Works of Grant Allen, page 596
Morning dawned at last — the morning of Wednesday the tenth, when that awful deed of bloodshed was to be done before the open eye of heaven; and with the first streak of light the poor children awoke and gazed around them blankly at their temple prison. The black watchers brought them yam and mammee-apples once more, but they couldn’t eat; they sat bewildered and mute, with their hands clasped in their parents’ palms, waiting for the end, and too dazed and terrified almost to know what was passing.
About six o’clock the Chief came down to the temple, with bloodshot eyes and tottering feet, attended by half a dozen naked black followers. They had all been drinking the greater part of the night at the sing-sing, for the Frenchmen had left plenty of square gin behind; and they rollicked in the cruel good-humor of the born savage.
“How do, Macglashin?” the Chief inquired with a hateful leer. “How do, white woman? Taranaka day come at last. How you like him this morning? What for you no tell man a Tanaki sooner you don’t know Englishman? Ha! ha! dat true; so him see. Queenie England no care for Scotchman.”
“If you dare to touch a hair of our heads,” Macglashin cried in his despair, rising up and facing the savage angrily, “sooner or later, I tell you, the Queen of England will hear of it, and she’ll send a gunboat to punish you for our death, and her sailors’ll shoot you all down for your part in this murder.”
The Chief laughed — a wild, horrible, barbaric laugh. “Ha! ha!” he answered. “Dat all very fine for try frighten me. But man a oui-oui tell me you no true Englishman. You speakee English, but you Scotchman born. All samee American. Queenie England no care for American, no care for Scotch; no send her gunboat for look after Scotchman. Man a Tanaki go for eat you to-day, for do honor to ghost a Taranaka.”
Macglashin saw that words would produce no effect upon the tipsy and excited wretch; he must make up his mind for the worst. There was no help for it.
“At least,” he cried, “Chief, you’ll let us say good-by to our boys before we die? You’ll bring them in for their mother and me to take our last farewell of them?”
The Chief shook his head and made a hideous grimace. “No say good-by to boys,” he said, with horrible glee. “Man a Tanaki kill pig all night; kill Scotchman in morning. Kill baby first; then boy; then mother. Last of all, kill you yourself, Macglashin. Taranaka very much love white man’s blood. Great day to-day for feast for Taranaka.” And he went off again, grinning in hideous buffoonery, while Macglashin’s soul seethed in speechless indignation.
For half an hour more they were left undisturbed. Then the Chief appeared at the door once more, and beckoning with his long black forefinger, called to the missionary —
“Come out, Macglashin!”
The unhappy man strode out with little Miriam half-fainting in his arms.
“Come out, white woman!” the savage cried once more.
The pale mother, almost unable to totter with terror, made her way to the door, with Calvin’s fingers intertwined in her own.
“Now, white people, we going to shoot you,” the savage continued, unabashed. “You make too much trouble for man a Tanaki. Interfere too much with man who sell him boy or him woman. Me don’t going to kill you with axe, like Taranaka kill first missionary that come a Tanaki. Man a oui-oui sell me plenty Snider. Man a Tanaki want to try him shooting-irons. Set you up to run, and then go fire at you.”
At the word he nodded, and four stalwart savages caught Macglashin in their arms and held him to a line drawn lightly in the dust by the Chief’s stick. At the same moment four others caught his unhappy wife, and dragged her, half senseless, to the self-same line. The two children were ranged by their sides, pale and white with terror. Then the Chief walked forward, and drew another line some forty yards in front of them with his stick again. “When Chief call ‘go,’” he called out, “man a Tanaki let go missionary, and boy, and white woman. Missionary run till him reach dis line. Man a Tanaki no shoot till missionary pass dis line. Den man a Tanaki fire; missionary run; man a Tanaki run after missionary to kill him. Whoever shoot missionary or white woman first, give him body up in temple to Taranaka.”
As he spoke, the savages ranged themselves behind, Sniders in hand. The Chief placed himself in order at their head on the right. Then he called out in Kanaka, “When I give the word— ‘one, two, three’ — loose them! When I give the word Fire! off with your rifles at them.”
