The day passed tediously. Lounging by the rail we looked down upon the grim line of warriors, so silent and motionless, and they looked up at us. Fortunately for them they were beyond the range of our rifles. I brought up my glasses and focused them so the natives were distinctly visible in every detail. They were handsome, stalwart fellows, averaging fully six feet in height I judged, although now all were crouching in the canoes. They were not black, as were Nux and Bryonia, but a dark chocolate brown. Their hair seemed straight and fine of texture and was allowed to grow long and be curled into a knot at the back of the head, as women often wear it. Their only article of dress was a loin cloth, made of a dark colored material on which were sewn curious designs in pearls. All wore ornaments of pearls, such as necklaces, armlets and anklets, the gems being of such size and color that I believe the humblest native in the line carried the equivalent of a fortune upon his person.
I watched the Pearl People for hours. Their marked characteristic seemed to be patience. Their features seemed finely cut and intelligent, but the members of the patrol were just now very apathetic, seldom changing their positions or indulging in the interchange of remarks. Their business was simply to wait, and they displayed marvelous resignation to duty. If they were curious they did not show it; if they resented this inactivity they gave the resentment no expression. Automatons could not have been more docile. Yet the Faytans struck me as being dignified, reserved and most admirably trained to obedience, while their stern countenances marked them as cold and cruel.
In the afternoon, while a dismal silence pervaded the ship, I was startled by hearing the clear tones of our piano. Some one began to play a spirited march, and of course I knew it was Lucia. The brave girl was trying to cheer us all with her music, and I am bound to admit it had an animating effect. For an hour she played and sang, choosing the most stirring tunes she knew, and when I finally went below I found all the passengers had gathered in the cabin with Joe and Uncle Naboth, while young Alfonso was joining in a Spanish madrigal that was popular in his own country and all thoughts of our precarious position seemed thrust into the background.
That evening De Jiminez played écarté with his mother while Madam de Alcantara was led to forget her fears far enough to read a book. We lighted the cabin brilliantly, making no further attempt to evade the watching eyes of the natives, and enjoyed a few hours of solace if not of pleasure.
Next day the waiting game was continued. South Sea natives seldom or never attack at night, according to Nux; but these Faytans were so unlike other savage tribes that we could not be sure this was one of their customs. So we divided the watch and kept a sharp lookout night and day.
Nothing happened this second day of our imprisonment. The Faytans evidently had some plan of campaign mapped out, or they would not have established the patrol of canoes. We began to consider what their intentions could be.
“Let’s give ’em credit for a leetle intelligence,” said Uncle Naboth, who had been studying the natives through his binoculars. “The chief that runs this place must have some ability, and as soon as he discovered us here he must ’a’ thought it all out. Mebbe he lay awake doin’ it, for next mornin’ we found them canoes on guard. That was the first trick in the game.”
“Not a bad one, either,” I remarked.
“Not from the chief’s standpoint. It kept us from escapin’ in the boats, which is the one thing, it seems, he don’t intend to let happen. Now, our boys here,” pointing to Bryonia and Nux, “have a notion that the Pearl People don’t want any strangers around. They never let ’em land, if they can help it, and drive ’em away or kill ’em. Accordin’ to that theory the Faytans ought to be glad to have us go. But here they are, keepin’ us fast prisoners. Why’s that, Bry?”
Bryonia had stood moodily silent. He now looked up and shook his head.
“Can’t say, Mars Nabot’,” he answered. But he spoke in a hesitating way that led me to think he preferred not to speak frankly.
“It’s really a puzzler,” resumed Uncle Naboth. “If they mean to kill us, why don’t they start in and fight it out?”
“Perhaps they realize our position is impregnable,” I suggested.
“It ain’t exactly that,” declared my uncle. “If they happen to think to shoot some burnin’ arrers at us, they can easily set fire to the ship, an’ then we’re done for.”
“Not knowin’ about ships, they may not think of that,” said my father, uneasily.
“Well, what then?” asked De Jiminez.
