Terry by Charles Goff Thomson
CHAPTER V
NEW FRIENDS, AND AN ENEMY
The _Francesca_, no slower and no dirtier than most of the othersteamers which ply the inter-island trade routes, had waddled allnight and all day through the Celebes Sea. Afternoon found herlaboring over a becalmed mirror of sea, past rippled reefs, throughclusters of little coral islands from which straggle-plumed palmsraised wry fronds in anemic defiance of inhospitable, root resistingsoil. Mindanao lay to the west and south, vast, mysterious.
Terry stood alone at the forward end of the small promenade deckwatching the third class passengers, who, though still manifesting theuneasiness of the Malay landsman at sea, were comfortably sprawledupon the dirty hatch covers enjoying the seven-mile breeze created bythe movement of the vessel through the still atmosphere. Upon thecooler side of the upper deck the first class passengers had disposedthemselves under the once-white awning. Two natives, a Tagalog planternamed Ledesma and his big-eyed, full-bosomed daughter, had withdrawnthemselves from the whites and were seated in conscious dignity nearthe aft rail. Four Americans were grouped up forward, stretched out infull length steamer chairs in the complete physical comfort born of acooling evening after a blistering day.
Lindsey reached out to pull up an extra chair, beckoned Terry to jointhem and introduced him to the fourth member of the group, naming himas Sears.
He was a big man, heavy-set, a bit untidy of dress and beard: his facewas flushed, and he answered Terry's pleasant salutation with amattered growl. Lindsey moved in his chair, uneasily.
"Lieutenant," he said, "we want to get acquainted with you. We shallsee much of each other in Davao."
Before Terry could respond a harsh voice broke in: "Yes, none of usare stuck on ourselves down here!"
The words fell cold. Sensing the purpose to offend, Terry straightenedin his chair to face Sears. He met his surly stare squarely: theireyes battled, but under the level gaze Sears' bloodshot eyes waveredand lowered, the flush deepening angrily with his confusion.
Lindsey hastily summoned the deckboy to take their orders and by thetime he returned with the drinks the constraint had abated. Sears, theonly one who had ordered whiskey, settled back in his chair in sullenrelief from a situation not quite to his liking. Lindsey raised hisglass to Terry.
"To your arrival among us," he offered, pleasantly.
"To you all, sir," Terry responded.
"More hemp!" suggested Cochran.
Little Casey attested to his passion: "To breeds and breeders andbreeding!" he grinned: it was his never-failing toast at the DavaoClub.
They waited a moment for Sears, but he had gulped his drink.
It was the enthusiastic Casey who first spoke: "Lieutenant, and whendo you think you can come down to my place? I want you to see myBerkshire boar and my two American mares!"
Cochran smiled at him, affectionately: everybody liked Casey for hiswild enthusiasms. His latest hobby was the importation of bloodedanimals to cross with native stock.
"Casey," said Cochran, "if you would pay half as much attention toyour plantation as you do to your mares and that old grunter, you'dget somewhere!"
Casey snorted: "Sure, and in about three months I'll have a colt toshow you--then you'll sing another tune! And wait till I get somehalf-breed pigs--instead of the hollow-backed scrawny things we've gotnow--then you'll admit that Casey was the boy!"
Casey was more or less of a character in the Gulf. His words flew sofast they overran each other in effort to keep abreast of his racingideas. Thoroughly respected for his sterling character, he was madethe target of much good-natured hilarity because of his constanthobby-riding and the rushing speech that made him almost incoherent.His mares and boar had cost him money that could better have gone intoplantation improvements.
The conversation, drifting fitfully, touched upon a new strippingmachine which Lindsey had purchased in Manila: he was bringing it downin the hold of the _Francesca_.
"I watched them load it," he declared. "I took no chances in being shya necessary bolt or belt. I'll have it set up in a couple of weeks andif it works as well in the field as it did in the agent'swarehouse--no more labor troubles for me--no more hemp rotting in theground for lack of strippers!"
Cochran was mildly pessimistic. He had seen too many other heraldedinventions which worked well experimentally but failed in the hempfields. Of course Casey was hopeful--it was his nature.
