who considered his wife was just as much

an individual as himself and just as much a free agent. Really,

you know, I think you are improving.”

She laughed and rode away, leaving him greatly cast down. If he

had thought there had been one bit of coyness in her words, one

feminine flutter, one womanly attempt at deliberate lure and

encouragement, he would have been elated. But he knew absolutely

that it was the boy, and not the woman, who had so daringly spoken.

Joan rode on among the avenues of young cocoanut-palms, saw a

hornbill, followed it in its erratic flights to the high forest on

the edge of the plantation, heard the cooing of wild pigeons and

located them in the deeper woods, followed the fresh trail of a

wild pig for a distance, circled back, and took the narrow path for

the bungalow that ran through twenty acres of uncleared cane. The

grass was waist-high and higher, and as she rode along she

remembered that Gogoomy was one of a gang of boys that had been

detailed to the grass-cutting. She came to where they had been at

work, but saw no signs of them. Her unshod horse made no sound on

the soft, sandy footing, and a little further on she heard voices

proceeding from out of the grass. She reined in and listened. It

was Gogoomy talking, and as she listened she gripped her bridle-

rein tightly and a wave of anger passed over her.

“Dog he stop ‘m along house, night-time he walk about,” Gogoomy was

saying, perforce in beche-de-mer English, because he was talking to

others beside his own tribesmen. “You fella boy catch ‘m one fella

pig, put ‘m kai-kai belong him along big fella fish-hook. S’pose

dog he walk about catch ‘m kai-kai, you fella boy catch ‘m dog

allee same one shark. Dog he finish close up. Big fella marster

sleep along big fella house. White Mary sleep along pickaninny

house. One fella Adamu he stop along outside pickaninny house.

You fella boy finish ‘m dog, finish ‘m Adamu, finish ‘m big fella

marster, finish ‘m White Mary, finish ’em altogether. Plenty

musket he stop, plenty powder, plenty tomahawk, plenty knife-fee,

plenty porpoise teeth, plenty tobacco, plenty calico–my word, too

much plenty everything we take ‘m along whale-boat, washee {5} like

hell, sun he come up we long way too much.”

“Me catch ‘m pig sun he go down,” spoke up one whose thin falsetto

voice Joan recognized as belonging to Cosse, one of Gogoomy’s

tribesmen.

“Me catch ‘m dog,” said another.

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“And me catch ‘m white fella Mary,” Gogoomy cried triumphantly.

“Me catch ‘m Kwaque he die along him damn quick.”

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