Lentala of The South Seas 5

Lentala of The South Seas 5

"Tudor."

 

"Tudor." He caught it with a snap, as though it were a ball. "You have

another name?"

 

"Yes--Joseph."

 

He began a comical struggle with the J, laboriously twisting his tongue

and lips as he pronounced the first syllable _Cho_ as the Chinese, _Yo_

as the German, _Zho_ as the French, and _Ho_ as the Spanish; but the

English eluded him, and he gave it up, laughing sweetly. Often during

the lesson I saw in his handsome deep-blue eyes--which were maturer than

the rest of him--a dash of the mischief, the teasing, and the challenge

that gave Lentala her sparkle.

 

"What is your name?" he demanded of Christopher, and pronounced it

perfectly.

 

Christopher was gravely regarding the lad, who appeared disconcerted

under the scrutiny. That disturbed me; but if the boy was seeking our

undoing he would have to reckon with Christopher.

 

He was curious about Annabel, and sent her affectionate messages from

Lentala.

 

"Beelo," I demanded, "where did you learn all those words from foreign

languages?"

 

Taken by surprise, he was confused and a little frightened, and had the

look of a child preparing a fib.

 

"Other people have been shipwrecked here," he answered, peering at me

from under his brows. "I learned from them."

 

"What became of them?" I asked.

 

He raised his head, and answered, "The king said he sent them away."

 

"Did you visit them secretly?"

 

"N--o." He began to play with twigs on the ground.

 

"Were they herded in this valley?"

 

"No." His answer was firmer. "There was never more than one or a very

few at a time."

 

I sat silent so long that he looked up, and showed alarm.

 

"Tell me the truth, lad," I insisted, holding his eyes. "Where did you

learn those words?" A startling suspicion suddenly came. "The gold in

your hair, the blue in your eyes, the fine lines of your face,------"

 

He began to edge away, and I saw flight in him; but I caught his wrist.

 

"Tell me the truth," I repeated.

 

He gazed at me in fear and pleading, but found no yielding, and with

provoking indifference shrugged his shoulders and settled down with a

pouting, martyr-like resignation.

 

"You are hurting my wrist," he remarked.

 

"Answer me," I demanded, tightening my grip. "Hasn't white blood mingled

with some of the native blood here?"

 

His lips were compressed under the pain of my clasp, and an angry

resentment steadied his gaze.

 

"Yes!" he answered, and a sudden change lit his face, as I unprisoned

the wrist. "Don't scare me that way again," he said, half impudently

shaking his head at me.

 

It seemed best to desist from pressing the matter further, and pleasant

relations were soon re-established between us; but the matter seated

itself in a corner of my mind.

 

Our lesson was delightful, and time escaped more smoothly than we knew.

Beelo glanced at the sky, and sprang to his feet. He sweetly smiled his

thanks, seized one of Christopher's great paws and vigorously shook it,

asked me and Christopher to meet him at the same spot tomorrow at the

same hour, and was darting away. I called him back, and led him to an

opening through which the face on the cliff was visible.

 

"What is that?" I asked, pointing to it.

 

He caught his breath, stood rigid, and slowly turned his face up to

mine.

 

"That on the cliff? It is nothing--only stone."

 

"It is more," I insisted. "It sits there, it looks down threateningly on

the valley; it says as plainly as speech----"

 

"No, no!" cried Beelo, seizing my arm with both hands, and gazing up

into my eyes. "It is one of the gods. The people invoke it--you may see

the altar fire on the opposite cliff some night when there is a great

storm and the sea is raging. The god brings fish to the king's net."

 

He broke off abruptly, and with alarm clapped his palm to his mouth.

I put my hand on his shoulder and smiled reassuringly. His manner grew

composed, and he darted away and disappeared.

 

On returning to camp I told Captain Mason of the adventure. He was

deeply interested, and sat in thought.

 

"You've struck a lead," he said. "Follow it--cautiously."

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER IV.--Behind a Laughing Mask.

 

_Captain Mason Strengthens the Defense. The Extraordinary Behavior of

Beelo. Christopher Becomes a Savage. Hidden Motives Half Disclosed.

