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diff --git a/old/62875-0.txt b/old/62875-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 10f5ca7..0000000 --- a/old/62875-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,8190 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Queen Versus Billy and Other Stories, by -Lloyd Osbourne - - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - - -Title: The Queen Versus Billy and Other Stories - The Queen Versus Billy--The Beautiful Man of Pingalap--The Dust of Defeat--The Happiest Day of His Life--Father Zosimus--Frenchy�s Last Job--The Devil�s White Man--The Phantom City--Amatua�s Sailor - - -Author: Lloyd Osbourne - - - -Release Date: August 7, 2020 [eBook #62875] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - - -***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE QUEEN VERSUS BILLY AND OTHER -STORIES*** - - -E-text prepared by D A Alexander, David E. Brown, and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images -generously made available by Internet Archive (https://archive.org) - - - -Note: Images of the original pages are available through - Internet Archive. See - https://archive.org/details/queenversesbilly00osborich - - -Transcriber’s note: - - Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_. - - - - - -THE QUEEN VERSUS -BILLY AND -OTHER STORIES - -by - -LLOYD OSBOURNE - - -[Illustration] - - - - - - -Charles Scribner’s Sons -New York . . . . 1900 - -Copyright, 1900, by -Charles Scribner’S Sons - -The Devinne Press. - - - - -Contents - - - Page - - The Queen versus Billy 3 - - The Beautiful Man of Pingalap 31 - - The Dust of Defeat 65 - - The Happiest Day of his Life 109 - - Father Zosimus 127 - - Frenchy’s Last Job 171 - - The Devil’s White Man 213 - - The Phantom City 237 - - Amatua’s Sailor 287 - - - - -THE QUEEN VERSUS BILLY - - - - -THE QUEEN VERSUS BILLY - - -It was the _Sandfly_, Captain Toombs, that brought the news to Sydney -and intercepted her Majesty’s third-class cruiser _Stingaree_, as she -lay in Man-of-War Cove, with her boats hoisted in and a deck-load -of coal as high as her bulwarks, on the eve of a long trip into the -western Pacific. It was the same old story--another white man sent to -his last account in the inhospitable Solomons, where if the climate -does not kill you the black man soon will: “Thomas Hysslop Biggar, -commonly known as ‘Captain Tom’; aged forty-six; British subject; -occupation, trader in coprah; place of residence, Sunflower Bay, island -of Guadalcanar; murdered by the natives in September, 1888, between -the 7th and the 24th, and his station looted and burned.” There was -trouble in store for Sunflower Bay; they had killed Collins in 1884, -and Casseroles the Frenchman in 1887, and had drawn upon themselves an -ominous attention by firing into the _Meg Merrilies_ in the course of -the same year. Murder was becoming too frequent in Sunflower Bay, and -Captain Casement, while policing those sweltering seas, was asked to -“conduct an inquiry into the alleged murder of T. H. Biggar, and take -what punitive measures he judged to be necessary.” - -It was not everybody who would have liked such a task; in dealing with -savages the innocent are too often lumped with the guilty, and while -you are scattering death and canister among the evil-doers, you are -often mangling their wives and children in a way horrible to think of. -Captain Casement had seen such things in the course of his eventful -service, and though no stickler where his duty was concerned, he was -neither a brute nor a coward. He was a simple gentleman of character, -parts, and conscience, with refined tastes, and a horror of shedding -innocent blood. Under his command were five officers: Facey, acting -first lieutenant, Burder, acting second, Assistant Paymaster Pickthorn, -Engineer Sennett, Dr. Roche, ten marines, and a crew of eighty-eight -men. - -After a roundabout cruise through the pleasant groups of Fiji, -Tongataboo, and Samoa, with little to occupy him save official dinners, -tennis parties, and an occasional dance ashore, Captain Casement -headed his ship for the wild western islands and pricked out a course -for Sunflower Bay. One hot morning, when the damp, moist air made -everything sticky to the touch, and the whole ship sweated like a -palm-house from stem to stern, the _Stingaree_ ran past the towering -cliffs and roaring breakers of Guadalcanar, and let go her anchor off -the blow-hole in Sunflower Bay. It was a melancholy spot to look at, -though beautiful in a gloomy and savage fashion, and the only signs of -man’s occupancy were the blackened ruin of the trader’s house, a small -mountain of coal half covered with creepers, and a flagstaff surmounted -by a skull. There was no visible beach, for the mangroves ran to the -water’s edge, save where it had been partially cleared away by the man -whose murder they had come to avenge; nor did the closest scrutiny with -the glass betray any tell-tale smoke or the least sign of habitation. -Captain Casement surveyed the place with his keen, practised eyes, and -the longer he looked the less he liked it. The desolation jarred upon -his nerves, and his heart fell a little as the blow-hole burst hoarsely -under the ship’s quarter, and the everlasting breakers on the outer -reef droned their note of menace and alarm. - -“Goodness gracious!” he said, in his abrupt, impatient fashion, as he -stood beside Facey on the bridge and superintended the laying of the -kedge. “I don’t half like the look of it, Mr. Facey; it’s a damned -nasty-looking place.” - -The first lieutenant nodded. He was a burly, inarticulate man, to whom -speech was always a serious matter. - -“And see here, Facey,” went on the captain. “Guns don’t matter much; -none of the devils shoot fit to speak of; but their poisoned arrows are -the very deuce--you know that was the way Goodenough was killed--and -you must keep your weather eye lifting.” - -“Am I to go, sir?” asked the lieutenant. - -“Yes,” said Casement. “You must take Pickthorn and twenty-five men in -the first cutter. Send Burder in the second, with twenty more, to cover -your landing. And for God’s sake, Facey, keep cool, and neither get -flustered nor over-friendly! Don’t shoot unless you have to; and always -remember they are the most treacherous savages in the world. Be gentle -and firm, and do everything with as little fuss and as great a show of -confidence as you can.” - -“All right, sir,” said Facey. - -Half an hour later, Facey, with twenty-five well-armed men, had -vanished into the mangroves, while Burder and his crew lay forty yards -off the shore in the second cutter, the officer devouring “Under Two -Flags,” and the men smoking and yarning in the bottom of the boat. -On the _Stingaree_ two light guns were cast loose and made ready to -open fire at a moment’s notice, and a lookout man was stationed in the -maintop. The doctor busied himself in dismal preparation, while the -captain paced the bridge with quick and anxious steps, fretting for the -safety of his party ashore. - -Hour after hour passed and brought never a sound from the melancholy -woods. The fierce sun mounted to the zenith and sank again into the -western sky. Casement was beside himself with suspense; a cup of tea -served him for lunch, and he smoked one cigar after another. A deep -foreboding brooded over the ship; the men sat or walked uneasily about -the waist; the maintop was clustered with anxious blue-jackets; and old -Quinn, the gunner, a half-crazy zealot whose religious convictions were -of the extremest order, pattered off prayers beside the shotted guns. -Towards five o’clock, when things were looking desperate and all began -to fear the very worst, a sudden shout roused the ship, and the shore -party, noisy and triumphant, were seen streaming down to the beach. A -few moments later the two boats pulled slowly off to the ship, Facey’s -company the richer by a black man, whose costume consisted of little -more than the ropes he was bound with. A thundering cheer hailed them -as they swept under the stern and drew up at the starboard gangway, and -Facey was soon reporting himself on the bridge. - -“I can’t tell you what a relief it is to see you,” said the captain. “I -wouldn’t pass another such day for a thousand pounds!” - -Facey was dog-tired, and his tattered clothes and scratched face gave -evidence of a toilsome march. But he was in a boisterous good humour. -He had acquitted himself with marked success, and was thankful to have -brought back his party and himself safe and sound. - -“Well, how did you make out?” asked the captain. - -“We landed at the trader’s house,” began Facey, “followed a path that -led inland, and reached some Kanaka huts. Not a soul in ’em; clean -gone, every man jack. Followed along a well beaten path which led us -into the next bay, bearing north-northeast half-east, keeping the -liveliest lookout all the time. Three miles along we ran into another -village, chock-a-block with niggers. It looked a nasty go; lots of -guns and spears, and everybody pretty skittish, kind of they would and -they wouldn’t! I recollected your orders and went slow; you know what -I mean, sir--worked off the presents, and smoked my pipe leisurely. -By and by they came round, tricky as the devil, on to make friends or -to eat us alive, whichever seemed the more promising. I let out what -I wanted, and bit by bit found out that all the Sunflower Bay crowd -were there, even to old Jibberik, the chief--him Toombs said was the -biggest scoundrel of the lot. He looked pretty sick and knew mighty -well what we were after. I talked broadsides to that old man, and put -it to him that he had better give up the chaps who had killed the -trader than waltz back to the ship and be shot instanter himself--for -somebody had to go, I said; and just as soon as I got the old codger -alongside of me I gave him to understand that he was my bird, and kept -my cocked pistol pointed at his belly. After no end of a fuss, and -lots of frothing and loud talk, with things looking precious ugly now -and again, we ended by coming out on top. Then they dragged along a -young nigger named Billy, a returned labour-boy from the Queensland -plantations, they said, and handed him over to me as the murderer. I -thought it was more than likely they’d give us some cheap nigger they -had no use for, or some worn-out old customer, as they did in Pentecost -to Dewar of the _Royalist_; but I think this Billy was all right. A lot -of niggers--Billy’s own push, I suppose--looked as black as fits and -wouldn’t come round for a long time. Then I lashed the prisoner’s hands -and tied him to one of our men, and talked pretty straight to Jib. I -made him promise he’d bring his people back at once, and be down on -the beach, himself and two others, to-morrow morning to give evidence -against Billy.” - -“You’ve done well, Mr. Facey,” said Casement, as his lieutenant drew to -a close, “and I tell you the story sha’n’t lose when I report it to -the admiral. You had better go now and get your clothes off,” he added. - -Facey jumped to his feet. “I am sure I am awfully obliged to you, sir,” -he said. - -“Ugh, that’s all right,” said Casement, in his testy way. “What have -you done with the prisoner?” - -“Turned him over to the sergeant for safe-keeping, sir,” returned the -officer. - -“Leg-irons?” asked Casement. - -“Leg-irons, handcuffs, and a dog-chain,” returned Facey, with a grin. -“He’s cost too much to take any chances of his getting off.” - -The first thing next morning, old Jibberik was brought aboard with his -two companions. He was a disgusting old gorilla of a man, with a hairy -chest and a cold, leering eye--a mere scarecrow of humanity, of a type -incredibly cruel and debased. He had worked up enough courage overnight -to beg for everything within sight, and he fingered the clothes and -accoutrements of the seamen like a greedy child. His two friends were -not a whit behind him, either in manners or appearance. They clicked -and chattered like monkeys, and showed extraordinary fearlessness in -that armed ship amid the swarming whites; the only man they seemed to -dread was old Jibberik himself; and they wilted under his piercing -glance like flowers in the sun, whenever his baleful attention fell -their way. - -Four bells was the time set for the court martial; at nine o’clock -Casement sent for Facey and told him he must prepare to defend the -prisoner. - -“Burder will prosecute for the Queen,” he said. “Pickthorn will act as -clerk. Sennett, Roche, and I will compose the court.” - -The first lieutenant was overcome. “I don’t think I can, sir,” he said -feebly. “I never did such a thing in my life; I wouldn’t know where to -begin, or to leave off, for that matter.” - -“You can leave off when we hang your prisoner,” Casement returned, with -his bull-doggish air. “Of course, it’s all a damned farce,” he went on. -“Somebody’s got to act for the nigger; it’s printed that way in the -book.” - -“I’ll move for an adjournment,” said Facey. - -“I’ll be hanged if you will,” said the captain. “It’s a beastly -business, and we have got to put it through.” - -Facey groaned. - -“Well, do you think I like it?” said Casement. - -The lieutenant saluted and walked away to find his prisoner. - -Billy was clanking his chains in a canvas hutch alongside the sick-bay, -where a man lay dying. He looked up as Facey approached, and his face -brightened as he recognised his captor. He was a good-looking young -negro, and the symmetry of his limbs, and his air of intelligence and -capacity, stood out in pleasant contrast with the rest of his comrades -in Sunflower Bay. - -“Billy,” said Facey, “they are going to make judge and jury for you by -and by; and I am to talky-talky for you.” - -“All same Queensland,” returned Billy. “May the Lord have mercy on your -sinful soul!” - -Facey was stupefied. “Where in thunder did you learn that?” he demanded. - -“Oh, me savvy too much,” said Billy. - -“Now, see here,” said the lieutenant. “You didn’t kill that trader?” - -“Yes, I kill him,” said Billy, cheerfully. - -“You did?” cried the other. - -“White fellow no good; I kill him,” said the prisoner. - -“If you tell that to the captain he’ll shoot you,” said Facey. If the -prisoner was to be defended he was going to give him all the help he -could. - -The black boy looked distressed and nodded a forlorn assent. - -“You’ll be a big fool to say that,” said Facey. - -“White fellow no good; I kill him,” repeated Billy. - -“You unmitigated idiot, you’ll do for yourself,” cried the lieutenant, -angrily. “What’s the good of my talking for you if you can’t stand up -for yourself?” - -Billy began to whimper; the other’s loud voice and threatening -demeanour seemed to overwhelm him. - -Facey was struck with contrition. “Now shut up that snivelling,” he -said, more kindly. “Tell me the truth, Bill. Isn’t this some humbuggery -of old Jib’s--a regular plant, to shield somebody else at the cost of -your hide?” - -Billy rolled his eyes, and wiped away the tears with a grimy paw. - -“White fellow no good; I kill--” - -“You be damned!” cried his legal adviser. - -At ten o’clock the court martial was assembled on the quarter-deck. -The captain, with his brawny shoulders thrown forward, and his hands -deep in his trouser pockets, had all the air of a man in the throes -of indigestion. On either side of him were Sennett and Roche; and -in front, beside a table covered with a flag, was Pickthorn, with a -clerkly outfit and a Bible. Billy stood in chains beside a couple of -marines, looking extremely depressed. The old gorillas, their filthy -kilts bulging with what they had begged or pilfered, were in charge of -the sergeant, who had all he could do to prevent their spitting on the -deck. - -Facey was the first one sworn. He deposed as to the capture and -identity of the prisoner. Then Billy was led up to the table and told -to plead. - -“Kiss the book and say whether you murdered the trader or not,” said -the captain. - -“White fellow no good; I kill him,” quavered the prisoner. - -“Pleads guilty,” said Casement to the clerk. - -“What did you do it for?” demanded the court. - -Billy reiterated his stock phrase. - -“Take him away,” said the captain. - -Jibberik was the next witness. He kissed the book as though it were -his long-lost brother, and looked almost unabashed enough to beg it -of Pickthorn. I shall not weary the reader with his laboured English, -that lingua Franca of the isles which in the Western Pacific is known -as Beach da Mar. He told a pretty plain story: Billy and the trader had -always been on bad terms. One night, crazy with palm-toddy, Billy had -sneaked down to Captain Tom’s house and shot him through the body as he -was reading a book at supper. As to the subsequent burning and looting -of the station the old savage was none so clear, sheltering himself -in the unintelligibility of which he was a master. His two companions -followed suit, and drew the noose a little tighter round Billy’s throat. - -Then rose Burder for the Queen. He was a cheeky youngster, with pink -cheeks, a glib tongue, and no end of assurance. - -“I don’t propose to waste the time of the honourable court,” he began; -“but if ever there was a flat-footed, self-confessed murderer, I would -say it is the dusky gentleman in the dock. The blood of Biggar cries -aloud for vengeance, and it would be a shame if it cried in vain,” he -said. He would point to that dreary ruin of which the defunct had been -the manly ornament, radiating civilisation round him like a candle in -the dark, and then to that black monster, who had felled him down. -This kind of thing had got to stop in the Solomon Islands; the natives -were losing all respect for whites, and he put it to the court whether -they would not jeopardise the life of the new trader if they acquitted -the murderer of the old. Now that they had got their hand in, he would -go even further, and hang up with Billy the three witnesses for the -prosecution, old Jib and the other brace of jossers, who had villain -and cutthroat stamped-- - -“Stick to the prisoner,” cried the court. - -“I bow to correction, sir,” went on Burder. “I say again, this is no -time for half-measures; and I say that Sunflower Bay will be a better -place to live in without Mr. Billy. I leave it to the honourable -court, with every confidence, to vindicate justice in these islands by -condemning the prisoner to the extreme penalty of the law. The case for -the Queen is closed, gentlemen.” - -“I believe you appear for the defence, Mr. Facey?” said Casement, as -the Queen’s prosecutor took his seat. - -“I do, sir,” returned the first lieutenant, nervously. - -“I should like to say, first of all,” he began, “that I will not -cross-examine these dirty old savages who have given evidence against -my client. I quite agree with everything my honourable friend has said -regarding them, and I cannot think that the court will attach undue -importance to any evidence they may have given. We’ve been told that -the Kanakas are losing all respect for whites, and that if we don’t -take some strong measures there will be the deuce to pay in these -islands. Perhaps there will be; but is that the British justice we’re -so proud of, or is it fair play, gentlemen, to the unfortunate wretch -who is trembling before you? From what I’ve seen of the whites in this -group, I can say emphatically that I’m in a line with the Kanakas. Now, -as to this Billy: What is there against him but his own confession? and -that, I beg leave to point out, ought not to be taken as conclusive. -As like as not he is the scapegoat for the whole bay, and has been -coached up to tell this story under the screw. Just look one moment at -old Jib there, and see how his friends wither when his eyes fall their -way. For all we know to the contrary, his gibberish and click-click may -be to the tune of ‘Billy, you son of a gun, I’ll cut you into forty -pieces, or flay you alive if you don’t stick to what I’ve told you.’ -After all, what have we learned from Billy? Nothing more than this: -‘White fellow no good; I kill him.’ Is that what anybody would call a -full confession? Does it give any clew or any details as to the motive -or the carrying out of this murder? It may be, indeed, that Billy is -a monomaniac with a confirmed delusion that he has killed Biggar; the -court may smile, but I think I am right in stating that such things -have occurred and have even led to miscarriages of justice in the past. -I tell you, gentlemen, I believe it was the whole blooming bay that -killed Biggar, and that Billy was just as guilty or just as innocent -as the rest. And there is one thing I feel mortal sure about: that if -we take the prisoner outside the heads we will soon get the gag off -his mouth, and learn a good deal more about this ugly business. Under -old Jib’s search-light he’s got to keep a close lip; but take him out -to sea, and I answer for it he won’t be so reticent. In conclusion, -gentlemen, I say again that the evidence in this case is inconclusive; -that the honourable gentleman who has appeared for the Queen has -failed to make out a convincing case against my client; that Billy’s -confession in itself is not a sufficient proof that he committed the -crime charged against him; and that we cannot take the life of a human -being on such flimsy and unsupported evidence.” - -A dead silence fell upon the court when Facey drew his case to a close -and resumed his seat. Nothing could be heard but the scratching of -Pickthorn’s pen and the reverberating growl of the blow-hole as it -fretted and fumed within for the screaming blast which was soon to -follow. Casement rammed his hands deeper into his pockets, gnawed his -tawny mustache, and protruded his chin. At last, with a start, he awoke -from his reverie, and barked out: - -“Mr. Sennett, as the youngest member, it is for you to speak first.” - -“I think he’s guilty, sir,” said Sennett. - -Casement turned his quick glance on Roche. - -“Same here,” said the doctor. - -“The finding of the court,” said the captain after another pause, “is -that the prisoner Billy is guilty of the murder of T. H.