The Call Of The South - George Lewis Becke (the alpha prince and his bride full story free .TXT) 📗

have speech with her later on when he was in the mood. She obeyed, and when she was unobserved she picked up a short, broad-bladed dagger of _talit_ (obsidian) and hid it in her girdle, and then lay down and pretended to sleep. But through the cane lattice-work of her sleeping-place she watched Lirou.

"After Lirou had viewed the fort outside and inside, he sent a man to Lea, bidding her come to him.

"She rose and came slowly to him, with her head bent, and stood before him. Then suddenly she sprang at him, and thrust the dagger into his heart. He fell and died quickly.

"Then Lea leapt over a part of the stone wall where it was low, and ran towards the river, pursued by some of Lirou's mea But she was fleet of foot, crossed the river, and escaped into the jungle and rested awhile. Then she passed out of the jungle into the rough mountain country, and that night she reached King Roka's town.

"Roka made her very welcome, and was filled with anger when she told her story.

"'I will quickly punish these cruel murderers,' he said; 'as for thee, Lea, make this thy home and dwell with us.'

"Roka gathered together his fighting men. Half he sent to Roan Kiti by water, and half he himself led across the mountains. They fell upon Lirou's people at night, and slew nearly half of the men, and drove all the rest into the mountains, where they remained for many months, broken and hunted men.

"That is the story of Tokolme."



CHAPTER XVI ~ "LANO-TO"

A white rain squall came crashing through the mountain forest, and then went humming northward across the quiet lake, down over the wooded littoral and far out to sea Silence once more, and then a mountain cock, who had scorned the sweeping rain, uttered his shrill, cackling, and defiant crow, as he shook the water from his black and golden back and long snaky neck, and savage, fierce-eyed head.

Between two wide-flanking buttresses of a mighty _tamana_ tree I had taken shelter, and was comfortably seated on the thick carpet of soft dry leaves, when I heard my name called, and looking up, I saw, a few yards away, the grave face of an elderly Samoan, named Marisi (Maurice). We were old acquaintances.

"Talofa, Marisi. What doest thou up here at Lano-to?" I said, as I shook hands and offered him my pipe for a draw.

"I and my nephew Mana-ese and his wife have come here to trap pigeons. For three days we have been here. Our little hut is close by. Wilt come and rest, and eat?"

"Aye, indeed, for I am tired. And this Lake of Lano-to is a fine place whereat to rest."

Marisi nodded. "That is true. Nowhere in all Samoa, except from the top of the dead fire mountain in Savai'i, can one see so far and so much that is good to look upon. Come, friend."

I had shot some pigeons, which Marisi took from me, and began to pluck as he led the way along a narrow path that wound round the edge of the crater, which held the lake in its rugged but verdure-clad bosom. In a few minutes we came to an open-sided hut, with a thatched roof. It stood on the verge of a little tree-clad bluff, overlooking the lake, two hundred feet below. Seated upon some of the coarse mats of coco-nut leaf called _tapa'au_ was a fine, stalwart young Samoan engaged in feeding some wild pigeons in a large wicker-work cage. He greeted me in the usual hospitable native manner, and taking some fine mats from one of the house beams, his uncle and I seated ourselves, whilst he went to seek his wife, to bid her make ready an _umu_ (earth oven). Whilst he was away, my host and I plucked the pigeons, and also a fat wild duck which Marisi had shot in the lake that morning. In half an hour the young couple returned, the woman carrying a basket of taro, and the man a bunch of cooking bananas. Very quickly the oven of hot stones was ready, and the game, taro and bananas covered up with leaves.

I had crossed to Lano-to from the village of Safata on the south side of Upolu and was on my way to Apia The previous night I had slept in the bush on the summit of the range. Marisi gravely told me that I had been foolish--the mountain forest was full of ghosts, etc.

Marisi himself lived in Apia, and he gave me two weeks' local gossip. He and his nephew and niece had come to remain at the lake for a few days, for they had a commission to catch and tame ten pigeons for some district chief, whose daughter was about to be married.

We had a delightful meal, followed by a bowl of kava (mixed with water from the lake), and as I was not pressed for time I accepted my host's invitation to remain for the night, and part of the following day.

This was my fourth or fifth visit to this beautiful mountain lake of Lano-to (_i.e._, the Deep Lake), and the oftener I came the more its beauty grew upon me. Alas! its sweet solitude is now disturbed by the cheap Cockney and Yankee tourist globe-trotter who come there in the American excursion steamers. In the olden days only natives frequented the spot--very rarely was a white man seen. To reach it from Apia takes about five hours on foot, but there is now a regular road on which one can travel two-thirds of the way on horseback.