“Then,” replied Joe, “the wily islanders expect to conquer us in one of two ways. First to starve us out, and—”
“They can’t do that in a hurry,” muttered the Captain.
“And second to let us die of thirst,” continued Joe.
We all became thoughtful at this suggestion. I knew we had supplies of fresh water sufficient for an ordinary voyage, and an aërator to doctor it with if it became stagnant and unpalatable; but barreled water is not the safest thing to depend upon, and thirst was a greater menace than lack of food. Yet it seemed improbable that a savage chieftain would have thought this all out and determined upon so tedious and unwarlike a plan of conquest.
Afterward I found Bryonia alone and said to him:
“Why do you think the Faytans wish to keep us here?”
“Don’ know, Mars Sam.”
“Yes you do, Bry. Anyhow, you’ve some idea.”
“I may be wrong.”
“This is in confidence, Bry. You may trust me.”
He hesitated a moment.
“I wish, Mars Sam,” he said in a low voice, speaking his native tongue, “that the lady passengers had not showed themselves.”
“Oh, that’s it!” I exclaimed. “Are the natives partial to white women, Bry?”
“I know other chiefs,” he said, “and I know they like to take women of other nations for wives. In my own island it is like that. I think if we were only warriors the Faytans would drive us away, or let us take the boats out. That is the only way I can explain the strange manner in which they are acting.”
“You may be right,” I returned, and walked away to think it over.
The third day brought no more incident than the others that preceded it. I had abandoned the idea that the Faytans intended to besiege us until we succumbed to hunger or thirst, and told Joe so. Also I confided to my chum Bry’s theory that they were concocting a plan to get our women. This made Joe look grave and anxious.
When Alfonso joined us, presently, I thought it best to acquaint him with our fears.
“If that is so,” said the boy, “we will see that the women never fall into their hands alive. But I am confident there will be some way of escape open to us before our condition gets desperate.”
“What is your father doing?” I asked, thinking I would like a conference with Señor de Jiminez.
“He is writing a speech to deliver before the Colombian Congress when he becomes president,” replied Alfonso with a smile. “Poor father! He doesn’t know what despair means. I’m sure he has no real conception of our present position.”
“I wish,” said Joe, musingly, as he stared out over the island, “that I could see into that forest yonder. I wonder if it’s full of watching natives, or if they’re all lying snug in the big Pearl City we’ve heard about.”
Alfonso was thoughtful. For awhile he, too, stared at the forest. Then a sudden idea occurred to him, for his face brightened and he laughed aloud.
“Fellows,” said he, “I’ve a notion to go over to that city and see what it looks like. Also, I’ll take a peep into the forest as I pass by.”
I looked at him in amazement, saying:
“Have you gone crazy, then?”
Again he laughed, quite gleefully.
“I don’t wonder you suspect my sanity,” he answered; “but the truth is that I had forgotten all about a certain important shipment of mine that is now in the hold of this ship and may be of great help to us in our present emergency. However,” he added, more soberly, “the thing was intended for a far different purpose.”
“A shipment? What is it?” I inquired.
“Why, nothing more nor less than one of those new fashioned biplanes. I bought one of the latest improved Antoinettes when I went over to Paris, during the time father was purchasing the arms in Australia. He sent me there on some banking business, you know, and I naturally took in the aviation exhibition. It did not take me long to decide that a biplane would be of great assistance to the revolution and I induced the great Bleriot himself to teach me how to work it. Before I left Paris I could manage the thing beautifully, and I’ve made a good many successful flights. It is all packed in three cases, with bands of red paint around them so they can be identified from the arms, and I have many extra parts in separate cases. It must seem queer to you to realize I have a flying machine in this out-of-the-way place—where we’re shipwrecked on a savage island.”
“It is strange,” I admitted.
“The Antoinette would make even you fellows stare, I guess,” continued Alfonso.
“Oh, as for that,” said Joe, “both Sam and I have done some aërial stunts in our time, and made some pretty long flights. But a biplane’s a new invention to us.”
