It appeared that in earlier days, before Bones had made the hiding profession into a fine art, and one which easily amassed wealth, his means of running the show and replenishing the food and rum casks were not as kindly and humane as the arresting scheme, with the final relief of the victim on getting his bribe accepted—a bribe that often astonished Bones by its generosity, for the shabbiest fugitives were generally the richest and the guiltiest.
Well, to proceed. That immaculate tall hat had brought the Organization in much money. When trading-ships called in at Suva and the surrounding isles Bones would go aboard and negotiate for the part purchase of the general cargo; and he did well; for, though he or his representative had no ready money, they would manage to dupe the skipper or supercargo by giving them a false bill or an I.O.U. from some firm of repute, who knew nothing whatever of Bones and his clever crew. Attired in a frock-coat and that tall hat, they commanded the necessary trust and respect.
Galloway, the Yankee who worked the business personally, managed to get a surprising amount of credit. Scores of harmoniums, musical-boxes and miscellaneous clothes were got hold of through the Yankee’s smartness. The whole business was run on fine, strategic lines. After a good deal Galloway would lie low and lend the hat and frock-coat to a confederate. Soon, however, in spite of their care, a breath of suspicion blew across the South Seas. Skippers told each other to look out.
“You see that hole in the rim of the hat,” said Bones, pointing his thumb to what looked like a bullet hole; “that d——d place cost me a cool thousand pounds.” Then: “You see that ’ole, don’t you? Well, when Galloway’s pal went aboard a schooner in Lakemba he stands on deck and makes a deal for five hundred clocks—natives would give their souls for a clock—and a thousand tins of meat stuff; in fact almost everything that we wanted. Well, he gives the skipper his I.O.U., seemingly made out and signed by a settler who was well known for his wealth and integrity in Fiji; but, as he stood on deck and signalled to the natives overside to bring the boats alongside to take the first load of stuff away, the skipper, who had previously been done, spied the same hole in that tall hat which he had noticed when Galloway duped him. So he says: ‘Before you take the stuff away have a whisky?’ and then says, sudden-like: ‘You’ve got your pal’s old hat on; what’s become of him? I’ve still got his I.O.U.’ Galloway’s pal at this looked uncomfortable, and the skipper kept the ball rolling, for he whips a revolver out of his pocket, and as H—— bolts over the side the old curse fires, bang! H——'s ear was blown off. So ended the I.O.U. trade, and H—— left those parts with his ear missing. Then he made a fortune through kidnapping native girls in the Solomon and Marquesan Groups, and got on so well that he purchased a schooner, and ten years ago called this way and invited us on board. As we drank in the saloon aft we heard the general cargo of naked native girls and youths wailing under the floor decks as they called for grub! I took mercy on half-a-dozen girls next morning as H—— got them on deck and paraded them for my inspection. I bought them and sold three to the sailors of a German man-o’-war, and their missionary gave me a good price for the other three.”
So Bones rambled on, telling me much which I have left out as being unprintable and, worse—too true to enlarge upon! The traffic in native girls for immoral purposes was common in the early days, and still is to-day, but it is carried on now by more disguised methods; indeed, most of the crimes that were rampant in the old days are worse than ever, for they are carried on with deeper guile, as missionaries, earnest men enough, leave the sorrow and sin of their own lands to spread hypocrisy over the South Seas. For the natives are clever, and with education simply learn the duplicity of the white race; loudly they sing the lotu hymns as they grin in their hearts over the change in things for the better!
Now I am approaching the end of my stay in Fiji. I had my few belongings packed, for I had been promised a berth aboard the Frigate Bird, that lay in Suva harbour and was due to leave in a few days. It had been a swelteringly hot day. I had told Mabau that I was going away, and from her learnt that Vituo had completely thrown her over and was much in love with the white woman who had stayed at Suva. Tears gleamed in her eyes as she realised that I should soon be going, and as I sat and played the violin to the men who had befriended me while I was hard up she looked up at me like a whipped dog, with beseeching eyes, and I felt very sorry for her.
At sunset I walked with Bones under the coco-palms down by the river. It was to be my last night. The smell of the decaying ferns and rotting oranges in the jungle grass came in sweet, damp drifts as the cool evening breeze sprang up. In the trees a few birds sang, and from far-off came the sound of the tribal drums beating the sunset out, and the stars to the skies, over the native village a mile away. I had the night before been to Naraundrau to bid farewell to the old missionary. He had crossed his hands on his breast and blessed me, then laid his hands on my shoulders, gazed into my face and said: “Farewell, my son; the blessing of God be with you.” I left him as a son would a father, with sadness in my soul for his age, and in my sorrow I seemed to hear a noise beating in my heart—like toiling shovels that day by day deepened his grave.
As I stood by the river slope with Bones we heard the paddling of a canoe, and round the bend came Mabau to wish me farewell. She appeared very excited as she jumped ashore. Early moonrise bathed the pool waters as she stood beneath the palms and to our surprise said: “Vituo is dead; I kill him.” As she told us this she lifted her hands to the sky and wailed. We tried to calm her, but it was no use; we only gathered that Vituo, her faithless lover, had died by her hand. Still I can see her figure, mirrored in the water of the moonlit pool, as she wailed, swaying her blood-stained hands and singing a death chant that sounded like this when translated:
“O winds of night I call, I call,
Across the hills of sleep;