Islands of the Pacific -- Fiction; Oceania -- Fiction; Pearl fisheries -- Fiction; Sea stories
"It's lucky you made friends with her," remarked my uncle quizzically,
when Raita was gone; "I should dislike to have that young lady for an
enemy! Well, if she doesn't forget that axe, I'll do my best to
entertain her!"
XII
"BOARDERS!"
The sun went down that night behind banks of crimson clouds, which grew
black as twilight gave place to darkness and blotted out the young moon
sinking in the west. The evening was calm, but the night promised to
be a stormy one. The Tara still lay broadside to the beach and a close
watch informed us that Tua had not left the islet. My time had come.
Our chief concern was to make no sound which might give the alarm to
the sharp ears of the savage on watch. Pulling together the curtains
of the lower berth and muffling the operation in blankets to avoid the
slightest noise, we tore a sheet into strips and braided a length of
clumsy cord. Then in the upper berth my uncle knotted our rope to one
of my ankles, and very gently and cautiously I began to squirm my way
out through the porthole. It was a tighter fit than I had supposed;
after a twist or two it seemed to me that I could neither move forward
nor go back. I was naked save for a pair of swimming trunks, and
several square inches of my skin remained on the porthole's sharp brass
rim, but at last I was through, hanging by one leg with my head and
arms in the water. Knowing that the least splash would bring Kwala
instantly to the side, my uncle lowered me little by little into the
lagoon, until I lay motionless in the black water and the end of the
cord fell into my outstretched hand. I undid the knot, heard Uncle
Harry's faintly breathed "Good luck!" and dove without a sound. It was
not yet fully dark and I feared that the black man's eyes might discern
my head in the reflections of the sunset. Thirty yards nearer the
shore I rose to the surface and expelled the breath gently from my
lungs. All was quiet aboard the Tara. I had neither been seen nor
heard.
I landed under an overhanging thicket of hibiscus, in a little cove
where Marama and I kept our canoe hauled up. There were no lights in
the doorways that I passed, but when I came to Maruia's house I found
the population of the islet assembled there, women and children outside
and the divers in the house, surrounding Maruia and Schmidt's mate who
sat in earnest conversation on the floor. The light of a lamp shone on
the pair and I saw that Tua's face wore an expression of dejection and
perplexity. A murmur of astonishment went up as I arrived, and indeed
I must have presented a strange appearance--wet, nearly naked, bleeding
in a dozen places. Maruia rose and put an arm about me, patting my
bare shoulder softly.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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