Justice (Owen Oliver)

OWEN OLIVER

T was Thompson, first mate of the Juanila, who told me his story when we lay at anchor in the mouth of the Ur River. That was the sailors' name for it. The chaps call it something else.

We were leaning over the ship's side, smoking and watching the water shimmer up the river, and the moonshine shimmer after the water, and the creeper trees splash their long arms, as if they tried to catch the stream. Behind the creeper trees and bush, that fringed the banks, a dozen fan-topped palms stood out against a spangle of misty stars in a clouding sky. Something like a monkey moved in one of the palms, and Thompson caught me by the arm and pointed.

"One of the little brown beasts taking a look at us," he said. "I'd like you to see them to-morrow; but they're shy of ships, and it's odds that you won't."

"What are they like?" I asked.

"Flat-nosed little brutes with beady eyes, and lips that stick out, and jabber ur-ur-ur. There are people that make out it's talking; but it all sounds alike to me. Dangle their arms as if they haven't walked on their hind legs long, and never wash, and plaster themselves with mud. Little brown beasts!"

"Apes?" I suggested.

"Worse! Men! Little brown men. About four feet six high; not up to your shoulder. A necklace of dried berries and a rag round their middle. That's all they wear; and carry a blowpipe and a wooden spear—hard wood and sharpened to a point. Wives in common. No manners. Worse than beasts. But they've got an idea of justice."

"Tell me about it," I asked; and he told me, with his eyes fixed on the water swimming by. This is his story:

The trouble rose out of Sanders going for one of them. God knows what made him do it. So far as I can make out the chap meant no harm to him. But his temper was always a bit queer, and he'd had enough to try it. We'd been robbed and deserted, a hundred and odd miles inland, and we'd been three days tramping to the coast, and reckoned we'd eighty miles to go yet; and not much reason to hope we'd ever do them. We'd been living on berries and raw snakes; and we'd cut our clothes to ribbons pushing through the bush, and our skins. We'd been stung all over, and we were dead beat, and dead famished, and dead hopeless; and a man doesn't weigh up right and wrong like a letter balance.

We'd squatted for the night, and I'd been looking for water; and just as I'd found some and filled our bottles I heard shrieks from where I left him. When I reached him he was sitting on a tree trunk loading his pipe quietly, just as I might; and there wriggling on the ground was a little brown man that he'd knocked about; and a tree branch that he'd done it with was lying as he'd flung it down. The chap ought to have been dead by rights, but they're tough, extraordinary tough! There wasn't any doubt that he was done for; but I judged he was going to take his time over dying.

"What did he do?" I asked; but Sanders shrugged his shoulders, and said nothing.

"Why did you do it?" I asked next; but he shrugged his shoulders again.

"You might as well have made a clean job of it," I grumbled, "and you've been a fool. There'll be more of them about, and they'll follow us all the way to the coast, and we won't get there under four or five days,"

"No," he said. "No. We won't—unless we hurry up. We'd best be moving."

He got up and turned to go; and the little brown wretch moaned out: "Ur-ur-ur." That's all I ever made of their talking. And I stood and looked at him, and wondered why he hadn't died, and how long he'd take.

"Put him out of his misery," I suggested; but Sanders walked on and took no notice. I was going after him, but the little brown chap looked up at me and moaned: "Ur-ur-ur." It was moonlight, and I could see his black, beady eyes. It was plain enough he wanted to be made an end of, and not left to die by inches, or have the jackals come upon him before he was dead. Well, I'd my revolver, and I did the only thing I could do. I didn't like doing it all the same. Afterwards I slouched after Sanders. He shoved on ahead through the bushes, and never looked round or said a word. Neither did I.

We went on for about four hours, I judged by the moon, and came to a bit of open ground with a single tree; and Sanders pulled up and wiped his forehead.

"Done up," he said, and I nodded.

"Let's take a spell," I proposed.

He looked round.

"We could sit with our backs against the tree," he said, half to himself, and I knew he was thinking of the brown men, and the chance of an attack from them, that we'd never troubled about before. For they don't trouble you, if you don't trouble them. It's a sort of religion they've got; and they make josses out of bits of trees and colored rags, and call them "Those Who Let People Alone." They never ask for anything more.

We sat down against the tree, and took a swig at our water bottles and went to sleep, till Sanders woke me with a piercing yell, and I found him on his feet, pointing all round with his revolver.

"The little brown beasts!" he cried. "The little beasts!"