Hope._

 

 

FORSEEING the time when a visible danger would bring mob-madness to

the colony, Captain Mason gave his entire attention to strengthening

his control. To that end he kept every one engaged at something, laughed

away all fears and doubts, placed all on honor not to breed discontent,

and required that all discussions of the situation be with him alone.

 

He impressed the danger of leaving the camp limits except in large

parties organized under his authority. No spying savages were ever seen

in the forest backing the camp, but I frequently found the captain using

his keen eyes in that direction. The questions weighing on him were:

When would the king ask for the first member of the colony to be sent

away? What plan would be adopted in the selection? What would really

become of the persons so taken? What should be done when the first call

was made for deportation?

 

Christopher and I alone were in the president's confidence. On the

second night he informed us that he had selected a spot which would

serve as a fortress if occasion rose, and instructed Christopher in the

art of making weapons, chiefly stone-headed clubs and blackjacks. This

work was done secretly in our cabin.

 

The daily teaching of Beelo developed a new interest in the fact that,

before I was aware, I was a pupil as well as a tutor, and that Beelo was

as assiduous in instructing Christopher as me; he was evidently anxious

that we should master the native language. I was glad to humor him,

especially as I suspected an intelligent purpose. Above that was my

growing affection for him. He perfected his poor English so rapidly that

I was put on my mettle to learn the island tongue.

 

It was a simple task, and we came to use it entirely. To my surprise,

Christopher learned it as readily as I. From the very start he had

helped Beelo to turn the teaching in that direction. The strangest

element of all this procedure was the quick and sure understanding that

sprang up between these two.

 

Beelo one day brought a large parcel. He was particularly happy, and as

full of play as a kitten.

 

"You can't guess what I have for you," he said with a mischievous look.

 

"No, Beelo--what?"

 

"You'll see." He was opening the parcel. "You and Christopher are going

to be Senatras." Senatra was the name of the inhabitants.

 

He produced from the parcel two native costumes. In addition were a

basin and some brown powder. The boy was in glee as he separated the

articles into one array for Christopher and the other for me.

 

He ran to a little stream, fetched water in the basin, and with a

comical seriousness dissolved part of the powder.

 

"Your arm, Christopher," he demanded. At times Beelo's manner had a

touch of imperiousness that sat oddly with his youth.

 

Christopher obediently bared his powerful arm.

 

"Oh!" said Beelo in delight. "You have splendid muscles,--they are like

iron; and you are very strong,--that's good." His finger was timid as it

touched Christopher's arm.

 

He dipped a cloth in the colored water, and rubbed the stain on

Christopher's white skin. His care and gravity in comparing the tint

with the color of his own wrist, in shaking his head, in adding more

pigment to the water and trying again, and at last his delighted

satisfaction, were all very charming.

 

"Good!" he cried. "That's the Senatra color. Now," addressing me,

"I'll go away a little while. You make a Senatra of Christopher." To

Christopher: "Take off everything. Mr. Tudor will put the color all over

you. Then you put on Senatra clothes, and whistle for me."

 

Patient Christopher would doubtless submit to any indignity that this

prankish boy might devise, but I proposed to put a stop to the nonsense.

Besides, how could I assume the ridiculous rôle that this young scamp,

in whom my indulgence had bred impudence, intended for me?

 

"Christopher will do nothing of the sort," I peremptorily said.

 

The lad stopped short and looked at me curiously.

 

"I want to, sir," Christopher interposed, much to my surprise.

 

"You do? You wish to submit to this foolishness?"

 

"Foolishness, sir?"

 

"Yes."

 

He reflected a while, and then said:

 

"Perhaps it ain't jest foolishness, sir."

 

"Very well," I agreed, willing to humor him; "But Beelo will stay here

and put the color on you himself."

 

Alarm sprang to the boy's face.

 

"I won't!" he answered defiantly, and was turning away, but I caught him

by the arm.

 

"You will," I said. "I'll see that you do."

 

He slipped from my grasp and stood away, laughing.