Papua by Peter Watt

examine the goods with great interest.
    ‘All this to the chief for twenty fit men,’ O’Leary said in a loud voice, pointing with his rifle to the goods on display.
    The interpreter explained the trade and the warriors muttered amongst themselves. Eventually the warrior leader replied and the interpreter shook his head. ‘No deal,’ he said.
    ‘Well,’ O’Leary sighed. ‘It can’t be said that I didn’t try to be nice. Tell the chief that we will give him time to consider the offer,’ he said to his interpreter. ‘We will wait outside the village.’
    With a wary eye on the assembled warriors Pierre scooped up the trade goods and followed the Irishman to where they would set up a camp a reasonable distance from the village. The Corsican knew what his boss had planned and respected his cunning. They were at a distinct disadvantage so close to the village and the assembled warriors possibly ready for a war with the recruiters.
    In a short time some of the more adventuresome villagers came to their campsite where they were met with smiles and small trinkets. Soon a rush was on as the word spread of the white man’s generosity and the recruiting party was besieged by men, women and children.
    ‘So far so good,’ O’Leary muttered to Pierre as he handed a shy, young girl a mirror. She snatched the present and rushed away followed by a crowd of young women eager to see what magic the hard but water-like object held.
    O’Leary had laid out ropes around a tent to indicate the perimeter over which none of the villagers were to cross. His rule was enforced by his porters who pushed back any villager who tried to cross this barrier.
    At nightfall the villagers drifted back to their homes and the Europeans placed guards for the night. Neither side trusted the other and with good reason.
    But in the morning the villagers returned to be met by the sight of the recruiters sitting down to breakfast. O’Leary hummed an old Irish ballad as he carefully appraised the villagers gathered around them, pressing to the edge of the rope. Already he had noted those he was interested in. Amongst them was the young girl he had presented the mirror to the day before. She was only just entering womanhood and her grass skirt barely concealed what O’Leary wanted as much as the money he would fetch for the reluctant indentured labourers down on the coast.
    ‘I think we will be ready to take our kanakas tomorrow morning,’ O’Leary said to Pierre who had joined him to observe the jostling mob. Their prey was being lulled into a sense of security. Already they were bringing yams and pig meat to exchange for the trade goods. The interpreter had again offered to trade even more if twenty of the tribe’s fittest men would accompany them back to work for the white man. Again the headman had declined the offer.
    He appeared worried now as he stood amongst his warriors, observing the recruiters while his people were gradually accepting their presence. The Irishman could see the concerned expression on the headman’s face and smiled at him. The men stared at each other for a moment before the chief finally looked away.
    The following day the recruiters followed their routine as the people came again to trade for the precious goods, now almost depleted. O’Leary had briefed his men, and this was not the first time they had used such methods. But the village headman noticed the subtle tension amongst the recruiters as he stood and watched the proceedings of his people with the white men.
    ‘Now!’ O’Leary roared and the guns in the hands of his porters spat death into the warriors that stood beside their chief. So sudden and devastating was the attack that those who were witness fell to the ground in terror. O’Leary cursed himself that he had missed killing the chief who had reacted swiftly and ducked behind a group of his men.
    With the precision of soldiers in action the porters fell on the unwounded young men with shackles to secure