Complete Works of Robert Louis Stevenson (Illustrated) (448 page)

“‘And who has been telling you about the Evil Eye?’ I asked.

“He admitted it was Case.  Now, I am afraid you will think me very narrow, Mr. Wiltshire, but I must tell you I was displeased, and cannot think a trader at all a good man to advise or have an influence upon my pastors.  And, besides, there had been some flying talk in the country of old Adams and his being poisoned, to which I had paid no great heed; but it came back to me at the moment.

“‘And is this Case a man of a sanctified life?’ I asked.

“He admitted he was not; for, though he did not drink, he was profligate with women, and had no religion.

“‘Then,’ said I, ‘I think the less you have to do with him the better.’

“But it is not easy to have the last word with a man like Namu.  He was ready in a moment with an illustration.  ‘Misi,’ said he, ‘you have told me there were wise men, not pastors, not even holy, who knew many things useful to be taught — about trees for instance, and beasts, and to print books, and about the stones that are burned to make knives of.  Such men teach you in your college, and you learn from them, but take care not to learn to be unholy.  Misi, Case is my college.’

“I knew not what to say.  Mr. Vigours had evidently been driven out of Falesá by the machinations of Case and with something not very unlike the collusion of my pastor.  I called to mind it was Namu who had reassured me about Adams and traced the rumour to the ill-will of the priest.  And I saw I must inform myself more thoroughly from an impartial source.  There is an old rascal of a chief here, Faiaso, whom I dare say you saw to-day at the council; he has been all his life turbulent and sly, a great fomenter of rebellions, and a thorn in the side of the mission and the island.  For all that he is very shrewd, and, except in politics or about his own misdemeanours, a teller of the truth.  I went to his house, told him what I had heard, and besought him to be frank.  I do not think I had ever a more painful interview.  Perhaps you will understand me, Mr. Wiltshire, if I tell you that I am perfectly serious in these old wives’ tales with which you reproached me, and as anxious to do well for these islands as you can be to please and to protect your pretty wife.  And you are to remember that I thought Namu a paragon, and was proud of the man as one of the first ripe fruits of the mission.  And now I was informed that he had fallen in a sort of dependence upon Case.  The beginning of it was not corrupt; it began, doubtless, in fear and respect, produced by trickery and pretence; but I was shocked to find that another element had been lately added, that Namu helped himself in the store, and was believed to be deep in Case’s debt.  Whatever the trader said, that Namu believed with trembling.  He was not alone in this; many in the village lived in a similar subjection; but Namu’s case was the most influential, it was through Namu Case had wrought most evil; and with a certain following among the chiefs, and the pastor in his pocket, the man was as good as master of the village.  You know something of Vigours and Adams, but perhaps you have never heard of old Underhill, Adams’ predecessor.  He was a quiet, mild old fellow, I remember, and we were told he had died suddenly: white men die very suddenly in Falesá.  The truth, as I now heard it, made my blood run cold.  It seems he was struck with a general palsy, all of him dead but one eye, which he continually winked.  Word was started that the helpless old man was now a devil, and this vile fellow Case worked upon the natives’ fears, which he professed to share, and pretended he durst not go into the house alone.  At last a grave was dug, and the living body buried at the far end of the village.  Namu, my pastor, whom I had helped to educate, offered up a prayer at the hateful scene.

