Chapter Ten.
Our Hero and his Comrades in Distress Become Savage Warriors for the Nonce.
“Friend,” said Captain Dall, taking the hand of the tall savage in his and speaking with some emotion, “you have been sent as our deliverer, I know, but how a South Sea islander should happen to befriend us, and how you should come to speak English as well as ye do, is more than I can understand.”
“Onderstand!” exclaimed Larry; “it’s past belaif. It baits cock-fightin’ intirely.”
A grim smile crossed the painted face of the savage, as he said somewhat hurriedly:—
“I’m no more a South Sea islander than you are, lads, but this is not the time for explanations. It’s enough for you to know, in the meantime, that I’m an Englishman, and will befriend you if you agree to obey me.”
“Obey ye!” cried Larry with enthusiasm, “blissin’s on yer painted mug, it’s warship ye we will, av ye only git us out o’ this scrape.”
“That’s so,” said Muggins, nodding his head emphatically, while Mr Cupples, in tones of the most awful solemnity, and with a look that cannot be described, vowed eternal friendship.
“Well, then,” said the tall man, “we have no time to waste, for you are in a greater fix just now than ye think for. About myself it’s enough to know that I’m a runaway sailor; that I made my way among these fellers here by offering to join ’em and fight for ’em, and that I won their respect at first by knocking down, in fair stand-up fight, all the biggest men o’ the tribe. I don’t think they would have spared me even after that, but I curried favour with the chief and married one of his daughters. Now I’m a great man among them. I didn’t hear of your having been brought here till half an hour ago, havin’ bin away with a war party in canoes. I returned just too late to save your comrades.”
“What! are they all dead?” asked Will Osten.
“Ay, all, and if you don’t follow them it will only be by attending to what I tell you. My name is Buchanan, but the savages can only manage to make Bukawanga out o’ that. The word means fire, and ain’t a bad one after all!”
The man smiled grimly as he said this, and then resumed, more rapidly and sternly than before:—
“You have but one chance, and that is to join us. I have come to the village with the news that a neighbouring tribe is about to attack us. If you agree to help us to fight, I may manage to save you; if not your case is hopeless. There is no time for consideration. Ay or no, that’s the word.”
“Sure I’ll jine ye, Mr Bukkie Whangy,” said Larry O’Hale, “wid all the pleasure in life. It’s always for fightin’ I am, at laist whin—”
“I don’t like to shed human blood,” said Captain Dall, interrupting, “where I’ve no quarrel.”
“Then your own must be shed,” said Bukawanga firmly.
“There’s no help for it, captain,” said Will Osten. “’Tis better to fight for these men than to be murdered by them. What say you, Mr Cupples?”
“War,” replied the mate emphatically.
“Ditto,” said Muggins, nodding his head and buttoning his jacket.
“Then strip, and we’ll paint you right off,” said Bukawanga; “look alive, now!”
He fastened the torch which he held in his hand to a beam of the hut, and cut the bonds of the prisoners; then, going to the door, he summoned two men, who came in with a basket made of leaves, in which were several cocoa-nut shells filled with red, white, and black earth, or paint.
“What!” exclaimed Will Osten, “must we fight without clothing?”
“An’ wid painted skins?” said Larry.
“Yes, unless you would be a special mark for the enemy,” replied Bukawanga; “but you have no chance if you don’t become in every way like one of us.”
Seeing that the man was in earnest, they were fain to submit. After removing their clothes, the natives began diligently to paint them from head to foot, laying on the colours so thickly, and in such bold effective strokes, that ere long all appearance of nudity was removed. Man is a strange being. Even in the midst of the most solemn scenes he cannot resist giving way at times to bursts of mirth. Philosophy may fail to account for it, and propriety may shudder at it, but the fact is undeniable. With death hovering, they knew not how near, over them, and the memory of the fearful things they had just witnessed strong upon them, they were compelled, now and then, to smile and even to laugh aloud, as the process of painting went on. There was some variety in the adornment of each, but let that of Larry O’Hale serve as an example. First of all his legs were rubbed all over with white earth, and his body with yellow. Then, down each lower limb, behind, a palm-tree was drawn in red—the roots beginning at his heels, and the branches above spreading out on his calves. Various fanciful devices were drawn on his breast and arms, and some striking circles on his back. Last of all, one-half of his face was painted red, and the other half black, with a stripe of white extending from the root of his hair down to the point of his nose. It is needless to say that during the process the enthusiastic Irishman commented freely on the work, and offered many pieces of advice to the operator. Indeed,............