With several deft strokes of his heavy-backed sheath-knife, Grief clipped a triangular piece of shell from the end of a husked drinking-cocoa-nut. The thin, cool liquid, slightly milky and effervescent, bubbled to the brim. With a bow, Pankburn took the natural cup, threw his head back, and held it back till the shell was empty. He drank many of these nuts each day. The black steward, a New Hebrides boy sixty years of age, and his assistant, a Lark Islander of eleven, saw to it that he was continually supplied.
Pankburn did not object to the hard work. He devoured work, never shirking and always beating the native sailors in jumping to obey a command. But his sufferings during the period of driving the alcohol out of his system were truly heroic. Even when the last shred of the poison was exuded, the desire, as an obsession, remained in his head. So it was, when, on his honour, he went ashore at Apia, that he attempted to put the public houses out of business by drinking up their stocks in trade. And so it was, at two in the morning, that David Grief found him in front of the Tivoli, out of which he had been disorderly thrown by Charley Roberts. Aloysius, as of old, was chanting his sorrows to the stars. Also, and more concretely, he was punctuating the rhythm with cobbles of coral stone, which he flung with amazing accuracy through Charley Robertss windows.
David Grief took him away, but not till next morning did he take him in hand. It was on the deck of the Kittiwake, and there was nothing kindergarten about it. Grief struck him, with bare knuckles, punched him and punished him gave him the worst thrashing he had ever received.
For the good of your soul, Pankburn, was the way he emphasized his blows. For the good of your mother. For the progeny that will come after. For the good of the world, and the universe, and the whole race of man yet to be. And now, to hammer the lesson home, well do it all over again. That, for the good of your soul; and that, for your mothers sake; and that, for the little children, undreamed of and unborn, whose mother youll love for their sakes, and for loves sake, in the lease of manhood that will be yours when I am done with you. Come on and take your medicine. Im not done with you yet. Ive only begun. There are many other reasons which I shall now proceed to expound. The brown sailors and the black stewards and cook looked on and grinned. Far from them was the questioning of any of the mysterious and incomprehensible ways of white men. As for Carlsen, the mate, he was grimly in accord with the treatment his employer was administering; while Albright, the supercargo, merely played with his mustache and smiled. They were men of the sea. They lived life in the rough. And alcohol, in themselves as well as in other men, was a problem they had learned to handle in ways not taught in doctors schools.
Boy! A bucket of fresh water and a towel, Grief ordered, when he had finished. Two buckets and two towels, he added, as he surveyed his own hands.
Youre a pretty one, he said to Pankburn. Youve spoiled everything. I had the poison completely out of you. And now you are fairly reeking with it. Weve got to begin all over again. Mr. Albright! You know that pile of old chain on the beach at the boat-landing. Find the owner, buy it, and fetch it on board. There must be a hundred and fifty fathoms of it. Pankburn! To-morrow morning you start in pounding the rust off of it. When youve done that, youll sandpaper it. Then youll paint it. And nothing else will you do till that chain is as smooth as new.
Aloysius Pankburn shook his head.
I quit. Francis Island can go to hell for all of me. Im done with your slave-driving. Kindly put me ashore at once. Im a white man. You cant treat me this way.
Mr. Carlsen, you will see that Mr. Pankburn remains on board.
Ill have you broken for this! Aloysius screamed. You cant stop me.
I can give you another licking, Grief answered. And let me tell you one thing, you besotted whelp, Ill keep on licking you as long as my knuckles hold out or until you yearn to hammer chain rust. Ive taken you in hand, and Im going to make a man out of you if I have to kill you to do it. Now go below and change your clothes. Be ready to turn to with a hammer this afternoon. Mr. Albright, get that chain aboard pronto. Mr. Carlsen, send the boats ashore after it. Also, keep your eye on Pankburn. If he shows signs of keeling over or going into the shakes, give him a nip a small one. He may need it after last night.
VFor the rest of the time the Kittiwake lay in Apia Aloysius Pankburn pounded chain rust. Ten hours a day he pounded. And on the long stretch across to the Gilberts he still pounded.
Then came the sandpapering. One hundred and fifty fathoms is nine hundred feet, and every link of all that length was smoothed and polished as no link ever was before. And when the last link had received its second coat of black paint, he declared himself.