“It occurred to me that I could put the machine together here on deck,” announced Alfonso, “and make a trip over the forest to the Pearl City. I won’t land there, of course, but I’ll circle around and find out what we want to know, and then come back again. What do you think?” he asked a little anxiously.
“Seems like a brilliant idea,” I said approvingly.
“Will you fellows help me to get it together?”
“Of course,” said Joe. “And the sooner the better.”
“Then order your men to fetch up the boxes with the red bands. There are three of them.”
I went to Uncle Naboth and my father and explained what Little Jim wanted to do. They both considered the thing impracticable and foolhardy, but said we could give the young Colombian whatever assistance he needed.
So the boxes were sent for and presently hoisted from the hold by means of the cranes provided for such purposes. Only one was at all heavy, and that contained the motor and tools.
The carpenter unscrewed the covers and soon a confused mass of canvas planes, braces, platforms and other odds and ends lay upon the deck. Alfonso, with his coat off and sleeves rolled up, began to select the pieces and connect them. He had written instructions for setting up the machine, but did not need to refer to them often, being evidently quite familiar with the details of its mechanism.
It did not seem to me that the thing was at all serviceable; it was very frail and more like a toy than a flying machine; but the boy assured me it was an exact duplicate of the one that held the world’s record for altitude and speed.
“Aren’t you afraid to trust yourself to it?” asked Joe.
“Afraid! Of course not,” was the reply. “It is perfectly safe if operated intelligently—barring unavoidable accidents.”
We both assisted, being guided by his directions, and all three of us worked the remainder of that day. Lucia discovered us at about the time we began assembling the airship, and was so fascinated by the proposition that she remained constantly by our side, watching every move we made. She made no remarks, but her dark eyes missed no detail, and whenever Alfonso instructed us she listened as carefully as we did. It seemed queer for a girl to take such an interest in a flying machine—a thing that some men do not care to fool with. In addition to the girl a curious group of the sailors surrounded us, for I have found that those who sail the seas have a certain sympathy for those who sail the air.
I had myself become enthusiastic over the machine, as I began to understand the theory of its operation. The Antoinette was as scientifically constructed as it was delicate and graceful. I could see possibilities in the thing, now, and that night was a sleepless one for me, so eager was I to continue our work the next morning. We got the frame complete the second day, and set the engines in position.
By evening the biplane seemed all ready to fly, but Alfonso asserted it must be adjusted and tested with the utmost care, as all depended on the tenseness and equalization of the planes. He told us, however, he hoped to make the flight the following morning.
Our relations with the natives had remained unchanged. The only event of each day was the arrival of food and supplies for the floating besiegers. These were brought in canoes around the island and a share distributed to each of the line of boats. Then the commissary department silently withdrew and the excitement was over. As for the guard, their patience seemed untiring. The warriors must have been more or less cramped in their canoes. If some of them were relieved at times, it was during the nights, for darkness fell upon the silent line and daybreak found it still unbroken. Perhaps some slept, lying in the bottoms of the canoes, while others watched. I have no means of knowing.
Finally our youthful and adventurous Colombian got his machine adjusted to suit him, explaining to Joe and me, as he worked, all the details of equilibrium and shifting the balance, and how to handle the wheel and run the motors. The engines were not unlike those used on automobiles, yet lighter in weight and made as delicately as a watch. The wheel answered the slightest touch, and any change in direction required a quick eye and quick thought. Indeed, to fly in a biplane is no dreamy man’s job, for every nerve and muscle must be tense and responsive and lend life to the inanimate thing he directs.
Alfonso was cool as a cucumber while making his tests and I could see that his eager enthusiasm was due more to the delights of an exhilarating flight through the air than a desire to see the Pearl City, or discover what our enemies were doing. Doubtless he had for some time been aching for an opportunity to use his novel machine, and his present attempt was mainly due to this wish.
Being of a mechanical turn of mind and interested in all such propositions, I followed intently every movement that Alfonso made in putting the biplane together, adjusting it and preparing for the flight.
“I almost believe I could work it myself,” I remarked with a smile.
