Since our first show of authority the natives have withdrawn to a discreet distance and are seated cross-legged in the sand, intently watching our preparations for camp-making. They are chattering volubly among themselves, though whether in anger or not, we cannot tell. Among our boxes we come to a carton of coarse shag tobacco which has been broken open and the idea comes that it might not be amiss to make them a little present as a sort of friendship offering.
We gather up an armful of the little blue packages and walk toward the savages slowly. They all rise to their feet as we approach; they are not quite sure of our intentions, and are ready to fly at the first sign of trouble. That unceremonious chastening of their chief in the face of terrific odds has instilled in them a wholesome awe of us.
Conversation is difficult, for we do not speak their language. After a time, however, we seem to make our intentions understood, and a smile appears on the faces of some of them, here and there, as the light of comprehension bursts upon them. These in turn tell their fellows, and soon broad smiles wreathe the faces of all, even including the sober face of the chastened one. Their manner becomes almost affable and we walk slowly around the semicircle, passing to each a package of the shag. None of them thank us, except with their eyes, but all of them immediately devote their attention to the packets, tearing them open and stuffing whole mouthfuls of tobacco into cavernous cheeks that distend in funny pouch-like roundness, reminding us of the monkeys we saw six months ago on the sacred island in the Queen River in Borneo.
With the gift of the tobacco we seem to have acquired membership in their clan and they cluster around us in apparent friendliness, much to our discomfort. One and all are besmeared with rancid cocoanut-oil mixed with various earth pigments, and the odor is terrific. This will never do, we tell ourselves, and we motion them to withdraw a little. They are obedient and return to the place where they were sitting before. They are about twenty yards from the spot where the boys are erecting the tents. This is a sufficient distance for comfort, so we take up pieces of driftwood and, beginning at the grass-line of the beach, draw a circle in the sand around the tents. This, we inform them by means of signs, is the dead-line and none may pass it without permission. They all nod in comprehension.
Moh regards us with reverential awe. They cannot be kept too far away to suit him. He knows better than we that the Kia Kias are not to be trusted too far. They may be friendly one moment and the very next turn upon one unaware. He tells us so, and with the warning comes the adjurations of our friends in Merauke. A little precaution will not be amiss, we decide, and our rifles are placed within reach, ready for instant use. Our automatics are our constant companions. Somehow, though, it all seems unnecessary. We have done, and intend them, no wrong.
The incoming tide is playing havoc with the Nautilus. Great combers are breaking over her rail on the weather side and she is careening drunkenly, her masts canted over at a sharp angle. Ula and the men depart for her, to salvage what they can before she slides off the reef into deep water.
When they return they bring two bags of water-soaked rice which they have rescued from the schooner’s hold. They report that she is a total loss and can never be saved. The coral has torn a gaping hole in her bottom and the planking, including the keelson, is crushed beyond repair. The outlook is not pleasant. When we ask Ula how soon some Malay trading-schooner is likely to happen along, he cheerfully informs us that this is the storm season and that one may not make this part of the coast for months.
Seated at a discreet distance, watching our camp-making intently
