'Who is he?'

'I don't know his name, but he seems so sympathetic. And he says he should be so pleased if he might see you again for a few minutes. He says, too, that you have a good and kind face. I told him that you would be sure to take at least a dozen of those in cream and gold. There's nothing at all vulgar; quite the reverse.'

'What are you talking about, Kate? Who is this sodden old lunatic, and what on earth are you crying for?'

My sister nearly sobbed. 'I always thought that what you derisively termed "mortuary bards" were horrid people, but this old man has a beautiful nature. And he's very wet—and hungry too, I'm sure; and Mary looks at him as if he were a dog. Do try and help him. I think we might get one or two dozen cream and gold cards, and two dozen black-edged.

And then he's a journalist, too. He's told me quite a sad little story of his life struggle, and the moment I told him you were on the Evening News he quite brightened up, and said he knew your name quite well.'

'Kate,' I said, 'I don't want to see the man. What the deuce does he want? If he is one of those loafing scoundrels of undertakers' and mortuary masons' touts, just send him about his business; give him a glass of whisky and tell Mary to clear him out.'

My sister said that to send an old man out in such weather was not like me. Surely I would at least speak a kind word to him.

In sheer desperation I went out to the man. He addressed me in husky tones, and said that he desired to express his deep sympathy with me in my affliction, also that he was 'a member of the Fourth Estate.' Seven years before he had edited the Barangoora News, but his determined opposition to a dishonest Government led to his ruin, and now—

'All right, old man; stow all that. What do you want?'

He looked at me reproachfully, and taking up a small leather bag, said that he represented Messrs ———, 'Monumental Masons and Memorial Card Designers and Printers,' and should feel pleased if I would look at his samples.

He was such a wretched, hungry-looking, down-upon-his-beam-ends old fellow, that I could not refuse to inspect his wares. And then his boots filled me with pity. For such a little man he had the biggest boots I ever saw—baggy, elastic sides, and toes turned up, with the after part of the uppers sticking out some inches beyond the frayed edges of his trousers. As he sat down and drew these garments up, and his bare, skinny legs showed above his wrecked boots, his feet looked like two water-logged cutters under bare poles, with the water running out of the scuppers.

Mary brought the whisky. I poured him out a good, stiff second mate's nip. It did my heart good to see him drink it, and hear the soft ecstatic 'Ah, ah, ah,' which broke from him when he put the glass down; it was a Te Deum Laudamus.

Having briefly intimated to him that I had no intention of buying 'a handsome granite monument, with suitable inscription, or twelve lines of verse, for L4, 17s. 6d.,' I took up his packet of In Memoriam cards and went through them. The first one was a hand-drawn design in cream and gold—Kate's fancy. It represented in the centre an enormously bloated infant with an idiotic leer, lying upon its back on a blue cloud with scalloped edges, whilst two male angels, each with an extremely vicious expression, were pulling the cloud along by means of tow-lines attached to their wings. Underneath were these words in MS.: 'More angels can be added, if desired, at an extra charge of 6d. each.'

No. 2 represented a disorderly flight of cherubims, savagely attacking a sleeping infant in its cradle, which was supported on either hand by two vulgar-looking female angels blowing bullock horns in an apathetic manner.

No. 3 rather took my fancy—there was so much in it—four large fowls flying across the empyrean; each bird carried a rose as large as a cabbage in its beak, and apparently intended to let them drop upon a group of family mourners beneath. The MS. inscribed said, 'If photographs are supplied of members of the Mourning Family, our artist will reproduce same in group gathered round the deceased. If doves are not approved, cherubims, angels, or floral designs may be used instead, for small extra charge.'

Whilst I was going through these horrors the old man kept up a babbling commentary on their particular and collective beauties; then he wanted me to look at his specimens of verse, much of which, he added, with fatuous vanity, was his own composition.

I did read some of it, and felt a profound pity for the corpse that had to submit to such degradation. Here are four specimens, the first of which was marked, 'Especially suitable for a numerous family, who have lost an aged parent, gold lettering is. 6d. extra,'—

'Mary and May and Peter and John [or other names] Loved and honoured him [or her] who has gone; White was his [or her] hair and kind was his [or her] heart, Oh why, we all sigh, were we made thus to part?'

For an Aunt, (Suitable verses for Uncles at same rates.)

'Even our own sweet mother, who is so kind, Could not wring our hearts more if she went and left us behind; A halo of glory is now on thy head, Ah, sad, sad thought that good auntie is dead.'

For a Father or Mother,

'Oh children, dear, when I was alive, To get you bread I hard did strive; I now am where I need no bread, And wear a halo round my head. Weep not upon my tomb, I pray, But do your duty day by day.'

The last but one was still more beautiful,—

For a Child who suffered a Long Illness before Decease.

[I remarked casually that a child could not suffer even a short illness after decease. Bilger smiled a watery smile and said 'No.']

'For many long months did we fondly sit, And watch our darling fade bit by bit; Till an angel called from out the sky, "Come home, dear child, to the Sweet By-and-By. Hard was your lot on earth's sad plain, But now you shall never suffer again, For cherubims and seraphims will welcome you here. Fond parents, lament not for the loss of one so dear."' [N.B.—"These are very beautiful lines."]

The gem of the collection, however, was this:—

Suitable for a child of any age. The beautiful simplicity of the words have brought us an enormous amount of orders from bereaved parents.

'Our [Emily] was so fair, That the angels envied her, And whispered in her ear, "We will take you away on [Tuesday] night."'

["Drawing of angels carrying away deceased child, is. 6d. extra."]

The old imbecile put his damp finger upon this, and asked me what I thought of it. I said it was very simple but touching, and then, being anxious to get rid of him, ordered two dozen of Kate's fancy. He thanked me most fervently, and said he would bring them to me in a few days. I hurriedly remarked he could post them instead, paid him in advance, and told him to help himself to some more whisky. He did so, and I observed, with some regret, that he took nearly half a tumblerful.

'Dear, dear me,' he said, with an apologetic smile, 'I'm afraid I have taken too much; would you kindly pour some back. My hand is somewhat shaky. Old age, sir, if I may indulge in a platitude, is—'

'Oh, never mind putting any back. It's a long walk to the ferry, and a wet day beside.'

'True, true,' he said meditatively, looking at Mary carrying in the dinner, and drinking the whisky in an abstracted manner.

Just then my sister beckoned me out. She said it was very thoughtless of me to pour gallons of whisky down the poor old fellow's throat, upon an empty stomach.

'Perhaps you would like me to ask him to have dinner with us?' I said with dignified sarcasm.

'I think we might at least let Mary give him something to eat.'

Of course I yielded, and my sister bade Mary give our visitor a good dinner. For such a small man he had an appetite that would have done credit to a long-fasting tiger shark tackling a dead whale; and every time I glanced at Mary's face as she waited on my sister and myself I saw that she was verging upon frenzy. At last, however, we heard him shuffling about on the verandah, and thought he was going without saying 'thank you.' We wronged him, for presently he called to Mary and asked her if I would kindly grant him a few words after I had finished dinner.

'Confound him! What the deuce—'

My sister said, 'Don't be cruel to the poor old fellow. You may be like him yourself some day.'

I said I didn't doubt it, if my womenfolk encouraged every infernal old dead-beat in the colony to come and loaf upon me. Two large tears at once ran down Kate's nose, and dropped into the custard on her plate. I softened at once and went out.

'Permit me, sir,' he said, in a wobbly kind of voice, as he lurched to and fro in the doorway, and tried to jab the point of his umbrella into a knot-hole in the verandah boards in order to steady himself, 'permit me, sir, to thank you for your kindness and to tender you my private card. Perhaps I may be able to serve you in some humble way'—here the umbrella point stuck in the hole, and he clung to the handle with both hands—'some humble way, sir. Like yourself, I am a literary man, as this will show you.' He fumbled in his breast pocket with his left hand, and would have fallen over on his back but for the umbrella handle, to which he clung with his right. Presently he extracted a dirty card and handed it to me, with a bow, which he effected by doubling himself on his stomach over the friendly gamp, and remained in that position, swaying to and fro, for quite ten seconds. I read the card:—

MR HORATIO BILGER Journalist and Litterateur

Formerly Editor of the 'Barangoora News'

Real Aylesbury Ducks for Sale Book-keeping Taught in Four Lessons

4a Kellet Street, Darlinghurst, Sydney

I said I should bear him in mind, and, after helping him to release his umbrella, saw him down the steps and watched him disappear.

'Thank Heaven!' I said to Kate, 'we have seen the last of him.'

I was bitterly mistaken, for next morning when I entered the office, Bilger was there awaiting me, outside the sub-editor's room. He was wearing a new pair of boots, much larger than the old ones, and smiled pleasantly at me, and said he had brought his son Edward to see me, feeling sure that I would use my influence with the editor and manager to get him put on as a canvasser.

I refused point blank to see 'Edward' then or at any other time, and said that even if there was a vacancy I should not recommend a stranger. He sighed, and said that I should like Edward, once I knew him. He was 'a noble lad, but misfortune had dogged his footsteps—a brave, heroic nature, fighting hard against unmerited adversity.' I went in and shut the door.

* * * * *

Two days later Kate asked me at supper if I couldn't do something for old Bilger's son.

'Has that infernal old nuisance been writing to you about his confounded son?'

'How ill-tempered you are! The "old nuisance," as you call him, has behaved very nicely. He sent his son over here to thank us for our kindness, and to ask me to accept a dozen extra cards from himself. The son is a very respectable-looking man, but rather shabby. He is coming again to-morrow to help Mary to put up the new wire clothes line.'

'Is he? Well, then, Mary can pay him.'

'Don't be so horrid. He doesn't want payment for it. But, of course, I shall pay his fare each way. Mary says he's such a willing young man.'