--what’s his -name?--Biggar, at Sunflower Bay, on the blank day of September, 1888, -and is condemned to be shot as an example to the island. Sentence to be -deferred until I get the ship back from New Ireland, where I’ve to look -into that Carbutt business and the outrage at MacCarthy’s Inlet, on -the chance of the prisoner making a further confession and implicating -others in his crime. The court is dismissed.” - -“Beg pardon, sir,” said Pickthorn, looking up from his writing as the -others rose to their feet. “What am I to call the case?--the Queen -_versus_ Billy what?” - -“Billy nothing,” said the captain, savagely. “Call him William -Pickthorn if you think it sounds better.” - -The verdict of the court was explained to Jibberik, and the old rogue -and his pair of friends were landed in the cove, the boat returning to -find the ship with anchor weighed and the loosened sails flapping on -the yards. In a few minutes she was steaming out to sea, and every one -grew confident that Billy’s tongue would soon wag as he saw Sunflower -Bay dwindle behind him. But the dogged savage stuck to his tale; he -had but one reply to all inquiries, to all probing and pumping for -further particulars of the murder. On his side the conversation began -and ended with: “White fellow no good; I kill him.” On other topics -he could be drawn out at will, and proved himself a most tractable, -sweet-tempered, and far from unintelligent fellow. The men got to like -him immensely, keeping him in perpetual tobacco and providing him -with more grog than was quite good for him. In the fo’castle it was -rank heresy to call him a murderer or to express any doubts regarding -his innocence. He became at once the pet and the mystery of the ship, -and his canvas cell the rallying-point for all the little gaieties on -board. He played cards well, was an apt pupil on the accordion, and at -checkers he was the master of the ship! And he not only beat you, but -he beat you handsomely, shaking hands before and after the event, like -a prizefighter in the ring. - -Casement felt very uneasy about the boy; he grew more and more -uncomfortable at heart, and it was the talk of the ship that the -problem of Billy was weighing on the “old man” like a hundredweight of -bricks. The whole business preyed upon him unceasingly and he dreaded -each passing day that brought the execution ever nearer. Billy kept -him sleepless in the steaming nights; Billy faced him like a spectre -at his solitary board; Billy’s face blurred the pages of the books -and magazines he had laid up for these dreary days in the Solomons. -Casement visited his prisoner twice a day, against the better judgment -that bade him keep away and try to forget him. He never said much after -his first two ineffectual attempts to wrestle with Billy’s stereotyped -phrase and to extort further information; but, chewing a cigar, he -would stare the black creature out of countenance for ten minutes at a -time, with a look of the strongest annoyance and disfavor, as though -his patience could not much longer withstand the strain. - -The officers were not a whit behind their captain. Billy’s artless ways -and boundless good humour had won the whole ward-room to his side; and -his grim determination to die, at once bewildered and exasperated every -soul on board. The strange spectacle offered of a hundred men at work -to persuade their prisoner to recall his damning confession, and on -pins and needles to save him from a fate he himself seemed not to fear. -The captain as good as told Facey that if the boy would assert his -innocence he would scarcely venture to shoot him; and this intelligence -Facey handed on to his client, and, incidentally, to the whole ship’s -company. Never was a criminal so beset. Every man on board tried in -his turn to shake Billy’s obstinacy, and to paint, in no uncertain -colours, the dreadful fate the future held in store for him. One and -all they retired discomfited, some with curses, others on the verge of -tears. They swore at him for a fool; they cajoled him as they would a -child; they acted out his last end with all fidelity to detail, even -to a firing platoon saying “Bang, bang!” in dreadful unison, while a -couple of seamen made Billy roll the deck in agony. The black boy would -shudder and wipe his frightened eyes; but his fortitude was unshaken. - -“White fellow no good; I kill him.” - -Then old Quinn got after him--wild-eyed, tangle-haired old Quinn, the -gunner, who was half cracked on religion. He prayed and blubbered -beside the wretched boy, overwhelming him with red-hot appeals and -perfervid oratory. Billy became an instant convert, and got to love -old Quinn as a dog his master. There was no more card-playing in -Billy’s cell, no more rum or tobacco; even checkers fell under the -iron ban of old Quinn, to whom every enjoyment was hateful. Billy -learned hymns instead, and would beguile the weary sentry on the watch -with his tuneful rendering of “Go Bury thy Sorrow,” or “Nearer, my -God, to Thee.” He was possessed, too, of a Bible that Quinn gave him, -from which the old gunner would read, in his strident, overbearing -voice, the sweet gospel of charity and good will. But if old Quinn -accomplished much, he ran, as they all ran at last, into that stone -wall of words which Billy raised against the world. Contrition for the -murder which had doomed him to die was what Billy would not show or -profess in any way to feel. Rant though old Quinn might, and beseech -on bended knees, with his eyes burning and his great frame shaking -with agitation, he could extort from his convert no other answer than -the one which all knew so well. Billy’s eyes would snap and his mouth -harden. - -“White fellow no good; I kill him.” - -As the days passed, and the ship made her way from bay to bay, from -island to island, in the course of her policing cruise among those -lawless whites and more than savage blacks, the captain grew desperate -with the problem of Billy. They all said that Casement looked ten years -older, and that something would soon happen to the “old man” if Billy -did not soon skip out; and the “old man” showed all the desire in the -world to bring about so desirable a consummation. Billy was accorded -every liberty; his chains had long been things of the past, and no -sentinel now guarded him in his cell or watched him periodically in his -sleep. Billy was free to go where he would; and it was the fervent hope -of all that he would lose no time in making his way ashore. But though -Casement stopped at half a hundred villages, and laid the ship as close -ashore as he dared risk her, still, for the life of him, Billy would -not budge. Then they thought him afraid of sharks, which are plentiful -in those seas, and kept the dinghy at the gangway, in defiance of every -regulation, in the hope that the prisoner would deign to use it. But -Billy showed no more desire to quit the ship than Casement himself, or -old Quinn. He did the honours of the man-of-war to visiting chiefs, -and seemed to be proud of his assured position on board. Go ashore? -Escape? Not for worlds! - -Then the captain determined upon new measures. He passed a hint -to Facey, and Facey passed it to the mess, and the mess to the -blue-jackets, that they were making things too comfortable for their -prisoner. For a while Billy’s easy life came to an abrupt conclusion. -His best friends began to kick and cuff him without mercy. He was -rope’s-ended by the bo’sun’s mate, and the cook threw boiling water -over his naked skin. The boy’s heart almost broke at this, and he went -about dejected and unhappy for the first time since he had come aboard. -But no harsh usage, no foul words, could drive him to desert the ship. -He stuck to it like a barnacle, for all the captain spun out the cruise -to an unconscionable length and stopped at all sorts of places that -offered a favorable landing for the prisoner. But if Billy grew sad and -moody under the stress of whippings and bad words, it was as nothing -to the change in Casement himself, who turned daily greyer and more -haggard as he pricked a course back to Sunflower Bay. Of course, he -maintained a decent reserve all along, and betrayed, in words at least, -not a sign of his consuming anxiety to rid himself of Billy. But at -last even his iron front broke down. It was on the bridge, to Facey, -when the ship had just dropped anchor in Port McGuire, not forty miles -from Sunflower Bay. - -“Mr. Facey,” he said, “send Mr. Burder ashore with an armed party; -tell him just to show himself a bit and come off again.” - -“Yes, sir,” said Facey. - -“I am thinking they might take that fellow Billy to translate for -them,” he went on, shamefacedly. - -The first lieutenant turned to go. - -“Hold on,” said the captain, suddenly lowering his voice and drawing -his subordinate close to him. “Just you pass it on to Burder that I -wouldn’t skin him alive--you know what I mean--if--well, suppose that -black fellow cut his lucky altogether--” - -Facey smiled. - -“Of course,” rasped out the captain, “I can’t tolerate any dereliction -of duty; but if the young devil made a break for it--” - -“Ay, ay, sir,” returned the first lieutenant, and darted down the brass -steps three at a time. He called Burder aside and gave his instructions -to that discreet youngster, who was sharp to see the point without -the need for awkward explanations. A broad grin ran round the boat -when Billy was made to descend and take his place beside Burder in the -stern; and so palpable and open was the whole business that some aboard -even shook the negro by the hand and bade him God-speed. - -A couple of hours later Burder embarked again and headed for the ship -in a tearing hurry. A chuckle ran along the decks as not a sign of -Billy could be made out, and the nearing boat soon put the last doubt -at rest. There was no black boy among the blue-jackets. - -Burder skipped up the steps and saluted the captain on the bridge. - -“I have to report the escape of Billy, sir,” he said, with inimitable -gravity and assurance. “I scarcely know how it came to happen, sir, but -he managed to bolt as he was walking between Miller and Cracroft.” - -“This is a very serious matter,” said the captain, with ill-concealed -cheerfulness. “I don’t know but what it is my duty to reprimand you -very severely for your carelessness. However, if he’s gone, he’s gone, -I suppose. I hope you took measures to recapture him?” - -“Yes, sir,” returned Burder. “Looked for him high and low, sir.” - -“Poor Billy!” said the captain, with a smile that spoke volumes. “We’ll -say no more about it, Mr. Burder; it may be all for the best; but -remember, sir, it mustn’t happen again.” - -“No, sir,” said Burder. - -“How did you manage it, old man?” was the eager question that met the -youngster as he took shelter in the ward-room and ordered “a beer.” All -his messmates were round him, save Facey, who was officer of the deck -and could not do more than hang in the doorway. - -“I tell you it wasn’t easy,” said the boy. “We promenaded all round -the place, and I tried like fun to shake him off. I sent him errands -and hid behind trees, and talked of how we were going to shoot him -to-morrow--but it was all no blooming good! I was at my wits’ end at -last, and had almost made up my mind to tie him to a tree and run for -it, when I got a bright idea. I pretended I had dropped my canteen -under a banyan a mile behind the town, a kind of cemetery banyan, full -of dead men’s bones--a rummy place, I can tell you. And when we got -down near the boat, I took the nigger on one side and bade him go and -fetch it. ‘And don’t you come back without it, Billy,’ said I. ‘I’ll -be dismissed the service if I can’t account for that canteen!’ Then he -asked how long I was going to stay, and I said a week; and he went off -like a lamb, while we squared away for the ship. Didn’t you see the -jossers pull!” - -It had been the merest pretence that had taken the war-ship into Port -McGuire, and now that her merciful errand had been so successfully -accomplished, and Billy reluctantly torn at last from those who had to -kill him, Captain Casement lost no time in ordering the ship to sea. -But as the winch tugged at the anchor, and the great hull crept up inch -by inch to the tautened chain, a sudden yell roused the captain on the -bridge and struck him as cruelly as one of those poisoned arrows he -feared so much. - -“Billy, on the starboard bow!” - -Sure enough, a black poll protruded above the rippling bosom of the -bay, and two frantic arms were seen driving a familiar dark countenance -on a course towards the vessel. It was Billy indeed, his honest face -marked with anguish and despair as he fought his way to regain his -prison. - -Casement groaned. And for this he had been holding the cruiser two long -weeks in those God-forsaken islands, and had invented one excuse upon -another to delay his return to Sunflower Bay! Billy had been given -a hundred chances to escape, and now, like a bad penny, here he was -again, ready to precipitate the catastrophe which could no longer be -postponed. - -A great laugh went up when Billy presented himself on deck, exhausted, -dripping like a spaniel, and sorely hurt in spirit. He began at once to -blurt out the story of the canteen, and made a bee-line for Burder; but -that intrepid youngster could afford to listen to no explanations, and -in self-defence had to order Billy into the hands of the marines, who -led him away protesting. - -Casement’s patience was now quite at an end. He headed the ship for -Sunflower Bay, and spared no coal to bring her there in short order. -Three hours after they had passed out of the heads of Port McGuire the -_Stingaree_ was at anchor off the blow-hole. - -Facey was drinking a whisky-and-soda, and preparing himself, as best -he could, for the ordeal he knew to be before him, when the captain’s -servant entered the ward-room and requested his presence in the cabin. - -“Mr. Facey,” said the captain, “take the doctor and the pay and forty -men well armed from the ship, and when you’ve assembled the village -take that Billy and shoot him.” - -“Yes, sir,” said the lieutenant, turning very pale. - -“Faugh,” rasped Casement, “it makes me sick. Damn the boy, why couldn’t -he cut? Well, be off with you, and kill him as decently as you know -how.” - -Billy did not at first realize how seriously he was involved in the -plans of the shore party that was making ready. He dropped into one of -the boats light-heartedly enough, and took his place cheerfully between -two marines with loaded rifles. But the mournful hush of all about him, -the eyes that turned and would not meet his own, the tenderness and -sorrow which was expressed in every movement, in every furtive look, -of his whilom comrades, all stirred and shook him with consternation. -No one laughed at his little antics. He tickled the man next him, and -nudged him, his friend Tommy, who could whistle like a blackbird and do -amazing tricks with cards; but instead of an answering grin, Tommy’s -eyes filled with tears and he stared straight in front of him. Billy -was whimpering before they were half ashore, and some understanding of -the fate in store for him began to struggle through his thick head. - -There was no need to assemble the village. It was there to meet them, -old Jibberik and all, silent, funereal, and expectant. The men were -marched up to the charred remains of the trader’s house and formed up -on three sides of a square, leaving the fourth open to the sea. To -this space Billy was led by Facey and old Quinn, the gunner. The negro -looked about him like a frightened child and clung to the old man. - -“Will you give the prisoner a minute to make his peace with God?” asked -old Quinn. - -Facey nodded. - -Quinn plunged down on his knees, Billy beside him. For a brief space -the gunner pattered prayers thick and fast, like a man with no time to -lose. - -“Billy,” he said at last, “as you stand on the brink of that river we -all must cross, as the few seconds run out that you have still to live -and breathe and make your final and everlasting peace with the God you -have so grievously offended, let me implore you to show some sorrow, -some contrition, for the awful act that has brought you to this! Billy, -tell God you are sorry that you killed Biggar.” - -For a moment Billy made no answer. At last, in a husky voice, he said: - -“You mean Cap’n Tom, who live here before?” - -“Him you hurled into eternity with all his sins hot on him. Yes, -Captain Tom, the trader.” - -“No!” cried Billy, with a strangled cry. “Me no sorry. White fellow no -good; I kill him.” - -“Quinn,” cried Facey, “your time’s up.” The first lieutenant’s face -was livid, and his hands trembled as he bound Billy’s eyes with a silk -handkerchief. - -“Stand right there, Billy,” said the officer, turning the prisoner -round to face the firing party, that was already drawn up. - -“Good-bye, Missy Facey and gennelmen all,” whimpered the boy. - -“Good-bye, Billy,” returned the other. “Now, men,” he added, as he ran -his eye along the faltering faces, “no damned squeamishness; if you -want to help the nigger, you’ll shoot straight. For God’s sake don’t -mangle him. - -“Fire!” - - - - -THE BEAUTIFUL MAN OF PINGALAP - - - - -THE BEAUTIFUL MAN OF PINGALAP - - -He stood five feet nothing in his naked feet, a muscular, sandy little -fellow, with a shock of red hair, a pair of watery blue eyes, and a -tawny, sun-burned beard, the colour of fried carrots. I could not see -myself that he was beautiful, and might have lived a year with him and -never found it out; though he assured me, with a giggle of something -like embarrassment, that he was no less a person than the Beautiful Man -of Pingalap. Such at least was his name amongst the natives, who had -admired him so persistently, and talked of him so much, that even the -whites had come to call him by that familiar appellation. - -“You see,” he said, in that whining accent which no combination of -letters can adequately render, “it tykes a man of a ruddy complexion -to please them there Kanakas; and if he gains their respeck and ’as a -w’y with him sort of jolly and careless-like, there’s nothing on their -blooming island he carn’t have for the arsking.” - -I gathered, however, as I talked with him in the shadow of the old -boat-house in which we lived together at Ruk like a pair of tramps, -that he, Henery Hinton, had not presumed to ask for much in those -isles from which he had so recently emerged. Indeed, except for a -camphor-wood chest, a nondescript valise of decayed leather, a monkey, -a parrot, and a young native lady named Bo, my friend owned no more in -the world than the window-curtain pyjamas in which he stood. - -“It ain’t much, is it,” he said, with a sigh, “to show for eight long -years on the Line? Sixty dollars and w’at you see before you! Though -the monkey may be worth a trifle, and a w’aler captain once offered me -a mee-lodian for the bird.” - -“And the girl?” I asked. - -“Who’d tyke her?” he replied, with a drop of his lip. “Did you ever see -an uglier piece in all your life?” - -“What do you mean to do with her?” I asked, knowing that the firm had -promised him a passage to Sydney in the _Ransom_, and wondering what -would become of the unfortunate Bo, whom he was little likely to drag -with him to the colonies. - -“You don’t think I’m going to desert that girl,” he said truculently, -giving me a look of deep suspicion. “My word!” he went on, “after -having taught her to byke bread and sew, and regularly broke her in -to all kinds of work, it ain’t likely I am going to leave her to be -snapped up by the first feller that comes along. The man as gets her -will find himself in clover, and might lie in bed all day and never -turn his hand to nothink, as I’ve done myself time and time again at -Pingalap, while she’d make breakfast and tend the store. It would tyke -several years to bring a new girl up to her mark, and then maybe she -mightn’t have it in her, after all,--not all of them has,--and so your -pains and lickings would be wasted.” - -“Lickings!” I said. “Is that the way you taught Bo?” - -“I’d like to know any other w’y,” he said. “My word! a man has to -master a woman, and there’s no getting around it. With some you can do -it with love and kindness, but the most need just the whip and plenty -of it. That little Bo, w’y, I’ve held her down and lashed her till my -arm was sore, and there ain’t a part of me she hasn’t bit one time -and another! Do you see that purple streak on my ear? I thought I was -booked for hydrophobiar that morning, for it swelled up awful, and I -was that weak with loss of blood that when I laid her head open with -a fancy trade lamp I just keeled over in a dead faint. But there was -never no nasty malice in Bo, and if we had a turn up now and then, she -always played to the rules, and never bit a feller when he was down; -and she never hurt me but what she’d cry her eyes out afterwards and -sometimes even arsk me to whip her for her wickedness. My word! I’d lay -it on to her then, for I could use both hands and had nothing to be -afryde of. Of course that was long ago, when she was raw and only half -trained like. I don’t recollect having laid my hand to her since the -_Belle Brandon_ went ashore on Fourteen Island Group.” - -Having gone so deeply into the history of her subjugation, the -Beautiful Man could not resist showing me a proof of Bo’s dearly bought -docility, and whistled to her to come to him. This she did readily -enough, her ugly face wrinkling into smiles at sight of him. She was -a wizened little creature, with an expression midway