"You've been dreaming, mate," I said; but he touched his cheek, and I noticed a jagged gash about six inches long, and the blood running down, as if one of them had jabbed him with a spear. He tore a strip from his shirt and bound it round.

"Come on," he said, when he'd finished, and we went on, looking round us pretty cautiously. Sometimes we found a bit of path. Mostly we had to push our way through the bush. Presently we struck the river, this same river, and doused ourselves, and drank, and filled our bottles. A snake came out and hissed at us. I knocked it over the head, and we ate it Then we pushed on again.

"We'll reach the mouth of the river in about three days at this rate," I said, trying to be cheerful.

"In about three days," Sanders agreed, "if we reach it."

"Think they'll follow up?" I asked. He knew more about their ways than I did, having lived at a coast station for a time.

"They'll follow up," he said, without any doubt. "I was a cursed idiot."

"Why did you do it?"

I wanted to know; but he didn't answer.

Near noon we found a ripe berry bush, and cleared it. The sun was mighty strong, and I wanted a rest; but Sanders wouldn't stop till we came to a bit of mud island in the river, where we'd be out of their way. We swam out to it and lay down hidden in the long wet grass, and dozed off. He screamed out, and roused me. His left arm had been struck near the elbow, with a club or something of that kind, and hung limp.

"The little brown brutes," he said, with a choking noise in his throat. "The brutes, to take a man in his sleep."

We rushed about in the sodden grass, looking for them. We didn't find any there, but suddenly he fired at the water. I saw a little eddy, near where the bullet splashed, as if a man had come up, and dived under again, and Sanders declared that he saw him. We watched for him to come up and take another breath, but he didn't. I suppose he landed among the reeds at the edge of the river.

"We'll swim for the other bank," I suggested, but Sanders looked at his damaged arm, and shook his head.

"I'm not going to drown till there's need," he said, savagely. "I'll wait here for them and settle a few first; but you'd best get on."

I didn't say anything, but took off my braces—what was left of them—and made a sling for his arm.

"Swim what you can with the other," I told him, "and I'll tow you. We aren't going to be bested by a few of those jabbering little baboons."

We weren't much of swimmers, and shipped a good bit of water, Sanders in particular; but the stream carried us to a bend that stuck out, and we managed to crawl ashore, and found a stretch of level, hard-baked land, bearing away from the river to the right. We judged that the coast lay that way, and we'd find the river again, as it wound round, and we could travel faster out of the bush.

"And see what's coming," Sanders added.

So we started across the open ground. The sun was going down, and it was getting cooler. So we ran for short spells and walked in between till we got our breath. We kept on after dark, as long as we could crawl. It was wonderful how Sanders stuck to it, wounded as he was.

"It's no use," I told him at last. "All the little brown devils in the world couldn't drive me any farther," and I tumbled down on the ground, and there I lay. I dare say you think you know what it feels to be dead beat; but you don't. Anyone might have clubbed me, and I wouldn't have lifted an arm.

"I'll watch," he said. "We'll take turns."

But he must have gone to sleep, too, unawares. For when I roused he was snoring, and the sun was coming up, just a bit of red rim, and the air felt dean and new, as if things were wiped out and you started fair.

"Wake up, mate," I called. "It's time we moved on. There's no signs of them."

He rubbed his eyes and half sat up; and then stopped and looked at his coat sleeve that was pulled nearly off his arm—the sound one. They'd fastened it to the ground with one of the tiny arrows that they use in their blowpipes, poisoned at the end; as if they'd say, "We can kill you any time we like. Think of that!" He thought of it right enough, and sat still.

"We'll be getting on," I said in a minute; and we went on. You'd have laughed to see us trying to run with our stiff legs. We were done before we started, but it's strange how you can keep on, when it's for your life!"

We came to the woods again about an hour after sunrise. It was cooler there, but we couldn't get along so fast, and didn't find anything to eat, or any water, for hours. Then we hit upon a muddy pool; and just after I shot a bird with my revolver. We made a fire with our last match, and roasted it; and when we'd finished eating we dozed off, without knowing. When we woke up we saw they'd been there, and made a joss out of a tree trunk, with a red rag stuck on with arrows, and a berry necklace on top.

Sanders got up and kicked it, and shouted, as if he'd gone mad, and shook his fist at the bushes, and swore and raved at them to come out in the open, like men, and he'd fight the whole tribe of them; but there was never a sound to answer; and we ran and walked and walked and ran, and tore our way through the bramble bushes, and panted and groaned, and when the evening came on we still stumbled along, always looking round.

