In the Wrong Paradise, and Other Stories Page 6

  V. A STRANGER ARRIVES.

  When I wakened next morning, wonderfully refreshed by sleep and thepurity of the air, I had some difficulty in remembering where I was andhow I came there in such a peculiar costume. But the voices of theservants in the house, and the general stir of people going to and fro,convinced me that I had better be up and ready to put my sickle into thisharvest of heathen darkness. Little did I think how soon the heathendarkness would be trying to put the sickle into me! I made my way withlittle difficulty, being guided by the sound of the running water, to thebath-room, and thence into the gardens. These were large and remarkablywell arranged in beds and plots of flowers and fruit-trees. Iparticularly admired a fountain in the middle, which watered the garden,and supplied both the chief's house and the town. Returning by way ofthe hall, I met the chief, who, saluting me gravely, motioned me to oneof many small tables on which was set a bowl of milk, some cakes, andsome roasted kid's flesh.

  After I had done justice to this breakfast, he directed me to follow him,and, walking before me with his gold-knobbed staff in his hand, passedout of the shady court into the public square. Here we found a number ofaged men seated on unpleasantly smooth and cold polished stones in acurious circle of masonry. They were surrounded by a crowd of youngermen, shouting, laughing, and behaving with all the thoughtless levity andmerriment of a Polynesian mob. They became silent as the chiefapproached, and the old men rose from their places till he had taken akind of rude throne in the circle.

  For my part, I was obliged to stand alone in their midst, and it seemedthat they were debating about myself and my future treatment. First theold priest, whom I had seen on the night before, got up, and, as Ifancied, his harangue was very unfavourable to me. He pointed at theinevitable flower-crowned altar which, of course, was in the centre ofthe market-place, and from the way he shook a sickle he held in his handI believe that he was proposing to sacrifice me on the spot. In themidst of his oration two vultures, black with white breasts, flew highover our heads, chasing a dove, which they caught and killed right abovethe market-place, so that the feathers fell down on the altar. Theislanders, as I afterwards discovered, are full of childish superstitionsabout the flight of birds, from which they derive omens as to futureevents. The old priest manifestly attempted to make political capitalagainst me out of the interesting occurrence in natural history which wehad just observed. He hurried to the altar, caught up a handful of thebleeding feathers, and, with sickle in hand, was rushing towards me, whenhe tripped over the head of a bullock that had lately been sacrificed,and fell flat on his face, while the sickle flew far out of his hand.

  On this the young men, who were very frivolous, like most of theislanders, laughed aloud, and even the elders smiled. The chief now rosewith his staff in his grasp, and, pointing first to me and then to thesky, was, I imagined, propounding a different interpretation of the omenfrom that advanced by the old priest. Meantime the latter, with a sulkyexpression of indifference, sat nursing his knees, which had been a gooddeal damaged by his unseemly sprawl on the ground. When the chief satdown, a very quiet, absent-minded old gentleman arose. Elatreus was hisname, as I learned later; his family had a curious history, and hehimself afterwards came to an unhappy and terrible end, as will be shownin a subsequent part of my narrative.

  I felt quite at home, as if I had been at some vestry-meeting, or somecommittee in the old country, when Elatreus got up. He was stout, verybald, and had a way of thrusting his arm behind him, and of humming andhawing, which vividly brought back to mind the oratory of my native land.He had also, plainly enough, the trick of forgetting what he intended tosay, and of running off after new ideas, a trick very uncommon amongthese natives, who are born public speakers. I flattered myself thatthis orator was in favour of leniency towards me, but nobody was payingmuch attention to him, when a shout was heard from the bottom of the hillon which the square is built. Everybody turned round, the elders jumpedup with some alacrity for the sake of a better view on the polishedstones where they had been sitting, and so much was the business beforethe meeting forgotten in the new excitement, that I might have run awayunnoticed, had there been anywhere to run to. But flight was out of thequestion, unless I could get a boat and some provisions, and I hadneither. I was pleased, however, to see that I was so lightly and laxlyguarded.

