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Full Online Book HomeLong StoriesAdventure - Chapter II - SOMETHING IS DONE
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Adventure - Chapter II - SOMETHING IS DONE Post by :henry Category :Long Stories Author :Jack London Date :March 2011 Read :1382

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Adventure - Chapter II - SOMETHING IS DONE

In the morning David Sheldon decided that he was worse. That he
was appreciably weaker there was no doubt, and there were other
symptoms that were unfavourable. He began his rounds looking for
trouble. He wanted trouble. In full health, the strained
situation would have been serious enough; but as it was, himself
growing helpless, something had to be done. The blacks were
getting more sullen and defiant, and the appearance of the men the
previous night on his veranda--one of the gravest of offences on
Berande--was ominous. Sooner or later they would get him, if he
did not get them first, if he did not once again sear on their dark
souls the flaming mastery of the white man.

He returned to the house disappointed. No opportunity had
presented itself of making an example of insolence or
insubordination--such as had occurred on every other day since the
sickness smote Berande. The fact that none had offended was in
itself suspicious. They were growing crafty. He regretted that he
had not waited the night before until the prowlers had entered.
Then he might have shot one or two and given the rest a new lesson,
writ in red, for them to con. It was one man against two hundred,
and he was horribly afraid of his sickness overpowering him and
leaving him at their mercy. He saw visions of the blacks taking
charge of the plantation, looting the store, burning the buildings,
and escaping to Malaita. Also, one gruesome vision he caught of
his own head, sun-dried and smoke-cured, ornamenting the canoe
house of a cannibal village. Either the Jessie would have to
arrive, or he would have to do something.

The bell had hardly rung, sending the labourers into the fields,
when Sheldon had a visitor. He had had the couch taken out on the
veranda, and he was lying on it when the canoes paddled in and
hauled out on the beach. Forty men, armed with spears, bows and
arrows, and war-clubs, gathered outside the gate of the compound,
but only one entered. They knew the law of Berande, as every
native knew the law of every white man's compound in all the
thousand miles of the far-flung Solomons. The one man who came up
the path, Sheldon recognized as Seelee, the chief of Balesuna
village. The savage did not mount the steps, but stood beneath and
talked to the white lord above.

Seelee was more intelligent than the average of his kind, but his
intelligence only emphasized the lowness of that kind. His eyes,
close together and small, advertised cruelty and craftiness. A
gee-string and a cartridge-belt were all the clothes he wore. The
carved pearl-shell ornament that hung from nose to chin and impeded
speech was purely ornamental, as were the holes in his ears mere
utilities for carrying pipe and tobacco. His broken-fanged teeth
were stained black by betel-nut, the juice of which he spat upon
the ground.

As he talked or listened, he made grimaces like a monkey. He said
yes by dropping his eyelids and thrusting his chin forward. He
spoke with childish arrogance strangely at variance with the
subservient position he occupied beneath the veranda. He, with his
many followers, was lord and master of Balesuna village. But the
white man, without followers, was lord and master of Berande--ay,
and on occasion, single-handed, had made himself lord and master of
Balesuna village as well. Seelee did not like to remember that
episode. It had occurred in the course of learning the nature of
white men and of learning to abominate them. He had once been
guilty of sheltering three runaways from Berande. They had given
him all they possessed in return for the shelter and for promised
aid in getting away to Malaita. This had given him a glimpse of a
profitable future, in which his village would serve as the one
depot on the underground railway between Berande and Malaita.

