by Lance Morcan
A huge cheer erupted from the onlookers. After several years of effort, and many, many sacrifices, their sacred drua was now afloat.
More natives appeared carrying a mighty mast and sails. These were hoisted on board, and still more men were sacrificed as the mast was assembled and the sails rigged. These sacrificial volunteers were killed by spear-wielding warriors who expertly stabbed them through the chest or back, killing them quickly. The sea around the drua was soon red with blood. It wasn’t long before the sinister fins of ocean predators appeared.
Aboard the Rendezvous, the crewman assigned to the Drakes was working hard to ensure the couple remained below deck. He maintained a steady patter as he insisted on giving the missionaries a guided tour of the galley, the dining room and even the hold once they’d familiarized themselves with their quarters. They remained mercifully ignorant of the bloodshed onshore.
However, Nathan didn’t escape the sickening sight. He was standing at the stern rail as the schooner sailed out of the harbor. With the aid of his borrowed telescope, he saw every ghastly detail of the launching of the drua.
The young American was sorely tempted to bring the event to the attention of the Drakes. He thought the bloodshed may change their view of the noble Fijians whose souls they were so intent on saving. But he resisted the temptation.
#
Nathan was still on deck when the Drakes finally emerged from below for one last look at the picturesque island of Ovalau. The island was growing steadily smaller as the schooner continued west toward Viti Levu.
As before, the Drakes ignored Nathan as if he wasn’t there, preferring to talk to the captain and first mate. The young American was beginning to wonder if he was invisible. He had no way of knowing Susannah was very aware of his presence.
Nearby, Lightning Rod emptied a bucket of slops over the schooner’s side. Nathan noticed the simpleton kept looking nervously skyward. He wondered whether he was looking at the riggers scrambling about in the rigging high above or at the cloudless sky beyond.
Noticing Nathan’s interest in Lightning Rod, Foley wandered over to him. “Don't worry about Rod,” Foley explained. “He’s just looking for the next lightning bolt.”
“Doesn’t he know lightning never strikes twice?”
“He’s been struck five times that I know of, has poor old Rod.”
“Well, I’ll be damned.” Nathan shook his head in disbelief, turning back to study Lightning Rod. Foley walked away chuckling.
Looking over at Susannah, Nathan noted she was still studiously ignoring him. Taking the hint, he retired below deck, intent on checking his valuable cargo which he knew was in the schooner’s hold.
Down in the hold, he soon found what he was looking for: five caskets. They contained the muskets he’d acquired for his forthcoming trading venture.
Prizing open the lid of the nearest casket, he could hardly contain his delight at the sight of twenty brand-new, gleaming muskets. The caskets were part of a larger consignment of muskets he’d brought with him from San Francisco; the balance of muskets were stored under lock and key back in Levuka.
Nathan wondered how his plans to trade muskets to the Fijians would pan out. He knew there was a lot to consider. The problem was Susannah kept intruding on his thoughts.
Damn that woman!
He forced himself to focus on his trading plans.
#
Later that day, Susannah sat on the deck reading Fijian words aloud from a text book. Behind her, to starboard, was the big island of Viti Levu. “Nau-rari,” she said hesitantly, struggling to get her tongue around yet another strange place name. “Nau-sori. Nausori. Sigatoka. Lautoka.”
Further along the deck, but within earshot, Nathan was studying Viti Levu’s Coral Coast through a telescope. As he surveyed the coastline he remembered he’d read that Viti Levu translated as Great Land. He sneaked the occasional glance at Susannah, who remained engrossed in her studies.
Nathan was joined by Foley. To the younger man’s chagrin, the hard-case Irishman continued where he’d left off over breakfast, relating his life story to his new friend.
“As I was saying,” Foley began rambling, “Foley comes from the Gaelic O’Foghladh, which means I'm from a long line of plunderers! I concede 'tis fair to say we Foleys all have a touch of the blarney, also.”
Nathan, who could barely understand Foley's thick Irish accent at the best of times, wasn't listening. His attention was fully on the young Englishwoman. He hated how she was dominating his thoughts.
