Gabrielle of the Lagoon Part 6

Two of the chiefs rose, nodded their heads, wailed, and said: "She has been here before, O brothers!"

The tambu maidens had now stopped dancing. The barbarian flutes had ceased their wailings, not a drum note disturbed the hush as the wild, swarthy men gazed on Gabrielle and the aged priest chanted into her ears.

The girl seemed to be dimly conscious of the reverent homage those wild men and women paid her as they fell on their faces before her. She looked down with a dream-like stare on their muscular brown bodies, on their richly sh.e.l.led _ramis_, their red-feathered headgear.

"Savoo! Savoo!" ("Go on! Go on! Dance for us!") they almost whispered, as they turned their s.h.a.ggy heads and peered into the depths of the forest, half in terror and pleasurable antic.i.p.ation of what the girl might do.

For a moment Gabrielle swayed, clapped her hands softly as a prelude, then chanted. Then she swiftly glided towards the tambu elevation. In a moment the tambu maidens had jumped down, soft-footed, on to the mossy floor before the sacred erection. Gabrielle had leapt on to the stage!

The skulls and skeleton bones and other gruesome ritual objects that dangled on boughs just above her head swayed to the hot night breeze, all tinkling weirdly as she stood for a moment in dreamy hesitation.

Then she gave a silvery peal of laughter. She had begun to move hither and thither as though in a dream, swaying to and fro with marvellous delicacy and grace. Never before had those chiefs seen so weird, so wonderful a sight or heard a voice chant their wild melodies with such strange effect. They all stared. Even the tambu maidens stood as though riveted to the forest floor in envious wonder. A drum began softly to beat out the tribal notes, "Too Woomb! Too Woomb!" in perfect _tempo_ to the girl's s.h.i.+fting faery-like footsteps. Suddenly the aged high priest, Pooma Malo, fell prostrate before his tambu idol and began to chant, so great was his fear. The whole a.s.semblage were trembling like wind-blown shadows. They had all noticed the silent, shadowy woman who stood beside the white girl on the _pae pae_ mimicking her every movement, as it, too, bobbed rhythmically to and fro, moving its feet noiselessly behind her across that _pae pae_ before them all.

Two of the tambu maidens and one dusky youth jumped to their feet and bolted off into the forest in fright. The giant wooden idol just behind the shadow-figure gave a wide carven grin from ear to ear as a shaft of moonlight fell across its hideous face. A handsome, plucky young chief stepped forward. He was adorned with the insignias and decorations of the fetish rites. He leapt straight on to the _pae pae_. Under the influence of the white girl's dance he too swayed his arms and chanted, as only men of his race can dance and chant.

Gabrielle looked up at him, a strange light in her eyes. He reminded her of the Rajah. She lifted her arms in response to the handsome young chief's gesticulations as he careened by her in the mystical cross-pa.s.ses of the ritual dance. She lifted her mouth to his. The tribal chiefs saw the strange look of the girl's eyes and at once smothered the cry of "Awai! O lao Mia!" the old tribal exclamation that would express their innermost feelings. The elder priests stood open-mouthed, leaning against their idols in fear and trembling, as though they would ask their protection.

The impa.s.sioned warrior chief grew bolder, and held Gabrielle's delicate figure in a swerving embrace. His dark mouth came close to her ear, murmuring words of magic that she could not understand. Even the idol seemed to stare its surprise as he lifted one white arm and touched the soft flesh with his lips. And still the tambu flute-players blew on, for they too had come under the spell of that strange sight, where the two races clung together and chanted mysteriously to each other. Then the chief untwined his swarthy arms from that embrace and, falling forward on one knee, placed his lips to her feet. He was eager to press his extraordinary advantage. To kiss a maid's feet is the first act the happy warrior performs when a maid favours his presence on a tambu stage. But he found that her feet were covered. In a moment he had pushed her robe aside and had begun to remove one of her small, blue-bowed sandals.

Just for a moment the white girl's face seemed to betray the light of vanity over this act of the young chief. Then he lifted her foot once again, to his lips, and immediately Gabrielle's expression changed. She stared around her in astonishment, looked with a dream-like stare back into the eyes of the giant warrior who was caressing her and at the swarthy men and women who stood under the coco-nut-oil lamps watching in front of the _pae pae_ stage. They knew that the cry she gave was one of terror, for Gabrielle had awakened; her soul had been asleep.