There was a deadly pause. All was still as death. Then the Chief cried aloud, “One — two — three — loose them!” and the savages loosed the poor terrified Europeans.
Even in that supreme moment of agony and doubt, however, one thought kept rising ever in the father’s and mother’s heart. What had become of Jack and Martin?
CHAPTER VII.
ERRORS EXCEPTED.
It was Thursday the eleventh, in the small hours of the morning. The Albatross was lumbering along as best she might with her broken engine, and we were nearing the line of 180°. We weren’t making much way, however, for the speed was low; and we hadn’t so much reason for hurrying now, for we felt almost hopeless of being in time to prevent the threatened massacre. Our people, we feared, had long since fallen victims to the superstition and bloodthirstiness of the ungrateful savages.
I was asleep in my berth after the fatigues of the day, and was dreaming of my dear little girl in England; when suddenly I felt a clammy cold hand laid upon my own outside the coverlet, and waking with a start, I saw Martin Luther standing pale and white in his blue shirt and trousers before me. I knew at once by his face something fresh had turned up.
“Goodness gracious, boy,” I exclaimed, “what on earth’s the matter now?”
“Captain Braithwaite,” he answered with very solemn seriousness, “I’ve been counting the days over and over again, and I’m quite sure there’s a mistake somewhere. We’ve got a day wrong in our reckoning, I’m certain. I’ve counted up each day and night a hundred times over since we left Tanaki in the boat — Jack and I — and I feel confident you’re twenty-four hours out in your reckoning. Yesterday wasn’t Wednesday the tenth at all. It was Tuesday the ninth, and we may yet reach Tanaki in time to save them.”
“No, no, my boy,” I answered, “you’re wrong; you’re wrong. Your natural anxiety about your father’s fate has upset your calculations. To-day’s the eleventh; yesterday was the tenth. Till we get to the meridian of 180°” — and then, with a start, I broke off suddenly.
“What’s the matter?” Martin cried, for he saw at once I was faltering and hesitating. “Ah, you see I was right now. You see this morning’s the tenth, don’t you?”
In a moment the truth flashed across me with a burst. I saw it all; the only wonder was how on earth I had failed so long to perceive it. I seized the poor lad’s hand in a fervor of delight, relief and exultation.
“Martin,” I cried, overjoyed, “we are both of us right in our own way of reckoning. This morning’s the eleventh on board the Albatross here, but it’s the tenth, I don’t doubt, in your island at Tanaki!”
“What do you mean?” he cried, astonished, and gazing at me as if he thought me rather more than half-mad. “How on earth can it be Thursday here, while it’s Wednesday at Tanaki?”
“Hold on a bit, youngster,” said I, jumping out of my cabin, “till I’ve consulted the chart and made quite sure about it. Let me see. Here we are. Duke of Cumberland’s Islands, 179° west. Hooray! Hooray!” I waved the chart round my head in triumph. “Jim, Jim!” I shouted out, rushing up the companion-ladder in my night-shirt as I stood; “here’s a hope indeed! Here’s splendid news. Put on all steam at once and we may save them yet. Tanaki’s the other side of 180!”
Jim looked at me in astonishment.
“Why, what on earth do you mean, Julian?” he asked. “What on earth has that to do with our chance of saving them?”
“Jim,” I cried once more, hardly knowing how to contain myself with excitement and reaction; “was there ever such a precious pair of fools in the world before as you and me, my good fellow? It’s Wednesday morning in Tanaki, man! It’s Wednesday in Tanaki! Tanaki’s the other side of 180!”
As I said the words, Jim jumped at me like a wild creature and grasped my hand hard. Then he caught Martin in his arms and hugged him as tight as if he’d been his own father. After that he threw his cap up in the air and shouted aloud with delight. And when he’d quite finished all those remarkable performances, he looked hard into my face and burst out laughing.
“Well, upon my soul, Julian,” he said, “for a couple of seasoned old Pacific travelers, I do agree with you that a pair of bigger fools and stupider dolts than you and I never sailed the ocean!”