“We Foleys sure have the blarney alright,” Foley said, continuing his ramblings, “but me ma also taught me that a man’s gotta earn his bacon. And that’s what I tell the men under me. Earn your bacon. Even it if means squealin’ like a pig.” The eccentric Irishman scrunched up his weatherbeaten face and proceeded to squeal like a piglet. He stopped when he realized Nathan wasn't amused.
Ignoring the men, Susannah continued reciting aloud, “Malololailai, Namuka-i-Lau. Namenalala.” She had been studying Fijian since departing England. Only now was the language starting to make sense to her. She continued, “Natovi, Waya Waya Lailai.”
Listening to her, Nathan shook his head. Turning to Foley, he whispered, “Does she really think those natives are gonna give a damn about the Word of God?”
The Irishman shrugged. “Buggered if I know,” he muttered. “Seems to me, the bloody English are determined to convert the heathen masses regardless of whether they wanna be converted or not.” Shaking his head, he wandered off.
Nathan returned his attention to the distant coastline. Aptly named the Coral Coast, breakers crashed over the coral reef that lay off Viti Levu's southern shores. White foam marked the reef’s location, and Nathan could hear the faint but constant boom of breakers against the coral. Beyond it, the bure huts, or thatched, tropical dwellings, of some unnamed village could be seen among the lush groves of palm trees that lined the coast.
4
That night, in his cabin aboard the Rendezvous, Nathan combed his hair in front of a mirror then paused to glance out a porthole. Under a full moon, the Coral Coast’s distant shoreline looked romantically exotic.
Leaving his quarters, he walked along a passageway and entered the schooner’s dining cabin. Here, he found Captain McTavish and Foley entertaining guests at the captain’s table. The guests included Susannah and her father, an Italian artist who, by all accounts, made his living painting seascapes, and an English whale-spotter who had been contracted to undertake a whale count in Fiji’s western whaling grounds.
McTavish was in the act of pouring champagne when he saw Nathan. “Ah, Mr. Johnson, please join us.”
Nathan looked around. Acknowledging the others, he said, “Good evening, gentlemen.” He then looked directly at Susannah. “And ladies.”
Susannah nodded perfunctorily in his direction. Sitting down, Nathan noted neither Susannah nor her father was drinking the champagne that was on offer, preferring the fresh orange juice, which was also in plentiful supply. Catching Susannah’s eye, he asked, “You don't drink?” Nathan immediately cursed himself for being so crass. He’d been so anxious to engage the missionaries in conversation and get on their good side that he’d said the first thing that had come into his mind.
“Why, does that offend you, Mr. Johnson?” Susannah asked.
“No, not at all.” Nathan was about to apologize for asking so pointed a question when Susannah abruptly turned away and began conversing with her father.
“Champagne, Mr. Johnson?” McTavish asked, holding out the champagne bottle.
“Thank you, captain,” Nathan said.
As the Scotsman topped up Nathan’s glass, Susannah surreptitiously studied the American. In spite of herself, she had to admit he looked more dashing than ever. She fought against the familiar feelings that rose up inside her. The fact that such a worldly and by all accounts ungodly young man could affect her so, annoyed her. She felt a flash of anger toward Nathan then immediately felt gui
lty for allowing him to affect her this way.
A Filipino cook entered the cabin holding a large pan piled high with grilled fish. He was followed by none other than Lightning Rod who was holding a tray of steaming vegetables. The simpleton appeared close to spilling the tray’s contents and was humming to himself as usual.
“Please excuse the help tonight,” Captain McTavish apologized. “Cook’s assistant is unwell and Rodney here was recruited to stand in for him at the last moment.”
Lightning Rod beamed with pride at the sound of his name being mentioned and began humming more loudly than ever, causing the captain to visibly cringe. To ease Captain McTavish’s embarrassment, the Italian artist commented on the food’s presentation, saying it would have done justice to the finest restaurant in the civilized world.
“Here, here,” Drake Senior added supportively.
The dining cabin fell silent as the diners started on their first course. The only sound came from a jittery Lightning Rod, who continued humming while hovering close to Foley. In a world of his own, he seemed unsure what was expected of him and began talking to himself, attracting sideways glances from the passengers. Foley was so used to Lightning Rod, he ignored him.
