Island Nights' EntertainmentsStevenson, Robert Louis
General
Island Nights' Entertainments
Stevenson, Robert Louis
Islands of the Pacific -- Fiction; Short stories
But the thought of these starers stuck in my mind, and presently I came
out again. The sun was now up, but it was still behind the cape of
woods. Say a quarter of an hour had come and gone. The crowd was
greatly increased, the far bank of the river was lined for quite a
way—perhaps thirty grown folk, and of children twice as many, some
standing, some squatted on the ground, and all staring at my house. I
have seen a house in a South Sea village thus surrounded, but then a
trader was thrashing his wife inside, and she singing out. Here was
nothing: the stove was alight, the smoke going up in a Christian
manner; all was shipshape and Bristol fashion. To be sure, there was a
stranger come, but they had a chance to see that stranger yesterday,
and took it quiet enough. What ailed them now? I leaned my arms on the
rail and stared back. Devil a wink they had in them! Now and then I
could see the children chatter, but they spoke so low not even the hum
of their speaking came my length. The rest were like graven images:
they stared at me, dumb and sorrowful, with their bright eyes; and it
came upon me things would look not much different if I were on the
platform of the gallows, and these good folk had come to see me hanged.
I felt I was getting daunted, and began to be afraid I looked it, which
would never do. Up I stood, made believe to stretch myself, came down
the verandah stair, and strolled towards the river. There went a short
buzz from one to the other, like what you hear in theatres when the
curtain goes up; and some of the nearest gave back the matter of a
pace. I saw a girl lay one hand on a young man and make a gesture
upward with the other; at the same time she said something in the
native with a gasping voice. Three little boys sat beside my path,
where I must pass within three feet of them. Wrapped in their sheets,
with their shaved heads and bits of top-knots, and queer faces, they
looked like figures on a chimney-piece. Awhile they sat their ground,
solemn as judges. I came up hand over fist, doing my five knots, like a
man that meant business; and I thought I saw a sort of a wink and gulp
in the three faces. Then one jumped up (he was the farthest off) and
ran for his mammy. The other two, trying to follow suit, got foul, came
to ground together bawling, wriggled right out of their sheets
mother-naked, and in a moment there were all three of them scampering
for their lives and singing out like pigs. The natives, who would never
let a joke slip, even at a burial, laughed and let up, as short as a
dog’s bark.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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