Unfortunately, he was ignorant of the ways of white men. This
particular white man educated him by arriving at his grass house in
the gray of dawn. In the first moment he had felt amused. He was
so perfectly safe in the midst of his village. But the next
moment, and before he could cry out, a pair of handcuffs on the
white man's knuckles had landed on his mouth, knocking the cry of
alarm back down his throat. Also, the white man's other fist had
caught him under the ear and left him without further interest in
what was happening. When he came to, he found himself in the white
man's whale-boat on the way to Berande. At Berande he had been
treated as one of no consequence, with handcuffs on hands and feet,
to say nothing of chains. When his tribe had returned the three
runaways, he was given his freedom. And finally, the terrible
white man had fined him and Balesuna village ten thousand
cocoanuts. After that he had sheltered no more runaway Malaita
men. Instead, he had gone into the business of catching them. It
was safer. Besides, he was paid one case of tobacco per head. But
if he ever got a chance at that white man, if he ever caught him
sick or stood at his back when he stumbled and fell on a bush-
trail--well, there would be a head that would fetch a price in

Sheldon was pleased with what Seelee told him. The seventh man of
the last batch of runaways had been caught and was even then at the
gate. He was brought in, heavy-featured and defiant, his arms
bound with cocoanut sennit, the dry blood still on his body from
the struggle with his captors.

"Me savvee you good fella, Seelee," Sheldon said, as the chief
gulped down a quarter-tumbler of raw trade-gin. "Fella boy belong
me you catch short time little bit. This fella boy strong fella
too much. I give you fella one case tobacco--my word, one case
tobacco. Then, you good fella along me, I give you three fathom
calico, one fella knife big fella too much."

The tobacco and trade goods were brought from the store-room by two
house-boys and turned over to the chief of Balesuna village, who
accepted the additional reward with a non-committal grunt and went
away down the path to his canoes. Under Sheldon's directions the
house-boys handcuffed the prisoner, by hands and feet, around one
of the pile supports of the house. At eleven o'clock, when the
labourers came in from the field, Sheldon had them assembled in the
compound before the veranda. Every able man was there, including
those who were helping about the hospital. Even the women and the
several pickaninnies of the plantation were lined up with the rest,
two deep--a horde of naked savages a trifle under two hundred
strong. In addition to their ornaments of bead and shell and bone,
their pierced ears and nostrils were burdened with safety-pins,
wire nails, metal hair-pins, rusty iron handles of cooking
utensils, and the patent keys for opening corned beef tins. Some
wore penknives clasped on their kinky locks for safety. On the
chest of one a china door-knob was suspended, on the chest of
another the brass wheel of an alarm clock.

Facing them, clinging to the railing of the veranda for support,
stood the sick white man. Any one of them could have knocked him
over with the blow of a little finger. Despite his firearms, the
gang could have rushed him and delivered that blow, when his head
and the plantation would have been theirs. Hatred and murder and
lust for revenge they possessed to overflowing. But one thing they
lacked, the thing that he possessed, the flame of mastery that
would not quench, that burned fiercely as ever in the disease-
wasted body, and that was ever ready to flare forth and scorch and
singe them with its ire.

"Narada! Billy!" Sheldon called sharply.

Two men slunk unwillingly forward and waited.

Sheldon gave the keys of the handcuffs to a house-boy, who went
under the house and loosed the prisoner.

"You fella Narada, you fella Billy, take um this fella boy along
tree and make fast, hands high up," was Sheldon's command.

While this was being done, slowly, amidst mutterings and
restlessness on the part of the onlookers, one of the house-boys
fetched a heavy-handled, heavy-lashed whip. Sheldon began a

"This fella Arunga, me cross along him too much. I no steal this
fella Arunga. I no gammon. I say, 'All right, you come along me
Berande, work three fella year.' He say, 'All right, me come along
you work three fella year.' He come. He catch plenty good fella
kai-kai, {2} plenty good fella money. What name he run away? Me
too much cross along him. I knock what name outa him fella. I pay
Seelee, big fella master along Balesuna, one case tobacco catch
that fella Arunga. All right. Arunga pay that fella case tobacco.
Six pounds that fella Arunga pay. Alle same one year more that
fella Arunga work Berande. All right. Now he catch ten fella whip
three times. You fella Billy catch whip, give that fella Arunga
ten fella three times. All fella boys look see, all fella Marys
{3} look see; bime bye, they like run away they think strong fella
too much, no run away. Billy, strong fella too much ten fella
three times."

