Wild Blood/Chapter 12

by Gordon Young

 

AUDACITY IS LUCK—!

DAVENANT, those days, seemed to try not to be seen with anybody. But natives will babble and they notice everything. So in the dark I had crept upon him and Shaylor and listened, and learned that Davenant had first tried to interest the three German resident traders in an attempt to overpower Williams.

The Germans knew more about Hurricane Williams than Davenant, and they precipitously rejected the plan. Too, they knew how Taulemeito would take it, and they were painfully eager to be friends with the chief. He could make them rich men by simply letting them alone. Or he could ruin them by merely dropping a word that would be carried in all directions so that no man of that place would trade with them.

Then Davenant and Shaylor had turned to the Yankee missionaries and rehearsed the duty they owed the law to assist in having Williams apprehended. So when Malua's boat went—ostensibly by Amoa, though everybody knew it was going to Apia—it carried as one of the crew a native who had promised to spread the report that Williams was at Lelela. A native was likely to promise anything when he received as much money as had been given him.

But would he keep the promise? Would not the keen-eyed Malua notice there was something on the fellow's mind? Malua was too young to trifle with discretions; if he hated a man he killed him.

I frequently lurked near the meeting-place that Davenant and Shaylor used, and though much of what they said was mumbled too low for me to catch it, I had heard Shaylor say the crew would turn on Williams, that the schooner could be stolen out; and Davenant had spoken of the rifles in the cabin, and they were confident of putting together some acceptable plan if relief did not come from Apia.

Dula's name was mentioned. Shaylor complained that she ignored his efforts at courtesy. What Davenant replied I could not hear.

It was about time that Malua should return, and we were all more or less with eyes to seaward. Some of the natives had gone to the hills to scan the ocean's distant rim. Davenant, alone and apart from the village, walked back and forth.

“W'at's he goin' 'o do to 'im?” Hawkins demanded of me, sluggishly throwing an arm at the lone figure. “Williams, I mean.”

“Can't say, Ben. One of these days he'll probably kill him just like that.”

I snapped finger and thumb.

“I can tell what men say Williams once did to another fellow that shot at him from the back and missed. Williams gave him a pistol, one shot, an' didn't take a thing himself. Faced the gun at fifty paces empty-handed. And the fellow didn't miss, but Williams—empty-handed—caught him and broke his neck. Only I don't believe a word of it.”

Hawkins cocked his head reflectively, then said:

“Nawp. That's the kind o' stuff these traders b'lieve. But that's a mighty good way 'o kill a man. Make you feel yerself a he-ro. Only Carp Taylor's a mighty good shot, and I can't run. Now my i-dee of a nice quiet murder is to go set down on a fellow when he's asleep. Takin' on weight, Red-Top.”

He patted his huge belly complacently.

“Takin' on weight. Let me enemies beware. An' say, if we stay at Dakaru long 'nough Carp Taylor'll show up. Him an' Grahame're thick. Know what he done to me, Red-Top? Had the crew knock me to sleep, 'en Taylor whaled me with a rope. 'F I ever catch that fellow 'sleep he won't have nothin' but a grease-spot for an ep-e-taph. … But what's matter with Williams? He looks—you've noticed how he looks?”

I denied any such attentiveness. Hawkins ignored my denial.

“Think it's that woman?” he said with the very self-conscious effort of one pretending to have no interest in his question.

“What woman?”

Hawkins snorted. After meditating a moment he said:

“An' what's matter with her? I know a woman ain't happy 'less she's sufferin', but—say, Red-Top, don't s'pose Williams'll fall for 'er, do you? He acts funny. Just about like a fellow does when he begins to think maybe the lady is really dyin' for love o' him.”

With a bit of spirit I told him he was a fool; that Taulemeito had offered his own sister to Williams, and a man had to have pretty strong objections to women to dare evade marrying a chief's sister. Moreover, as Hawkins could see, a fellow didn't have to be drunk to praise the beauty of Sampan damsels, as was absolutely necessary when he went courting farther west, say over in the Solomons.

“Red-Top,” he announced solemnly, having weighed my words, “I'm thinkin' of lookin' out for a Mormon mish-nary—so I c'n be convert-ted.”