“If it had been our first voyage across now,” I said to Jim, feeling thoroughly ashamed of myself for my silly mistake, “there might have been some excuse for us!”
“Or if the boy hadn’t told us there was a discrepancy in the accounts the very first day he ever came aboard,” he added solemnly.
“But as it is,” I went on, “such a scholar’s mate, such a beginner’s blunder as this is for two seafaring men — why, it’s absolutely inexcusable!”
“Absolutely inexcusable!” Jim repeated, penitently.
“But if we clap on all steam we may get there yet on Wednesday morning,” I continued, consulting my watch.
“By three or four o’clock on Wednesday morning,” Jim echoed, examining the chart once more, and carefully noting the ship’s position. “Why, it’s Wednesday now, Julian. We’ve crossed 180°.”
“But what day was yesterday?” Martin asked, all trembling.
“Why, yesterday,” I answered, “was Wednesday the tenth, my boy; but to-day is Wednesday the tenth also. It comes twice over at this longitude. We’ve gained a day; that’s the long and the short of it. We ought to have known it, my brother and I, who are such old hands at cruising in and out of the islands; but our anxiety and distress made us clean forget it.”
“How does that come about?” Martin asked bewildered, his lips white as death.
“Just like this,” said I. “Sailing one way, you see, from England, you sail with the sun; and sailing the other way, you sail against it. In one direction you keep gaining time, and in the other you lose it.”
“The meridian of 180° is the particular place where the two modes of reckoning reach their climax,” I hastened to add. “So, when you get to 180°, sailing west, you lose a day, and Saturday’s followed right off by Monday. But sailing east, you gain a day, and have two Sundays running, or whatever else the day may be when you happen to get there. Now, we’re going in the right direction for gaining a day; and so, though yesterday was Wednesday the tenth the other side of 180°, to-day’s Wednesday the tenth, don’t you see, this side of it? And as Tanaki’s this side, your people must always have reckoned by the American day, so to speak, while we’ve reckoned all along by the Australian one. It’s this morning those savages threatened to kill your father and mother, and if we make a good run, we shall still perhaps be in time to save them.”
As I spoke, the boy’s knees trembled under him with excitement. He staggered so that he caught at a rope for support. He was too much in earnest to cry, but the tears stood still in his eyes without falling.
“Oh! I hope to Heaven we’ll be in time,” he answered. “We may save them! We may save them!”
I went below and turned in once more for a little sleep, for I knew I should be wanted later in the morning; and having fortunately the true sailor’s habit in that matter of dozing off whenever occasion occurred, I was soon snoring away again most comfortably on my pillow. At half-past three, Tom Blake came down once more to wake me.
“Land in sight, sir,” he said, “on our starboard bow, and this young fellow Martin says he makes it out to be the north point of Tanaki.”
In a minute I was on deck again, and peering at the dim land through the gray mist of morning — the same gray mist through which, as we afterwards learned, the poor creatures in the heathen temple saw the dawn break of the day that was to end their earthly troubles. It was Tanaki, no doubt, for Martin was quite sure he could recognize the headlands and the barrier reef. Our only question now was how next to proceed. We held a brief little council of war on deck, with Martin as our chief adviser on the local situation.
From what he told us, I came rapidly to the conclusion that it would be useless to attempt an open entrance into the little harbor of Makilolo, where the Chief had his hut, and where the mission-people, as we believed, were still confined in the temple. To do so would only be to arouse the anger of the savages beforehand; and unless we could get them well between a cross fire, and so effectually prevent any further outrage, we feared they might massacre the unhappy people in their hands the moment we hove in sight to enter the harbor. But here our friend Martin’s local knowledge of the archipelago helped us out of our difficulty. He could pilot us, he said, to a retired bay at the back of the island, by the east side, where we could land a small party in boats, well armed with Sniders and our Winchester repeater; and Jack, who had slept all night, and was therefore the fresher of the two, would show us a path through the thick tropical underbrush by which we could approach the village from the rear, while the Albatross ran round again with the remainder of the crew, and brought our brass thirty-pounder to bear upon the savages from the open harbor.