"Mate," I said, presently, "I shall drop."

"Come on till you do," he gasped.

"I can't go any farther," I told him after an hour. "They can't catch us now."

"They can," he declared. "Come on!"

We went on, and at last we reached a hill, with a single tree on top, a fan-shaped palm. Lord! How I hate the sight of them! We stopped there, and settled to sleep and watch in turn. I took first watch, and kept rubbing my eyes, and wondering if I'd been dozing, and fancying I'd seen brown shadows moving on the hillside; brown as brown looks when there's no light to see; and once I caught myself nodding and thought I'd been falling asleep, and a noise behind the tree had roused me. I went round it, revolver in hand, but found no one. When I sat down again I knew I couldn't keep awake any longer. So I shook him.

And before he scarcely answered I was off and dreaming; and the queer thing was I didn't dream of the little brown wretches or anything horrible, but a little country lane where I came from, and Mary, that's my wife now, standing waiting for me, bending over a flower to smell it, and looking round sideways with a smile. And when I got near the smile spread over her face, like a ripple over water, and she took my hand. I was startled and then I found it was Sanders.

"They're talking," he whispered.

I sat up and listened, but heard nothing.

"You've fancied it," I said. "You're a bit feverish, mate. That's what it is."

"Maybe," he said. "Maybe. It sounded as if they were up in the air. Like fairies! Funny, ain't it?" He laughed, and I thought he was going off his head.

"You have another doze," I told him. "I'll look after the fairies. If I get hold of one there won't be much wings left when I've done with him."

I walked about to keep myself awake; but I almost slept as I walked; and I kept fancying that I heard voices up in the air, just as he'd said, talking in their senseless way, ur-ur-ur, no better than the jabber of monkeys. I couldn't make it out, and peeped round everywhere; and all of a sudden there was a thud, and Sanders gave a scream like a woman, and wrung his hands, and held his leg.

"The—little—brown—beasts!" he cried. "The fiendish, cowardly beasts!" And he picked up a chunk of a branch that had struck him just above the ankle; and as he shouted another fell and grazed his shoulder.

"They're in the tree," I cried, and grabbed at his arm, and pulled him up, and got away from the tree. He limped away after me. His ankle wasn't broken, and he could still walk, but it hurt him; and the shock seemed to have upset him, for he kept shuddering and shivering. I was for pressing on, but he kept stopping to look round, and wouldn't go near anything that looked brown, and gripped my shoulder and pointed whenever we came near a bit of bush. So at last we settled to wait on a bare spot on the hillside till it was light. We didn't sleep any more, though my eyes were dry with wanting to, and my legs seemed to go to sleep by themselves. "Tired" isn't a big enough word for how I felt; and he muttered under his breath, and his teeth chattered, and it got on my nerves till I could almost have shrieked.

At last the sun came up, sudden because of the clouds. Then we looked at each other and gave a sort of grin. For there in front of us was the sea, not more than twenty miles away; and a bit to the left I made out the flag of the station, where a few families of half-breeds had settled as a trading port, the same that you see over there. You'll catch the moon on the yellow sand in front of it, when she gets through that cloud, about a quarter of a mile to the right of the creek, just below the five palms that stand together. Strange how I hate to look at a palm now.

"The sea, mate," I said. "The sea!"

"And plenty of it," he said, with a queer chuckle. "Enough to drown the whole tribe of them. Good old sea!"

And we stood and looked at it, and rubbed our hands, and laughed.

There wasn't so much to laugh about, if you reckoned it up. We'd twenty miles to go, with the brown men after us: and our legs trembled under us, and there wasn't strength enough in our necks to hold our heads straight. And if we got there the half-breeds at the station would give us up more likely than not, if there wasn't a vessel in. There might be a schooner in that afternoon, or it mightn't be for a fortnight, for we'd lost count of the days. Still it was a chance; and if we could snatch a canoe, and something to eat and drink, we could cruise about round the coast till a vessel came, we thought. And we planned out things and talked as if we were there already, and hummed cheerfully as we went on.

"The sea, mate!" I kept saying. "The sea!"

"And I'd like to drown all them little brown devils in it!" he answered every time.

"Did he do anything to you?"