In the morning I saw Mr Edward Bilger, helping Mary. He was a fat-faced, greasy-looking youth, with an attempted air of hang-dog respectability, and with 'loafer' writ large on his forehead. I stepped over to him and said,—

'Now, look here. I don't want you fooling about the premises. Here's two shillings for you. Clear out, and if you come back again on any pretence whatever I'll give you in charge.'

He accepted the two shillings with thanks, said that he meant no offence, but he thought Mary was not strong enough to put up a wire clothes line.

Mary (who was standing by, looking very sulky) was a cow-like creature of eleven stone, and I laughed. She at once sniffed and marched away. Mr Bilger, junior, presently followed her into the kitchen. I went after him and ordered him out. Mary was leaning against the dresser, biting her nails and looking at me viciously.

Half an hour later, as I walked to the ferry, I saw Mr Bilger, junior, sitting by the roadside, eating bread and meat (my property). He stood up as I passed, and said politely that it looked like rain. I requested him to make a visit to Sheol, and passed on.

In the afternoon my sister called upon me at the Evening News office. She wore that look of resigned martyrdom peculiar to women who have something unpleasant to say.

'Mary has given me notice—of course.'

'Why "of course!"'

Kate rose with an air of outraged dignity. 'Servants don't like to be bullied and sworn at—not white servants, anyway. You can't expect the girl to stay. She's a very good girl, and I'm sure that that young man Bilger was doing no harm. As it is, you have placed me in a most unpleasant position; I had told him that he could let his younger brothers and sisters come and weed the paddock, and—'

'Why not invite the whole Bilger family to come and live on the premises?' I began, when Kate interrupted me by saying that if I was going to be violent she would leave me. Then she sailed out with an injured expression of countenance.

When I returned home to dinner at 7.30, Mary waited upon us in sullen silence. After dinner I called her in, gave her a week's wages in lieu of notice, and told her to get out of the house as a nuisance. Kate went outside and wept.

* * * * *

From that day the Bilger family proved a curse to me. Old Bilger wrote me a note expressing his sorrow that his son—quite innocently—had given me offence; also he regretted to hear that my servant had left me. Mrs Bilger, he added, was quite grieved, and would do her best to send some 'likely girls' over. 'If none of them suited, Mrs Bilger would be delighted to come and assist my sister in the mornings. She was an excellent, worthy woman.' And he ventured, with all due respect, to suggest to me that my sister looked very delicate. His poor lad Edward was very sad at heart over the turn matters had taken. The younger children, too, were sadly grieved—to be in a garden, even to toil, would be a revelation to them.

That evening I went home in a bad temper. Kate, instead of meeting me as usual at the gate, was cooking dinner, looking hot and resigned, I dined alone, Kate saying coldly that she did not care about eating anything. The only other remark she made that evening was that 'Mary had cried very bitterly when she left.'

I said, 'The useless, fat beast!'

* * * * *

The Curse of Bilger rested upon me for quite three months. He called twice a week, regularly, and borrowed two shillings 'until next Monday.' Then one day that greasy ruffian, Bilger, junior, came into the Evening News office, full of tears and colonial beer, and said that his poor father was dead, and that his mother thought I might perhaps lend her a pound to help bury him.

The sub-editor (who was overjoyed at Bilger's demise) lent me ten shillings, which I gave to Edward, and told him I was sorry to hear the old man was dead. I am afraid my face belied my words.



THE VISION OF MILLI THE SLAVE

One day a message came over from Tetoro, King of Pare, in Tahiti, to his vassal Mahua, chief of Tetuaroa,{*} saying, 'Get thee ready a great feast, for in ten days I send thee my daughter Laea to be wife to thy son Narue.

* Tetuaroa is an island about forty miles from Tahiti. It was in those days (1808) part of the hereditary possessions of the chief of Pare.

For Narue, the son of the chief of Tetuaroa, had long been smitten with the beauty of Laea, and desired to make her his wife. Only once had he seen her; but since then he had sent over many canoes laden with presents, such as hogs and turtle, and great bunches of plantains, and fine tappa cloth for her acceptance.

But Tetoro, her father, was a greedy man, and cried for more; and Mahua, so that his son might gain his heart's desire, became hard and cruel to the people of Tetuaroa.

Day after day he sent his servants to every village on the island demanding from them all such things as would please the eye of Tetoro; so that by-and-by there was but little left in their plantations, and still less in their houses.

And so, with sullen faces and low murmurs of anger, the people yielded up their treasures of mats and tappa cloth, and such other things that the servants of the chief discovered in their dwellings, and watched them carried away to appease the avarice of Tetoro the King.

One night, when they were gathered together in their houses, and the torches of tui tui (candle-nut kernels) were lighted, they talked among themselves, not loudly but in whispers, for no one knew but that one of the chiefs body-men might perhaps be listening outside, and that to them meant swift death from the anger of Mahua.

'Why has this misfortune come upon us?' they said to one another. 'Why should Narue, who is an aito{*} set his heart upon the daughter of Tetoro when there are women of as good blood as her close to his hand? Surely, when she comes here to live, then will there be hard times in the land, and we shall be eaten up with hunger.'

* A man distinguished in warfare.

'Ay,' said a girl named Milli, 'it is hard that we should give our all to a strange woman.'

She spoke very loudly, and without fear, and the rest of the people looked wonderingly at her, for she was but a poor slave, and, as such, should not have raised her voice when men were present. So they angrily bade her be silent. Who was she that dared to speak of such things? If she died of hunger, they said, what did it matter? She was but a girl and a slave, and girls' lives were worth nothing until they bore male children.

And then Milli the Slave sprang up, her eyes blazing with anger, and heaped scorn upon them for cowards.

'See,' she said, and her voice shook with passion; 'see me, Milli the Slave, standing before ye all, and listen to my words, so that your hearts may grow strong, even as strong as mine has grown. Listen while I tell thee of a dream that came to me in the night.

'In my dream this land of ours became as it was fifteen moons ago, and as it may never be again. I saw the groves of plantains, with their loads of fruit, shine red and yellow, like the setting of the sun, and the ground was forced open because of the great size of the yams and taro and arrowroot that grew beneath; and I heard the heavy fall of the ripe coconuts on the grass, and the crooning notes of the pigeons that fed upon the red mati berries were as the low booming of the surf on the reef when it sounds far distant.'

For a little while she ceased, and the people muttered.

'Ay, it was so, fifteen moons ago.'

And then Milli, sinking upon one knee, and spreading out her arms towards them, spoke again, but in a low, soft voice,—

'And I saw the white beach of Teavamoa black with turtle that could scarce crawl seaward because of their fatness; and saw the canoes, filled to the gunwales with white, shining fish, come paddling in from the lagoon; and then came the night. And in the night I heard the sound of the vivo{*} and the beat of the drum, and the songs and laughter and the shouts of the people as they made merry and sang and danced, and ate and drank, till the red sun burst out from the sea, and they lay down to sleep.

* Nasal flute.

'And then, behold there came into my dream, a small black cloud. It gathered together at Pare, and rose from the ground, and was borne across the sea to Tetuaroa.{*} As it came nearer, darker and darker grew the shadows over this land, till at last it was wrapped up in the blackness of night. And then out of the belly of the cloud there sprang a woman arrayed as a bride, and behind her there followed men with faces strange to me, whose stamping footsteps shook the island to its roots in the deep sea. Then came a mystic voice to me, which said,—

"Follow and see."

* Tetoro's canoe, in which he sent his daughter to Tetuaroa, was painted black by an English sailor who, living under his protection, afterwards married his daughter.

'So I followed and saw'—she sprang to her feet, and her voice rang sharp and fierce—'I saw the strange woman and those with her pass swiftly over the land like as the shadows of birds fall upon the ground when the sun is high and their flight is low and quick. And as they passed, the plantains and taro and arrowroot were torn up and stripped and left to perish; and there was nought left of the swarms of turtle and fish but their bones; for the black cloud and the swift shadows that ran before it had eaten out the heart of the land, and not even one coco-nut was left.

'And then I heard a great crying and weeping of many voices, and I saw men and women lying down in their houses with their bones sticking out of their skins; and wild pigs, perishing with hunger, sprang in upon them and tore their bellies open with their tusks, and devoured them, and fought with each other among the bones and blood of those they ate.'

A groan of terror burst from the listening people, and the slave girl, with her lips parted and her white teeth set, looked with gleaming, angry eyes slowly round the group.

'Again I heard the cries and the groans and the weeping; and I saw thee, Foani, take thy suckling child from thy withered breast, and give it to thy husband, so that it might be slain to feed thy other children. And then thou, too, Tiria, and thou, Hini, and many other women, did I see slay thy children and their children, and cook and eat them, even as the wild pigs had eaten those men and women that lay dying on their mats. And this, O people! is all of the dream that came to me; for then a great sweat ran down over my body, and a heavy pain came upon my heart, so that I awoke.'

She trembled and sank down again among the women, in the midst of whom she had been sitting, and then growling, angry murmurs ran round the assemblage, and the names of Narue and the king's daughter passed from lip to lip.

* * * * *

Well as they liked their chief's son—for he was distinguished alike for his bravery and generosity—they yet saw that his marriage with Laea would mean a continued existence of misery to them all, or at least so long as the young man's passion for his wife lasted.

Past experience had taught them many a bitter lesson, for ever since their island had been conquered, they had been subjected to the payment of the most exacting tribute.

Fertile as was Tetuaroa, the continued demands made upon its people for food by the royal family of Tahiti had frequently reduced them to a condition bordering upon starvation.

But these requests had, of late years, been so much modified, that the island, under the rule of Mahua, had become renowned for its wealth of food and the prosperous condition of its inhabitants.

It was, therefore, with no pleasant feelings that the people viewed the approaching marriage of the son of their chief to the child of the grasping Tetoro, a man who would certainly see no abatement made in the extortions he had succeeded in inducing his vassal Mahua to again inaugurate.

