The Love Beach (30 page)

Their expressions were peaceful for they believed their cause was holy. The people left on the beach saw them go without qualm because they believed also. By evening, they were assured within themselves, the victory would be claimed and the warriors would return, possibly towing the St Mark's copra hulk as a bonus.

'God is on our side,' Joseph called out to them in their own language before they made for the gap in the reef. 'He will fight with us against the heathen.' He gave the signal for the advanced boats to go forward towards the wide battlefield of the ocean.

It took an hour before all the boats had cleared the reef.
They
formed up in three main squadrons, one slightly in advance of the others, with a small fourth section composed of the supply canoes and the ambulance vessels, together with the young boys and older men of the village as auxiliaries and crammed uncomfortably together in three obsolete canoes. ID the high sun they made a strong array, gathered like black beetles on the moving blue of the sea.

As the ladies of Sexagesima touched their afternoon teacups a few miles north, the war fleet moved across half a mile of ocean and advanced on the green lump of St Mark's. The paddles moved with eager rhythm, chopping the ocean, sending the slim craft urgently through the Pacific swell. There was no singing now, just a great panting and breathing from the warriors, sweat lying across their flesh, their eyes closed with the effort of their en. deavour in the sun.

After three miles Joseph, standing in the foremost canoe

like a prophet in the pulpit, raised his large right arm and 222

brought his armada to a rolling halt in the sea. The warriors knew what to expect.
They
looked up and saw, formed and ready on the sea, half a mile ahead, all the black canoes of the St Mark's tribe, quiet, unexcited. Waiting for them.

Fifteen

An anxious flotilla of cream boats left the tight harbour at Sexagesima at mid‑afternoon, the Governor's official launch at its head, its Nelsonian sailors trembling at having to sail on an unfamiliar voyage. The routine journeys across the harbour were accomplished with fine precision thanks to the navigational landmarks such as Mrs Flagg's red roof and the Kai Tek Fish Shop, but to sail for the world's most monster ocean, and to have to go through the midget gap in the reef to reach it was full of terrible possibilities. The bosun had told Cooper that he knew his men well, and one thing he knew was that they were not capable of this refined and unaccustomed seamanship. So Abe had been chartered as pilot and he stood at the wheel, smiling fatly at the luxury of his situation, and took the launch out towards the Pacific.

Sir William and his aide stood on one side of the cabin stiff with their inherent sense of the emergency. The thoughtful Conway and Davies stood on the other side. A turgid boat owned by Mr English followed, loaded with the owner, Mrs Flagg, muttering with anger, Pollet and leading citizens of Sexagesima including Mr Kendrick and Mr Livesley.

Behind them came the Sexagesima police boat, the crew marble‑faced at the prospect of becomng involved in bloodshed on such a fine day. The French officer glowered at his British counterpart, pointedly blaming him for spoiling the afternoon rest period.

M. Etienne Martin, the French Governor, crisp in white shirt and shorts, a ceremonial revolver with a fancy lanyard at his waist, stood easily astride the scrubbed boards of his official launch, with his crew from New Caledonia, sharp in white ducks and red pom‑poms. His craft was clipping along at half speed only since the British launch was unable to move faster than she was already proceeding.

M. Martin kept patience. His moustache was straight as a pencil line and he kept his handsome eyes on the horizon for signs of the native war fleets. He wondered why the British always had such bad luck. He laughed.

In the forward launch Sir William and Cooper also watched the skyline. Phillip holding heavy black binoculars in his thin grip, Sir William through worn
field
glasses which he used in Scotland during remote and happy grouse seasons. Conway and Davies stood impotently, feet apart on the deck, hands uncomfortably behind their backs, saying nothing. Although no accusations had been made they felt like suspects being taken back to the scene of their er;me. Abe was singing low and soberly as he persuaded the wheel. They went through the reef with the familiar water‑chute sensation and two members of the regular crew were surprised by the jolt and fell over backwards. Davies, glad of something to do, considerately helped one of them to his feet. Sir William ‑glanced around, winced, and turned his eyes to his field glasses again.

