The White Witch of the South Seas

by Dennis Wheatley

  James nodded. ‘I will arrange all that. I’ll send Aleamotu’a down to see to it. He is fluent in French as well as English. I’ll give him Ribaud’s telegram so that he can show it to our prisoners and impress on them that they must keep their mouths shut until they report to the General. He will also arrange for a meal to be ready for the crew of the aircraft that brings in our baggage, and see them off on their return journey. Now, as we had no lunch, we had better have a snack; then get to bed.’

  Gregory considered for a moment, then asked to see the telegram again. Having re-read it, he nodded. ‘Yes, I think that should be all right. To prevent them from talking to anyone before they see Ribaud they must be shown this message. They will realise, of course, that he has now agreed to connive at our escape. But that can’t be helped. They would tumble to that, anyhow, when he takes no further steps to get us. And he is clever enough to deal with that. He will probably tell them more or less the truth—that we’ve promised to keep mum about the Russians, so as a matter of high policy he thought it better to do a deal.’

  Three-quarters of an hour later they were both in bed and asleep.

  In the morning Aleamotu’a reported. Fournier and Joubert had been in poor shape, as for some fourteen hours the whole of their bodies had been exposed to mosquitoes and they were half-crazy from scores of bites. Cursing, but anxious to get away as soon as possible, they had flown off in their refuelled aircraft about eight o’clock. The plane from Noumea had not come in until after midnight. The crew of two had taken an hour for rest and refreshment, then cheerfully set out on their return journey. With him Aleamotou’a brought the baggage which Gregory and James had been forced to leave behind in Noumea two months before. On checking it through, they were pleased to find nothing missing.

  After they had breakfasted they drove in James’ jeep down to the town. It consisted of only one main street, parallel to the waterfront, with a few side-streets running inland from it. There were only half a dozen brick buildings; the others were of wood, the larger ones having arcades in front to shade the sidewalk, the roofs of the arcades being used as balconies. In the side-streets the buildings were mainly one-storey, their occupants sweltering under corrugated-iron roofs. At one end of the town there was an open-air market, protected from the sun by a thick thatch of palm leaves.

  The shops were all run by sleek-looking Indians, many of the older ones wearing turbans, but the majority displaying their straight, black hair neatly oiled and arranged in contrast to the frizzy heads of the natives. The market, on the other hand, was the province of the Nakapoans. In addition to meat, fish, a wonderful variety of fruit, yams, dalo, kasava and yaggona root, there were stalls that offered for sale basketwork, cheap jewellery, tapa cloth dyed in patterns of black and brown, woven hats, and treasure from the beaches such as tortoise-shell, mother of pearl, coral, conches, cowries and many other lovely shells.

  While walking down the main street, Gregory had noticed that, in addition to a small Roman Catholic Church and little Hindu temple, there were no fewer than three Nonconformist chapels, and he remarked to James upon there being so many religious buildings in so small a town.

  With a shrug of his broad shoulders, James replied, ‘I doubt if anywhere in the world such a high percentage of the population, as in the South Seas, now strictly observes some faith or other. Here, owing to French influence, the majority of the Christians are Catholics. In the British and American territories they are mostly Protestants; but the different sects are innumerable and fanatically opposed to one another. The high spot of such rivalry is Tonga. There not only are there Lutherans, Baptists, Seventh-Day Adventists and many Latter Day Saints, as the Mormons call themselves, but three different kinds of Wesleyans: the followers of the original missionaries, a group that broke away and, as the King who preceded Queen Salote did not approve of either, a third sect that he created which practises a special variety of ritual invented by himself. Football and religion are the absorbing interests in all the islands. Believe it or not, one Sunday when I was in Tonga the charming head waiter at the Date Line Hotel actually mildly reproached me because I said I was not going to church.’

  Having made the round, they returned to the Bonne Cuisine guest house, outside which they had left the jeep. The proprietor, a portly Indian, was standing on the doorstep, fanning himself. He wished them good morning politely, but showed James none of the deference which he received from his own people. When James asked for the diver from Fiji who was staying there, the Indian casually flicked his fan towards two men who were seated nearby, drinking beer at one of a dozen iron-topped tables under an awning.

