In the morning David Sheldon
decided that he was worse. That
he was appreciably weaker there
was no doubt, and there were
other symptoms that were unfavourable.
He began his rounds looking for
trouble. He wanted trouble. In
full health, the strained situation
would have been serious enough;
but as it was, himself growing
helpless, something had to be
done. The blacks were getting
more sullen and defiant, and
the appearance of the men the
previous night on his veranda--one
of the gravest of offences on
Berande--was ominous. Sooner
or later they would get him,
if he did not get them first,
if he did not once again sear
on their dark souls the flaming
mastery of the white man.
He returned to the house disappointed.
No opportunity had presented
itself of making an example of
insolence or insubordination--such
as had occurred on every other
day since the sickness smote
Berande. The fact that none had
offended was in itself suspicious.
They were growing crafty. He
regretted that he had not waited
the night before until the prowlers
had entered. Then he might have
shot one or two and given the
rest a new lesson, writ in red,
for them to con. It was one man
against two hundred, and he was
horribly afraid of his sickness
overpowering him and leaving
him at their mercy. He saw visions
of the blacks taking charge of
the plantation, looting the store,
burning the buildings, and escaping
to Malaita. Also, one gruesome
vision he caught of his own head,
sun-dried and smoke-cured, ornamenting
the canoe house of a cannibal
village. Either the Jessie would
have to arrive, or he would have
to do something.
The bell had hardly rung, sending
the labourers into the fields,
when Sheldon had a visitor. He
had had the couch taken out on
the veranda, and he was lying
on it when the canoes paddled
in and hauled out on the beach.
Forty men, armed with spears,
bows and arrows, and war-clubs,
gathered outside the gate of
the compound, but only one entered.
They knew the law of Berande,
as every native knew the law
of every white man's compound
in all the thousand miles of
the far-flung Solomons. The one
man who came up the path, Sheldon
recognized as Seelee, the chief
of Balesuna village. The savage
did not mount the steps, but
stood beneath and talked to the
white lord above.
Seelee was more intelligent
than the average of his kind,
but his intelligence only emphasized
the lowness of that kind. His
eyes, close together and small,
advertised cruelty and craftiness.
A gee-string and a cartridge-belt
were all the clothes he wore.
The carved pearl-shell ornament
that hung from nose to chin and
impeded speech was purely ornamental,
as were the holes in his ears
mere utilities for carrying pipe
and tobacco. His broken-fanged
teeth were stained black by betel-nut,
the juice of which he spat upon
the ground.
As he talked or listened, he
made grimaces like a monkey.
He said yes by dropping his eyelids
and thrusting his chin forward.
He spoke with childish arrogance
strangely at variance with the
subservient position he occupied
beneath the veranda. He, with
his many followers, was lord
and master of Balesuna village.
But the white man, without followers,
was lord and master of Berande--ay,
and on occasion, single-handed,
had made himself lord and master
of Balesuna village as well.
Seelee did not like to remember
that episode. It had occurred
in the course of learning the
nature of white men and of learning
to abominate them. He had once
been guilty of sheltering three
runaways from Berande. They had
given him all they possessed
in return for the shelter and
for promised aid in getting away
to Malaita. This had given him
a glimpse of a profitable future,
in which his village would serve
as the one depot on the underground
railway between Berande and Malaita.
Unfortunately, he was ignorant
of the ways of white men. This
particular white man educated
him by arriving at his grass
house in the gray of dawn. In
the first moment he had felt
amused. He was so perfectly safe
in the midst of his village.
But the next moment, and before
he could cry out, a pair of handcuffs
on the white man's knuckles had
landed on his mouth, knocking
the cry of alarm back down his
throat. Also, the white man's
other fist had caught him under
the ear and left him without
further interest in what was
happening. When he came to, he
found himself in the white man's
whale-boat on the way to Berande.
At Berande he had been treated
as one of no consequence, with
handcuffs on hands and feet,
to say nothing of chains. When
his tribe had returned the three
runaways, he was given his freedom.
And finally, the terrible white
man had fined him and Balesuna
village ten thousand cocoanuts.
After that he had sheltered no
more runaway Malaita men. Instead,
he had gone into the business
of catching them. It was safer.
Besides, he was paid one case
of tobacco per head. But if he
ever got a chance at that white
man, if he ever caught him sick
or stood at his back when he
stumbled and fell on a bush-
trail--well, there would be a
head that would fetch a price
in Malaita.
Sheldon was pleased with what
Seelee told him. The seventh
man of the last batch of runaways
had been caught and was even
then at the gate. He was brought
in, heavy-featured and defiant,
his arms bound with cocoanut
sennit, the dry blood still on
his body from the struggle with
his captors.
"Me savvee you good fella,
Seelee," Sheldon said, as the
chief gulped down a quarter-tumbler
of raw trade-gin. "Fella boy
belong me you catch short time
little bit. This fella boy strong
fella too much. I give you fella
one case tobacco--my word, one
case tobacco. Then, you good
fella along me, I give you three
fathom calico, one fella knife
big fella too much."
The tobacco and trade goods
were brought from the store-room
by two house-boys and turned
over to the chief of Balesuna
village, who accepted the additional
reward with a non-committal grunt
and went away down the path to
his canoes. Under Sheldon's directions
the house-boys handcuffed the
prisoner, by hands and feet,
around one of the pile supports
of the house. At eleven o'clock,
when the labourers came in from
the field, Sheldon had them assembled
in the compound before the veranda.
