Jarwin and Cuffy - Robert Michael Ballantyne (top books of all time txt) 📗

club, on the head of which human teeth formed a conspicuous ornament.

"Palaver," replied the savage.

"It's easy to hear and see that," replied Jarwin, "but wot is it all about?"

The savage vouchsafed no farther reply, but continued to march up and down in front of the hut.

Jarwin, therefore, essayed to quit his abode, but was stopped by the taciturn savage, who said that he must consider himself a prisoner until the palaver had come to an end. He was therefore fain to content himself with standing at his door and watching the gesticulations of the members of council.

Big Chief was there of course, and appeared to take a prominent part in the proceedings. But there were other chiefs of the tribe whose opinions had much weight, though they were inferior to him in position. At last they appeared to agree, and finally, with a loud shout, the whole band rushed off in the direction of the temple where their idols were kept.

Jarwin's guard had manifested intense excitement during the closing scene, and when this last act took place he threw down his club, forsook his post, and followed his comrades. Of course Jarwin availed himself of the opportunity, and went to see what was being done.

To his great surprise he found that the temple was being dismantled, while the idols were carried down to the palaver-ground, if we may so call it, and thrown into a heap there with marks of indignity and contempt.

Knowing, as he did, the superstitious reverence with which the natives regarded their idols, Jarwin beheld this state of things with intense amazement, and he looked on with increasing interest, hoping, ere long, to discover some clue to the mystery, but his hopes were disappointed, for Big Chief caught sight of him and sternly ordered him back to his hut, where another guard was placed over him. This guard was more strict than the previous one had been. He would not allow his prisoner even to look on at what was taking place.

Under the circumstances, there was therefore nothing for it but to fall back on philosophic meditation and converse with Cuffy. These were rather poor resources, however, to a man who was surrounded by a tribe of excited savages. Despite his natural courage and coolness, Jarwin felt, as he said himself, "raither oncomfortable."

Towards the afternoon things became a little more quiet, still no notice was taken of our hero save that his meals were sent to him from the Chief's hut. He wondered at this greatly, for nothing of the kind had ever happened before, and he began to entertain vague suspicions that such treatment might possibly be the prelude to evil of some kind befalling him. He questioned his guard several times, but that functionary told him that Big Chief had bidden him refuse to hold converse with him on any subject whatever.

Being, as the reader knows, a practical, matter-of-fact sort of man, our hero at last resigned himself to his fate, whatever that might be, and beguiled the time by making many shrewd remarks and observations to Cuffy. When the afternoon meal was brought to him, he heaved a deep sigh, and apparently, with that effort flung off all his anxieties.

"Come along, Cuff," he said in a hearty voice, sitting down to dinner, "let's grub together an' be thankful for small mercies, anyhow. Wotever turns up, you and I shall go halves and stick by one another to the last. Not that I have any doubts of Big Chief, Cuffy; you mustn't suppose that; but then, you see, he ain't the only chief in the island, and if all the rest was to go agin him, _he_ couldn't do much to save us."

The dog of course replied in its usual facetious manner with eyes and tail, and sat down with its ears cocked and its head turned expectantly on one side, while the sailor removed the palm-leaf covering of the basket which contained the provisions sent to him.

"Wot have we here, Cuffy?" he said soliloquising and looking earnestly in; "let me see; bit of baked pig--good, Cuff, good; that's the stuff to make us fat. Wot next? Roast fish--that's not bad, Cuff--not bad, though hardly equal to the pig. Here we have a leaf full of plantains and another of yams,--excellent grub that, my doggie, nothing could be better. What's this? Cocoanut full of its own milk--the best o' drink; `it cheers'--as the old song, or the old poet says--`but it don't inebriate;' that wos said in regard to tea, you know, but it holds good in respect of cocoanut milk, and it's far better than grog, Cuffy; far better, though you can't know nothin' about that, but you may take my word for it; happy is the man as drinks nothin' stronger than cocoanut milk or tea. Hallo! wot's this--plums? Why, doggie, they're oncommon good to us to-day. I wonder wot's up. I say--" Jarwin paused as he drew the last dish out of the prolific basket, and looked earnestly at his dog while he laid it down, "I say, what if they should have taken it into their heads to fatten us up before killin' us? That's not a wery agreeable notion, is it, eh?"

Apparently Cuffy was of the same opinion, for he did not wag even the point of his tail, and there was something dubious in the glance of his eye as he waited for more.

"Well, well, it ain't no use surmisin'," observed the seaman, with another sigh, "wot we've got for to do just now is to eat our wittles an' hope for the best. Here you are, Cuff--catch!"

Throwing a lump of baked pig to his dog, the worthy man fell to with a keen appetite, and gave himself no further anxiety as to the probable or possible events of the future.

