Rodman The Boatsteerer And Other Stories

“Nay,” he said, putting his hand to his head, “I was but stunned. Help me into my house.”

That night the whole population of Ailap came to his house and urged him to lead them to Ijeet and slay the coward sailor who had sought to take his life and steal from him his wife.

“Wait,” he answered grimly, “wait, I pray thee, O my friends, and then shalt thou see that which shall gladden thy hearts and mine. And let none of ye raise his hand against the half-caste till I so bid him.”

They wondered at this; but went away contented. Parma was a wise man, they thought, and knew what was best.

When the house was in darkness, and the trader and his wife lay on their couch of mats with their sleeping child between them, Palmer laughed to himself.

“Why dost thou laugh, Parma?” And Letanë turned her big eyes upon his face.

“Because this man Porter is both wise and brave; and in two days or less we shall sleep in peace, for Jinaban shall be dead.”

Back from the clustering houses of Ijeet village the man who was “wise and brave” was sitting upon the bole of a fallen coco-palm with his arms clasped round the waist of the star-eyed Sépé, who listened to him half in fear, half in admiration.

“Nay,” she said presently, in answer to something he had said, “no love have I for Jinaban; ‘tis hate alone that hath led me to aid him, for he hath sworn to me that I shall yet see Letanë lie dead before me. And for that do I steal forth at night and take him food.”

“Dost thou then love Parma?”

“As much as thou lovest his wife,” the girl answered quickly, striking him petulantly on his knee.

The half-caste laughed. “Those were but the words of a man drunken with liquor. What care I for her? Thee alone do I love, for thy eyes have eaten up my heart. And see, when thou hast taken me to Jinaban, and he and I have killed this Parma, thou shalt run this knife of mine into the throat of Letanë. And our wedding feast shall wipe out the shame which she hath put upon thee.”

The girl’s eyes gleamed. “Are these true words or lies?”

“By my mother’s bones, they be true words. Did not I flee to thy house and bring thee this pistol I wrenched from Parma’s hand to show thee I am no boaster. And as for these three women of Ailap who spy upon thee—show me where they sleep and I will beat them with a heavy stick and drive them back to their mistress.”

Sépé leant her head upon his shoulder and pressed his hand. “Nay, let them be; for now do I know thou lovest me. And to-night, when my mother sleeps, shall we take a canoe and go to Jinaban.”

At dawn next morning Palmer was aroused from his sleep by a loud knocking at the door, and the clamour of many voices.

“Awake, awake, Parma!” cried a man’s voice; “awake, for the big sailor man who tried to kill thee yesterday is crossing the lagoon, and is paddling swiftly towards thy house. Quick, quick and shoot him ere he can land.”

In an instant the trader and every one of his household sprang from their couches, the door was thrown open, and Palmer, looking across the lagoon, which was shining bright in the rays of the rising sun, saw about a quarter of a mile away, a canoe, which was being urged swiftly along by Frank Porter and a woman. She was heading directly for his house, and already Palmer’s bodyguard were handling their muskets, and waiting for him to tell them to fire.

Taking his glass from its rack over the door he levelled it at the approaching canoe, and looked steadily for less than half a minute, and then he gave an exulting cry.

“Oh, my friends, this is a lucky day! Lay aside thy guns, and harm not the sailor; for in that canoe is Jinaban, bound hand and foot. And the fight that ye saw yesterday between this half-caste and me was but a cunning plan between us to get Jinaban into our hands; and no harm did he intend to my wife, for she too knew of our plan.”

A murmur of joyful astonishment burst from the assembled natives, and in another moment they were running after Palmer down to the beach.

The instant the canoe touched the sand, Porter called out in English—

“Collar the girl, Mr. Palmer, and don’t let her get near your wife. She means mischief.”

Before she could rise from her seat on the low thwart, Sépé was seized by two of Palmer’s people. Her dark, handsome face was distorted by passion, but she was too exhausted to speak, and suffered herself to be led away quietly. And then Jinaban, who lay stretched out on the outrigger platform of the canoe, with his hands and feet lashed to a stout pole of green wood, was lifted off.

A few hurried words passed between Palmer and the half-caste, and then the former directed his men to carry the prisoner up to the house. This was at once done, amidst the wildest excitement and clamour. The lashings that bound him to the pole were loosened a little by Palmer’s directions, and then four men with loaded rifles were placed over him. Then, calling a native to him, Palmer told him to take a conch-shell, go from village to village, and summon all the people to the white man’s house quickly.

“Tell them to come and see Jinaban die,” he said sternly.

As soon as the prisoner had been disposed of for the time being, Palmer and Porter went into the dining-room, where Letanë had prepared a hurried breakfast for the half-caste.

“Where is Sépé?” he asked, as he sat down.

“Locked up in there,” said Palmer, pointing to one of the store-rooms.

“Poor devil! Don’t be too rough on her. I had to lay a stick across her back pretty often before she would help me to carry Jinaban down to the canoe. And I had to threaten to shoot her coming across the lagoon. She wouldn’t paddle at first, and I think wanted to capsize the canoe and escape, until she looked round and saw my pistol pointed at her. Then she gave in. I wasn’t goin’ to let Mr. Jinaban drown after all my trouble. But”—his mouth was stuffed with cold meat and yam as he spoke—“I’m sorry I had to beat her. An’ she’s got the idea that your missus will kill her when I tell you all about her.”

Washing down his breakfast with a copious drink of coffee, Porter lit his pipe, and then, in as few words as possible, told his story. And as he told it a loud, booming sound rang through the morning air, and the hurrying tramp of naked feet and excited voices of the gathering people every moment increased, and “Jinaban!” “Jinaban!” was called from house to house.