* * * * *

At midnight, long after the women were asleep, the principal men of the island met together and talked of the dream described by the slave girl. So firmly were they convinced that she had been chosen by the gods as a means of warning them of their impending rate if the marriage took place, that they firmly resolved to frustrate it, even if it cost every one of them his life.

But, so that neither Mahua nor his son should suspect their intentions, they set about to prepare for the great feast ordered by Tetoro; and for the next week or so the whole population was busily engaged in bringing together their various presents of food and goods, and conveying them to the chief's house, where, on the arrival of the fleet of canoes that would bring the king's daughter from Pare, they would be presented to her in person by the priests and minor chiefs.

* * * * *

On the afternoon of the tenth day, some men whom Mahua had set to watch for Tetoro's fleet saw the great mat sails of five war canoes sweeping across the long line of palms that fringed the southern beach? Then there was great commotion, and many pu{*} were sounded from one end of the island to the other, bidding the people to assemble at the landing-place and welcome the bride of the chiefs son.

* The conch shell.

Now, it so happened that Narue, when the cry arose that the canoes were coming, was sitting alone in a little bush-house near the south point of the island. He had come there with two or three of his young men attendants, so that he might be dressed and adorned to meet Tetoro's daughter. As soon as they had completed their task he had sent them away, for he intended to remain in the bush-house till his father sent for him; for such was the custom of the land.

Very gay and handsome he looked, when presently he stood up and looked out over the lagoon to where the canoes were entering the passage. Round his waist was a girdle of bright yellow strips of plantain leaves, mixed with the scarlet leaves of the ti plant; a band of pearl-shell ornaments encircled his forehead, and his long, black hair, perfumed with scented oil, was twisted up in a high spiral knob, and ornamented with scarlet hibiscus flowers. Across one broad shoulder there hung a small, snowy-white poncho or cape, made of fine tappa cloth, and round his wrists and ankles were circlets of pearl shell, enclosed in a netting of black coir cinnet. On each leg there was tattooed, in bright blue, a coco-nut tree, its roots spreading out at the heel and running in wavy lines along the instep to the toes, its elastic stalk shooting upwards till its waving plumes spread gracefully out on the broad, muscular calf.

Yet, although he was so finely arrayed, Narue was troubled in his mind; for not once did those who had dressed him speak of Laea, and this the young man thought was strange, for he would have been pleased to hear them talk to him of her beauty. In silence had they attended to his needs, and this hurt him, for they were all dear friends. So at last, when they rose to leave him, he had said,—

'Why is it that none of ye speak either to me, or to one another? Am I a corpse that is dressed for the funeral rites?'

Then one of them, named Taneo, his foster-brother, answered, and bent his head as he spoke,—

'Oh, Narue, son of Mahua, and mine own brother, hast thou not heard of the dream of Milli?'

At the name of Milli, the hot blood leapt into the face of the chief's son; but he answered quickly,—

'Nay, naught have I heard, and how can the dream of a slave girl concern me on such a day as this?'

'Oh, Narue!' replied Taneo, ''tis more than a dream; for the god Oro hath spoken to her, and shown her things that concern thee and all of thy father's people.' And with that the young men arose and left him without further speech.

Little did Narue know that scarce a stone's throw away from where he stood, Milli, with love in her eyes, was watching him from behind a clump of plantain trees. She, too, was arrayed as if for a dance or a marriage, and behind her were a number of women, who were crouched together and spoke only in whispers.

As they stood, the sounds of the drums and flutes and conches came from the village, and then Narue went forth from the little house, and walked towards it through the palm grove.

* * * * *

As he stepped proudly along the shaded path he heard his name called in a low voice, and Milli the Slave stood before him with downcast eyes, and barred his path.

Now, Narue, bold as he was, feared to meet this girl, and so for some moments no words came to him, and Milli, looking quickly up, saw that he had placed his right hand over his eyes. Then she spoke,—

'See, Narue, I do but come to thee to speak some little words; so turn thy face to me once more; for from this day thou shalt never again see Milli the Slave.'

But Narue, still keeping his hand to his eyes, turned aside, and leaning his forehead against the trunk of a palm-tree, kept silence awhile. Then he said, in a low voice,—

'Oh, Milli, be not too hard! This woman Laea hath bewitched me—and then—thou art but a slave.'

'Aye,' answered the girl, softly, 'I am but a slave, and this Laea is very beautiful and the daughter of a great chief. So for that do I come to say farewell, and to ask thee to drink with me this bowl of orange juice. 'Tis all I have to offer, for I am poor and have no wedding gift to give thee; and yet with this mean offering do I for ever give thee the hot love of my heart—ay, and my life also, if thou should'st need it.'

And so, to please the girl whom he had once loved, he received from her hand the drink of orange juice, which she took from a basket she carried, and yet as he drank he looked away, for he feared to see her eyes looking into his.

Only one word did he say as he turned away, and that was 'Farewell,' and Milli answered 'Farewell, Narue;' but when he had gone some distance she followed him and sobbed softly to herself.

And soon, as Narue walked, his body swayed to and fro and his feet struck the roots of the trees that grew out through the soil along the path. Then Milli, running swiftly up, caught him as he fell, and laid his head upon her knees. His eyes were closed and his skin dead to her touch.

Presently the bushes near by parted, and two women came out, and lifting Narue between them, they carried the young man to a shady place and laid him down.

And then Milli wept as she bent her face over that of the man she loved, but the two older women bade her cease.

Once more the girl looked at Narue, and then, stepping out into the path, ran swiftly towards the village.

* * * * *

The five canoes were now sailing quickly over the smooth lagoon, with the streamers from their mat sails floating in the wind, and on the stages that ran from their sides to the outriggers were grouped parties of singers and dancers, with painted bodies and faces dyed scarlet with the juice of the mati berry, who sang and danced, and shouted, and made a brave show for the people who awaited their coming on the shore.

On the great stage of the first canoe, which was painted black, was seated Laea, surrounded by her women attendants, who joined in the wild singing whenever the name of their mistress formed the singers' theme.

Then suddenly, as each steersman let fall from his hand his great steering paddle, which was secured by a rope to the side, the canoes ran up into the wind, the huge mat sails were lowered, the stone anchors dropped overboard, and the music and dancing ceased.

And then a strange thing happened, and Laea, who was of a proud and haughty disposition, as became her lineage, grew pale with anger; for suddenly the great crowd of people which had assembled on the beach seemed to sway to and fro, and then separate and form into two bodies; and she saw that the women and children had gathered apart from the men and stood in a compact mass on the brow of the beach, and the men, in strange, ominous quiet, spear and club in hand, had ranged, without a sound, in battle array before her escort.

There was silence awhile, and then Taneo, the foster brother of Narue, clothed in his armour of cinnet fibre, and grasping a short stabbing spear in his hand, stepped out of the ranks.

'Get thee back again to Tahiti, O men of Pare,' he said quietly, striking his spear into the sand. 'This marriage is not to our minds.'

Then Laea, as she looked at the amazed and angered faces of her people as they heard Taneo's insulting words, dashed aside her attendants, and leaping from the canoe into the shallow water, walked to the shore, and stood face to face with him.

'Who art thou, fellow, to stand before the daughter of Tetoro the King, with a spear in thy rude hand, and thy mouth filled with saucy words?'

'I am Taneo, the foster brother of the man thou seekest to marry. And because that a warning hath come to us against this marriage do I stand here, spear in hand.'

Laea laughed scornfully.

'I seek thy brother in marriage? Thou fool! Would I, the daughter of my father, seek any man for husband? Hath not this Narue pestered me so with his presents and his love-offerings that, for very weariness, and to please my father, I turned my face from the Englishman who buildeth ships for him, and said "Aye" to this Narue—who is but a little man{*}—when he besought me to be wife to him. Ah! the Englishman, who is both a clever and strong man, is more to my liking.'

* Meaning in rank.

'Get thee back, then, to thy Englishman, and leave to me my lover,' cried a woman's voice, and Milli the Slave, thrusting aside the armed men who sought to stay her, sprang out upon the sand, and clenching her hands tightly, gazed fiercely at the king's daughter.

'Thy lover!' and Laea looked contemptuously at the small, slender figure of the slave girl, and then her cheek darkened with rage as she turned to her followers. 'See how this dog of a Narue hath insulted me! Have I come all this way to be fooled for the sake of such a miserable creature as this?' and she pointed scornfully to Milli and then spat on the ground. 'Where is this fellow? Let him come near to me so that I may tell him to his face that I have ever despised him as one beneath me. Where is he, I ask thee, girl?' And she seized the slave girl by her wrist.

The savage fury of her voice, her blazing eyes, and noble, commanding presence, excited alike both her own people and the clustering throng of armed men that stood watching on the beach, for these latter, by some common impulse moved nearer, and at the same time every man in the five canoes sprang out, and, dashing through the water, ranged themselves beside their mistress.

'Back!' cried Taneo, warningly; 'back, ye men of Pare, back, ere it be too late, and thou, Laea, harm not the girl, for see, O foolish woman! we here are as ten to one, and 'twill be a bloody day for thee and thy people if but a spear be raised.'

And then, facing round, he cried, 'And back, O men of Tetuaroa. Why draw ye so near? Must blood run because of the vain and bitter words of a silly woman?'

Then, with an angry gesture, Laea released her hold of the slave girl's slender wrist, and she, too, held up a warning hand to her warriors.

'True, Taneo,' she said mockingly; 'thy people are as ten to one of mine, as thou sayest, and for this alone dost thou dare insult me. Oh, thou coward, Taneo!'

A swift gleam of anger shone in Taneo's eyes, and his hand grasped his spear tightly. Then he looked steadily at the king's daughter, and answered.

'Nay, no coward am I, Laea. And see, if but a little blood will appease thee, take this spear and slay me. It is better for one to die than many.' Stretching out his hand, he gave her his spear.