He didn't answer, but shoved the bushes aside, and pushed into the wood that we'd reached again. A little brown man slipped from almost under our feet into the bush and out of sight; and we left off grinning and looked at each other. Sanders grew white in the face, and shook as if he might fall. He stopped dead.

"Come on, mate," I said. "They can't do more than kill us."

But he shook his head.

"They can," he said, with a hiss in his voice. "You don't know them."

"I jolly soon shall," I said, "if we stop here! It's no use giving in. Push on and never mind about them."

"I wouldn't mind if they'd come out and fight us like men," he said, wiping his forehead. "It's this dodging and hiding and coming on you unawares that gets over me. They've followed us all this way, and we've hardly seen them."

"Don't you believe it," I told him. "We've got miles ahead of the chaps that followed us. That was just an odd chap of them that happened to be about here, and doesn't know anything about—about it. There's nothing to fear."

And he brightened up and nodded.

"Yes, yes," he said. "You're right. There's nothing to fear."

Suddenly a little puff arrow stuck in a tree beside us, and quivered there, like a butterfly with dirty wings. And another; and another; and another; and we stood gaping at them, till at last I pulled myself together.

"Seems that they can't aim straight anyhow," I remarked, peeping round a bush, with my revolver ready.

"Aim straight!" cried Sanders, with an oath. "They're aiming to miss. They can hit us when they like; just when they like. They want to frighten the pluck out of us till we drop, and they can take us alive, and torture us. The brutes! The devilish brutes."

His teeth chattered, and my blood seemed to turn cold. I thought I saw a brown face peering round a bush, and fired; and then Sanders fired shot after shot, and so did I. Suddenly he caught my arm.

"Stop," he said. "I've only one shot left. How many have you?"

"One," I said.

"Keep it," he advised.

"What for?" I asked.

"When they catch us," he whispered, huskily. "It will be the easiest way."

And then I fairly lost my nerve.

"Run!" I shouted. "Run!"

We must have run for hours. My eyes were nearly blind, and my breath came like an engine, and my tongue lolled out. My feet burned like a fire, and my mouth was worse, and my knees knocked together. The puff arrows kept whizzing by us, and some stuck through our matted hair; and at last I dropped down on the ground.

"They can kill me," I said. "I won't get up again." And Sanders laughed a choky laugh, and sat down too; but after a few minutes we got up and went on again till he dropped. And so we kept on, dropping and getting up again.

Once we thought they had gone, and half dozed; and when we woke a couple of dozen short, brown men, with long, hanging arms like monkeys, slid away into the bush. Sanders fired at them.

"My last shot!" he screamed; "and I didn't even hit him! Run! Run!"

Well, it was more like tottering, so far as I remember. I don't let myself remember, more than I can help. We caught glimpses of the sea through the trees now and then, getting nearer and nearer. That was what kept us going on. Sometimes I dream about it now, and get up and look out of the port-hole, when I wake in a sweat, to make sure that the sea's there.

Well, we went on till it was about three o'clock, as near as I could judge; and then we came out of the wood, on the side of a hill, leading to the shore. It seemed about a mile and a half. And there was the station, and there was the flag, and there was the bay, bright blue with little tips of white on the tops of the waves; and there was an English gunboat far out; and there was a trading schooner standing in for the shore. Fifteen men she carried—Englishmen! None of your cursed half-breed about them. The Merry Mary it was. We knew her. Once we got to her we were safe; and once they saw the little brown brutes on our trail, they'd run to us! We made funny sounds in our throats, and staggered forward a bit quicker.

"Run!" Sanders said.

"Run!" said I.

It was real running now. Our legs seemed to be legs again; and we looked round and saw that none of the little savages was following us into the open; and we made a noise like a faint cheer.

"We're saved, mate," I cried. "We're saved. Hooray!"

"Hooray!" he said after me. They were the funniest cheers that ever you heard, broken in bits because we hadn't breath.

The flag ran down the schooner's mast, and we could see them getting the anchor ready, and standing by to haul in the sails, and we waved our hands to them as we ran, though we knew they weren't likely to see us, on account of the high grass that ran beside the path, and a sort of hedge that we could barely see over. When we got by the hedge, there was a great clump of trees in front of us; and in front of the trees there was an astonishing field of flowers. Such a sight of flowers and such wonderful sizes and colors that they seemed to strike us all of a heap, and we actually stood still for a moment to look at them. I've been half a mind to go up and look at them since, but I never had the heart to. The half-breeds grow them.