  The taller of the two was Hamie Baker, the man that Mr. Trollope had sent from Fiji; the other proved to be Lacost’s diver from Tahiti, Philip Macauta, who had been left behind to look after their gear. Both being of the same profession, they had formed a friendship and were whiling away their time together.

  Baker said that he had almost given up expecting the Mr. Sallust for whom he had been sent there to work; but, as he and the salvaging equipment had been hired for three months, he had meant to wait another week before writing to Mr. Trollope to arrange for the gear to be shipped back to Suva.

  Gregory told him that they now expected to start work quite soon. Upon which Macauta made a grimace and said, ‘Lucky for you, baas, that you seem to be on the right side of the Ratu. My lot couldn’t get a single one of the divers here to work for them. Though why, beats me. They were offered good money.’

  ‘My people are very independent,’ said James, ‘and easily offended. It may be that Monsieur Lacost approached them in a way that upset them. I am told that some days ago he left for Fiji, hoping to engage divers there.’

  ‘That’s right,’ Macauta nodded. ‘He and the Brazilian gent had several talks, then their two boats sailed away in company.’

  After a few moments’ further desultory conversation Gregory asked Baker how he was off for money; then, learning that he was pretty low, and wishing to gain his goodwill, he gave him some French banknotes that had been returned from Noumea with his passport and other papers.

  As the two friends climbed back into the jeep, James said, ‘This new development is very interesting.’

  ‘Very,’ Gregory agreed. ‘It’s evident that de Carvalho and Lacost have gone into partnership. On the face of it, that’s quite a sound arrangement, as one has the licence and the other the equipment already to hand.’

  ‘I find it rather surprising, seeing that de Carvalho wouldn’t do a deal with us.’

  ‘That was different. We had nothing to offer him, and he was then under the impression that after a month or two Lacost would get fed up and leave him a free field. When he got there he found, to the contrary, that the Colons were not only still in the game but intended to go ahead, licence or no licence, as soon as they could get divers. So he was faced with the strong possibility that they would beat him to it. All Lacost apparently has to gain is legalising his operations. But I wouldn’t mind betting that it was he who put up the proposition, and that he is only jollying de Carvalho along until he can get his hands on the goods. Then he’ll push the Brazilian overboard.’

  ‘I do hope you are right,’ James said, with charming candour. ‘That would leave Olinda free, and I feel almost sure she would marry me.’

  Gregory laughed. ‘You are not taking into account that Lacost has no reason whatever to do de Carvalho in until after they have got up the gold. And the odds are now all against them. While they are still busy engaging divers in Fiji, unless something quite unforeseen happens we shall have salvaged the treasure ourselves.’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ James’ face fell. ‘And I suppose the sooner we get to work, the better. I thought we might go out to the wreck late this afternoon, so that I can show it to you. We must get back by sundown, though, as my people mean to entertain you with a meke. Then I’ll engage divers tomorrow and arrange for Baker’s equipment to be towed out.’

  ‘That
will be fine,’ Gregory agreed. ‘No doubt, old Elbœuf will appear on the scene and start creating a fuss. He’ll naturally believe that you lied to him when you said that Lacost was not employed by you, and think that the Colons having failed, you’re now taking over. But….’

  ‘In such a matter I should never lie,’ the young Ratu broke in indignantly. ‘I shall tell him, as I have meant to ever since we learned that de Carvalho had got ahead of us in securing a licence, that as the Hereditary Ruler of Tujoa I consider the treasure mine by right. That I mean to take it and, if necessary, will fight my title to it in the courts.’

  Soon after four o’clock that afternoon they again left the bure in the jeep. This time they took a road that led inland, mounting gradually as it wound through well-cultivated land. After covering a mile they were high enough to see over the tops of the trees that screened the left sickle point of the bay. Beyond them lay a small, well-wooded island, separated from the shore by a channel only a few hundred yards wide. Pointing to it, James said:

  ‘That’s where old Roboumo lives.’