Our idyl was ended. Almost from that moment our peace fled. There are old men who somehow dodged death and the treachery of friends, who remember Hurricane Williams or his name; and when they talk of him they talk of what happened in the next few weeks.

According to the German Naval Bureau Williams was arrested at Lelela on the same day Hawkins and I sprawled in the generous, wide-reaching shade of a breadfruit-tree and discussed Mormons and things. What was done with him after the arrest doesn't appear in the archives.

It does appear, however, that sometime later the gunboat Freidrich was disabled by a hurricane (sic). Yet some people say the Germans haven't a sense of humor.

Hawkins and I were roused from our lethargic dialogue by an increasing air of excitement in the village. Some boys had rushed down from the hilly lookout to announce that a ship with smoke streaming and sails set was bearing toward Lelela from the south.

It was useless for Williams to try to escape to sea. He could not get out without being towed by boats. And as it was still morning the steam-driven ship would easily overhaul him before darkness came on.

Our crew suddenly recalled that they were pressed men and began to remember dear drab, dirty Turkee. They had been dragged from their homes and treated like slaves. As they babbled excitedly petals fell from the chains of flowers about their necks, and some of them puffed heavily from over-loaded stomachs. They remembered that they had been badly abused, and now warm, well fed and rested, could not understand why they had put up with such treatment.

Raikes was very loud in his memory of wrong suffered, for as the ship came on there was no doubt as to her German and warlike character.

Some expected Williams to take to the hills. But Hawkins grumbled aside to me:

“'F he does I'll desert 'im, 'cause I simply can't climb trees or things.”

“Look about you; look about carefully, Ben,” I retorted, “and you probably won't hesitate at a little thing like an eighty-foot palm.”

The natives, particularly the youngsters and girls, understood enough fragments of English—and those who understood best repeated what they heard with inaccurate emphasis—to know what Williams's men were talking. An uncivilized Samoan doesn't shrink much more than a Christian from treachery toward an enemy but never toward a friend.

Even the faces of the happy, thoughtless little tots were glowering, savage, miniature frowns. I laid a hand on Hawkins's shoulder, and with the other pointed afar through the trees where a small party of three or four natives with spears in hand were moving away toward the forest, and with them moved the two Yankee missionaries.

“What the devil!” he exclaimed.

I swept my arm farther to the left toward Taulemeito's house, where groups were moving, bristling with war-clubs and spears.

“We're goin' fight!” he cried incredulously, but with a little of the eagerness of a man who welcomes battle, even one of spears and small arms against cannon.

I told him I did not know what was coming off, but that Williams would undoubtedly give himself up before he would let Taulemeito undertake a hopeless battle.

“And I would sooner think Davenant, over there with the German traders, would shave his beard than Williams'd give himself up—to Germans!”

The German traders with beards trimmed, faces washed, and in fairly clean white suits, seemed to have delegated themselves as a receiving-committee to welcome the officers of their country. And Davenant had attached himself to them. Shaylor joined the group.

Others of the Sally Martin, suddenly feeling the ties of white blood and noticing the bristling pageantry of Lelela, also approached as if to identify themselves with the German party, now in the ascendency.

“Le's go over an' tell 'em when they can go to hell,” said Hawkins, straightening his elephantine shoulders and taking a step forward.

I clutched his arm, telling him that I approved his sentiments, but the natives might not understand. It would be better if we showed in some more unmistakable way that we were not white men.

“Hey, you son,” Hawkins roared coaxingly at one of the little boys of not more than a dozen years, who, though their faith was shaken in human nature, still hovered hopefully about me, an old friend, and Hawkins, the most wonderful man they had ever seen.

“Wallamazooki, or whoever you are. Come 'ere.”

The boy hesitatingly edged nearer, taking many glances at my face as if wondering if even I—who had spanked him from his creeping days—was going to let him get into some kind of difficulty under pretense of friendship.

Hawkins stooped and earnestly asked the youngster if “you speak 'em hell-fire—go-to——?”

The boy was a little bewildered and stared up at me for enlightenment. But the other youngsters had closed in listeningly, and one precocious youth announced, frantically eager:

“I spek 'im, missa (mister). All same mish-i-man. I spek him!”

