by Jack London
Albright laughed.
"We've got fifty cases below," he said, "and as I figure it, three casesbuy a hundred thousand dollars. There was only a million dollars buried,so thirty cases ought to get it. Though, of course, we've got to allowa margin for the silver and the pennies. That Ecuadoran bunch must havesalted down all the coin in sight."
Very few pennies and shillings appeared, though Pankburn continually andanxiously inquired for them. Pennies were the one thing he seemed todesire, and he made his eyes flash covetously whenever one was produced.True to his theory, the savages concluded that the gold, being of slightvalue, must be disposed of first. A penny, worth fifty times as much asa sovereign, was something to retain and treasure. Doubtless, in theirjungle-lairs, the wise old gray-beards put their heads together andagreed to raise the price on pennies when the worthless gold was allworked off. Who could tell? Mayhap the strange white men could be madeto give even twenty sticks for a priceless copper.
By the end of the week the trade went slack. There was only theslightest dribble of gold. An occasional penny was reluctantly disposedof for ten sticks, while several thousand dollars in silver came in.
On the morning of the eighth day no trading was done. The gray-beardshad matured their plan and were demanding twenty sticks for a penny,One-Eye delivered the new rate of exchange. The white men appeared totake it with great seriousness, for they stood together debating in lowvoices. Had One-Eye understood English he would have been enlightened.
"We've got just a little over eight hundred thousand, not counting thesilver," Grief said. "And that's about all there is. The bush tribesbehind have most probably got the other two hundred thousand. Returnin three months, and the salt-water crowd will have traded back for it;also they will be out of tobacco by that time."
"It would be a sin to buy pennies," Albright grinned. "It goes againstthe thrifty grain of my trader's soul."
"There's a whiff of land-breeze stirring," Grief said, looking atPankburn. "What do you say?"
Pankburn nodded.
"Very well." Grief measured the faintness and irregularity of the windagainst his cheek.
"Mr. Carlsen, heave short, and get off the gaskets. And stand by withthe whaleboats to tow. This breeze is not dependable."
He picked up a part case of tobacco, containing six or seven hundredsticks, put it in One-Eye's hands, and helped that bewildered savageover the rail. As the foresail went up the mast, a wail of consternationarose from the canoes lying along the dead-line. And as the anchorbroke out and the _Kittiwake's_ head paid off in the light breeze, oldOne-Eye, daring the rifles levelled on him, paddled alongside andmade frantic signs of his tribe's willingness to trade pennies for tensticks.
"Boy!--a drinking nut," Pankburn called.
"It's Sydney Heads for you," Grief said. "And then what?"
"I'm coming back with you for that two hundred thousand," Pankburnanswered. "In the meantime I'm going to build an island schooner. Also,I'm going to call those guardians of mine before the court to show causewhy my father's money should not be turned over to me. Show cause? I'llshow them cause why it should."
He swelled his biceps proudly under the thin sleeve, reached for the twoblack stewards, and put them above his head like a pair of dumbbells.
"Come on! Swing out on that fore-boom-tackle!" Carlsen shouted from aft,where the mainsail was being winged out.
Pankburn dropped the stewards and raced for it, beating a Rapa sailor bytwo jumps to the hauling part.
Chapter Three--THE DEVILS OF FUATINO
I
Of his many schooners, ketches and cutters that nosed about among thecoral isles of the South Seas, David Grief loved most the _Rattler_--ayacht-like schooner of ninety tons with so swift a pair of heels thatshe had made herself famous, in the old days, opium-smuggling from SanDiego to Puget Sound, raiding the seal-rookeries of Bering Sea, andrunning arms in the Far East. A stench and an abomination to governmentofficials, she had been the joy of all sailormen, and the pride of theshipwrights who built her. Even now, after forty years of driving, shewas still the same old _Rattler_, fore-reaching in the same marvellousmanner that compelled sailors to see in order to believe and thatpunctuated many an angry discussion with words and blows on the beachesof all the ports from Valparaiso to Manila Bay.
