Adventure | Page 5

was silence for a time, during which he waited with eager
impatience.
"Maybe Jessie, maybe other fella schooner," came the faltering
admission.
The man wormed to the edge of the couch, and slipped off to the floor
on his knees. By means of a chair he drew himself to his feet. Still
clinging to the chair, supporting most of his weight on it, he shoved it
to the door and out upon the veranda. The sweat from the exertion
streamed down his face and showed through the undershirt across his
shoulders. He managed to get into the chair, where he panted in a state
of collapse. In a few minutes he roused himself. The boy held the end
of the telescope against one of the veranda scantlings, while the man
gazed through it at the sea. At last he picked up the white sails of the
schooner and studied them.
"No Jessie," he said very quietly. "That's the Malakula."
He changed his seat for a steamer reclining-chair. Three hundred feet
away the sea broke in a small surf upon the beach. To the left he could
see the white line of breakers that marked the bar of the Balesuna River,
and, beyond, the rugged outline of Savo Island. Directly before him,
across the twelve-mile channel, lay Florida Island; and, farther to the
right, dim in the distance, he could make out portions of Malaita--the
savage island, the abode of murder, and robbery, and man-eating--the
place from which his own two hundred plantation hands had been
recruited. Between him and the beach was the cane-grass fence of the
compound. The gate was ajar, and he sent the house-boy to close it.
Within the fence grew a number of lofty cocoanut palms. On either side
the path that led to the gate stood two tall flagstaffs. They were reared

on artificial mounds of earth that were ten feet high. The base of each
staff was surrounded by short posts, painted white and connected by
heavy chains. The staffs themselves were like ships' masts, with
topmasts spliced on in true nautical fashion, with shrouds, ratlines,
gaffs, and flag-halyards. From the gaff of one, two gay flags hung
limply, one a checkerboard of blue and white squares, the other a white
pennant centred with a red disc. It was the international code signal of
distress.
On the far corner of the compound fence a hawk brooded. The man
watched it, and knew that it was sick. He wondered idly if it felt as bad
as he felt, and was feebly amused at the thought of kinship that
somehow penetrated his fancy. He roused himself to order the great
bell to be rung as a signal for the plantation hands to cease work and go
to their barracks. Then he mounted his man-horse and made the last
round of the day.
In the hospital were two new cases. To these he gave castor-oil. He
congratulated himself. It had been an easy day. Only three had died. He
inspected the copra-drying that had been going on, and went through
the barracks to see if there were any sick lying hidden and defying his
rule of segregation. Returned to the house, he received the reports of
the boss-boys and gave instructions for next day's work. The boat's
crew boss also he had in, to give assurance, as was the custom nightly,
that the whale-boats were hauled up and padlocked. This was a most
necessary precaution, for the blacks were in a funk, and a whale-boat
left lying on the beach in the evening meant a loss of twenty blacks by
morning. Since the blacks were worth thirty dollars apiece, or less,
according to how much of their time had been worked out, Berande
plantation could ill afford the loss. Besides, whale-boats were not cheap
in the Solomons; and, also, the deaths were daily reducing the working
capital. Seven blacks had fled into the bush the week before, and four
had dragged themselves back, helpless from fever, with the report that
two more had been killed and kai-kai'd {1} by the hospitable bushmen.
The seventh man was still at large, and was said to be working along
the coast on the lookout to steal a canoe and get away to his own island.

Viaburi brought two lighted lanterns to the white man for inspection.
He glanced at them and saw that they were burning brightly with clear,
broad flames, and nodded his head. One was hoisted up to the gaff of
the flagstaff, and the other was placed on the wide veranda. They were
the leading lights to the Berande anchorage, and every night in the year
they were so inspected and hung out.
He rolled back on his couch with a sigh of relief. The day's work was
done.