The Works of Robert Louis Stevenson - Swanston Edition, Vol. 17Stevenson, Robert Louis
History
The Works of Robert Louis Stevenson - Swanston Edition, Vol. 17
Stevenson, Robert Louis
Islands of the Pacific -- Fiction; Samoan Islands -- History; Short stories
But I thought I might as well take the off-chance of a prayer being any
good; so I plumped on my knees and prayed out loud; and all the time I
was praying the strange sounds came out of the tree, and went up and
down, and changed, for all the world like music, only you could see it
wasn't human--there was nothing there that you could whistle.
As soon as I had made an end in proper style, I laid down my gun, stuck
my knife between my teeth, walked right up to that tree, and began to
climb. I tell you my heart was like ice. But presently, as I went up, I
caught another glimpse of the thing, and that relieved me, for I thought
it seemed like a box; and when I had got right up to it I near fell out
of the tree with laughing.
A box it was, sure enough, and a candle-box at that, with the brand upon
the side of it; and it had banjo-strings stretched so as to sound when
the wind blew. I believe they call the thing a Tyrolean[4] harp,
whatever that may mean.
"Well, Mr. Case," said I, "you've frightened me once, but I defy you to
frighten me again," I says, and slipped down the tree, and set out again
to find my enemy's head office, which I guessed would not be far away.
The undergrowth was thick in this part; I couldn't see before my nose,
and must burst my way through by main force and ply the knife as I went,
slicing the cords of the lianas and slashing down whole trees at a blow.
I call them trees for the bigness, but in truth they were just big
weeds, and sappy to cut through like carrot. From all this crowd and
kind of vegetation, I was just thinking to myself, the place might have
once been cleared, when I came on my nose over a pile of stones, and saw
in a moment it was some kind of a work of man. The Lord knows when it
was made or when deserted, for this part of the island has lain
undisturbed since long before the whites came. A few steps beyond I hit
into the path I had been always looking for. It was narrow, but well
beaten, and I saw that Case had plenty of disciples. It seems, indeed,
it was a piece of fashionable boldness to venture up here with the
trader, and a young man scarce reckoned himself grown till he had got
his breech tattooed, for one thing, and seen Case's devils for another.
This is mighty like Kanakas; but, if you look at it another way, it's
mighty like white folks too.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Elsewhere in the archive
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account