  ‘And who may he be?’ Gregory enquired.

  ‘I told you about him when we were in Rio. He is the great witch-doctor of Tujoa and, for lack of a better expression, my enemy.’

  ‘Yes, I remember now. He runs a sort of protection racket, doesn’t he? Blackmails the natives with the aid of a gang of toughs, who tell the people that he’ll put a curse on them if they don’t pay up?’

  ‘That’s it. And he’s naturally opposed to modernisation of any kind, because it would tend to lessen their superstitious fear of him, or, rather, of the White Witch who is his partner. They think she is a kind of goddess and even a mention of her scares the pants off them.’

  ‘The White Witch,’ Gregory repeated. That rings a bell somehow. I’ve heard of her before, but I can’t think where. Is she really a white woman?’

  ‘I don’t know, but I doubt it. I should think it more likely that she is either a very fair-skinned Polynesian or just one of our natives who paints her face and the exposed parts of her body white. Anyway, there is no question about her potency. I’ve had ample proof that her curses do bring misfortune and even death to people.’

  ‘Then why don’t you clear out this nest of vipers? Old Elbœuf mentioned your body-guard, although I haven’t seen it. If you have fifty stout warriors at your disposal you should be able to overrun Roboumo’s island any night.’

  James laughed. ‘My body-guard is really not much more than a piece of tradition. Six of them are my house servants; the rest are employed working in my plantations. They could, of course, be mustered in an emergency; but they have no modern weapons and have not been called on to fight for many years. All they do is attend me on State occasions, such as a visit from the Governor of New Caledonia, or at the funeral of one of my family. I’ve no doubt they would obey me in most matters; but, with the exception of a few of the more enlightened ones, like Aleamotu’a, not if I called on them to attack old Roboumo’s stronghold and invite the anger of the White Witch.’

  By this time they could no longer see the sea. The jeep had entered a valley, on one side of which there rose a mountain. Parts of it were covered with thick jungle, others consisted of sheer cliffs of brown rock. Down one of the cliffs there gushed a hundred-foot-high waterfall. Clouds of fine spray steamed off the tall white pillar that it made before crashing with a roar and churning wildly below a stone bridge over which they passed.

  A few minutes later they came out of the valley and saw the sea again, blue and sparkling, in another bay. The descent there was precipitous, but, with the ease of long practice in driving on such roads, James brought the jeep down to the white, palm-fringed beach.

  Some way off, a launch was waiting and Aleamotu’a waved to them from her. Gregory and James were wearing only towelling robes over bathing trunks. Leaving their robes in the jeep, they waded, then swam out to the launch. As soon as they were aboard, Aleamotu’a headed her across the lagoon towards the reef. A few hundred yards short of the breaking waves, a buoy marked the site of the wreck. Near it a small speed boat, manned by two natives, was waiting. As they approached, its engine started up and, with spray festooning from either side of her bows, she began to race round in a narrow circle.

  ‘What are those fellows up to?’ Gregory asked.

  ‘They are our shark patrol,’ James answered lightly. ‘Churning up the water scares the brutes away. And those boys have eyes like hawks. If they spot one they’ll give us warning.’

  Far from happy at the thought that sharks might be about, Gregory allowed Aleamotu’a to adjust on his head and shoulders the mask and cylinders of an aqua-lung, then put rubber flippers on his feet. He had believed that they were only going to swim on the surface with snorkels which would enable them to peer down at the wreck, and he did not at all like the idea of actually descending to her. But, not wishing to lose face, he followed James over the side without protest.

  Through the shimmering waves on the surface he had been able to see nothing below from the boat, but once he was totally submerged, the undersea world became crystal clear for several fathoms down. On the shore side of the gently rocking launch a great cliff of tumbled rock rose up to within six feet of her bottom. Brightly-coloured fish darted in and out of hollows among the rocks, fans of coral waved lazily from it as he passed; he saw hermit crabs and sea anemones, a star fish and various kinds of seaweed that formed an underwater garden. On the seaward side of the launch there lay a deep valley. At the bottom of it was the wreck. Her outline was indistinct, as for over a century and a half submarine growths of many kinds had fastened themselves on her timbers. Apparently in some great hurricane she had been thrown right up on the nearby reef, had her bottom torn out, then sunk on her side to become wedged in the long pit between the reef and the cliff of rock.