She waved it back sneeringly.

'Thy words are brave, Taneo; but only because that behind them lieth no danger. Only a coward could talk as—'

He sprang back.

'Ho, men of Pare! Listen! So that but one or two men may die, and many live, let this quarrel lie between me and any one of ye that will battle with me here, spear to spear, on this beach. Is it not better so than that Tetoro the King should weep for so many of his people?'

A tall, grey-headed old warrior leapt out from the ranks of those that stood behind Laea.

'Thou and I, Taneo, shall fight till one of us be slain.'

Suddenly Milli the Slave sprang between them with outstretched arms.

'Peace, peace! Drop thou thy spear, Taneo, and thou thine, old man. There is no need for blood but mine—for Narue is dead.'

Then, kneeling on the sand she said, 'Draw near to me and listen.'

Quickly the opposing parties formed a circle around her; before her stood the haughty and angry Laea; behind her, and standing side by side, Taneo and the grey-haired Tahitian warrior.

'I am Milli, the bond-woman of Mahua, the father of Narue. And Narue loved me; but because of thee, O Laea, he turned from me, and my heart became cold. For who would give food to my child when it was born—the child of a slave whose lover was a chief and who had cast her off? And then there came a vision to me in the night, and I saw the things of which I have told ye, O men of Tetuaroa. And I knew that the black cloud of my vision was sent to warn the people of this land against the marriage, and the hunger and the bitter days of poverty that would come of it. And so, because thou art a great woman, O Laea, and I but a poor slave, did I meet Narue but a little while since and give him to drink; and when he drank of that which I gave him he died, for it was poisoned.'

A low murmur, half anger, half pity, broke from the assembled people.

'Thou fool!' said Laea, pityingly; and then she turned to Taneo.

'And so thy brother hath died by the hand of a slave? Let us part in peace. Farewell!'

And then, as the men of Pare returned in silence to their canoes, Taneo and his people closed in upon the kneeling figure of the slave girl, who bent her head as a man stepped before her with a club.

* * * * *

When the five canoes had sailed away a little distance from the beach, Laea saw the men of Tetuaroa open out their ranks, and, looking in the midst, she saw, lying face downwards on the sand, the body of Milli the Slave.



DENISON GETS A BERTH ASHORE

After many years as supercargo, 'blackbirder'{*} and trader in the South Seas, Tom Denison one day found himself in Sydney with less than ten shillings in his pocket, and with a strong fraternal yearning to visit his brother, who was a bank manager in North Queensland and a very good-natured man. So he sent a telegram, 'Tired of the sea. Can you find me a billet ashore?' An answer soon came, 'Yes, if you can manage poultry farm and keep books. If so, will wire passage money and expenses.'

* A 'backbirder' is the term applied to any person engaged in the Polynesian labour traffic.

Denison pondered over the situation. He had seen a lot of poultry in his time—in coops on board the Indiana and the Palestine; and one Captain 'Bully' Hayes, with whom he had once sailed as supercargo, had told him a lot of things about game fowls, to which birds the genial 'Bully' had a great leaning—but was not sure that he was good at books. In fact, the owners of the Palestine had said that his system of book-keeping had driven the senior partner to drink, and they always sent a 'Manual of Book-keeping' on board every time the ship sailed from Sydney. At the same time Denison was touched by the allusion to passage money and expenses, and felt that making entries about the birth of clutches of chickens and ducklings, and the number of eggs sold, would be simple enough—much easier than the heartbreaking work of a supercargo, when such customers as Flash Harry of Apia or Fiji Bill of Apamama would challenge the correctness of their grog bills, and offer to fight him instead of paying. And then, he thought, it would be simply delightful to sit in a room in a quiet farmhouse and hear the gentle moaning of calves and the cheerful cackle of exultant hens, as he wrote items in a book about eggs and things, and drink buttermilk, instead of toiling in the ill-smelling trade-room on board the Palestine, bottling off Queensland rum and opening tierces of negrohead tobacco, while the brig was either standing on her head or rolling her soul out, and Packenham the skipper was using shocking language to everyone on deck.

So he sent a 'collect' telegram to his brother, and stated that he thoroughly understood all branches of poultry and book-keeping.

On the voyage up to Cooktown he kept to himself, and studied 'Pip and Its Remedy,' 'Warts and the Sulphur Cure,' 'Milligan on Roup in Ducks,' and other valuable works; so that when the steamer reached the port and he met his brother, the latter was deeply impressed with the profound knowledge he displayed of the various kinds of poultry diseases, and said he felt sure that Denison would 'make the thing pay.' The poultry farm, he said, belonged to the bank, which had advanced money to the former proprietor, who had most unjustifiably died in delirium tremens at Cooktown Hospital a few months ago, leaving the farm to the care of some aboriginals, and his estate much in debt to the good, kind bank.

On the following evening Denison was driven out to the place by his brother, who took advantage of the occasion to point out to the youth the beauties of a country life, away from the temptations of cities. Also he remarked upon the folly of a young man spending the bloom of his years among the dissolute natives of the South Seas; and then casually inquired if the women down there were pretty. Then the younger Denison began to talk, and the elder brother immediately pulled up the horse from a smart trot into a slow walk, saying there was no need to rush along on such a hot night, and that he liked to hear about the customs of foreign countries. About ten o'clock they reached their destination, and the elder brother, without getting out of the trap and entering the house, hurriedly bade Tom good-bye and drove off as quickly as possible, fearing that if he stayed till the morning, and the youth saw the place by daylight, the latter would become a fratricide.

The occupants of the farm were, the new manager found, three black fellows and two 'gins,'{*} all of whom were in a state of stark nudity; but they welcomed him with smiles and an overpowering smell of ants, the which latter is peculiar to the Australian nigger. One of the bucks, who when Denison entered was sleeping, with three exceedingly mangy dogs, in the ex-proprietor's bunk—a gorgeous affair made of a badly-smelling new green hide stretched between four posts, at once got up and gave him possession of the couch; and Denison, being very tired, spread his rug over the hide and turned in, determined not to grumble, and make the thing pay, and then buy a place in the Marquesas or Samoa in a few years, and die in comfort. During the night the mosquitoes worried him incessantly, until one of the coloured ladies, who slept on the ground in the next room, hearing his petulant exclamations, brought him a dirty piece of rag, soaked in kerosene, and told him to anoint his hair, face and hands with it. He did so, and then fell asleep comfortably.

* 'Gin,' or 'lubra'—the female Australian aboriginal.

Early in the morning he rose and inspected the place (which I forgot to say was twenty miles from Cooktown, and on the bank of the Endeavour River). He found it to consist of two rusty old corrugated iron buildings, vaguely surrounded by an enormous amount of primaeval desolation and immediately encompassed by several hundred dead cattle (in an advanced state of putrefaction) picturesquely disposed about the outskirts of the premises. But Denison, being by nature a cheerful man, remembered that his brother (who was pious) had alluded to a drought, and said that rain was expected every day, as the newly-appointed Bishop of North Queensland had appointed a day of general humiliation and prayer, and that poultry-rearing was bound to pay.

The stock of poultry was then rounded up by the black-fellows for his inspection—thirty-seven dissolute-looking ducks, ninety-three degraded and anaemic female fowls, thirteen spirit-broken roosters, and eleven apathetic geese. Denison caught one of the ducks, which immediately endeavoured to swallow his fore-finger, under the impression it was food of some sort.

'Jacky,' he said to the leading coloured gentleman, 'my brother told me that there were five hundred ducks here. Where are they?'

Jacky said that the ducks would go on the river and that 'plenty feller big alligator eat 'em up.'

'Then where are the seven hundred and fifty laying hens?'

Jacky scratched his woolly head and grinned. 'Goanner' eat some, snake eat some, some die, some run away in bush, hawk eat some. By ———, this feller duck and fowl altogether dam fool.' "

During the following week Denison found that Jacky had not deviated from the truth—the alligators did eat the ducks, the tiger and carpet-snakes and iguanas did crawl about the place at night-time and seize any luckless fowl not strong enough to fly up to roost in the branch of a tree, the hawks did prefer live poultry to long-deceased bullock, and those hens physically capable of laying eggs laid them on an ironstone ridge about a mile away from the house. He went there one day, found nine eggs, and saw five death adders and a large and placid carpet snake. Then he wrote to his brother, and said that he thought the place would pay when the drought broke up, but he did not feel justified in taking L3, 10s. a week from the bank under the present circumstances, and would like to resign his berth, as he was afraid he was about to get an attack of fever.

A few days later he received an official letter from the bank, signed 'C. Aubrey Denison, Manager,' expressing surprise at his desire to give up the control of a concern that was 'bound to pay,' and for the management of which the bank had rejected twenty-three other applications in his favour, and suggesting that, as the poultry were not thriving, he might skin the carcases of such cattle as died in the future, and send the hides to Cooktown—'for every hide the bank will allow you 2s. 6d. nett.' With the official letter was a private communication from the Elder Brother telling him not to be disheartened so quickly—the place was sure to pay as soon as the drought broke up; also that as the river water was bad, and tea made from it was not good for anyone with fever, he was sending up a dozen of whisky by the mailman next week. Again Denison was touched by his brother's thoughtfulness, and decided to remain for another week at least. But at night-time he thought a good deal about the dear old Palestine and Harvey Packenham, her skipper.

While awaiting with considerable anxiety the arrival of the mailman, Denison passed the time in killing tiger-snakes, cremating the dead cattle around the place, bathing in the only pool in the river safe from alligators, and meditating upon the advantages of a berth ashore. But when the mailman arrived (four days late) with only five bottles of whisky, and said in a small, husky voice that the pack-horse had fallen and broken seven bottles, he felt a soured and disappointed man, and knew that he was only fit for the sea. The mailman, to whom he expressed these sentiments, told him to cheer up. It was loneliness, he said, that made him feel like that, and he for his part 'didn't like to see no man feelin' lonely in the bloomin' bush.' Therefore he would keep him company for a few days, and let the sanguinary mail go to Hades.

