the red one-第24节

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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'