The improvement in the weather was only temporary, and for several days the girls were kept at home by the heavy rains. They talked a good deal about their discovery. There appeared to be at least two natives on the island; how many more they were unable to guess. Having themselves been seen, they felt that they could no longer owe their safety to the ignorance of the inhabitants; but the bad weather might discourage any attempt to seek them out. Whether they would escape attack when the rain ceased was a problem that caused much anxiety.
Early one morning a hurricane swept over the island, not so devastating as its predecessor, but violent enough to make them fear for the safety of their hut. This time, however, the wind blew from a different quarter, and the girls' frail dwelling, being sheltered by the high ground behind, escaped damage. The storm lasted a few hours, and was then succeeded by a day of brilliant sunshine. The girls took advantage of this to replenish their larder. While Tommy and Elizabeth were fishing, Mary posted herself as sentry to give the alarm if the natives appeared. They feared that the precaution would avail them little if they were really attacked, for they had no means of defence; but it might at least give them time to escape for the moment by launching the boat. They were undisturbed, however: and when the day closed they rejoiced in one more respite.
Next morning Tommy, on going down to the beach, was surprised to see a canoe, apparently empty, drifting past the reef. It flashed upon her that this might be the canoe they had seen up the coast, and that it had been washed away, like their own boat, by the recent storm.
She ran up to the hut to tell her sisters what she had seen, and all three hurried down to the shore.
"Let's row out and catch it," cried Tommy excitedly. "I should love to learn to paddle a native canoe, and I dare say in time we could make it go along faster than our own dinghy."
"You want to capture an enemy's ship," said Elizabeth, with a smile. "I don't see any reason why we shouldn't. But we'll take some food and water this time. After our last adventure I don't care about voyaging without provisions."
Tommy ran back to the hut for some fruit and cold fish, while Mary filled their water-pots at the stream. Having placed them in the boat they rowed out towards the reef. By the time they were afloat the canoe had drifted out into the main current, and was being carried rapidly away. The sea was calm, and Elizabeth's vigorous strokes brought the boat in twenty minutes or so within a few yards of the canoe.
Suddenly Mary, who had been keeping a look-out in the boat, uttered a startled exclamation.
"Bess, I believe there's some one lying in it."
Elizabeth at once lay on her oars.
"Row back!" whispered Tommy. "It's one of the savages. He's hiding to decoy us, or something."
Elizabeth's common-sense asserted itself.
"That's not likely," she said. "How would he suppose that we should row out? and we couldn't get away now if we tried if he has a paddle. If he hasn't he can't do us much harm. Now's the best chance we have of making friends."
"Don't, Bess!" whispered Tommy anxiously, as Elizabeth dipped the oars again.
But Elizabeth was firm, and with a few strokes brought the boat alongside the canoe. Not a sound had come from it.
"It's a girl!" exclaimed Mary, now that she could see more clearly the bottom of the canoe.
Tommy gave a gasp. Was she to behold the owner of the little brown face at last? Elizabeth no longer hesitated. She drew close to the canoe, shipped oars, and laid a hand on the side.
The girls looked down with a sort of awed curiosity. In the bottom of the boat lay a native girl—a brown-skinned pretty little creature, with a string of what looked like teeth around her neck, and a yellow kerchief about her waist. She was perfectly still; her eyes were closed.
"She's dead!" whispered Tommy, whose eyes were dilated with excitement.
Elizabeth leant over and placed her hand under the child's breast.
"No, she is alive," she said, "but her heart is beating very faintly. Some water, Mary—quick!"
It was impossible, placed as she was, to pour any water into the girl's mouth; but Elizabeth sprinkled a little on her head. After a time the girl stirred, opened her eyes and moved her lips, but no sound came from them, and in a moment her eyelids again drooped.
"She's absolutely done," said Elizabeth. "We'll tow the canoe home. Tommy, fasten the painter. The poor child's very bad."
The boat's head was turned, and Elizabeth rowed as hard as she could against the current. Fortunately, they had not come very far beyond the gap in the reef. When the boat reached the still water it travelled much faster, and within an hour of leaving they regained the shore. During this time Tommy had thrown an occasional glance over her shoulder at the prostrate girl. Once she caught the child's eyes fixed upon her, and felt a thrill as she recognized them; they were the same as she had seen peering at her out of the bush. She felt no fear now, but a longing to help the little stranger and know more about her.
When they had landed and drawn the boat up, they lifted the girl and carried her among them to the hut. Her eyes opened during the journey, and she shivered; but she did not speak or struggle, and indeed hung so limply in their arms that they feared she was past help.
"On my bed, please," said Tommy, when they reached the hut.
They laid her gently down, and Elizabeth poured a little cocoa-nut milk between her lips. She now gave signs of animation, swallowed the juice greedily, and looked with the eyes of a timid fawn from one to another of the three girls. Presently she murmured a few words; her voice was plaintive and pleading.
"Don't be frightened," said Elizabeth soothingly.