“I felt myself in a very difficult position.  Perhaps it was my duty to have denounced Namu and had him deposed.  Perhaps I think so now, but at the time it seemed less clear.  He had a great influence, it might prove greater than mine.  The natives are prone to superstition; perhaps by stirring them up I might but ingrain and spread these dangerous fancies.  And Namu besides, apart from this novel and accursed influence, was a good pastor, an able man, and spiritually minded.  Where should I look for a better?  How was I to find as good?  At that moment, with Namu’s failure fresh in my view, the work of my life appeared a mockery; hope was dead in me.  I would rather repair such tools as I had than go abroad in quest of others that must certainly prove worse; and a scandal is, at the best, a thing to be avoided when humanly possible.  Right or wrong, then, I determined on a quiet course.  All that night I denounced and reasoned with the erring pastor, twitted him with his ignorance and want of faith, twitted him with his wretched attitude, making clean the outside of the cup and platter, callously helping at a murder, childishly flying in excitement about a few childish, unnecessary, and inconvenient gestures; and long before day I had him on his knees and bathed in the tears of what seemed a genuine repentance.  On Sunday I took the pulpit in the morning, and preached from First Kings, nineteenth, on the fire, the earthquake, and the voice, distinguishing the true spiritual power, and referring with such plainness as I dared to recent events in Falesá.  The effect produced was great, and it was much increased when Namu rose in his turn and confessed that he had been wanting in faith and conduct, and was convinced of sin.  So far, then, all was well; but there was one unfortunate circumstance.  It was nearing the time of our ‘May’ in the island, when the native contributions to the missions are received; it fell in my duty to make a notification on the subject, and this gave my enemy his chance, by which he was not slow to profit.

“News of the whole proceedings must have been carried to Case as soon as church was over, and the same afternoon he made an occasion to meet me in the midst of the village.  He came up with so much intentness and animosity that I felt it would be damaging to avoid him.

“‘So,’ says he, in native, ‘here is the holy man.  He has been preaching against me, but that was not in his heart.  He has been preaching upon the love of God; but that was not in his heart, it was between his teeth.  Will you know what was in his heart?’ — cries he.  ‘I will show it you!’  And, making a snatch at my head, he made believe to pluck out a dollar, and held it in the air.

“There went that rumour through the crowd with which Polynesians receive a prodigy.  As for myself, I stood amazed.  The thing was a common conjuring trick which I have seen performed at home a score of times; but how was I to convince the villagers of that?  I wished I had learned legerdemain instead of Hebrew, that I might have paid the fellow out with his own coin.  But there I was; I could not stand there silent, and the best I could find to say was weak.

“‘I will trouble you not to lay hands on me again,’ said I.

“‘I have no such thought,’ said he, ‘nor will I deprive you of your dollar.  Here it is,’ he said, and flung it at my feet.  I am told it lay where it fell three days.”

“I must say it was well played, said I.

“O! he is clever,” said Mr. Tarleton, “and you can now see for yourself how dangerous.  He was a party to the horrid death of the paralytic; he is accused of poisoning Adams; he drove Vigours out of the place by lies that might have led to murder; and there is no question but he has now made up his mind to rid himself of you.  How he means to try we have no guess; only be sure, it’s something new.  There is no end to his readiness and invention.”

“He gives himself a sight of trouble,” says I.  “And after all, what for?”

“Why, how many tons of copra may they make in this district?” asked the missionary.

“I daresay as much as sixty tons,” says I.

“And what is the profit to the local trader?” he asked.

“You may call it, three pounds,” said I.

“Then you can reckon for yourself how much he does it for,” said Mr. Tarleton.  “But the more important thing is to defeat him.  It is clear he spread some report against Uma, in order to isolate and have his wicked will of her.  Failing of that, and seeing a new rival come upon the scene, he used her in a different way.  Now, the first point to find out is about Namu.  Uma, when people began to leave you and your mother alone, what did Namu do?”

“Stop away all-e-same,” says Uma.

“I fear the dog has returned to his vomit,” said Mr. Tarleton.  “And now what am I to do for you?  I will speak to Namu, I will warn him he is observed; it will be strange if he allow anything to go on amiss when he is put upon his guard.  At the same time, this precaution may fail, and then you must turn elsewhere.  You have two people at hand to whom you might apply.  There is, first of all, the priest, who might protect you by the Catholic interest; they are a wretchedly small body, but they count two chiefs.  And then there is old Faiaso.  Ah! if it had been some years ago you would have needed no one else; but his influence is much reduced, it has gone into Maea’s hands, and Maea, I fear, is one of Case’s jackals.  In fine, if the worst comes to the worst, you must send up or come yourself to Fale-alii, and, though I am not due at this end of the island for a month, I will just see what can be done.”

So Mr. Tarleton said farewell; and half an hour later the crew were singing and the paddles flashing in the missionary-boat.

