Gabrielle of the Lagoon Part 11

"Dance on _pae pae_ and run away into the forest!" said Hillary in surprise. "Good gracious! She's not the girl I'm looking for. It's a white girl I'm after, one who wears a blue dress, coiled-up tresses of gold that fall over her brow; she's white and beautiful. Dance on your d.a.m.ned _pae pae_! Phew!" said Hillary, putting his foot out and kicking vigorously.

Oom Pa also metaphorically kicked himself. He wondered what trouble his incautious remarks might cause both to himself and the girl. He swiftly realised that it was an unusual thing for a white girl to do a jig on a _pae pae_; he also knew that the white men might think that he had something to do with the girl's strange leaning towards his heathenish creed, and so would blame him for anything that might have happened to her. Consequently he at once put his hand to his brow, shook his head and intimated that he was "old fool" to make such a mistake.

Ingrova, who had immediately realised how near the priest had been to letting out that he knew something about Gabrielle, astutely changed the conversation and begged Hillary and the priest to enter his palavana. In a moment Ingrova had bent his stalwart figure and entered the low doorway of his rather palatial hut. Hillary and priest followed.

The apprentice, who had never been inside a primitive homestead, was surprised as he entered the gloomy, tightly thatched dwelling-place of Ingrova. It was sheltered by the branches of two huge bread-fruits, was conical-shaped and had a large domed roof. The rooms were s.p.a.cious, about twelve feet from wall to wall. Each room was lit up by primitive window holes. These windows had no gla.s.s in them, but were fashioned of twisted, interlaced bamboo twigs in a clever ornamental style, making them look like cas.e.m.e.nts that opened on to feathery palm-trees. Indeed, often by night one could have peeped through those cas.e.m.e.nts and seen the festival maidens dancing on the village green while rows of coco-nut-oil lamps twinkled from the palm and bread-fruit boughs. As the apprentice stared round the room, the dim light intensified the surroundings. They _were_ strange ornaments, no mistake about that. On the wooden walls hung the human skulls and bones of the sad departed.

Noticing Hillary's curious stare as he regarded the beautifully polished skulls, many of which still had hair clinging to the bone, Ingrova waxed sentimental, stepped forward and took the smallest skull down from its nail. Pointing to the empty sockets with his dusky finger, the chief murmured in sombre tones: "Ah papalagi, 'twas in these holes where once sparkled like unto stars in the wind-blown lagoon the eyes of her who was my first _parumpuan_ (wife)." Then he sighed, and continued: "'Tis true, O papalagi, that those eyes did once gaze and look kindly on him whom I did hate overmuch. But 'tis over now, these many years; and moreover, man, too, doth much which he no ought to do. And I say, O papalagi, does not the moon stare with kindness on more lagoons than one?"

As he said this the old chief made several magic pa.s.ses with his forefinger, pushing it across and within the sockets as he sighed deeply. Then he proceeded: "Here, between these teeth, was the tongue that sang to me when my head was weary and mucher trouble did come to my peoples." At this moment the old warrior looked sadly through the doorway and sighed. Once more he put forth his hands and took down the remaining portion of that delicate skeleton. Hillary gazed in intense wonder. He noticed that the white bones were fastened together with finest sennet, joined with great artistic dexterity, not a bone being out of place. His thoughts about Gabrielle for the time being had vanished, as the mystery of that hut clung like a shroud about him.

"What's that?" he murmured, as he gazed on the gruesome object that Ingrova held up before him. He felt shivery in the gloom, notwithstanding the tropical heat and the buzzing sand-flies.

As the two old hags who were squated on mats in the far corner of the room revealed their presence by giving a deep sigh, Ingrova proceeded: "Tis all that remains of her form, which I did lover overmuch. Look, O papalagi, here was her bosom; 'twas here that she gave unto my children nicer nourishing milk, children who now am great chiefs and chiefesses."