The house-boy extended the whip to him, but Billy did not take it.
Sheldon waited quietly. The eyes of all the cannibals were fixed
upon him in doubt and fear and eagerness. It was the moment of
test, whereby the lone white man was to live or be lost.

"Ten fella three times, Billy," Sheldon said encouragingly, though
there was a certain metallic rasp in his voice.

Billy scowled, looked up and looked down, but did not move.


Sheldon's voice exploded like a pistol shot. The savage started
physically. Grins overspread the grotesque features of the
audience, and there was a sound of tittering.

"S'pose you like too much lash that fella Arunga, you take him
fella Tulagi," Billy said. "One fella government agent make plenty
lash. That um fella law. Me savvee um fella law."

It was the law, and Sheldon knew it. But he wanted to live this
day and the next day and not to die waiting for the law to operate
the next week or the week after.

"Too much talk along you!" he cried angrily. "What name eh? What

"Me savvee law," the savage repeated stubbornly.


Another man stepped forward in almost a sprightly way and glanced
insolently up. Sheldon was selecting the worst characters for the

"You fella Astoa, you fella Narada, tie up that fella Billy
alongside other fella same fella way."

"Strong fella tie," he cautioned them.

"You fella Astoa take that fella whip. Plenty strong big fella too
much ten fella three times. Savvee!"

"No," Astoa grunted.

Sheldon picked up the rifle that had leaned against the rail, and
cocked it.

"I know you, Astoa," he said calmly. "You work along Queensland
six years."

"Me fella missionary," the black interrupted with deliberate

"Queensland you stop jail one fella year. White fella master damn
fool no hang you. You too much bad fella. Queensland you stop
jail six months two fella time. Two fella time you steal. All
right, you missionary. You savvee one fella prayer?"

"Yes, me savvee prayer," was the reply.

"All right, then you pray now, short time little bit. You say one
fella prayer damn quick, then me kill you."

Sheldon held the rifle on him and waited. The black glanced around
at his fellows, but none moved to aid him. They were intent upon
the coming spectacle, staring fascinated at the white man with
death in his hands who stood alone on the great veranda. Sheldon
has won, and he knew it. Astoa changed his weight irresolutely
from one foot to the other. He looked at the white man, and saw
his eyes gleaming level along the sights.

"Astoa," Sheldon said, seizing the psychological moment, "I count
three fella time. Then I shoot you fella dead, good-bye, all
finish you."

And Sheldon knew that when he had counted three he would drop him
in his tracks. The black knew it, too. That was why Sheldon did
not have to do it, for when he had counted one, Astoa reached out
his hand and took the whip. And right well Astoa laid on the whip,
angered at his fellows for not supporting him and venting his anger
with every stroke. From the veranda Sheldon egged him on to strike
with strength, till the two triced savages screamed and howled
while the blood oozed down their backs. The lesson was being well
written in red.

When the last of the gang, including the two howling culprits, had
passed out through the compound gate, Sheldon sank down half-
fainting on his couch.

"You're a sick man," he groaned. "A sick man."

"But you can sleep at ease to-night," he added, half an hour later.

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Two days passed, and Sheldon felt that he could not grow any weakerand live, much less make his four daily rounds of the hospital.The deaths were averaging four a day, and there were more new casesthan recoveries. The blacks were in a funk. Each one, when takensick, seemed to make every effort to die. Once down on their backsthey lacked the grit to make a struggle. They believed they weregoing to die, and they did their best to vindicate that belief.Even those that were well were sure that it was only a mater ofdays when the sickness

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He was a very sick white man. He rode pick-a-back on a woolly-headed, black-skinned savage, the lobes of whose ears had beenpierced and stretched until one had torn out, while the othercarried a circular block of carved wood three inches in diameter.The torn ear had been pierced again, but this time not soambitiously, for the hole accommodated no more than a short claypipe. The man-horse was greasy and dirty, and naked save for anexceedingly narrow and dirty loin-cloth; but the white man clung tohim closely and desperately. At times, from weakness, his headdrooped and rested on the woolly