Part 17 (2/2)
A few minutes after that the lonely isle was once more uninhabited.
There was no trace of humanity excepting the wreck on the sh.o.r.e. And long before dawn flushed the east with its silver radiance the _Sea Foam_ was flying with all possible sail set for the coast of New Guinea.
”It wasn't old Macka Rajah gone mad after all,” said Bilbao to Hillary, as the apprentice stood dreaming on the deck in the morning.
”It wasn't a treasure trove on the reefs, crammed up to the hatchway with chests of golden doubloons and pieces of eight,” Hillary retorted quietly. Even Mango Pango, that rival of how many sad heathen Penelopes, revealed her pearly teeth when she understood the meaning of Hillary's sally.
Samuel Bilbao only laughed, then said: ”Boy, we're only about three or four days' sail from the coastal village where your Rajah Macka has bolted.”
”Only three or four days before I know! Only three or four days before I see Gabrielle, and find out-what?” were some of the thoughts that flashed through Hillary's brain as Bilbao made that momentous announcement. And it was true enough: the _Sea Foam_ was slowly but surely nearing the G.o.d-forsaken barbarian forest coast of the land where the ex-missionary and kidnapper was supposed to have taken Gabrielle Everard.
CHAPTER XI-KIDNAPPED
On the night when Rajah Koo Macka sat in old Everard's bungalow parlour and successfully threw dust in the ex-sailor's eyes and opium and rum in Gabrielle's tea, the Papuan half-caste's s.h.i.+p lay out in the bay of Bougainville, ready to sail at a moment's notice.
It may be difficult to believe that a white girl could be successfully kidnapped from her father's homestead, carried half-a-mile across thick jungle to the sh.o.r.e, thrown into a boat and rowed out to a s.h.i.+p that was ready to carry her off to New Guinea; but however incredible it may seem, that's exactly what did happen. And this business was accomplished by swarthy half-caste sailors who were experts at the kidnapping game.
These kidnappers were men who had devoted their lives to stealing and enticing ignorant native girls, youths, children and native men from the Solomon Isles and elsewhere by hundreds, nay, thousands, carrying the boys and men off to be sold as cheap plantation labour, and the girls for the seraglios of heathen chiefs (and sometimes seraglios of white men) in remote isles of the North and South Pacific. And it was easy enough to carry on the slave trade in those parts, for the German officials of Bougainville cared little for their prestige so long as they received a sufficiently large bribe from the slave skippers who prowled along the coasts of Bougainville and Gualdacanar, etc. The old white-whiskered German missionary round at B-- made a tremendous fuss about the depredations of the tribal head-hunters who went off to the mountain villages to secure their terrible trophies, but the depredations of the kidnapping thugs, as they crept ash.o.r.e and stole girls and youths from the villages, were broadly winked at.
And these remarks do not apply only to the Solomon Group, but also to islands as civilised as Samoa and Fiji. So Rajah Koo Macka and his type calmly carried on their hideous traffic almost in broad daylight. But still the Rajah, on the present occasion, felt that it would be a bit too risky to attempt to kidnap Gabrielle while the sun was up, since she was a sacred white maid. Old Everard was therefore honoured by that last visit from him under cover of night. For the Rajah was an experienced hand at the game. He had prowled round the isles of the Pacific from the Coral Sea to the tropic of Capricorn for years looking for good-looking native girls and men who would make profitable merchandise, and so had had many narrow squeaks, although he always carried a large a.s.sortment of religious tracts about with him to allay suspicion. One may easily imagine, therefore, that the Rajah did not look upon the kidnapping of a white girl as something very much outside the ordinary routine of his profession. Indeed, he well knew that white men by scores indulged in the blackbirding trade, sailing under the slave flag as they too prowled the Southern Seas kidnapping people of his race. And so, as far as the actual kidnapping of a white girl is concerned, he was only doing what the white men did themselves.
When at last old Everard lay in drunken insensibility on his settee the Rajah was master of the situation. His hired kidnappers were within call.
