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perfect casualness。  〃You've read this Sea Wolf stuff … 〃



〃You weren't the Sea Wolf;〃 Whiskers broke in with involuntary

positiveness。



〃No; sir;〃 was the snarling answer。  〃The Sea Wolf's dead; isn't

he?  And I'm still alive; aren't I?〃



〃Of course; of course;〃 Whiskers conceded。  〃He suffocated head…

first in the mud off a wharf in Victoria a couple of years back。〃



〃As I was saying … and I don't like interruptions;〃 Bruce Cadogan

Cavendish proceeded; 〃it's a beastly funny country over that way。

I was at Taki…Tiki; a low island that politically belongs to the

Solomons; but that geologically doesn't at all; for the Solomons

are high islands。  Ethnographically it belongs to Polynesia;

Melanesia; and Micronesia; because all the breeds of the South

Pacific have gravitated to it by canoe…drift and intricately;

degeneratively; and amazingly interbred。  The scum of the scrapings

of the bottom of the human pit; biologically speaking; resides in

Taka…Tiki。  And I know the bottom and whereof I speak。



〃It was a beastly funny time of it I had; diving out shell; fishing

beche…de…mer; trading hoop…iron and hatchets for copra and ivory…

nuts; running niggers and all the rest of it。  Why; even in Fiji

the Lotu was having a hard time of it and the chiefs still eating

long…pig。  To the westward it was fierce … funny little black

kinky…heads; man…eaters the last Jack of them; and the jackpot fat

and spilling over with wealth … 〃



〃Jack…pots?〃 Fatty queried。  At sight of an irritable movement; he

added:  〃You see; I never got over to the West like Delarouse and

you。〃



〃They're all head…hunters。  Heads are valuable; especially a white

man's head。  They decorate the canoe…houses and devil…devil houses

with them。  Each village runs a jack…pot; and everybody antes。

Whoever brings in a white man's head takes the pot。  If there

aren't openers for a long time; the pot grows to tremendous

proportions。  Beastly funny; isn't it?



〃I know。  Didn't a Holland mate die on me of blackwater?  And

didn't I win a pot myself?  It was this way。  We were lying at

Lango…lui at the time。  I never let on; and arranged the affair

with Johnny; my boat…steerer。  He was a kinky…head himself from

Port Moresby。  He cut the dead mate's head off and sneaked ashore

in the might; while I whanged away with my rifle as if I were

trying to get him。  He opened the pot with the mate's head; and got

it; too。  Of course; next day I sent in a landing boat; with two

covering boats; and fetched him off with the loot。〃



〃How big was the pot?〃 Whiskers asked。  〃I heard of a pot at Orla

worth eighty quid。〃



〃To commence with;〃 Slim answered; 〃there were forty fat pigs; each

worth a fathom of prime shell…money; and shell…money worth a quid a

fathom。  That was two hundred dollars right there。  There were

ninety…eight fathoms of shell…money; which is pretty close to five

hundred in itself。  And there were twenty…two gold sovereigns。  I

split it four ways:  one…fourth to Johnny; one…fourth to the ship;

one…fourth to me as owner; and one…fourth to me as skipper。  Johnny

never complained。  He'd never had so much wealth all at one time in

his life。  Besides; I gave him a couple of the mate's old shirts。

And I fancy the mate's head is still there decorating the canoe…

house。〃



〃Not exactly Christian burial of a Christian;〃 Whiskers observed。



〃But a lucrative burial;〃 Slim retorted。  〃I had to feed the rest

of the mate over…side to the sharks for nothing。  Think of feeding

an eight…hundred…dollar head along with it。  It would have been

criminal waste and stark lunacy。



〃Well; anyway; it was all beastly funny; over there to the

westward。  And; without telling you the scrape I got into at Taki…

Tiki; except that I sailed away with two hundred kinky…heads for

Queensland labour; and for my manner of collecting them had two

British ships of war combing the Pacific for me; I changed my

course and ran to the westward thinking to dispose of the lot to

the Spanish plantations on Bangar。



〃Typhoon season。  We caught it。  The MERRY MIST was my schooner's

name; and I had thought she was stoutly built until she hit that

typhoon。  I never saw such seas。  They pounded that stout craft to

pieces; literally so。  The sticks were jerked out of her;