Come on with more dirty work, he told Grief. Ill overhaul the other chains if you say so. And you neednt worry about me any more. Im not going to take another drop. Im going to train up. You got my proud goat when you beat me, but let me tell you, you only got it temporarily. Train! Im going to train till Im as hard all the way through, and clean all the way through, as that chain is. And some day, Mister David Grief, somewhere, somehow, Im going to be in such shape that Ill lick you as you licked me. Im going to pulp your face till your own niggers wont know you.
Grief was jubilant.
Now youre talking like a man, he cried. The only way youll ever lick me is to become a man. And then, maybe
He paused in the hope that the other would catch the suggestion. Aloysius groped for it, and, abruptly, something akin to illumination shone in his eyes.
And then I wont want to, you mean?
Grief nodded.
And thats the curse of it, Aloysius lamented. I really believe I wont want to. I see the point. But Im going to go right on and shape myself up just the same.
The warm, sunburn glow in Griefs face seemed to grow warmer. His hand went out.
Pankburn, I love you right now for that.
Aloysius grasped the hand, and shook his head in sad sincerity.
Grief, he mourned, youve got my goat, youve got my proud goat, and youve got it permanently, Im afraid.
VIOn a sultry tropic day, when the last flicker of the far southeast trade was fading out and the seasonal change for the northwest monsoon was coming on, the Kittiwake lifted above the sea-rim the jungle-clad coast of Francis Island.
Grief, with compass bearings and binoculars, identified the volcano that marked Redscar, ran past Owen Bay, and lost the last of the breeze at the entrance to Likikili Bay. With the two whaleboats out and towing, and with Carl-sen heaving the lead, the Kittiwake sluggishly entered a deep and narrow indentation. There were no beaches. The mangroves began at the waters edge, and behind them rose steep jungle, broken here and there by jagged peaks of rock. At the end of a mile, when the white scar on the bluff bore west-southwest, the lead vindicated the Directory, and the anchor rumbled down in nine fathoms.
For the rest of that day and until the afternoon of the day following they remained on the Kittiwake and waited. No canoes appeared. There were no signs of human life. Save for the occasional splash of a fish or the screaming of cockatoos, there seemed no other life. Once, however, a huge butterfly, twelve inches from tip to tip, fluttered high over their mastheads and drifted across to the opposing jungle.
For the rest of that day and until the afternoon of the day following they remained on the Kittiwake and waited. No canoes appeared. There were no signs of human life. Save for the occasional splash of a fish or the screaming of cockatoos, there seemed no other life. Once, however, a huge butterfly, twelve inches from tip to tip, fluttered high over their mastheads and drifted across to the opposing jungle.
Theres no use in sending a boat in to be cut up, Grief said.
Pankburn was incredulous, and volunteered to go in alone, to swim it if he couldnt borrow the dingey.
They havent forgotten the German cruiser, Grief explained. And Ill wager that bush is alive with men right now. What do you think, Mr. Carlsen?
That veteran adventurer of the islands was emphatic in his agreement.
In the late afternoon of the second day Grief ordered a whaleboat into the water. He took his place in the bow, a live cigarette in his mouth and a short-fused stick of dynamite in his hand, for he was bent on shooting a mess of fish. Along the thwarts half a dozen Winchesters were placed. Albright, who took the steering-sweep, had a Mauser within reach of hand. They pulled in and along the green wall of vegetation. At times they rested on the oars in the midst of a profound silence.
Two to one the bush is swarming with them in quids, Albright whispered.
Pankburn listened a moment longer and took the bet. Five minutes later they sighted a school of mullet. The brown rowers held their oars. Grief touched the short fuse to his cigarette and threw the stick. So short was the fuse that the stick exploded in the instant after it struck the water. And in that same instant the bush exploded into life. There were wild yells of defiance, and black and naked bodies leaped forward like apes through the mangroves.
In the whaleboat every rifle was lifted. Then came the wait. A hundred blacks, some few armed with ancient Sniders, but the greater portion armed with tomahawks, fire-hardened spears, and bone-tipped arrows, clustered on the roots that rose out of the bay. No word was spoken. Each party watched the other across twenty feet of water. An old, one-eyed black, with a bristly face, rested a Snider on his hip, the muzzle directed at Albright, who, in turn, covered him back with the Mauser. A couple of minutes of this tableau endured. The stricken fish rose to the surface or struggled half-stunned in the clear depths.
Its all right, boys, Grief said quietly. Put down your guns and over the side with you. Mr. Albright, toss the tobacco to that one-eyed brute.