On this night, close-hauled, her big mainsail preposterously flatteneddown, her luffs pulsing emptily on the lift of each smooth swell, shewas sliding an easy four knots through the water on the veriest whisperof a breeze. For an hour David Grief had been leaning on the rail at thelee fore-rigging, gazing overside at the steady phosphorescence of hergait. The faint back-draught from the headsails fanned his cheek andchest with a wine of coolness, and he was in an ecstasy of appreciationof the schooner's qualities.
"Eh!--She's a beauty, Taute, a beauty," he said to the Kanaka lookout,at the same time stroking the teak of the rail with an affectionatehand.
"Ay, skipper," the Kanaka answered in the rich, big-chested tones ofPolynesia. "Thirty years I know ships, but never like 'this. On Raiateawe call her _Fanauao_."
"The Dayborn," Grief translated the love-phrase. "Who named her so?"
About to answer, Taute peered ahead with sudden intensity. Grief joinedhim in the gaze.
"Land," said Taute.
"Yes; Fuatino," Grief agreed, his eyes still fixed on the spot wherethe star-luminous horizon was gouged by a blot of blackness. "It's allright. I'll tell the captain."
The _Rattler_ slid along until the loom of the island could be seen aswell as sensed, until the sleepy roar of breakers and the blatting ofgoats could be heard, until the wind, off the land, was flower-drenchedwith perfume.
"If it wasn't a crevice, she could run the passage a night like this,"Captain Glass remarked regretfully, as he watched the wheel lashed harddown by the steersman.
The _Rattler_, run off shore a mile, had been hove to to wait untildaylight ere she attempted the perilous entrance to Fuatino. It was aperfect tropic night, with no hint of rain or squall. For'ard, wherevertheir tasks left them, the Raiatea sailors sank down to sleep on deck.Aft, the captain and mate and Grief spread their beds with similarlanguid unconcern. They lay on their blankets, smoking and murmuringsleepy conjectures about Mataara, the Queen of Fuatino, and about thelove affair between her daughter, Naumoo, and Motuaro.
"They're certainly a romantic lot," Brown, the mate, said. "As romanticas we whites."
"As romantic as Pilsach," Grief laughed, "and that is going some. Howlong ago was it, Captain, that he jumped you?"
"Eleven years," Captain Glass grunted resentfully.
"Tell me about it," Brown pleaded. "They say he's never left Fuatinosince. Is that right?"
"Right O," the captain rumbled. "He's in love with his wife--the littlehussy! Stole him from me, and as good a sailorman as the trade has everseen--if he is a Dutchman."
"German," Grief corrected.
"It's all the same," was the retort. "The sea was robbed of a good manthat night he went ashore and Notutu took one look at him. I reckon theylooked good to each other. Before you could say skat, she'd put a wreathof some kind of white flowers on his head, and in five minutes they wereoff down the beach, like a couple of kids, holding hands and laughing. Ihope he's blown that big coral patch out of the channel. I always starta sheet or two of copper warping past."
"Go on with the story," Brown urged.
"That's all. He was finished right there. Got married that night. Nevercame on board again. I looked him up next day. Found him in a strawhouse in the bush, barelegged, a white savage, all mixed up with flowersand things and playing a guitar. Looked like a bally ass. Told me tosend his things ashore. I told him I'd see him damned first. And that'sall. You'll see her to-morrow. They've got three kiddies now--wonderfullittle rascals. I've a phonograph down below for him, and about amillion records."
"And then you made him trader?" the mate inquired of Grief.
"What else could I do? Fuatino is a love island, and Filsach
is a lover.He knows the native, too--one of the best traders I've got, or ever had.He's responsible. You'll see him to-morrow."
"Look here, young man," Captain Glass rumbled threateningly at his mate."Are you romantic? Because if you are, on board you stay. Fuatino's theisland of romantic insanity. Everybody's in love with somebody. Theylive on love. It's in the milk of the cocoa-nuts, or the air, or thesea. The history of the island for the last ten thousand years isnothing but love affairs. I know. I've talked with the old men. And if Icatch you starting down the beach hand in hand--"
His sudden cessation caused both the other men to look at him. Theyfollowed his gaze, which passed across them to the main rigging, and sawwhat he saw, a brown hand and arm, muscular and wet, being joined fromoverside by a second brown hand and arm. A head followed, thatched withlong elfin locks, and then a face, with roguish black eyes, lined withthe marks of wildwood's laughter.
