228 TROPIC DAYS 



"About half a mile away we saw one of them, who 

 appeared to be a bit lighter in colour than the rest, stand 

 up in the bow and wave a kind of message. He kept 

 one arm going like a semaphore. Then we saw that he 

 carried under the other arm a basket — a peace-offering 

 of yams and fruit, no doubt. He had only a shirt on, 

 and still he kept his right arm working. When he got 

 within hailing distance, the man in the bows shouted 

 my name. He was a brawn j'- chap. I thought to my- 

 self that if it came to a row I would pot him first, for he 

 was ringleader. 



"All the rest were naked. His scanty uniform 

 marked him out. Probabl}^ he got that shirt from the 

 owner of the sunken lugger. I wetted my lips with my 

 tongue as I thought it might be my duty to wipe him 

 out. Then my name was shouted out again, and, 

 recognising the voice, I discovered the man in the shirt 

 to be a well-known character who goes under the name 

 of . 



" 'Ive got something nice for you, captain! Don't 

 look so nasty with that rifle to an old friend I' 



"Still keeping our rifles ready, we let the boat come 

 alongside and the tinted man passed up the basket. 

 It was native-made, and all the top was covered with 

 green leaves. Thinking of fresh yams and fruit, I 

 pulled off the leaves, and there — poof! — the head of a 

 man — an old man who must have died a violent death 

 about two days before. 



"The man in the shirt laughed loud and long at the 

 disgust in my face, and, coming on board, soon told of 

 the tragedy of which the awful head was a symbol of 

 retaliation. 



"The owner of the sunken lugger had fitted her out 

 with unusual care. His crew consisted of natives of the 

 island off which we were l}ing. As a special inducement 