Saying this, the warrior ran his fingers down the curves of the dead woman's throat bones till he arrived at the tiny bones of the breast, then his finger swerved to the right, pa.s.sed round by the ribs and moved downward towards the sharp white bones of the thighs.

"Good heavens!" was Hillary's only audible comment, as he inwardly thanked G.o.d that white people did not keep their dead so that they could be inspected like grim photo alb.u.ms on visiting days.

Ingrova gently hung up those sad heirlooms of his past affections on their several nails again. Hillary, who by now had entered into the tragic spirit of the weird homestead, pointed to the various gruesome remains and asked Ingrova whose were the fourteen skulls that hung on a kind of clothes-line that ran across the room, close to the roof. Even old Oom Pa sighed as he watched Ingrova take down each bleached skull and solemnly point to the empty sockets, telling of bright eyes and gabbling tongues that once made music, sang songs, and knew laughter and tears. One had been a great high priest who had died at the hands of the white men sooner than swerve from the spiritual path that he deemed the right one. He was one of the old Solomon Island martyrs. Hillary noticed that this special skull was high-domed, revealing by its protuberance the reverence that man has for higher things, and also imagination. The teeth were perfect. Another was quite flat-headed, the hair woolly and the eye-sockets small. After much preamble on Ingrova's part, Hillary gathered that this skull belonged to the social reformer of the tribe.

Yet another high-domed remnant had bulging bone brows, the skull being altogether curiously shaped. "Who was he, O mighty Ingrova?" said Hillary with a good deal of reverence.

Ingrova answered in this wise: "He was, O papalagi, the great witch-singer of these lands. It was in that little skull-hole where flamed the magic that sang unto us, telling the sorrow of the dying moons, and of the voices of wandering rivers and ocean caves. He looked through those holes" (here the chief pointed to the empty eye-sockets), "where stare the light of the stars, the sunsets and moonsets, when he did once stand beneath these very palms, by that doorway, and say to my tribe: 'Man am no long to live, and, too, his love and joy oft depart ere his body go its way. All things must die, though the corals rise and the palms stand for ever before the eyes of day, man's songs must cease and he got to sleep.'"

"Dear me! What a nice old fellow he must have been," muttered Hillary.

Ingrova had gesticulated and spoken in such a way that he almost saw the sorrow of the poet's long-dead eyes looking through the sockets of the skull.

"Well, if this is a typical Solomon Island homestead, I'd sooner go out visiting in dear old England," thought the apprentice, as Oom Pa suddenly prostrated himself on the prayer-mat and, turning over on his back, blew his stout, wrinkled stomach out with enormous breaths in some religious rite. Hillary made a solemn face and, responding to Ingrova's appeal, placed his brow against a dead man's beard that hung by the window hole. It was with a feeling of considerable relief that he so graciously bowed when two pretty native girls suddenly rushed into the room and stared at him with wonder-struck eyes. His white face fascinated them. They were attractive-looking maids, their ma.s.sive crowns of hair tastefully ornamented with frangipani and scarlet hibiscus blossoms. Threaded sh.e.l.ls dangled from their arms. One had large earrings hanging from her artificially distended lobes. They were two of Ingrova's granddaughters. They at once proceeded to flirt with the apprentice, giving captivating glances from their fine dark eyes.

And when he accepted a flower from pretty Noma, the tallest girl, he swiftly accepted a like offering from her companion, who had shot a jealous glance at her sister from her warm dark eyes. In the meantime, Oom Pa and Ingrova had met under the palms just outside the palavana.

Ingrova's eyes flashed with fire as old Oom Pa spoke close to his ear, for they liked not a white man to call in their village without asking.

Though Ingrova was a brave chief, he too was a religious bigot, and his heart swelled with much devotion as he thought of what his G.o.ds would think to see the apprentice's skull hanging amongst his most sacred religious trophies. He felt that a skull adorned with dark bronze curls would be a prize worth securing. Oom Pa placed his dusky hand to his mouth, coughed and looked around to see that none heard; then he said: "I say, O mighty Ingrova, this white papalagi may seek our hidden idols and be after no maid at all. What think you?"