He did keep him company. And then, when the whisky was finished, he bade Denison good-bye, and said that any man who would send 'his own bloomin' brother to perish in such a place was not fit to live himself, and ought to be flamin' well shown up in the bloomin' noospapers.' At daybreak next morning Denison told the coloured ladies and gentlemen to eat the remaining poultry; and, shouldering his swag, tramped it into Cooktown to 'look for a ship.'



ADDIE RANSOM: A MEMORY OF THE TOKELAUS

A hot, steamy mist rose from the gleaming, oily sea, and the little island lay sweltering and gasping under a sky of brass and a savagely blazing sun. Along the edges of the curving lines of yellow beach the drought-smitten plumes of the fast-withering coco-palms drooped straight, brown and motionless; and Wallis, the trader at Avamua village, as he paced to and fro upon the heated boards of his verandah, cursed the island and the people, and the deadly calm, and the brassy sky, and the firm of Tom de Wolf & Sons (whom he blamed for the weather), and the drought, and the sickness, and the overdue ship, and himself, and everything else; and he wished that Lita would go away for a month—her patience and calmness worried and irritated him. Then he might perhaps try getting drunk on Sundays like Ransom; to-day was Sunday, and another Sunday meant another hell of twelve hours' heat, and misery, and hope deferred.

'Curse that damned bell! There it goes again, though half of the people are dead, and the other half are dying like rotten sheep! Oh, for a ship, or rain, or a howling gale—anything but this!'

He dashed his pipe furiously upon the verandah, and then flung himself into a cane lounge, pressed his hands to his ears, and swore silently at the jarring clamour of the hated church bell.

Lita's brown hand touched him on the shoulder.

'Wassa th' matter, Tom, wis you?'

'Oh, go away, for God's sake, Lita, there's a good girl. Leave me alone. Go to church, and tell Ioane I'll give him a couple of dollars not to ring that damned, infernal bell again to-day. I'm going mad! I'll get drunk, I think, like Ransom. My God! just think of it, girl! Twelve months without a ship, and this hateful, God-forsaken island turning into a pest-house.'

'Wasa is pesta-house, Tom?'

'Place where they put people in to die—lazzaretto, charnel-house, morgue, living grave! Oh, go away, girl, go to the blarsted church if you want to, and leave me alone.'

Her slender fingers touched his hand timidly.

'I don' wan' go to church, Tom. I don' wan' leave you here to get mad an' lon'ly by yourse'f.'

'Very well, old woman, stay here with me. Perhaps a breeze may come by-and-by and then we can breathe. How many people died yesterday, Lita?'

''Bout nine, Tom—four men, tree woman, an' some child.'

'Poor devils! I wish I had some medicine for them. But I'm hanged if I know what it is—some sort of cholera brought here by that infernal American missionary brig, I believe. Hallo! there's Ioane beginning.'

* * * * *

The white-walled native church was not a stone's throw away, and through the wide, paneless windows and open doors the deep voice of Ioane, the Samoan native teacher, sounded clearly and solemnly in the still, heated morn. Wallis, with his wide straw hat covering his bronzed face, lay back in the lounge, and, at first, took no heed. Lita, sitting at his feet, rested her chin on one hand and listened intently.

'Turn ye all, men and women of this afflicted land of Nukutavau, to the Word of God, which is written in the Book of Isaiah, in the fortieth chapter and the sixth verse. It was to my mind that we should first sing to the praise of Jehovah; but, alas! we cannot sing to-day; for my cheeks are wetted with many tears, and my belly is bursting with sorrow when I see how few there are of us who are left. But yet can we pray together; and the whisper of affliction shall as surely reach the ear of God as the loud, glad song of praise. But first hear ye these words:—

'"The Voice said, Cry. And he said, What shall I cry? And the Voice answered. All flesh is grass, and all the goodliness thereof is as the flower of the field: the grass withereth, the flower fadeth; because the spirit of the Lord bloweth upon it: Surely the people is grass."'

Wallis sat up and listened; for as the preacher ceased he heard the sound of many sobs; and presently a woman, old, gaunt and feeble, staggered out from the church and flung herself face downwards upon the burning sand.

'A mate, a mate tatou,' she moaned, 'e agi mai le manava Ieova.' ('We perish, we perish with the breath of Jehovah.')

She lay there unheeded; for now the preacher, with broken voice, was passionately imploring his congregation to cast themselves upon the mercy of God, and beseech Him to stay the deadly pestilence which had so sorely smitten the land.

'And spare Thou, O God Most High, Most Merciful, and Most Just, these many little children who yet live, for they are but very small, and have not yet sinned before Thee. Three of mine own hast thou touched with Thy hand, and taken to Thee, and my belly and the belly of my wife are empty, and yearn in the night for the voices we shall hear no more. And for those three whom Thou hast taken, spare Thou three of those who yet live. And shield, O God, with Thy care, the papalagi{*} Ranisome and his child, the girl Ati' (Addie), 'for she loveth Thy word; and turn Thou the heart of her father from the drinking of grog, so that he shall be no more as a hog that is loia.'{**} 'And shield, too, the papalagi Walesi and the woman Lita—she who liveth with him in sin—for their hearts are ever good and their hands ever open to us of Nukutavau; and send, O most merciful and compassionate One, a ship, so that the two white men and the woman Lita, and the girl Ati, and we, Thy people, may not die of hunger and thirst and sickness, but live to praise Thy holy name.'

* Foreigner.

** A man or an animal is loia when he or it has eaten or drunk to such repletion as to lie down and be overrun with ants—an expressive Samoan synonym for excess.

A burst of weeping, and Amene! Amene! came from his hearers, then silence; and Wallis, taking his hat from his face, bent his head.

Presently the scanty congregation came slowly forth. Some, as they passed the white man and Lita, tried to smile a greeting to them, though every brown face was wet with tears. Last of all came Ioane, the Samoan teacher, short, square-built, with deep sunken earnest eyes bent to the ground, his right arm supporting his wife, whose slender frame was shaken with the violence of her grief for those three of her heart whom 'He had taken.' Wallis, followed by Lita, stepped down from his verandah, and held out his hand. The teacher pressed it in silence, and, unable now to speak, walked slowly on. Lita, her dark, oval face still hot with anger, drew back and made no sign, though Eline, the teacher's wife, murmured as she passed,—'Nay, be not angry, Lita; for death is near to us all.'

* * * * *

As they returned to the house, Ransom, the old trader from Avatulalo, the next village to that in which Wallis lived, met them at the gate. He was a man of sixty or thereabout—grey, dirty, dishevelled and half drunk.

'I want you and Lita to come back with me,' he said slowly, holding to the palings of the fence, and moving his head from side to side; 'you must come... 'you must come, or'—with sudden frenzy—'by God, I'll put a firestick into your house; I will, by blazes, I will! Curse you, Tom Wallis, and your damned, Sydney-white-duck-suit-respectability, and your damned proud quarter-caste Portugee woman, who you ain't married to, as I was to mine—bad as she was. Put up your hands you—'

Wallis gripped him firmly but kindly by the wrists, and forced him into a seat.

'What's the matter with you, Ransom? Only drunk and fightable as usual? or are you being chased by pink snakes with tiger's heads again, eh? There, sit quiet, old man. Where is Addie?'

For a few moments the old man made no answer; then he rose, and placing his trembling hands on Wallis's chest said brokenly,—

'God help me, Tom! She's a-dyin'... an' I'm near drunk. She was took bad this mornin', an' has been callin' for the teacher an' Lita— an' I'd as lief go to hell as to ask a damned Kanaka mission'ry to come an' talk Gospel an' Heaven to a child o' mine—not in my own house, anyway. It ain't right or proper. But she kep' on a-pesterin' me, an' at last I said I would come an' arst him... an' while I was waitin' outside the church I hears the damned feller a-prayin' and sayin' "All flesh is grass, and the grass withereth"'—his voice quivered and broke again—'an' onct I heard my old mother say them very words when she was a-dyin', more'n forty year ago, in the old country. An' Addie's dyin' fast, Tom; dyin', an' I can't say a prayer with her; I don't know none. I'm only a drunken old shellback, an' I ought to be struck dead for my bloody sins. She's all I has in the world to love; an' now, an' now—' He turned away and, covering his face with his coarse, sunburnt hands, sobbed like a child.

* * * * *

Half an hour later Wallis and Lita were in the room with the dying girl. Ransom, shambling behind them, crept in and knelt at the foot of the bed. Two native women, who were squatted on the matted floor went out softly, and Wallis bent over the girl and looked into her pallid, twitching face, over which the dread grey shadow was creeping fast. She put out her hand to the trader and Lita, and a faint smile moved her lips.

'You is good to come, Tom Wallis,' she said, in her childish voice, 'an' so is you, Lita. Wher' is my fath'? I don' see him. I was ask him to bring Ioane here to pray fo' me. I can't pray myself.... I have been try.... Wher' is you, fath'?'

Ransom crept round to her side, and laid his face upon her open hand.

'Ah, fath', you is come... poor fath'. I say, fath', don you drink no more. You been promise me that, fath', so many time. Don' you break yo' promise now, will you?'

The grizzled old sinner put his trembling lips to hers. 'Never no more, Addie—may God strike me dead if I lie!'

'Come away, old man,' said Wallis, softly, 'let Lita be with her. Neither you nor I should disturb her just now. See, she wants Lita. But her time is near, and you must keep close to her.'

They drew apart, and Lita knelt beside the bed.

* * * * *

'An' did he pray for fath', an' me, an' you, an' Tom, an' my mother who runned away? Tell me all 'bout it, Lita. I did wan' him to come and tell me some things I wan' to know before I is dead. Tell me what he say.'