They sighted the rival battle fleets low against the sun at almost the moment that they closed for the first contact of their action. The small black splinters moved threateningly towards each other across the open ocean. A chorus, the combined war chants of both tribes, howled through the sky reaching the men in the motor boats even before they could plainly see what was taking place. It was a haunting howl like a thousand begging winds. It shrieked over the ocean sending sea birds screaming away in horror, making the Melanesians in the three boats, the Govemor's, the police boat. and Monsieur Martin's pull long faces of fright. Pollet picked his teeth. The other white men swallowed and stood straight. Abe said: 'Looks like we've missed the kickoff.'

The first encounter was bitter, carried through with fierce hatred and raw bravery by the men of both islands. The dug‑outs of one squadron on each side ran towards each other rolling over the bulges of the sea, their warriors crying the gigantic cry, the bows ready for the first fusilade. At one hundred yards the arrows flew, hissing through the clear afternoon air, striking, killing, wounding the black bodies on both sides. Some of the canoes skidded as the arrows hit their men, one of the St Paul's boats fell sideways as half its men were thrown into the ocean by the arrows. The St Mark's natives were just as ravaged by that first assault. Two of their fast‑moving canoes collided and the second flight of arrows from the St Paul's men sizzled among the crews as they grappled to get the buried nose of one vessel from the flank of the other.

Like slim birds the second flight of St Mark's arrows flew towards the other tribe. The war‑cries were increased with the screams of the warriors who were struck. Some were in the sea, a sea already tinted with the native blood, swimming feebly among the prancing canoes.

There was only time for two flights of arrows. Then the chanting and the shouts ceased and the spears and clubs came into the fight as the canoes touched nose to nose and rammed into violent kisses. All the ancient savagery of the Pacific islands was in the encounter, the natives closing and locking, squirming together, falling, provoking a storm from a calm sea. The clubs and the spears struck and thrust in intimate violence. The cries, the blatant war boasts across the water, were smothered in the bodily battle, reduced to grunts and sweated breathing, to gasps as men died sharply or to cries strangely like the calls of small children.

The two squadrons on each side, which had stood back to let the battle form, still rode the water, keeping their formation, watching with all the fascination of spectators at a crucial football match. No sounds came from them either. They floated in their canoes, witnessing with almost academic calm the struggling butchery of their fellows.

Abruptly the battle broke. No one retreated, but as though at a telepathic signal the combatants disengaged, and the canoes were briskly turned like horses being reined about. The blows stopped at once and there was no interference from either side with the manoeuvring of the boats. There was even a touch of traffic courtesy as the dug‑outs 226

were guided around and away from the battle area before going back to rejoin the rest of the tribal army. A St Paul's canoe locked with an adversary was politely disentangled by the St Mark's native at the bow, and both proceeded back to the waiting echelons of their people.

The space of water where the engagement had been fought was clear of the boats within a few minutes. The tribes contemplated each other at a distance across the blue avenue of the sea. Between them floated sluggish bodies of those who had been killed in the fight, black lumps bobbing on the sunny water and with them the sharply finned backs of four upturned canoes. One of the floating men raised an arm and splashed forward in a weak and woeful swimming stroke. Then his head went forward and his body was covered over with the sea.

From the north the advancing fleet of white men's craft was now well up on the horizon. The natives from both sides saw them but made no reaction. They waited, pausing like prime boxers between rounds, for the next encounter.

There was a quaint regatta air about the boats and their passengers approaching from Sexagesima. The white and cream clothes, the caps, the binoculars, the anxious expressions could have fitted partisans at the Cowes finishing line. Everyone stood up straight and interested in the approaching spectacle apart from the knowing Melanesian sailors and police who had sunk to lower positions behind the bulwarks of each vessel. Conway and Davies remained standing, blinking with unease under the pouring sunlight.

'They've stopped, sir,' said Cooper, lowering his monster glasses. 'They've packed up whacking each other.'

'I can see, Cooper, I can see,' said Sir William a little coldly, not enjoying his aide's enthusiasm nor his colloquialisms. 'They seem to have disengaged.'