"My God!" Brown breathed. "It's a faun--a sea-faun."
"It's the Goat Man," said Glass.
"It is Mauriri," said Grief. "He is my own blood brother by sacredplight of native custom. His name is mine, and mine is his."
Broad brown shoulders and a magnificent chest rose above the rail, and,with what seemed effortless ease, the whole grand body followed overthe rail and noiselessly trod the deck. Brown, who might have been otherthings than the mate of an island schooner, was enchanted. All that hehad ever gleaned from the books proclaimed indubitably the faun-likenessof this visitant of the deep. "But a sad faun," was the young man'sjudgment, as the golden-brown woods god strode forward to where DavidGrief sat up with outstretched hand.
"David," said David Grief.
"Mauriri, Big Brother," said Mauriri.
And thereafter, in the custom of men who have pledged blood brotherhood,each called the other, not by the other's name, but by his own. Also,they talked in the Polynesian tongue of Fuatino, and Brown could onlysit and guess.
"A long swim to say _talofa_," Grief said, as the other sat and streamedwater on the deck.
"Many days and nights have I watched for your coming, Big Brother,"Mauriri replied. "I have sat on the Big Rock, where the dynamiteis kept, of which I have been made keeper. I saw you come up to theentrance and run back into darkness. I knew you waited till morning, andI followed. Great trouble has come upon us. Mataara has cried these manydays for your coming. She is an old woman, and Motauri is dead, and sheis sad."
"Did he marry Naumoo?" Grief asked, after he had shaken his head andsighed by the custom.
"Yes. In the end they ran to live with the goats, till Mataara forgave,when they returned to live with her in the Big House. But he is nowdead, and Naumoo soon will die. Great is our trouble, Big Brother. Toriis dead, and Tati-Tori, and Petoo, and Nari, and Pilsach, and others."
"Pilsach, too!" Grief exclaimed. "Has there been a sickness?"
"There has been much killing. Listen, Big Brother, Three weeks ago astrange schooner came. From the Big Rock I saw her topsails above thesea. She towed in with her boats, but they did not warp by the bigpatch, and she pounded many times. She is now on the beach, where theyare strengthening the broken timbers. There are eight white men onboard. They have women from some island far to the east. The womentalk a language in many ways like ours, only different. But we canunderstand. They say they were stolen by the men on the schooner. We donot know, but they sing and dance and are happy."
"And the men?" Grief interrupted.
"They talk French. I know, for there was a mate on your schooner whotalked French long ago. There are two chief men, and they do not looklike the others. They have blue eyes like you, and they are devils. Oneis a bigger devil than the other. The other six are also devils. They donot pay us for our yams, and taro, and breadfruit. They take everythingfrom us, and if we complain they kill us. Thus was killed Tori, andTati-Tori, and Petoo, and others. We cannot fight, for we have noguns--only two or three old guns.
"They ill-treat our women. Thus was killed Motuaro, who made defence ofNaumoo, whom they have now taken on board their schooner. It was becauseof this that Pilsach was killed. Him the chief of the two chief men, theBig Devil, shot once in his whaleboat, and twice when he tried to crawlup the sand of the beach. Pilsach was a brave man, and Notutu now sitsin the house and cries without end. Many of the people are afraid, andhave run to live with the goats. But there is not food for all in thehigh mountains. And the men will not go out and fish, and they work nomore in the gardens because of the devils who take all they have. And weare ready to fight.
"Big Brother, we need guns, and much ammunition. I sent word before Iswam out to you, and the men are waiting. The strange white men do notknow you are come. Give me a boat, and the guns, and I will go backbefore the sun. And when you come to-morrow we will be ready for theword from you to kill the strange white men. They must be killed. BigBrother, you have ever been of the blood with us, and the men and womenhave prayed to many gods for your coming. And you are come."
"I will go in the boat with you," Grief said.
"No, Big Brother," was Mauriri's reply. "You must be with the schooner.The strange white men will fear the schooner, not us. We will have theguns, and they will not know. It is only when they see your schoonercome that they will be alarmed. Send the young man there with the boat."