It was true that missionaries did make a frequent and extended—but no doubt quite proper—use of the words Hawkins had inquired of; and it is equally true that all children learn more readily to swear than to pray. And Hawkins did a very, very wicked thing in sending those young innocents to the beach to deliver certain profane messages.

True, he had intended that only one little boy should walk up and quietly present the compliments of Mr. Dan McGuire and Mr. Ben Hawkins to sundry and all, and express the deep and sincere wish that much evil would befall them, the slightest of which was an eternal bath in a lake of fire. Nothing was to be gained by it, of course, except that ineffable satisfaction of letting people know what you think of them.

But in his innocence Hawkins launched pandemonium. Those imps delivered their messages at the top of their voices. Other imps heard them from afar and came scrambling and screaming.

Hawkins, alarmed at the general demonstration, which had developed into rock-pelting without any lessening of vocal racket, yelled at his imps. They misunderstood his cry of “lay off that” for encouragement; and they declined to listen to me at all.

I was getting really uneasy. If Williams or Taulemeito had wanted a demonstration they could have arranged one without our interference.

Some one of the pestered group made the mistake of returning rocks at the children, and the screaming, eager, wild little rascals joyfully accepted the challenge. They rained words and whatever they could get their hands on; and so many missiles could not miss, though there was some very energetic ducking and dodging going on down at the beach.

And the gunboat was now close at hand, not more than a mile off the outer reef.

Things looked bad, and presently they looked worse. A group of warriors came running out of the village, spears in their hands, and they were yelling too. Two of the Germans made straight for the water, forgetful of their clean clothes; and the whole party would perhaps have undertaken to swim somewhere had it not soon appeared that the native men were rebuking and silencing the children.

It appeared that Taulemeito was to receive the German captain in all the dignity and pomp his savage court was able to present; and he sent word that a place awaited the traders upon his right hand. Also that he very much desired to have his heart lightened by the presence of the others.

It appeared like an obvious effort to make amends for the insults of the children, if not a somewhat humble attempt to secure at the eleventh hour good grace from the party that could make trouble for him if it complained to the gunboat. But appearances are deceptive in that part of the world.

Taulemeito's official house was a large structure apart from other houses on the border of the malae, or green common, where all the important sports and councils of the village were held. The walls of the house were mats, and on a function of state important enough to cause the chief to use the house, these were folded up and everybody, from the chiefs and leading men who squatted cross-legged in a semicircle about him to the women and children hovering on the outskirts, was a spectator.

Hawkins and I loitered about among the agitated natives. I knew it would be some time before the ceremony began, for Taulemeito had not yet come from his smaller and private residence near by, where he enjoyed a certain kingly exclusiveness and privacy—being about the only person in that merry, hospitable village who did.

Williams sent for me, and when I reached him his message was brief and surprising.

“Watch Davenant. If need be, kill him.”

A dozen questions tried to leap out at once, but all I could say was:

“What the devil's up?”

Hawkins must have received instructions of some kind, too, for I saw him amid the frankly hostile glances of both the natives and the whites edge in close to the three traders; and being unable to sit cross-legged he half-sprawled on his stomach.

Davenant had the faculty of appearing to be apart even when in the midst of a group. Shaylor, talking very loud and rather impudently, was on his left hand.

Perhaps they thought I scrouged in near them to overhear. Shaylor ignored me with large concern, but Davenant gave me a long steady stare and smiled; that is, showed his long rows of exceedingly white and apparently sharp teeth.

I noticed Father Rinieri and Dula coming to places evidently made for them some distance removed from the immediate semicircle, facing the seat Taulemeito would occupy, but much nearer than any other woman had. Dula's eyes searched restlessly for Williams, and when she saw him, squatting motionlessly, eyes on the ground, she looked at him almost steadily.

The Friedrich had hove-to beyond the outer reefs. By the set of her sails and the smoke curling from her funnel it was apparent that she did not intend to spend much time at Lelela. Well, no one wanted her.