And Ingrova replied: "O mighty Oom Pa, favoured of the G.o.ds, did I not hear you say that you had seen such a one as this white maid?"

Oom Pa puckered up his wrinkled eyebrows and swiftly told Ingrova how a white girl had danced unbidden on his great tambu _pae pae_ and then run away into the forest. On hearing this much Ingrova looked towards the palavan to see that the white man was not within earshot, and then, swelling his majestic, tattooed chest and shoulders, said scornfully: "It seemeth a grievous thing for a white maid to be missing, yet, I say, do not these cursed papalagi come into our bays on their ships and steal those we love, our wives, our sons and daughters, taking them to slavery, O Oom Pa?"

"'Tis as thou sayest," responded the priest. For a moment he reflected, then he looked up into Ingrova's eyes with deep meaning and said: "Methinks 'tis true that he seeks a white maid, for he who hath a leg of wood did pa.s.s this way, calling in strange tones to all whom he met; and mark you, O Ingrova, this papalagi who is there in your palavana hath one eye that is the colour of the day and one the hue of the night."

Ingrova at this wisely nodded, as though to say that he too had noticed this strange thing. Then Oom Pa continued: "To have such eyes must mean that he is favoured by the G.o.ds of his own race, and so 'twere well that he should receive our friendship. And maybe, after all, 'tis the white man's G.o.d who tattoos the skies!"

Ingrova sighed deeply as he thought of the exquisite skull that might have adorned the walls of his palavana. Then he said: "'Tis well, Oom Pa, for the youth is to my liking." And as they both stooped and re-entered the palavana doorway the young apprentice little dreamed how inscrutable Fate had given him one eye blue and the other brown so that he might not be killed that day by a Solomon Island chief. Fondest affection seemed to beam forth from Ingrova's eyes as he looked at the apprentice. "Nice old heathen," thought Hillary, as the big warrior sighed in deep thought and then placed his hands with regret among the rare bronze curls of the apprentice's skull that _might_ have been his.

But to give them their due, both Oom Pa and Ingrova were relieved that things were running smoothly. Together they took Hillary outside that he might inspect the wonders of the village. As he crossed the tiny _raras_ (village greens) the dusky maids placed their hands where their hearts beat and sighed over the beauty of his eyes and the wondrous whiteness of his face.

"d.a.m.n it all! I could take an interest in all this if I only knew where Gabrielle was," thought Hillary, as he looked on the strange scene of native life around him. Notwithstanding his sorrows, he could not help thinking how akin primitive life was to civilised life. "One blows his nose on a palm leaf and the other on a silk handkerchief," he murmured to himself. "Bless me, though it is a heathen village in the Solomon Isles, its dusky, tattooed inhabitants seem imbued with the same ideas and aspirations as my own people."

It was true enough: some of the tiny streets under the trees were clean and had large, well-built huts that were covered artistically with flowers of tropical vines. Other huts were small and very slovenly. Some of the maids had flowers in their hair and shining traduca sh.e.l.ls hanging on their arms. Others wore tappa gowns, a few some remnant of European clothing, such as cast-off skirts, blouses, bodices and stockings. One or two wore only those undergarments that are frilled at the knees and succeeded in showing off their terra-cotta limbs in a most conspicuous fashion. Some had made real doors to their palavanas, whilst others still had doors that were made of old sacking. One played a cheap German fiddle while the kiddies on the _rara_ danced with glee. In front of the native temple stood a monstrous idol, its big gla.s.s eyes apparently agog with laughter. And on a stump, facing it, stood the embryo parliamentary genius, Hank-koo, waving his skinny arms, beseeching the high chiefs to pa.s.s a law that would compel all the other chiefs to make their hut doors so that they opened inwards. "Why not have doors that open inwards when 'tis as well as opening towards?" he yelled, as he wiped his brow with a palm leaf. It was then that another fierce-looking being jumped on to a stump. He too swore by Quat (first G.o.d of heathen land) that for a door to open outwards was indeed beautiful. "Can not a dying man's soul take flight with ease to shadow-land instead of being compelled to pull the door back ere departing hence?" And so the chiefs were always busy remaking doors that opened inwards or outwards, as they continually changed their minds over the virtues of such great things.