Sears broke his long silence: "Labor troubles, labor shortage!Hell!--there's plenty of labor in the Gulf--if only the Governmentwasn't always hornin' in on us!"
Terry knew the remark was aimed at him but refrained from comment.Sears mistook his silence.
"But no meddlin' government is goin' to interfere with me! I'm goin'to run my own place from now on--and get my labor where I please--andhow I please!"
As this elicited no response from the patient officer he continueddespite Lindsey's distressed signals. Emboldened, he turned directlyto Terry.
"I suppose," he snarled, "that you were sent down to be the littlefairy god-father to the Bogobos--to protect the poor heathen from theawful planters who want to make them work. No?"
Terry stirred. "Mr. Sears, I am instructed to protect the Bogobos fromany oppression--and to aid the planters in every legitimate way. Ihope to do both."
Sears' passion seemed fed by the conciliatory tone. Terry studied theconvulsed face and through the thick veil of rage saw the lines ofworry that had aged him prematurely: the black hair was streaked withgray and his hands were thickened and stained with toil. Moved by aquick sympathy Terry spoke again:
"Mr. Sears, this is no time to discuss the matter. In a week or so Iwill come to see you and--"
Sears interrupted in a voice hoarse with anger: "Terry, if anygovernment man comes--snoopin' round my place--I'll--I'll--he willnever snoop again!"
In the tense silence that followed the challenge Lindsey bit cleanthrough his cigar. Terry's answer was so long in coming that the trioof Americans who listened experienced something of the faint qualmwhich sickens a man when he witnesses another's backing-down. Finallyhe spoke, slowly, his measured words scarcely audible above themuffled beat of the propeller.
"Sears, I am coming to your place first. I will come within a week."
Sears jumped to his feet, shaking with the hatred he had conceived forthe young officer. Terry rose easily, looking frail in comparison withthe burly figure opposing him, but he surveyed Sears steadily,unafraid, and not unfriendly.
Cochran coughed loudly, and again. Casey nervously undid a shoelace,retieing it with meticulous care. Lindsey rose with studiedleisureliness and stood at the rail near Sears, ready.
But the ship's bell rang out the dinner hour, a waiting Visayansteward stepped out on the deck hammering a Chinese dinner gong, andin the strident din the crisis passed. Lindsey lingered to speak withTerry after the others had passed below.
"I'm very sorry, Lieutenant. Sears is a rough fellow, but he ishalf-crazed with worry. He's really not a bad _hombre_."
Terry nodded: "I can see that he is worried about something."
"It's his plantation. He has invested what little money he had in it,has worked hard for three years, and now that he has his first bigcrop he can't harvest it--the Bogobos won't work for him. He is prettyrough with them, I guess--but if he doesn't harvest this crop he'sruined. He's in debt--and pretty desperate."
He paused, a deeper concern crept into his face: "Lieutenant," he saidearnestly, "can't you stay away from his place--a while--till he getshis hemp cut and stripped? He is really desperate--and always packs agun."
Terry smiled his gratitude. "Lindsey, I am much obliged to you. Youneed not worry about it."
* * * * *
Neither Sears nor Lindsey were of the group which assembled on deckafter dinner to enjoy the brilliancy of the swift sunset. The ship hadswung through Sarangani Channel and was paralleling the west coast duenorth toward Davao. The red glory of the dying sun tinted the watersof th
Cochran pointed up at the distant mountain: "Mount Apo."
Terry nodded: "Where the Hill People live?"
"Yes,--where they are supposed to live: no one really knows ... youwill hear all sorts of stories."
The shadows which lurked upon Mount Apo descended over the lowerslopes, then enfolded the Gulf. The lights on the steamer shonemurkily. The three lay back watching the stars brighten overhead. Fora long time nothing was heard but the querulous mutterings of the oldboat as she waddled on her way.
Terry broke the silence: "Where is Lindsey?"
Cochran answered quickly to head off the more explicit Casey: "Oh,he's busy--busy with Sears."
