Part 22 (1/2)
”Put your fists up, Macka mine! Old Macka the missionary!” yelled Ulysses, as he struck the clasp-knife from the man's hand and threw it, plop! like a tennis ball into the cook's hand. The rest of the _Sea Foam's_ crew stood just behind, fronting the huddled natives in the shade of the stunted ivory-nut palms. Some had revolvers in hand ready to obey Bilbao their esteemed skipper's wishes.
The Rajah made a desperate rush towards the white man. He saw that his only chance was to escape through the throng that had encircled him as he stood there hesitating.
No mercy shone in the depths of those clear, grey, English eyes; no sympathetic gleam for the swarthy coward who defiled girls, kidnapped husbands, wives, lovers and children, yet had not the courage to stand up and protect himself from the fists of a white man.
Ulysses stood with shoulders thrown back, and as the winds from the mountains blew his yellowish moustache-ends backwards, till they almost touched his shoulder curves, he looked a veritable Nemesis in dungaree pants and dilapidated helmet-hat. But a more relentless Nemesis lurked in the shadows of the jungle, waiting to put the finis.h.i.+ng touch to the Papuan Rajah's sinister career. It was Maroshe, his long-ago, cast-off wife, the Koiari maid into whose ears he had once breathed the sacred ritual vows, when he was in love with her.
She had been the most eager to give Bilbao the information he and Hillary sought on first coming ash.o.r.e in that village at sunset. She had quickly understood why the white men were so anxious to get information concerning the Rajah's whereabouts. She knew that they were seeking the white girl-her rival! The sudden turn of affairs had made her chuckle with delight. ”The G.o.ds are kind to me,” she had said to herself. She had intended that very night to creep into the Rajah's sleeping-chamber and deal with him according to the old prescribed rites of her creed, which had a special punishment for those who dare trample on a maiden's vows. She had followed Bilbao and the crew stealthily up the track. She even heard Gabrielle's astonished cry before she rushed into her own hut and made her secret preparations. And now she lay close in the shade of the jungle, p.r.o.ne on her belly like some half-reptilian, half-human creature, as she watched her old lover tremble before the glance of the stern papalagi. She held a goblet in her skinny hand; it was half filled with a dark fluid. On she crawled, hand over hand and knee over knee, nearer and nearer to the spot where Macka and Ulysses faced one another.
She chuckled, half-woefully, at the thought of this dramatic opportunity which would give her her long-desired revenge. The Fates had willed it so. She had once really loved that man, and it would have been hard to have approached him whilst he slept in his old _bapa's_ tambu house. And there he was, standing in the presence of the white girl whose beauty inspired her with courage to give him the sacred draught.
”Calre!” (Splendid!) she murmured, as her stiff limbs twinged and she began to hurry on, seeing the beautiful white girl standing there, her pretty month open, her blue eyes staring as the men of two races faced each other. Once more her wrinkled body moved on, softly brus.h.i.+ng aside the scented frangipani blossoms and cinnamon gra.s.s. She was now within twelve yards of the trembling Macka. In a moment she had leapt to her feet, and made a running jump across the hollow village ditch that separated her from the two men.
”Holy Moses!” yelled Ulysses, as an apparition seemed to appear before him. He dodged, making sure that Maroshe was going for him.
Gabrielle, recognising the strange native woman who had come to her in the tambu house a few nights before, gave a cry of astonishment.
Hillary, who still held his coat in his hand, itching to get at Macka, and had just begged Gabrielle to let him go, gasped in wonder. He made sure that the figure that had leapt out of the jungle was the phantom creature whom he had heard Gabrielle talk about.
All the huddled Papuan, Malayan and Hindu b.a.s.t.a.r.d natives made a rush backwards into the thick jungle groves, and then stuck their chins out between the thick dark leaves, peering with awestruck eyes, half in fright and half in curious antic.i.p.ation. They alone knew the true history of Macka's connection with the Koiari woman and of the awful potency of the sacred goblet that she held in her outstretched hand. As for Macka, he stood transfixed with terror. His swarthy face had gone yellowish-brown! Indeed, as his eyes met those of the brown woman, he gazed with even greater despair into the savage, still half-beautiful face than he felt when he gazed upon Ulysses. Maroshe, standing there by the tall palm, her finger pointing towards the crescent moon, that looked like a gold feather over the mountains, her body clad in the ornamental sh.e.l.led, _rami_, looked the part she had come to play in that night drama by the Tomba Tomba ranges. Her eyes shone like living fire.
She lifted her dusky face till her chin stuck out. One hand held the goblet slightly aloft, with the other hand she pulled the wrinkled skin of her shrunken bosom and let it go back, click! and looked sideways at Gabrielle's full white throat in a meaning way. The venom of her hatred for the man before her made her appear terribly old.