"Comer, papalagi!" said Ingrova, as he beckoned Hillary to return towards his palatial palavana. "All is wonderful that I have seen, O great Ingrova," said Hillary, as he stood once more outside the chief's homestead.

And then, as the chief leaned on his war-club, swelling his ma.s.sive chest and bowing graciously, Hillary intimated that he must depart at once.

Indeed the apprentice was getting impatient. "It's no good hanging about here; this won't find Gabrielle," he thought, as he cursed the old skulls and the atmosphere of gloom that Ingrova's gruesome exhibition had cast over him. "Why should I be made melancholy through Ingrova's dead relatives? I don't bring out the bones of my dead aunts and old uncles to make men miserable." Such was his inward comment as he left the chief and hurried away. Thoughts of Gabrielle's strange disappearance returned to him with redoubled force. He recalled how she had touched his hand for the first time. And as Hillary pa.s.sed along by the forest banyans and saw the deep indigo of the far distant ocean, he stared on the rose-pearl flush of the sea horizon. "What a fool I was! I could have easily persuaded her to bolt that night on the derelict," he thought, as he once more started on his way back to Everard's.

In due course he arrived back at Everard's bungalow. The old man was terribly upset when Hillary told him that he had heard nothing about his daughter's whereabouts. He trembled violently as he looked up at Hillary and said: "I've been up to Parsons's shanty: no one has seen Gabby, or heard of her. What can it all mean?"

Hillary made no reply. He did his best to cheer the old sailorman up.

His unbounded faith in Gabrielle had returned. He recalled her innocent manner when she had offered him the little flower out of her hair when he had first met her on the lagoon. "No girl who gave a flower like that could do wrong," he thought. Not only would he not entertain the idea that a dark Papuan man could have influence over Gabrielle, but he also persuaded the father to make no inquiries about the Rajah.

"What proof have you got that the Rajah is the kind of man who would take advantage of any woman?" he inquired of Everard. Possibly he was influenced to make these remarks by a kind of Dutch courage. He imagined that there was far less chance of Everard's suspicions being true if he himself blinded his own eyes to the possibilities of what a dark man might persuade a white girl to do. Over and over again he had recalled to memory Gabrielle's eyes as she had gazed into his own on the derelict ship. "No! Impossible!" thought he. "I've got boundless faith in Gabrielle; I feel certain she's only gone up to K--. She's probably stopping with the German missionary's wife and will be back to-morrow."

"Why the blazing h-- didn't you go there to K-- and see?" said the old sailor in a petulant voice, as he suddenly looked apologetically at the apprentice. He had gripped Hillary's hand gratefully in the thought that a strange youth should have such unbounded faith in his daughter.

"I've only just thought of Gabrielle's friendship with the missionary's wife at K--," said Hillary.

Then Everard suddenly remembered that he had already sent a native servant up to K-- to inquire.

All that night the old ex-sailor sat huddled in his arm-chair, crying softly to himself. He swore that he'd never drink again or hurt a hair of the girl's head if she returned safely home.

Hillary slept little. Once he walked into Gabrielle's bedroom, gazed on her tiny trestle bed and thought of all she had said to him. Then he was obliged to go out of doors and walk up and down under the palms in an attempt to stifle his grief. In the morning he helped Everard to get the breakfast. The old man spoke kindly to him and repeatedly muttered to himself about his foolishness in thinking the youth was such a villain because he happened to be stranded in Bougainville and hadn't a cent to bless himself with.