“That ‘almost’ qualifies your egotism,” replied Little Jim, with assurance. “It is the flight itself—the management of the machine in the air—that really requires knowledge and skill.”
“But that can only come with experience,” I said. “How many flights have you made?”
“Several,” he declared proudly. “Once I remained in the air for thirty-seven minutes. I can do better than that, now, for I have here an improved machine and the condition of the atmosphere in these latitudes is almost perfect, since the storm cleared.”
He took his seat in the machine. We had cleared a long run along the deck, from stern to stem, for his use in starting.
“First,” said he, “I’ll take a turn among those boats over the reefs. I may land here on my return, or I may keep on over the island; it will depend upon circumstances.”
Every soul aboard had gathered to watch this interesting attempt, and I noticed that Lucia’s eyes were big and sparkling with excitement. Alfonso was quite the hero of the hour and it filled him with pride and elation to be the observed of all observers. His father, who had always vigorously opposed his son’s experiments with airships, but realized the fact that the biplane might be of much service to the revolution, was a curious and silent spectator. He had indulged in a stiff argument with Alfonso the night before, but had met defeat at the hands of his wayward son. The boy’s courage and confidence were indisputable, and perhaps Señor de Jiminez was a bit proud of his son’s progressive ideas.
“The airship is bound to be a great factor in the future history of nations,” asserted Alfonso, and this could not be successfully controverted until the future revealed itself and became history.
Joe and I followed directions in turning the motor and running the machine along the deck for a start. It rose just before it reached the bow, soared over the rail and headed straight out to sea, still ascending. Absolute silence pervaded the anxious group on deck. We could plainly hear the whir of the motors as the biplane, swift as a dart, flew over the reefs, descried a graceful curve and circled around the boats a hundred feet or more in the air.
The Faytans were certainly a stolid lot, as we afterward proved; but the flight of the airship was so startling that they craned their necks to watch it, and some rose in the canoes while others ducked down and covered their heads as if in terror. Fear was unknown to this people, but superstition bound them in chains, and this surely seemed like a demonstration of the gods.
I must admit the boy handled the machine beautifully, and it responded to his touch like a thing of life. Several times he circled around, then swept out to sea until he was a mere birdlike speck, and finally came back and headed directly for the ship. Perhaps it had been five or six minutes since he left us, but to us it seemed an hour, so excited were we by his daring and his success.
We kept the deck clear, pressing close to the rail, and it seemed Alfonso’s intention to land. He came toward us in a straight line; then the machine dipped, for as it neared us it was fully three hundred feet above the sea. Now the aëronaut shut down the motors and glided gracefully downward at an angle of nearly forty degrees. We were preparing to shout our applause, when like a great bird the biplane swept over the deck, struck the mainmast at about its middle and came crashing down in a heap—operator and aëroplane being mixed in a confused jumble.
Joe and I rushed in first of all and pulled Alfonso out of the wreck. He was insensible and bleeding profusely from a cut across the forehead. Others eagerly took the boy from us and carried him below, his father sobbing that his son was dead, dead, dead! and now could never become the president of Colombia.
I knew well enough Alfonso wasn’t dead, and told Lucia so when she asked me with a white, startled face.
“A little damaged, that’s all,” said I, and watched her as she hurried away, womanlike, to render what assistance she could.
“It were surely wonderful!” cried Uncle Naboth, viewing the mangled biplane that lay at the foot of the mast; “but he’s spoilt his flying machine the first trip.”
“Oh, I’m not at all sure about that,” I replied. “What do you think, Joe?”
“Why, it’s like Alfonso—a little damaged, that’s all,” he answered with a grin. “The motor seems all right, and that’s the main thing.”
We made an examination, then, and found some of the framework of the planes splintered. Otherwise nothing was injured and a little work would soon restore the thing to good working order.
