I had, therefore, to go with the woodcutters that day. Before starting, however, the captain called me into the cabin, and said—
“Here, Ralph, I’ve got a mission for you, lad. That blackguard Romata is in the dumps, and nothing will mollify him but a gift; so do you go up to his house and give him these whales’ teeth, with my compliments. Take with you one of the men who can speak the language.”
I looked at the gift in some surprise, for it consisted of six white whales’ teeth, and two of the same dyed bright red, which seemed to me very paltry things. However, I did not dare to hesitate or ask any questions; so, gathering them up, I left the cabin and was soon on my way to the chief’s house, accompanied by Bill. On expressing my surprise at the gift, he said—
“They’re paltry enough to you or me, Ralph, but they’re considered of great value by them chaps. They’re a sort o’ cash among them. The red ones are the most prized, one of them bein’ equal to twenty o’ the white ones. I suppose the only reason for their bein’ valuable is that there ain’t many of them, and they’re hard to be got.”
On arriving at the house we found Romata sitting on a mat, in the midst of a number of large bales of native cloth and other articles, which had been brought to him as presents from time to time by inferior chiefs. He received us rather haughtily, but on Bill explaining the nature of our errand he became very condescending, and his eyes glistened with satisfaction when he received the whales’ teeth, although he laid them aside with an assumption of kingly indifference.
“Go,” said he, with a wave of the hand—“go, tell your captain that he may cut wood today, but not tomorrow. He must come ashore—I want to have a palaver with him.”
As we left the house to return to the woods, Bill shook his head:
“There’s mischief brewin’ in that black rascal’s head. I know him of old. But what comes here?”
As he spoke, we heard the sound of laughter and shouting in the wood, and presently there issued from it a band of savages, in the midst of whom were a number of men bearing burdens on their shoulders. At first I thought that these burdens were poles with something rolled round them, the end of each pole resting on a man’s shoulder. But on a nearer approach I saw that they were human beings, tied hand and foot, and so lashed to the poles that they could not move. I counted twenty of them as they passed.
“More murder!” said Bill, in a voice that sounded between a hoarse laugh and a groan.
“Surely they are not going to murder them?” said I, looking anxiously into Bill’s face.
“I don’t know, Ralph,” replied Bill, “what they’re goin’ to do with them; but I fear they mean no good when they tie fellows up in that way.”
As we continued our way towards the woodcutters, I observed that Bill looked anxiously over his shoulder, in the direction where the procession had disappeared. At last he stopped, and turning abruptly on his heel, said—
“I tell ye what it is, Ralph, I must be at the bottom o’ that affair. Let us follow these black scoundrels and see what they’re goin’ to do.”
I must say I had no wish to pry further into their bloody practices; but Bill seemed bent on it, so I turned and went. We passed rapidly through the bush, being guided in the right direction by the shouts of the savages. Suddenly there was a dead silence, which continued for some time, while Bill and I involuntarily quickened our pace until we were running at the top of our speed across the narrow neck of land previously mentioned. As we reached the verge of the wood, we discovered the savages surrounding the large war-canoe, which they were apparently on the point of launching. Suddenly the multitude put their united strength to the canoe; but scarcely had the huge machine begun to move, when a yell, the most appalling that ever fell upon my ear, rose high above the shouting of the savages. It had not died away when another and another smote upon my throbbing ear; and then I saw that these inhuman monsters were actually launching their canoe over the living bodies of their victims. But there was no pity in the breasts of these men. Forward they went in ruthless indifference, shouting as they went, while high above their voices rang the dying shrieks of those wretched creatures, as, one after another, the ponderous canoe passed over them, burst the eyeballs from their sockets, and sent the life’s blood gushing from their mouths. Oh, reader, this is no fiction. I would not, for the sake of thrilling you with horror, invent so terrible a scene. It was witnessed. It is true; true as that accursed sin which has rendered the human heart capable of such diabolical enormities!
When it was over I turned round and fell upon the grass with a deep groan; but Bill seized me by the arm, and lifting me up as if I had been a child, cried—
“Come along, lad; let’s away!”—and so, staggering and stumbling over the tangled underwood, we fled from the fatal spot.
During the remainder of that day I felt as if I were in a horrible dream. I scarce knew what was said to me, and was more than once blamed by the men for idling my time. At last the hour to return aboard came. We marched down to the beach, and I felt relief for the first time when my feet rested on the schooner’s deck.
In the course of the evening I overheard part of a conversation