While the Rapa men dived for the fish, Albright threw a bundle of trade tobacco ashore. The one-eyed man nodded his head and writhed his features in an attempt at amiability. Weapons were lowered, bows unbent, and arrows put back in their quivers.
They know tobacco, Grief announced, as they rowed back aboard. Well have visitors. Youll break out a case of tobacco, Mr. Albright, and a few trade-knives. Theres a canoe now.
Old One-Eye, as befitted a chief and leader, paddled out alone, facing peril for the rest of the tribe. As Carlsen leaned over the rail to help the visitor up, he turned his head and remarked casually:
Theyve dug up the money, Mr. Grief. The old beggars loaded with it.
One-Eye floundered down on deck, grinning appeasingly and failing to hide the fear he had overcome but which still possessed him. He was lame of one leg, and this was accounted for by a terrible scar, inches deep, which ran down the thigh from hip to knee. No clothes he wore whatever, not even a string, but his nose, perforated in a dozen places and each perforation the setting for a carved spine of bone, bristled like a porcupine. Around his neck and hanging down on his dirty chest was a string of gold sovereigns. His ears were hung with silver half-crowns, and from the cartilage separating his nostrils depended a big English penny, tarnished and green, but unmistakable.
Hold on, Grief, Pankburn said, with perfectly assumed carelessness. You say they know only beads and tobacco. Very well. You follow my lead. Theyve found the treasure, and weve got to trade them out of it. Get the whole crew aside and lecture them that they are to be interested only in the pennies. Savve? Gold coins must be beneath contempt, and silver coins merely tolerated. Pennies are to be the only desirable things.
Pankburn took charge of the trading. For the penny in One-Eyes nose he gave ten sticks of tobacco. Since each stick cost David Grief a cent, the bargain was manifestly unfair. But for the half-crowns Pankburn gave only one stick each. The string of sovereigns he refused to consider. The more he refused, the more One-Eye insisted on a trade. At last, with an appearance of irritation and anger, and as a palpable concession, Pankburn gave two sticks for the string, which was composed of ten sovereigns.
I take my hat off to you, Grief said to Pankburn that night at dinner. The situation is patent. Youve reversed the scale of value. Theyll figure the pennies as priceless possessions and the sovereigns as beneath price. Result: theyll hang on to the pennies and force us to trade for sovereigns. Pankburn, I drink your health! Boy! another cup of tea for Mr. Pankburn.
VIIFollowed a golden week. From dawn till dark a row of canoes rested on their paddles two hundred feet away. This was the deadline. Rapa sailors, armed with rifles, maintained it. But one canoe at a time was permitted alongside, and but one black at a time was permitted to come over the rail. Here, under the awning, relieving one another in hourly shifts, the four white men carried on the trade. The rate of exchange was that established by Pankburn with One-Eye. Five sovereigns fetched a stick of tobacco; a hundred sovereigns, twenty sticks. Thus, a crafty-eyed cannibal would deposit on the table a thousand dollars in gold, and go back over the rail, hugely-satisfied, with forty cents worth of tobacco in his hand.
Hope weve got enough tobacco to hold out, Carlsen muttered dubiously, as another case was sawed in half.
Albright laughed.
Weve got fifty cases below, he said, and as I figure it, three cases buy a hundred thousand dollars. There was only a million dollars buried, so thirty cases ought to get it. Though, of course, weve got to allow a margin for the silver and the pennies. That Ecuadoran bunch must have salted down all the coin in sight.
Very few pennies and shillings appeared, though Pankburn continually and anxiously inquired for them. Pennies were the one thing he seemed to desire, and he made his eyes flash covetously whenever one was produced. True to his theory, the savages concluded that the gold, being of slight value, must be disposed of first. A penny, worth fifty times as much as a sovereign, was something to retain and treasure. Doubtless, in their jungle-lairs, the wise old gray-beards put their heads together and agreed to raise the price on pennies when the worthless gold was all worked off. Who could tell? Mayhap the strange white men could be made to give even twenty sticks for a priceless copper.
By the end of the week the trade went slack. There was only the slightest dribble of gold. An occasional penny was reluctantly disposed of for ten sticks, while several thousand dollars in silver came in.
On the morning of the eighth day no trading was done. The gray-beards had matured their plan and were demanding twenty sticks for a penny, One-Eye delivered the new rate of exchange. The white men appeared to take it with great seriousness, for they stood together debating in low voices. Had One-Eye understood English he would have been enlightened.