In the little that he had seen of Gabrielle he had realised perfectly that his old game of impa.s.sioned looks and hypocritical phrases were utterly useless where she was concerned. He soon realised that it was one thing to succeed in making a white girl fascinated by his handsome presence, but quite another to make her cast aside the elementary principles of her race. And so he had formulated his plans.
All that evening, while old Everard had been sitting in his arm-chair listening to the Papuan Rajah's sombre denunciations of his sinful habits, and Gabrielle stared at his swarthy, handsome face, fascinated by its a.s.sumed n.o.ble expression, three stalwart Kanakas squatted patiently, as they smoked, not twenty yards from Everard's bungalow.
They were the forcible part of the Rajah's go-ash.o.r.e retinue, all muscular men. And as they sat there they wondered how much longer the Rajah was going to keep them waiting for one cursed Christian white girl, when they had kidnapped hundreds of native girls and strong men in half the time. But their patience, that greatest of virtues, was at last rewarded. First the solitary heathen kidnapping thugs saw shadows slip across the dim-lit bungalow window. ”Ugh! Me savoo!” said the big man of giant mirth, as he got his strangling rope ready in case the expected victim was obstreperous. As the three thugs got ready for the fray the first act of the wicked drama was in full progress inside the parlour.
Gabrielle was already swaying and clutching at the air as she felt the influence of some terrible sleep creeping over her. She fell towards the window and clutched at the curtains in her endeavour to awaken her father. But it was too late! The old ex-sailor only smiled in his sleep; but he must have heard the terrified cry of ”Father! Father!” since he muttered ”Gabby, go ter sleep!” And she did go to sleep!
The Rajah had fixed things up in no time and then appeared outside the bungalow with the unconscious girl in his arms. As he laid her gently down beneath the palms, the kidnappers crept out of the jungle thickets, stretched out their neat little rope ambulance (always carried for intractable patients) and bundled Gabrielle into its folds.
While this was going on Gob, a dwarf, kept watch, and Rajah Macka kept his eyes on his Papuan retinue. They were men of his own race, and he knew their vile instincts, for was he not one of them? And so he took good care not to let the girl out of his sight. When all was settled, and Gabrielle lay insensible, secure in the thug-ambulance, they lifted her carefully and hurried across the slopes, pa.s.sing by the lagoon where she and Hillary had embarked in the canoe to go out to the three-masted derelict. It was on that very night that Hillary and Gabrielle were to meet each other, and the apprentice had kept the appointment, only to wait in vain for the girl's appearance. But had he not in his usual impatience, walked a mile up the sh.o.r.e away from the trysting-place he could not have failed to see the kidnappers pa.s.s and so might have saved Gabrielle in a most dramatic fas.h.i.+on.
When Macka and his crew arrived on the sh.o.r.e they flung the girl into the waiting boat, and in less than an hour Gabrielle was a prisoner on board the _Bird of Paradise_.
Not even the violent b.u.mp of the boat against the vessel's side disturbed Gabrielle ere they carried her helpless form up the rope gangway and on to the deck of the Rajah's s.h.i.+p. When she awoke, that same night, she could hardly believe her senses. She looked across the gloomy, dim-lit room and thought she'd overslept herself. She fancied she had fallen asleep in her father's parlour, for there was the settee in the corner-but why was he not on the settee? She noticed that it was still dark, only a dim oil-lamp burning, hanging strangely, it seemed, from the ceiling when it should have been standing on the table.
She rubbed her eyes and stared once more. Her bed seemed to move. What did it all mean? The settee was lined with blue plush; it should really have been a very shabby brown. She jumped to her feet and gave a scream as she spied the little port-holes on the starboard side just opposite her-she had realised the truth, that she was in the cuddy (saloon) of some vessel that was rolling along away at sea!
”Don't, Gabriel-ar-le, solawa soo!” said a voice very softly.
It was the skipper of the _Bird of Paradise_-Rajah Koo Macka. He had been asleep in the cabin just near and had leapt from his bunk at hearing Gabrielle's frightened scream.
”Where am I? Oh dear! Save me! What's it all mean?” Even Gabrielle laid her hand on her fluttering heart as she muttered those words in a weak voice at finding herself out at sea in a s.h.i.+p's cuddy instead of in the security of her home.
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