The words seemed to startle the child. She tried to rise, but was too weak to move.
"She must have been adrift a long time to be in this terrible state," said Elizabeth. "I wonder how it happened?"
"Poor thing," murmured Tommy. "What a sweet little face she has!"
"Hush!" said Elizabeth, "our voices frighten her. Of course she doesn't understand what we say. I think you had better leave her to me for a little while. I'll feed her, and she'll see by and by that we mean her no harm."
Tommy's face wore for an instant a look of defiance, but she got the better of her inclination to rebel, and with Mary left the hut. Elizabeth remained with the little stranger, feeding her at frequent intervals, bathing her head, occasionally murmuring a word of encouragement. Her gentleness was effective. Presently the look of fright vanished from the brown girl's eyes—large, liquid eyes that Elizabeth found wonderfully attractive. Once she timidly stroked Elizabeth's strong firm hand, and at last, with a faint smile, she dropped off to sleep.
"She's asleep," said Elizabeth, quietly going forth to join her sisters. "What an extraordinary thing to happen!"
"Look here, Bess," said Tommy fiercely, "if you think you're going to keep her to yourself you are jolly well mistaken. I saw her first; you wouldn't believe me; and now I'm going to look after her, so there!"
"Instead of the parrot?" Mary could not help saying.
Elizabeth frowned at her.
"Very well, dear," she said pleasantly. "She's a little younger than you, I should think, but I dare say she will like you to mother her. But what will happen? Won't her friends come and look for her?"
"And if they do, and find we have treated her kindly, they'll just love us," said Tommy.
The other girls were amazed at Tommy's complete change of attitude. Her fearfulness seemed to have been quite swallowed up in another emotion. The discovery that the native of whom she had been so needlessly frightened was a girl more helpless than herself filled her with a kind of rapture. She stepped softly into the hut, and seeing that the child was still asleep, placed a peeled orange beside her mat, where it must be seen as soon as she awoke.
"I wonder if we ought to go to the native hut and try to explain to her people that the girl is safe," said Elizabeth, as they sat on the grass eating their dinner.
"Certainly not," said Tommy decisively. "I dare say they were cruel to her, and the poor thing was glad to get away."
"What an imagination you have!" said Elizabeth, smiling. "For all you know, her mother may be broken-hearted."
"I don't believe it. Anyhow, she's too weak to go home, and we shall soon see if she wants to. I'll talk to her by and by, and I know she'll be quite pleased to stay with us."
Remembering Tommy's ill-success with the parrot, the elder girls were amused at her confident belief that she would make the child talk, and understand what she said. Indeed, when, later in the day, the girl awoke, and Tommy went to attend to her, the first attempt at opening communications was a complete failure. By way of putting the little patient at her ease, Tommy grinned at her, patted her head, nodded, pointed to herself and said "Me Tommy," with the result that the child shrank away from her as if scared. When she realized that she had nothing to fear, she gazed upon the white girl with wide-open eyes and the same wondering look as may be seen on the face of a child watching a conjurer.
The ravenous way in which she ate the food given to her confirmed the girls' belief that she was half-starved. She rapidly gained strength, and it became clear that her weakness was due to hunger and not to illness. She began to talk, pouring out her words in liquid tones that fell pleasantly on the English ears. When she saw how puzzled the girls were she laughed; then, with a sober look of reflection, pointed to herself and said "Me Tommee" so drolly that the girls screamed with laughter.
Just before sunset, when the girls came into the hut for the night, they sat eating their supper and talking about their dusky guest. She knew by instinct that she was the subject of their conversation, and looked timidly from one to another, watching their lips, her features reflecting every expression on their faces.
Tommy gave her some baked fish for supper, and then prepared to "tuck her up," as she said, with her own wraps; but the girl rejected the covering and coiled herself up like a dog.
Next morning she got up and followed them when they went down to the shore for their usual bath. She seemed to be astonished at the whiteness of their skin, and amused them very much by scrubbing herself with sand, to see if she could make her brown body resemble theirs. She watched every detail of their toilet with intense interest, and when she saw them comb their hair she held out her hand for the comb.
"Don't give it to her, Tommy," said Mary, looking with distaste at the girl's greasy mop.
"Rubbish!" said Tommy. "We can wash it afterwards."
But even Tommy regretted her generosity when, after being vigorously tugged through the thick matted hair, the comb was restored to her with several of its teeth missing.
"My word!" she exclaimed. "Fancy breaking wooden teeth! My poor old pony's mane was nothing to her thatch."
After breakfast the girl followed them about like a dog. They noticed that she looked about her eagerly, as though searching for some recognizable landmark. But she evinced no desire to leave them, and indeed soon became tired; her strength was not yet equal to much exertion. The girls all sat on the grass with the child in the midst.
"Let's try to find out her name," suggested Mary.
"Let me try," said Tommy. Pointing to Elizabeth, she said "Bess," repeating the name several times. Then she touched Mary, pronouncing her name, and lastly herself.