So it was that Brown, thrilling with all the romance and adventure hehad read and guessed and never lived, took his place in the sternsheetsof a whaleboat, loaded with rifles and cartridges, rowed by four Baiateasailors, steered by a golden-brown, sea-swimming faun, and directedthrough the warm tropic darkness toward the half-mythical love island ofFuatino, which had been invaded by twentieth century pirates.
II
If a line be drawn between Jaluit, in the Marshall Group, andBougainville, in the Solomons, and if this line be bisected at twodegrees south of the equator by a line drawn from Ukuor, in theCarolines, the high island of Fuatino will be raised in that sun-washedstretch of lonely sea. Inhabited by a stock kindred to the Hawaiian,the Samoan, the Tahitian, and the Maori, Fuatino becomes the apex of thewedge driven by Polynesia far to the west and in between Melanesia andMicronesia. And it was Fuatino that David Grief raised next morning,two miles to the east and in direct line with the rising sun. The samewhisper of a breeze held, and the _Rattler_ slid through the smooth seaat a rate that would have been eminently proper for an island schoonerhad the breeze been thrice as strong.
Fuatino was nothing else than an ancient crater, thrust upward from thesea-bottom by some primordial cataclysm. The western portion, brokenand crumbled to sea level, was the entrance to the crater itself, whichconstituted the harbour. Thus, Fuatino was like a rugged horseshoe, theheel pointing to the west. And into the opening at the heel the Rattlersteered. Captain Glass, binoculars in hand and peering at the chart madeby himself, which was spread on top the cabin, straightened up with anexpression on his face that was half alarm, half resignation.
"It's coming," he said. "Fever. It wasn't due till to-morrow. It alwayshits me hard, Mr. Grief. In five minutes I'll be off my head. You'llhave to con the schooner in. Boy! Get my bunk ready! Plenty of blankets!Fill that hot-water bottle! It's so calm, Mr. Grief, that I think youcan pass the big patch without warping. Take the leading wind and shoother. She's the only craft in the South Pacific that can do it, and Iknow you know the trick. You can scrape the Big Rock by just watchingout for the main boom."
He had talked rapidly, almost like a drunken man, as his reeling brainbattled with the rising shock of the malarial stroke. When he stumbledtoward the companionway, his face was purpling and mottling as ifattacked by some monstrous inflammation or decay. His eyes were settingin a glassy bulge, his hands shaking, his teeth clicking in the spasmsof chill.
"Two hours to get the sweat," he chattered with a ghastly grin. "And acouple more and I'll be all right. I know the damned thing to the lastminute it runs its course. Y-y-you t-t-take ch-ch-ch-ch----"
His voice faded away in a weak stutter as he collapsed down into
thecabin and his employer took charge. The _Rattler_ was just entering thepassage. The heels of the horseshoe island were two huge mountains ofrock a thousand feet high, each almost broken off from the mainland andconnected with it by a low and narrow peninsula. Between the heels wasa half-mile stretch, all but blocked by a reef of coral extending acrossfrom the south heel. The passage, which Captain Glass had called acrevice, twisted into this reef, curved directly to the north heel, andran along the base of the perpendicular rock. At this point, with themain-boom almost grazing the rock on the port side, Grief, peering downon the starboard side, could see bottom less than two fathoms beneathand shoaling steeply. With a whaleboat towing for steerage and as aprecaution against back-draughts from the cliff, and taking advantage ofa fan of breeze, he shook the Rattler full into it and glided by the bigcoral patch without warping. As it was, he just scraped, but so softlyas not to start the copper.
The harbour of Fuatino opened before him. It was a circular sheet ofwater, five miles in diameter, rimmed with white coral beaches, fromwhich the verdure-clad slopes rose swiftly to the frowning crater walls.The crests of the walls were saw-toothed, volcanic peaks, capped andhalo'd with captive trade-wind clouds. Every nook and crevice of thedisintegrating lava gave foothold to creeping, climbing vines andtrees--a green foam of vegetation. Thin streams of water, that weremere films of mist, swayed and undulated downward in sheer descentsof hundreds of feet. And to complete the magic of the place, the warm,moist air was heavy with the perfume of the yellow-blossomed _cassi_.