'Waiting,' called Pollet from the boat just astern. 'They fight like that, your Excellency. In relays. They'll be engaging again in a moment.'

The Governor slyly turned to see how M. Martin was reacting. He turned away again, annoyed, because the elegant French Governor had immediately spotted his concealed movement and had graciously waved at him in a comradely manner as though congratulating him on some performance or achievement.

'Damn the man,' said Sir William under his breath. 'Damn him,' he looked at the other flank to Pollet's companions, Mr English, Mrs Flagg, and the other dignitaries positioned pale as statues in their labouring launch. Only the British would stand so stiff on such a bouncing platform to watch a disaster, thought Conway, who followed the Governor's glance and saw his approving nod. They were stood necessarily grouped close together like white skittles, their heads elevated, their eyes looking out towards the gathered canoes. Mrs Flagg seemed as though she intended herself to join the battle on the side of her beloved St Mark's islanders. Her red hands clenched, unhinged, and clenched again as she squinted to see into the sun flying from the mirror of the ocean. Pollet picked his teeth and wiped his glasses.

'Are you sure they're merely resting?' Sir William asked Abe.

'Having a breather, your Excellency,' agreed the helmsman knowledgeably. 'When they have a fight it's in three bits. First one lot, then another, and then the third. Then after that, whoever is left piles in for the last punch, and that more or less picks the winner. They've never had a war that wasn't finished by supper time.'

'This one must finish before that,' grunted Sir William determinedly. 'Won't this vessel go any faster?'

'Giving her all she's got now,' said Abe, rolling his head.
'She'll
go off with a bang if we push her any more.'

'Don't do that, for God's sake,' sniffied Cooper without removing his face from his binoculars. Sir William looked at Cooper with distaste but added nothing. The war canoes were now clear, lined up in their individual patterns. There was no movement from either tribe. T'hey sat and watched each other across the coloured swell while the motor boats came from the north. Then, like the starting of a dynamo, a low hum came from the St Paul's men, taken up, but out of time, by the rival islanders. The hums moaned through the clear ocean air, rising and
falling,
getting louder with ever
new chorus.

'Haven't you got any bright ideas?' Sir William suddenly asked Conway. He lowered his field glasses and glared at the Australian. 'You seem to have a lot of influence with them.'

Conway shrugged. 'No ideas,' he said evenly. 'It would need more than a bit of influence to do anything about them now.'

Davies said, hesitating over the words: 'We ... we ought to try and do something or other, didn't we?'

Conway turned on him. 'Why don't you sing a couple of hymns to them?' he suggested bitterly. 'Try a few choruses of
Build on the Rock,
mate. See if that will help.'

'Shut up,' Davies said. He stared truculently at Conway. Conway stared back, challenging him to say something more. He didn't.

They were approaching the tribes now. They could see the distant outlines of the men crouching in the boats like soldiers in trenches. In the hot air of the afternoon there was the heavy smell of death and battle. The squadron of motor boats fanned out to line abreast. M. Martin loosened the many‑coloured lanyard of his revolver, but only with the dignified air of a man adjusting his clothing. His face was unworried. They dropped speed, cautiously going towards the native fleet, going on a wide line for the separating channel between the two. Abe, who was reluctant to take risks, looked towards Conway and Davies and then questioningly at the Governor. 'Carry on, Mr Abe,' said Sir William quietly. 'We'll cruise through the middle. I will speak to them.'

It was the strangest procession. The motor launches, courteously pushing aside the water before them, proceeded through the ranks of the antagonist armies who remained completely still and composed, sitting in the dug‑outs like invalids in wheeled chairs. Only their dark native eyes moved.

Sir William in the way of a general astride a military vehicle, inspecting an array of troops, cruised very slowly through the blue corridor of the sea. He stared to either side and met the same impassive masks of the islanders. 'They've really got to stop,' he grumbled almost to himself. He spoke to Cooper: 'Give me the megaphone.' He took the trumpet and, swinging slowly from side to side addressed simultaneously the warriors of both sides. As he did so his boat proceeded, bumping several times against the drifting bodies of the natives who had been killed in the earlier combat.