Terry understood. Cochran sparred for an opening in the silence hisfriendship for Sears made embarrassing.
"Lieutenant, you are likely to have work for your soldiers prettysoon. There's a rough outfit gathering down here in the Gulf--thoughI imagine Bronner told you all about it."
"He told me something of it, but I would like to hear more."
"Well, I don't know much about it, excepting that a score or more oftough characters have come down in the past two months. They settledon a mangy plantation up the coast, north of Davao, but they aren'tworking: just loafing around all day. They seem to be waiting forsomething--or somebody. The natives are scared, and the whites don'tfeel any too good about it either! You know we are scattered all overthe Gulf--everybody a mile or more away from his neighbors--and thatmeans a mile of jungle."
Casey flared up: "We ought to run 'em out--they're no good, probablycarabao thieves or worse--"
"How worse?" grinned Cochran. "Horse thieves--or pig thieves?"
Casey did not mind being ragged by his friends. He persisted:"Lieutenant, you ought to run 'em out as undesirables or under thevagabond law! They're no good--they won't work--and they're thetoughest lookin' lot I ever did see! Sure and if I had my way I'd tossthe lot into Sears' crocodile hole--the dirty, low-lived, shiftlesslot of 'em!"
Terry was interested: "Sears' crocodile hole?" he asked.
Cochran laughingly explained: "It's more or less of a joke betweenSears and Lindsey: each has a hoodoo on his place that makes it harderto get laborers. The Bogobos fear a great snake they swear hauntsLindsey's woods, and none of them wants to go near a pool on Sears'places just below the ford--they claim it is the home of a monstrouscrocodile, thirty feet long. No white man has ever seen either; it's abig joke in a way--but a costly one for them as it makes the wild mengive their places a wide berth."
"What have they done about it?"
"Everything. Got up hunting parties--stalked the places for hours anddays, tried to convince the natives that it is all bosh. But theyinsist it's all true, and stay away--and loss of man power means lossof money they both need this year. Both of them think the stories arejust the usual Bogobo exaggerations."
Terry thought Cochran not quite convinced: "What do you think?"
"I? Oh, I don't know. It's hard to swallow the stories--man-eatingsnakes and crocodiles sound all right on the lips of the old Spaniardsbut where our flag flies things seem to sober down. Yet I've usuallyfound that back of all these Bogobo tales there is an element oftruth: and two years ago when I was clearing my place I shot aneighteen-foot python. Stumbled on it sleeping--glad it was!"
The evening monsoon had set in, rippling the surface of the sea andhumming its cooling refrain through the rigging. Casey yawned heavilyand went below to seek the planter's early sleep. Cochran remainedwith Terry for a half-hour, enlightening him with a running talk ofthe problems confronting the planters. He was well educated,progressive, and backed by ample family means had developed the bestholding in the Gulf. He told Terry that on this trip he had succeededin persuading thirty timid Visayan families to settle upon hisplantation despite their native fear of all things Mindanaoan, andthat his profits for the year would return him sixty per cent of thecapital he had invested in his place.
"You will soon understand conditions, Lieutenant," he declared as herose to go below. "Most of the planters need labor, and they needcapital." He threw his cigar butt over the rail, debating the ethicsof uttering what might be thought a criticism of his associates. "Andthey need farming intelligence most--too many of them were army men orgovernment men before coming down here, yet they tackle a highlyspecialized form of tropical agriculture with utter confidence! Theyaren't farmers--they're just heroes!"
He half-turned to go, hesitated: "Lieutenant, you're going to like itdown here--because we're going to like you. Now, of course it's noneof my business, but if I were you I would keep away from Sears'place--he will make his threat good. He has it in him to become apretty bad man--but as I say, it's none of my business. Goodnight,sir."
After Cochran had gone, Terry, sleepless, slowly walked the gentlyrolling deck. Ledesma stood at the rail near the forward lifeboatgazing into the soft shadows which shrouded the muttering ship. AtTerry's quiet approach he turned to address him abstractedly in theliquid Spanish of cultured Filipinos.