  The cause of the disturbance was soon apparent. A number of brown, half-naked, sturdy sailors, with red caps, not unlike fezzes, on their heads,appeared, bawling and making for the centre of the square. They wereapparently carrying or dragging some person with them, some person whooffered a good deal of resistance. Among the foreign and unintelligiblecries and howls which rang through the market-place, my heart leaped up,in natural though unsanctified pleasure, as I heard the too well-knownbut unexpected accents of British profanity.

  "Where the (somewhere) are you blooming sons of beach-combers dragging aBri'sh shailor? Shtand off, you ragged set of whitewashed ChristyMinstrels, you! Where's the Bri'sh Conshul's? Take me, you longshoresons of sharks, to the Bri'sh Conshul's! If there's one white man amongyou let him stand out and hit a chap his own weight."

  "Hullo!" suddenly cried the speaker, whom I had recognized as WilliamBludger, one of the most depraved and regardless of the whole wicked crewof the Blackbird,--"hullo, if here isn't old Captain Hymn-book!"--afoolish nickname the sailors had given me.

  He was obviously more than half-drunk, and carried in his hand a blackrum-bottle, probably (from all I knew of him) not nearly full. His shirtand trousers were torn and dripping; apparently he had been washedashore, like myself, after the storm, and had been found and brought intothe town by some of the fishing population.

  What a blow to all my hopes was the wholly unlooked-for arrival of thistipsy, irreclaimable seaman, this unawakened Bill Bludger! I had framedan ideal of what my own behaviour, in my trying circumstances, ought tobe. Often had I read how these islanders possess a tradition that awonderful white man, a being all sweetness and lucidity, landed in theirmidst, taught them the knowledge of the arts, converted them to peace andgood manners, and at last mysteriously departed, promising that he wouldreturn again. I had hopes--such things have happened--that the islandersmight take me for this wonderful white man of their traditions, come backaccording to his promise. If this delusion should occur, I would not atonce undeceive them, but take advantage of the situation, and so bringthem all into the Bungletonian fold. I knew there was no time to waste.Lutheran, French, or Church of England schemers, in schooners, might evennow be approaching the island, with their erroneous and deplorabletenets. Again, I had reckoned, if my hopes proved false, on attaining,not without dignity, the crown of the proto-martyr of my Connection.Beyond occasional confinement in police cells, consequent on thestrategic manoeuvres of the Salvation Army, none of us had ever knownwhat it was to suffer in the cause. If I were to be the first to testifywith my blood, on this unknown soil, at least I could meet my doom withdignity. In any case, I should be remembered, I had reckoned, in theisland traditions, either as an isolated and mysterious benefactor, thechild of an otherwise unknown race, or as a solitary martyr from afar.

  All these vain hopes of spiritual pride were now blown to the wind byBill Bludger's unexpected appearance and characteristic conduct. Nodelusions about a divine white stranger from afar could survive theappearance and behaviour of so compromising an acquaintance as William.He was one white stranger too many. There he was, still struggling,shouting, swearing, smelling of rum, and making frantic attempts to reachme and shake hands with me.

  "Let bygones be bygones, Captain Hymn-book, your Reverence," he screamed;"here's your jolly good health and song," and he put his horrible blackbottle to his unchastened lips. "Here we are, Captain, two Englishmenagin a lot o' blooming Kanekas; let's clear out their whole blessed town,and steer for Sydney."

  But, perceiving that I did not intend to recognize or carouse with him,William Bludger now changed his tone; "Yah, you lily-liveredBi
ble-reader," he exclaimed, "what are you going about in _that_ toggeryfor: copying Mr. Toole in Paw Claudian? _You_ call yourself amissionary? Jove, you're more like a blooming play hactor in a pennygaff! Easy, then, my hearties," he added, seeing that the fishermen wereapproaching him again, with ropes in their hands. "Avast! stow yourhandcuffs."