Bryonia and “Capstan Bob,” the latter having been a poor doctor before he became a good sailor, attended the injured boy, and soon word came up that Alfonso had regained consciousness. He had broken his left arm and cut his scalp open, but was not seriously injured. Late in the afternoon he asked to see me, and when I went down to his room I found him quite cheerful over his personal mishap, but worried about the condition of his biplane. This I assured him could easily be repaired, and he told me there was a supply of extra frames in one of the boxes, and asked me to look after the airship and rig it up again.
“I want to make another trip in it as soon as I am able,” he told me. “This broken arm is an unfortunate thing, but I guess I can manage the wheel with my right hand. Are you sure the motor is uninjured?”
“It worked smoothly when I tested it,” I answered; “but I’ll go over it again more carefully and make sure.”
“Do,” he urged. “You and Joe can do the work, and to-morrow I’ll come on deck and direct you. I’ll be all right by that time.”
The morning, however, found Alfonso so stiff and sore from his bruises, his gashed forehead and his cracked arm, that he could not leave his berth. The women waited upon him tirelessly and Joe and I, left to our own devices, decided to get to work on the biplane without the owner’s assistance. It interested us more than ever, now that we had seen what the thing could do, and I had acquired a powerful desire to test its virtues myself. If we could restore the machine to good condition, and should our safety demand knowledge of the movements of the natives, I felt I would not hesitate to undertake a flight.
All that day we worked, finding spare parts to replace those that had been damaged. It was evident that accidents to the frame were expected and anticipated, since duplicates of almost every part of them had been furnished. Only the motor and steering gear were without duplicate parts; but these were little likely to become injured, even by a direct fall.
On the following morning Joe and I arose before daybreak and got Bry to make us some coffee while we finally adjusted the biplane. I had decided to attempt a flight secretly, as I feared Señor de Jiminez or his son would refuse us permission had we asked to go. The seat was so arranged that it would carry two; so, both Joe and I being light in weight ought not to prove too great a burden for the machine. I had intended to go alone, at first, but Joe begged so hard that I did not like to refuse him, and he agreed to allow me to manage it without interference.
We instructed Bry and Ned Britton how to start us, but we took our run on the deck from stem to stern, so as to head over the island.
The Antoinette rose like a bird—just as the sun came up—and with a sense of elation and delight I realized we were actually flying. Up we shot, right over the forest, which came beneath us so suddenly that for the first time I recognized the marvelous speed of the machine.
Determined to investigate this threatening barrier, I turned the wheel so as to descry a succession of circles and descended until we were just above the tallest tree tops. Joe had a pair of powerful glasses, and while I watched the biplane he examined the forest.
“The woods are full of savages,” he remarked, attentively looking downward; “but most of them are lined up facing the ship.”
“What are they doing?” I asked.
“Stripping the trees of bark, and flattening it out. That’s queer. All are working at this except the double line of sentries at the edge of the forest.”
“Perhaps they’re making shields of the bark,” I suggested; “in which case they intend to attack us presently. But if they think we use bows and arrows, which a bark shield will stop, they’re much mistaken.”
“Who knows what they think?” muttered my companion.
“And who cares? Keep your balance, Joe; I’m going to explore the rest of the island.”
First I rose to quite an altitude, so that we might determine the extent of the island. Then I spied a large settlement at the far east of us—the farthest point from the ship—and deciding that this was the Pearl City I headed directly for it.
A few moments only sufficed to bring us above the city, a journey of perhaps ten miles from our starting point. Here again I circled while we inspected the place.
The city was of tremendous extent; for here, we afterward learned, resided every inhabitant of Faytan. There was a pretty landlocked bay before it, and the water front was thick with craft, mostly with canoes such as we had seen, although there were some ponderous flat-bottomed boats that resembled rafts more than ships. These I thought might be used for the pearl fishing, although they were gaudily decorated and had many seats with rudely carved backs.
Between the forest and the city were large cultivated fields, with groups of cocoanut and date palms showing here and there, and we discovered several bands of workers on these farms, all calmly engaged in performing their proper tasks.
