There was another man on board, of whom the ladies took no notice. He
was a little shriveled wisp of a man, with a withered skin the color of
mahogany. His name on the passenger list does not matter, but his
other name, Captain Malu, was a name for niggers to conjure with, and
to scare naughty pickaninnies to righteousness, from New Hanover to the
New Hebrides. He had farmed savages and savagery, and from fever and
hardship, the crack of Sniders and the lash of the overseers, had
wrested five millions of money in the form of beche-de-mer, sandalwood,
pearl-shell and turtle-shell, ivory nuts and copra, grasslands, trading
stations, and plantations. Captain Malu's little finger, which was
broken, had more inevitableness in it than Bertie Arkwright's whole
carcass. But then, the lady tourists had nothing by which to judge
save appearances, and Bertie certainly was a fine-looking man.
Bertie talked with Captain Malu in the smoking-room, confiding to him
his intention of seeing life red and bleeding in the Solomons. Captain
Malu agreed that the intention was ambitious and honorable. It was not
until several days later that he became interested in Bertie, when that
young adventurer insisted on showing him an automatic 44-calibre
pistol.
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