Rough Justice

THE chiefs brought me some of his bones.

I told them to keep their grisly relics for the District Agent, as I didn’t collect human remains.

Rarau had absolutely vanished. The D.A., who had briefly looked into the affair, could find no trace of him, nor any inkling of the solution of the mystery, and closed the incident officially by enter ing the missing Rarau up as “probably” having embarked on a passing cutter.

Our New Hebrides island is still a land of bushmen—more or less an “uncon trolled area”. Dread of “poison” still holds mysteries of terror for nearly all our dusky tribesmen. While the Agent had been glad enough to leave it at the mild probability of embarkation some where or other, our district remained, un easily, not so sure that Rarau’s disap pearance was not really due to the dark powers of “apte”, as they call witchcraft.

Half a dozen bushmen knew the truth; and. though, for several months, their secret was securely locked in their own guilty consciences, yet at last rumours be gan to spread. That “murder will cut”, (or any other crime), is very true of native psychology: and inevitably some one who knows too much “tells out” his secret, probably as a boast, to one of his trusted friends. Once the ball is rolling, rumour gathers force.

The chiefs held meetings, and even searched the bush, with no result. The spot so clearly indicated in the current stories proved a blind . . . More meetings, more searches, growing certainty.

One morning, they gathered in large

numbers near my house. They were cer tain this time, as they moved off Into the bush.

In the afternoon, as I &aid, they brought me some of his bones. Hie reconstructed drama of Rarau’s disappearance was rea sonably clear, at last.

Under a bent tree, well up in the bush, the earth had recently been disturbed, and here, they found just one or two small bony relics. That spot had been Rarau’s first resting place in death. It was quite close to the commonly-used track. Rarau had been decoyed, and. at a convenient place, attacked by five men. The particu lar method of elimination of one’s enemies favoured by our bushmen is a form of strangling. Quite early in the process, Rarau had almost surprised his assailants by dying before they meant him to. In fear, they quickly buried him be neath the bent tree, conveniently close at hand.

But when “people began to talk”, panic grew in guilty minds, so that stealthily one night the tell-tale grisly members found their second grave, in the earth floor of the men’s house in the village.

There a few small bones were also found.

Rarau’s third grave was the surest of all.

Surprisingly enough, the murderers had disinterred the remains a second time, carried them by night a couple of miles to the coast and cast them into the deep blue sea.

I certainly did not want what bones were left! Neither did I see that much would be gained by raking up the whole affair. I did tell the story to the District Agent when I saw him next, and he agreed with me that officially Rarau had

better remain an unsolved mystery.

For Rarau, poor fellow, had been no ornament to the community. Men In several villages around had been discover ing that their wives could not be left alone in safety, even in their villages, and even in the daytime. It was rough, but it was justice.

Rarau is forgotten now. A few pigs, as a present from the murderers’ village to the dead man’s friends, settled all ac

counts.

Mrs. Colardeau, wife of Mr. E. Colar deau. one of the most influential French planters in the New Hebrides, died from blackwater fever in Vila Hospital on July 8. Blood .transfusions were tried in a desperate attempt to save her life, but without success. The Colardeau family is one of the best known in New Cale donia.