"Me Tommee," said the girl, laughing delightedly.
"Tommy," said her instructor, "not 'me,' just Tommy."
"Me Tommee," repeated the girl; then after a moment pointed to Mary, saying "Mailee," and to Elizabeth, calling her "Bess," with a long sibilant.
"Now you," said Tommy, pointing to the girl herself.
She at once recognized what was required and said, "Fangati."
"What a pretty name!" said Elizabeth.
"I wonder how she spells it," remarked Mary.
At this Tommy shrieked.
"She doesn't spell at all, you goose!" she said; "of course she never learnt her letters."
And then the laugh was on Mary's side, for Fangati, as if thoroughly enjoying the fun, touched Tommy's hand, saying "Me Tommee," over and over again.
"You'll be 'Me Tommee' always now," said Elizabeth. "You should have used correct English, my dear."
"I don't care," said Tommy philosophically. "Anyhow, she can't say Mary. Try again, Fangati," she added, pointing to her sister.
"Mailee," cried the child, showing her teeth in a pretty smile. "Bess, Mailee, Me Tommee."
To make quite sure that they had her name correctly, Tommy walked to a little distance until she was out of sight among the trees, and then called "Fangati!" in her shrill treble. The girl instantly jumped to her feet, and ran after her.
"Well done," said Tommy, patting her. "You are a perfect dear, and I'm going to be very fond of you."
The girls were much surprised that Fangati seemed perfectly content to remain with them, and showed no disposition to return to her friends. At first they put this down to lack of strength, thinking that the child had the prudence not to attempt to cross the island until there was no risk of breaking down. But in a few days, when Fangati was as vigorous and lively as a healthy young animal, this explanation was no longer tenable.
They were almost equally surprised that, so far as they could tell, no search had been made for her. For some days they kept pretty close to the neighbourhood of the hut, in some fear that their possession of Fangati might turn to their disadvantage if the natives discovered her. To be suspected of kidnapping her might bring down upon them the wrath of her friends. But when everything went on as before, they lost their timidity, and made longer and longer excursions from the hut.
Fangati accompanied them everywhere. They had taught her a few words, and could make her understand by signs or otherwise what they wanted her to do. Their life was so simple that there were few ways in which she could help them. She laughed when she saw their manner of fishing, but did not offer to show them the native method. She was content with things as they were.
One day when she had gone with them into the woodland to fetch food, she gathered a number of large yellowish-green fruits which they girls had often looked at longingly but which they had never ventured to eat for fear of poison. She handed the fruit to them, and made signs to them to eat. Seeing their hesitation, she dug her strong teeth into the hard rind, quickly pulled it off, and showing the juicy pulp, bright yellow in colour, began to suck it with enjoyment. At this the girls followed her example.
"It is delicious," cried Tommy, the juice dripping from her lips. "What donkeys we were not to try it before! The bother is, there isn't enough of it; there's a monstrous big stone in the middle. I wonder what it is?"
The fruit was the mango, which they had known hitherto only in the bottles of chutney which their uncle had brought from India. Their pleasure at the discovery of a new fruit impelled Fangati to make further additions to their menu. As they passed through the woodland on their way home, she stopped among some creepers trailing along the ground, seized a stick, and began to dig with it. The girls watched her curiously. After a little she turned up some tubers that looked something like potatoes, and lifted them, chattering incomprehensibly, and pointing to her mouth.
"I believe they are yams," said Mary; "they are very good to eat."
"Then we'll boil some for dinner," said Elizabeth. "What a useful little thing Fangati is turning out!"
They took home a few of the roots, and came back in the afternoon with the boat-hook, with which, however, they dug up the roots no faster than Fangati with the stick.
Another day, when they went for cocoanuts and failed to find any on the ground, Fangati pointed to some nuts clustering among the foliage fifty feet above the ground, and made signs to them to climb up for them. They shook their heads, whereupon she laughed, ran to one of the trees, clasped her hands about the slender stem, and began, as it seemed to the girls, to walk up it. They held their breath as she nimbly mounted, and were not easy in mind until, after throwing down several nuts, she slid to the ground again, laughing with glee.
"Her backbone must be made of india-rubber," declared Tommy. "I must try that way."
"No, I won't allow it," said Elizabeth firmly. "It's not worth while to risk a broken back. Fangati can get us all we want."
Fangati introduced them to several other edible plants, of which they never learnt the English names. The greater variety of food was very acceptable, and though their health had been good, except for Mary's touch of fever, they all declared that they felt better than ever since Fangati came. No doubt they owed as much to their new interest in life as to their change of food.
They had not of late walked to the ridge. But one day when the oranges near them had given out, they decided to make an excursion to the orange grove where Tommy had first seen Fangati. When they came near the crest a sudden change in Fangati's demeanour astonished them. Hitherto she had been as merry as possible, finding cause for laughter in everything. But all at once she stopped dead, gave a cry, uttered the word "tapu," and fled away with every sign of terror.