Ulysses stepped backwards. He instinctively knew that that weird-looking woman had the prior right to deal with the Rajah at that particular moment. Step by step she approached, putting her knees far forward in a peculiar way. Even the night winds seemed hushed; not a leaf stirred on the tree-tops. She had begun the old tambu death chant. ”Le rami lakai Putih se lao, darah! Cowan ma saloe!” she wailed, as she chanted the words of an eerie Malayan fetish melody.
The crew of the _Sea Foam_, the natives, children and feather-head-dressed chiefs, all watched, spellbound; yellowish faces, brown faces, white faces looking like some dilapidated collection of men dumped down there haphazard. The Rajah seemed the only living, movable presence; his limbs shook violently as he stood in the Fate-like presence of the faded, half-wild woman who had come in so dramatically for the final act.
She was swaying her body, making mystical pa.s.ses with one hand; her voice trembled in an emotional way as she chanted. The only audible sigh from all that watching throng came from Gabrielle's lips. The sh.e.l.ls of the Koiari woman's _rami_ made a faint tinkle-tinkle as she moved another step forward.
Macka listened. He understood the meaning of that mumbling song and heathenish incantation. He did not appeal for mercy. Strange as it may seem, he looked half sadly on the faded beauty of the Koiari woman who had once lain in his arms, had felt the pa.s.sion of his caresses long ago. For a moment she stood perfectly still before him, not in hesitation, but with a look in her eyes as though she would recall some old memory before she did that which the G.o.ds had decreed.
It was only a moment's respite. Up went her hand, taking the goblet right up against the Rajah's chin quite gently, as though she would bid him drink once again of some old love-token-before he died! She tossed her hand up, very carefully, so that there should be no mistake-she had thrown the contents of the goblet!
The terribly potent vitriol smoked on his face!
A cry of horror went up from Ulysses' lips and from all the watching crew. The natives yelled out in anguish. Even the mangy Papuan tribal dog, sitting close to the idol's wooden feet, lifted its nose to the crescent moon and howled. The sight of the Rajah's eyes had gone!
Standing there, blind, his face seared with fire, the fumes from the goblet issuing from the top of his tilted turban and rising in a s.h.i.+vering vapour to the palms above his head, he made a terrible picture! He violently clapped his hands to his face. He began to dance in a wild frenzy. His mind was shattered with pain. He jumped and jumped, stamping on the ground as though he would crush his very soul out with his feet.
Notwithstanding all that the man had done to Hillary the young apprentice felt some sympathy for the afflicted Rajah. It was so unexpected. Ulysses, who had sworn to do so much when he had Macka in his grasp, re-echoed the horror, the murmur that went up from the huddled, onlooking crew. And no wonder, for as they watched a woman's scream of anguish echoed to the mountains. In a moment they all moved back as the Rajah, hearing that scream, put his hand forth in mute appeal. _He_ heard the sympathetic wail in that blood-curdling cry. The final act of the terrible drama, enacted before Ulysses and his crew, was strangely in harmony with its wild setting. None expected that final act, the thrilling exit from the stage when Maroshe the Koiari woman forgave and became united to the Rajah! Mango Pango jumped with fright and clutched Bilbao's arm. ”Saver me, poor Mango,” she wailed. Bilbao dispelled the tense silence by yelling out: ”By thunder!”
The hollow-eyed mate stood like a spectre of misery who saw retribution ahead as he lifted his shrunken hands and stared upward at the stars.
The hubbub of the cowardly natives had suddenly ceased as they too watched Macka's exit from his old life. Gabrielle clutched Hillary in fear; indeed, every onlooker drew in a mighty breath as they saw them go-Macka, a blind, groping figure, looking like some demon of the night flying onward, and shouting in his Malayan tongue, one hand waving in the air, Maroshe clinging to his other arm. They were reunited at last, and she was leading him away to watch over him in his eternal darkness.
For quite twenty seconds Ulysses and all the crew stared after them.
By now the cowardly natives, who had sought to give no help to one of their own kind, had begun their infernal hubbub and were clamouring round Ulysses, begging for the several bribes he had promised should they lead him to the place where the Rajah had taken the white girl.
Bilbao, who had lived with the natives from Dampier Strait to Sarawak, Borneo, knew they were a treacherous lot and liable to turn on him and his scanty crew at any moment, so he was anxious to get back to the _Sea Foam_. He wiped the perspiration from his brow. His voice was almost gentle as he turned to Hillary and Gabrielle and said, with evidently simulated calm: ”I say, we'd better clear out of this at once.” Then he turned to the crew: ”Hurry up, boys; let's get back to the boats.” The sallow mate, who had fallen down in a kind of fit, rose to his feet, and stood swaying like a branch in a wind as he brushed the dust from his bra.s.s-bound, peaked cap.
In a moment Hillary, Gabrielle, Mango Pango and the crew had started off, hurrying down the track as Ulysses led the way; the natives came clamouring behind them, whirling and humming in guttural appeals like bunches of monstrous two-legged stalk-flies.