Mystic Isles of the South Seas Part 20

Noanoa Tiare pointed to them.

"The ahiahi comes. Night is not far off," she said warningly. "If we lingered here much longer, we might have to stay all the night."

"How memorable to me would be a sunrise from here," I replied. "I would never forget it."

She looked at me archly over her shoulder.

"I would like it myself. It would be magnificent, and I have never spent the night just here."

She considered a moment, and my mind took up the matter of arrangements. We could cook feis, and there was plenty of other fruit, with shelter in the house, if we needed that. We could start down early and be at Lovaina's for the first dejeuner. Zeus! to pa.s.s the night in such a solitude! To hear in the pitch darkness the mysterious voices of po, the tenebrae of the Tahitian G.o.ds; the boom of the cascade in the abyss; the deep ba.s.s of the river in the rocky chute; the sigh of the wind in the trees; the murmur of the stream near by; the fantasia and dirge of the lofty night in the tropics. What a setting for her telling some old legend or fairy-tale of Tahiti!

Fragrance of the Jasmine ended my reverie. She slapped her thigh.

"I dine and dance to-night at eight o'clock," she said. "A rohi! We must go! Besides, Maru, it would be too cold without blankets. The mercury here goes to sixty of your thermometer."

We descended by the route we had come, picking up her shoes and stockings and our hats by our couch, and with the princess leading, hurrying along the obscuring trail. We pa.s.sed a Tahitian youth who had been gathering feis, probably near the tarn, and who was bringing them to the market of the next morning. He was burdened with more than a hundred pounds of fruit, which he carried balanced on a pole over his shoulder, and with this he was to go seven or eight miles from their place of growth. He was a pillar of strength, handsome, glowing with effort, clad in a gorgeous pareu of red, and as we went by him, he smiled and said, "Ia ora na! I hea! Vaimato?" Greeting! Where have you been? The waterfall?"

"E, hitahita. Yes, we are hurrying back," the princess called vivaciously.

"Those are our real men, not the Papeete dolts," she said. "If we had time, we would catch shrimp in the river. I love to do that."

When we came to where the habitations began and the road became pa.s.sable for vehicles, Noanoa Tiare sat down on a stone. She put on her pale-blue silk stockings and her shoes, and asked me for the package she had given me at starting. She unfolded it, and it was an aahu, a gown, for which she exchanged, behind a banana-plant, her soiled and drenched tunic. The new one was of the finest silk, diaphanous, and thus to be worn only at night. The sun was down, and the lagoon a purple lake when we were again at the bust of Bougainville.

I thanked her at parting.

"Noanoa Tiare," I said, "this day has a heavenly blue page in my record. It has made Tahiti a different island for me."

"Maru, mon ami, you are sympathetic to my race. We shall be dear friends. I will send you the note to Tetuanui, the chief of Mataiea, to-morrow. Au revoir and happy dreams."

Chapter XIII

The beach-combers of Papeete--The consuls tell their troubles--A bogus lord--The American boot-blacks--The cowboy in the hospital--Ormsby, the supercargo--The death of Tahia--The Christchurch Kid--The Nature men--Ivan Stroganoff's desire for a new gland.

I played badminton some afternoons at the British consulate. The old wooden bungalow, with broad verandas, stood in a small garden a dozen yards from the lagoon, where the Broom Road narrowed as it left the business portion of Papeete and began its round of the island. There was just room enough on the salt gra.s.s for the shuttlec.o.c.k to fall out of bounds, and for the battledores to swing free of the branches of the trees. The consul, though he wore a monocle, was without the pretense of officialdom except to other officials and, of course, at receptions, dinners, and formal gatherings. After the games, with tea on the veranda, I heard many stories of island life, of official amenities, and the compound of nationalities in our little world.

Half a dozen intimates of the consul dropped in about four, Willi, the rich dentist and acting American consul; Stevens, the London broker; Hobson, who closed an eye for the Moorean, McTavish; and others. All were British except me, but our home tongue and customs drew us closer together than to Frenchmen, and we could speak with some freedom on local affairs. If no woman was present other than the cosmopolitan wife of the consul, born in Persia, we were quite at ease.