The girls were amazed at her alarm, and looked about for some explanation of it, half expecting to see some hideous savage approaching with uplifted club. But all that was in sight were the unvarying features of the landscape, and the row of posts with their rags of pennants.
They hurried after Fangati, and tried with the little stock of native words she had taught them, and the few English words she had learnt, to elicit the explanation of her terror. She explained fluently enough, but the only word they caught, because of its constant repetition, was "tapu."
"That's the same as taboo, I think," said Mary. "It means something sacred, but I can't make out what could be sacred there. It's so strange, too, because we were quite near the orange grove, and she was not frightened then—unless she was frightened of you, Tommy."
"I dare say she was," said Tommy; "we were both frightened, but we are good friends now, aren't we, Fangati?"
"Me Tommee plend," said the girl.
"Are we going back without any oranges?" asked Elizabeth.
"Why should we?" exclaimed Tommy. "Come along, Fangati."
She led the way towards the ridge again, but Fangati stood and waved her arms, crying "tapu" again and again.
"Evidently she won't cross the ridge," said Elizabeth; "but we can get to the orange grove by going round. Perhaps she will come with us then."
Striking off at an angle with the ridge, they found that Fangati accompanied them willingly. She soon recovered her wonted high spirits. They made their way through the undergrowth, and presently came to an open glade, beyond which lay the orange grove.
Here they were again surprised to see signs of great excitement in Fangati's face. The girl stood still for a few moments, looking about her eagerly; then, uttering a little cry, she darted away, and in a second or two was lost to view.
"Now what's that mean?" cried Mary.
"There's only one explanation," said Elizabeth. "She recognizes the place as being near her home, and she has run away to her friends."
"Oh! what idiots we are!" cried Tommy. "This was the last place we should have brought her to. Now we've lost her!"
"Well, dear," said Elizabeth, "I have often wondered whether we were right in keeping her. She belongs to her own people, you know, and not to us."
"But she didn't want to leave us. And they don't care a dump about her, or they'd have come for her long before this. I'm sure she was much happier with us than with nasty savages."
"Yet she has left us now," remarked Mary. "They can't be dreadfully horrid to her."
"Couldn't you fetch her back, Bess?" asked Tommy.
"I shouldn't much care about it," replied Elizabeth. "After all, we don't know what trouble we might be running into. Perhaps she will come back to us herself."
After taking some oranges they returned to their own side of the island by way of the ridge. Tommy was disconsolate. All the sisters had become fond of Fangati, but there was a special tie between her and Tommy, and she was more often with Tommy than with the others.
For the next two days they talked about little else than Fangati's defection. They walked up to the orange grove, in the hope that she would reappear, but returned without a sight of the little brown face they had learned to love. Her departure had left a strange blank; they felt that something had gone out of their life. Until then they had not realized how much she had added to their happiness.
On the third morning after breakfast they were "washing-up" outside the hut—so they called the clearing away of banana skins, fish bones, and pieces of shell—when they suddenly caught sight of two figures moving among the trees some little distance away. They sprang to their feet in alarm. A second glance told them that the figures were those of natives; and, struck with the idea, that the savages were stealthily approaching to attack them, they began to run up-stream toward a patch of thick undergrowth where they could hide.
But they had only taken a few paces when there was a shrill cry of "Me Tommee!" They halted hesitatingly, to see Fangati flying towards them, and her companion standing still at the edge of the woodland.
When Fangati was within a few yards, Tommy, able to restrain herself no longer, rushed forward and clasped the brown girl in her arms, kissing her again and again. Fangati laughed; she laughed at everything; then, hand in hand with Tommy, ran to the other girls, chattering excitedly. She pointed to the solitary native, who had not moved, smiled, patted her own head, threw herself down and clasped Elizabeth's feet, ran a little way, and then came back looking behind her.
"I think she wants to know if she may bring this other one," said Mary.
"And she wants to make us understand that we shan't be harmed," said Tommy. "Let her go, Bess."
"We gain nothing by refusing, so she may as well," said Elizabeth.
She waved her hands toward the second native, and Fangati, who had been watching her wistfully, bounded off with a gay laugh.
The girls awaited her return with mixed feelings. They were glad to see Fangati again, but they did not much desire the acquaintance of a strange native. They did not yet know whether it was a man or woman. This doubt, however, was resolved in a few minutes. Scanning the approaching couple anxiously, they saw that Fangati's companion was a grey, shrunken old man, apparently feeble, for he moved slowly and leant on the girl for support.
"I believe it's the man we saw at the native hut," said Mary.
"Not much to be afraid of, after all," said Tommy. "He looks hardly strong enough to kill a fly."
"How shall we speak to him?" said Elizabeth.
"It will be rather a pantomime," rejoined Tommy. "Be very grave and dignified, Bess. Impress him with your importance, Queen Bess, monarch of all she surveys."
"Don't be ridiculous, Tommy," said Elizabeth, feeling it was no time for jesting. The old man certainly looked harmless enough, but she was by no means easy in mind.