This plan was at once received with universal approbation, and we proceeded forthwith to put it into execution.
Steering cautiously round the island, under cover of the mist, and fortunately unperceived by the assembled natives, who were too much occupied with their sing-sing to be engaged in scanning the offing, we reached at last the little retired bay of which Martin had spoken, and got ready our boat to land our military party. It was ticklish work, for we could afford to land only ten, all told, with Jack for our guide; but each man was armed with a good rifle and ammunition, and the habit of discipline made our little band, we believed, more than a match for those untutored savages. Nassaline, also, joined the military party, while seven men were left as a naval reserve. Silently and cautiously we landed on the white sandy beach, and turned with Jack into the thick tangled brake of tropical brushwood.
Meanwhile, my brother Jim, with Martin to guide him, undertook to take the Albatross round to the regular harbor; for Martin fortunately knew every twist and turn of those tortuous reef-channels, having been accustomed to navigate them from his childhood upwards, both in the mission-boat and in the native canoes which frequently put to sea for the bêche-de-mer fishery.
Our plan of action, as arranged beforehand, was for the military party to wait about in the woods at the back of the village till the Albatross hove in sight off the mouth of the harbor. Then, the moment she appeared, she was to fire a blank shot towards the Chief’s hut with her thirty-pounder; and at the same moment, we of the surprise party were to fall upon the savages, and before they could recover from their first surprise, demand the instant restitution of the missionary and his family.
Everything depended now upon the two boys. If Jack failed to show us the path aright — if Martin drove the Albatross upon reef or rock — all would be up with us, and the savages would massacre our whole party in cold blood, as they proposed to do with Macglashin and his little ones. I trembled to think on how slender a thread those four precious human lives depended. After all, they were but lads, mere children almost, and the rash confidence of youth might easily deceive them. But I decided, none the less, to trust to their instincts and their keen affection for their friends to see us through in our need. If that wouldn’t lead us right, I felt sure in my own soul no human aid could possibly save the unhappy prisoners.
CHAPTER VIII.
HOT WORK.
Jack led us from the beach over the white coral sand straight up to the wood, and after looking about for a while to make sure of his bearings among the huge fallen logs, hit at last upon a faint trail that led straggling through the forest — a trail scarcely worn into the semblance of a path by the bare feet of naked savages. Following his guidance, we plunged at once, with some doubtful misgivings, into the deep gloom of the woodland, and found ourselves immediately in a genuine equatorial thicket, where mouldering trunks of palms encumbered the vague path, and great rope-like lianas hung down in loops from the trees overhead, to block our way at every second step through that fatiguing underbrush. The day was warm, even as we travelers who know the world judge warmth in the tropical South Pacific; and the moist heat of that basking, swampy lowland, all laden with miasma from the decaying leaves, seemed to oppress us with its deadly effluvia and its enervating softness at every yard we went through the jungle. Moreover, we had to carry our arms and ammunition among that tangled brake; and as our rifles kept catching continually in the creepers that drooped in festoons from the branches, while our feet got simultaneously entangled in the roots and trailing stems that straggled underfoot, you can easily imagine for yourself that ours was indeed no pleasant journey. However, we persevered with dogged English perseverance; the sailors tramped on and wiped their foreheads with their sleeves from time to time; while poor Jack marched bravely at our head with an indomitable pluck which reflected the highest credit on Mr. Macglashin’s training.
The only one who seemed to make light of the toil was our black boy, Nassaline.
We went single file, of course, along the narrow trail, which every here and there divided to right or left in the midst of the brake with most puzzling complexity. At every such division or fork in the track, Jack halted for a moment and cast his eye dubiously to one side and the other, at last selecting the trail that seemed best to him. Nassaline, too, helped us not a little by his savage instinct for finding his way through trackless jungle. For my own part, I could never have believed any road on earth could possibly be so tortuous; and at last, at the end of the twenty-fifth turn or thereabouts, I ventured to say in a very low voice (for we were stealing along in dead silence), “Why, Jack, I believe you’re leading us round and round in a circle, and you’ll bring us out again in the end at the very same bay where we first landed!”