"Buenas Noches, Senor Teniente."
Terry answered in the same tongue: "Good Evening, Senor Ledesma. Afine night."
The natives' vague fear of the dark--wrought into instinct by athousand generations of ancestors who crouched at night aroundflickering campfires in jungles through which crept hostile men andmarauding beasts--had fastened upon him, stripping him of the thinveneer of civilization the Spaniards had laid but lightly over theMalayan barbarism. He shifted uneasily, looked out over the starlitsea.
"Teniente," he murmured, "I like not the night. The dead rise ... somesing ... some complain ... drift through the black mists searching forthose they have long lost ... the vampires seek for unprotectedchildren.... I like not the night...."
Lost in the ghastly realms of native ghostlore, he ignored theAmerican. Terry rounded the deck once and when he came again to whereLedesma had stood he found him gone to seek the cheer of lightedcabin. Terry stopped at the forward rail, his face upturned to the bigstars which burned in the soft depths of the warm sky: the SouthernCross poised just over the crest of Apo. Below, on the black sea, thethrust of the vessel threw up a great welt which bordered the wedge ofdisturbed waters: phosphorescence gleamed like great wet stars. Thetips of cigarettes glowed on the forward deck where members of thecrew lay prone, exchanging occasional words in the hushed voices racesnot far from nature use in the still hours of the night.
The morning would find him in a strange place, among strangers ... heleaned upon the rail in a sudden excess of yearning for those whom heloved, summoned the spirits of those who loved him. They came to himthrough the night--Susan fretting, Ellis affectionately gruff, Enricoboisterously cheerful, Father Jennings wise, patient, watchful.Another, fairer, unutterably dear, hovered near him: he strove, as ofold, to bridge the gap--and was baffled, as of old.
The eight bells of midnight roused him from his dejected reverie: hestraightened from the rail. The Cross had dipped into the cloudedcrest: miles to the west a shorefire bit into the black mantle thatdraped the Gulf. The low wailing of an infant and the gutturalendeavors of the mother to soothe it came up from the forward deckwhere the native passengers lay sprawled in the profound slumber ofthe Malay: pacified, it slept again, then the night was still but forthe soft sounds of displaced waters and the creakings of the ship'sold joints.
* * * * *
As he passed along the narrow, ill-lighted passage toward his cabin heheard a voice raised in ugly imprecation:
"I'll
It was Sears' voice. As he felt his way down the dark corridor, heheard Lindsey's low tones, reproachful, conciliatory.
A few steps further brought him near Sears' door. Suddenly hedistinguished a figure outlined against the door, listening. As amatch flared in Terry's fingers, the native whirled.
It was Matak. He followed Terry to his cabin, unabashed.
"Master," he said simply, "he talk about you. He make fight talk--killtalk--so I listen."
The seed of his loyalty fell on ground furrowed by the lonely hours ondeck. Shame at having given way to a great depression swept overTerry--friends were in the making, this splendid friend already made... and he had come to serve, not to seek.... He smiled into theworshiping black eyes.
"It's all right, Matak. You do not understand. You go to your quartersand get some sleep."
The Moro lingered. "Anything more, master?"
"Yes, Matak. Don't call me 'master': call me 'lieutenant.'
"Yes, master." He left the cabin.
Terry, always a light sleeper, was awakened toward morning by a slightsound outside his door. Looking out into the dim corridor he saw thatMatak was standing guard over his slumbers, armed with a big bolowhose naked length gleamed viciously in the semi-darkness.
Touched by the devotion and realizing the futility of trying to drivehim from his vigil, Terry lay back on the pillow, the rhythmic beat ofthe propeller in his ears. Asleep, he dreamed, and the chug of thescrew became the beat of an engine bearing him away from the home ofhis fathers.
The Moro heard the restless tossing and stepped silently into thelittle stateroom, his young-old eyes fastened upon the wistful linesthat marked the competent young face. While he stood brooding over hisyoung master the dawn streaked through the open porthole, and a softsplash sounded from up forward as the ship dropped her roped anchor.They were off Davao.
Terry had come into port.