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A SHORT STORY.

BABEL. AND A CREOLE.

(-T. E. Patterson in the Pall Mall Gazette).

The scone was The Bumboat, in Port Louis, Isle of France; the time evenin *• Here, beauty, fill these glasses again,” said the second mate of a South Sea whaler, then lying near the mouth of the harbour. The fat middle-aged negress to whom he had spoken lumbered up, gave him a leer, and asked, “ All ob dem, sonny ?” “ All ? Yes, } ■on over-grown lump of Spanish rock ! I guess we don’t drink two out of a glass—as Kaffirs eat their mush from a kid. What say you, mates ?” he added,, to the third officer and two enginedrs of the English steam “ tramp,” which had anchored abreast the whaler on the previous day, and with whom he had formed one of those fleeting acquaintances so common to the seaman. They laughingly replied in the negative. She took the glasses and her oily presence to the bar. ... The Boston man removed his momentarily contemplative gaze . from the pathetic face of a young Creole beauty, squatting on an empty gincase to his right, and fixed it on a Naval Reserve man and a Welsh Fusilier then playing at single-sticks in the centre of the big room. The soldier—far less trained to the weapon than his opponent—received a smart blow on the muscle of his swordarm. Laughingly, yet with a wince, he dropped the improvised stick, said he had learnt enough, and returned to his companions. “ Here—gess I’ll have a rap in there, boss,” the handsome young whaler said, and sprang from his seat. Before he could reach the weapon it was in the hand of a tall, lithe, fire-eyed half-caste, who instantly put himself into position, and invited the Britisher to play with him. The latter came to the guard; play went on until the native beat down his stick by sheer force, and dropped two rather heavy blows upon his peaked cap. At this there were some murmurs of disapproval, accompanied with much louder applause from the victor’s partisans. Greater trouble threatened. The Dutch landlord and his half-caste wife loudly called for order. The whaleman again leaped to his feet, face towards the silent but defiant champion of the three previous nights. As he stepped off the Creole rose like a mute, sinuous apparation of dark-hued grace, made to twine her arms about his neck, paused, and said, in a halfwhisper, “ You fight him." “ Fight ? No, you little softy, it’s only play, was the answer, as he gave a smiling look into her great swimming eyes. “ But him bad debil. Him burn—no play.” Her soft arms slip up; the right gauzy sleeves slipped down and showed two limbs of a rearly fine mould. She crossed her wrists behind his neck; her warm enervating breath played on his face; she turned his smile ; but the subtle pleading of her soul was in it, and she began to speak in low sibilant tones. “ What for you no let him come?” cried the waiting, panther-looking native, from under the lamp. “ ’ Cause I ask him give me drink first, ” she nonchalantly replied, and swung a deceiving careless glance at her questioner. “ Do you want a drink ? ” the American asked, thrusting one hand inside the back of her loose robe, and patting her smooth shoulder-blade. 11 No, no ! ” she whispered, “ I want you no play with him. He tiger ; he—he “ Oh, the devil ? Here, give her some iced squash, boys,” and swinging halfround, ho took her by the upper part of her arms, dropped her on the English officer’s lap, sprang to the middle of the room, and before she could regain her feet he was engaging his eager, yet, at present wary opponent. The whaling barque was doing a little refitting, and had been in the harbour some twelve days, during which her second mate had become well known in The Bumboat, and had several times “treated ’ the girl who now—almost wholly unobserved, for all eyes were intent on the two players— crept stage by stage closer to him. The white man had jocularly boasted of his fencing powers, and had been overheard by the halfcaste. It was the latter who had originally and nightly introduced the sticks, and had steadily and covertly sought his present opportunity. Twice he had threatened the girl for her favours to the stranger, upbraided her with similar past kindnesses to him, and had called her a fillc de joie—which was untrue to the sense meant by him. Once he had come near picking a direct quarrel with the man himself; but the latter had, with the good-natured American’s usual spice of contempt for a coloured skin, laughed im about his business. Now it was a matter of cut and guard, guard and cut, with now a feint, then a stick got home, and now a miss. No pointing above the breast had been decided on from the first, because of that being too dangerous to the eyes owing to their having no helmets, and a petty officer from H.M.S. Hawk stood forward to record the points made and see fair play. Both men were evidently wellaccustomed to the stick, and the play soon assumed a steady, steely, scientific aspect. In this the white was the better