'He say dat vers', "De grass with', de flow' fade, but de word of de Lor' God endure fo' ev.'"'

'Was do it mean, Lita, dear?'

'I don' 'xactly know, Ati, dear. But Tom say he mean dat by-an'-by, if we is good an' don' lie an' steal, an' don' kill nobody, dat we all go to heav' when we is die.'

'Lita, dear, Ioane say one day dat de Bible say my fath' go to hell because he get drunk all de time.'

'Don' you b'lieve him, Ati; Ioane is only dam Kanaka mission'ry. Wassa the hell do he know 'bout such thing? You go to heav' sure 'nuff, and you' fath' come to you there by-an'-by. He never been steal or lie; he on'y get drunk. Don' you be 'fraid 'bout dat, Ati, dear. An' you will see yo' mother, too. Oh, yes, yo' will see yo' mother; an' yo' fath' will come there too, all nice, an' clean, an' sober, in new pyjamas all shinin' white; an' he will kiss yo' mother on her mouf, an' say, "I forgive you, Nellie Ransom, jes' as Jesu Christ has forgive me."'

The girl sighed heavily, and then lay with closed eyes, breathing softly. Suddenly she turned quickly on her side, and extended her arms, and her voice sounded strangely clear and distinct.

'Where is you, fath'? Quick, quick, come an' hol' me. It is dark.... Hol' me tight... clos' up, clos' up, fath', my fath'... it is so dark—so dark.'

* * * * *

The natives told Wallis next morning that 'Ranisome' had gone quite mad.

'How know ye he is mad?'

'Tah! He hath taken every bottle of grog from two boxes and smashed them on the ground. And then we saw him kneel upon the sand, raise his hands, and weep. He is mad.'



IN A NATIVE VILLAGE

When I first settled down on this particular island as a trader, I had, in my boundless ignorance of the fierce jealousy that prevailed between the various villages thereon, been foolish enough to engage two or three servants from outlying districts—much against the wishes of the local kaupule (town councillors), each of whom brought me two or three candidates (relatives, connections or spongers of their own) and urged that I should engage them and no others. This I refused to do, point blank, and after much angry discussion and argument, I succeeded in having my own way, and was allowed to choose my servants from villages widely apart. In the course of a few weeks some terrific encounters had taken place between my women servants and other of the local females, who regarded them as vile usurpers of their right to rob and plunder the new white man. However, in time matters settled down in a measure; and beyond vituperative language and sanguinary threats against the successful applicants, the rejected candidates, male and female, behaved very nicely. But I was slumbering on a latent volcano of fresh troubles, and the premonitory upheaval came about a month after our head nurse, Hakala, had been fined five dollars for using English Seafaring' language to another woman who had called her a pig. As Hakala could not pay the fine—being already in debt to me for two months' wages paid in advance—I settled it; for she was a widow, and had endeared herself to me by the vigorous manner in which she had pitched a large, fat girl named 'Heke out of the house for stealing some sugar from my store-room. The members of the kaupule (the village parliament) were pleased to accept the money, but wrote me a formal letter on the following morning, and remarked that it was wrong of me to encourage brutal conduct in any of my servants—wrong and un-Christian-like as well. 'But,' the letter went on to say, 'it is honest of you to pay this woman's fine; and Talamaheke' (the sugar-thief) 'has been sentenced to do three days' road-making for stealing the sugar. Yet you must not think evil of Talamaheke, for she is a little vale (mad), and has a class in the Sunday-school. Now it is in our minds that, as you are an honest man, you will pay the fines owing on the horse.' I had a vague recollection of my predecessor telling me something indefinite about a horse belonging to the station, but could not remember whether he said that the animal was in the vicinity of the station or was rambling elsewhere on the island, or had died. So I called my Samoan cook, Harry, to learn what he knew about the matter. Harry was the Adonis of the village, and already the under-nurse, E'eu, a sweet little hazel-eyed creature of fifteen, and incorrigibly wicked, had succumbed to his charms, and spent much of her time in the kitchen. At that moment Harry was seated outside the cook-house, dressed in a suit of spotless white duck, playing an accordeon; also he wore round his brown neck a thick wreath of white and scarlet flowers. Harry, I may remark, was a dandy and a notorious profligate, but against these natural faults was the fact that he could make very good bread.

'Harry,' I said, 'do you know anything about this horse?' and I tapped the official letter.

He smiled. 'Oh, yes, sir. I know all 'bout him. He been fined altogether 'bout two hundred and fifty dollar, an' never pay.'

'What do you mean? How can anyone fine a horse?'

Then Harry explained and gave me the horse's history.

The animal had been brought from New Zealand for some occult reason, and had behaved himself very badly ever since he landed. Young banana trees were his especial fancy, cotton plants he devoured wholesale, and it was generally asserted that he was also addicted to kicking chickens. My three predecessors on the station had each repudiated the creature, and each man when he left the island had said that his successor would pay for all damage done.

'Where is the brute now?' I asked.

Looking cautiously around to see that no one was within earshot, Harry informed me that until a week previously the nua had been running quietly in the interior of the island for many months, but since my arrival had been brought back by two of the deacons and was now feeding about the immediate vicinity.

'Why did the deacons bring him back, if he destroys banana trees and kill chickens?'

Harry looked very uncomfortable and seemed disinclined to speak, but at last let the cat out of the bag and revealed a diabolical conspiracy—the horse had been brought back for my undoing, or rather for the undoing of the strings of my bag of dollars.

'You see, sir,' said he, confidentially, 'these people on this island very clever—all dam rogue' (his mother was a native of the island), 'an' 'bout a month ago, when you give two dollar to help build new church, the fakafili and kaupule{*} (judge and councillors) 'say you is a very good man and that you might pay that horse's fines. An' if you pay that horse's fines then the people will have enough money to send to Sydney to buy glass windows and nice, fine doors for the new church. An' so that is why the deacons have bring that horse back.'

'But what good will bringing the horse here do? That won't make me pay his fines.'

'Oh, you see, sir, since the horse been come back the people take him out every day into some banana plantation and let him eat some trees. Then, by-and-by—to-morrer, perhaps—they will come an' ask you to go and look. Then you will look an' say, "Alright, I will pay five dollar." An' then when you pay that five dollar the kaupule and the judge will say, "Now you mus' pay for all the bad things that that horse do before you come here." An' s'pose you won' pay, then I b'lieve the judge an' headmen goin' to tapu{*} your store. You see they wan' that money for church very bad, because they very jealous of Halamua church.'

* Tapu, in this sense, means boycotting.

'Jealous of Halamua church! Why?'

'Oh, because Halamua people been buy a foolpit for their church—a very fine foolpit from California; an' now this town here very jealous, and the people say that when you pay that horse's fine they will buy pine windows, pine doors, and pine floor, and give Halamua church hell?

The novel (but in some cases exceedingly correct) pronunciation of pulpit pleased me, yet my wrath was aroused at this scandalous revelation of the plans of the villagers to beautify their church at my expense. It was as bad as any church bazaar in Christendom.

As Harry surmised, I received a visit from a deputation the next morning. They wanted me to come and see the destruction done to their plantations by my horse.

'But it's not my horse,' I said. 'I decline to hear anything about a horse. There is no horse down in my stock list, nor an elephant.'

A dirty old ruffian with one eye and a tattooed face regarded me gravely for a moment, and then asked me in a wheezy, husky voice if I knew that Ananias and Sapphira were struck dead for telling lies.

'Of course,' I replied promptly, 'I saw them struck. My uncle in England had them buried in his garden to improve the soil. And why do you come here and tell me these things about a horse? If there is a horse, and it eats your bananas and sugar-cane, why don't you shoot it?'

This suggestion staggered the deputation, half of which scratched its head meditatively. Then a tall, thin man, with an attenuated face like a starved fowl, said sneeringly in English,—

'What for you want to make gammon you no savee about horse?'

His companions smiled approvingly; not that they understood a word of English, but they evidently regarded the fowl-like creature as a learned person who would give me a dressing down in my own language.

I looked at him with a puzzled expression, and then said to Harry,—

'What does this man say, Harry? I can't talk German. Can you?'

Harry grinned and shook his head; the rest of the deputation looked angrily at the hatchet-faced man, and the member seated next to him told him he ought to be ashamed of himself to pretend to be able to vogahau faka Beretania (talk English).

For some minutes no one spoke. Then the youngest member of the deputation, a jolly, fat-faced young deacon, dressed in a suit of white flannel, laughed merrily, and asked me for some tobacco. I gave them a plug each all round, and the deputation withdrew. So having successfully repudiated the horse and all his works, I felt satisfied.

* * * * *

Pigs were the next trouble—my own pigs and the pigs of the general public. When I landed on the island I had brought with me from Sydney a lady and gentleman pig of exceedingly high lineage. They were now the proud and happy parents of seven beautiful little black-and-white piglets, and at any hour of the day one might see numbers of natives looking over my wall at the graceful little creatures as they chased one another over the grass, charged at nothing, and came to a dead stop with astonishing rapidity and a look of intense amazement. One fatal day I let them out, thinking they would come to no harm, as their parents were with them. As they did not return at dusk I sent E'eu, the under-nurse, to search for them. She came back and told me in a whisper that the father and mother pig were rooting up a sweet-potato patch belonging to the local chief. The piglets she had failed to discover. Enjoining secrecy, I sent E'eu and Harry to chase the parents home. This was effected after considerable trouble, but the owner of the potato patch claimed two dollars damages. I paid it, feeling his claim was just. Next morning the seven piglets were returned one by one by various native children. Each piglet had, according to their accounts, been in a separate garden, and done considerable damage; and 'because they' (the piglets) 'were the property of a good and just man, the owners of the gardens would not hurt nor even chase them,' etc. Glad to recover the squealing little wanderers at any cost, I gave each lying child a quarter-dollar. Next day I had a piece of ground walled in with lumps of coral and placed the porcine family inside. Then I wrote to the councillors, asking them to notify the people that if any of the village pigs came inside my fence and rooted abyssmal holes in my ground, as had been their habit hitherto, I should demand compensation. His Honour the Chief Justice stated in court that this was only fair and right; the white man had paid for the damage done by his pigs, and therefore he was entitled to claim damages if the village pigs caused him trouble. (I had previously squared his Honour with the promise of a male sucker.) One day the seven young pigs escaped from their mother and went out for a run on the village green. They were at once assailed as detestable foreign devils by about two hundred and forty-three gaunt, razorbacked village sows, and were only rescued from a cruel death after every one had lost its tail. Why is it that pigs of different breeds always bite off each other's tails? I claimed fifty cents per tail, and was awarded $3.50 damages, to be paid by the community generally. The community refused to pay. His Honour then notified by the town crier that I was at liberty to shoot any pig that broke into the station grounds. I put a cartridge into a Snider rifle and told my servants to call me if they heard a grunt in the night.

