The Rupa Book Of Great Escape Stories

by Ruskin Bond

  'Do you blame me now, Mister, for whipping your six-gun out of your hand? You might have shot the king!'

  A WOMAN AMONG CANNIBALS

  Osa Johnson

  Osa Johnson was born Osa Leighty, in the small town of Chanute, Kansas, but her life of adventure began early: at 16 she happened to attend a talk by a tall, thin young man who had been to sea in the Snark with Jack and Charmian London and as a result of having encountered South Sea Islanders he had set himself up as Martin Johnson (of Independence, Kansas), traveler and lecturer, going abut Kansas with a reel or two of motion picture films and some slides. Whether, at first sight, Osa fell in love with the man she spent most of the rest of her life with, she was never quite clear, but a few weeks after that first lecture, she was Mrs Osa Johnson and in 1917 not long after her marriage she was on board ship with him, out of California, bound for the land of cannibals to help him find fresh material for more lectures and more pictures.

  aptain Trask was a big man with a seamed, weathered face, a fine big nose, and an air of awe-inspiring authority. I admired him very much and was prouder than ever of my husband when I saw how much the captain liked him. They talked a lot of places and people that I knew nothing about, so I decided the best thing for me would be to listen and learn—and all the more so because it was apparent that the captain had put me down as little, soft, and generally useless. He had known Jack and Charmian London, and very pointedly every now and then—squinting at me under his heavy brows—he spoke of Charmian.

  There's a woman for you,' he'd say. 'She had the soft ways of a kitten and the heart of a lioness, and her beat never lived and never will.'

  'You're right there.' Martin was thoughtful. 'She was perfect for Jack. Never a squawk out of her; the best wife a man ever had.'

  'Aye,' the captain nodded with another look at me. 'A woman that's too soft and sweet is like tapioca pudding—fine for them as likes it.' Then he said something about the barometer falling but I wasn't interested, and when I climbed into my berth that night I thought about snakes and cannibals and dried human heads and wondered miserably if the day would ever come when I would fail Martin. I fell into a troubled sleep and woke up in the act of pitching from my berth and landing on my shoulder. I tried to get to my feet and found that the floor had taken the angle of our cellar door back in Chanute, just as I had figured this out, the up part was down and the down part was up. Then I heard a groan. It was Martin.

  'I wish I could die,' he said.

  I did everything I could for the rest of the night to help Martin be a little less miserable, then, when I saw it was morning, I scrambled into some clothes and went up on deck. It was wonderful, though I had to hang on like mad. It didn't seem possible there could be waves of such a size. They piled up and piled up, until finally there was one that curled and broke right where I stood. It hit me with the force of a sack of sand, and the next instant I found myself in a swirl of green water and foam, and being swept to the other side of the deck.

  Stunned and limp as a half-drowned kitten, I felt myself being picked up by the back of my jacket; then heard myself roughly ordered below. It was Captain Trask and he was in a fury that I would show myself above deck on such a day.

  Why aren't you sick?' he thundered. 'Sick and in your bunk and out of the way like other decent folk!'

  'I don't want to be sick,' I replied crossly as he pushed me ahead down the companionway. And I don't like my bunk and just because you're a captain of a ship I suppose you think you can order everybody around, but I don't like being ordered around—'

  We had reached the bottom of the swaying companionway. The captain was still scowling.

  'Well, I'm ordering you right now to stay off that deck until the ropes are strung, understand? Whether you're washed overboard or not doesn't interest me. Whether I have to put back to pick you up does interest me, I can't afford the time. Now you get into your bunk and stay there!'

  Then what do I do about breakfast? Martin doesn't want any, but I'm starved, and if you think I'm going back to bed without any breakfast—'

  Captain Trask squinted at me. 'How about some hot cakes,' he said, 'and a lot of butter and syrup, maybe some pig sausages and fried potatoes and a couple of cups of coffee?'

  'Wonderful!'

  The captain grinned. 'All right, sailor,' he said. 'Get into some dry clothes and you shall have breakfast with me.'