The young chief who had danced with her suddenly cowered away from her side; then he jumped in the opposite direction as she leapt from the _pae pae_.

"Taboo!" whispered the astonished chiefesses as the wind sighed mournfully across the forest height and flickered the bluish flames of the hanging lamps.

"She would tempt our menkind!" yelled a deep-bosomed chiefess as she leapt forward, her head-dress feathers swaying violently.

One or two of the older chiefs put forth their dusky hands as though they would clutch her in their anger. In a moment Oom Pa lifted his dark fist and bade none touch her. Placing his tawny hand on his tattooed chest, just where his sun-tanned skin encased his thumping heart, he muttered solemn-sounding undertones that told the a.s.sembled tambu watchers to leave the girl to him.

Gabrielle looked round on those fierce-eyed men and women in terror. She saw that look in the eyes of old Oom Pa which told her that he, at least, had her welfare deep in his heart. The lines of tambu maidens divided, and moved back half in fright as Gabrielle made a dash and pa.s.sed by them.

"Stay, O papalagi maid," said Oom Pa, as he too moved back into the recesses of the forest and, staying her flight, said: "O white maid, you come to tambu dance before, I knower you. I know, too, that you no belonger to our race." Then he rubbed his wrinkled face, looked at her sternly and proceeded: "Remember that great trouble may come to one who comer to our full-moon rites unasked. Savvy?"

Gabrielle nodded. She could not speak as she stood there trembling from head to feet. Then the old priest looked quietly in her eyes and said: "Tell me, O white maid, who was she with skin dark as the night, eyes like unto stars and cloudy, flowing hair as she dance on _pae pae_ stage with you, mimicking you like a spirit-shadow?"

"With me!" exclaimed the girl in a startled, hushed voice, as she looked round into the forest depth in a great fear.

"Wither you!" reiterated Oom Pa. Then he said: "You knower not that such a spirit-shadow dancer with you and laugher when you place your lips 'gainst those of our taboo warrior? La Umano?"

So spake old Oom Pa, as the light of the moon and superst.i.tion lit up his wrinkled face. Before he could say more Gabrielle had fled in fear from his presence.

She had no recollection of the way of her flight back to her father's bungalow. Her feet went swiftly, like pattering rain, over the forest floor as she ran from her fear and shame. And only G.o.d knows the thoughts of her sad heart as she entered her father's homestead in the dead of night and crept into her little civilised bed to sleep.

Was it imagination? Well, whoever you may be, go to Bougainville, look into the wonderful eyes of those half-caste women who happen to have the blood of the white, Papuan and Polynesian races mixed in their veins, fall in love with such a one, hold her in your arms by night and watch for the shadow!-listen for the rustle of the old life that revelled in the magic of the tambu and maidia temples, the altars of heathen pa.s.sion and enchantment.

CHAPTER V-MUSIC OF ROMANCE

On the morning following Gabrielle's terrible experience old Everard sat bathing his head in a calabash of sea-water. It considerably revived his numbed sense. Then he blew his nose fiercely and, stumping his wooden leg with tremendous irritability, sat down to breakfast. Suddenly, as he was munching, he looked up, wondering what on earth was the matter with his daughter. Her dress was torn, her face looked pale and haggard, her eyes full of drowsy fright and some haunting fear. She looked years older than when she had retired the night before. The expression on her face was one of infinite sorrow. The lips kept trembling. The old man, completely lacking in imagination, could see nothing of the pathos, the absolute wretchedness of the girl's expression. He summed up the whole business according to his own feelings.

"Did you drink rum last night?-get drunk? What's the matter?" said he, as he concluded by munching fast at his bread and toasted cheese.

"_You_ were drunk," said the girl, squeezing the words out with an effort as her voice cracked.

"Wha' you think of Rajah Koo Macka, gal, eh?"

"Not much," she responded. Her mouth visibly twitched as she turned her eyes from the stupid, inquiring parental gaze.

"Nice fellow 'im; believes in G.o.d, Christ and in virginity. Rajahs ain't knocking about everywhere, Gabby old gal, either," he continued, as he gave a wink. Then he added: "It's wonderful how people who was once 'eathens seems to be the most relygous folk; they seems to 'ave a real faith in goodness 'o things, that's what it is."