But the city itself was far more interesting than its surroundings. The buildings were of clay bricks, of a light gray color, little wood being used in their construction. They were of great size and laid out in regular order, forming streets that radiated in all directions from a central square. Directly in the middle of this space was a great circular building which was painted a dark blue color—the only painted building in the city—and lavishly decorated with pearls. The doorways, windows and cornices, and even portions of the dome, were thickly set with these precious gems, only pearls of great size and luster being chosen for the purpose. This was the temple; but I ought to explain that many of these details were not perceived by us at that time, while we circled in the biplane over the city and looked curiously down upon it. Perhaps it was this very curiosity that was our undoing, for I must have neglected the machine in some way to send it suddenly swerving, first to one side and then the other, in an erratic motion that was bewildering and instantly destroyed my cool confidence. The strain on the planes was dangerous, and although we managed to keep our balance I could not steady the thing nor bring it to a stable equilibrium. We were at a dangerous elevation should we fall, and to avoid this catastrophe I involuntarily descended, without any regard as to where we might land.
It was almost a fall, as it was. We first dove headlong, at a dangerous angle, and then I swung her head up, shut off the motor, and she fluttered, rocked and came to a sudden stop with a jolt that well nigh drove the breath from our bodies. Joe pitched from the seat and rolled over a few times; then he sat up and looked at me in a dazed way that would have made me laugh had I not been wondering just then how many bones I had broken. But after the jar on my nerves had subsided I crawled out of the machine, which dropped its planes as if ashamed of its rude action, and found we were on the flat top of one of the high buildings that overlooked the place of the Pearl Temple.
I crawled to the edge, which had a low parapet, and looked over. A hundred eyes met mine, staring at me with wonder in spite of the stoic nature of these remarkable islanders.
It was not strange that they marveled. Airships are not yet everyday affairs in our own country, so this one might well startle the natives of a secluded South Sea island which even ships do not sight. I am not certain which party was at first most bewildered, Joe and I or the Faytans; but we were first to recover, and our desperate situation called for decisive thought.
Hastily I ran over the machine. A guide rope had parted, and I promptly knotted it together again. In all other respects the Antoinette seemed uninjured.
“Get aboard, Joe!” I cried; “we must make a run for it the best way we can.”
“Someone has to push the thing,” he returned. “I’ll start it and you take it away, Sam. If you reach the ship safely you can come back with a rescue party.”
“That’s nonsense!” I exclaimed. “I won’t go without you, and you know it. Here, help me run it over to the edge, and we’ll see what we can do. It may dip at first, but there is lots of room in the square down there for us to get a start and rise again.”
“And lots of savages to grab us if we bump the ground. My way’s best, Sam.”
“Your way is impossible!” said I. “We will either go together, or we’ll both stay right here.”
The speech was prophetic. Before I had the words well out of my mouth the natives began to pour in a stream out upon the roof, coming through a square hole in the center which we had not thought to guard.
Each of us was armed with a brace of revolvers, but we hesitated to use them. As we backed away to the furthermost edge I said to Joe:
“Don’t shoot. They’ll capture us anyhow by force of numbers, and we’ll stand better with them if we don’t hurt anyone. Keep your pistols out of sight, for a better time may come to use them.”
Joe nodded.
“You’re right,” he said briefly.
The Faytans lined up before us, a score of great muscular fellows with singularly intelligent features and of grave, dignified demeanor. As I looked upon them I decided to adopt a certain plan of action. Extending my hand and smiling in a fearless, friendly manner, I slowly advanced toward the man directly in front of me. There seemed to be no captain or leader among them.
“Greeting, good friends,” I said in the language of Tuamotu, the island Nux and Bry had come from, and which they had long ago taught me to speak. All the natives of the South Seas have, I believe, a common language, although each island seems to use a dialect or “brogue” of its own. At any rate the islanders seem able to understand one another when they meet in peace or war, and for that reason I hoped to make myself understood.
That I succeeded was soon apparent. The man did not take my extended hand, but he said in a deep, musical voice:
“We are not friends. It is not possible.”
“No?” I returned, as if astonished. And, indeed, his frankness was surprising, for these islanders are usually subtle and deceptive, claiming friendship when they intend murder. “Why is it not possible for us to be friends?”