After what seemed a long time, Fangati led the man up to the girls.
"Bess, Mailee, Me Tommee," she said, pointing to each in turn.
The old man made a salutation, and the girls looked at him with interest. His face and every visible part of his body was hideously tattooed, his thin bare legs looking as if they were covered with indigo-blue stockings. A stick was thrust cross-wise through his mop of grizzled hair. Certainly he was not a prepossessing object.
The girls were wondering what they ought to do, when they were surprised to hear the man address them.
"I speak Inglis," he said; "I Maku. Good-day all-same velly much."
Tommy turned aside so that her smile should not irritate or offend.
Elizabeth, with admirable composure, said—
"How do you do, Mr. Maku! Fangati is your granddaughter, I suppose?"
It was at once clear that Maku's English was not very abundant. The word grand-daughter puzzled him. He looked at Fangati dully; then his eyes suddenly brightened.
"Fangati, he my son chile," he said. "He velly good chile. He get plenty piecee me eat. To-mollow he go; I velly solly, eh! eh! I cly."
Elizabeth in her turn was puzzled, and it was Mary who first saw the old man's meaning.
"He says that Fangati got him plenty to eat, but disappeared one day, and he was very sorry, and cried."
"No wonder, poor old man!" cried Tommy. "He looks half-starved. There's no one else living in their hut, then?"
"Have you wife, children, friends?" asked Elizabeth.
The old man shook his head.
"Wife he dead long-timey. Chil'en big long way." He waved his arm to indicate distance. "Plen: ah! mikinaly he plen; he all-same gone away; eh! eh! all-same dead."
From this Mary made out that he had a missionary friend who had gone away and might now be dead.
A few more questions satisfied the girls that, as far as he knew, there were no more natives on the island except himself and his granddaughter. Intensely relieved on this score, they were ready to be hospitable, and to Fangati's delight, invited the man to come towards their hut and talk to them.
Seated on the ground in front of the hut with the girls in the entrance, the old man related a story of which they understood little at the time. It was some few days before Mary, thinking over what he had said, and puzzling about it, arrived at something like a coherent narrative. Even then she was only partially successful. What he had tried to explain in his scanty English was as follows.
He had been chief of a small island a day's paddling to the eastward. It was remote from the usual trade-tracks, and for this reason had remained longer in heathendom and cannibalism than most of the Pacific Islands. But a white missionary had at last come and taken up his abode on the island, by whose skill in medicine, earnest teaching, and noble character, Maku and some of his sons had been won over.
There were certain soothsayers among the people, who hated the new teacher when they found their influence with the chief gone. Working on the superstitions of the islanders, they secretly stirred up a revolt. But for the quickness of Fangati he would have been attacked and killed. She discovered what was going on, informed her grandfather, and persuaded him to put to sea by night in a canoe, with the intention of paddling to an island to the southward, where Maku would find friends. Forced out of their course by wind and current, they were nearly exhausted when by good fortune they found themselves on the shore of this island. They landed, erected a hut, and had since lived there, not caring to risk another voyage, and finding abundance of food.
Maku could not say how long he had been on the island, nor were the girls able to discover whether his arrival had preceded or succeeded theirs. He told them that one day Fangati, who had been to gather fruit, reported that she had seen white people. Though he thought she must be mistaken, he bade her run away at once if she saw any one again, white or brown. He did not like white people. Since they came to the Pacific the brown people had not been happy. They had been forced to work; some had been taken from their own islands and carried away to toil on distant plantations; new diseases had been brought among them. He had one friend among the white people—the "mikinaly"; he was a good man and did good things. He had taught Maku English.
True, Fangati had said that the strangers she had seen were women; but Maku could not believe that white women could have come to this island without white men. And he was desperately afraid of being betrayed to the ill-disposed mystery men among his own people; for before he had been long on the island he discovered that it was the scene of certain ceremonies conducted by these mystery men. At long intervals, before he became a Christian, he had himself accompanied his people in solemn expeditions to the island. The accession of a new chief was celebrated with special rites; years and years before, in his heathen days, his own accession had been marked by a great cannibal feast. He was much afraid that white people might sell him to his revolted tribesmen, who would make him a victim.
When Fangati disappeared he was convinced that she had been captured by the white people, and he would never see her again. He missed her very much, for, being old and infirm, he depended almost entirely on her for his food. But when she suddenly returned and told him how she had been carried out to sea while fishing, and how the white women had rescued her and treated her kindly, he felt that he must make his presence known to them, and especially warn them of their danger.