Three days after this, as I was discussing theology and baked fowl one night with the local teacher in his own house, a boy burst in and said that there was a strange pig in my garden devouring my crop of French beans. In two minutes I was back in my house, snatched up the Snider, and ran to the garden wall. There was the brute, a great black-and white beast, the biggest native pig I ever saw. His back was turned, but hearing my steps he 'went about' and faced me. 'Twas a bright moonlight night, and the bullet plugged him fair between the eyes. Over he rolled without a kick. Then I heard a shriek or laughter, and saw half a dozen girls scuttling away among the coco-palms. A horrible suspicion nearly made me faint. Jumping over the wall I examined the defunct, and could scarce forbear to shed a tear.

'Twas mine own prized black Australian boar, daubed over with splashes of coral lime whitewash. And the whitewash came from a tub full of it, with which the natives had that morning been whitening the walls of the newly-built village church. The one-eyed old scoundrel of a deacon told me next day it was a judgment on me.



MAURICE KINANE

Eastward, from the coast of New Guinea, there lies a large island called, on the maps, New Britain, the native name of which is Berara. It is nearly three hundred miles in length and, in parts, almost sixty in width, and excepting the north-eastern portion, now settled by German colonists, is inhabited by a race of dangerous and treacherous cannibals, who are continually at war among themselves, for there are many hundred tribes living on the coast as well as in the interior. Although there have been white people living on the north-east coast for over thirty years—for there were adventurous American and English traders living in this wild island long before the natives ever saw a German—not one of them knew then, or knows now, much of the strange black tribes who dwell in the interior of the centre and western part of the island, save that they were then, as they are in this present year, always at enmity with the coast tribes, and are, like them, more or less addicted to cannibalism.

Sixty miles from the western end of the island is the mountainous land of German New Guinea; and sometimes, when the air is clear and the south-east trade wind blows, the savages on Berara can see across the deep, wide strait the grey loom of the great range that fringes the north-eastern coast of New Guinea for many hundred miles. Once, indeed, when the writer of this true story lived in New Britain, he saw this sight for a whole week, for there, in those beautiful islands, the air is very clear at certain seasons of the year.

From Matupi, where the principal settlement in New Britain is situated, to the deep bay at Kabaira, fifty miles away, the coast is very beautiful. And, indeed, no one who looks at the lovely grassy downs that here and there show through the groves of waving palm trees stretching from the beach away up to the rising land of the interior could think that such a fair country was the home of a deadly fever; and that in the waters of the bright limpid streams that ran gently down from the forest-clad hills to meet the blue waters of the Pacific there lurked disease and death to him who drank thereof.

At the time of my story (except for the adventurous American whalemen from Nantucket and New Bedford, and the sandal-wood cutters from New South Wales, who sometimes touched there) white men were unknown to the people of New Britain. Sometimes when the sperm-whaling fleet was cruising northwards and westward to the Moluccas, a ship would sail along the coast in the daytime, but always anchored at night, for it was dreaded for the many dangerous reefs that surround it. And once the anchor was down a strict watch was kept on board, for the natives were known to be fierce and treacherous.

Between where is now the German settlement and the great native town at Kabaira Bay there is an island called Mano, which stands five miles off from the mainland. Early one morning, when the wild people of the villages among the palm-groves which lined the long winding beach came out of their thatched huts for their morning bathe they gave a great cry, for a large full-rigged ship was standing in close under the lee of Mano, and clewing up her sails before she came to an anchor.

Now the natives who lived on the mainland of New Britain were the hereditary enemies of those who dwelt on Mano Island, and it was hateful for them to see a ship anchor there, for then the Mano Islanders would get axes and muskets and hoop-iron.

So, with Baringa, the chief, at their head, they all ran to the summit of a high, grassy hill (known, by reason of a terrible deed once done there in the olden times, as the Hill of Old Men's Groans), and sat down to watch if the ship would send her boats ashore.

'Look!' said Baringa, fiercely, striking the ground with his heavy jade-headed club, 'look, I see a boat putting out from the side. Who among ye will come with me to the ship, so that I may sell my turtle shell and pearl shell to the captain for muskets and powder and bullets? Are these dogs of Mano to get such things from the ship, and then come over here at night and slay and then cook us in their ovens? Hungry am I for revenge; for 'tis now twelve moons since they stole my son from me, and not one life have I had in return for his.'

But no one answered. Of what use was it, they thought, for Baringa to think of his little son? He was but a boy after all, and had long since gone down the throats of the men of Mano. Besides, the Mano people were very strong and already had many guns.

So for an hour Baringa sat and chafed and watched; and then suddenly he and those with him sprang up, for a sound like thunder came over to them, and a cloud of white smoke curled up from the ship's side; she had fired one of her big guns. Presently Baringa and his people saw that the boat which had gone ashore was pulling back fast, and that some of the crew who were sitting in the stern were firing their muskets at the Mano people, who were pursuing the boat in six canoes. Twice again the ship fired a big gun, and then the boat was safe, for the two twenty-four pounders, loaded with grape-shot, smashed two of them to pieces when they were less than a hundred yards from the ship.

Baringa shouted with savage joy. 'Come,' he cried, 'let us hasten to the beach, and get quickly to the ship in our canoes; for now that the white men have fought with these Mano dogs, the ship will come here to us and anchor; for I, Baringa, am known to many white men.'

* * * * *

The name of the ship was the Boadicea. She was of about seven hundred tons, and was bound to China from Port Jackson, but for four months had remained among the islands of the New Hebrides group, where the crew had been cutting sandal-wood, which in those days was very plentiful there. Her captain, who was a very skilful navigator, instead of going through Torres Straits, had sailed between New Ireland and New Britain, so that he might learn the truth of some tales he had heard about the richness of those islands in sandal-wood and pearl shell. So he had cruised slowly along till he sighted Mano Island, and here he decided to water the ship; for from the deck was visible a fine stream of water, running from the forest-clad mountains down to the white sands of the quiet beach.

As soon as possible a boat was lowered and manned and armed; for although he could not see a native anywhere on the beach, nor any signs of human occupation elsewhere on the island, the captain was a very cautious man. A little further back from the beach was a very dense grove of coco-nut trees laden with fruit, and at these the crew of the Boadicea looked with longing eyes.

'We must water the ship first, my lads,' said Captain Williams, 'and then we'll spend the rest of the day among the coco-nut trees, and fill our boats with them.'

Just then as the bronze-faced captain was ascending to the poop from his cabin; a small barefooted boy came aft, and, touching his hat, said,—

'Av ye plaze, sor, won't ye let me go in the boat, sor?'

'Why, Maurice, my boy, there's quite enough of us going in her as it is,' said the captain, kindly, for the dirty-faced but bright-eyed Maurice Kinane was a favourite with everyone on board.

'Ah, but shure, sor,' pleaded the boy, 'av yer honour would just let me go, av it was only to pluck a blade av the foine green grass, and lave me face in the swate clane wather I'll be beholden—'

'Well, well, my lad, jump in then,' said Captain Williams, with a smile, and buckling his cutlass belt around his waist he sent the lad down the ladder before him and the boat pushed off.

* * * * *

Ten months before, this poor Irish lad, who was but thirteen years of age, had lost both his parents through the upsetting of a boat in Sydney Harbour. His father was a sergeant in the 77th Regiment, and had only arrived in the colony a few months previous to the accident, and the boy was left without a relative in the world. But the captain of his father's company and the other officers of the regiment were very kind to him, and the colonel said he would get him enlisted as a drummer.

And so for a time Maurice lived in the barracks under the care of Sergeant MacDougall, a crusty old warrior, who proved a hard master and made the boy's life anything but a happy one. And Maurice, though he was proud of the colonel's kind words and of serving with the regiment, fretted greatly at the harsh manner of the old sergeant.

One morning he was reported as missing. Little did those who looked for him all the next day think that the boy was far out at sea, for he had stowed away on board the Boadicea; and although Captain Williams was very angry with him when he was discovered and led aft, the lad's genial temper and bright, honest face soon won him over, as, indeed, it did everyone else on board.

For nearly an hour after the boat had landed at the mouth of the little stream the seamen were busily-engaged in filling the water casks. Not a sign of a native could be seen, and then, regardful of the longing looks that the sailors cast at the grove of coco-nuts, the captain, taking with him Maurice and four hands, set out along the beach for the purpose of gathering a few score of the young nuts to give to his men to drink.

One of the four seamen was a Kanaka named 'Tommy Sandwich.' He was a native of Sandwich or Vate Island in the New Hebrides. In a very short time this man had ascended a lofty palm-tree, and was throwing down the coco-nuts to the others, who for some minutes were busily engaged tying them together to carry them to the boat.

