Short Stories, August 25, 1923
The swinging skull was a sign of danger; but danger comes to any man who invades an island of the savage seas, and matches his wits against the despots of the tropic outlands UD BARRETT peered through the ground vine, completely hidden.
stiltlike stems of the pandanus grove
He was not going back. He had slipped
B that covered the ledge above the away just as he intended doing when he waterfall, and saw the weft of canvas flying at learned he was to be in the shore party, He had the maintop. He was sailor enough to know
never been a willing member of the crew of
that this was a signal of recall, to guess that a the Flying Cloud, and now the skipper, or the sudden change in the barometer, prophesying
owners, could take the wages due him, and
a shift of wind, had decided the skipper of the welcome.
Flying Cloud to get out to searoom and deep He was through with a bully mate
water, away from the shallows and coral whose head he ached to punch—believing he ledges through which they had worked up to
could do it successfully—but who fought with
the island in search of fresh water.
kicks and belaying pins, backed by a gun and
The casks were not yet filled. He saw
official authority. He was sick of the stench of that, by squinting down at the stream where
the fo’c’sle, of the wrecks of humanity with
the men labored under the urge of the first
whom he was quartered and rated—though he
mate. But the signal was imperative. In a few
admitted several of them were better seamen
minutes they would go.
than he was—tired of the badly cooked food.
The first mate shouted his name, It would have been different if he had cursed it volubly, but Bud lay doggo, deliberately selected his berth. Then he would wriggling back under the broad leaves of a
have gone through with and swallowed his
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medicine, bitter as it might be, but——
wild beasts—if there were any. He didn’t
The two boats were leaving. There had
believe the tribesmen would bother him before
come a strong and sudden wind from seaward,
he had got to the station. And he had heard the against the prevailing trades. The reef-set second mate talking to the doctor—as the coast had been suddenly transformed from a
cook was called—saying that the island was
weather to a treacherous lee shore. James quite a point of call for whalers watering north Barrett, not yet accepted as Able Seaman,
and south, and for other ships. He could get
meant little in the face of that danger. They
away, if the trader wouldn’t use him—any
would not care if he were marooned on the
ship was better than the Flying Cloud, built island for the rest of his life, eaten by the
like a barrel, wallowing and pitching and
natives. He was not the first sailor who had
rancid as an ancient lard keg.
deserted.
He stretched out luxuriantly in the
Barrett hugged himself. There was not
warmth, shaded from the sun that filtered
much danger from cannibals, he fancied down through the leaves. It made him drowsy though the bush tribes were said to be wild
and, before he knew it, he was napping.
and dangerous savages. But there was a
When he woke, the sun had shifted
trading station along the coast, beyond the
several degrees, the seawind was wrestling
lava cape. The creek there was only a shallow
heavily with the tropic growth, fronded
one, and the skipper had sailed past, intent
boughs thrashing, ripe fruit plumping down.
only upon replenishing the water that had The Flying Cloud was clawing into the gale, staled on him and sailing on down south to the working out through a wide channel among
whaling grounds. As soon as the Flying Cloud the reefs that now showed white with foam.
was well clear of the land, Bud meant to work
Bud came down from the cliff, crossed
his way along the shore to the station.
the stream on smooth boulders, took a drink
His plans were hazy. He thought he
on the far side, stuffed his stomach with
might be able to get some sort of a job, orange-skinned bananas that tasted curiously splitting coconuts, keeping tally, anything—or like Baldwin apples, and, skirting the
playing Crusoe. He had acted on an impulse
mangrove belt that masked the exit of the
that was based on weeks of ill treatment. The
creek, started to work down to the shore where mates were bad enough, the skipper was a hell
the traveling should be easier and less
driver, and what was bad now would become
hazardous than an attempt to strike through
intolerable once they got to whaling.
the thick bush.
