Flynn’s Weekly Detective Fiction. Vol. 18, No. 3, September 18, 1926
- Автор: Bailey H. C., Bechdolt Jack
- Год: 1926
- Язык: английский
- Год: The Red Star News Company
- Жанр: Другие детективы
Электронная книга - «Flynn’s Weekly Detective Fiction. Vol. 18, No. 3, September 18, 1926». Краткое содержание книги:
For a Newer and Better World
In Saldanha Bay, ten leagues north of the Cape of Good Hope, an English ship fell into their clutches. She put up a stiff fight, but it cost her the loss of her captain and fourteen men, the Victoire losing only twelve. In return the republic was the gainer by some sixty thousand pounds and much broadcloth.
The slain captain was buried by Misson with all the honors of war. He was sent to the bottom of the sea like the good mariner that he was. But the romantic Misson was not content with giving him the ordinary burial. In his ship’s company was a stonecutter. Somewhere on board ship they found a small block of granite. Misson ordered the stonecutter to hew out a gravestone on which was carved:
“Ici gist un brave Anglois.”
Then he sent the tombstone down to the bottom of the ocean to tell the fishes where lay “a brave Englishman.”
Thirty of the English decided to remain with the republic. Their ship was added as the third of the fleet.
I want to repeat that full half of Misson, alongside of the man of action, was the dreamer. So far the republic had had only the stability of the ocean to rest upon. Now Misson began to dream of founding a republic on land. So his eyes turned to the green shore of East Africa.
Here were dazzling white beaches with an emerald sea breaking lazily over a land sleeping in the sunlight. Palms and fruit trees bowed their heads benignly and offered unstinted bounty to man. Birds of brilliant plumage darted through the air. The soil was rich beyond the dreams of any tiller in more niggardly lands.
Misson remembered from his rich store of reading how many times republics had been founded by pirates. He, who with considerable justice felt himself far above a mere robber, had vaster dreams for his republic than any pirate band ever had in going to live on shore.
Why should not the Republic of the Sea become a republic on land and begin a newer and a better world? So Misson hoisted the signal to his little fleet to make for the nearest land. It proved to be an island in the Comoro group between Madagascar and the east coast of Africa.
As the crews landed on the coral-tinted white beach, out of the green jungle came a black queen and her councilors. Behind them was a strong party of warriors, hideously painted and armed to the teeth. For some moments the two parties looked at each other, wondering whether it was to be blood or peace. Then the African queen with a woman’s intuition read aright the heart of the young man at the head of the whites.
The Mingling of Bloods
A smile of welcome was her greeting. At once the two parties grounded their arms and freely mingled in peace. In the motley collection of races and nationalities of the republic there were several who managed to fulfill the role of interpreter between Misson and the queen. And through them both parties soon evolved a “pidgin” language.
Between the heads of the republic and the feminine members of African royalty there soon developed ties closer than political. Misson became attracted to the queen’s sister, a slender specimen of primitive womanhood.
In his profoundly friendly feeling toward all races Misson dreamed of a humanity mingled of the bloods of all the races, whose genius would be all the more splendid because it comprised the gifts of all humanity, and whose vitality would be the greater because the culture of civilization and the freshness of a primitive people would be thus united.
Caraccioli also became interested in her majesty’s niece. There was then held a gorgeous double wedding, the first of a series of marriages between the citizens of the republic and the subjects of her majesty, the queen of Johanna.
Meanwhile on the mainland tire African king of Mohilla had been planning the capture of the queen and her desirable domain. He was, of course, ignorant of her new ally. Nevertheless the war-party he brought down was a powerful one. Attacking the queen’s island empire by a descent in war-canoes, the king of Mohilla looked to a fairly agreeable conclusion.
An Idealist Outraged
To his amazement came the queen’s warriors headed by hundreds of whites, all commanded by a white youth. To the king’s horror instead of the familiar and anticipated attack with bows, arrows, and javelins, there broke out from the defenders the roar of musketry and of cannon.
The king’s war-canoes were smashed like children’s toys, and he saw scores of his fighters drown in the sea. The Issue was only too easy to foresee. Wisely the king made the sign of surrender.
Only one hundred warriors remained to him when the battle ceased. With these as prisoners the king went ashore and delivered himself up to the mercy of the queen and her subjects. Gallantly Misson permitted the queen and her warriors to behave as if the victory were solely due to them.
But soon he saw that they meant to treat their hundred prisoners according to the practice prevailing among savages. To the victor belonged the lives of the vanquished, and the queen’s warriors licked their chops at the prospect of a juicy massacre.
That didn’t meet with Misson’s sentiments. He was too understanding to try to reform with a single stroke what was perhaps an elemental emotion on the part of his allies. So he took the hundred prisoners on board his ships.
With his customary chivalry he had sent back the king of Mohilla to his stronghold on the mainland. Now he managed to convince the queen that it would be good policy to live in amity with the king and to send the hundred prisoners to him as a peace offering.
She was easily convinced, and Misson sent a detachment of his men as an escort to the prisoners and to deliver his message of good will. But the king of Mohilla was a savage, and not a very intelligent one. All his mind could grasp was that he was, so to speak, back in his home town with his own gang about him. Back, too, were one hundred of his best fighters.
In his clutch were a dozen whites who had inflicted such a humiliating beating on him. This was as far as he could see. So he seized the messengers of good will, stripped them, maltreated them and sent back only one of them with an insolent message to Misson.
The young idealist was outraged and tire man of action, very warm as to temper, unlimbered. Boarding one of his ships and taking with him an ample supply of ammunition Misson set sail for the mainland.
A Double-crossing King
In front of the king of Mohilla’s town Misson proceeded to pound daylight into the king’s thick skull. He said it with cannon. Shell after shell dropped on the horrified blacks and tore their proudest strongholds into so many handfuls of grass and bits of mud.
It was not long before the king, a sadder if not a wiser man, was down at the seashore on his knees, his hands aloft pleading for mercy.
This was a plea to which the heart of Misson always responded. But never did his head part company with his heart. Having once experienced the king’s capacity for treachery Misson now demanded that he send two of his children and ten of his nobles as hostages. The king accepted only too readily, and sent the twelve people, presumably most dear to him, on board Misson’s ship.
In return Misson and his comrade Caraccioli with only a boat-crew in attendance went to dine with the king, in token of amity. The dinner went off with surface smoothness. But as the handful of whites were returning to their boat, from the bushes there came a shower of arrows. Out of seven of the boat-crew three were killed outright, two more were wounded.