“Because you come unasked. Because we do not harbor strangers. Because intruders deserve death, and the laws of the Faytans decree it.”
This was not at all pleasant.
“We came not here of our own will,” I said after a moment’s hesitation. “The gods of the Storm and Wind thrust us upon your island. We wish to go away; to return to our own country.”
“That cannot be,” said another standing near the first speaker. “To allow a stranger from the world beyond the sea to escape would be to allow him to carry tales of Faytan to his countrymen. Then they would send many boats here to rob us of our pearls and make us trouble.”
“Therefore,” added another, “you must die to save Faytan.”
“In what way?” I asked, more to gain time than because the mode of dying interested me just then.
“The King will determine that. We will take you to the King.”
“Very well,” I responded cheerfully. “Come, Joe; let’s visit the King.”
He grinned at this, for Joe isn’t easily scared, and we allowed the Faytans to escort us from the roof, going so docilely that they did not bind us or even touch our bodies. They merely surrounded us in a dense mass, and since they were of gigantic size and strong as bulls that was as secure a method as any.
The house through which we passed was not badly arranged or furnished. We saw numerous rooms from the corridors we traversed, and they were more pleasant and homelike than you might suppose, considering this to be an uncivilized island which the world’s progress had never yet thought of.
The square outside—it was a circle, really—was thronged with men, women and children, all scantily clad as far as clothing was concerned, but the humblest wearing a fortune in pearl ornaments.
This island of Faytan must be very populous. There were at least two hundred men in the boats guarding the reefs; the forest was full of them; many were working in the fields, and still the Pearl City was packed full, as far as we could see. The natives were of superior physique and intelligence. We had thought Nux and Bry exceptionally well built fellows, for South Sea Islanders, and we had often proved their fidelity and keenness of intellect; but the Faytans were fully their equals in every respect, and I knew from the reports of Tuamotu that they had no such capital as the Pearl City and lived in a more primitive manner.
Crossing the square between close ranks of silent, staring natives, we were escorted to the steps of the Great Temple and in through a high arched doorway.
To our surprise there was no great hall of concourse before us, but an entrance hall from which opened several doorways hung with finely woven mats, all of which were lavishly decorated with conventional designs in pearls. Before each doorway stood a guard, armed with a spear and a double-edged battle-ax, the latter fashioned from gypsum by the method employed by the North American Indians.
There was a captain of these guards and when one of our conductors spoke to him in a low voice this official disappeared through a central doorway. He returned presently and Joe and I were told to follow him. After us came merely a half dozen of our captors, closing the rear, and so in stately procession we tramped down a long corridor and came to the throne room.
It was a high, spacious apartment, having many windows covered with translucent fish-skin dyed in various colors. These had the appearance of stained glass and were quite effective. Around three sides of the room ran a stone bench covered with mattings and in the center was a raised place, or dais, with a broad, pearl-encrusted seat.
Heaped upon the royal bench were many gay colored blankets woven from a soft cocoanut fibre, and lying flat upon these, face downward, was the mighty King of Faytan.
His Majesty was only a boy. His copper-colored form was lean and slender, but no greater in length than my own.
He did not move for a time and I had opportunity to examine him curiously. The knot of hair twisted upon the back of his head was decorated with five monstrous black pearls—the rarest and most valuable sort known. Around his waist was a broad belt on which exquisite rose pearls were thickly clustered. Over his shoulder was draped a short cloak sewn thick with the same precious gems. But aside from this richness of decoration there was nothing to distinguish the youthful king from his subjects, unless it was his attitude. This might indicate grief, despair or suffering, for though he moved not a muscle there was such utter abandon in his pose that I caught myself feeling sorry for the youth’s misery without knowing why or how he was miserable.
We stood motionless, awaiting his royal pleasure. After a time, with a slow, writhing motion he raised himself to a sitting position and showed his face to us.
I was born and bred in a democratic republic, and believe that all men are free and equal; nevertheless there was a serene dignity in this boy’s countenance that plainly marked him royal. Wherever I might have met him I should have recognized in him the king; yet he was a mere savage secluded on an unknown island.