man, for it was his nature to take matters easily. The other presently lost patience and began to batter, thinking to break down his antagonist’s guard also. But here he found far more staying powers ; yet he did once contrive to deliver a sweeping blow at the whaleman’s right shoulder, though it did not reach home, and so directly caused the further trouble aimed at. Instead of hitting the man, the stick had alighted on the girl’s hand. Their movements had brought her at that instant immediately behind the former. Her eyes were fixed on those of her countryman. She had seen what was then coining, leaped forward, and received the blow on her outstretched palm. Like a flash of hate the striker sprung ahead, and brought his stick heavily down on the fleshy part of her arm. She gave a faint cry of pain as her left hand flew to the injured spot. A few of the spectators stood up, while those who had been inattentive began to ask what was the matter. The whaleman spun hall-round divined the situation clapped the stick in his other hand, and planted on the half-caste’s jaw a blow that sent him headlong to the stone floor. Now there was not a sitter in the place. Heads and shoulders come poking in at doorways from adjacent small rooms, and from the heav,) sultry night without. The air was a babel of languages. Asiastic, African, Creole, and representatives of half a dozen European nations strained eyes and faces at the little centre group under the big swimming lamp that lit the whole room. Low muttered menaces came from several quarters; knives flashed partly out of their sheaths, some, rather from instinct than definate purpose, appearing completely. Experience and feeling told the American that he was probably in for something serious, and he again changed hands with his stick as the other leaped to his feet. Without a word of warning or why, the half-caste raised his stick, shattered the lamp at a blow, and put the place in darkness, except for two dim shafts of light that came from other rooms. Then he dropped the stick, produced a previously hidden line Jong blade, turned to where his opponent stood. The instant he felt two lithe hands encircling his neck, two sets of finger-ends so thrusting in his windpipe that his eyes nearly shot from his head—as though the pipe were a flat steel spring, the eyes loose balls at the end of it, and the fingers the striking power. At the same moment two thumbs stuck into the back of the neck ; his brain was nearly as dark as the room ; the knife had dropped from his nerveless hand ; he was twisted halfround, given a vigorous shove, and sent headlong into the midst of a crowd of friends and foes. Who it was fell among them they knew not, and the next instant he was literally under their feet. The doer of this was the girl; her quick thoughts at their wildest play. With a leap and a crush—instinct-led—-she was at the whaleman’s side, his arm in her convulsive clutch; she was whispering in his ear to get out of it, and dragging him doorwards at the same time. From outside came the whirr of military policemen’s rattles, the stampede of hurried feet, and the sound of several tongues excitedly asking for information on the hubbub. Within was nothing but a mad confusion—oaths of men, screams of women, groans, blows, a smothering atmosphere, and the breaking of glass and other ware. Then a couple of lights appeared ; the police crowded in, the sergeant with a naked sword in his hand. The uproar subsided ; the half-caste, furtively regaining his knife as he arose, struggled to his feet, bleeding from a gash in his cheek, his clothing torn, and murder in his eyes. Those near him fell away, because of the presence of the police. He darted a look around the room. The two he sought were missing, and he sprang through the nearest doorway. It happened to be one leading into the garden. He knew every inch of the premises, wanted to reach the street—for he surmised that she would persuade the white man down to his ship, out of the melee—and he dashed along the path by the house. At the corner he violently collided with two persons standing quite close to each, other, almost knocked them down, and knocked himself backwards. A little cry, half fright and half surprise, told him he had no need to search further. Maddened with rage and jealousy, he leaped at the man. The knife flashed in the pale light of the sinking tropic moon, and was buried downwards just under the girl’s left collar-bone. The lightning thought to save, and a quick step, had brought her in a line with the blow, and she silently dropped dead between them. The long narrow blade had entered her heart. During the next few seconds surprise held the two men speechless. Then the white one’s fist again, and, with terrific force, found the other’s face, and ho went back like a log. Now lights and two crowds appeared—one from the rear and one from the front and end of the house. Before the American could follow up his intention of more severely handling the half-caste and seeing to the girl, the police pressed in, and the whole truth was known at once. The half-caste was soon shipped away to the Andaman Isles, to work out the remainder of his life for the good of the Indian Government.

Permanent link to this item

https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers/WAIKIN19051214.2.24

Bibliographic details

Waikato Independent, Volume III, Issue 167, 14 December 1905, Page 6

Word Count
1,817

A SHORT STORY. Waikato Independent, Volume III, Issue 167, 14 December 1905, Page 6

A SHORT STORY. Waikato Independent, Volume III, Issue 167, 14 December 1905, Page 6

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