Every able man was there, including
those who were helping about
the hospital. Even the women
and the several pickaninnies
of the plantation were lined
up with the rest, two deep--a
horde of naked savages a trifle
under two hundred strong. In
addition to their ornaments of
bead and shell and bone, their
pierced ears and nostrils were
burdened with safety-pins, wire
nails, metal hair-pins, rusty
iron handles of cooking utensils,
and the patent keys for opening
corned beef tins. Some wore penknives
clasped on their kinky locks
for safety. On the chest of one
a china door-knob was suspended,
on the chest of another the brass
wheel of an alarm clock.
Facing them, clinging to the
railing of the veranda for support,
stood the sick white man. Any
one of them could have knocked
him over with the blow of a little
finger. Despite his firearms,
the gang could have rushed him
and delivered that blow, when
his head and the plantation would
have been theirs. Hatred and
murder and lust for revenge they
possessed to overflowing. But
one thing they lacked, the thing
that he possessed, the flame
of mastery that would not quench,
that burned fiercely as ever
in the disease- wasted body,
and that was ever ready to flare
forth and scorch and singe them
with its ire.
"Narada! Billy!" Sheldon
called sharply.
Two men slunk unwillingly forward
and waited.
Sheldon gave the keys of the
handcuffs to a house-boy, who
went under the house and loosed
the prisoner.
"You fella Narada, you fella
Billy, take um this fella boy
along tree and make fast, hands
high up," was Sheldon's command.
While this was being done,
slowly, amidst mutterings and
restlessness on the part of the
onlookers, one of the house-boys
fetched a heavy-handled, heavy-lashed
whip. Sheldon began a speech.
"This fella
Arunga, me cross along him
too much. I no steal
this fella Arunga. I no gammon.
I say, 'All right, you come along
me Berande, work three fella
year.' He say, 'All right, me
come along you work three fella
year.' He come. He catch plenty
good fella kai-kai, {2} plenty
good fella money. What name he
run away? Me too much cross along
him. I knock what name outa him
fella. I pay Seelee, big fella
master along Balesuna, one case
tobacco catch that fella Arunga.
All right. Arunga pay that fella
case tobacco. Six pounds that
fella Arunga pay. Alle same one
year more that fella Arunga work
Berande. All right. Now he catch
ten fella whip three times. You
fella Billy catch whip, give
that fella Arunga ten fella three
times. All fella boys look see,
all fella Marys {3} look see;
bime bye, they like run away
they think strong fella too much,
no run away. Billy, strong fella
too much ten fella three times."
The house-boy extended the
whip to him, but Billy did not
take it. Sheldon waited quietly.
The eyes of all the cannibals
were fixed upon him in doubt
and fear and eagerness. It was
the moment of test, whereby the
lone white man was to live or
be lost.
"Ten fella three times, Billy," Sheldon
said encouragingly, though there
was a certain metallic rasp in
his voice.
Billy scowled, looked up and
looked down, but did not move.
"Billy!"
Sheldon's voice exploded like
a pistol shot. The savage started
physically. Grins overspread
the grotesque features of the
audience, and there was a sound
of tittering.
"S'pose you like too much lash
that fella Arunga, you take him
fella Tulagi," Billy said. "One
fella government agent make plenty
lash. That um fella law. Me savvee
um fella law."
It was the law, and Sheldon
knew it. But he wanted to live
this day and the next day and
not to die waiting for the law
to operate the next week or the
week after.
"Too much talk along you!" he
cried angrily. "What name eh?
What name?"
"Me savvee law," the
savage repeated stubbornly.
"Astoa!"
Another man stepped forward
in almost a sprightly way and
glanced insolently up. Sheldon
was selecting the worst characters
for the lesson.
"You fella
Astoa, you fella Narada, tie
up that fella Billy
alongside other fella same fella
way."
"Strong fella tie," he
cautioned them.
"You fella
Astoa take that fella whip.
Plenty strong big
fella too much ten fella three
times. Savvee!"
"No," Astoa
grunted.
Sheldon picked up the rifle
that had leaned against the rail,
and cocked it.
"I know you, Astoa," he said
calmly. "You work along Queensland
six years."
"Me fella missionary," the
black interrupted with deliberate
insolence.
"Queensland
you stop jail one fella year.
White fella master
damn fool no hang you. You too
much bad fella. Queensland you
stop jail six months two fella
time. Two fella time you steal.
All right, you missionary. You
savvee one fella prayer?"
"Yes, me savvee prayer," was
the reply.
"All right,
then you pray now, short time
little bit. You say
one fella prayer damn quick,
then me kill you."
Sheldon held the rifle on him
and waited. The black glanced
around at his fellows, but none
moved to aid him. They were intent
upon the coming spectacle, staring
fascinated at the white man with
death in his hands who stood
alone on the great veranda. Sheldon
has won, and he knew it. Astoa
changed his weight irresolutely
from one foot to the other. He
looked at the white man, and
saw his eyes gleaming level along
the sights.
"Astoa," Sheldon said, seizing
the psychological moment, "I
count three fella time. Then
I shoot you fella dead, good-bye,
all finish you."
And Sheldon knew that when
he had counted three he would
drop him in his tracks. The black
knew it, too. That was why Sheldon
did not have to do it, for when
he had counted one, Astoa reached
out his hand and took the whip.
And right well Astoa laid on
the whip, angered at his fellows
for not supporting him and venting
his anger with every stroke.
From the veranda Sheldon egged
him on to strike with strength,
till the two triced savages screamed
and howled while the blood oozed
down their backs. The lesson
was being well written in red.
When the last of the gang,
including the two howling culprits,
had passed out through the compound
gate, Sheldon sank down half-
fainting on his couch.
"You're a sick man," he groaned. "A
sick man."
"But you can sleep at ease
to-night," he added, half an
hour later.
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