The unhappiness that had marked his former attitude showed plainly in his face, but its proud regard seemed to demand no pity from anyone. Whatever it was, the king was strong enough to bear it alone.
He eyed Joe and me with calm interest, his look flashing over us from head to heel and noting every detail of our appearance. Then he turned to the captain of the guard and nodded permission for him to speak.
“Flying through the air on a thing with wings,” began the man, “these two intruders alighted upon the top of the house of Aza, where they were captured. They are brought before your Majesty for judgment.”
The king passed his hand across his eyes with a wearied gesture. Then he looked toward us again and said:
“They are young.” His voice was low and soft.
“You are also young, your Majesty,” I ventured to state.
“Then you understand our tongue?” he said quickly.
“Imperfectly. I was taught to speak it by a native of Tuamotu.”
“Tuamotu! So you have come here to get our pearls?”
“No, indeed. We were shipwrecked, having been driven out of our course by the storm. We are not robbers, your Majesty, but only unfortunate voyagers.”
He nodded.
“You are indeed unfortunate to land upon the shore of Faytan,” said he. “It means death to all of you.”
“Not necessarily,” I returned, coolly. “For my part, I expect to live a long time yet.”
“You do not understand,” he persisted gently. “It is the law of the island—the law of my forefathers—that all strangers who land upon Faytan shall be put to death.”
“A cruel law,” I remarked; “and an unjust one.”
“It is to protect us from invasion,” he explained in a kindly tone. “This is the richest island in all the world, and the most favored by nature. My people are the bravest and strongest of mankind. No other nation can at all compare with this, for we are protected and favored by the powerful Pearl God.” As he mentioned this deity all the Faytans present prostrated themselves, muttering:
“The King is the Priest of the Pearl God. Through him we acquire power and protection!”
The king had also bowed his head, reverently and with no hint of self-adulation. When the chant ended he turned to us and continued:
“Strangers, it is not through hatred that your death is decreed. There is no hate in my breast, although you have killed my father, the late King of Faytan.”
His voice faltered, and I exclaimed:
“Killed the King! We? It is impossible.”
His grief was readily explained now, but although these people posed as our enemies I was really shocked at the assertion that we had rendered this boy fatherless.
“I do not think the deed was intentional,” he returned, musingly, “for it was dark and your weapons could single out no man. But my noble father’s death was the result of your coming here. When runners from the other end of the island brought the news of your arrival, my father the King set out at once with a band of chosen warriors to capture you. He arrived at the cove at nightfall, in time to see your people leap into your boats and start out to sea. Our warriors sent arrows after you, and you replied with the weapons that sting. One stung my father and he fell dead. The warriors brought him back to the Pearl City, where I slept, and I was awakened to be told I had lost my dearest friend and was now the King of Faytan.”
He bowed his head again and for a time remained motionless.
“I am sorry,” I said quietly. “It was the fortune of war.”
“Yes,” he returned, raising his head to look at me curiously; “the fortune of war; the same fate that led you here in the storm to meet your death.”
I began to feel a little uneasy.
“Is there no way of evading that foolish law of yours?” I asked.
“No. Away from Faytan every stranger is safe. He is nothing to us then. But when a stranger comes to Faytan the law decrees his death. There is no escape.”
“Does the law say in what manner we are to die?” I inquired.
“No. The King determines that. But it is our custom to grant our prisoners the easiest death of which we have knowledge, which is by drowning. The only demand of the law is that every invader shall die. There is no desire on our part to be cruel.”
I pondered the matter.
“Does the law state how soon the prisoner shall die?” was my next inquiry.
“No. That would, of course, depend upon circumstances,” he admitted.
“In that case, there is no need for us to worry over my death for the present, or over that of this friend who is with me,” said I in my easiest manner. “I begin to admire your law, your Majesty. It says very truly that every intruder upon your island shall die. But every native of Faytan, too, must die—in time.”
He saw my point, but was not impressed.