deckhouses splintered to match…wood; rails ripped off; and; after

the worst had passed; the covering boards began to go。  We just

managed to repair what was left of one boat and keep the schooner

afloat only till the sea went down barely enough to get away。  And

we outfitted that boat in a hurry。  The carpenter and I were the

last; and we had to jump for it as he went down。  There were only

four of us … 〃



〃Lost all the niggers?〃 Whiskers inquired。



〃Some of them swam for some time;〃 Slim replied。  〃But I don't

fancy they made the land。  We were ten days' in doing it。  And we

had a spanking breeze most of the way。  And what do you think we

had in the boat with us?  Cases of square…face gin and cases of

dynamite。  Funny; wasn't it?  Well; it got funnier later on。  Oh;

there was a small beaker of water; a little salt horse; and some

salt…water…soaked sea biscuit … enough to keep us alive to Tagalag。



〃Now Tagalag is the disappointingest island I've ever beheld。  It

shows up out of the sea so as you can make its fall twenty miles

off。  It is a volcano cone thrust up out of deep sea; with a

segment of the crater wall broken out。  This gives sea entrance to

the crater itself; and makes a fine sheltered harbour。  And that's

all。  Nothing lives there。  The outside and the inside of the

crater are too steep。  At one place; inside; is a patch of about a

thousand coconut palms。  And that's all; as I said; saving a few

insects。  No four…legged thing; even a rat; inhabits the place。

And it's funny; most awful funny; with all those coconuts; not even

a coconut crab。  The only meat…food living was schools of mullet in

the harbour … fattest; finest; biggest mullet I ever laid eyes on。



〃And the four of us landed on the little beach and set up

housekeeping among the coconuts with a larder full of dynamite and

square…face。  Why don't you laugh?  It's funny; I tell you。  Try it

some time。 … Holland gin and straight coconut diet。  I've never

been able to look a confectioner's window in the face since。  Now

I'm not strong on religion like Chauncey Delarouse there; but I

have some primitive ideas; and my concept of hell is an illimitable

coconut plantation; stocked with cases of square…face and populated

by ship…wrecked mariners。  Funny?  It must make the devil scream。



〃You know; straight coconut is what the agriculturists call an

unbalanced ration。  It certainly unbalanced our digestions。  We got

so that whenever hunger took an extra bite at us; we took another

drink of gin。  After a couple of weeks of it; Olaf; a squarehead

sailor; got an idea。  It came when he was full of gin; and we;

being in the same fix; just watched him shove a cap and short fuse

into a stick of dynamite and stroll down toward the boat。



〃It dawned on me that he was going to shoot fish if there were any

about; but the sun was beastly hot; and I just reclined there and

hoped he'd have luck。



〃About half an hour after he disappeared we heard the explosion。

But he didn't come back。  We waited till the cool of sunset; and

down on the beach found what had become of him。  The boat was there

all right; grounded by the prevailing breeze; but there was no

Olaf。  He would never have to eat coconut again。  We went back;

shakier than ever; and cracked another square…face。



〃The next day the cook announced that he would rather take his

chance with dynamite than continue trying to exist on coconut; and

that; though he didn't know anything about dynamite; he knew a

sight too much about coconut。  So we bit the detonator down for

him; shoved in a fuse; and picked him a good fire…stick; while he

jolted up with a couple more stiff ones of gin。



〃It was the same programme as the day before。  After a while we

heard the explosion and at twilight went down to the boat; from

which we scraped enough of the cook for a funeral。



〃The carpenter and I stuck it out two days more; then we drew

straws for it and it was his turn。  We parted with harsh words; for

he wanted to take a square…face along to refresh himself by the

way; while I was set against running any chance of wasting the gin。

Besides; he had more than he could carry then; and he wobbled and

staggered as he walked。



〃Same thing; only there was a whole lot of him left for me to bury;

because he'd prepared only half a stick。  I managed to last it out

till next day; when; after duly fortifying myself; I got sufficient

courage to tackle the dynamite。  I used only a third of a stick …

you know; short fuse; with the end split so as to hold the head of

a safety match。  That's where I mended my predecessors'

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