Two boats came ashore with officers and armed sailors. They were businesslike. Also perhaps a little apprehensive at the sight of the welcome arranged for them. They were greeted at the beach by a party headed by the tulafale, the chief's spokesman, orator, prime minister, or what-you-will. The symbol of his rank is a long staff—symbolic perhaps of the length of his tongue.

Captain Lumholtz was an excited little man not greatly unlike a miniature copy of Hawkins, and aroused the admiration of the natives by his large display of gilt and braid. He carried a sword longer than his own legs.

He had with him the treacherous member of Malua's crew and was intent on using him as an interpreter. In broken English—for the miserable Senva had sailed on a whaler and knew more English than was good for him—Captain Lumholtz, through Senva, demanded Hurricane Williams at once and forthwith. There would be no trifling, no argument, no powwow. And the puffy captain swept a pudgy arm toward his stolid sailors.

He was persuaded, however, to come up and address himself to the chief. Senva was thoroughly frightened, for certain remarks were made to him that he did not translate.

Now it happened that Taulemeito, who was brave and headstrong and seemed to think there was some kind of magic in Williams, had stubbornly determined to assert his rights against the whole of Germany if need be. He, of course, did not begin to appreciate the resources of a European nation. He had plenty of rifles and powder. He had Williams at hand to lead the fight. Williams probably would have readily taken to the hills. It would not have been the first time he had to sacrifice everything he had in order to escape.

But Taulemeito swore that he would declare war on the gunboat. At most it did not have more than eighty men on board. It was a German gunboat. German gunboats didn't dare come into the harbor.

Now a British gunboat would have been different. On such trivialities does colonial prestige hang.

Captain Lumholtz, at once nervous and pompous, with two young officers scarcely less bedecked in wrinkled full dress, having left the armed sailors on the outskirts—where they were at once overwhelmed with coconuts, fruit and various delicacies by natives utterly incapable of not being generous—came stepping carefully through the squatting circle. With difficulty he eased himself down into as nearly a cross-legged position as was possible for him.

As he appeared, one of the German traders had exuberantly begun to raise his voice in some overjoyed welcome. But Hawkins growled. He more than growled, for he lifted a war-club borrowed from a native near by. Taulemeito too with slow dignity had turned his head and crushed the German with a long, deliberate glance.

Captain Lumholtz, being new to the South Seas, not familiar with native ceremony, and perhaps finding his cramped legs unbearable, did not appreciate fully the Kava—Ava; for the Samoans have no “k”—ceremony, where girls, a little to one side of the chief and under the supervision of the tulafale, were chewing the root, at the same time swaying their bodies rhythmically, gracefully. Nothing of importance takes place without Kava being served, though the preliminary may be a little monotonous to one sitting painfully on unaccustomed legs.

Captain Lumholtz decided that it devolved upon him to begin, and he addressed Senva, bidding him translate his demand for Hurricane Williams. The captain had scanned all the white men he saw, and he had not perceived Williams at all. Senva, dreadfully frightened, began. But he was cut short by the irate Taulemeito.

“Who art thou, born of a pig, to speak to my face in the presenec of chiefs and friends? Tell him who carries his long knife across his belly lest it trip his feet, that Taulemeito will cut thy head from thy shoulders and in his presence, here!”

Two seconds of startled silence followed. Then Williams sprang to his feet, shouting at Captain Lumholtz.

“There,” he cried, an arm like an outthrust sword leveled at Shaylor, “is the man you want!”

It was as if he had suddenly become obsessed by a grim sense of humor. It was incredible. I felt my bones turn to jelly, and a shiver of amazement went through me. For seconds every one was jarred speechless; the psychic breath, so to speak, knocked out of them.

Captain Lumholtz jerked his head nervously, eagerly, toward Shaylor, who had opened his mouth and half-lifted his hands stupidly. I heard Hawkins's low-voiced rumbling threat to the men beside him, commanding silence—with the club.

I suppose a hubbub would have broken out at the next instant if Williams had not begun to speak. He said probably fifty words and he said them rapidly, in Samoan and to Senva.

I never knew a man who had such convincing, commanding force to his words. Probably it was because he always really did mean what he said and backed it up with every ounce of his fierce strength. Anyway in two swift sentences he told Senva to identify Shaylor as Hurricane Williams or he, Senva, would die then and there.