Gabrielle still kept silent, hardly hearing at all as the old idiot rambled on in this wise: "'E's got ther bra.s.s too! Going to 'ire me to go on a pearl-hunting scheme in the Admiralty Group. 'E knows _I_ know where the pearls are found. He he!"

Suddenly the man ceased his wild talk and looked at the girl quizzically for a second, then said: "Gabrielle, you're a woman now, don't yer feel like one?"

At this, to the old man's astonishment, the girl burst into tears.

"What on earth 'ave I said," he mumbled, as his eyes lost the bleared, rum-dim look, and he tapped his wooden leg. Something that slept deep down in his heart stirred in its long slumber: "Don't cry, girlie.

Aren't you well?"

Even he saw the faint appeal of those violet-blue eyes.

"Who's torn your dress?" he said, as he struggled against the impulse that he felt, for he had put forth his arms to draw the girl to him. But he didn't do so.

Pouring a little more Jamaica rum into his tea, he swallowed it, smacked his lips and said: "Don't grissel. I'm not going to bully you for tearing your clothes. S'pose you've been arambling 'bout ther scrub at yer old games, admiring ther beauties of Nathure?" He pursed his lips and gave a cynical grin as he made the foregoing remark. Then he continued: "I saw you t'other day talking to that blasted runaway s.h.i.+p's apprentice, 'Illary, I think they call 'im. Do yer want to disgrace your old father by talking to ther likes of 'im, a d.a.m.ned penniless, stranded runaway apprentice, nothing but a fiddler with a shabby, bra.s.s-bound suit on!"

Then the old evangelical zealot of vagabon gospel and the best Jamaica rum put his big-rimmed hat on, looked at the clock and went stumping down the track by the palms to look after the Kanakas who were employed on the copra, coffee and pine-apple plantations.

As soon as the sounds of his stumping footsteps had died away the pretty native girl, "w.a.n.ga-woo," from Setiwao village, made her characteristic somersault through the front door. She had come to tidy the bungalow in her usual way. Even that nymph-like creature looked sideways at Gabrielle, noticed the pallor of her face and wondered at the absence of the usual cheery salutation that had always greeted her. It took the native child no time to tidy up. Then she ran outside the homestead and returned with her big market basket full of luscious tropical fruits: mangoes, two big over-ripe pine-apples, limes and reddish oranges lying on their own dark green leaves.

"You liker them, Misser Gaberlel? They belonger nicer you!"

The native child's voice and action cheered up Everard's daughter wonderfully. Then, as she lay down on the parlour settee to rest her aching head, she heard the little maid running away into the forest, back to her village, singing:

"w.i.l.l.y-wa noo, Woo-le woo wail-o, Cowana te o le suva, mango-te ma bak!"

Then the sound died away and Gabrielle felt glad to hear it no longer, and lying there thinking and thinking, and softly crying to herself, she fell fast asleep, and slept through most of the hot tropical day. When she awoke sunset had already fired the mountain palms. As she sat on the bamboo seat by the door she heard her father's voice. She knew he was drunk; the rollicking, hoa.r.s.e intonation of, his song was unmistakable as the sounds came nearer. He had been away to the plantations to see Rajah Koo Macka, who was supposed to be purchasing a lot of copra for cargo for his s.h.i.+p that lay off Bougainville.

In a moment the girl had made up her mind, had risen and run off into the forest. Sunset was sending its golden streams across the banyan groves as she pa.s.sed under the giant trees that were smothered with huge scarlet blossoms. Already the koo-koo owl had stolen from the deeper shadows and was hooting forth its "To woo-to-woo-woo!"

"I wish I hadn't overslept," she murmured to herself as she felt a longing to see one of her own s.e.x. For she had made up her mind to go around the coast to see Mrs. S--, the German missionary's wife. She was a cold-eyed white woman, this missionary's wife, but still, she was white. Gabrielle had thought to tell her of the terrible shadow that had come to her in the night, and had hoped for her sympathy and advice. She would have gone even then, but she knew that the white woman's residence was miles round the coast and it would be quite dark before she arrived there. She also remembered that Mrs. S-- was a terrible coward and would not venture from her husband's bungalow after dark on account of the rumours going about that _tabarans_ (evil spirits) lurked in the forests when the tambu wors.h.i.+ppers were chanting their sacred rites.