  When I found that everybody aboard was sick except the captain and me—and, I suppose, some of the crew—everything brightened, and especially when it became apparent that the captain now regarded me as a right and good companion for Martin. Nothing more than this could I ask of either heaven or earth, and cannibals and snakes became mere trifles to take in my stride. At least, so I thought.

  All the way across the Pacific to Honolulu, to Samoa, to Pago-Pago and finally to Sydney, Australia, my confidence grew. The captain became jollier by the minute and even played deck games with us, and when, on parting at Sydney, he told Martin I was 'all right,' it seemed to me I ought to burst, I was so proud. It took a few cockroaches to lay me low.

  It was several days later; we were on our way from Sydney to the Solomon Islands aboard a tramp steamer, and while I longed for the departed comforts and cleanliness of Captain Trask's ship, I did what I was sure Charmian London would have done under the circumstances; I wore a smile. The captain, crew, and ship were filthy and there were cockroaches everywhere, some no less than two inches long. The mess swarmed with them, and I saw Martin every now and then jounce them off his shoes and go right on eating. Doggedly, I did the same and derived a glum satisfaction out of telling myself that from matters such as these, probably one acquired that easy, well-traveled look.

  It's one thing to be brave when you're awake; it's another when you're asleep. Something crossing my cheek that night startled me into instant wakefulness, and in the dim light I saw a roach scurry across my pillow, then heard it drop to the floor. I clenched my teeth against a scream; then suddenly was aware of a curious activity at the tips of my fingers. My hands lay at my sides on the sheet which was my only cover, and I found, on inspection, that roaches were nibbling at my fingernails. My screams must have been heard from stem to stern of the ship.

  Martin, laughing, took me in his arms. 'That's nothing,' he said. 'Wait till you get down to the Solomons. Those coconut crabs down there aren't polite enough just to give you a manicure; they take your fingers right off!'

  The next few months were disappointing and anxious ones. In whalers, luggers, and merchants we sailed from island to island of the Solomon group and found many primitive folk. We even found some that were said to be cannibals, but always Martin shook his head and pushed on. Often I found this difficult to understand. My imagination went no further than the savages we had seen. It was incredible to me that anywhere in the world there could be wilder, more vicious-looking people. Because our funds were so limited I knew we couldn't cruise about indefinitely, and Martin insisted that because our film was so limited we could use it only when he was satisfied he had found savages that were completely untouched by civilization. Then he pointed out that all of those we had seen so far had been under the firm control of the British government authorities. They were subdued, tamed. Nothing I could say would persuade him to the contrary. His mouth, tender and fine, could become very stubborn, and his eyes, usually gay and carefree, would take on a look of pure, hard steel.

  There were those aboard the different boats we took, traders and the like, who couldn't understand Martin's not herding some of the more savage-looking natives together, giving them trade stuff and 'staging' some scenes. It had been done, they said, but then as always, Martin was a patient, persistent artist who would never be satisfied with anything but the truth. It seems to me that everywhere he went he asked hundreds of questions. He made hundreds of notes, and finally his decision was made. Malekula, second largest island of the New Hebrides group, was, he learned, the subject of disputed ownership between the F
rench and British, and this meant a lack of the usual patroling and discipline. If man in his savage and original state existed any place in the world, he existed here. Further investigation revealed that there were parts of Malekula that had never been explored by white men, and it was rumored that cannibalism and head-hunting were common practices.

  We returned to Sydney where Martin searched out the captain of a small ship that was leaving in a few days for the upper part of the Hebrides group. Once aboard, and our destination and purpose made known, a storm of protest and warning broke around us. The captain himself came to us, bringing a copy of the Pacific Island Pilot.

  'Now you listen to me, young fellow,' he said, 'I don't want to scare the little lady, but it says right here in the Pilot that the natives of Malekula are a wild and savage race, that they're treacherous and it's a known fact that they still practice cannibalism!'

  Martin smiled. He was happier than he'd been in months.

  'I've had some experience with savages,' he said, 'and with plenty of tobacco and trade stuff, we'll be safe enough.'