As the food was devoured, Nathan observed Susannah, who continued to avoid his gaze. She looked even more ravishing than he remembered. Her soft, red hair framed her beautiful face and contrasted spectacularly with her smooth, pale skin.
And as for those eyes!
Her hazel eyes seemed to flash whenever she looked at him. He felt like he was drowning whenever he gazed into them.
Drake Senior was unhappy at the attention Nathan was paying Susannah. “You say you have some business in Momi Bay, Mr. Johnson?” the missionary asked, breaking the silence.
Nathan tore his eyes away from Susannah. “Yes,” he answered. “I intend trading there with the natives.”
Foley suddenly burped loudly, albeit unintentionally. Susannah glanced disapprovingly at the crude seaman. Totally unaware he’d interrupted the conversation, the Irishman enthusiastically resumed eating. He speared a large slab of beef with his hunting knife and shoveled it unceremoniously into his mouth. As he gnawed away at the beef, gravy dripped down his beard. To the disgust of the other diners, Foley didn’t bother to wipe the gravy away.
From the far end of the table, the Italian artist asked, “What take you to Momi Bay, signore?” He spoke in not-quite-perfect, heavily accented English. “I hear there are only savages there.”
The Drakes tensed at the use of the word savages.
“Savages!” Lightning Rod interjected.
Ignoring the simpleton, Nathan said, “Well, according to my research, the Fijians at Momi Bay have been educated by the missionaries.” The young American glanced at the Drakes, hoping he was impressing them. He had deliberately avoided referring to the Fijians as savages. “I expect it will be safe to trade there.”
“Them Fijians, they all savages!” Lightning Rod said, leaning close to Nathan.
Frowning at Lightning Rod, Foley held his forefinger to his lips, indicating he should remain silent. Sulking, the simpleton began pacing up and down behind the diners.
Susannah asked, “What is it they have at Momi Bay that you wish to acquire, Mr. Johnson?”
“Beche-de-mer.”
Susannah and the other guests looked bemused. She enquired, “Beche-de-mer?”
“Dried sea slugs.”
Susannah looked none the wiser. Nathan had come prepared. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a dried sea slug sample. It resembled a blackened banana. He handed it to Susannah. Aghast, she took the sample from him and quickly dropped it onto the tabletop.
“What on earth?”
“Also known as sea cucumber,” Nathan explained, noting he now had Susannah’s full attention. “The Chinese can’t get enough of the stuff. They say it’s an aphrodisiac.”
Drake Senior asked, “And is it?”
Nathan grinned. “Well, there’s no shortage of Chinese, so I guess it must work.”
Foley and McTavish burst out laughing while Susannah did her best to hide a smile. Her father was not amused. Nathan inwardly cursed. Remembering his past struggles with missionaries, he really didn’t want to offend the Drakes, but it was always tricky having to tip-toe over the moral high ground they occupied.
Recovering her composure, Susannah looked back at Nathan. “And just how do you hope to get this . . . sea slug?”
Nathan suddenly realized the Drakes weren’t aware he was a musket trader. He could sense another moral judgment coming up. “I hear there’s increasing unrest on that side of the island,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “The natives at Momi Bay require muskets to defend themselves against their enemies, so I intend to trade muskets to them.”
The Drakes looked at Nathan as if they’d suddenly noticed horns growing out of his head. After a pregnant pause, Susannah asked, “Is that a wise thing to do, Mr. Johnson?”
“I see no harm in it, Miss Drake. Anyway, the natives are unlikely to trouble you missionaries. It’s their own kind they have most problems with.”
Susannah’s eyes flashed with anger. “That’s hardly the point, Mr. Johnson. They could exterminate each other.”
McTavish ventured, “Some would say that may not be a bad thing, ma’am.”
Susannah shot an angry glance at the captain then turned back to Nathan. “Have you no conscience, Mr. Johnson?”
“Well, I . . .”
“Don’t be too hard on Mr. Johnson, Susannah,” Drake Senior said, gently admonishing his daughter. “It’s not for us to judge him.” He frowned at Nathan. “Only God can do that.”