He had noticed food enough since he
It was harder than he imagined, the
had come ashore—fish in the stream, fruit of
belt of mangroves far wider, while the fury of all sorts, cocoanuts, wild bananas, shaddocks, the gale was astounding. Blue sky and sun had
guavas, breadfruit, even orange trees. And disappeared, the clouds were slate colored and freedom. Freedom from dirty weather, and a
lowering, and out of them blew the strenuous
howling mate cursing him on to unfamiliar
wind, that bowed the tops of the biggest trees tasks, setting him to all the dirty work aboard, and sent the palms lashing like whips.
making a mark of him, calling him “Dude”
Whenever he got into the open it drove him
while the cringing men laughed at the feeble
staggering at a tangent back to shelter again, joke. Freedom from the cockroach ridden and came roaring through the bush after him.
bunk, and its moldy mattress of sodden, The barrier reef was a white and smoking wall insufficient straw.
of spume, the ordinarily placid lagoon was
He had his knife for defense against
sudded with windblown foam, washed up,
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3
flung up in spongy masses.
hard to breathe. It was charged with unleashed Bud didn’t know it, but it was getting
statics, that he felt crackling in his hair, that close to the rainy season, to the monsoon
tingled at his shrunken fingertips. Half an hour changes with swift shifts of wind and furious
ago and he had been proudly confident of his
storms. All the wonder of gold and green and
own cleverness, his own ability, now he felt
azure had turned into moaning gale, struggling like the least of mites, the most helpless of
vegetation that had lost its luster, while the atoms, an ant at the mercy of a whirlpool or
light was flat and hard and cold.
crawling over a trench top with a battle at its Again the sky appeared to close in. A
most awful height—powerless— afraid.
javelin of lavender flame rent it, flooded
Then—suddenly as it had come—the
turbulent sea and tossing forest with its weird gale passed. First the rain, sweeping on like a lev
in. He caught a glimpse of the Flying
gray regiment, the wind driving after-it, the
Cloud fighting out under eased sail—thankful thunder lunging in sullen retreat, the darkness that he was not punching at the stiff canvas,
lifting—lifting, and the sun flinging flashing yelled and sworn at for his clumsiness—and
lances of victory under its blue banner.
then, as if the bottom had fallen from a mighty Color and warmth coming out.
cistern, the tropical downpour burst, hissing
Sparkling, dripping leaves of emerald, ragged
into the lagoon, thudding on the beach, banana pennons lifting again, cockatoos bulleting the leaves, cutting off light, all sense screeching, birds calling, the seas slowly
of location, blinding him as effectually as if he subsiding, the pounding breakers on the reef
stood in the tumbling spray back of the falls at still flinging spray that was now haloed with
Niagara.
rainbows.
The wind did not cease. Its force was
Bud came out of the banian to find
so tremendous that it angled the streams of
himself on a narrow trail, less than three feet water, and sent them with a rush and a roar
wide, its floor of dirt packed solid by
in a moment sodden, beaten; until he felt
either side wattled with undergrowth, vines,
bruised, floundering about in the edge of the
close-set trees. The air blew fresh from the
bush, tripped, stumbling, flung headlong by
sea, and carried on it the peculiar fragrance of writhing lianas. He found himself at last in the the bush mingled with the salty tang—odors
midst of the root stems of a great fig-banian, of ripe fruit and heavy scented flowers. He
whose mighty thatch resisted even such a rain
pushed on shorewards, thankful for the path,
as this. Penetrating its dark maze until he
not recognizing it for a bushtrail until he came touched the main trunk, he stood cowering,
to where it ended on a strip of shingle. Here he cold, shivering, though the temperature was
saw, aswing from a bamboo like a grisly
close to ninety, watching the eerie flickering pendulum, a human skull, sign of tabu,
of the lightning checkering the tangle of the
warning that the trail was trapped with pits
bush, listening to the frightful clamor of the and poisoned stakes, with ambushed spears
long peals of thunder that went rolling and arrows triggered for the unwary.
overhead.
Luck had been with him. The lower
It was a nightmare of darkness, of end of the path that he had traversed was dread, marked by the crash of some great tree, harmless. He lost no time in leaving the grim
the furious, unceasing battery of the booming
vicinity, though he went with the feel between surf booming a deep bass to the wild orchestra his shoulder-blades of an ever threatening
of wind and rain and thunder. The air was
spear flung from cover.