At this Elizabeth asked anxiously what danger was likely to assail them. The man hesitated. Now that it had come to the point he seemed to be unwilling to say more. But at length he explained that the spot at which they had landed was the usual landing-place of his people when they came to visit the island, and all the ground between it and the ridge was tapu. He struggled with his imperfect English in trying to make clear to the girls what that meant. They understood at last that their side of the island was sacred; its grounds were only to be trodden when the people came to hold their ceremonies, and anybody trespassing upon it would incur the wrath of the mystery men, and bring down upon themselves a terrible punishment. The forbidden ground was marked off from the rest of the island by a line of poles set upon the ridge. Maku confessed that he himself felt very uneasy at having violated the tapu; and Elizabeth, questioning him, found that beneath his recently assumed Christianity there lay a deep stratum of superstition. When the "mikinaly" was with him tapu had no horrors for him; but the missionary had left his island some time before the rising took place, and with the removal of his influence the chief had relapsed to some extent into the superstitions of his early manhood.
The girls were not at first much alarmed at what he told them. But when he added that his people would certainly choose another chief in his place, and come to the island for the usual inaugural ceremonies, the thought of being discovered by the savages at such a time filled them with dread. Their hut lay in the direct path of the procession to the ridge; it could not escape detection, and they trembled at the idea of falling into the hands of people who might be worked up to religious frenzy by their mystery men. To violate the tapu would be bad enough for a brown man; it would be worse for white people.
Maku made a suggestion. Let them dismantle the hut, he said, destroy all traces of their occupation, and remove to the other side of the island, where at least they would not have to reckon with the anger of the mystery men at finding them on forbidden ground. The girls discussed the suggestion earnestly, and decided to follow his advice. It gave them a pang to pull down the little home to which they had become accustomed: but they lost no time in setting about it, carrying the material down to the boat. Meanwhile, the old man and Fangati scattered the stones of their oven, and tried to obliterate the signs of habitation. Maku shook his head when he saw the bleached grass on what had been the floor of the hut. Even in this land of quick growth it must take some time before so tell-tale an evidence was done away.
It was decided that Elizabeth and Mary should row the boat round to Maku's landing-place with the canoe in tow, while Tommy walked with the old man across the island. The chief did not follow the long route up the stream by which the girls had reached the ridge, but took a more slanting course through a wild and rugged region which they had never explored. As they were crossing the ridge he pointed out to Tommy in the distance the entrance to the great cave in which the ceremonies of his tribe were conducted. Tommy shivered; the thought of wild men engaged in mysterious rites terrified her imagination. Choosing a steep path that wound down the eastern side of the ridge, Maku led the two young girls to the open space near the waterfall, and in a few minutes reached his hut. He and Fangati at once began to rig up near by a temporary shelter for the English girls, and it was almost finished by the time Elizabeth and Mary arrived.
The girls were provided by their new friends with an excellent meal of fish, breadfruit and other fruits, some of which were strange to them. Immediately afterwards, Maku and his granddaughter set to work to build them a hut in the native fashion. Elizabeth doubted whether they would like a house which must be inevitably close and stuffy with a doorway only high enough to crawl through. Their own hut had been fresh and breezy. But it seemed better to let the natives have their way. They would build much faster than the English girls; and if strange natives should make their appearance in this part of the island, they would not be rendered suspicious as they might be if they saw a hut so different from what they were accustomed to.
The girls slept in their temporary shelter that night. They had lost their fear of savage neighbours, but this had been replaced by a new fear of possible visitors from beyond. Tommy had asked Maku during their walk whether there was any chance of a ship coming to the island.
"No ship," he answered. "No come this side. Melican ship come one time, my place; mikinaly come in Melican ship; all-same, no mo'e."
The change of circumstances pleased every one except Billy the parrot. He had never taken kindly to Fangati, but had always ruffled his feathers and squawked angrily when he saw her with Tommy. The girls laughed at these manifestations of jealousy. But when Billy was removed from his home, and found that his mistress's attentions were shared by still another person, he became sulky. He would sit on a rock, or the bough of a tree, blinking his bead-like eyes and maintaining a sullen and reproachful silence.
Tommy was so much taken up with Fangati that it is to be feared she somewhat neglected her old favourite, as was perfectly natural under the circumstances. When Fangati and her grandfather had finished the new hut, which occupied them only two days, the young girls were constantly together. Tommy, now that her fear of cannibal neighbours was removed, became again the active, light-hearted, adventurous girl she had ever been. She roamed all over the island with Fangati, not even excepting the region of the tapu, for she found that the native girl was ready to go in any direction, provided she did not catch sight of the posts on the ridge. They discovered in company other plantations of wholesome fruits, of kinds which Tommy already knew, and of others which were strange to her. Fangati showed her how to fish in the native way with a spear of sharpened wood. At first Tommy was sceptical about this, declaring that with the line and hook she would catch more fish than Fangati with the spear. But she soon found that she was quite wrong. Leaning over the edge of a rock, with her keen eyes fixed on the water, Fangati would plunge her spear rapidly, and scarcely ever failed to bring up a fish as large as Tommy caught, and much more quickly. Tommy tried to imitate her, and was exceedingly proud when, after dozens of fruitless attempts, she succeeded in spearing her first fish.