There was another awkward silence. The other guests could see there was tension in the room and felt it prudent to refrain from contributing to the conversation at this point. To a man, they sensed it was safer to remain silent.
Foley attempted to come to Nathan’s rescue. Speaking with his mouth full of food, he pointedly ignored Drake Senior and waved his fork at Nathan. “Watch out for those Momi Bay savages,” he warned. “They’d just as soon eat ye as do business with ye!”
Lightning Rod leaned forward, repeating his catch-cry, “Fijians, them cannibals!” Foley finally lost patience with his simple crewmate and clipped him over the ear. Lightning Rod clasped his reddened ear. “Ouch!”
Foley turned back to Nathan. “Rod’s dead right,” he said. “The Fijians are all bloody cannibals.”
The Drakes took immediate exception to this, and Drake Senior eyeballed the Irishman. “Mr. Foley, cannibalism is no longer practiced at Momi Bay. If it were, the Wesley Methodists would not have a mission station there and I would not risk taking my daughter there.”
Foley shrugged and focused on clearing the last of his food from his plate. Conversation again lapsed into an uncomfortable silence.
Nathan looked down at his glass and absentmindedly swirled the champagne it held. This ain’t going at all well, he told himself. Bubbles rose to the champagne’s surface. He momentarily became lost in them, remembering back to when he’d also had idealistic attitudes about the world. They weren’t dissimilar to the attitudes Susannah, and to some extent her father, had.
Attending a Catholic-run school in the Catskill Mountains in New York State, Nathan had been taught by the priests and nuns that all people were equal in the eyes of God. His experiences in the real world, however, had made him shed such naive beliefs. Ever since running away to sea at the tender age of twelve, he’d seen firsthand the wide gulf that separated the civilized world from the barbaric cultures of native peoples. He’d also stopped believing in God long ago.
“Nathan, are you with us?” McTavish’s commanding voice woke Nathan from his reverie.
The young man looked up to see everyone at the captain’s table was staring at him. “Sorry,” he mumbled.
The captain was in the middle of proposing a toast. McTavish raised his wine glass. “As I was saying, here’s to su
ccess at Momi Bay for everyone concerned.”
Foley and the whale-spotter responded in unison with, “Hear, hear.”
“Amen to that,” Nathan said.
The Drakes both fixed Nathan with a cold stare, unimpressed by his casual use of the biblical expression.
Nathan took the hint. After draining his glass, he prepared to retire to his cabin. “Well, if you’ll excuse me, I have a big day tomorrow.” He looked at Susannah, but she avoided his gaze even more determinedly than ever.
“Good night, Mr. Johnson,” McTavish said.
“Kill them bloody cannibals!” Lightning Rod shouted in a shrill voice. He flinched when Foley shaped up to smack him again. “Else them eat ya for dinner,” he mumbled.
Nathan and Foley chuckled, amused by Lightning Rod’s comments. The simpleton chuckled, too, even though he didn’t have a clue why. Soon, everyone except the Drakes was laughing aloud.
As the laughter subsided, Nathan left the dining cabin. He could feel the critical eyes of the missionaries on his back as he departed.
5
Lying in the dark on the bottom bunk of her cabin, listening to the schooner’s timbers creak as the Rendezvous plowed steadily westward through the night, Susannah tensed when the cabin door suddenly opened.
He did come!
The young Englishwoman had sensed Nathan would come to her. The chemistry between them in the dining room earlier had been unmistakable. She’d locked and unlocked her cabin door a dozen times since then. Now that he’d arrived, she was pleased she’d finally decided to leave it unlocked. “Is that you?” she asked timidly.
“Of course,” Nathan chuckled as he locked the door behind him.
Nathan’s deep voice thrilled Susannah to the core. The very thought of the American being alone with her in her cabin thrilled her, too. And it scared her. She’d never made love before, and the prospect was as frightening as it was thrilling. Much as she wanted to feel Nathan’s hands on her, she instinctively pulled the top sheet up over her naked body as the young man approached the bunk. She held her breath and watched wide-eyed as the shadowy figure began undressing only an arm’s length away.