between that of -a monkey and a Japanese image. Of all things in the world, Bo’s chief -pleasure was in clothes, of which she possessed an inordinate quantity, -and it was her custom to make at least three toilets a day. She wore -tight-fitting jackets plastered with beadwork like an Indian’s, with -embroidered skirts of bright cotton, and she incessantly occupied -herself in adding to her stock. Half the day her little claws were busy -with needle and beads, covering fresh bodices with barbarous patterns, -while the monkey played about her and pilfered her things, and the -parrot screamed whole sentences in the Pingalap language. - -My own business in the Islands was of a purely scientific description, -a learned society having equipped me for two years, with instructions -to study the anthropological character of the natives, dip into the -botany of Micronesia, and do what I could in its little-known zoölogy. -I had meant to go directly to Yap, but in the uncertainties of South -Sea travelling I had been landed for a spell on the island of Ruk, -from which place I had hope of picking up another vessel before the -month was out. Here I had run across the Beautiful Man, himself a -bird of passage, waiting for the barque _Ransom_; and when I learned -that Johnson, the firm’s manager, had meant to charge me two dollars -and a half a day for the privilege of messing at his table and seeing -him get drunk every night, I was glad to chum in with Hinton and -share the tumble-down boat-house in which he camped. Here we lived -together, the Beautiful Man, Bo, and myself, in a simplicity that -would have shamed the Garden of Eden. We slept at night on the musty -sails of some forgotten ship, and in the daytime Bo prepared our meals -over a driftwood fire. She baked the most excellent bread, and made -her own yeast from fermented rice and sugar, which used to blow up -periodically, with an explosion like that of a cannon. She also made -admirable coffee, and a sort of sugar candy in the frying-pan, as well -as griddle-cakes and waffles with the gulls’ eggs we used to gather for -ourselves. More than this she did not know, except how to open the can -of beef or salmon which was the inevitable accompaniment of all our -meals. - -We rose at no stated hour in the morning, the sun being our only -clock, and, as we read it, a very uncertain one. Hinton and I bathed -in the lagoon, where he taught me daily how to dive with the greatest -good humour and zeal, roaring with laughter at my failures, and -applauding my successes to the skies. He often spoke to me in Pingalap, -forgetting for the moment his own mother-tongue, and would wear a -hang-dog expression for an hour afterwards, as though in some way -he had disgraced himself. On our return to the boat-house we would -find breakfast awaiting us, Bo guarding it with a switch from the -depredations of the monkey and the parrot. After breakfast, when the -Beautiful Man and I would lie against the wall and smoke our pipes, -the little savage would wash her dishes, and putting them away in an -empty gin-case, would next turn her attention to the pets, cleaning -and brushing them with scrupulous care. Then, for another hour, we -would see no more of her, while she retired behind a sail to effect -fresh combinations of costume, reappearing at last with her hair -nicely combed, and her breast dazzling like a robin’s. There was to -me something touching in the sight of this little person doing the -round of a treadmill she had invented for herself, and spending the -bright days in stringing her unending beads. It seemed a shame that -she should be abandoned, so forlorn, solitary, and friendless, on the -alien shore of Ruk; and the matter weighed on me so much that it often -disturbed my dreams and gave rise to an anxiety that I was half ashamed -to feel. Several times I spoke to the Beautiful Man on the subject, -drawing a little on my imagination in depicting the wretchedness and -degradation to which he was meaning to leave poor Bo, who could not -fail, circumstanced as she was, to come to a miserable end. He always -took my lecture in good part; for, in fairness to the Beautiful Man, -I must confess he was the most good-natured creature alive, and used -invariably to reply that he would not think of doing such a thing were -it not for the pressing needs of his health, which, he assured me with -solemnity, was in a bad way. I never could learn the exact nature of -his malady, nor persuade him into any recital of his symptoms beyond a -vague reference to what he called constitutional decay. Of course, I -knew well enough that this was a mere cloak to excuse his conduct to -Bo, whom I could see he meant to desert in the most heartless fashion, -if in the meantime he failed to sell her to some passing trader. This -he was always trying to do, on the sly, for he had enough decency left -to screen the business from my view and carry on the negotiations -with as much secrecy as he could manage. But the prospective buyer -invariably cried off when he was shown the article for sale, however -much it was bedizened with beads and shined up with oil, and the matter -usually ended in a big drunk at the station, from which the Beautiful -Man was more than once dragged insensible by his helpmeet. He even -hinted to me that, owing to our long and intimate relations, I might -myself become Bo’s proprietor for a merely nominal sum; and when I told -him straight out that I had come to the Islands to study, and not to -entangle myself in any disreputable connection with a native woman, he -begged my pardon very earnestly, and said that he wished to Gord he had -been as well guided. But he always had a bargaining look in his eye -when I praised Bo’s bread, which indeed was our greatest luxury, or -happened to pass my plate for another of her waffles. - -“You’re going to miss them things up there,” he would say. “My word, -ain’t you going to miss them!” - -This remark, incessantly repeated, made such an impression on me that -I persuaded Bo to give me some lessons in bread-making, and even -extorted from her, for a pound of beads paid in advance, the secret -of her dynamitic yeast; so that I, too, started a bomb-shell of my -own, and was half-way through a sack of flour before it finally dawned -upon me that here was an art that I was incapable of learning. Bread I -could certainly make, of a peculiarly stony character, but the trouble -(as Hinton said) was the digesting of it afterwards. Nor was I more -successful with my waffles, which glued themselves with obstinacy to -the iron, like oysters on a rocky bottom, requiring to be detached -in shreds by the aid of a knife. My efforts convulsed the Beautiful -Man, and were the means of leading him, through his own vainglory and -boastfulness, to perpetrate a basaltic lump of his own, the sight of -which doubled Bo up with laughter, and caused her to burst out in -giggles for a day afterwards. These attempts, of course, only enhanced -her own prowess as a cook, and Hinton was never tired of expatiating on -the lightness of her loaves and the melting quality of her cakes and -waffles, with a glitter in his eye that I knew well how to interpret. - -One day my long-overdue ship appeared in sight, and, beating her -tedious way up the lagoon, dropped her anchor off the settlement. -Captain Mins gave me six hours to get aboard, and promised me, over an -introductory glass of square-face in the cabin, a speedy and prosperous -run to the westward. My packing was a matter of no difficulty, for I -had lived from day to day in the expectancy of a sudden call to start; -besides, in a country where pyjamas are the rule and even socks are -regarded as something of a superfluity, life reduces itself to first -principles and baggage disappears. In half an hour I was ready to shift -my things to the ship, only dallying a little longer to say farewell -to my friends and take one final glance at the old boat-house. My heart -misgave me when I looked, as I thought for the last time, at poor Bo in -the midst of her pets, threading beads with the same tireless industry; -while the Beautiful Man, at the farther end of the shed, was trying to -sell her to a new-comer off the barque, an evil-looking customer they -called Billy Jones’s Cousin. - -Prompted (I have since supposed) by the devil, I called the little man -to where I stood and asked him peremptorily to name his lowest price -for Bo. He replied in a brisk, businesslike manner that he couldn’t -dream of letting her go for less than a hundred dollars. - -“A hundred fiddlesticks!” I exclaimed. “Rather than see her abandoned -here to starve, I will take her for my servant and pay her ten dollars -a month.” - -“Oh, she don’t need no money,” he said. “Just you hug and kiss her a -bit, and keep her going with beads and such-like, and she’ll work her -hands off to serve you. It’s a mug’s game to give a Kanaka money. W’y, -they ain’t no more fit for money than that monkey to navigate a ship.” - -“See here, Hinton,” I said, “I have told you before that I did not come -up here to start a native establishment--least of all with a woman who -looks like Bo. But I’m ready to take her off your hands and pay her -good wages, and I don’t think you can be so contemptible as to stand in -her light.” - -“Oh, I shan’t stand in her blooming light,” he said. “I’d sleep easier -to think I had left her in a comfortable home with a perfeck gentleman -such as you to tyke care of her. My word, I would, and the thought of -it will be a comfort to me in the privations of my humble lot; and I -trust you will believe me that it was in no over-reaching spirit that -I ventured to nyme my figger for the girl. But I put it to you, as -between man and man, won’t you spare me a few dollars as a sort of -token of your good will?” - -“I’ll give you twenty-five dollars for her,” I said, “and not one penny -more.” - -“My word,” he said, “you’re getting her cruel cheap!” - -“Well, that’s my price,” I said. - -“Perhaps you wouldn’t care to give her a half a year’s wages in -advance?” he inquired. “A little money in her hand might hearten her up -for the parting.” - -“Hearten you up, you mean,” I said. - -“I never was no haggler,” he said. “She’s yours, Mr. Logan, at -twenty-five dollars.” - -“You go and talk to her a bit,” I said, “and try to explain things to -her, for I tell you I won’t take her at all if she is unwilling.” - -It cut me to the heart to watch the poor girl’s face as the Beautiful -Man unfolded the plans for her future, and to see the way she looked at -me with increasing distress and horror. When she began to cry, I could -stand the sight no longer, and hurriedly left the place, feeling myself -a thorough-paced scoundrel for my pains. It was only shame that took -me back at last, after spending one of the most uncomfortable hours -of my life on the beach outside the shed. I found her sitting on her -chest, which apparently had been packed in hot haste by the Beautiful -Man himself. With the parrot in her lap and the monkey shivering beside -her, Bo presented the most woebegone picture. I don’t know whether he -had used the strap to her, or whether he had trusted, with apparent -success, to the torrents of Pingalap idiom which was still pouring -from his lips; but whatever the means he had used, the desired result, -at least, had been achieved; for the little creature had been reduced -to a stony docility, and, except for an occasional snuffle and an -indescribable choking in her throat, she made no sign of rebellion -when the Beautiful Man proposed that we should lose no further time -in taking her aboard the ship. Between us we lifted the camphor-wood -chest and set out together for the pier, Bo bringing up the rear with -the monkey and the parrot and a roll of sleeping-mats. If ever I felt a -fool and a brute, it was on this melancholy march to the lagoon, and I -tingled to the soles of my feet with a sense of my humiliation. My only -comfort, besides the support of an agitated conscience, was the intense -plainness of my prisoner, whose face, I assured myself, betrayed the -singleness and honesty of my intentions. - -We put the chest in the corner of the trade-room, and made a little -nest for Bo among the mats she had brought with her; and leaving her -to tidy up the monkey with my hair-brush, the Beautiful Man and I -retreated to the cabin to conclude the terms of our contract. To my -surprise, he handed me a sheet of paper, made out in all appearance -like any bill for merchandise, and asked me, with the most brazen -assurance, to kindly settle it at my convenience. This was what I read: - - W. J. Logan, Dr., to Henery Hinton: - 1 Young Woman, cut price $25.00 - 1 Superior Congo Monkey 7.50 - 1 Choice Imported Parrot 4.50 - 1 Chest Fancy Female Wearing Apparel 40.00 - 7 Extra-size Special Kingsmill Mats 5.00 - 5 lbs. Best Assorted Beads 2.50 - ------ - Total $84.50 - -I burst out into a roar of laughter, and without any waste of words I -told the Beautiful Man that he might carry the lady ashore again and -peddle her to some bigger fool than I, for I was clean sick of him and -her and the whole business, and though I still felt bound to give the -twenty-five dollars I had originally promised, he might go and whistle -for one cent more. Then, boiling over at the thought of his greed and -heartlessness, I let out at him without restraint, he trying to stem -the tide with “Oh, I s’y!” and “My word, Mr. Logan, sir!” until at last -I had to pause for mere lack of breath and expletives. He took this -opportunity to enter into a prolonged explanation, quavering for my -pardon at every second word, while he expatiated on the value of that -monkey and the parrot’s really phenomenal knowledge of the Pingalap -language. He was willing, seeing that I took the matter in such a -w’y, to pass over the girl’s duds (about which there might be some -question) and even give w’y about the mats, w’ich, as Gord saw him, had -cost eight dollars, Chile money, as he could prove by Captain Coffin -of the _Cape Horn Pigeon_, now w’aling in the Arctic Seas; but as to -the parrot and the monkey, he appealed to me, as between man and man, -to settle for them out of hand, as they were truly and absolutely his -own, and could not be expected to be lumped in with the price of the -girl. I grew so sick of the fellow and his whining importunity that I -counted out thirty-seven dollars from my bag, and told him to take or -leave them and give me a clean receipt. This he did with the greatest -good humour, having the audacity to shake my hand at parting, and make -a little speech wishing me all manner of prosperity and success. - -I noticed, however, that he did not return to the trade-room, but -sneaked off the ship without seeing Bo again, and kept well out of -sight on shore until the actual moment of our sailing. When I went in -to pay a sort of duty call on my prisoner, I found her huddled up on -the mats and to all appearance fast asleep; and I was not a little -disappointed to find that she had not escaped in the bustle of our -departure. Now that I was her master in good earnest and irrevocably -bound to her for better or worse, I became a prey to the most dismal -misgivings, and cursed the ill-judged benevolence that had led me into -such a mess. And as for bread, the very sight of it was enough to -plunge me into gloom, and when we sat down that day to lunch I asked -the steward, as a favour, to allow me seamen’s biscuit in its stead. - -Every few hours I carried food to Bo and tried to make her sit up and -eat; but, except for a little water, she permitted nothing to pass her -lips, but lay limp and apathetic on the square of matting. The monkey -and parrot showed more appetite, and gobbled up whole platefuls of -soup and stew and preserved fruit, which at first I left on the floor -in the hope that their mistress might be the less shy when my back was -turned. Finally I decided to remove the pets altogether, for they were -intolerably dirty in their habits, and I could not but think that Bo -would be better off without a frowsy parrot roosting in her hair and -a monkey biting her in play, especially as she was in the throes of -a deathly seasickness and powerless to protect herself. Getting the -parrot on deck was a comparatively simple matter, though he squawked a -good deal and talked loudly in the Pingalap language. At last I stowed -him safely away in a chicken-coop, where I was glad to see him well -trounced by some enormous fowls with feathered trousers down their -legs. But the monkey was not so lightly ravished from his mistress. -He was as strong as a man and extraordinarily vicious; in ten steps -I got ten bites, and came on deck with my pyjamas in blood and rags, -he screeching like a thousand devils and clawing the air with fury. -For the promise of a dollar I managed to unload him on old Louey, one -of the sailors of the ship, who volunteered to make a muzzle for the -brute, and tie him up until it was ready. But as I was still panting -with my exertions, and cursing the foolishness that had ever led me -into such a scrape, I heard from behind me a kind of heartbroken wail, -and turned to see Bo emerging from the trade-room door. I am ashamed -to say I trembled at the sight of her, for I recalled in a flash -what the Beautiful Man had said of her temper when aroused, and I -thought I should die of mortification were she to attack me now. But, -fortunately, such was not her intention, though her face was overcast -with reproach and indignation as she unsteadily stepped past me to -the coop, where, with a cry, she threw open the door and clasped the -parrot in her arms. Even as she did so, the trousered fowls themselves -determined to make a break for liberty, and finding the barrier -removed, they tumbled out in short order; and the ship happening at -that moment to dip to leeward, two of them sailed unhesitatingly -overboard and dropped in the white water astern. Subsequently I had -the pleasure of paying Captain Mins five dollars for the pair. Bo next -started for the monkey, which she took from old Louey’s unresisting -hands, and almost cried over it as she unbound the line that held him. -Having thus rescued both her pets, she retreated dizzily to the shelter -of the trade-room, where I found her, half an hour later, lying in -agony on the floor. - -We were three days running down to Yap, and arrived there late one -afternoon just at the fall of dusk. On going ashore, I had the good -fortune to secure a little house which happened to be lying vacant -through the death of its last tenant; who, on the principle, I -suppose, of letting the tree lie where it falls, had been buried within -six feet of my front verandah. The following morning I moved my things -into my new quarters, Bo following me obediently ashore in the ship’s -boat, seated on the top of her chest. I soon got the trade-room into -shape for my work, unpacking my note-books, my little library, my -collector guns, my photographic and other apparatus, as well as my big -compound microscope with which I meant to perform scientific wonders -in a part of the world so remote and so little known. Busy in these -preparations, I managed to forget my slave and enjoy a few hours’ -unalloyed pleasure. I was brought back to earth, however, by the sound -of her sobbing in the next room, where I rushed in to find her weeping -on her mats, with her face turned to the wall. I made what shift I -could to comfort her, talking to her as I might to a frightened dog, -though she paid no more attention to me than she did to the parrot, -who had raised its voice in an unending scream. At last, in despair, -and at my wits’ end to know what else to do, I put ten dollars in her -little claw, and tried to tell her that it was her first month’s wages -in advance. This form of consolation, if altogether ineffective in the -case of Bo herself, came in capitally to cheer the monkey, whom I heard -slinging the money out of the window, a dollar at a time, to the great -gratification of a crowd of natives outside. - -All that day and all the following night Bo lay supinely on the mats, -and hardly deigned to touch more than a few morsels of the food I -prepared and brought her. The next morning, finding her still of the -same mind, I unpacked my flour and other stores, and ordered her, in -a rough voice, to get up and make bread. This she did, in a benumbed -sort of fashion, dripping tears into the dough and snuffling every time -I looked her way. The bread was all right when it was done, though it -stuck in my throat when I reflected on the price I had paid to get it, -and wondered how I was going to endure two long years of Bo’s society. -After a few weeks of this sort of housekeeping I began almost to wish -that I were dead, and the sight of the creature became so intolerable -to me that I hated to spend an unnecessary hour within my own house. -Instead of improving in health, or spirits, or in any other way, Bo -grew daily thinner and more woebegone and started a hacking cough, -which, she communicated, in some mysterious manner, to the monkey, so -that when one was still the other was in paroxysms, giving me, between -them, scarce a moment of peace or sleep. Of course I doctored them -both from my medicine-chest, and got the thanks I might reasonably -have expected: bites and lacerations from the monkey, and from Bo that -expression of hers that seemed to say, “Good God! what are you going -to do to me now?” I found it too great a strain to persevere with -the bread-making, and soon gave up all thought of turning her to any -kind of practical account; for what with her tears, her cough, and -her passive resistance to doing anything at all, save to titivate the -monkey with my comb and brush and wash him with my sponge, I would -rather have lived on squid and cocoanuts than anything of her making. -Besides, she really seemed