In the course of one of their early rambles the girls came to the pit into which Tommy had fallen. Fangati was much interested in this, having never seen it before, and she ran to fetch her grandfather to the spot. The girls asked him what was the purpose of the pit, and he thought at first that it had been dug as a storehouse for breadfruit. But when Tommy told him about the tunnel through which she had crawled, and of the hole in the wall at the farther end, he looked puzzled and declared that he would go down and see for himself. It did not take long to construct a serviceable ladder with stout canes bound together with creepers, and the whole party descended into the pit and followed Tommy through the tunnel.
Arriving at the end, Maku looked curiously over the ledge. He explained to the girls that the dim-lit space beyond was the cave in which the mystic ceremonies of his people were conducted. The reason of the existence of the pit was now plain to him. There was a tradition among his tribe that one of his predecessor chiefs had shown an extraordinary knowledge of some of the secret performances of the mystery men at which he had not been present.
"I unastan," said Maku. "He find hole; he look; oh! he say, dis fine place fo' me. All-same he makee way dis side; makee pit; come 'long, listen, look see; eh, eh; he know all-same too much."
His explanation was not very clear, but after a time the girls understood that the former chief, having accidentally discovered the tunnel opening to the cave, had dug the pit so that he could approach it from the inland direction, and had thus provided himself with a means of eavesdropping. Apparently he had covered the pit with a light lattice-work—as the breadfruit pit was usually covered—and this in the course of years had become overgrown with vegetation, so that nobody could have suspected the hole beneath.
On returning to the surface they pulled up the ladder and laid it among the trees near by. More than once during the succeeding days Tommy and Fangati amused themselves by descending into the pit and chasing each other in the darkness of the tunnel. They invented other amusements. Tommy ran races with Fangati, played at hide-and-seek in the woods, practised shying at cocoa-nuts. All the girls had swimming competitions in the cove at low tide, and though the English girls became very expert, they were no match for Fangati, who dived and gambolled in the water as though in her native element.
In constant companionship with Fangati, they learnt in course of time many native words, and she on her side picked up a smattering of English. They were thus able to communicate with her freely. She amused them by her mispronunciations. The letter r was a stumbling-block. "Run" was always "lun"; "bekfas leady," she would say; and she adopted from her grandfather the expression "all-same," which she used frequently and in odd connections.
"I lun all-same kick, Me Tommee," she would say, when Tommy had beaten her in a race; or if, in a game of hide-and-seek, it was Mary's turn to hide, "Mailee all-same hidee-sik," was her way of putting it.
One day, having had no success at their usual fishing-place at the mouth of the cove, Fangati proposed that she and Tommy should go to a spot about half-a-mile up the coast, where she had sometimes caught fish before the girls came. Elizabeth had laid no restrictions on Tommy as regards her fishing excursions, except that she had asked her not to go out of sight of their little harbour. Remembering how Fangati had been carried out to sea, she wished to guard against any repetition of that mishap.
The spot to which Fangati pointed was beyond the usual limit. It was not, however, far distant from the shore, and Fangati had been much farther out when her canoe was caught by the current. Elizabeth had gone with Mary into the interior to gather breadfruit, so that it was impossible to consult her; and Tommy, anxious to have some fish for dinner by the time her sisters returned, agreed to try the new place.
They reached it in the canoe, Tommy paddling. It was a large flat rock a few hundred yards from the shore, with a deep pool on its inner side. There they had great success, in the course of half-an-hour spearing enough fish for several meals. Thoroughly satisfied, they had just turned their canoe towards home when Tommy caught sight of a large shape moving rapidly beneath the surface of the water.
"Oh! what's that?" she cried.
Almost before the words were out of her mouth the canoe quivered under a terrific shock. Then it was rocked violently to and fro, so violently that the sea came over the gunwale and the girls had to throw themselves on to the opposite side to prevent the slight craft from overturning. As they did this there was a sudden sharp sound as of something snapping. Instantly the canoe turned over, and the girls found themselves in the sea.
Fangati laughed.
"All-same jolly fun," she said.
Tommy was not so much amused. Being able to swim she did not mind the sudden bath; but all the fish were gone; the morning's work was thrown away.
Fangati quickly righted the canoe, and having clambered into it, helped Tommy to regain her place. There was, of course, a quantity of water at the bottom of the little vessel.
"What was it?" exclaimed Tommy, shaking the water from her head. "Was it a shark?"
Fangati looked about her. In a moment she pointed to a strange object, something like the end of a saw, projecting from the bottom of the canoe. Tommy had never seen such a thing before. Stooping down, she pulled at it. It was loosely fixed, and came away in her hand. Instantly there was an inrush of water.
"No, no, silly Billy," cried Fangati, using an expression she had heard Tommy apply to the parrot.
She snatched the broken sword of the sword-fish from Tommy's hand, and tried to replace it. But though she succeeded in wedging it into the wood, it failed to stop the hole entirely. Without loss of time she seized her paddle and started for the shore, about a quarter of a mile distant. But the canoe had shipped a considerable quantity of water, and this was being continually increased by the inflow through the leak. It sunk lower and lower, and every minute answered less readily to Fangati's paddle. It soon became clear to the girls that the canoe must sink long before they reached the shore. They could easily gain the land by swimming, but the canoe could not be recovered if it sank.