  A recruiter, heavy, scarred, and rough, broke into the conversation.

  'The captain's right, sir,' he said to Martin. 'Why, I wouldn't go onto that island for a thousand pounds; at least, not without a gunboat at my back.'

  'I'm afraid we don't happen to have a gunboat in our equipment,' Martin grinned.

  'If you go through with this, you'll find it's no joking matter,' the captain growled.

  'But, why should the natives hurt us?' I said, putting in my bit. 'My husband is only going to take their pictures.'

  Take their pictures!' the captain snorted. 'When you two get close enough to them for that, you can tell each other good-by!' He drank noisily from a flask, then continued: 'Pictures of them cannibals! Why, they're ugly as the devil's own brats— and that's what they are, devils! Savage, cruel, murderous devils!' His voice thundered. 'And what's more, I'll not go off my course to set you down on Malekula, understand? Not with a woman along! It would be murder, that's what, woman-murder, and I'll not be guilty of it!'

  I couldn't even look in Martin's direction, for it was I— my coming with him—that hampered all his plans. Already we were in sight of Malekula. In length it was seventy-five miles or more, the recruiter told us, shaped like an hourglass and about thirty miles across its widest part.

  'There's around forty thousand savages on that island,' he continued. 'Strong fellows too, especially among the Big Numbers, but much as I'm needing blacks, I'll get 'em someplace else.'

  Forty thousand savages on one island. I was staggered.

  Martin's interest sharpened. 'Strong fellows, you say, the Big Numbers?'

  The most powerful tribe on the island, and they've got a chief, Nagapate, that's a holy terror.'

  Martin prodded the recruiter with more questions and learned that the Big Numbers, who derived their name from wearing a huge pandanus fibre, occupied the greater portion of the north end of the island, and that by sufferance another tribe known as the Small Numbers was permitted to occupy a minor portion. The latter, he said, wore merely a bit of twisted leaf.

  I could see from the way Martin looked off toward the blue-gray mass that was Malekula, that somehow he would contrive to get there. A smaller shape, separated from the big island, now appeared, and quickly Martin asked about it.

  That's the island of Vao,' the recruiter said. About a mile and a half across and maybe four hundred savages.' He paused, with a look at me. A couple of tears had dripped off the end of my nose. 'You know,' he said, 'I think Vao would be the very ticket for you and the little lady here. Four hundred wild men would be about as many as you could get in that camera of yours anyhow, and from all reports, even though the British patrol boat circles the island every so often and could rake it from end to end with fire, I hear that those fellows on Vao still bury their old people alive and eat long pig.'

  'And how far did you say Vao was from Malekula?' Martin asked cautiously.

  'About a mile,' the recruiter answered, 'and there's a French mission there, too, run by Father Prin.'

  Martin seized his hand. 'A great idea,' he shouted. 'Great!'

  The captain eyed us suspiciously as we debarked at Vao; he knew that we could get to Malekula from there with very little trouble. Then he shrugged. If we were reckless enough to risk being served up as 'long pig' by the savages of Malekula, that was our lookout, not his.

  Father Prin gave us a hearty, if puzzled, welcome. This dear soul who had worked among the savages of the small island for nearly thirty years was a volume in himself, and all the more so when one considered that the only discernible result of his labor, was a mere seventeen converts. I marveled at his patience and loved him for his faith.

  The little mud and grass church, with its quiet images and dim altar, seemed strange and beautiful on this savage island. The priest's small three-room home adjoining it was sanctuary of cleanliness and repose. It was here we rested and made our plans.

  Father Prin gravely shook his head and confirmed the stories we had already heard of the cruelties practiced even on Vao. How much worse it must be on Malekula where even the most hardened recruiters feared to land, should, he said, be perfectly apparent to us. I could see reproach in his eyes as he looked at Martin, and worse, I could see that Martin himself was beginning to fear for me. Always me!

  With evening the boo-boos (native drums) began to sound back in the bush of Vao, and suddenly Father Prin pointed from the window of his hut. Martin and I looked, and there at the edge of the clearing we saw peering at us men whose faces were so seamed and hideous, it was hard to believe they were men at all.