We didn't know that then, but supposed they grew wild, and stared at them with our mouths open. All sorts they were, and all colors. Big white lilies, like bells with yellow clappers. Balls as big as your fist like red and yellow roses. Bushes as tall as a man, covered with marigolds as close as if they were stuck on side by side. Purple flowers like chrysanthemums as large as your head. And behind them all was a little bit of green grass field studded with yellow flowers, as might be big buttercups; and when I looked at that a lump came up in my throat.

"It puts me in mind of home, mate!" I said. "Home!"

And he gave a big sob.

"Home," he said. "Run, mate! Run!"

And we ran into the clump; and before our eyes were used to the darkness, a little brown man hung round each of our legs and brought us down; and another little brown man had us by each arm. It was no use struggling. Sanders bit one of those that held him; but they were too quick for me; and when we tried to shout they rammed some rags in our mouths till we nearly choked.

They dealt with him first; took him and tied him to a tree—one of those infernal fan-topped palms—where he could see the sea and the field of flowers; and then— Burn me if I tell you the rest!

They didn't kill him outright. I judged he might die in an hour, if he was lucky, seeing that he was weak to start with. They left him, and a pudgy little beast, that had three necklaces round his dirty neck, and seemed to be a sort of chief, came and talked to me. He was flatter nosed and worse looking and smaller than the rest, and smelt worse; and he waved his hands as he talked, and lifted them up to the skies, as if he was appealing to his gods. His gods! Those Who Let People Alone! It made me laugh out loud to think of it; and when I started laughing it didn't seem as if I could leave off, till he pointed to Sanders. Then I stopped.

It was all "ur-ur-ur" that he said, and I didn't understand it; but last of all he took my revolver from my belt. He signed to them to let me go, and pointed to Sanders. Then he put the revolver in my hand. I was cramped with being held so long, and could hardly stand. My head felt silly; and I stood holding the revolver limply in my hand, trying to figure out things; and the chief folded his arms and looked at me. So did the rest of them—like brown statues—dirty brown. And Sanders just lifted his head for a moment and glanced at me, and gave a moan.

"Now here am I," I said to myself, "with my revolver in my hand, and one shot in it. I can put Sanders out of his misery, and then be served like him; or I can shoot the flat-nosed chief, and be served worse; or I can use it on myself and get out of it all, except just dying; and I've got to do that anyhow. Who's to have the bullet? Sanders, or the flat-nosed man, or me?"

I looked first at one and then at the other. Sanders lifted his head again and muttered. I didn't know his voice.

"I'm nearly through," he said; "and you can't get away. Shoot yourself, old man."

Well, he did what he did, and God knows why he did it. I reckon he'll think he paid for it. Anyhow it was for him to pay, not me. So I reckoned I was entitled to the shot. But he'd been a decent mate to me. I used it for him. I saved him an hour of it.

When I'd done it I turned to the chief and laughed. Oh! It sounds funny to you, I dare say, but that's what I did. And I wasn't feeling like laughing either, and I meant to throttle the first one that laid hands on me.

But they didn't. The chief made a sign, and said ur-ur-ur; and one of them gave me a gourd of water, and I drank it. I thought it was to make me fresh for the torture; but I had to drink it all the same when I saw it.

However, I was wrong. The funny little chief held up his hands and talked again to the skies; ur-ur-ur. And then he talked to his men, and seemed to say ur-ur-ur just the same. They stood back in two lines, and he pointed to me to go; and I went. I take it that they hadn't been sure of my motive in shooting the first brown man; but now they were satisfied that it was only to put him out of his misery, as they do themselves with their wounded. So they let me go. They have an idea of justice, as I said. I'd like to burn the lot of them!

I tottered down the path, feeling like an old man. The chaps from the schooner had just come ashore; and a gig from the gun-boat. It had looked in to inquire how the natives were behaving. A wonderful dry nurse is England, when you come to think of it. The lieutenant in charge was a smiling, fair-haired young chap, very spruce in his white duck, and innocent and soft looking, but the sort that isn't so innocent as their looks. So I was careful with him. He asked me about the natives; and I told him they'd behaved all right—to me. That's all.

The first mate laughed mirthlessly and lit a cigar.

"I never care to look at a palm since," he remarked. "You'll understand."

"And you didn't tell him what the little brown men did to Sanders?" I observed.

The first mate drew his lips in and out, and shook his head.

"No," he stated. "They've an idea of justice, as I said; and so have I!"