Both consuls were usually worried because of the refusals of crews of vessels flying their flags to leave Tahiti, complaints of the police of the misconduct of their nationals, or appeals for a.s.sistance from impecunious or spendthrift tourists. It was an every-week happening for sailors of American vessels and of the New Zealand steams.h.i.+ps to flee to the distant districts or to Moorea, to live in a breadfruit grove with dryads who asked no vows, or to escape the grind of work and discipline at sea.

They must be pursued by the French gendarmes, under the warrant of their own flag, caught, and sent in irons aboard their s.h.i.+ps, with fees paid by their furious captains. Many times the chase was futile, so well did the dryads secrete them, and the natives of the district abet the offense. To a Tahitian an amorous adventure, either as princ.i.p.al or aid, is half of life, and he would risk his liberty and property to thwart, in his opinion, hard and stupid officials who wanted to separate loving hearts.

We talked about the kinds of men, other than these sailors, who made Tahiti their playground, to the annoyance of their consuls. Crime among the Tahitians was almost unknown. A petty theft rarely happened. They were never paupers, for their own people cared for them, and unless absolutely mat-ridden, they could find food on the trees about them. The whites--and not the French whites either--caused the trouble, and but for them M. Lontane might have left off his revolver and club.

"There is a type of Britisher," said the consul, "who thinks Tahiti is his oyster, to be opened with false pretenses, and a pearl found. This type has two varieties, impecunious, but well-educated, youths, younger sons, maybe; and valets and varlets. These scoundrels afflict me dreadfully, because they all ultimately claim the protection of the British flag or are reported by the police for skullduggery. There is a fellow now on my hands who is threatenin' suicide. I wish to Gog and Magog that he would take to the reef or find a stick of dynamite. Monsieur Lontane, that busy French gendarme, found him tryin' to borrow a revolver or a stiletto, and thought he was going to kill a Frenchman. He put him in the calaboose and brought his effects to me. They consisted of a book of poems and a letter, but not a ha'penny."

"What does the bounder look like?" asked Stevens.

"He looks like a beadle in a dissentin' church, with a long, skinny neck, a pasty face, and a c.o.c.kney accent. I went to see him, and he talked like an underdone curate who had had a bad night. When he got off the s.h.i.+p, where he owed everybody, includin' the smokin'-room, he came to see me with some crazy papers for me to sign. He said then he had not a s.h.i.+llin', and I advised him to go to work. He said there wasn't any work; so knowin' Llewellyn was badly in need of people, I sent him to his vanilla plantation out Mataiea way. You know here they haven't the bees or whatever it is that transfers the pollen from the stigma to the anther or what-d 'ye-call-it, and so they do it by hand with a piece of bamboo or a stem of gra.s.s. The girls do it mostly, but I thought this jackpuddin' could make an honest pound or two. He came tearin' back to me sayin' I'd insulted him with the work, askin' him, a n.o.bleman, to pander in the vegetable kingdom."

"I know him. He was at Lovaina's," I interposed. "He was at the bar all the time, quoting Pope and Dryden and himself. He said he was going around the globe on a wager of a fortune. He was a poisonous bore, and always popped up for a drink. By the way, he wears a monocle."

"You've named him," went on the consul. "That's more of the c.o.c.kney's pretense. Here's the poem he wrote in the calaboose. He did it on his s.h.i.+rt-front because the economical French gave him no paper. Lontane thought it might be his will or a plot, and brought the s.h.i.+rt here, and I copied the accursed thing for my record, as I am compelled to by the rules of the august devils of Downing Street."

THE HOME-LAND CALL

Why wilt thou torture me with unripe call, Bringing these visions of the dear old land?

Dost think 't is sweet to let thy mock'ry fall?

For me to hear forgotten noises in the Strand?

Insidious voice that will not grant my plea, The mem'ry of thy pleasures dost remain: Oxonian-Cantabs club; blue-lit Gaiety!'