'That will do, Tommy,' cried the captain, presently. 'Come down now and help the others to carry.' He did not see that Maurice, boy-like and adventurous, had managed to ascend a less lofty tree some little distance away, out of sight of his shipmates, and at that moment was already ensconced in the leafy crown, gazing with rapture at the lovely scene that lay before him.

It took the men but another ten minutes to tie up the coco-nuts into bunches of ten, and then each of them drank copiously of the sweet milk of half a dozen which Tommy had husked for them.

'Come, lads,' said Captain Williams, 'back to the boat now. By-and-by—'

A dreadful chorus of savage yells interrupted him, and he and the men seized their muskets and sprang to their feet. The sounds seemed to come from where the boat was watering; in a few seconds more four musket shots rang out.

'Run, run for your lives,' cried the captain, drawing his pistol. 'The savages are attacking the boat.' And the seamen, throwing down the coco-nuts, rushed out of the palm grove to rescue their shipmates.

They were only just in time, for the banks of the little stream were covered with naked savages, who had sprung out of the thick undergrowth upon the watering party, and ere the boat could be pushed off two of the poor sailors had been savagely slaughtered. Fortunately for the captain and his party, they were nearer to the boat, when they made their appearance, than were the natives, and, plunging into the water, and holding their muskets over their heads, they reached her in safety, and at once opened fire, whilst the rest of the crew bent to the oars.

But the danger was not yet over, for as soon as the boat was out of reach of the showers of spears sent at her from the shore, a number of canoes appeared round a bend of the mountainous coast. They had evidently been sent to cut off the white men's retreat. And then began the race for life to the ship which had been witnessed by Baringa and his people from the mainland.

Maurice, from his tree, had heard the yells of the savages and the gunshots, and was about to descend and follow the captain and his shipmates, when he heard a rush of bodies through the palm grove, and saw beneath him forty or fifty natives, all armed with clubs and spears. They were a horrible-looking lot, for they were quite naked and the lips of all were stained a deep red from the juice of the betel-nut, and their dull reddish-brown bodies were daubed over with yellow and white stripes. This party had perhaps meant to surprise the captain and his men as they were getting the coco-nuts, for, finding them gone, they at once rushed out of the grove in pursuit. Fortunately for Maurice they were too excited to think of looking about them, else his end would have come very quickly.

For nearly ten minutes the lad remained quiet, listening to the sounds of the fighting, and in fearful doubt as to his best course of action—whether to make a bold dash and try to find his way to the boat, or remain in the tree till a rescue party was sent from the ship. Suddenly the thundering report of one of the ship's guns made him peer seaward through the branches of his retreat; and there, to his delight, he caught a brief view of the boat. Again the report of another gun pealed out, and a wild screaming cry from the natives told him that the shot had done some execution.

'I must get out of this,' he thought, 'and make a bolt along the beach in the other direction, till I get into the hills. I can see better from there, and perhaps make a signal to the ship.' Maurice got quietly down from the tree, and after looking cautiously about him, was about to set off at a run, when he found himself face to face with a young native boy, who, running quickly forward, grasped him by the hands, and began to talk volubly, at the same time trying to drag him towards the beach. The boy, save for a girdle of ti leaves, was naked, and Maurice, anxious and alarmed as he was for his own safety, could not but notice that the young savage seemed terribly excited.

'Let me go, ye black naygur,' said Maurice, freeing his hands and striking him in the chest.

In an instant the native boy fell upon his knees, and held up his hands, palms outward, in a supplicating gesture.

Puzzled at this, but still dreading treachery, Maurice turned away and again sought to make his way to the hills; but again the boy caught his hands, and with gentle force, and eyes filled with tears, tried to push or lead him to the beach. At last, apparently as if in despair of making the white lad understand him by words, he made signs of deadly combat, and ended by pointing over to where the boat had been attacked. Then, touching Maurice on the chest, and then himself, he pointed to the sea, and lying on the ground worked his arms and legs as if swimming.

'Sure, perhaps he's a friend,' thought Maurice, 'an' wants me to swim off to the ship. But perhaps he's a thraitor and only manes to entice me away to be murdered. Anyway, it's not much of a choice I've got at all. So come on, blackamoor, I'm wid ye.'

Although not understanding a word that Maurice said, the native boy smiled when he saw that the white lad was willing to come with him at last. Then, hand-in-hand, they ran quietly along till they reached the beach; and here the native, motioning Maurice to keep out of view, crept on his hands and knees till he reached a rock, and then slowly raised his head above it and peered cautiously ahead.

Whatever it was he saw evidently satisfied him, for he crawled back to Maurice, and again taking his hand broke into a run, but instead of going in the direction of the river, he led the way along the beach in the opposite direction. Feeling confident now that he had found a friend, Maurice's spirits began to rise, and he went along with the boy unhesitatingly.

At last they rounded a sandy point, covered with a dense growth of coco-nut trees and pandanus palms; this point formed the southern horn of a small deep bay, in the centre of which stood an island, warded by a snow-white beach, and on the nearmost shore Maurice saw a canoe drawn up.

The island beach was quite three hundred yards away, but Maurice was a good swimmer, and although he shuddered at the thought of sharks, he plunged in the water after his dark-skinned companion and soon reached the islet, which was but a tiny spot, containing some two or three score of coco-palms, and three untenanted native huts. It was used by the natives as a fishing station, and the canoe, which was a very small one, had evidently been in use that day. Close by were the marks in the sand where a larger one had been carried down. In one of the huts smoke was arising from a native ground-oven, which showed that the fishermen had not long gone; doubtless they would return when the food was cooked, for the native boy pointed out the oven to Maurice with a look of alarm.

The two boys soon launched the canoe, and each seizing a paddle, at once struck out in the direction of the ship. The native lad sat aft, Maurice for'ard, and clumsy as was the latter with the long and narrow canoe paddle, he yet managed to keep his seat and not capsize the frail little craft.

'Hurroo!' cried foolish Maurice, turning to his companion, 'we're all right now, I'm thinkin'. There's the ship!'

There she was sure enough, and there also were four canoes, paddling along close in-shore, returning from their chase of the captain's boat. They heard Maurice's loud shout of triumph, at once altered their course, and sped swiftly towards the two boys.

* * * * *

Scarcely had Captain Williams and his exhausted crew gained the ship when the mate reported that a fleet of canoes was coming across from the mainland of New Britain, and orders were at once given to load the ship's eight guns with grape and canister. (In those days of Chinese and Malay pirates and dangerous natives of the South Seas, all merchants ships, particularly those engaged in the sandal-wood trade, were well armed, and almost man-of-war discipline observed.)

'We'll give them something to remember us by, Hodgson,' said Captain Williams, grimly. 'That poor lad! To think I never noticed he was not in the boat till too late! I expect he's murdered by now; but I shall take a bloody vengeance for the poor boy's death. Serve out some grog to the hands, steward; and some of you fellows stand by with some shot to dump into the canoes if we should miss them with the guns and they get alongside.'

But just as he spoke the mate called out, 'The canoes have stopped paddling, sir, all except one, which is coming right on.'

'All right, I see it. Let them come and have a look at us. As soon as it gets close enough, I'll sink it.'

For some minutes the canoe, which contained seven men, continued to advance with great swiftness; then she ceased paddling, and the steersman stood up and called out something to the ship, just as she was well covered by two of the guns on the port side. In another minute she would have been blown out of the water, when Tommy Sandwich ran aft and said,—

'I think, cap'n, that fellow he no want fight ship; I think he want talk you.'

'Perhaps so, Tommy; so we'll let him come a bit closer.'

Again the native paddles sent the canoe inward till she was well within easy hailing distance of the ship, and the same native again stood up and called out,—

'Hi, cap'n. No you shoot me. Me Baringa. Me like come 'board.'

'All right,' answered Captain Williams, 'come alongside.'

The moment the canoe ranged alongside, Baringa clambered up the side, and advanced fearlessly toward the poop. 'Where cap'n?' he asked, pushing unceremoniously aside those who stood in his way; and mounting the ladder at the break of the poop he walked up to the master of the Boadicea and held out his hand.

In a very short time, by the aid of Tommy Sandwich, whose language was allied to that of the natives of New Britain, Captain Williams learnt how matters stood. His visitor was anxious to help him, and volunteered to join the white man in an attack on the treacherous people of Mano, though he gave but little hope of their finding Maurice alive. They had, he said, stolen his own son twelve months before, and eaten him, and he wanted his revenge. Presently, as a proof of his integrity, he produced from a dirty leather cartridge pouch, that was strapped around his waist, a soiled piece of paper, and handed it to the captain. It read as follows:—

'The bearer, Baringa, is the chief of Kabaira Coast. He is a thorough old cannibal, but, as far as I know, may be trusted by white men. He supplied my ship with fresh provisions, and seems a friendly old cut-throat.

'Matthew Wallis, 'Master, ship Algerine of New Bedford. 'October 2 st, 1839.'

'Well, that's satisfactory,' said Captain Williams, turning to Tommy. 'Tell him that I am going to land and try and find Maurice, and he can help me with his people. Mr Hodgson, man and arm the boats again.'

In a moment all was bustle and excitement, in the midst of which a loud 'hurrah' came from aloft from a sailor who was on the fore-yard watching the remaining canoes of Baringa's fleet. 'Hurrah! Here's Maurice, sir, coming off in a canoe with a nigger, an' a lot of other niggers in four canoes a-chasin' him.'

Springing to the taffrail, Captain Williams saw the canoe, which had just rounded the point and was now well in view. The two boys were paddling for their lives; behind them were the four canoes filled with yelling savages.

'Into the boats, men, for God's sake!' roared the captain. Had a greater distance separated Maurice from his pursuers the master of the Boadicea would have endeavoured to have sunk the four canoes with the ship's guns; but the risk was too great to attempt it as they were. However, the gunner and carpenter were sent into the fore-top to try and pick off some of the natives by firing over Maurice's canoe.