Between them and the shore a rock stood just above the surface. It was only about a hundred yards away, and Fangati, exerting all her strength, drove the canoe towards it, and reached it in the nick of time. In another few seconds the canoe must have foundered.
There was not much room on the rock. Tommy scrambled on to it, while Fangati, slipping over into the sea, prepared to help Tommy drag the canoe up, so that they might tilt the water out of it, and try to stop the leak with a handkerchief, or a part of Tommy's skirt.
They had just begun to tilt the canoe when Tommy caught sight of a small dark object on the surface of the sea about thirty or forty yards away. It was the fin of a shark.
"Fangati, quick!" she called, holding out her hands to help the girl clamber on to the rock.
Fangati's back was towards the shark and she did not understand what the peril was. But the note of terror in Tommy's voice alarmed her. She let go her hold of the canoe, gained the edge of the rock in two strokes, and with Tommy's help scrambled up just as the shark glided past into the deep water beyond.
"Eh! Eh!" exclaimed Fangati, when she saw the reason of Tommy's fright. "I no aflaid, what fo' aflaid of he? You see, all-same."
She was about to dive into the sea and swim after the canoe, which was already drifting away, but Tommy caught her and held her fast. "No, no, you mustn't," she cried anxiously.
"Boat lun kick," cried Fangati in excitement.
The canoe, relieved of the girls' weight, would no doubt float longer than if they had still been in it, but Tommy realized that it must soon sink.
"Never mind," she cried. "Better lose the canoe than lose you."
Fangati stood beside her for some time, but Tommy soon became aware of a double danger. The tide was rising. Every moment the ripples washed a little farther over the rock: by and by this would be completely submerged and they would have to swim to the shore. The thought of this necessity filled Tommy with terror. The shark had disappeared only for a moment. She could now see it again, circling about the rock, as if it knew that it had only to bide its time and the girls would fall an easy prey. As soon as there was sufficient depth of water on the rock they would be absolutely defenceless against the monster's hungry jaws.
Clinging to Fangati, Tommy called aloud for help; then, glancing shorewards, recognized that there was little chance of her voice being heard through the belt of woodland that separated her from the camp.
The sea now thinly covered the rock. The canoe was rocking on the tide several yards away; the fin of the shark could still be seen as it wheeled around. Fangati, as well aware of the danger as Tommy, could remain inactive no longer.
"Knife!" she cried eagerly, pointing to Tommy's pocket.
"What are you going to do?" asked Tommy.
"You see. Kick! kick!" said the girl.
"Don't leave me," pleaded Tommy, handing her the knife.
Fangati looked around as if in search of something. Suddenly she snatched Tommy's handkerchief, which was tucked into her belt, and dived off the rock. When she disappeared Tommy saw the handkerchief floating. In a moment the shark rushed silently through the water, attracted by the splash. As it came beneath the handkerchief, which Fangati had dropped as a decoy, she came up beneath it and plunged the knife deep into its side. Then she dived again and disappeared.
The shark, thrashing the water into foam, dashed about in zigzag fashion. Tommy watched it fascinated, fearing that it might have struck Fangati. But in a moment she heard the girl's merry laugh behind her. Fangati came up on the farther side of the rock, on to which she clambered, splashing through the water to Tommy's side. The girls watched the gradually weakening movements of the monster, until at length with a final heave it sank to the bottom.
"S'im! S'im!" cried Fangati, pointing to the shore.
"Oh, I couldn't," said Tommy, clinging to the girl.
The possibility of there being other sharks between her and the shore unnerved her. Yet if she remained on this rock she must be washed off presently by the fast-rising tide. She was in a terrible state of anxiety, aware that she could not keep her footing long, yet unable to face the risk of being caught by a shark. Fangati seemed to guess at her state of mind. Disengaging herself from Tommy's grasp, without waiting for objections, she slipped off the rock and swam rapidly after the canoe, which was drifting farther and farther down the coast. Tommy watched her anxiously. Would she reach the canoe safely? Could she return with it in time?
The water was now up to Tommy's waist; she could hardly keep her footing as the tide surged over the rock. The gap between the little black head and the canoe was steadily diminishing. Tommy gave a gasp of relief as she saw that Fangati had overtaken the little craft. But what was she doing? She had swum beyond it. In a moment Tommy saw the explanation: the paddle had drifted beyond the canoe, and the swimmer had to recover it first. Fangati caught the paddle, turned about, and swimming back to the canoe, climbed over its side.
Tommy was seized with a sickening fear that help would come too late. The waves were tumbling over the rock with increasing force: her feet were lifted: she had the presence of mind to tread water, but was all the time in a state of nervous terror, expecting a shark to come up and snatch her in its horrid jaws. She felt that Fangati in the water-logged canoe could not reach her in time. Again she screamed for help.