  He found the silent world below the surface fascinating and would have liked to linger ten feet down opposite the cliff face. But James grasped him by the ankle and pulled him further under. Lightly, his flippered feet touched the slowly-waving fronds of yellow-green growth that edged the broken bulwark of the ship. He then saw that the upper deck had caved in. The stump of a mast protruded from a chaotic cluster of planks, beams, spars and a cannon, all of which were so overgrown with barnacles and seaweed that they seemed to have coalesced into one solid mass.

  With an arm that waved in slow motion, James beckoned him down towards a hole in the hillock of broken, slimy timbers, then disappeared into it. Far from happy, Gregory followed. He had always been a little vulnerable to claustrophobia. Now, the thought of being trapped down there, perhaps by another section of the deck collapsing, made the blood pound in his head and his breath come fast. It was almost dark and very eerie. As he pulled himself forward along the uneven passageway, his hand came to rest on a squashy substance that moved under it. His heart gave a lurch, then he realised that he was grasping a large sea-slug. Next moment a foot-long red fish darted out from a crevice, stared at him goggle-eyed for a moment, then streaked over his shoulder, only a few inches from his helmet. Automatically, he had thrown himself backwards. His right elbow came into sharp contact with the end of a small, jutting beam. It gave under the impact and other nearby pieces of the wreck shifted slightly. Deciding that he had had more than enough, he kicked out with his feet, thrusting himself back up the slope and out on to the slanting deck. There he encountered a squid the size of a croquet ball, with long tentacles. More frightened of him than he was of it, the squid discharged its inky fluid and made off, leaving Gregory enveloped in a cloud of blackened water. Jerking himself upright, he kicked and clawed his way towards the surface.

  Aleamotu’a pulled him in over the side of the launch. Ripping off his headpiece, he sat panting for a few moments in the stern. He knew that if he had to go down through that dark tunnel to achieve something of real importance he could have forced himself to do it. But not for this, which amounted to no more than a gambling game. Others could
play it if they wished, but it was not his idea of fun. Swimming slowly about below the surface of the deliciously warm sea, delighting in the colour and beauty of Nature’s innumerable marine miracles—yes. But crawling about in a submerged wreck where at any moment a dislodged beam might glide down and pin one there for good—definitely no.

  James stayed down for a further fifteen minutes, then reappeared, the drops of water glistening like jewels on his splendid bronzed torso. He made no comment on Gregory’s early withdrawal, except to say, ‘You were down there long enough to get an idea how much there is to be done before we can reach the treasure. As no work can be carried out during periods of rough weather, even with two fully-equipped professional divers it would take many weeks to clear away that mass of broken timber. But with a dozen good native divers to assist by clearing all the smaller stuff, while the crane lifts the big beams, we might do it during a single spell of calm weather.’

  By seven o’clock they were back at the bure. When Gregory went to turn on his bath a loud croaking noise came up from the waste. Calling Kalabo, he asked what it was. Grinning, the man explained that it was toads, many of which made their homes in drainpipes.

  After dinner they went out into the garden, which was now lit by half a hundred flaming torches fixed to long stakes, to witness the meke. Many people had assembled there, the majority well down the slope; but a number of notables were seated cross-legged in a line in front of the house. In the centre of the line two armchairs had been placed for James and Gregory. There were grave obeisances from the Elders, and Gregory noticed that if any of them had occasion to pass in front of their Ratu they did so bent nearly double.

  In the left foreground squatted a group of men. Several had guitars, one a long wooden lali drum extended across his knees, another a hollowed-out tree trunk to serve as a gong, a third a pair of clappers, while standing in a row behind them were six men holding upright bamboos of varying thicknesses, to imitate the noise of stamping on the ground. In front of the musicians squatted the singers. One of them opened on a high, single note, giving the others the key, then the rest joined in.