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The tide was going out, and he left the
There was a long wharf running out
bush alone, though his thirst, grew as the hot into the lagoon, two small boats alongside, a
sun warmed him, dried him, and then gracefully lined schooner with furled sails at threatened to sap his vitality.
anchor, palms with slender silver trunks and
Globular bush-fruit tempted him, plumes of tender green above clusters of hanging golden and enticing but, to Bud, they
coconuts marching in stately rows down to a
were but apples of Sodom, filled with the
narrow strip of beach. Here was civilization
ashes of death.
and Bud’s spirit resumed its mastery. Fear fell Wading, evading quicksand, making from his shoulders like a released bundle at swift traverse over beaches of crushed and
the end of a long trail. He marched almost
tiny shells, clambering over flinty lava blithely through the palms, grateful for their promontories, he hurried on, with but one shade, looking longingly up at the nuts. He thought—to reach the trading station. The could not climb those slim boles, nor could he swinging skull was in his mind’s eye, that
even open the nuts with his knife. But he
inhospitable signboard of the tropical jungle
looked hopefully forward to the trader
he had looked upon as an inn where food was
offering him a green nut with the top lopped
for the plucking, and sleep a delight. His off, filled with cool, slightly effervescent imagination, stimulated by all that he had contents. He had heard the sailors raving heard and read of the savage isles of the South about the joy of a fresh coconut.
Seas, began to ride him like an evil hag upon
He was in bad shape after his long trip
his shoulders, bringing only one comfort, a
in the sun, scorched for all his sea tan, his feet remembrance that the trading stations were
rock-bruised, weary after the rough going that said to be comparatively safe these days—for
had taken him since noon to travel.
fear of reprisal—and that so long as one kept
A rocky gully cut through the trees as
to the beach in their immediate neighborhood
he neared the house. It looked like a petrified there was not much to fear.
cascade with the water turned to gray, porous
The mates in charge of the two stone. It was an ancient lava flow. In little watering boats had been armed, and they had
earthen pockets guavas grew, with a sort of
brought along some rifles in the boats. At the Spanish bayonet. Screw pine made clumps of
time Bud had thought these precautions cover. He saw a faint path that led from the perfunctory, though it had been because of the plantation he was in, and doubtless offered the mates’ watchfulness against any hostile best crossing of the ravine. Following it, natives that he had been enabled to slip away
voices stopped him on the edge of the gully.
One was a girl’s in evident protest, the
running a far greater risk than he dreamed of, other’s—rough and domineering with a sort of
and the mere fact that he had come so far
bullying insolence to it—was that of a man.
unscathed seemed to triple the odds against his Instantly—like dog to wolf—imaginary
getting through.
hackles seemed to lift on Bud’s neck. The
But at last he came to the horn of a
girl’s voice was sweet, the man’s harshly
bay, and looked gladly across its blue and
dominant and masterful.
green crescent to where buildings showed
With the approaching sunset all wind
among verdure, their iron unpainted roofs had gone. Words came clearly to him as he looking like brass in the sun—now westering,
halted, uncertain where to look for the
losing power, but gaining glory, slowly speakers, since they were not visible on the gathering nightrobes of purple for its bed.
little path.
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5
“He can’t last out the night, I tell you,”
tumbling down far below her shoulders. The
said the man. “Then what you goin’ to do?
beauty of it, the sheer, slender loveliness of You can’t stay here alone. You got to come
her vital youth, held him more than her shaken with me. It ain’t as if I warn’t w
illin’ to marry head, her arm outstretched as if to actually
you, soon’s we git to Suva. I can’t do it
arrest him, her whispered.
before, can I? Don’t be a fool, Thelma. You
“Stop. He’ll kill you! He’ll shoot.”
know what ’ud happen to a woman alone here
Bud remembered now the swing of a
on a tradin’ station. The bushmen’ll know
bolstered gun low on the man’s hip. It would
when he dies inside of an hour—know if
not have held him back—it would not now.
you’re alone. The place’ll have to go till we
Something else held them both entangled—
git another agent. Lucky the copra’s aboard.
sea magic perhaps. Magic beyond doubt. Gray
Now you go git yore things together, an’ be
eyes looking into blue ones. Gazing with a
sensible. I’m goin’ to look round a bit.”
dawning recognition. It was the call of youth
“No!” cried the girl. “Go with you?
to youth.
Trust you? Marry you? No! ”
Bud looked like a beach-hobo, but
There came an exclamation from the
manhood showed in his height, in a well knit
man, another from the girl, stopped almost
symmetry, the shape of his head, his jaw, his
immediately, a rustling in the bushes, an oath nose, his eyes looking now with frank
from the man. Then Bud saw them, as the man
admiration.
came out of the cover where they had been
The girl’s color rose till both cheeks
talking carrying in his arms a slender matched the one she had rubbed so furiously struggling figure in blue. The figure writhed
to wipe out that bearded, ravished kiss. Her
and fought, struck and clawed at his bearded
young breast rose and fell with her quickened
face, while he laughed, and forced her higher