The surface of the water, which is a little over two hundred feet from the rugged rim of the crater, is according to Captain Zemsch, two thousand three hundred feet above the sea, the distance across the crater is nearly one thousand two hundred yards. The water is always cold, but not too cold to bathe in, and during the rainy season--November to March--is frequented by hundreds of wild duck. All the forest about teems with pigeons, which love the vicinity of Lano-to, on account of the numbers of _masa'oi_ trees there, on the rich fruit of which they feed, and all day long, from dawn to dark, their deep _croo!_ may be heard mingling with the plaintive cry of the ringdove.

The view from the crater is of matchless beauty--I know of nothing to equal it, except it be Pago Pago harbour in Tutuila, looking southwards from the mountain tops. Here at Lano-to you can see the coast line east and west for twenty miles. Westwards looms the purple dome of Savai'i, thirty miles away. Directly beneath you is Apia, though you can see nothing of it except perhaps some small black spots floating on the smooth water inside the reef. They are ships at anchor. Six leagues to the westward the white line of reef trends away from the shore, makes a sharp turn, and then runs southward. Within this bend the water is a brilliant green, and resting upon it are two small islands. One is Manono, a veritable garden, lined with strips of shining beaches and fringed with cocos. It is the home of the noble families of Samoa, and most of the past great chiefs are buried there. Beyond is the small but lofty crater island of Apolima--a place ever impregnable to assault by natives. Its red, southern face starts steep-to from the sea, the top is crowned with palms, and on the northern side what was once the crater is now a romantic bay, with an opening through the reef, and a tiny, happy little village nestling under the swaying palms. 'Tis one of the sweetest spots in all the wide Pacific. And, thank Heaven, it has but seldom been defiled by the globe-trotter. The passage is difficult even for a canoe. One English lady, however (the Countess of Jersey), I believe once visited it.

Under the myriad stars, set in a sky of deepest blue, Marisi and I lie outside the huts upon our sleeping mats, and talk of the old Samoan days, till it is far into the quiet, voiceless night.

At dawn we are called inside by the woman, who chides us for sleeping in the dew.

"Listen," says Marisi, raising his hand.

It is the faint, musical gabble of the wild ducks, as they swim across the lake.

"What now?" asks the woman, as her husband looks to his gun. "Hast no patience to sit and smoke till I make an oven and get thee food? The _pato_ (ducks) can wait And first feed the pigeons--thou lazy fellow."



CHAPTER XVII ~ "OMBRE CHEVALIER"

Once, after many years' wanderings in the North and South Pacific as shore trader, supercargo and "recruiter" in the Kanaka labour trade, I became home-sick and returned to my native Australia, with a vague idea of settling down. I began the "settling down" by going to some newly opened gold-fields in North Queensland, wandering about from the Charters Towers "rush" to the Palmer River and Hodgkinson River rushes. The party of diggers I joined were good sterling fellows, and although we did not load ourselves with nuggets and gold dust, we did fairly well at times, especially in the far north of the colony where most of the alluvial gold-fields were rich, and new-comers especially had no trouble in getting on to a good show. I was the youngest of the party, and consequently the most inexperienced, but my mates good-naturedly overlooked my shortcomings as a prospector and digger, especially as I had constituted myself the "tucker" provider when our usual rations of salt beef ran out. I had brought with me a Winchester rifle, a shot gun and plenty of ammunition for both, and plenty of fishing tackle. So, at such times, instead of working at the claim, I would take my rifle or gun or fishing lines and sally forth at early dawn, and would generally succeed in bringing back something to the camp to serve instead of beef. In the summer months game, such as it was, was fairly plentiful, and nearly all the rivers of North Queensland abound in fish.

In the open country we sometimes shot more plain turkeys than we could eat. When on horseback one could approach within a few yards of a bird before it would take to flight, but on foot it was difficult to get within range of one, unless a rifle was used. In the rainy season all the water holes and lagoons literally teemed with black duck, wood-duck, the black and white Burdekin duck, teal, spur-winged plover, herons and other birds, and a single shot would account for a dozen. My mates, however, like all diggers, believed in and wanted beef--mutton we scarcely ever tasted, except when near a township where there was a butcher, for sheep do not thrive in that part of the colony and are generally brought over in mobs from the Peak Downs District or Southern Queensland.

Our party at first numbered four, but at Townsville (Cleveland Bay) one of our number left us to return to New Zealand on account of the death of his father. And we were a very happy party, and although at times I wearied of the bush and longed for a sight of the sea again, the gold-fever had taken possession of me entirely and I was content.

Once a party of three of us were prospecting in the vicinity of Scarr's (or Carr's) Creek, a tributary of the Upper Burdekin River. It was in June, and the nights were very