“Yes—and it’s the Australian ship that finished her—the Sydney. Caught her off Cocos Island.”
“Our ship!” came in a delighted chorus. “Oh, that’s too good to be true!”
“It is true, all the same—and more power to our baby Navy!” said the squatter, beaming. “Of course, there was no real fight in it; the Emden was hopelessly outclassed. Still, the Sydney was all there when she was wanted. It’s worth being without news for so long, to get anything as good as this.”
“Rather!” said Jim. “Thank goodness that blessed little wasp is out of the way of the transports!”
“She was near enough to be dangerous,” said his father. “And she ran up a big enough butcher’s bill for us before we got her.” His face darkened; the exploits of the predatory German cruiser had not made pleasant British reading. “She has a mighty big bundle of scalps to her credit.”
“Well, she played the game,” Jim said. “As far as I can see, she’ll go down to history as almost the only chivalrous fighter the Germans had. I reckon her captain must be an uncommonly decent sort—he had to be a pirate, but he was such a good fellow with it. You can’t help respecting him.”
“No—nor being glad he’s out of business,” Wally said. “I’m not keen on being sunk by any pirate, no matter how gentlemanly. But, of course, though the Emden’s captain did treat people awfully well, not even a German would sink ships regardless of human life”—wherein Wally spoke without foreknowledge of later German tactics. “Any other news, Mr. Linton?”
“I haven’t seen any papers yet, but I believe there is nothing special—a sort of deadlock everywhere,” the squatter answered. His eyes widened suddenly. “There’s an ornamental person! What do you think of him, Norah?”
Norah turned, following the direction of his gaze. A man drawing a rickshaw had just trotted gently to the wharf, and, putting down his shafts, stood erect. Without doubt, he was an ornamental person. He was a Zulu, considerably over six feet in height, and of powerful build, with well-cut features, and a bearing proud enough to be something more than a mere human horse. His dress was striking. A close-fitting tunic of scarlet and white stripes, over short scarlet knickerbockers, only served to outline his mighty frame. Across his back and chest were criss-crossed strips of bright-coloured embroidery. There were bangles on his arms, from wrist to shoulder, and bangles above his knees. He was bare-footed—but his legs were painted in white from the knees downwards in an elaborate design to represent boots and gaiters.
But his glory was in his head-dress. A tight-fitting skull-cap was crowned with the most amazing erection that ever bewildered a newcomer. Above his brow curved away two enormous bullock-horns, dyed scarlet. Between them, a straight aigrette of porcupine quills quivered with every movement; and behind, a long plume of pampas grass, of vivid yellow, streamed downwards, until it touched a monkey-skin, which, fastened to his shoulders, trailed down his back. From different angles long scarlet feathers stuck out; and above each ear was fastened a native snuff-box—a gourd the size of a tennis-ball, profusely ornamented with brass. He was a heartsome sight.