to be threatened with galloping consumption; -for in addition to her cough, which grew constantly worse, she had -other symptoms which alarmed me. Among my stores were a dozen tins of -some mushy invalid food,--“Imperial something,” it was called,--with -which I manufactured daily messes for my patient, of the consistency -(and flavour) of white paint. If she at least failed to thrive on this, -it was otherwise with the monkey and the parrot, who fought over her -prostrate body for the stuff, and the former would snatch the cup from -his mistress’s very mouth. - -I think I could have borne up better under my misfortunes had I not -suffered so much from loneliness in that far-off place; for, with the -exception of half a dozen sottish traders, and a missionary and his -wife named Small, there was not another white on the island to keep me -company. The Smalls lived in snug missionary comfort at the other end -of the bay, with half a dozen converts to do their work and attend to -a nestful of young Smalls; and though they had parted, as it seemed -to me, with all the principles of Christianity, they still retained -enough religious prejudice to receive me (when I once ventured to -make a formal call on them) with the most undisguised rudeness and -hostility. Small gave me to understand that I was a sort of moral -monster who, with gold and for my own wicked purpose, had parted a -wife from her husband. It appeared, according to Mr. Small, that I -had blasted two fair young lives, as well as condemned my own soul to -everlasting perdition; and he promised the active interference of the -next man-of-war. On my attempting to make my position in the matter a -little clearer, the reverend gentleman began to take such an offensive -tone that it was all I could do to leave his house without giving freer -vent to my indignation than words alone sufficed. Indeed, I was angry -enough to have kicked him down his own missionary steps, and made him -in good earnest the ill-used martyr he pretended to be in his reports -home. - -With the traders I fared even worse, for the discreditable reports -about me had become so well established that I was exposed by them to -constant jokes and innuendoes, as well as to a friendliness that was -more distasteful than the missionary’s pronounced ill will. It was -spread about the beach, and carried thence, I suppose, to every corner -of the group, that Bo was a half-white of exquisite beauty, for whose -possession I had paid her husband a sum to stagger the imagination, and -that, unable to repel my loathsome embraces, she was now taking refuge -in a premature death. - -I doubt whether there was in the wide Pacific a man so depressed, so -absolutely crushed and miserable, as I was during the course of those -terrible days on Yap. Had it not been for the shame of the thing, -I believe I would have sailed away on the first ship that offered, -whatever the port to which she was bound, and would have quitted my -unhappy prisoner at any hazard. But, to do me justice, I was incapable -of treating any woman so badly, particularly such a sick and helpless -creature as Bo was fast becoming. I had now begun, besides, to suspect -another name for her complaint, and to see before me a situation more -ambiguous and mortifying than any of which I had dreamed. My household -was threatened with the advent of another member! - -The idea of Bo and I both leaving together never struck my mind until -the opportune arrival of the _Fleur de Lys_, bound for Ruk, suddenly -turned my thoughts in a new direction. With feverish haste I calculated -the course of the _Ransom_, the barque in which the Beautiful Man -had been promised his passage to Sydney, and it seemed that with any -kind of luck I might manage to intercept her in the _Fleur de Lys_ by -a good three days. Of course I knew a sailing-ship was ill to count -upon, and that a favourable slant might bring her in a week before me -or delay her for an indefinite time beyond the date of my arrival; but -the chance seemed too good a one to be thrown away, and I lost no time -in making my arrangements with Captain Brice of the schooner. When I -explained the matter to Bo with signs that she could not misunderstand, -she became instantly galvanised into a new creature, and ate a -two-pound tin of beef on the strength of the good news. - -I never grudged a penny of what it cost me to leave Yap, though I was -stuck for three months’ rent by the cormorant who said he owned my -house, besides having to pay an extortionate sum to Captain Brice -for our joint passage. But what was mere money in comparison to the -liberty I saw before me--that life of blissful independence in which -there should be no Bo, no dark shadow across my lonely hearth, no -sleepless nights and apprehensive days, no monkey, no parrot! I trod -the deck of the _Fleur de Lys_ with a light step, and I think Bo and I -began to understand each other for the first time. For once she even -smiled at me, and insisted on my accepting a beadwork necktie she had -embroidered for the monkey. If there was a worm in the bud, a perpetual -and benumbing sense of uneasiness that never left me, it was the -thought that the Beautiful Man might have slipped away before us; and I -never looked over our foaming bows but I wondered whether the _Ransom_ -was not as briskly ploughing her way to Sydney, leaving me to face -an unspeakable disaster on the shores of Ruk. But it was impossible -to be long despondent in that pleasant air, with our little vessel -heeling over to the trades and the water gurgling musically beneath -our keel. Indeed, I felt my heart grow lighter with every stroke of -the bell, with every twist of the patent log; and each day, when our -position was pricked out on the chart, I felt a sense of fresh elation -as the crosses grew towards Ruk. Nor was Bo a whit behind me in her -cheerfulness, for she, too, livened up in the most wonderful manner, -playing checkers with the captain, exercising her pets on the open -deck, and romping for an hour at a stretch with the kanaka cabin-boy. - -By the time we had raised the white beaches of our port, the whole -ship’s company, from the captain to the cook, were in the secret of our -race, and as eager as I was myself to forestall the _Ransom_ in the -lagoon. When we entered the passage and opened out the head-station -beyond, there was a regular cheer at the sight of our quest at anchor; -for it was by so narrow a margin that I had cut off the Beautiful -Man’s retreat, and intercepted the vessel that was to carry him away. -Coming up under the _Ransom_, we made a mooring off her quarter; and -among the faces that lined up to stare at us from her decks, I had the -satisfaction of recognising the frizzled red beard of our departing -friend. On perceiving us, he waved his hand in the jauntiest manner, -and replied to Bo’s screams of affection by some words in Pingalap -which effectually shut up that little person. She was still crying -when we bundled her into the boat, bag and baggage, monkey, parrot, -and camphor-wood chest; and pulling over to the barque, we deposited -her, with all her possessions, on the disordered quarter-deck of the -_Ransom_. The Beautiful Man sauntered up to us with an affectation of -airy indifference, and languidly taking the pipe from his mouth, he had -the effrontery to ask me if I, too, were bound for Sydney. - -Resisting my first impulse to kick him, I controlled myself -sufficiently to say that I was _not_ going to Sydney--telling him -at the same time that I washed my hands of Bo, whom I had now the -satisfaction of returning to him. - -“My word!” he said, “you don’t think I’m going to tyke her?” - -“That’s your affair,” said I, moving off. - -“Oh, I s’y!” he cried in consternation, attempting, as he spoke, to -lay a detaining hand on my sleeve. But I jerked it off, and stopping -suddenly in my walk towards the gangway, I gave him such a look that he -turned pale and shrank back from me. - -“Oh, I s’y!” he faltered, and allowed me to descend in quiet to my boat. - -Most of that afternoon I spent in the schooner’s cabin, covertly -watching Bo from a port-hole. For hours she remained where I had -left her on the quarter-deck, seated imperturbably on her chest, the -monkey and parrot on either hand. As for the Beautiful Man, he, like -myself, had also disappeared from view, and was doubtless watching the -situation from some secure hiding-hole of his own. Bo was again and -again accosted by the officers of the ship, who alternately cajoled and -threatened her in their fruitless attempts to get her off the vessel. -But nothing was achieved until five o’clock, when the captain came -off from the station, and, in an off-with-his-head style, commanded -the presence of the Beautiful Man. I was too far off, of course, to -hear one word that passed between them, but the pantomime needed no -explanation, as Hinton cringed and the captain fumed, while Bo looked -on like a graven image in a joss-house. In the end Bo was removed -bodily from the ship to the shore, and landed, with her things, on the -beach, where, until night fell and closed round her, I could see her -still roosting on her box. Seriously alarmed, I began to experience the -most disquieting fears for the result, especially as I could perceive -the Beautiful Man lounging serenely about the barque’s deck, smoking a -cigar and spitting light-heartedly over her side. It made me more than -uneasy to see him afloat and her ashore; and the barque’s loosened sail -lying ready to open to the breeze warned me there was little time to -lose. It was some relief to my mind to learn from Captain Brice that -the barque was not due to sail before the morrow noon; but even this -short respite served to quicken my apprehension when I reflected on my -utter powerlessness to interfere. I passed a restless night, revolving -a thousand plans to hinder the Beautiful Man’s departure, and rose at -dawn in a state of desperation. - -The first thing I saw, on going to the galley for my morning cup of -coffee, was poor Bo planted on the beach, where, as far as I could see, -she must have passed the night, sitting with unshaken determination on -her camphor-wood chest. Taking the schooner’s dinghy, I pulled myself -over to the _Ransom_, bent on a fresh scheme to retrieve the situation. -The first person I ran across on board was the Beautiful Man himself, -who hailed me with the greatest good humour, and asked what the devil -had brought me there so early. - -“To put you off this ship,” I replied. “When the captain has heard my -story, I don’t think you will ever see Sydney, Mr. Beautiful Man.” - -“W’y, w’at’s this you have against me?” he asked, with a very -creditable show of astonishment. - -I pointed to the melancholy spectre on the beach. - -“W’at of it?” he said. “She ain’t mine: she’s yours.” - -“You wait till I see the captain!” I retorted. - -“A fat lot he’ll care,” said Hinton. “The fack is, as between man and -man, I don’t mind telling you he’d shake me if he dared, the old hunks; -but I’ve got an order for my passage from the owner, and it will be -worth his job for him to disregard it. My word! I thought he was going -to bounce me last night, for he was tearing up and down here like a -royal Bengal tiger in a cage of blue fire, giving me w’at he called a -piece of his mind. A dirty low mind it was, too, and I don’t mind who -hears me say it. But I stood on my order. I said, ‘Here it is,’ I said, -‘and I beg to inform you that I’m going to syle in this ship to Sydney. -Put me ashore if you dare,’ I said.” - -At this moment the captain came on deck. He gave a stiff nod in reply -to my salutation, and marched past the Beautiful Man without so much as -a look. - -“That’s a nice sight, sir,” I said, pointing in the direction of Bo. - -He gave a snort and muttered something below his breath. - -“Is his order good?” I asked. - -“Yes, sir,” he replied; “his order is good.” - -“See here, Hinton,” I said, “wouldn’t you care to sell it?” - -“W’y, w’at are you driving at?” he returned. - -“If you’ll take her back,” I said, indicating Bo in the distance, -“I’ll buy your passage for what it’s worth.” - -“I don’t know as I’d care to sell,” he returned; “leastw’ys, at any -figger you’d care to nyme.” - -“What would you care to nyme?” I repeated after him, in involuntary -mimicry of his whine. - -“One hundred dollars,” he replied. - -“And for one hundred dollars you will surrender your passage and go -back to the girl,” I demanded, “and swear never to leave her again, -unless it is on her own island and among her own relations?” - -“Oh, come off!” he exclaimed. “Ain’t you blooming well deserting her -yourself?” - -“If you are not careful I will punch your head,” I said. - -“Don’t mind me, sir,” said the captain, significantly, turning an -enormous back upon us. - -“Is it business you’re talking, or fight?” inquired the Beautiful Man. -“You sort of mix a feller up.” - -“I tell you I’ll pay you one hundred dollars on those terms,” I said. - -“Hand them along, then,” said Hinton. “I tyke you.” - -Unbuckling the money-belt I wore round my waist, I called upon the -captain to witness the proceedings, and counted out one hundred dollars -in gold. Without a word the Beautiful Man resigned his order into my -hands and tied up the money in the corner of a dirty handkerchief, -looking at me the while with something almost like compunction. - -“Would you mind accepting this red pearl?” he said, producing a -trumpery pill of a thing that was worth perhaps a dollar. “You might -value it for old syke’s syke.” - -I was rather disarmed by this gift and took it with a smile, putting in -another good word for Bo. - -“Might I ask what you are going to do now?” asked the captain, -addressing Hinton in a tone that bordered on ferocity. - -“W’y, I was just thinking of st’ying to breakfast, sir,” quavered the -little man, “and then toddle ashore to my happy home.” - -“Get off my ship!” roared the captain. “Get off my ship, you red-headed -beach-comber and pirate. Get off before you are kicked off!” - -Hinton bolted like a rabbit for the rail, and almost before we could -realise what he was about, we saw him leap feet foremost into the -lagoon. Blowing and cursing, he rose to the surface, and informed the -captain he should hold him personally responsible for his bag, which, -it seems, had been left in one of the cabins below. - -“Your bag!” cried the captain, going to the open skylight and -thundering out: “Steward, bring up that beach-comber’s bag!” - -The boy came running up with the valise I remembered so well; it -looked even more dilapidated than before, for the thing was patched -with canvas in a dozen places, and was wound round and round with a -kind of cocoanut string. The captain lifted it in his brawny arms, and -aiming it at the Beautiful Man’s head, let it fly straight at him. It -just missed Hinton by an inch, and splashed water all over him as he -grasped it to his breast. Turning on his back and dragging the spongy -thing along with him, as one might the body of a drowning person, he -set off most unconcernedly for the shore. In this fashion we saw him -strike the beach, and rise up at last with the bag in his hand, not a -dozen paces from where Bo was still encamped. We were, unfortunately, -at too great a distance to watch their faces or to observe narrowly the -greeting that must have passed between them; but the meeting was to all -appearance not unfriendly, and I had the satisfaction of seeing them -move off together in the direction of the boat-house, lugging the chest -and bag between them, as though they were about to resume housekeeping -in the old place. - -I spent the rest of the morning writing letters to go by the _Ransom_, -which sailed away at noon, homeward bound. I had no heart to go ashore -again that day, for the Bo affair stuck in my throat, and the loss of -so much money, not to speak of time, made me feel seriously crippled in -the plans I had laid out for my future work. I was undecided, besides, -whether to remain at Ruk and wait for another ship to the westward, -or to stand by the schooner in her cruise through the Kingsmills, -remaining over, perhaps, at Butaritari, or at one of the islands -towards the south. On talking over the matter with the captain, I -found his feelings so far changed towards me that he was eager now to -give me a passage at any price; for, as he told me, he had taken a -genuine liking to my company, and was desirous of having another face -at his lonely table. Accordingly we patched up the matter to our mutual -satisfaction, and arranged to sail the next day when the tide turned at -ten. - -Shortly before this hour, I remembered some improvised tide-gauges -I had set on the weather side of the island, and I snatched an -opportunity to see them on the very eve, as it was, of the schooner’s -sailing. It seemed, however, that I had been too late in going, for not -one of them could I find, though I searched up and down the beach for -as long a time as I dared to stay. - -I was returning leisurely back across the island, when a turn of the -path brought me face to face with the Beautiful Man himself, carrying -some kind of fish-trap in his hand. I would have walked silently past -him, for the very sight of the creature now turned my stomach, had he -not, in what proved an evil moment for himself, detained me as I was -passing. - -“My word!” he said, “that girl is regularly gone on you, she is! W’y, -last night, when I told her of the hundred dollars, she was that put -out that I heard the teeth snap in her head like that, and I thought -she was going to do for me sure, while I lit out in the dark and looked -for a club. She’s put by a little present for you before you go,--one -of them pearl-shell bonito-hooks, and a string of the last monkey’s -teeth,--and she asked me to say she hoped you wouldn’t forget her.” - -“I won’t forget her,” I answered pretty quietly. “Nor you either, you -little cur.” - -“Cur!” he repeated, edging away from me. - -I don’t know what possessed me, but the memory of my wrongs, wasted -money, lost time, the man’s egregious cynicism and selfishness, -suddenly set my long-tried temper flaming, and almost before I knew -what I was doing, I had the creature by the throat and was pounding him -with all my force against a tree. I was twice his size and twice his -strength, but I fought him regardless of all the decencies of personal -combat in a lawless and primeval manner, even as one of our hairy -ancestors might have revenged himself (after extraordinary provocation) -upon another. I shook and kicked him, and I pulled out whole handfuls -of frowsy red hair and whisker, and when at last he lay limp before me -in the dirt, whimpering aloud for mercy, I beat him for ten minutes -with a cocoanut branch that happened, by the best of fortunes, to be -at hand. When I at length desisted, it was from no sense of pity for -him, but rather in concern for myself and my interrupted voyage. I did -turn him over once or twice to assure myself that none of his bones -were broken, and that my punishment had not gone too far; and as I did -so, he executed some hollow groans, and went through with an admirable -stage-play of impending dissolution. I could plainly see that he was -shamming, and had an eye to damages and financial consolation, as well -as the obvious intention of wringing my bosom with remorse. I left -him sitting up in the path, rubbing his fiery curls and surveying the -cocoanut branch with which he had made such a painful acquaintance, a -figure so mournful, changed, and dejected that Pingalap would scarce -have known him for her Beautiful Man. - -As I was hurrying down to the beach, I saw the schooner getting under -way, and heard the boat’s crew imperiously calling out to me to hasten. -I broke into a run, and was almost at the water’s edge when I turned to -find Bo panting at my side. I stopped to see what she wanted, and when -she forced a little parcel into my pocket I suddenly remembered the -present of which Hinton had spoken. - -“Good-bye, Bo,” I cried, wringing her little fist in mine. “Many thanks -for the fish-hook, which I shall always keep in memory of our travels.” - -All the way out to the schooner I seemed to feel the package growing -heavier and heavier in my pyjama pocket, and the suspicion more than -once crossed my mind that it was no fish-hook at all. Feeling loath -to determine the matter before the men, who must needs have seen and -wondered at the transaction from the boat, I kept down my curiosity -until I could satisfy it more privately on board. Then, as the captain -and I were watching the extraordinary antics of the Beautiful Man (who -had rushed down to the beach and thrown himself into a native canoe, -in the impossible hope of overtaking us, alternately paddling and -shaking his fist demoniacally in the air), I drew out the package and -cut it open with my knife. In a neat little beadwork bag (which still -conserved a lurking scent of monkey), and carefully done up in fibre, -like a jewel in cotton wool, I found a shining treasure of gold and -silver coin. - -One hundred and thirty-seven dollars! - -It was Bo’s restitution. - - - - -THE DUST OF DEFEAT - - - - -THE DUST OF DEFEAT - - -They took their accustomed path beside the strait, walking slowly -side by side, each conscious that they would never again be together. -The melancholy pines, rising from the water’s edge to the very summit -of the mountains, gave that look of desolation which is the salient -note of New Caledonian landscape. Across the narrow strait as calm -and clear as some sweet English river, the rocky shore rose steep and -precipitous, cloaked still in pines. A faint, thrilling roar broke at -times upon the ear, and told of Fitzroy’s mine far up on the hill, its -long chutes emptying chrome on the beach below. Except for this, there -was not a sound that