"What did old Ingrova say?" suddenly asked the old man, as he swallowed some hot tea.

"Oh, he had never even heard of Gabrielle."

"Never heard of her! The old liar!" almost yelled the old man.

Hillary turned beetroot-red. He swallowed some hot tea and nearly fell on the floor. "You don't mean to say Ingrova's fooling us?"

"Don't worry, boy, Ingrova's all right. I know 'im!" said Everard.

"Thank G.o.d!" muttered Hillary. For he had suddenly called up terrible visions of ferocious head-hunters dancing round Gabrielle's dying form.

Anyway, his fears were quite dispelled by Everard's manner and all that he proceeded to tell him. As the ex-sailor and the apprentice talked and then lapsed into silence over their own thoughts, the visitors began to arrive. It appeared that the grief-stricken father had been about telling all his friends that Gabrielle was missing from home. The first one to arrive at the bungalow after breakfast was Mango Pango. When Hillary opened the bungalow door she pretended to faint. Then she lifted her hands above her head and went on in a most dramatic fashion as Hillary explained to her that Gabrielle was still missing.

"Whater you do 'ere?" said the pretty Polynesian girl, as she looked out of the corner of her eye as only a Polynesian maid can look without squinting. "I never knew that you knew Misser Gaberlielle," she added, as Hillary smiled. Then she went on in a terrible style, for she had known Gabrielle since she was a child. "O Master Hill-e-aire, she kill!

Some one fiercer head-hunter gotter her and cutter her head off!" she wailed, as she rolled her pretty eyes and then looked at Hillary in a swift flash that said "No gooder you loving girler without head-eh?"

Giving this parting shot, Mango Pango ran off home to follow her domestic duties. And then a batch of native women and two white men arrived outside the bungalow to inquire if Gabrielle had returned. After a deal of jabbering and unheard-of ideas as to the cause of the girl's absence, they put the coins in their pockets and went off mumbling. And still the old man gabbled on, saying: "How kind people are when folk are in trouble."

Hillary at last put on his hat and went off to make further inquiries.

As he stood shaving himself before the mirror in the bungalow parlour, he thought of all that Gabrielle had told him about the haunting shadow-woman. He was half-inclined to tell the father of the girl's strange talk on the derelict ship out in the bay. Then he decided not to do so, thinking that the old sailor had quite enough trouble on his shoulders. Somehow the thought of all that Gabrielle had told him about that shadow-woman eased Hillary's mind. It gave him greater faith in the girl. He remembered the look in her eyes when she had sung the weird songs to him by the lagoon, and also in the forest once when they were parting. "Perhaps she's a bit eccentric, and that accounts for her strange absence," he thought. And the thought eased his mind and was more pleasant than the thoughts that had begun to haunt him. He recalled Rajah Koo Macka's handsome face. He also recalled how he had read that dark men had strange and terrible influence over romantic girls. He knew very well that Gabrielle was terribly impressionable. Hillary gave himself a gash with his razor as he thought of this, and his hands began to tremble. Then he hastily dressed himself and told Everard that he was off to make inquiries about Macka. "We don't know _who_ he is; he might be anyone, and villainous enough to lure your daughter deliberately away, after all," said the apprentice, as he lit his pipe, said good-bye to the old man and went off to search and make inquiries.

It was nearly dusk when Hillary returned from the villages and going down to the beach by the grog bar came across a Papuan sailor who, he had been told, was an old deck-hand off one of the Rajah's ships.

The artful Papuan at first swore that he did not know Macka, shook his head and said: "Me no savee!"

Then Hillary took a handful of silver from his pocket and shook it before the Papuan's eyes and hinted that if he could tell him of anyone who _did_ know about Macka's social position he would get well rewarded.

In a moment the native's manner changed. He took Hillary under the palms and told him a tale that fairly made the young apprentice gasp. And it was a story that would make anyone gasp.