CHAPTER IV.  DEVIL-WORK.

Near a month went by without much doing.  The same night of our marriage Galoshes called round, and made himself mighty civil, and got into a habit of dropping in about dark and smoking his pipe with the family.  He could talk to Uma, of course, and started to teach me native and French at the same time.  He was a kind old buffer, though the dirtiest you would wish to see, and he muddled me up with foreign languages worse than the tower of Babel.

That was one employment we had, and it made me feel less lonesome; but there was no profit in the thing, for though the priest came and sat and yarned, none of his folks could be enticed into my store; and if it hadn’t been for the other occupation I struck out, there wouldn’t have been a pound of copra in the house.  This was the idea: Fa’avao (Uma’s mother) had a score of bearing trees.  Of course we could get no labour, being all as good as tabooed, and the two women and I turned to and made copra with our own hands.  It was copra to make your mouth water when it was done — I never understood how much the natives cheated me till I had made that four hundred pounds of my own hand — and it weighed so light I felt inclined to take and water it myself.

When we were at the job a good many Kanakas used to put in the best of the day looking on, and once that nigger turned up.  He stood back with the natives and laughed and did the big don and the funny dog, till I began to get riled.

“Here, you nigger!” says I.

“I don’t address myself to you, Sah,” says the nigger.  “Only speak to gen’le’um.”

“I know,” says I, “but it happens I was addressing myself to you, Mr. Black Jack.  And all I want to know is just this: did you see Case’s figurehead about a week ago?”

“No, Sah,” says he.

“That’s all right, then,” says I; “for I’ll show you the own brother to it, only black, in the inside of about two minutes.”

And I began to walk towards him, quite slow, and my hands down; only there was trouble in my eye, if anybody took the pains to look.

“You’re a low, obstropulous fellow, Sah,” says he.

“You bet!” says I.

By that time he thought I was about as near as convenient, and lit out so it would have done your heart good to see him travel.  And that was all I saw of that precious gang until what I am about to tell you.

It was one of my chief employments these days to go pot-hunting in the woods, which I found (as Case had told me) very rich in game.  I have spoken of the cape which shut up the village and my station from the east.  A path went about the end of it, and led into the next bay.  A strong wind blew here daily, and as the line of the barrier reef stopped at the end of the cape, a heavy surf ran on the shores of the bay.  A little cliffy hill cut the valley in two parts, and stood close on the beach; and at high water the sea broke right on the face of it, so that all passage was stopped.  Woody mountains hemmed the place all round; the barrier to the east was particularly steep and leafy, the lower parts of it, along the sea, falling in sheer black cliffs streaked with cinnabar; the upper part lumpy with the tops of the great trees.  Some of the trees were bright green, and some red, and the sand of the beach as black as your shoes.  Many birds hovered round the bay, some of them snow-white; and the flying-fox (or vampire) flew there in broad daylight, gnashing its teeth.

For a long while I came as far as this shooting, and went no farther.  There was no sign of any path beyond, and the cocoa-palms in the front of the foot of the valley were the last this way.  For the whole “eye” of the island, as natives call the windward end, lay desert.  From Falesá round about to Papa-malulu, there was neither house, nor man, nor planted fruit-tree; and the reef being mostly absent, and the shores bluff, the sea beat direct among crags, and there was scarce a landing-place.

I should tell you that after I began to go in the woods, although no one offered to come near my store, I found people willing enough to pass the time of day with me where nobody could see them; and as I had begun to pick up native, and most of them had a word or two of English, I began to hold little odds and ends of conversation, not to much purpose to be sure, but they took off the worst of the feeling, for it’s a miserable thing to be made a leper of.

It chanced one day towards the end of the month, that I was sitting in this bay in the edge of the bush, looking east, with a Kanaka.  I had given him a fill of tobacco, and we were making out to talk as best we could; indeed, he had more English than most.

I asked him if there was no road going eastward.

“One time one road,” said he.  “Now he dead.”

“Nobody he go there?” I asked.

“No good,” said he.  “Too much devil he stop there.”

“Oho!” says I, “got-um plenty devil, that bush?”