bespoke man’s presence or any sign that betrayed -his habitation or handiwork. - -“This is our last day,” he said. “Do you not once wish to see the -little cabin where I have eaten my heart out these dozen years? Do you -never mean to ask me what brought me here?” - -“I would like to know,” she answered; “but I was afraid. I didn’t wish -to be--to be--” - -“Thank you,” he said. “Thank you for that unspoken word. You did not -wish to be disillusioned--to be told that the man you have treated with -such condescension was a mere vulgar criminal, a garroter perhaps, such -a one as you have read of in Gaboriau’s romances. Ah, mademoiselle, -when you have heard my unhappy story,--that story which no one has ever -listened to save the counsel that defended me,--you will perhaps think -better of poor Paul de Charruel.” - -“You are innocent?” she cried, looking up at him with eyes full of -tenderness and curiosity. “You have shielded some one?” - -M. de Charruel shook his head. “I am not innocent,” he said. “I am no -martyr, mademoiselle--not, at least, in the sense you are good enough -to imply. I was fortunate to get transportation for life, doubly -fortunate to obtain this modified liberty after only three years. -You may, however, congratulate yourself that your friend is a model -prisoner; his little farm has been well reported on by the Chef de -l’Administration Pénitentiaire; it compares favourably with Leclair’s, -the vitriol-thrower of Rue d’Enfer, and his early potatoes are said to -rival those of Palitzi the famous poisoner.” - -His companion shuddered. - -“Pardon me,” he continued. “God knows, I have no desire to be merry; my -heart is heavy enough, in all conscience.” - -“You will tell me everything,” she said softly. - -He walked along in silence for several minutes, moody and preoccupied, -staring on the ground before him. - -“I suppose I ought to begin with my father and mother, in the -old-fashioned way,” he said at last, with a sudden smile. “There are -conventionalities even for convicts! My father (if we are to go so far -back) was the Comte de Charruel, one of the old noblesse; my mother -an American lady from whom I got the little English I possess, as well -as a disposition most rash, nervous, and impulsive. There were two -of us children--my sister Berthe and myself, she the younger by six -years. My father died when I reached twenty years, just as I entered -the Eighty-sixth Hussars as a sub-lieutenant. Had he survived I might -perhaps have been saved many miseries and unhappinesses; on the other -hand, he, the soul of honour, might have been standing here in my -place, condemned as I have been to a lifelong exile. - -“I was a good officer. Titled, rich, and well born, there was accorded -me the friendship of the aristocratic side of the regiment; a good -comrade, and free from stupid pride, I stood well with those who had -risen from the ranks and the humbler spheres of society. Many a time -I was the only officer at home in either camp, and popular in both. -When I look back upon my army life, so gay, so animated, so filled with -small successes and commendations from my superiors, I wish that I -had been fated to die in what was the very zenith of my happiness and -prosperity. - -“My mother, except for a short time each year at our hôtel in Paris, -lived in our old château in Nemours, entertaining, in an unobtrusive -fashion, many of the greatest people in France; for the entrée of few -houses was more eagerly sought than our own. Though we were not so well -born as some, nor so rich as many, my mother contrived to be always in -request, and to make her _salon_ the centre of all the gaiety and wit -of France. - -“From her earliest infancy my sister Berthe was counted one of the -company at the château, and while I was at the _lycée_ and afterwards -at St. Cyr, she was leading the life of a great lady at Nemours. -Marshals of France were her cavaliers; famous poets and musicians -played with her dolls and shared her confidences; men and women -distinguished in a thousand ways paid court to her childish beauty. -Beauty, perhaps, I ought not to say, for her charm lay most in the -extraordinary liveliness and intrepidity of her character, which -captivated every beholder. Indeed, she ought to have been the man of -the family, I the girl--so diverse were our tastes and aspirations, our -whole outlook on life. - -“You, of course, cannot recollect the amazing revolution that swept -over Europe when I was a young man--that upheaval of everything old, -accepted, and conventional, which was confined to no one country, but -raged equally throughout them all. Huxley, Darwin, Haeckel, Renan, and -Herbert Spencer were names that grew familiar by incessant repetition; -young ladies whom one remembered last in boxes at the opera, or -surrounded by admirers at balls and great assemblies, now threw -themselves passionately into this new Renaissance. One you would find -studying higher mathematics; another geology and chemistry; another -still, teaching the children of thieves and cut-throats how to read. -Girls you had seen at their father’s table, with downcast eyes and -blushes when one spoke to them, now demanded separate establishments -of their own; worked their way, if necessary, through foreign -universities; fought like little tigers for the privilege of studying -till two in the morning and starving with one another in the gloomiest -parts of the town. Nor were the young men behind their sisters: to -them also had come the new revelation, this self-denying and austere -standard of life, this religion of violent intellectual effort. To many -it was ennobling to a supreme degree; and while our girls boldly made -their way into avenues hitherto closed to women, there were everywhere -young men, no less ardent and disinterested, to support them in the -mêlée. In every house there was this revolt of the young against the -old, this perpetual argument of humanitarianism against apathy and -_laisser-faire_. - -“To me it all seemed the most frightful madness. I was bewildered -to see bright eyes pursuing studies which I knew myself to be so -wearisome, taking joy where I had found only vexation and fatigue. -Like all my caste, I was old-fashioned and thought a woman’s place at -home. You must not go to the army for new ideas. It was no pleasure -to me to see delicately nurtured ladies rubbing shoulders with raw -medical students or tainting their pretty ears with the unrestrained -conversation of men. You must remember how things have changed in -eighteen years; you can scarcely conceive the position of those -forerunners of your sex in Europe, so much has public opinion altered -for the better. In my day we went to extremes on either side, for it -was then that the battle was fought. The elders would not give way an -inch; the children dashed into a thousand extravagances. To some it -looked as though the dissolution of society was at hand. Girls asked -men to marry them,--men they had seen perhaps but once,--in order -that they might gain the freedom accorded to married women and secure -themselves against the intolerable interference of their families. Some -of them never saw their husbands again, nor could even recollect their -names without an effort. Ah, it was frightful! It was a revolution! - -“In spite of all her liberal opinions, her unconventional views, her -apparent allegiance to the new religion, my mother soon took her place -amid the reactionary ranks, while my sister, the _mondaine_, just -as surely joined the rebellion. As I said before, it was the battle -of the young against the old; age, rather than conviction, assigned -one’s position in the fight. Our house, hitherto so free from domestic -discord, became the theatre of furious quarrels between mother and -daughter--quarrels not about gowns, allowances, suitors, or unpaid -bills, but involving questions abstract and sublime: one’s liberty -of free development; one’s duty to one’s self, to mankind; one’s -obligation, in fact, to cast off all shackles and take one’s place in -the revolution so auspiciously beginning. - -“The end of it was that Berthe left Nemours, coming to Paris without -my mother’s permission, to study medicine with a Russian friend of -hers, a girl as defiant and undaunted as herself. This was Sonia -Boremykin, with whose name you must be familiar. Needless to say, I -was interdicted from giving any assistance to my sister, my mother -imploring me not to supply the means by which Berthe’s ruin might be -accomplished. But I could not allow my sister to starve to death in -a garret, and if I disobeyed my poor mother, she had at least the -satisfaction of knowing that my sympathies were on her side of the -quarrel. My greatest distress, indeed, was that Berthe would accept so -little, for she was crazy to be a martyr, and was, besides, prompted by -a generous feeling not to take a sou more than the meagre earnings of -her companion. So they lived and starved together, these two remarkable -young women, turning their backs on every luxury and refinement. -Either, for the asking, could have received a thousand-franc note -within the hour; for each a château stood with open doors; for each -there was a dowry of more than respectable dimensions, and lovers who -would have been glad to take them for their _beaux yeux_ alone! And yet -they chose to live in a garret, to be constantly affronted as they went -unescorted through the wickedest parts of Paris, to subsist on food the -most unappetising and unwholesome. For what? To cut up dead paupers in -the Sorbonne! - -“I was often there to see them with the self-imposed task of trying -to lighten the burden of their sacrifices. I introduced food in paper -bags, and surreptitiously dropped napoleons in dark corners--that is, -until I was once detected. Afterwards they watched me like hawks. -Sometimes they were so hungry that tears came into their eyes at the -sight of what I brought; at others they would appear insulted, and -throw it remorselessly out of the window. Though I had no sympathy -whatever with their aims, I was profoundly interested, profoundly -touched, as one might be at the sight of an heroic enemy. Their -convictions were not my convictions; their mode of life I thought -detestable: but who could withhold admiration for so much courage, so -much self-denial, in two beautiful young women? I used often to bring -with me my old colonel, a glorious veteran with whom I was always a -favourite, and the girls liked to hear our sabres clank as we mounted -the grimy stair, and to see our brilliant uniforms in their garret. It -reminded them of the _monde_ they had resigned; besides, they needed -an audience of their own caste who could appreciate, as none other, -their sacrifices and their fortitude. Mademoiselle Sonia used to look -very kindly at me on the occasion of my visits, never growing angry, as -my sister did, at my stupidity, or by my failure to understand their -high-flown notions of duty. Once, when I was accidentally hurt at the -salle d’armes by a button coming off my opponent’s foil, it was she who -dressed my wound with the greatest tenderness and skill, converting me -for all time as to the medical career for women. Poor Sonia, how her -eyes sparkled at her little triumph! - -“On one of my visits I was thunderstruck to find before me the Marquis -de Gonse, a gentleman much older than myself, with whom I had not -actual acquaintance, though we had a host of friends in common. Upon -his departure I protested vehemently against this outrage of the -proprieties. I besought them to show a little more circumspection in -their choice of friends, admitting no man to their intimacy who counted -not his fifty years. But my protestations were received with laughter; -I was told that the marquis was a friend of Sonia’s father, and was -trying to effect a reconciliation highly to be desired. Berthe accused -me mockingly of wishing to keep the little Russian to myself. Indeed, -she said, what could be more demoralising to her companion than the -constant presence of a beautiful young hussar? With her saucy tongue -she put me completely to the blush; in vain I pleaded and argued; de -Gonse’s footing was assured. Yet, if they had searched all Paris, they -could not have found a man more undesirable, or more dangerous for two -young women to know. Ardent, generous, and himself full of aspirations -for the advancement of humanity, nothing was better calculated to -appeal to him than the struggle in which my sister was engaged. His -sympathy, his sincere desire to put his own shoulder to the wheel, were -more to be feared than the most strenuous protestations of regard. If -he had made love to my sister, she was enough a woman of the world to -have sent him to the right about; but he adopted, all unconsciously, I -am sure, a more subtle plan to win her good opinion: he was converted! - -“If I shut my eyes I can see him sitting there in that low garret as -he appeared on one occasion which particularly imprinted itself on my -mind; such a high-bred, such a distinguished figure, with his silk hat -and gloves beside the box which had been given him for a chair, and his -face full of wonder and sadness! You have read of Marie Antoinette in -prison, of her sufferings so uncomplainingly borne, of her nobility and -steadfastness in the squalor of her cell! You have revolted, perhaps, -at the picture--clinched your little fists and felt a great bursting -of the heart? It was thus with M. de Gonse. Berthe he had often seen -at our château in Nemours; Sonia’s father he had known in Russia, a -general of reputation, standing high in the favour of the Czar. None -was better aware than he of what the young ladies had given up. I could -see that he was deeply moved. He asked many questions; at times he -exclaimed beneath his breath. He insisted on learning everything--the -amount of their income, the nature of their studies, all their -makeshifts and contrivances. The two beautiful, solitary girls, from -whom sympathy and appreciation had so long been withheld, unbared -their lives to us without reserve. Berthe told us, amid the passionate -interjections of Sonia Boremykin, the story of their struggles at the -medical school: the open hostility of the professors; the brutal sneers -and innuendoes; the indescribable affronts that had been put upon them. -During this terrible recital--for it was terrible to hear of outrages -so patiently borne, of insults which bring the blood to the cheek even -to remember after all these years--de Gonse rose more than once from -his seat, walking up and down like one possessed, uttering cries of -rage and pity. It was no feigned anger, no play-acting to win the -regard of these poor women. Let me do the man that justice. - -“I don’t think my sister was prepared for the effect of her eloquence -on the marquis, or could have foreseen, even for a moment, the tempest -she had raised within his breast. He swore he would challenge every -professor in the school; that he would unloose spadassins on the -offending students, whose bones should be broken with clubs; that to -blight their careers in after life he would make his business, his -pleasure, his joy! It was with difficulty that he was recalled to the -realities of every-day existence, my sister telling him frankly that -such a course as he proposed might benefit woman in general, but could -not fail to destroy the future of herself and Sonia Boremykin. To be -everywhere talked about, to get their names into the newspapers, to -be pointed at on the street as the victims of frightful insults--what -could be more detestable, more ruinous to the careers they hoped to -make? De Gonse was reluctantly compelled to withdraw his plans of -extermination; for who could controvert the logic with which they -were demolished or fail to see the justice of my sister’s contention? -Confessing himself beaten on this point, he sought for some other -solution of the problem. Private tutors? Intolerably expensive, came -the answer; poor substitutes for one of the greatest schools in Europe; -unable, besides, to confer the longed-for degree. The University of -Geneva, famous for its generous treatment of women? Good, but its -diploma would not carry the desired prestige in France. I hazarded -boys’ clothes and false mustaches; but my remark was greeted with a -shout of laughter and a half-blushing confession from Mademoiselle -Sonia that one experiment in this direction had sufficed. It was to the -marquis that light finally came. - -“‘Fool! Idiot!’ he thundered, striking himself on his handsome forehead -with his fist. ‘Why did I not think of it before? To-morrow I join the -medical school myself--the student de Gonse, cousin of the marquis, -a man tired of the hollowness and the trivialities of high life. I -do nothing to show I am acquainted with you, nothing to compromise -you in the faintest manner. But de Gonse, the medical student, is a -gentleman, a man of honour. A companion ventures on a remark derogatory -to the dignity of the young ladies; behold, his head cracks like an -egg against his desk! Another opens his mouth, only to discover that -_le boxe_ (you know I am quite an Anglais) is driving the teeth down -his throat, setting up medical complications of an extraordinary and -baffling nature. A professor so far forgets his manhood as to heap -insults on the undefended; the strange medical student tweaks his nose -in the tribune and challenges him to combat! How simple, how direct!’ - -“Imagine my surprise a few days later to learn that this had been no -idle gasconade on the marquis’s part. True to his word, he had appeared -at the school elaborately attired for the part he was to play, even to -a detestable cravat and a profusion of cheap jewellery! Unquestionably -there must have been others in the plot, for no formalities anywhere -tied his hands or opposed the least obstacle to his audacity. As one -would have expected from a man so eager and so full of resource, the -object for which he came was soon achieved. Mingling with the students -as one of themselves, he singled out those who went the farthest in -persecuting the women, and insensibly cajoled them into a better way of -conduct. The minority, too, those that still kept alive the chivalry -of young France, were strengthened and encouraged by the force of his -example, so that the crusade, once authoritatively begun, went on -magnificently of itself. Not a blow was struck, not a wry word said, -and behold, de Gonse had accomplished a miracle! From that time the -position of women was assured; protectors arose on every side as though -by magic; in a word, gallantry became the fashion. When professors -ventured on impertinences, hisses now greeted them in place of cheers; -they changed colour, and were at pains to explain away their words. The -battle, indeed, was won. - -“Had de Gonse contented himself with this victory, which saved my -sister and Mademoiselle Sonia from countless mortifications, how -much human misery would have been averted, how great a tragedy would -have remained unplayed! But evil and good are inexplicably blended -in this world, a commonplace of whose truth, mademoiselle, you will -have many opportunities of verifying. Having acted so manly a part, -one so calculated to earn the gratitude and esteem of these poor -girls, he turned from one to the other, wondering with which he should -reward himself. I have reason to think his choice first fell on Sonia -Boremykin, who had the whitest skin and the prettiest blue eyes in -the world. How can I doubt, to judge from her wild, tragic after life, -but that he could have persuaded her to her ruin? But he must have -paused half-way, struck by the incomparable superiority of my sister. -In beauty she was not perhaps the equal of her companion, though to -compare _blonde_ and _brune_ is a matter of supererogation. In other -ways, at least, there never lived a woman more desirable than Berthe -de Charruel. She possessed to a supreme degree the charm that springs -from intelligence,--I might say from genius,--which, when found in -the person of a young and beautiful woman, is almost irresistible to -any man that gains her favour. Jeanne d’Arc was such another as my -poor sister, and must have been impelled on her career by something of -the same fire, something of the same passionate earnestness. To break -a heart like hers seemed to de Gonse the crown to a hundred vulgar -intrigues and _bonnes fortunes_. - -“Of course, I knew nothing of this gradual undoing of my sister, though -during the course of my visits to the little garret I often found the -marquis in the society of Berthe and her friend. I disliked to see -him there, but I was powerless to interfere. I was often puzzled, -indeed, by the ambiguous conduct of Mademoiselle Sonia, who had the -queerest way of looking at me, and whose eyes were always meeting mine -in singular glances, whether of warning or appeal I was at a loss to -tell. Her words, too, often left me uneasy, recurring to me constantly -when I was in the saddle at the head of my troop or as I lay awake -in bed awaiting the reveille. I wondered if the little Russian were -making love to me, for, like all hussars, I was something of a coxcomb, -though, to do me justice, neither a lady-killer nor a pursuer of -adventures. It was in my profession that I found my only distraction, -my only mistress. I am almost ashamed to tell you how good I was, how -innocent--how in me the Puritan stock of my mother seemed to find a -fresh recrudescence. Some thought me a hypocrite, others a coward; but -I was neither. - -“I learned the truth late one afternoon from Sonia Boremykin, who came -to my quarters closely veiled, in a condition of agitation the most -frightful. I could not believe her; I seemed to see only another of -her devices to win my regard. My sister! My Berthe! It was impossible! -I said to her the crudest things; I was beside myself. She went on -her knees; she hid nothing; it was all true. My anger flamed like a -blazing fire; I rushed out of the barracks regardless of my duties--of -everything except revenge. A lucky _rencontre_ on the street put me -on de Gonse’s track, and I ran him down in the _salle_ of the Jockey -Club. He was standing under one of the windows, reading a letter by the -fading light, a note, as like as not, he had just received from Berthe. -I think he changed colour when he saw me; at least, he drew back with a -start. - -“I lifted my glove and struck him square across his handsome face. - -“‘You will understand what that is for, M. le Marquis de Gonse!’ I -cried. - -“He turned deadly white, and with a quick movement caught my wrists in -both his hands. - -“‘_Mon enfant!_’ he exclaimed in a loud voice, which he tried to invest -with a tone of jocularity, ‘you carry your high spirits beyond all -reason; I am too old to enjoy being hit upon the nose.’ Then in a lower -key he whispered: ‘Paul, calm thyself; for the love of God, do not -force a quarrel. Come outside and let us talk with calmness.’ - -“But I was in no humour to be cajoled. I fiercely shook off his -restraining hands. ‘Messieurs,’ I cried, as the others, detecting a -scene, began to close round us, ‘Messieurs, behold how I buffet the -face of the Marquis de Gonse!’ And with that I again flicked my glove -across his face. - -“De Gonse slunk back with a sort of sob. - -“‘Captain de Charruel and I have had an unfortunate difference of -opinion,’ he cried, recovering his aplomb on the instant. ‘It seems we -cannot agree upon the Spanish Succession. M. le Comte, my seconds will -await on you this evening.’ - -“I turned and left the club, my head in a whirl, my face so distraught -and haggard that I carried consternation through the jostling street, -the people making way for me as though I were a madman. To obtain -seconds was my immediate preoccupation, a task of no difficulty for -a young hussar. My colonel kindly condescended to act, and with him -my friend Nicholas van Greef, the military attaché of the Netherlands -government. To both I told the same story of the Spanish Succession and -the quarrel of which it had been the occasion. But my colonel smiled -and laid a meaning finger against his nose; the Dutchman said drily it -was well to keep ladies’ names out of such affairs. I am convinced, -however, that neither of them had the faintest glimmering of the -truth. Having thus arranged matters with my seconds, I attempted next -to find my poor sister, hastening up her interminable stairs with an -impatience I leave you to imagine. Needless to say, she was not in the -garret, which was inhabited by Mademoiselle Sonia alone, her pretty -face swollen with weeping, her humour one of extraordinary caprices and -contradictions. She blamed me altogether for the catastrophe: I ought -not to have given Berthe a sou; I ought to have starved her back into -servitude. Women were intended for slaves; to make them free was to -give them the rope to hang themselves. For her part, said mademoiselle, -she thought a convent the right place for girls, and crochet work the -best occupation! At any other time I might have stared to hear such -sentiments from my sister’s friend, but for the moment I could think of -nothing but Berthe. To find her was my one desire. In this, however, -Sonia would afford me no assistance, frankly asking what would be the -good. - -“‘The harm is done, my poor Paul,’ she said, looking at me sorrowfully. -‘Why should I expose you or her to an interview so unpleasant? How -could it profit any one?’ - -“I could not altogether see the force of this acquiescence in evil. I -said that the honour of one of the oldest families in France was at -stake; that if my sister did not leave the marquis I should kill her -with my own hands and fly the country. I implored Mademoiselle Sonia, -with every argument I thought might move her, to betray my sister’s -hiding-place. But she kept putting me off, mocked at my impatience, and -tried to learn, on her side, whether or not I meant to fight de Gonse. - -“‘If you really wish to find out where she is,’ she cried at last, -‘why don’t you make me tell you? Why don’t you take me by the throat -and pound my head against the wall, as they do down-stairs with such -admirable success? Those women positively adore their men.’ As she -spoke she threw back her head and exposed her charming neck with a -gesture half defiant, half submissive! Upon my soul, I felt like -carrying her suggestion into effect and choking her in good earnest, -for I had become furious at her contrariety. But, restraining the -impulse, I saw there was nothing left for me save to retire. - -“‘Mademoiselle Boremykin,’ I said, ‘you are heartless and wicked beyond -anything I could have imagined possible. You have helped to bring a -noble name to dishonour, and in place of remorse your only feelings -seem those of levity. I have the honour of wishing you good day.’ - -“De Gonse and I met the following morning in the Bois de Boulogne. His -had been the choice of arms, and he selected rapiers, knowing, like -all men of the world, that a pistol has the knack of killing. I ground -my teeth at his decision, for he had the reputation of being a fine -fencer, while I could boast no more than the average proficiency. He -appeared to great advantage on the field; so cool, so handsome, such -a _grand seigneur_--in every way so marked a contrast to myself. It -was not unnatural, however: he was there to prick me in the shoulder, -I to kill him if I could. Small wonder that my face was livid, that -my eyes burned like coals in my head, that I was petulant with my own -seconds, insulting towards my adversary’s. I looked at these with -scorn, the supporters of a scoundrel, themselves, no doubt, seducers -and libertines like him they served. My dear old colonel chid me for my -discourtesy--bade me be a _galant homme_ for his sake, if not for mine. -I kissed his wrinkled hand before them all; I said I respected men only -who were honourable like himself. Every one laughed at my extravagance, -at the poor old man’s embarrassment. It was plain they considered me a -coward. They said things I could not help overhearing. But I cared for -nothing. My God, no! I was there to kill de Gonse, not to pick quarrels -with his friends. - -“We were placed in position. Everything was _en règle_. The doctors, of -whom there were a couple, lit cigarettes and did not even trouble to -open their wallets. They knew it to be an affair of scratches. - -“The handkerchief fell. We set to, warily, cautiously, looking into -each other’s eyes like wild beasts. More than once he could have killed -me, so openly did I expose myself to his attack, so unconscionably did -I force him back, hoping to give lunge for lunge, my life for his. But -in his adventurous past de Gonse must often have crossed swords with -men no less desperate than myself; it was no new thing to him to face -a determined foe, or to guard himself against thrusts that were meant -to kill. His temper was under admirable control; he handled his weapon -like a master in the school of arms, and allowed me to tire myself out -against what seemed a wall of steel. Suddenly he forced my guard with a -stroke like a lightning-flash; I felt my left arm burn as though melted -wax had been dropped upon it. Some one seized my sword; some one caught -me in his arms! - -“My dizziness, my bewilderment, were the sensations of a moment, -and in a trice I was myself again. The wound was nothing--a nicely -calculated stroke through the fleshy part of the arm. I laughed when -they talked of honour satisfied and of our return to the barracks. I -said I never felt better in my life. It was true, for I was possessed -with a berserker rage, as they call it in the old Norse sagas; a bullet -through my heart could not have hurt me then. The seconds demurred; -they told me that I was in their hands; that I was overruled; repeated, -like parrots, that honour was satisfied. This only made me laugh the -more. I went up to the marquis and asked him was it necessary for me to -strike him again? I called him a coward, and swore I would post him in -every salon and club in Paris. I slapped him in the face with my bare -hand--my right, for my left felt numb and strange. There was another -scene. De Gonse appeared discomposed for the first time; the seconds -were pale and more than perturbed. One had a sense of death being in -the air. There were consultations apart; appeals to which I would not -listen; expostulations as idle as the wind. De Gonse, trembling with -wrath, left himself unreservedly to his seconds, walking up and down -at a little distance like a sentinel on duty. I also strolled about -to show how strong and fit I was--the angriest, the bitterest man in -France. - -“At length it was decided that we might continue the combat. De Gonse -solemnly protested, bidding us all take notice that he had been allowed -no alternative. My colonel was almost in tears. Repeatedly, as a favour -to himself, he besought me to apologise for that second blow and retire -from the field. But I was adamant. ‘_Mon colonel_,’ I said to him, in a -whisper, ‘this is a quarrel in which one of us must fall. Let me assure -you it is not about a trifle.’ - -“Again we ranged ourselves; again we grasped our rapiers, saluted, and -stood ready for the game to begin. The marquis’s coolness had somewhat -forsaken him. The finest equanimity is ruffled by a buffet in the face; -one cannot command calm at will. His friends said afterwards that he -showed extraordinary self-control, but I should rather have described -it as extraordinary uneasiness. No duellist cares for a berserker -foe. De Gonse was, moreover, of a superstitious fancy. There are such -things, besides, as presentiments; I think he must have had one then. -God knows, perhaps he was struggling with remorse. The handkerchief -fell; we crossed swords, and the combat was resumed with the utmost -vivacity. The air rang with the shivering steel. The doctors smoked -no longer, but looked on with open mouths. A duel in grim earnest is -seldom seen in France, though I venture to say there was one that -morning. It lasted only a minute; we had scarcely well begun before -I felt a stinging in my side, and saw, as in a dream, my enemy’s -triumphant face, red with his exertions. The exasperation of that -moment passes the power of words to describe. This was my revenge, -this a villain’s punishment on the field of honour! He would leave it -without a scratch, to be lionised in salons, to relate in boudoirs the -true inwardness of the quarrel! Remember, I felt all this within the -confines of a single second, as a drowning man in no more brief a space -passes his entire life in review. Imagine, if you can, my rage, my -uncontrollable indignation, my unbounded fury. What I did then I would -do now,--by God, I would,--if need be, a dozen times! I caught his -rapier in my left hand and held it in the aching wound, while with my -unimpeded right I stabbed him through the body, again and again, with -amazing swiftness--so that he fell pierced in six places. There was a -terrible outcry; shouts of ‘Murder!’ ‘Coward!’ ‘Assassin!’ on every -side looks of horror and detestation. One of the marquis’s seconds -beset me like a maniac with his cane, and I believe I should have -killed him too had not the old colonel run between us. - -“The other second was supporting de Gonse’s head and assisting the -surgeons to staunch the pouring blood. But it was labour lost; any one -could see that he was doomed. From a little distance I watched them -crowding about him where he lay on the grass; for I had drawn apart, -sick and dizzy with my own wounds, conscious that I was now an outcast -among men. At last one came towards me; it was Clut, the doctor. He -said nothing, but drew me gently towards the group he had just quitted. -They opened for me to pass as though I were a leper. A second later I -stood beside the dying man, gazing down at his face. - -“‘He wishes to shake hands with you,’ said the other doctor, solemnly, -guiding the marquis’s hand upward in his own. ‘Let his death atone, he -says; he wishes to part in amity.’ - -“I folded my arms. - -“‘No, monsieur,’ I said. ‘What you ask is impossible.’ With that -I walked away, not daring to look back lest I might falter in my -resolution. I can say honestly that de Gonse’s death weighs on me very -little; yet I would give ten years of my life to unsay those final -words--to recall that last brutality. In my dreams I often see him so, -holding out the hand, which I try to grasp. I hear the doctor saying, -‘He wishes to part in amity.’ - -“I fainted soon after leaving my opponent’s side. I lay on the -ground where I fell, no one caring to come to my assistance. When -consciousness returned I saw them lifting the marquis’s body into a -carriage, and I needed no telling to learn that he was dead. My colonel -and Van Greef assisted me into another cab, neither of them saying a -word nor showing me the least compassion. I suppose I should have been -thankful they did so much. Was not I accursed? Were they not involved -in my dishonour? They abandoned me, wounded, faint, and parching with -thirst, to find my own way to Paris. Alone? No, not altogether. On the -seat beside me my colonel laid a flask of brandy and a loaded pistol. -The first I drank; the revolver I pitched out of window. I never -thought to kill myself. For cheating at cards, for several varieties of -dishonour, yes. But not for what I had done--never in all the world. -My conscience was as undisturbed as that of a little child; excepting -always that--why had I not taken his hand! - -“I was arrested, of course, and tried--tried for murder. You see, there -were too many in the secret for it to be long kept. It was a _cause -célèbre_, attracting universal attention. The quarrel concerned the -Spanish Succession; as to that they could not shake me. There were -many surmises, many suspicions, but no one stumbled on the truth. -To a single man only was it told--Maître Le Roux, my counsel. Him I -had to tell, for at first he would not take up my case at all. There -was a great popular outcry against me, the army furious and ashamed, -the bourgeoisie in hysterics. I was condemned; sentenced to death; -reprieved at the particular intercession of the Marquise de Gonse, the -dead man’s mother, who threw herself on her knees before the Chief -Executive--reprieved to transportation for life! - -“You will be surprised I mention not my mother. Ah, mademoiselle, there -are some things which will not permit themselves to be told--even to -you. She went mad. She died. My military degradation is another of -those things unspeakable. The epaulets were torn from my shoulders, the -_galons_ from my sleeves, my sword broken in two; all this in public -before my regiment in hollow square. Picture for yourself, on every -side, those walls of faces, scarcely one not familiar; my colonel, -choking on his charger, the agitated master of ceremonies; my former -friends and comrades trying not to meet my eye; in the ranks many of -my own troopers crying, and the officers swearing at them below their -breath. My God, it was another Calvary! - -“At Havre they kept me long in prison, waiting for the transport to -carry me to New Caledonia. It was there I heard of my sister’s death, -the news being brought to me by a young French lady, a friend of -Berthe’s. My sister had poisoned herself, appalled at what she had -done. There was no scandal, however, no sensational inquiry. She was -too clever for that, too scientific; it was by no vulgar means that she -sought her end. Assembling her friends, she bade them good-bye in turn, -and divided among them her little property, her money, jewels, and -clothes. She died in the typhus hospital to which she had volunteered -her services--a victim to her own imprudence, said the doctors; a -martyr to duty, proclaimed the world. She was accorded the honour of -a municipal funeral (though her actual body was thrown into a pit of -lime): the _maire_ and council in carriages, the charity children on -foot, the _pompiers_ with their engine, a battalion of the National -Guard, and the band of the Ninth Marine Infantry! What mockery! What -horror! - -“Here in New Caledonia I looked forward to endure frightful sufferings, -to be herded with the dregs of mankind in a squalor unspeakable. But, -on the contrary, I was received everywhere with kindness. The rigours -of imprisonment were relieved by countless exemptions. I found, as -I had read before in books, that the sight of a great gentleman -in misfortune is one very moving to common minds; and if he bears -his sorrows with manly fortitude and dignity, he need not fear for -friends. To my jailers I was invariably ‘Monsieur’; they apologised for -intruding on my privacy, for setting me the daily task; they would have -looked the other way had I been backward or disinclined. I was neither, -for I was not only ready to conform to the regulations, but something -within me revolted at being unduly favoured. - -“At the earliest moment permissible by law I left the prison to become -a serf, the initial stage of freedom, hired out at twelve francs a -month to any one who required my services. I fell into the hands of -Fitzroy, here, the mine-owner, who treated me with a consideration so -distinguished, so entirely generous, that when I earned my right to -a little farm of my own I begged and received permission to settle -near him. The government gave me these few acres on the hill, rations -for a year, and a modest complement of tools and appliances, exacting -only one condition: my _parole d’honneur_. It is only Frenchmen who -could ask such a thing of a convict, but, as I told you before, I was -regarded as an exception, a man whose word might safely be taken. - -“Never was one less inclined to escape than myself; my estates, which -are extensive and valuable, would have instantly paid the forfeit; -and though I am prohibited from receiving a sou of their revenues, -I am not disallowed to direct how my money shall be used. You will -wonder why I weigh possessions so intangible against a benefit which -would be so real. But the traditions of an old family become almost -a religion. To jeopardise our lands would be a sacrilege of which I -am incapable; we phantoms come and go, but the race must continue on -its ancestral acres; the noble line must be maintained unbroken. So -peremptory is this feeling that you will see it at work in families -that boast no more than three generations. The father’s château is -dear; the grandfather’s precious; the great-grandfather’s a thing to -die for! Think what it is among those, like ourselves, whose lineage -and lands go back to Charlemagne! Though I can never return to France -myself, though I shall die on my little hillside farm and be buried by -strangers, still, it is much to me that the estates will pass to those -of my blood. I have cousins, children of my uncle, who will succeed -me--manly, handsome boys, whose careers are my especial care. Their -children will often ask,--their children’s children, perhaps,--of that -portrait of a man in chains, in the stripes of a convict, that hangs -in our great picture-gallery at Nemours, beneath it this legend: ‘Paul -de Charruel, painted in prison at his own request.’ At the prompting -of vanity, of humility,--I scarcely know which to call it,--I had this -done before I quitted France for ever, the artist coming daily to study -me through the bars; and ordered it hung amid the effigies of my race. -I suppose it hangs there now, slowly darkening in that empty house. It -shall be my only plea to posterity, my only cry. - - * * * * * - -“It is nearly sixteen years ago since these events took place. For -more than twelve I have lived like a peasant on my little farm, the -busiest of the busy; up at dawn, to bed by nine o’clock. Blossoming -under a care so sedulous and undivided, it has yielded me a rich return -for my labour. My heart it has kept from breaking; my hands it has -never left empty of a task to fill. There is a charm in freedom and -solitude, a solace to be found in the society of plants, beyond the -power of words to adequately express. Our government is right when it -gives the convict a piece of land and a spade, leaving him to work out -his own salvation. I took their spade; I found their salvation. On -that hillside there I have passed from youth to middle age; my hair -has turned to grey; my talents, my strength, all that I have inherited -or acquired in mind or body, have been expended in hoeing cabbages, -in weeding garden-beds, in felling the forest-trees which encumbered -my little estate. Yet I have not been unhappy, if you except one day -each year, a day I should gladly see expunged from my calendar. Once -a year I receive from the Marquise de Gonse a letter in terms the -most touching and devout, written in mingled vitriol and tears. This -annual letter is to her, I know, a supreme sacrifice; every line of it -breathes anguish and revolt. To forgive me has become the touchstone -of her religion, a test to which she submits herself with agony. I -cannot--I do not--blame her for hating me; I would not have her learn -the truth for anything on earth: but is it a pleasure for me to be -turned the other cheek? Is it any consolation to be forgiven in terms -so scathing? It is terrible, that piety which deceives itself, which -attempts to achieve what is impossible. And she not only forgives -me: she sends me little religious books, texts to put upon my walls, -special tracts addressed to those in prison. She asks about my soul, -and tells me she wearies the President with intercessions for my -release. Poor, lonely old woman, bereft of her only son! In the bottom -of her heart, does she not wish me torn limb from limb? Would she not -love to see me in the fires of hell? - -“This, mademoiselle, concludes my story. To-morrow, in your father’s -beautiful yacht, you leave our waters, never to return. You will pursue -your adventurous voyage, encircling the world, to reach at last that -far American home, receiving on the way countless new impressions that -will each obliterate the old. Somewhere there awaits you a husband, a -man of untarnished name and honour. In his love you will forget still -more; your memories will fade into dreams. Will you ever recall this -land of desolation? Will you ever recall de Charruel the convict?” - -He had not looked at the girl once during the course of his long -narrative. He felt that she had been affected--how much or how little, -he did not know, a certain delicacy, a certain fear, withholding him. -When at last he sought her face he saw that she had been crying. - -“I shall never forget,” she said. - -They walked in silence until, at a parting of the paths, he said: “This -one leads to my little cabin. Come; it will interest you, perhaps--the -roof that has sheltered me for twelve irrevocable years. You are not -afraid?” he asked. - -She made a motion of dissent, drawing closer to him as though to -express her confidence. - -A few hundred yards brought them to a grassy paddock fenced with limes, -through which they passed to reach a grove of breadfruit and orange -trees beyond. On the farther side the house itself could be seen, a -wooden hut embowered in a bougainvillea of enormous size. It looked -damp, dark, and uninviting. Not a breath stirred the tree-tops above -nor penetrated into the deep shade below; except for the drone of -bees and a sound of falling water in the distance, the intense quiet -was untroubled by a sound. De Charruel led the way in silence, with -the preoccupation of a man who had too often trod that path before to -need his wits to guide him. Reaching the hut, he threw open the door -and stood back to allow his companion to enter before him. The little -room was bare and clean; a table, a book-shelf, a couple of chairs, -the only furniture; the only ornaments a shining lamp and a vase of -roses. Miss Amy Coulstoun took a seat in the long canvas chair which -the convict drew out for her. The air seemed hot and suffocating, the -perfume of the orange-blossoms almost insupportable. She was possessed, -besides, with a thought, a fancy, that bewildered her; that made her -feel half ashamed, half triumphant; that brought the tears to her eyes -repeatedly. De Charruel did not speak. He was standing in the doorway, -looking down at her with a sort of awe, as though at something sacred, -something he wished to imprint for ever in his mind. - -“I wish to remember you as you are now!” he exclaimed--“lying back -in my chair, your face a little in profile, your eyes sad and -compassionate. When you are gone I shall keep this memory in my heart; -I shall cherish it; it shall live with me here in my solitude.” - -“I must go,” she said, with a little thrill of anger or agitation in -her voice. “I have stayed too long already.” - -He came towards her. - -“I want first to show you this,” he said, drawing from his pocket a -jewel-case, which he almost forced into her hands. “You will not refuse -me a last favour--you who have accorded me so many?” - -She avoided his glance, and opened the box, giving, as she did so, an -exclamation of astonishment. - -It was full of rings. - -“They were my poor mother’s,” he explained. “By special permission I -was allowed to receive them here; I feared they might go astray.” - -There were, perhaps, ten rings in all, every one the choice of a woman -of refinement and great wealth--diamonds, rubies, pearls, and opals, -sparkling and burning in the hollow of the girl’s hand. No wonder she -cried out at the sight of them, and turned them over and over and over -with fascinated curiosity. - -“Each one has its history,” said de Charruel. “This and this are -heirlooms. This was a peace-offering from my father after a terrible -quarrel, the particulars of which I never learned. This he gave her -after my birth--are the diamonds not superb? This ruby was my mother’s -favourite, for it was her engagement ring, and endeared to her by -innumerable recollections. She used to tell me that at her death she -wished my wife to wear it always, saying it was so charged with love -that she counted it a talisman.” - -Miss Coulstoun held it up to the light, turning it from side to side. - -“It is like a pool of fire,” she said. - -“Won’t you try it on?” he asked. - -She did so, and held out her hand for him to see. The ring might have -been made to the measure of her finger. - -“You will never take it off again,” he said. “You will keep it for a -souvenir--for a remembrance.” - -She shook her head. “Indeed, I will not,” she returned, with a smile. -“Besides, is it not to be preserved for your fiancée? You cannot -disregard your mother’s wish.” - -“Why should we pretend to one another?” he broke out. “You know why I -offer it to you, mademoiselle. It would be an insult for me to say I -love you--I, a convict, a man disgraced and ruined past redemption. But -I can ask you to keep my poor ring. Wear it as you might that of some -one dead, some one of whom you once thought with kindness, some one who -had greatly suffered.” - -The girl looked away. - -“What you ask is impossible,” she said at length, in a voice so low and -sweet that it was like a caress. “I don’t think you understand.” - -“It is your pride that prevents!” he cried. “I understand very well. -If I left it you in a testament you would not scruple to take it; you -would see a difference! Yet, am I not dead? Is this not my grave you -see around me? Am I not the corpse of the man I once was? Trample on -your pride for once, for the sake of one that loves the very ground you -tread upon. Take my ring, although it is worth much money, although the -_convenances_ forbid. If questions are asked, say that it belonged to a -man long ago passed away, whose last wish it was that you should wear -it.” - -“I shall say it was given me by the bravest and most eloquent of men, -the Comte de Charruel!” she exclaimed, with a deep blush. “You have -convinced me against my will.” - -He cried out in protest, but even as he did so he heard the sounds -of footsteps on the porch, and turned in time to see the door flung -open by Fitzroy. Behind the Irishman strode the tall figure of General -Coulstoun, his face overcast with anxiety. - -“Thank God!” he cried when he saw his daughter. “You’ve been gone an -age, my dear, and I’ve been uneasy in spite of Fitzroy, here. It’s very -well to say ‘It’s all right, it’s all right’; but in an island full of -con--” - -“I felt quite safe under M. de Charruel’s protection,” interrupted Amy, -striking that dreadful word full in the middle. “I thought you knew I -was with this gentleman.” - -“I don’t know that that made me feel any more--” began the general, -recollecting himself in the nick of time. “Why, Amy, child, what are -you doing with that ring?” - -“M. de Charruel has just presented it to me, papa,” she returned. “Is -it not beautiful?” - -“Good God!” cried the general, “it is a ruby! I could swear it is a -ruby! It must be worth a fortune!” Between each of these remarks he -stared de Charruel in the face with mingled suspicion, anger, and -surprise. - -“I am told that it is worth about twelve thousand francs,” said the -Frenchman. - -The general started. Fitzroy hurriedly whispered something into his -ear. “You don’t say so!” the former was overheard to say. “In a duel, -was it? I didn’t know anybody was ever killed in a French--Oh, I -see--yes--lost his head--” - -This little aside finished, the general came back again to the attack, -more civil, however, and more conciliatory in his tone. - -“You must be aware,” he said, addressing de Charruel, “that no young -lady can accept such a present as this from any one save a member of -her family or the man to whom she is engaged. I can only think that my -daughter has taken your ring in ignorance of its real value, forgetful -for the moment that the conventionalities are the same whether in -New Caledonia or New York. You will pardon me, therefore, if I feel -constrained to ask you to take back your gift.” - -“It rests entirely with Miss Coulstoun,” returned de Charruel. - -“In that case, there can certainly be no question,” said the general. - -“I shall not give it back, papa,” said Amy. - -Her father stared at her in amazement, and from her distrustfully to de -Charruel. - -“Is he not a--convict?” he asked. - -“Yes.” - -“And you are going to accept a present from a convict?” - -“Yes.” - -“A present said to be worth twelve thousand francs?” - -“Yes.” - -“My God!” he cried, “I could not have believed it possible.” - -At this she burst out crying. - -The general put his arm round her. “Come away, my daughter,” he said. -“For once in my life I am ashamed of you.” - -“I must first say good-bye to M. de Charruel,” she said through her -tears, holding out her hand--the left hand, on which the ruby glowed -like a drop of blood. - -The convict raised it slowly to his lips. Their eyes met for the last -time. - -“Good-bye,” he said. - - * * * * * - -The next day, from a rocky cliff above his house, de Charruel saw -the yacht hoist her white sails and steal out to sea. He watched her -as long as she remained in sight, and when at last she sank over the -horizon, he threw himself on the ground in a paroxysm of despair. -For an hour he lay in a sort of stupor, rising only at the insistent -whistle from the mine. This told him that it was twelve o’clock, and -brought him back to the realities and obligations of life. Descending -to the farm, he once more took up the threads of his existence, for -the habits of twelve years are not to be lightly disregarded. But -it was with difficulty that he brought himself to perform his usual -tasks. His heart seemed dead within his breast. He wondered miserably -at his former patience and industry as he saw on every side the -exemplification of both. How could he ever have found contentment in -such drudgery, in such pitiful digging and toiling in the dirt! What -a way for a man to pass his days--an earth-stained peasant, ignobly -sweating among his cabbages! Oh, the intolerable loneliness of those -years! How grim they seemed as he looked back at them, those tragic, -wasted years! - -Tortured by the stillness and emptiness of his hut, he spent the -night at Fitzroy’s, lying on the bare verandah boards till daylight. -But he returned home before the household was astir, lest he should -be invited to breakfast and be expected to talk. He shrank from the -thought of meeting any one, and for days afterwards kept close within -the limits of his little farm, shunning every human being near him. -Every convict has such phases, such mutinies of the soul. The malady -runs its course like a fever, and if it does not kill or impair the -victim’s reason, it leaves him at last too often a hopeless sot. But, -fortunately for himself, it was work, not cognac, that cured Paul de -Charruel. He came to himself one day in his garden, as he was digging -potatoes. He stood up, drew his hand across his face, and realised that -the brain-sickness had left him. He went into the house and looked at -himself in the glass, shuddering at the scarecrow he saw reflected -there. He examined his clothes, his rooms, his calloused hands, with a -strange, new curiosity, studying them all with the same speculation, -the same surprise. He stood off, as it were, and looked at himself from -a distance. He walked about his tangled, weedy farm, and wondered what -had come over him these past weeks. He had been starving, he said to -himself many times over--starving for companionship. - -He sought out Fitzroy at the mine. It was good again to hear the -Irishman’s honest laugh, to clasp his honest hand, to think there was -one person, at least, that cared for him. He hung about Fitzroy all -that day, as though it would be death to lose sight of him--Fitzroy, -his friend. He repeated that last word a dozen times. His friend! He -talked wildly and extravagantly for the mere pleasure of hearing -himself speak. He was convulsed with laughter when an accident happened -to a truck, and could scarcely contain himself when Fitzroy had a mock -altercation with the engineer. No one could be more humourous than -Fitzroy, and the engineer was a man of admirable wit! What a fool he -had been to sulk these weeks on his farm. His farm! It made him tremble -to think of it, so unendurably lonely and silent it had become. It was -horrible that he must return to it,--his green prison,--with its ghosts -and memories. - -He went back late, but not to sleep. He sat on the dark porch of his -hut and thought of the woman he had lost. Like a shadow she seemed -to pass beside him, and if he shut his eyes he could feel her breath -against his cheek and almost hear the beating of her heart. He closed -his arms on the empty air and called her name aloud, half hoping -that she might come to him. But she was a thousand miles at sea, and -every minute was widening the distance between them. The folly and -uselessness of these repinings suddenly came over him. She was a most -charming girl, but would not any charming girl have captivated him -after the life he had been leading? Was he not hungry for affection? -Was he not in love with love? He rose and walked up and down the porch, -greatly stirred by the new current of his thoughts. Yes; he was dying -for something to love--something, were it only a dog. For twelve years -he had sufficed for himself, but he could do so no more. - -By dawn he was at Fitzroy’s, begging the Irishman for a black boy -and a horse. A little later his messenger was galloping along the -Noumea road, charged with a letter to the Chef de l’Administration -Pénitentiaire to request that “le nommé de Charruel” be permitted to -leave his farm for seven days. The permission was accorded almost as -a matter of form, for it was not the custom to refuse anything to “le -nommé de Charruel.” - -The count went straight to the convent and asked to see the Mother -Superior. She was a stately old lady, with silvery hair, an -aristocratic profile, and a voice like an ancient bell. She at once cut -short his explanations, closing her ears to his official number and -other particulars of his convict life. - -“M. le Comte,” she said, “I knew your mother very well, and your father -also, whom you favour not a little. I have often thought of you out -there by the strait--ah, monsieur, believe me, often.” - -De Charruel thanked her with ceremony. - -“Your errand cannot be the same as that which brings the others,” she -went on, half smiling. “_Mon Dieu!_” she exclaimed, as she saw the -truth in his reddening face. “You, a noble! a _chef de famille_! It is -impossible.” - -“I am only the convict de Charruel,” he answered. - -The old woman looked at him with keen displeasure. - -“You know the rules?” she said in an altered voice. “You know, I -suppose, that you can take your choice of three. If you are not -satisfied you can return in six months.” - -“Oh, madame,” he said, “spare me such a trial. I stipulate for two -things only: give me not a poisoner nor a thief; but give me, if you -can, some poor girl whose very honesty and innocence has been her ruin.” - -“I can very easily supply you with such a one,” said the Mother -Superior. “Your words apply to half the female criminals the government -sends me to marry to the convicts. When I weigh their relative demerits -I almost feel I am giving angels to devils, so heavy is the scale in -favour of my sex. I have several young women of unusual gentleness and -refinement, who could satisfy requirements the most exacting. If you -like,” she went on, “I shall introduce you first to a poor girl named -Suzanne. In the beginning it was like caging a bird to keep her here, -but insensibly she has given her heart to God and has ceased to beat -her wings against the bars.” - -“Does she fulfil my conditions?” asked the count. - -“Yes; a thousand times, yes!” exclaimed the Mother Superior. “Shall I -give orders for her to be brought?” - -“If you would have the kindness,” said de Charruel. - -There was a long waiting after the command had gone forth. All the -womanliness and latent coquetry of the nuns came out in this business -of making ready their charges for the ordeal; and when it was whispered -that the wooer was the Comte de Charruel himself, a personage with -whose romantic history there was not a soul unfamiliar, great indeed -was the excitement and preparation. At last, with a modest knock, the -door opened and let in a young girl clothed in conventual grey. She -had a very pretty face, a touch hardened by past misfortunes, a figure -short, well knit, and not ungraceful, and wild black eyes that shrank -to the ground at the sight of the count. - -The Mother Superior motioned her to take a seat. - -“This is Suzanne,” she said. - -De Charruel rose to his feet and bowed. - -There was a dead silence. - -“Can you not say something?” said the old lady, turning to the count -with some asperity. - -“Mademoiselle,” he said, with a sensation of extreme embarrassment, “I -have the honour to ask you to marry me.” - -“You need not commit yourself,” interrupted the Mother Superior. “You -can have the choice of two more.” - -“If I saw a hundred, madame,” he replied, “I could find no one I -preferred to this young lady.” - -There was another prolonged silence. - -“You must answer, Suzanne,” said the old lady. “Yes or no?” - -The girl burst into tears. - -“Yes or no?” reiterated the Mother. - -“I weep at monsieur’s extraordinary goodness,” said the girl. “Yes, -madame, yes.” - - * * * * * - -Ten days later de Charruel was resting in the taro-field where he had -been at work, when he felt Suzanne’s arm around his neck and her warm -lips against his forehead. He leaned back with a smile. - -“Paul,” she said, with a little tremor in her voice, “you have hidden -nothing from me? You have done nothing wrong, Paul?” - -“Wrong!” he exclaimed. “Have I not told thee repeatedly that I am -the model convict, the hero of a hundred official commendations, the -shining star of the penal administration? Wrong! What dost thou mean?” - -“The authorities--” she answered. “There has been a messenger from the -mine with a blue official letter. Oh, Paul, it frightens me.” - -“Thou needst not fear,” he said. “It is only some matter of routine. -I could paper my house (if it would not be misunderstood) with blue -official letters about nothing.” - -“I am so happy, Paul,” she said,--“so happy that I tremble for my -happiness!” - -He smiled at her again as he reached his hand for the letter. -Nonchalantly he tore it open, but turned deadly pale as he ran his eyes -down the sheet inside. - -“You must go back to prison?” she cried in a voice of agony. - -He could only shake his head. - -“Speak!” she cried again. “Paul, Paul, I must know, if it kills me!” - -He gave her a dreadful look. - -“I am pardoned,” he said. “I am free!” - - - - -THE HAPPIEST DAY OF HIS LIFE - - - - -THE HAPPIEST DAY OF HIS LIFE - - -His thirtieth birthday! His first youth was behind him, with all its -heartburnings, its failures, its manifold humiliations. What had he -done these years past but drift, forlorn, penniless, and unattached, -over those shallows where others had stuck and prospered--a gentle -decline all the way from college in hope and fulfilment? The army and -civil service had alike refused him. In the colonies he had toiled -unremittingly in half a hundred characters,--groom, cook, boundary -rider, steamer roustabout,--always sinking, always failing. Then those -last four years in the Islands, and his tumble-down store in Vaiala! -Had life nothing more for him than an endless succession of hot, empty -days on the farthest beach of Upolu, with scarcely more to eat than -the commonest Kanaka, and no other outlet for his energies than the -bartering of salt beef for coprah and an occasional night’s fishing on -the reef? On the other hand, he was well in body, and had times of even -thinking himself happy in this fag-end of the world. The old store, -rotten and leaky though it was, gave him a dryer bed than he had often -found in his wandering life, and the food, if monotonous and poor, was -better than the empty belly with which he had often begun an arduous -day in Australia. And the place was extraordinarily beautiful. Yes, -he had always admitted that, even in his blackest days of depression, -though the beauty of it seemed almost to oppress him at times. But -beautiful or not, this was a strange place for his father’s son, a -strange thirtieth birthday for one who had begun the world with every -prospect of faring well and rising high in its esteem, and the sense of -his failure again seized him by the throat. - -The noise of an incoming boat drew him to the door, and he looked out -to see the pastor’s old whaler heading through the reef. They had made -a night trip to avoid the heat, and all looked tired and weary with -their long pull from Apia, and the song with which they timed their -paddles sounded mournfully across the lagoon. A half-grown girl leaped -into the water and hastened up to the store with something fastened in -a banana-leaf. - -It was a letter, which she shyly handed the trader. Walter Kinross -looked at it with surprise, for it was the first he had received in -four years, and the sight of its English stamp and familiar handwriting -filled him with something like awe. - -“The white man said you would give us a tin of salmon and six _masi_,” -said the little girl, in native. - -Kinross unlocked the dingy trade-room, still in a maze of wonder and -impatience, and gave the little girl a box of matches in excess of -postage. Then he