ire leeward coast, from the salt-
water men of the shore to the remotest bush villagers, knew that the
labour recruiter was going in to Langa-Langa. As the lagoon, formed by
the chain of islets lying off shore, opened out, Jerry began to smell the
reef-villages. Canoes, many canoes, urged by paddles or sailed before
the wind by the weight of the freshening South East trade on spread
fronds of coconut palms, moved across the smooth surface of the lagoon.
Jerry barked intimidatingly at those that came closest, bristling his
neck and making a ferocious simulation of an efficient protector of the
white god who stood beside him. And after each such warning, he would
softly dab his cool damp muzzle against the sun-heated skin of Skipper's
leg.

Once inside the lagoon, the _Arangi_ filled away with the wind a-beam. At
the end of a swift half-mile she rounded to, with head-sails trimming
down and with a great flapping of main and mizzen, and dropped anchor in
fifty feet of water so clear that every huge fluted clamshell was visible
on the coral floor. The whaleboat was not necessary to put the Langa-
Langa return boys ashore. Hundreds of canoes lay twenty deep along both
sides of the _Arangi_, and each boy, with his box and bell, was clamoured
for by scores of relatives and friends.

In such height of excitement, Van Horn permitted no one on board.
Melanesians, unlike cattle, are as prone to stampede to attack as to
retreat. Two of the boat's crew stood beside the Lee-Enfields on the
skylight. Borckman, with half the boat's crew, went about the ship's
work. Van Horn, Jerry at his heels, careful that no one should get at
his back, superintended the departure of the Langa-Langa returns and kept
a vigilant eye on the remaining half of the boat's crew that guarded the
barbed-wire rails. And each Somo boy sat on his trade-box to prevent it
from being tossed into the waiting canoes by some Langa-Langa boy.

In half an hour the riot departed ashore. Only several canoes lingered,
and from one of these Van Horn beckoned aboard Nau-hau, the biggest chief
of the stronghold of Langa-Langa. Unlike most of the big chiefs, Nau-hau
was young, and, unlike most of the Melanesians, he was handsome, even
beautiful.

"Hello, King o' Babylon," was Van Horn's greeting, for so he had named
him because of fancied Semitic resemblance blended with the crude power
that marked his visage and informed his bearing.

Born and trained to naked