Dinner concluded, he would fain have gone out for a ramble on the shore--as he had been wont to do in time past--but his gaoler forbade him to quit the hut. He was therefore about to console himself with a siesta, when an unexpected order came from Big Chief, requiring his immediate attendance in the royal hut. Jarwin at once obeyed the mandate, and in a few minutes stood before his master, who was seated on a raised couch, enjoying a cup of cocoanut milk.

"I have send for you," began Big Chief with solemnity, "to have a palaver. Sit down, you Breetish tar."

"All right, old chap," replied Jarwin, seating himself on a stool opposite to his master. "Wot is it to be about?"

"Jowin," rejoined Big Chief, with deepening gravity, "you's bin well treated here."

Big Chief spoke in broken English now, having picked it up with amazing facility from his white slave.

"Well, y-e-es, I'm free to confess that I _has_ bin well treated-- barrin' the fact that my liberty's bin took away; besides which, some of your black rascals ain't quite so civil as they might be, but on the whole, I've been well treated; anyhow I never received nothin' but kindness from _you_, old codger."

He extended his hand frankly, and Big Chief, who had been taught the meaning of our English method of salutation, grasped it warmly and shook it with such vigour that he would certainly have discomposed Jarwin had that "Breetish tar" been a less powerful man. He performed this ceremony with the utmost sadness, however, and continued to shake his head in such a melancholy way that his white slave began to feel quite anxious about him.

"Hallo! old feller, you ain't bin took bad, have 'ee?"

Big Chief made no reply, but continued to shake his head slowly; then, as if a sudden idea had occurred to him, he rose, and, grasping Jarwin by his whiskers with both hands, rubbed noses with him, after which he resumed his seat on the couch.

"Just so," observed our hero with a smile, "you shake hands with me English fashion--I rub noses with you South-Sea fashion. Give an' take; all right, old codger--`may our friendship last for ever,' as the old song puts it. But wot about this here palaver you spoke of? It warn't merely to rub our beaks together that you sent for me, I fancy. Is it a song you wants, or a hymn? Only say the word, and I'm your man."

"I s'pose," said Big Chief, using, of course, Jarwin's sea phraseology, only still farther broken, "you'd up ankar an' make sail most quick if you could, eh?"

"Well, although I _has_ a likin' for you, old man," replied the sailor, "I can't but feel a sort o' preference, d'ee see, for my own wife an' child'n. There_fore_ I _would_ cut my cable, if I had the chance."

"Kite right, kite right," replied Big Chief, with a deep sigh, "you say it am nat'ral. Good, good, so 'tis. Now, Jowin," continued the savage chief, with intense earnestness, "you's free to go when you pleases."

"Oh, gammon!" replied Jarwin, with an unbelieving grin.

"Wot _is_ gammon?" demanded Big Chief, with a somewhat disappointed look.

"Well, it don't matter what it means--it's nothin' or nonsense, if you like--but wot do _you_ mean, old man, `that's the rub,' as Hamblet, or some such c'racter, said to his father-in-law; you ain't in airnest, are you?"

"Jowin," answered the Chief, with immovable gravity, "I not onderstan' you. Wot you mean by airnest?" He did not wait for a reply, however, but seizing Jarwin by the wrist, and looking into his eyes with an expression of child-like earnestness that effectually solemnised his white slave, continued, "Lissen, onderstan' me. I is a Christian. My broder chiefs an' I have watch you many days. You have always do wot is right, no matter wot trouble follers to you. You do this for love of your God, your Saviour, so you tells me. Good, I do not need much palaver. Wen de sun shines it am hot; wen not shine am cold. Wot more? Cookee missionary have _say_ the truth. My slave have _prove_ the truth. I love you, Jowin. I love your God. I keep you if possible, but Christian must not have slave. Go--you is free."

"You don't mean _that_, old man?" cried Jarwin, starting up with flashing eyes and seizing his master's hand.

"You is free!" repeated Big Chief.

We need not relate all that honest John Jarwin said and did after that. Let it suffice to record his closing remarks that night to Cuffy.

"Cuff," said he, patting the shaggy head of his humble friend, "many a strange thing crops up in this here koorious world, but it never did occur to my mind before, that while a larned man like a missionary might _state_ the truth, the likes o' me should have the chance an' the power to _prove_ it. That's a wery koorious fact, so you an' I shall go to sleep on it, my doggie--good-night."


CHAPTER NINE.


THE LAST.

That Jarwin's deliverance from slavery was not a dream, but a blessed reality, was proved to him next day beyond all doubt by the singular proceedings of Big Chief and his tribe. Such of the native idols as had not been burned on the previous day were brought out, collected into a heap, and publicly burned, after