  In spite of his oaths and struggles, the inebriated mariner was firmlybound, hand and foot, and placed in the centre of the assembly. I onlywished that the natives had also gagged him, for his language, though, ofcourse, unintelligible to them, was profane, and highly painful to me.

  Before returning to business, the chiefs carefully inspected the blackbottle, of which they had dispossessed William Bludger. A golden vasewas produced--they had always plenty of _them_ handy--and the dark fluidwas poured into this princely receptacle, diffusing a strong odour ofrum. Each chief carefully tasted the stuff, and I was pained, ongathering, from the expression of their countenances, that they obviouslyrelished the "fire-water" which has been the ruin of so many peoples inthese beautiful but benighted seas. However, there was not enough leftto go round, and it was manifestly unlikely that William Bludger hadsucceeded in conveying larger supplies from the wreck.

  The meeting now assumed its former air of earnestness, and it was nothard to see that the arrival of my unhappy and degraded fellow-countrymanhad introduced a new element into the debate. Man after man spoke, andfinally the chief rose, as I had little doubt, to sum up the discussion.He pointed to myself, and to William Bludger alternately, and the wordswhich I had already noted, Thargeelyah, and farmakoi, frequently recurredin his speech. His ideas seemed to meet with general approval; even theold priest laid aside his sickle, and beat applause with his hands. Henext rose, and, taking two garlands of beautiful flowers from the hornsof the altar, placed one wreath on the head of the drunken sailor, whohad fallen asleep by this time. He then drew near me, and I had littledoubt that he meant to make me also wear a garland, like some woman ofrank and fashion at a giddy secular entertainment. Whatever his motivemight be I was determined to wear nothing of the kind. But here someattendants grappled and held me, my hat was lifted from my brows, and thecirclet of blossoms was carefully entwined all round my hat. The head-covering was then replaced, the whole assembly, forming a circle, dancedaround me and the unconscious Bludger, and, finally, the old priest,turning his face alternately to me and to the sun, intoned a hymn, theaudience joining in at intervals.

  My worst fears were, apparently, being realized. In spite of thecompromising appearance and conduct of Bludger, it seemed beyond doubtthat we were both regarded as, in some degree, divine and sacred.Resistance on my part was, it will be seen, impossible. I could notescape from the hands of my tormentors, and I was so wholly ignorant, atthat time, of their tongue, that I knew not how to disclaim the honoursthus blasphemously thrust upon me. I did my best, shouting, in English,"I am no Thargeelyah. I am no farmakos" supposing those words to be thenative terms for one or other of their gods. On this the whole assembly,even the gravest, burst out laughing, each man poking his neighbour inthe ribs, and uttering what I took to be jests at my expense. Theirbehaviour in this juncture, and frequently afterwards, when I attemptedto make them tell me the meaning of the unknown words, and of catharma(another expression the chief had used), greatly perplexed me. I hadafterwards too good reason to estimate their dreadful lack of theordinary feelings of humanity at its true value.

  However, nothing but laughter (most unfitting the occasion) could be gotout of the assembled natives. They now began to return to their homes,and Bludger, crowned with flowers that became him but ill, was carriedoff, not, as it seemed to me, without even a reverential demeanour on thepart of his escort. Those who surrounded me, a kind of body-guard of sixyoung men, had entirely recovered their composure, and behaved to me witha deference that was astonishing, but reassuring. From this time, Iought to say, though permitted to go where I would, and allowed toobserve even their most secret rites, enjoying opportunities such as willnever fall to another European, I was never, but once, entirely alone. Myworshippers, as they might almost be called, so humble was theirdemeanour, still kept watchful eyes upon me, as if I were a being soprecious that they were jealous of my every movement. It was now madeplain to me, by signs, that I must wait for some little space beforebeing conveyed to my appointed residence.