"What he needs is a permanent permit to patronize the opium den the Government runs here for the Chinese," said Hobson. "He's off his dope."

"Just a minute," continued the consul. "He claims to be a lord and a millionaire. Here's the letter. He needs no opium to have nightmares:"

Tuesday.

Of course, I will be called coward now, but the same people who call me this are those who have caused me to seek death, for they branded me liar and wastrel, simply on an untrue report appearing in an American newspaper. Chief among these people are that most despicable cad Hallman, and secondly, the British Consul. Even had I been guilty of all that has been said, why were they not manly and generous enough to give or find me congenial employment? They are not blind and could see how anxious and willing I was to obtain this. No, they only gloated over my starving and pitiable condition. Well, they spring from the proletariat cla.s.s and not much else could be expected.

G.o.d only knows how much I want to live and how I dread having to take my own life, but only for the sake of my people. If I could only see them again it would be easier. How did I ever fall so low! G.o.d help me! Is there nothing else for me but this ignominious death? But I must save my people from knowing. I am not using my correct name here, so it will be useless for any one to make inquiries. A volume of poems will be found in my pocket. I wonder if the Bishop would kindly post these to Miss B. Wilmer, Broken Hill, West Australia, but only telling her I died here, without particulars, and saying I have written these since leaving home. Oh, why did I ever leave there, where love and all that is good and pure was lavished on me?

If it is possible, could I be buried in the sea? Just placed in a coffin and dropped into the peaceful ocean, peace that I have not known for four years. Please have this done for me.

I do not think I am committing suicide, rather I am being murdered by men who have none of the n.o.bler feelings, ungenerous, unsympathetic and cruelly unkind. The fact of my death will not affect one of those who ruined my reputation here, who deprived me of obtaining food, and a room to sleep in. They have no more conscience so cannot feel remorse. I will not sign my true name but only part of it.

Gordon Innes.

"He's off his onion," Stevens commented. "The bally fool needs hard labor and raw feis."

The consul grinned.

"Wait till you hear me read the doc.u.ment with the suicide note. It's as good as Marie Corelli."

"All right, old thing," answered Stevens. "Fire the whole broadside!"

"No, no; I'm goin' to spare you the whole official doc.u.ment. It pretends to be a formal instruction to this beef-headed flunky, from his guardian, of a test to prove his mettle and gain experience to fit him for the highest posts of the diplomatic service by going round the bally world and doin' other people in for their tin. It is a yard long, and was undoubtedly written by the same dish-washer who wrote that doggerel on his s.h.i.+rt. It promises him half a million sterling when he comes back to London after visiting Australasia, China, India, and other countries, and pickin' up his tucker free as he goes. Also, the shark is permitted to send back for coin at this date, and he must get married to a Tahitian. He probably fixes it different in every country. It's signed, 'Your affectionate guardian, James Kitson, Baron Airedale of Gledhow.'"

"Whew!" spluttered Hobson, "the blighter has no limits. Do you mean to tell me he gets away with that folderol?"

"For months he has lived at Lovaina's, f.a.n.n.y's, and even on the Chinese. He has borrowed thousands of francs, and spent it for drink and often for champagne. He did old Lovaina up for money as well as board. She believes in him yet, and calls him Lord Innes or Sir Gordon, but says she has no more to risk. He promised to build her a big hotel where the Annexe is. He's got many of the Tahitian girls and their mothers mad over his style and his prospects. Finally, he was warned by me to leave the island, and the result was his tryin' to borrow the lethal weapon, the poem and the letter. The Baron Airedale doc.u.ment he showed me when he first landed, to try to get my indors.e.m.e.nt. There's no Burke in the South Seas, and there probably is no such bloomin'

baron. Sounds more like a dog." The consul chuckled.

"Those lairds are as plentiful as brands of Scotch whisky made in England," Stevens said derisively. "What will you do to uphold the honor of the British crown? Is the Scotch b.a.s.t.a.r.d to go on with his fairy-tale and do brown the colonials?"