“As soon as the girl an’ me got to the island,” he said, “she told me to wait in the canoe. ‘All right,’ I said, and thinking it would be a good thing to do, I told her to take the revolver and box of cartridges with her, just to show them to Jinaban in proof of the story of the fight I had with you; I thought that if she told him I was armed he might smell a rat and shoot me from the scrub. An’ I quite made up my mind to collar him alive if I could. The night was very dark, but the girl knew her way about pretty well, an’, leaving me in the canoe, she ran along the beach and entered the puka scrub. About an hour went by, an’ I was beginning to feel anxious, when she came back. ‘Come on,’ she said, ‘Jinaban will talk with you.’ I got out of the canoe and walked with her along the beach till we came to what looked like a tunnel in the thick undergrowth. ‘Let me go first,’ she said, stooping down, and telling me to hold on to her grass girdle, she led the way till we came out into an open spot, and there was Jinaban’s house, and Jinaban sitting inside it, before a fire of coconut shells, handling your revolver and looking very pleased. He shook hands with me and, I could see at once, believed everything that Sépé had told him. Then we had a long talk and arranged matters nicely. I was to stay with him until the first dark, rainy night. Then we were to come over and hide ourselves in your boat-shed to wait until you opened your door the first thing in the morning. We were both to fire together, and bring you down easy. Then Sépé was to settle her account with your wife while Jinaban rallied the Ijeet people, in case the Ailap natives wanted to fight. After that he and I were to divide all the plunder in the house and station between us, take two of your whaleboats, and with some of his people make for some other island in the Carolines as quick as possible. And Sépé was to be Mrs. Frank Porter.

“Then, before he knew what was the matter with him, I hit him under the ear, and laid him out stiff; and after choking the girl a bit to keep her quiet, I tied him up safely.”

Palmer set his teeth, but said nothing. Then the half-caste, having finished his pipe, rose.

“What are we going to do with him—hang him, or what?” he inquired, coolly.

“Stand him out there on the beach and let one of the Ailap people shoot him.”

Jinaban was led forth from Palmer’s house into the village square, and bound with his back to a coconut palm. On three sides of him were assembled nearly every man, woman, and child on Las Matelotas Lagoon. Not a sign of fear was visible in his dark, bearded face; only a look of implacable hatred settled upon it when Palmer, followed by the half-caste seaman and a servant boy, walked slowly down his verandah steps and stood in full view of the assemblage. He was unarmed, but the boy carried his rifle.

Raising his hand to command silence, the murmuring buzz of voices was instantly hushed, and the trader spoke. There, said he, was the cruel murderer who had so ruthlessly slain more than a score of men, women, and children—many of whom were of his own blood. Jinaban must die, and they must kill him. He himself, although he had good cause to slay him, would not. Let one of those whose kith and kin had been slain by this cruel man now take a just vengeance.

A young man stepped out from among the crowd, and Palmer, taking the rifle from the boy who held it, placed it in his hand. He was the brother of the girl whom Jinaban had shot through the legs and left to die of starvation and thirst.

Slowly the young native raised the rifle to his shoulder, glanced along the barrel, then grounded it on the sand.

“I cannot do it,” he said, handing the weapon back. Jinaban heard and laughed.

“Just what I thought would happen,” muttered Palmer to Porter. “We must hurry things along, even if we have to do it ourselves,” and then, raising his voice, he called out—

“Ten silver dollars to the man who will shoot Jinaban.”

No one moved, and a low murmur passed from lip to lip among the crowded natives. A minute passed.

“Oh, cowards!” said Palmer scornfully. “Twenty dollars!”

“Double it,” said the half-caste in a low voice; “and be quick. I can see some of Jinaban’s people looking ugly.”

“Forty dollars, then, and ten tins of biscuit to him who will kill this dog. See, he mocks at us all.”

A short, square-built man—a connection by marriage of the murderer’s brother, Rao—sprang into the open, snatched the rifle from Palmer’s hand, and levelled it at Jinaban. But as his eye met those of the dreaded outlaw his hand shook. He lowered the weapon, and turned to the white man.

“Parma,” he said, giving back the rifle to Porter, “I cannot do it; for his eye hath killed my heart.”

“Ha!” laughed Jinaban, and the group of Ijeet men swayed to and fro, and a savage light came into Palmer’s eyes. He looked at Porter, who at that moment raised the rifle and fired, and a man who was approaching Jinaban, knife in hand, to cut his bonds, spun round and fell upon the sand with a broken back. In a moment the crowd of Ijeet men drew off.

“Back, back,” cried the half-caste, fiercely, springing towards them and menacing them with the butt of his empty rifle, and then hurling it from him he leaped back and picked up something that stood leaning up against the wall of Palmer’s boat-shed. It was a carpenter’s broad-axe—a fearful looking weapon, with a stout handle and a blade fourteen inches across.

“Look,” he cried. “This man must die. And all the men of Ailap are cowards, else would this murderer and devil now be dead, and his blood running out upon the sand. But, as for me who fear him not—see!”

He took two steps forward to Jinaban and swung the axe. It clove through the murderer’s shaggy head and sank deep down into his chest.

Two days later Sépé, who had made her peace with Palmer’s wife, met the sailor as he was walking down to the beach to bathe.

“Wilt thou keep thy promise and marry me?” she asked.

“No,” answered the half-caste, pushing her aside roughly; “marriage with thee or any other woman is not to my mind. But go to the white man and he will give thee the forty dollars and ten tins of biscuit instead. Something thou dost deserve, but it shall not be me.”