Williams's eyes swept along the row of white men, along the traders, along the crew, ignored Shaylor and rested on Davenant for a fraction of a second. Williams's look was a warning, cold and dangerous.

Shaylor, stammering, inarticulate, was blurting a livid, profane denial. I felt a movement from Davenant who, cool, determined, was about to get to his feet. I caught him by the trousers band and jerked him down and he felt the muzzle of a revolver at the small of his back.

Under Williams's eyes, following his orders, I always lost my indecision and seemed caught up, supported, by some strong impulse. Davenant turned his head, a glitter of fright for once in his eyes, and he did not smile.

“There are my crew,” said Williams, cutting through Shaylor's voice and flinging a gesture toward the surprised, palpitating men of the Sally Martin. “Ask them!”

That was too much for even Shaylor. He gaped stupidly at the men, but as with one accord they avoided his eyes.

“Do you mean—” he began.

“There is my log,” said Williams, lifting a book and holding it in readiness for Captain Lumholtz's inspection. “I pulled this man from a wreck at sea. He tried to capture my ship—did capture her. I was shot—in the back.”

One of the German traders gasped: “Mein Gott!”

Shaylor was on his feet, cursing wildly and shaking his arms furiously—and with every word and every move showing himself to be such a man as Captain Lumholtz and his officers must have imagined the burly brute Williams to be.

Williams's voice, sharp, not high-pitched, came clear and distinct through Shaylor's agitated protests. He was brief, but what he said seemed to clinch his position: He declared that fortunately he also had known Taulemeito for many years and they were friends, so he and his crew had been well treated. But he believed Taulemeito would be willing to give up “that man Williams” (as he called Shaylor) if Captain Lumholtz insisted.

Captain Lumholtz had been glancing through the log. Whether or not he could read English with even as much facility as he spoke it is doubtful; but he was apparently satisfied. He closed the book and dropped it to the ground beside him.

“Him Hu'lly Williams!” Senva eagerly volunteered, pointing at Shaylor.

Senva cried it frantically. Whether he had caught Williams's eyes or his chief's I do not know.

There was not a native even to the jostling, breathless outskirts of the throng that did not understand what was being done; and they were excited, inwardly bursting with glee that the hateful gunboat men were being hoodwinked. They did not appreciate that Williams was taking a rash chance to save the village from vengeance.

He had planned it evidently from the time he realized how stubbornly Taulemeito was determined on fighting. Williams had had the two Yankee missionaries removed from the village because he knew that they could not, would not, be intimidated into silence. There is something about even a Yankee missionary that commands respect when it comes to personal courage.

“I coom dedermined to half dot man,” said Captain Lumboltz, blinking wickedly at Shaylor. “Und by —— I half 'im! He iss a byrate, a —— byrate. I take 'im to Ghermany und dey hang 'im dere!”

The words were much more chilling, menacing, than they appear repeated in broken dialect; and Captain Lumholtz in spite of pudginess was evidently a man of firmness.

Words passed between Taulemeito and Williams, and Williams translated that the chief was ready to give Shaylor up at once. Shaylor acted like a man already on the gallows, almost exhausted with terror. He appealed to the crew. He implored Davenant. Williams crossed to him, and the very glare of Williams's eyes seemed to silence the miserable fellow.

The people made way for the German sailors, who marched in, took possession of Shaylor and with abrupt, military quickness marched off again.

Shaylor was a broken man. Even I felt a sudden sympathy for him, though I knew he was far more safe than if he remained within striking distance of Williams.

Williams seldom gave warning if he had cause for a man to die. But an appeal, an explanation to an American consul in any port would start investigation to get him off free; though Shaylor probably would not be able to make such an appeal until he had been carried clear to Germany.

Captain Lumholtz, though stiffened with pride and pleasure, was exceedingly agreeable. He bowed clatteringly over the hand of Taulemeito and pledged the eternal friendship of Germany. He shook the hand of Hurricane Williams, thanked him for his service, wished him success and promised full punishment upon the terrible pirate—the “byrate” that certainly looked the part.

