The Strange Adventure Of James Shervinton. Becke Louis
he spoke in Samoan, I, of course, replied in the same language, thanked him for his call, and requested him to honour me at my own place by a visit.
Then, to my surprise, instead of retiring with the usual Samoan compliments, he bent forward, and, fixing his deep-set, gloomy eyes on mine, he said slowly—
“Master, I shall be a true man to thee when we are together upon the deep sea in thy boat.”
“Why dost thou call me ‘master’?” I said quickly, “and when and whither do thee and I travel together?” “I call thee ‘master’ because I am thy servant, but when and whither we go upon the far sea I know not.”
Then he rose, saluted me as if I were King Malietoa of Samoa himself, and retired without uttering another word.
“This is a curious sort of a household,” I thought. “The mistress, who is sane enough, is told by her husband that she is mad, and fears she will lose her reason; a native who tells me that I am to be his master and travel with him on the deep sea, and a witch woman, whom I have yet to see, on the premises. I wonder what sort of a crank she is?”
I was soon to know, for in a few moments she came in, and instead of coming up to me and shaking hands in the usual Line Island fashion, as I expected she would do, she did precisely as my first visitor had done—greeted me in Samoan, formally and politely, as if I were a great chief, and then sat silent, awaiting me to speak.
Addressing her in the same stilted, highly complimentary language that she had used to me, I inquired after her health, etc., and then asked her how long she had been on the island.
She answered me in a somewhat abrupt manner, “I came here with Tematau about the time that the white lady Lucia and her husband came. Tematau is of the same family as myself. And it is of the blood ties between us that we remain together, for we are the last of many.”
“It is good that it is so,” I said, for want of something better to say, for her curious eyes never left my face for an instant. “It would be hard indeed that when but two of the same blood are left they should separate or be separated.”
“We shall be together always,” she replied, “and death will come to us together.”
Then she rose, walked quickly to the open door, glanced outside to see if any one was about, and returned to me and placed her hand on mine.
“This man Krause is a devil. He seeks his wife’s death because of another woman in his own country. He hath tried to poison her, and the poison still rankles in her blood. That is why she is so white of face and frail of body. And now she will neither eat nor drink aught but that of which I first eat or drink myself.”
“How know you of this?”
“I know it well,” she answered impressively, “and the man would kill me if he could by poison, as he hath tried to kill his wife. But poison can do me no harm. And he hateth but yet is afraid of me, for he knoweth that I long since saw the murder in his heart.”
“These are strange things to say, Niâbon. Beware of an unjust accusation when it comes to the too ready tongue.”
She laughed scornfully. “No lie hath ever fouled mine. I tell thee again, this man is a devil, and has waited for a year past to see his wife die, for he married her according to the laws of England, and cannot put her away as he could do had he married her according to the native custom.”
“Who hath told thee of these marriage laws of England?” I asked.
“What does it matter who hath told me?” she asked sharply. “Is not what I say true?”
“It is true,” I said.
“Ay, it is true. And it is true also that she and thee and the man Tematau and I shall together look death in the face upon the wide sea. And is not thy boat ready?”
Her strange, mysterious eyes as she spoke seemed to me—a physically weak but still mentally strong man at the moment—to have in them something weird, something that one could not affect either to ignore or despise. What could this woman know of my desire to leave the island in my boat? What could the man Tematau know of it? Never had I spoken of such an intention to any person, and I knew that, even in my worst attacks of fever and ague, I had never been delirious in the slightest degree. A sudden resentment for the moment took possession of me, and I spoke angrily.
“What is all this silly talk? What have I to do with thee, and for what should my boat be ready?”
“Be not angry with them, Simi, for there is nought but goodwill toward thee in my heart. See, wouldst have me cure the hot fever that makes the blood in thy veins to boil even now?”
“No,” I said sullenly, “I want none of thy foolish charms or medicines. Dost think I am a fool?”
“Nay,” and she looked at me so wistfully that I at once repented of my harsh manner—“nay, indeed, Simi. Thou art a man strong in thy mind, and shall be strong in thy body if thou wouldst but let me give thee–”
“No more, woman,” I said roughly. “Leave me. I want none of thy medicines, I say again.”
“Thy wish is my law,” she said gently, “but, ere I leave thee, I pray thee that in a little way thou wilt let me show thee that I do mean well to thee.”
I laughed, and asked her what medicine or charm she desired to experiment with upon me.
“No medicine, and no charm,” she answered. “But I know that because of many things thy mind and thy body alike suffer pain, and that sleep would be good for thee. And I can give thee sleep—strong, dreamless sleep that, when thou awakenest, will make thee feel strong in thy body and softer in thy now angry heart to Niâbon.”
“If you can make me sleep now, I’ll give you twenty dollars,” I said in my English fashion.
She took no notice of my rude and clumsy remark, though she had good reason to be offended.
“Simi,” she said, “shall I give thee sleep?”
“Ay,” I replied, “give me sleep till the master of this house returns.”
She rose and bent over me, and then I noticed for the first time that, instead of being about thirty-five or forty years of age, as I had judged her to be by her hard, clear features and somewhat “bony” appearance externally, she could not be more than five-and-twenty, or even younger.
She placed her right hand on my forehead, and held my right hand in her own.
“Sleep,” she said—“sleep well and dreamlessly, man with the strong will to accomplish all that is before thee. Sleep.”
Her hand passed caressingly oyer my face, and in a few minutes I was asleep, and slept as I had not slept for many weeks past. When I awakened at sunset I felt more refreshed and vigorous than I had been for many months.
Krause had just returned in his boat, and met me with outstretched hand. His welcome was, I thought, unnecessarily effusive, and, declining his pressing invitation to remain for the night, I left, after remaining an hour or so longer. I noticed that immediately Krause arrived the girl Niâbon disappeared, and did not return.
That was my first meeting with her, and I did not see her again till the evening of the storm, when she brought Tematau to me.
CHAPTER III
We, Niâbon, Tematau and myself, were undisturbed by any visitors during the night, for the storm increased in violence, and, as daylight approached, the clamour of the surf upon the reef was something terrific. About four in the morning, however, there came such a thunderous, sudden boom that the island seemed shaken to its coral foundations, and Niâbon declared that the storm had broken.
“That is what the people of the Tokelau Islands call O le fati le galu—the last great wave, that gathering itself together far out on the ocean, rushes to the reef, and curling high up as the mast of a ship, falls and shakes the land from one side to the other.”
The girl knew what she was talking about,