The Greatest Adventures Boxed Set: Jack London Edition. Jack London
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a penny’orth of oil. Did I ask: have you any gin? Tis the harbour master that asks.”
“You’ve taken a lot on your shoulders,” Grief grinned.
“‘Tis the white man’s burden. These rapscallion traders have been puttin’ it all over poor Tui Tulif, the best-hearted old monarch that ever sat a South Sea throne an’ mopped grog-root from the imperial calabash. ‘Tis I, Cornelius—Fulualea, rather—that am here to see justice done. Much as I dislike the doin’ of it, as harbour master ‘tis my duty to find you guilty of breach of quarantine.”
“Quarantine?”
“‘Tis the rulin’ of the port doctor. No intercourse with the shore till the ship is passed. What dire calamity to the confidin’ native if chicken pox or whoopin’ cough was aboard of you! Who is there to protect the gentle, confidin’ Polynesian? I, Fulualea, the Feathers of the Sun, on my high mission.”
“Who in hell is the port doctor?” Grief queried.
“‘Tis me, Fulualea. Your offence is serious. Consider yourself fined five cases of first-quality Holland gin.”
Grief laughed heartily. “We’ll compromise, Cornelius. Come aboard and have a drink.”
The Feathers of the Sun waved the proffer aside grandly. “‘Tis bribery. I’ll have none of it—me faithful to my salt. And wherefore did you not present your ship’s papers? As chief of the custom house you are fined five pounds and two more cases of gin.”
“Look here, Cornelius. A joke’s a joke, but this one has gone far enough. This is not Levuka. I’ve half a mind to pull your nose for you. You can’t buck me.”
The Feathers of the Sun retreated unsteadily and in alarm.
“Lay no violence on me,” he threatened. “You’re right. This is not Levuka. And by the same token, with Tui Tulifau and the royal army behind me, buck you is just the thing I can and will. You’ll pay them fines promptly, or I’ll confiscate your vessel. You’re not the first. What does that Chink pearl-buyer, Peter Gee, do but slip into harbour, violatin’ all regulations an’ makin’ rough house for the matter of a few paltry fines. No; he wouldn’t pay ‘em, and he’s on the beach now thinkin’ it over.”
“You don’t mean to say——”
“Sure an’ I do. In the high exercise of office I seized his schooner. A fifth of the loyal army is now in charge on board of her. She’ll be sold this day week. Some ten tons of shell in the hold, and I’m wonderin’ if I can trade it to you for gin. I can promise you a rare bargain. How much gin did you say you had?”
“Still more gin, eh?”
“An’ why not? ‘Tis a royal souse is Tui Tulifau. Sure it keeps my wits workin’ overtime to supply him, he’s that amazin’ liberal with it. The whole gang of hanger-on chiefs is perpetually loaded to the guards. It’s disgraceful. Are you goin’ to pay them fines, Mr. Grief, or is it to harsher measures I’ll be forced?”
Grief turned impatiently on his heel.
“Cornelius, you’re drunk. Think it over and come to your senses. The old rollicking South Sea days are gone. You can’t play tricks like that now.”
“If you think you’re goin’ on board, Mr. Grief, I’ll save you the trouble. I know your kind, I foresaw your stiff-necked stubbornness. An’ it’s forestalled you are. ‘Tis on the beach you’ll find your crew. The vessel’s seized.”
Grief turned back on him in the half-belief still that he was joking. Fulualea again retreated in alarm. The form of a large man loomed beside him in the darkness.
“Is it you, Uiliami?” Fulualea crooned. “Here is another sea pirate. Stand by me with the strength of thy arm, O Herculean brother.”
“Greeting, Uiliami,” Grief said. “Since when has Fitu-Iva come to be run by a Levuka beachcomber? He says my schooner has been seized. Is it true?”
“It is true,” Uiliami boomed from his deep chest. “Have you any more silk shirts like Willie Smee’s? Tui Tulifau would like such a shirt. He has heard of it.”
“‘Tis all the same,” Fulualea interrupted. “Shirts or schooners, the king shall have them.”
“Rather high-handed, Cornelius,” Grief murmured. “It’s rank piracy. You seized my vessel without giving me a chance.”
“A chance is it? As we stood here, not five minutes gone, didn’t you refuse to pay your fines?”
“But she was already seized.”
“Sure, an’ why not? Didn’t I know you’d refuse? ‘Tis all fair, an’ no injustice done—Justice, the bright, particular star at whose shining altar Cornelius Deasy—or Fulualea, ‘tis the same thing—ever worships. Get thee gone, Mr. Trader, or I’ll set the palace guards on you. Uiliami, ‘tis a desperate character, this trader man. Call the guards.”
Uiliami blew the whistle suspended on his broad bare chest by a cord of cocoanut sennit. Grief reached out an angry hand for Cornelius, who titubated into safety behind Uiliami’s massive bulk. A dozen strapping Polynesians, not one under six feet, ran down the palace walk and ranged behind their commander.
“Get thee gone, Mr. Trader,” Cornelius ordered. “The interview is terminated. We’ll try your several cases in the mornin’. Appear promptly at the palace at ten o’clock to answer to the followin’ charges, to wit: breach of the peace; seditious and treasonable utterance; violent assault on the chief magistrate with intent to cut, wound, maim, an’ bruise; breach of quarantine; violation of harbour regulations; and gross breakage of custom house rules. In the mornin’, fellow, in the mornin’, justice shall be done while the breadfruit falls. And the Lord have mercy on your soul.”
IV
Before the hour set for the trial Grief, accompanied by Peter Gee, won access to Tui Tulifau. The king, surrounded by half a dozen chiefs, lay on mats under the shade of the avocados in the palace compound. Early as was the hour, palace maids were industriously serving squarefaces of gin. The king was glad to see his old friend Davida, and regretful that he had run foul of the new regulations. Beyond that he steadfastly avoided discussion of the matter in hand. All protests of the expropriated traders were washed away in proffers of gin. “Have a drink,” was his invariable reply, though once he unbosomed himself enough to say that Feathers of the Sun was a wonderful man. Never had palace affairs been so prosperous. Never had there been so much money in the treasury, nor so much gin in circulation. “Well pleased am I with Fulualea,” he concluded. “Have a drink.”
“We’ve got to get out of this pronto,” Grief whispered to Peter Gee a few minutes later, “or we’ll be a pair of boiled owls. Also, I am to be tried for arson, or heresy, or leprosy, or something, in a few minutes, and I must control my wits.”
As they withdrew from the royal presence, Grief caught a glimpse of Sepeli, the queen. She was peering out at her royal spouse and his fellow tipplers, and the frown on her face gave Grief his cue. Whatever was to be accomplished must be through her.
In another shady corner of the big compound Cornelius was holding court. He had been at it early, for when Grief arrived the case of Willie Smee was being settled. The entire royal army, save that portion in charge of the seized vessels, was in attendance.
“Let the defendant stand up,” said Cornelius, “and receive the just and merciful sentence of the Court for licentious and disgraceful conduct unbecomin’ a supercargo. The defendant says he has no money. Very well. The Court regrets it has no calaboose. In lieu thereof, and in view of the impoverished condition of the defendant, the Court fines said defendant one white silk shirt of the same kind, make and quality at present worn by defendant.”