And when he was gone three portly German traders had tears rolling down their cheeks. Hawkins had threatened to brain the first who opened his mouth, so they had not even greeted the glittering representative of their nation, the protector of their interests. However, they were solaced somewhat by certain concessions which Taulemeito in a cheerful mood extended to their trading.

Hawkins in speaking of the incident remarked:

“I never had a fist on one o' them war-billies b'fore. Wonde'ful how the heft of 'em just makes you want 'o hit somebody. No wonder them Dutches kept their hatches battened down.”

After a pause, reflective, studious, he said earnestly:

“Red-Top, it's funny, but I don't know whether I want 'o laugh or cuss or say a prayer.”

There was merriment in Lelela that night. Samoans have a high sense of humor; most of their conversation is teasing, fun-making, ridicule and jokes. And they were wild with gaiety. There was no hope, no expectation of keeping the joke on the gunboat a secret; but the morrow is always far off. Besides there was the good chance that the imposition would not be discovered until the prisoner had been taken clear to Germany—if he were not hanged on a yard-arm first.

Strange that Lumholtz had not mentioned the reward his country offered. Perhaps it had slipped his mind. Perhaps he was grateful that no one else mentioned it, so there would not be the inconvenience of having to share, to divide it.

I went to Williams, who sat moodily alone in Taulemeito's private house.

“The devil loves his own,” I said. “But Hawkins forgot an' slipped a prayer toward Heaven. Maybe that's what pulled us through. But——”

He glanced at me; and his eyes were silencing. Perhaps he was relieved to see that I was not drunk. I do not know. He seldom showed that he cared one way or the other.

For a long time there was silence; or at least it seemed a long time to me. Then he said, without looking at me, and in short quick-flung sentences, that he would give a thousand pounds if he could get a British or American consul to come into Lelela and raise his flag.

Taulemeito would be outraged, but it was a choice of evils. The Germans eventually would make the village pay for that day's work—unless a British or American flag were there.

“The Germans will make them pay, make them pay,” he repeated.

Then jerking his head up, he glared at me, his body contracted as if about to leap, and involuntarily I shrank. Slowly, tensely, taking an oath upon himself, he said:

“So help me God, I'll wreck the ship that shells this village if I have to swim to get her, and go down with her!”

Williams had never said anything like that before, had never so challenged the impossible. The fleeting fear that he was mad, as some men declared, raced across my brain and vanished.

No. No madness there; only the daring and determination to have vengeance on whomever harmed his friends.

Silence again, and a long pause. I started to slip away. I had no place to go, nothing to do; for oddly enough I did not feel like joining in the tumultuous celebration of the village. Hawkins was in the midst of glory; but the other white men, strangely quiet—uninvited for one thing—sat apart, talking low-voiced among themselves, wondering how and why they had been silenced, wondering that Williams had known—much less dared such a thing—that they would sit like mummies, fear-embalmed.

The natives were now unfriendly toward them. They felt stranded and in danger. Nothing was left them but some desperate action, or—so they thought—the well-nigh equally desperate inaction.

Raikes had urged them to appoint him as the leader of a committee to visit Williams and find out what was likely to happen to them. I wondered what they were talking of by this time, and I tried to slip from Williams's presence.

With a gesture he kept me seated. It seemed a long, long time before he said anything. Then he looked up and spoke as if he had suddenly remembered what he wanted to say. But I had doubts.

He remarked that I and Father Rinieri were friends; and could I imagine what the priest wanted to see him about——

He broke off.

Almost, if not quite, involuntarily I finished his sentence:

“—about her?”

“Why?”

The word was sharp, mandatory.

A little uneasily, but with something reckless vaguely stirring me, I said:

“Skipper, I'm likely to tell you the truth—then have to lie like the devil to make you think I was joking.”

By his hard gaze he demanded that I go on.

I made the jump. I simply closed my eyes and flung my answer to him.

“Skipper, women go to priests to tell 'em the names of the men they hate, and why. They can't tell 'em why they love. Nobody knows that. But the other reason they go is to tell 'em who!”

Two hours later Williams was still in the house of the priest, across from him at the little table, with the yellow flame of the lamp burning between them. To me, waiting impatiently in the darkness, it seemed that much time went by when neither spoke, and even then I could not hear all that I wished to hear.