The men did not all carry the same weapons. Every man carried his gaba-gaba, and each wore, hanging from his neck, the upi, the bamboo head-knife, and the singai loop. Each man was an expert with one weapon and different villagers were adepts at different arms. Thus there were the sword men, the club men, the arrow men, the doad men, the sukari men, and so on. The gaba-gaba and bow and arrow were the favourite weapons. The bone dagger was a deadly thing at close quarters. It was carved from the shin-bone of a man or a cassowary.
With warriors lining the canoe sides and with song from every throat, the vessels were rushed into the water, and, as they splashed, each man sprang to his place. Up flew the sails, and the wind bellied them into life. The women of Mer, how they sang! How their black eyes flashed while they screamed to the maddening rhythm of the war-song! As the bows of the canoes dipped to the bay, the very hills echoed back the song from the men, the sun bronzed their muscles and proudly ornamented chests. Cheerily they waved the dadu, with each canoe proudly flying its own dadu, a coconut-leaf flag at the end of a pole in the stern.
The crowd rushed the departing canoes, and in hundreds the forgotten children plunged into the water, swimming and shrilling their triumph song. The girls and women swam through the foaming wakes until the free sea-breeze hurried the canoes over the reef. The women swam far out, tailing off like sheep until distance made mellow the song from the canoes. And on the beach face downward lay the men who were not allowed to go and fight. Then the crowd, with drenched hair, ran panting up the grassy headlands, shrilling their wild, grim song with straining voices until the canoes grew dim on the misty sea. And over all, permeating the hysteria, even within the throb of the drums, brooded the spirit of C’Zarcke.
In Kebisu’s canoe were also Jakara and Eyes of the Sea. A shrewd move this of Kebisu’s, going ajaunting with but a few warriors and, above all, women! Thus by telepathic communication the Maid-le of enemy islands would conclude that Kebisu had been paying but a ceremonial visit to Mer.
They would not visualize him standing now, handling the Eagle’s Claws, his eyes fierce as that pirate of the air! These claws were a pair, and were symbolically used by the chiefs of clans when fighting on sea or shore. Thus, in a few nights to come, as the canoes crept closer to the doomed island, Kebisu would grip those claws tightly and thrusting them in the direction of the Two Brothers, haul the claws slowly back towards him, muttering the while. This signified his “grip” on the island, and the final rush of the canoes would symbolize the rending of the talons. Similarly, if a sea-fight occurred, the Eagle’s Claws would be thrust out to “grip” the enemy canoes. Symbolical, of course, but with a distinct meaning which added materially to the fighting-power of these people.
Jakara looked at Eyes of the Sea, and she smiled cheerily, then blushed, vaguely annoyed at not understanding why she wrapped her disarrayed skirt around her. Had there been only tribesmen present, she would never have thought of her skirt, for all had great things to think of far above the limbs of a girl. Jakara the Lamar was different, his ways were new and uncertain. He always seemed to be expecting something different of her, something she did not quite understand. She was annoyed with herself, too, that she wanted to be as this man expected her to be. Still, he was handsome and a noted chief! So were other men also, but this Lamar attracted her most strangely. Many a girl pined to be his humblest slave. Lively curiosity puzzled her as to why he refused to wear the head-mai, insignia of warriorhood. She sat almost buried between fat bunches of bananas, and Jakara stepped over an outrigger spar and squeezed down beside her. His manner was possessive, and the quick men of Tutu laughed with their eyes, and nudged insinuations. And Jakara laughed with the girl and said pleasant things, and talked as if he owned her, and she joked back, thrilled by the hard grey eyes that spoke so meaningly while his lips talked lightly. Girls of Tutu from adjoining canoes called to Kebisu’s warriors, who answered amid laughter at the lovers among the bananas.
Jakara noted a scowl behind Beizam’s laugh as he called boyishly from his canoe: “Blue eyes of Tutu, how quick you were to tie upon Jakara’s arm the band of love!”
Jakara had to satisfy the instant curiosity of the girl. “So Jakara already loves,” she said merrily in reproof, and refused to accept his denial.
Little waves rolled to spank the sterns of the canoes, but could not quite reach, while the derisive wind hissed spray once and again into the jaws of crocodile and shark. The warriors grimly remarked that soon their figureheads would drink of something else. The sun sparkled on the water, and life seemed very happy. Then Eroob stood out grandly, with the grassy slopes of Lalour climbing down into the sea. Presently came faintly the boo shells: the warriors answered with one voice and broke again into the war-song, while all eyes searched Eroob – except those of Jakara, pained that the girl had turned from him to gaze in intense excitement at the emerald valleys and golden beaches.
She turned such an excited face! “Oh, Jakara, you hear them? The boo shells of Eroob! Hark! the sea throws back their voices, and they growl like the spirit of thunder. Hear the drums of Eroob! Oh, how they throb out the deep song that carries with it the wail of a child! The drums of Eroob, calling. the men to war! Oh, how I wish I were a man! Jakara, how proud you are! You are a leader of men!”
She leaned towards him, and he thrilled to the adoration in her face and voice. But he was deeply pained. This was no fondness for him, this was simply native hero-worship. Her eyes sought the circlet at his neck, so that he could feel the accusation.
“Jakara,” she whispered, “where is your head-mai?”
Startled, he stared at her. “I have not got one.”
“Why not?”
Jakara drew a long breath; the kindness left his eyes. “Because I am a white man,” he snarled, “you little white savage!”
She sat back among the bananas, then turned again towards Eroob, bewilderment in her eyes.
The boo shells brayed loudly, and the drums throbbed from the heart of Lalour. Its green slopes became blackened as with ants that came crawling up from every jungle path until the lookout knolls were covered and the lazy waves hummed to the roar: “Kebisu! Kebisu! Kebisu!” And boo shells from sea and land joined chorus, a blasting of loud musical sound, each shell a note to itself, long-drawn-out, insistent, the voices in the song of the rolling drums of Eroob. The ants with one accord ran down the slopes and disappeared down the jungly ravines to burst forth on the village paths and spread out thickly upon the little beaches. They ran along the beaches and disappeared among Saidee’s palms, and reappeared farther along the beach, while behind them hurried still more files, and others, all singing the stirring song of the war-god, all the clans hurrying for Medigee Bay. A great throng, with the screaming chorus of the women, hastened on while Kebisu’s