she made them sit down and they sat in a ring on the deck, she taking her place in the middle.
then she talked to them respecting what she had already told to kanoa, telling them also that the men of karolin were not enemies but friends, that rantan and the red-bearded man though fair-spoken were indeed devils in disguise, that they had killed many of the men of karolin, killed sru and his companions and intended on the morrow to kill kanoa and the rest. and they sat listening to her as children listen to the tales about ogres—believing, bewildered, terrified, not knowing what to do.
these men were not cowards; under circumstances known and understood they were brave, weather could not frighten them nor war against kindred races, but the white man was a different thing and rantan they feared even more than carlin.
they would not move a hand in this matter of striking at them. it would be better to take the boat and land on the reef and trust to the men of karolin if they were trustworthy as le moan had reported.
poni, the biggest and strongest of them, said this and the others nodded their heads in approval, and le moan laughed; she knew them and told them so, told them that as she had saved them by overhearing rantan’s plans, she would save them now, that they had nothing to do but wait and watch and prepare their minds for friendship with her people when she had finished what she intended to do.
then she rose up.
as she stood with the moonlight full on her, a voice broke the silence of the night. it came from the saloon hatchway, a voice sudden, chattering, complaining and ceasing all at once as if cut off by a closed door. they knew what it was, the voice of a man talking in his sleep. carlin on his back and seized by nightmare had cried out, half awakened, turned and fallen asleep again.
the group seated on the deck, after a momentary movement, resumed their positions. there is something so distinctive in the voice of a sleep-talker that the sound, after the first momentary flutter caused by it, brought assurance. then, prepared at any moment to make a dash for the boat, they sat, the palms of their hands flat on the deck and their eyes following le moan, now gliding towards the hatch, the spear head in her left hand, her right hand touching the port rail as she went.
at the hatch she paused to listen. she could hear the reef, and on its sonorous murmur like a tiny silver thread of sound the trickle of the tide on the planking of the schooner, and from the dark pit of the stairway leading to the saloon another sound, the breathing of men asleep.
she had never been below. that stairway, even in daylight, had always filled her with fear, the fear of the unknown, the dread of a trap, the claustrophobia of one always used to open spaces.
lit by the day it frightened her, in its black darkness it appalled her; yet she had to go down, for the life of taori lay at the bottom of that pit to be saved by her hands and hers alone.
kanoa, amongst the others, sat watching. the mind of kanoa so filled with fear when she told him that his death was imminent, the mind of kanoa that had lusted for her, the mind of this child of eighteen to whom light and laughter had been life and thought, a thing of the moment, was no longer the same mind.
the great heroism he was watching, this attempt to save him and the others, had awakened in him something perhaps of the past, ancestors who had fought, done great deeds and suffered—who knows—but there came to him an elation such as he had felt in the movements of the dance and at the sound of music. rising and evading poni who clutched at his leg to hold him back, he came to the rail, stood for a moment as le moan vanished from sight and then swift-footed but silent as a shadow, glided to the saloon hatch and stood listening.
holding the polished banister rail, and moving cautiously, step by step, le moan descended, the spear head in her left hand. as she came, a waft from the cabin rose to meet her in the darkness—an odour of humanity and stale tobacco smoke, bunk-bedding and bilge.
it met her like an evil ghost, it grappled with her and tried to drive her back; used as she was to the fresh sea air, able to scent rain on the wind and change of weather, this odour checked her for a moment, repelled her, held her and then lost its power; her will had conquered it. she reached the foot of the stairs and before her now lay the open doorway of the cabin, a pale oblong beyond which lay a picture.
the table with the swinging lamp above it, the bunks on either side where the sleeping men lay, clothes cast on the floor, all lit by the moon-gleams through the skylight and portholes.
from the bunk on the right hung an arm. it was carlin’s; she knew it by its size. she moved towards it, paused, looked up and stood rigid.
above carlin, now on the ceiling, now on the wall, something moved and danced; a great silver butterfly, now at rest, now in flight, shifting here and there, poising with tremulous wings.
it was a water shimmer from the moonlit lagoon entering through a porthole, a ghost of light; it held her only for a moment, the next she had seized the hand of the sleeper and driven the spear point into the arm. almost on the cry of the stricken man, something sprang across the table of the cabin, seized le moan by the throat and flung her on her side. it was rantan.
up above kanoa, standing by the opening of the hatch, listening. the reef spoke and the water trickled on the planking, but from below there came no sound. moments passed and then, sharp and cutting the silence like a knife came a cry, a shout, and the sound of a furious struggle. then, fear flown and filled with a fury new as life to the newborn, kanoa plunged down into the darkness, missed his footing, fell, rose half stunned and dashed into the cabin.
carlin, naked, was lying on his face on the floor, dead or dying; rantan, naked, was at death grips with le moan. she had risen by a supreme effort, but he had got her against the table, flung her on it and was now holding her down, his knee on her thigh, his hands on her throat, his head flung back, the flexor muscles of his forearms rigid, crushing her, breaking her, choking the life out of her, till kanoa sprang.
sprang like a tiger, lighting on the table and then in a flash on to rantan’s back, breaking his grip with the impact and freeing le moan. he had got the throat hold from behind, his knees had seized rantan’s body and he was riding him like a horse. the attacked man, whooping and choking, tried to hit backwards, flung up his arms, rose straight, tottered and crashed, but still the attacker clung, clung as they rolled on the floor, clung till all movement ceased.
it was over.
the silver butterfly still danced merrily on the ceiling and the sound of the reef came through the skylight, slumbrous and indifferent, but other sound or movement there was none till le moan, stretched still on the table, turned, raised herself on her elbow and understood. then she dropped on to the floor. rantan lay half on top of carlin and kanoa lay by rantan.
kanoa’s grip had relaxed and he seemed asleep. he roused as the girl touched him; the fury and wild excitement had passed, he seemed dazed; then recovering himself he sat up, then he rose to his feet. as he rose rantan moved slightly, he was not dead and le moan kneeling on the body of carlin seized the sheet that was hanging from the bunk, dragged it towards her and handed it to kanoa.
“bind him,” said le moan, “he is not dead, let him be for my people to deal with him as they deal with the dog-fish.”
as they bound him from the shoulders to the hands a voice came from above. it was the voice of poni who had come to listen and who heard le moan’s voice and words.
“kanoa,” cried poni, “what is going on below there?”
“coward!” cried le moan, “come and see. come and help now that the work is done.”
“ay,” said kanoa the valorous, “come and help now that the work is done.”
then, kneeling by the bound figure of rantan, he gazed on the girl, consuming her with his eyes, rapturous, and unknowing that the work had been done for taori.
taori, beside whom, for le moan, all other men were shadows, moving yet lifeless as the moon-born butterfly still dancing above the corpse of carlin.