Even Gabrielle s.h.i.+vered in fright when she thought of the tambu wors.h.i.+ppers and the strange look of fear on the faces of the dead who were found in the mountain forests after certain festivals. It was some kind of religious sect who offered terrible sacrifices to the _tabarans_ and the ceremony was something after the style of the Vaudoux wors.h.i.+p as described by M. de St. Mery in his work on Vaudoux cannibalistic fetishes in Haiti.

When those fetishes were in full swing they could hear the chanting away down in Rokeville during the silence of the night. "Ach!" the Germans would say as they listened to the far-away shrieks in the mountain citadels: children being clubbed and offered up in thanksgiving song and frenzied dances at the altars of indescribable orgy. And the knowledge that such things happened within easy walking distance from her bungalow made Gabrielle careful about roaming too far after dark. She turned from the denser forest and made up her mind to go through the light jungle that separated her from the picturesque sh.o.r.es and lagoons to the south-west. As she ran along the silvery track she looked fearfully into the shadows of the huge b.u.t.tressed banyans. Her imagination, vividly alive through her terrible experience the night before, made her fancy she heard something running swiftly beside her in the jungle. She suddenly stopped and trembled from head to feet as the sounds of running footsteps stopped also. "Dear G.o.d, what have I done?" she wailed out in terror. In a moment she had rushed off, and bounding over the logs of the deserted _dobos_ (huts) came to the cleared s.p.a.ces where the scattered ivory-nut palms grew. She looked round with relief as she thought of that dreadful hollow that had so strangely re-echoed her _own_ footsteps. Again she ran off; her fears left her and she began to sing. The sight of the dotted huts of the native homestead on the far-away sh.o.r.e revived her spirits. The rich blue of the departing day shone on the horizon and seemed strangely to influence her thoughts. The sough of the winds in the palms near by had rich music for her ears as she listened. "What's that?" she murmured, as she stood perfectly still.

It was not the sound of beating tribal drums this time: she leaned forward and listened again, as though her very soul would drink in that faint, far-off sound. It came again, softly, a wailing, silvery sound moving on the warm sea wind. No fear leapt into her eyes, no agitation came to her limbs. An intensely beautiful expression seemed to light up her face as her heart as well as her ears heard those sweet sounds. The very palms just over her head moaned a tender _con anima tenerezza_ accompaniment as it came, a sweet-throbbing, long-drawn tremulous wail.

Tears sprang into her eyes as she listened to the strain of melancholy in the thin silvery voice that drifted beneath the tropic stars. It was the "Miserere" from _Il Trovatore_.

It was Hillary who felt the embarra.s.sment of the moment as she ran out from beneath the palms. He had not really expected the girl to turn up that evening, although she had asked him to play his violin at that very spot so that she might chance to hear him. The apprentice felt a trifle foolish as he dropped his instrument and gazed at the girl. It struck him that he had been a party to a sentimental by-play out of some romantic novel or scene on the stage. He gave a sheepish grin that would have been quite out of place even had it been a stage performance. As for Gabrielle, she revelled in the romance of that meeting. She gazed into Hillary's eyes, more like a child than ever, as she sat there on the same banyan bough where she had first sung to Hillary when the Homeric intruder had so suddenly disturbed them. As the apprentice looked at the girl he noticed how haggard she was. As though to ward off his critical gaze, she swiftly turned her head and murmured: "How romantic to hear you play your violin in the distance like that." Then she added coyly: "It's as though we are two pa.s.sionate lovers meeting, just like they meet in Spain and Italy-you know, in the books," she added, as she gazed half sadly in the apprentice's face. Hillary tried to hide his true feelings by joking about her brown stocking. She laughed. Then as the darkness deepened Hillary became bolder and pressed his lips on her hand. The girl responded by pressing his fingers. He gazed steadily into her eyes; he wondered why they looked so beautiful and wild. He had noticed the same expression before. He did not stare with vulgar surprise; he simply pressed the girl's hand in instinctive sympathy. He knew that some fear haunted her soul. His love for Gabrielle had strangely blinded him to worldly things, but had gifted him with an inward sight that made him wonderfully sympathetic. Just for a second he felt a tremendous premonition of all that was coming to pa.s.s in his life through his affection for the girl by his side. In another moment his natural gaiety had returned. He half laughed to himself as he felt the wonder of all that he was experiencing in a place where white girls wore two expressions, laughed in one breath and stared in fright in the next.