  'T-that thing through their noses,' I heard myself asking in a squeaky whisper. What's that?'

  'Bone,' Father Prin replied. 'Human bone.'

  Martin drew me away from the window. 'I don't know, darling,' he said, 'but I'm afraid I can't risk taking you to Malekula. You'll be safe here with Father Prin. Please, Osa, for my sake.'

  Suddenly I was in a rage, with every bit of fear burned out of me.

  'If you go I'm going with you, Martin Johnson. That's what I came for and that's how it's going to be—the whole way. The whole way!' I repeated.

  Seeing that I would not be swerved, the good priest gave us every help in his power, and a twenty-eight-foot whale boat together with a crew of five trustworthy Vao boys was put at our disposal. Before sunup the following morning we were stowing our cameras, film, and trade goods in the boat. Then, hoisting a small jib and a miniature mainsail, we pushed off for Malekula, with Father Prin giving us his blessings from the shore.

  Following the good father's advice, we first landed at a small salt-water village on the Vao side of Malekula, where the natives, because of their accessibility, had learned to respect the British gunboats and to recognise authority beyond their own, and where we added three more boys to our crew. These boys, being Malekulans, would help us, Father Prin felt, to contact the bush people of the island. We then set sail for Tanemarou Bay, in the Big Numbers territory.

  The trip along the rocky shore was not very reassuring so far as the aims of our little expedition were concerned, for only now and then did we catch a glimpse of the natives, and they vanished as we rapidly approached. This apparent timidity eased our fears for our personal safety, however, and when we reached the beach at Tanemarou, a strip of dazzling yellow sand separating the sea from the thick bush, we found it deserted, and stepped boldly out of the whale boat.

  'How does this look to you, Kitten?' Martin asked. His eyes were dancing with excitement.

  'Why—all right I guess,' I answered doubtfully. Then trying to be funny, 'But I thought somebody said something about forty thousand savages on Malekula.'

  'Don't worry, they're back there in the bush, plenty of them.'

  He pantomimed the boys to take the trade stuff out of the boat Our one precious morion picture camera he handled himself

  'Looks like a kind of trail into the bus
h over there,' I said. Then I stopped short. 'Oh!' I said.

  A long savage had appeared out of the jungle. Our boys, seeing him, moved back toward the boat—and with good reason: he was the most horrible-looking creature I had ever laid eyes on.

  A gorget of pig's teeth hung around his neck; he wore a bone through his nose and he was entirely naked except for a large breech cloth of dried pandanus fibre. As he came nearer I saw that his deeply creviced face was horribly distorted. It made me think of a grotesque mask—one I had seen on a theatre program in New York, I think—representing Tragedie. I moved closer to Martin.

  The man spoke in a guttural bêche-de-mer that astonished me with its scattering of English words.

  'My word! Master! Belly belong me walk about too much!' He pressed his hands dramatically to his stomach.

  I looked at Martin incredulously. We had come to Malekula warned and forewarned of natives who dealt swift and savage death to intruders, to be met by a man with a stomachache!

  We rocked with laughter—which doubtless was part relief—then I opened our kit and poured out a small handful of cascara tablets. Martin explained carefully to the gaping savage that he was to take part of them when the sun went down and the other part when the sun came up. The man listened with apparent intentness to the end of the instructions, then opened his slobbery mouth and downed all the tablets at one gulp.

  During this little comedy, several more savages had slipped quietly out of the bush—I think I counted ten in all—each as horrible in appearance as their advance man with the stomachache, and each apparently as harmless. Martin lost no time in setting up his camera—which they dismissed after a casual inspection—and exposed perhaps a hundred and fifty feet of film. I could see he was measuring it carefully.

  The savages were carrying on what to me was an unintelligible jabber. Our carriers began to show signs of nervousness and to edge toward the boat. Martin understood a little bêche-de-mer and, with an air of complete casualness as he busied himself with the camera, told me what was up.