opened the letter. - - MY DEAR NEPHEW [it ran]: Your letter asking me to send you a book or - two or any old papers I might happen to have about me has just come - to hand, and finds me at Long’s Hotel, pretty miserable and ill. - Yours was a strange note, after a silence of eight years, telling me - nothing on earth about yourself save that you are trading in some - islands, and seldom see a white face from one year’s end to another. - When a man is seventy years of age and is ill, and his nigh-spent - life unrolls before him like the pages of a musty old book, and - when he wonders a little how it will feel to be dead and done with - altogether, I tell you, my boy, he begins to see the spectres of - all sorts of old misdeeds rising before him. Past unkindnesses, - past neglects, a cold word here, a ten-pound note saved there and - an old friend turned empty away--well, well! Without actually going - the length of saying that I was either unkind or negligent in your - case, I feel sometimes I was rather hard on you as to that mess of - yours in London, and that affair at Lowestoft the same year. I was - disappointed, and I showed it. - - I know you’re pretty old to come back and start life afresh here, but - if you have not had the unmitigated folly to get married out there - and tied by the leg for ever, I’ll help you to make a new start. You - sha’n’t starve if three hundred pounds a year will keep you, and if - you will try and turn over a new leaf and make a man of yourself in - good earnest, I am prepared to mark you down substantially in my - will. But mind--no promises--payment strictly by results. You’re no - longer a boy, and this is probably the last chance you’ll ever get of - entering civilised life again and meeting respectable folk. I inclose - you a draft at sight on Sydney, New South Wales, for two hundred and - fifty pounds, for you will doubtless need clothes, etc., as well as - your passage money, and if you decide not to return you can accept - it as a present from your old uncle. I have told Jones (you would - scarcely know the old fellow, Walter, he’s so changed) to send you a - bundle of books and illustrated papers, which I hope will amuse you - more than they seem to do me. - - Affectionately yours, - - ALFRED BANNOCK. - -The trader read the letter with extraordinary attention, though the -drift of it was at first almost beyond him--read it and re-read it, -dazed and overcome, scarcely realising his good fortune. He spread out -the bill on his knee and smoothed it as he might have patted the head -of a dog. It spelled freedom, friends, the life he had been trained and -fitted to lead, a future worth having and worth dividing. The elation -of it all tingled in his veins, and he felt like singing. London, the -far distant, the inaccessible, now hummed in his ears. He saw the -eddying, crowded streets, the emptying play-houses, the grey river -sparkling with lights. The smoke of a native oven thrilled him with -memories of the underground, and he had but to close his eyes and the -surf thundered with the noise of arriving trains. - -The house could not contain him and his eager thoughts; he must needs -feel the sky overhead and the trades against his cheek, and take all -nature into his puny confidence. Besides, Vaiala had now a new charm -for him, one he had never counted on to find. Soon, now, it would -begin to melt into the irrevocable past; its mist-swept mountains, its -forests and roaring waterfalls would fade into nothingness and become -no more than an impalpable phantom of his mind, the stuff that dreams -are made of. He wandered along the path from one settlement to another, -round the great half-moon of the bay, absorbing every impression with a -new and tender interest. - -There were a dozen little villages to be passed before he could attain -the rocky promontory that barred the western shore, pretty hamlets in -groves of cocoanuts and breadfruit, in each perhaps a dozen beehive -houses and as many sheds and boat-shelters. Between village and village -the path led him under rustling palms and beside the shallow waters of -the lagoon and across a river where he surprised some laughing girls at -their bath. In the deep shade old men were mending nets, and children -were playing tag and cricket with boisterous shouts, or marbles in -sandy places. From one house he heard the clapping hands that announced -the _’ava_; in another the song and stamp of practising dancers. Hard -and lonely though his life had been, this Samoan bay was endeared to -him by a thousand pleasant memories and even by the recollection of -his past unhappiness. Here he had found peace and love, freedom from -taskmasters, scenes more beautiful than any picture, and, not least, -a sufficiency to eat. A little money and his life might have been -tolerable, even happy--enough money for a good-sized boat, a cow or -two, and those six acres of the Pascoe estate he had so often longed -to buy. Only the month before, the American consul had offered them -for two hundred dollars Chile money, and here he was with two hundred -and fifty pounds in his pocket, seventeen hundred and fifty dollars -currency! Cruel fate, that had made him in one turn of her wrist -far too rich to care. He would buy them for Leata, he supposed; he -must leave the girl some land to live on. But where now were all the -day-dreams of the laying out of his little estate?--the damming of the -noisy stream, the fencing, terracing, and path-making he had had in -mind; the mangoes, oranges, and avocados he had meant to plant in that -teeming soil, with coffee enough for a modest reserve? What a snug, -cosy garden a man could make of it! What a satisfaction it might have -been! How often had he talked of it with Leata, who had been no less -eager than himself to harness their quarter-acre to the six and make of -them all a little paradise. - -Poor Leata! whom he had taken so lightly from her father’s house and -paid for in gunpowder and kegs of beef--his smiling, soft-eyed Leata, -who would have died for him! What was to become of her in this new -arrangement of things? The six acres would provide for her, of course; -in breadfruit, cocoanuts, and bananas she would not be badly off: but -where was the solace for the ache in her heart, for her desolation and -abandonment? He sighed as he thought of her, the truest friend he had -found in all his wanderings. He would get her some jewellery from Apia, -and a chest of new dresses, and a big musical box, if she fancied it. -What would it matter if he did go home in the steerage? It would be no -hardship to a man like him. She would soon forget him, no doubt, and -take up with somebody else, and live happily ever afterwards in the six -acres. Ah, well! he mustn’t think too much about her, or it would take -the edge off his high spirits and spoil the happiest day of his life. - -By this time he had worked quite round the bay, and almost without -knowing it he found himself in front of Paul Engelbert’s store. -Engelbert was the other trader in Vaiala--a passionate, middle-aged -Prussian, who had been a good friend of his before those seven -breadfruit-trees had come between them. In his new-found affluence and -consequent good humour the bitterness of that old feud suddenly passed -away. He recalled Engelbert’s rough, jovial kindness--remembered how -Paul had cared for him through the fever, and helped him afterwards -with money and trade. How could he have been so petty as to make a -quarrel of those breadfruit-trees? He recollected, with indescribable -wonder at himself, that he had once drawn a pistol on the old fellow, -and all this over six feet of boundary and seven gnawed breadfruits! -By Jove! he could afford to be generous and hold out the right hand of -friendship. Poor old Paul! it was a shame they had not spoken these two -years. - -On the verandah, barefoot and in striped pyjamas, was Engelbert, -pretending not to see him. Kinross thought he looked old and sick and -not a little changed. - -“How do you do, Engelbert?” he said. - -The German looked at him with smouldering eyes. “Gan’t you see I’m -busy?” he said. - -“You might offer a man a chair,” said Kinross, seating himself on the -tool-chest. - -“Dere iss no jare for dem dat issn’t welgome,” said the German. - -“I used to be welcome here,” said Kinross. “There was a time when you -were a precious good friend of mine, Paul Engelbert.” - -“Dat wass long ago,” said the trader. - -“I’ve been thinking,” said Kinross, “that I’ve acted like a damned fool -about those trees.” - -“Dat wass what I wass dinking, too, dese two dree years,” responded the -other. - -“Take them; they are yours,” said Kinross. “You can build your fence -there to-morrow.” - -“So!” said Engelbert, with dawning intelligence. “The Yerman gonsul has -at last to my gomplaint listened.” - -“Hang the German consul! No!” cried Kinross. “I do it myself, because I -was wrong--because you were good to me that time I was sick, and lent -me the hundred dollars and the trade.” - -“And you want noding?” asked Engelbert, still incredulous. - -“I want to shake your hand and be friends again, old man,” said -Kinross, “same as we used to be when we played dominoes every night, -and you’d tell me about the Austrian War, and how the Prince divided -his cigars with you when you were wounded.” - -The German looked away. “Oh, Kinross,” he said, with a shining look -in his eyes, “you make me much ashamed.” He turned suddenly round and -wrung the Englishman’s hand in an iron grasp. “I, too, was dam fool.” - -“A friend is worth more than seven breadfruits,” said Kinross. - -“It wass not breadfruid: it wass brincible,” said the German. “Poof! de -drees dey are noding; here it wass I wass hurted,” and he laid a heavy -paw against his breast. “Ho, Malia, de beer!” - -His strapping native wife appeared with bottles and mugs; at the sight -of their guest she could scarcely conceal her surprise. - -“Prosit!” said Engelbert, touching glasses. - -“You know dem six agers of de Pasgoe estate,” he said, looking very -hard at his companion. “Very nice leetle place, very sheap, yoost -behind your store?” - -Kinross nodded, but his face fell in spite of himself. - -“I from the American gonsul bought him,” went on the German, “very -sheap: two hundred dollars Chile money.” - -Kinross looked black. Engelbert patted his hand and smiled ambiguously. - -“Dey are yours,” he said. “Pay me back when you have de money. I buy -dem only to spite you. _My friend_, take dem.” - -“Paul, Paul,” cried Kinross, “I don’t know what to say--how to thank -you. Only this morning I got money from home, and the first thing I -meant to do was to buy them.” - -“All de better,” said Engelbert; “and, my boy, you blant goffee. -Cobrah, poof! Gotton, poof! It’s de goffee dat bays, and I will get you -blenty leetle drees from my friend, de gaptain in Utumabu Blantation. -You must go? So? Yoost one glass beer. Nein? I will be round lader.” - -Kinross tore himself away with difficulty and started homeward, his -heart swelling with kindness for the old Prussian. He exulted in the -six acres he had so nearly lost, and they now seemed to him more -precious than ever. It was no empty promise, that of the coffee-trees -from Utumapu; these would save him all manner of preparatory labor and -put his little plantation six months ahead. Then he remembered he was -leaving Vaiala, and again he heard the hum of London in his ears. Well, -he would explain about the trees to Leata, and would beg old Engelbert -to help and advise her a bit. Poor Leata! she had lots of good sense -and was very quick to learn. He could trust Leata. - -He was crossing the _malae_, or common, of Polapola, when the sight of -the chief’s house put a new thought into his head. It was Tangaloa’s -house, and he could see the chief himself bulking dimly in the shadow -of a _siapo_. Tangaloa! He hadn’t spoken with him in a year. The old -fellow had been good to him, and in the beginning had overwhelmed him -with kindnesses. But that was before he had shot the chief’s dog and -brought about the feud that had existed between them for so long. It -was annoying to have that everlasting dog on his verandah at night, -frightening Leata to death and spilling the improvised larder all about -the floor, not to speak of the chickens it had eaten and the eggs it -had sucked. No, he could not blame himself for having shot that beast -of a dog! But it had made bad blood between him and Tangaloa, and had -cost him, in one way or another, through the loss of the old chief’s -custom and influence, the value of a thousand chickens. But he would -make it up with Tangaloa, for he meant to leave no man’s ill will -behind him. So he walked deliberately towards the house, and slipped -under the eaves near the place where the old chief was sitting alone. - -“_Talofa_, Tangaloa,” he cried out cordially, shaking hands. - -The chief responded somewhat drily to the salutation and assumed a -vacant expression. - -“That dog!” began the trader. - -“That dog!” repeated the chief, with counterfeit surprise. - -“Thy dog, the one I shot near my house,” said Kinross, firing up with -the memory of its misdeeds, “the dog that chased my chickens, and ate -my eggs, and plagued me all night like a forest devil--I want to take -counsel with your Highness about it.” - -“But it is dead,” said Tangaloa. - -“But thy high-chief anger is not dead,” said Kinross. “Behold, I used -to be like your son, and the day was no longer than thy love for me. I -am overcome with sorrow to remember the years that are gone, and now to -live together as we do in enmity. What is the value of thy dog, that I -may pay thee for it, and what present can I make besides that will turn -thy heart towards me again?” - -“Cease,” said the chief; “there was no worth to the dog, and I have no -anger against thee, Kinilosi.” - -“You mock at me, Tangaloa,” said Kinross. “There is anger in thine eyes -even as thou speakest to me.” - -“Great was my love for that dog,” said the chief. “It licked my face -when I lay wounded on the battle-ground. If I whistled it came to me, -so wise was it and loving; and if I were sick it would not eat.” - -“Weighty is my shame and pain,” said the trader. “Would that I had -never lifted my gun against it! But I will pay thee its worth and make -thee a present besides.” - -“Impossible,” said Tangaloa. “When the cocoanut is split, who can make -it whole?” - -“One can always get a new cocoanut,” said Kinross. “I will buy thee the -best dog in Apia, a high chief of a dog, clever like a consul, and with -a bark melodious as a musical box.” - -At this Tangaloa laughed for the first time. “And what about thy -chickens?” he demanded, “and thy things to eat hung out at night?” - -“It can eat all the chickens it likes,” returned Kinross, “and I will -feed it daily, also, with salt beef and sardines, if that will make us -friends again, your Highness.” - -“Cease, Kinilosi; I am thy friend already,” said Tangaloa, extending -his hand. “It is forgotten about the dog, and lo, the anger is buried.” - -“And the price?” inquired Kinross. - -“One cannot buy friendship or barter loving-kindness,” said Tangaloa. -“Again I tell thee there is no price. But if thou wouldst care to give -me a bottle of kerosene, for the lack of which I am sore distressed -these nights--well, I should be very glad.” - -“I shall be pleased indeed,” said the trader, who of a sudden assumed -an intent, listening attitude. - -“What is the matter?” demanded Tangaloa. - -“Sh-sh!” exclaimed the white man. - -“There is nothing,” said the chief. - -“Yes, yes,” said Kinross; “listen, your Highness! A faint, faint bark -like that of a spirit dog.” - -“Oh,” said the chief, looking about uneasily. - -“Dost thee not hear it?” cried Kinross, incredulously. “To me it is -clear like the mission bell, thus: ‘Bow-wow-wow-give-also-some-sugar- -and-some-tea-and-some-tobacco-to-his-Highness-Tangaloa-bow-wow-wow!’” - -The old chief fairly beamed. “Blessed was my dog in life, and blessed -in death also!” he cried. “Behold, Kinilosi, he also barks about a few -fish-hooks in a bag, and for a small subscription to our new church.” - -“I think he says fifty cents,” said Kinross. - -“No, no,” cried the chief; “it was like this--quite plain: -‘One-dollar-one-dollar!’” - -“That ends it,” said Kinross. “I must haste to obey the voice of the -spirit dog. Good-bye, your Highness.” - -“Good-bye, Kinilosi,” returned the chief, warmly. “I laugh and talk -jestingly, but my heart--” - -“Mine also,” added Kinross, quickly, again grasping the old man’s hand. - -He strode off with a light step, in a glow of enthusiasm and high -spirits. It would be hard to leave the old village, after all. He might -travel far and not find hearts more generous or kindly, and he vowed -he would never forget his Samoans--no, if he lived a thousand years. -And if, after all, the new order of things should fail to please, and -he should find himself stifled by the civilisation to which he had -been so long a stranger, could he not always return to this little -paradise, and live out the number of his days in perennial content? He -would search for some savings-bank in London, and place there to his -credit a sum large enough to ship him back to the Islands. Whatever -the pinch, it should lie there untouched and sacred; and as he toiled -in the stern, grey land of his birth, the thought of that secret hoard -would always be a comfort to him. But what if the bank should break, as -banks do in those centres of the high civilisation, and he should find -himself stranded half the world away from the place he loved so dearly? -He shivered at the thought. There should be two hoards, in two banks, -or else he would feel continually uneasy. The line to the rear must be -kept open at any cost. - -He found Leata sitting on the floor, spelling out “The Good News from -New Guinea” in the missionary magazine. She was fresh from her bath, -and her black, damp hair was outspread to the sunshine to dry. She -rippled with smiles at his approach, and it seemed to him she had -never looked more radiant and engaging. He sat down beside her, and -pressed her curly hair against his lips and kissed it. How was it that -such a little savage could appear to him more alluring than any white -woman he had ever seen? Was he bewitched? He looked at her critically, -dispassionately, and marvelled at the perfection of her wild young -beauty, marvelled, too, at her elegance and delicacy. And for heart -and tenderness, where was her match in all the seas? He threw his arm -round her and kissed her on the lips. - -“Of all things in the world what wouldst thou like the most, Leata?” he -asked. - -“To have thee always near me, Kinilosi,” she answered. “Before, I had -no understanding and was like the black people in the missionary book, -but now my heart is pained, so full it is with love.” - -“But there are other things than love,” persisted Kinross. “Ear-rings, -musical boxes, print for dresses.” - -“Yes, many things,” she said. “But I trouble not myself about them, -Kinilosi. But sometimes I think of the land behind our house and the -fine plantation we will make there some day.” - -“But if I gave you a little bag of gold shillings,” he said, “and took -thee to Apia, my pigeon, what wouldst thou buy?” - -“First I would give ten dollars to the new church,” she began. “Then -for my father I would buy an umbrella, and a shiny bag in which he -could carry his cartridges and tobacco when he goes to war. For -my mother, also, an umbrella and a picture-book like that of the -missionary’s, with photographs of Queen Victoria and captains of -men-of-war. For my sister a Bible and a hymn-book, and for my brother a -little pigeon gun.” - -“O thou foolish Leata,” said Kinross, “and nothing for thyself?” - -“There is still more in my bag,” she answered, “enough for a golden -locket and a golden chain. And in the locket there will be your picture -and a lock of your hair--like the one the naval officer gave Titi’s -sister; and when I die, lo, no one shall touch it, for it shall lie on -my breast in the grave!” - -“To-morrow we shall go to Apia and buy them,” said Kinross. “This -morning the pastor brought me a letter from Britain with a present of -many dollars. The six acres I have already purchased, and in Apia I -shall get prickly wire for fencing, and many things we need for the -clearing and planting of the land.” - -Leata clapped her hands for joy. “Oh, Kinilosi,” she cried, “it was -breaking my heart. I feared the letter would make thee return to the -White Country!” - -Kinross looked at her with great gentleness. His resolution was taken, -be it for good or evil. - -“I shall never go back,” he said. - -Then in a rousing voice he cried, so loudly that the natives in the -neighbouring houses started at the sound: “In Vaiala shall I live, and -in Vaiala die!” - - - - -FATHER ZOSIMUS - - - - -FATHER ZOSIMUS - - -Many years ago, before the steamers came to Samoa, when the whites -depended on sailing-ships for their precarious supplies and their -meagre news of the outside world, the Rev. Wesley Cook reached the -Islands to take up the Lord’s work in that troubled field. He was a -good-looking young man with a weak chin, rather regular features, -and an abundance of yellow, fluffy hair, who had trod since earliest -infancy the narrow path that leads to a missionary career. An assiduous -church-member, a devout Sunday-school scholar, he had climbed, rung -by rung, the religious ladder, and his sanguine, sensitive nature -had flowered in an atmosphere which would have stifled a bolder boy. -At nineteen he was fed into a sectarian college like corn into a -mill, and at twenty-two the machine turned him out into the world, an -undistinguishable unit of the church to which he belonged. Then, after -a quiet month with his old mother, whose heart overflowed with the -measure of her son’s success, the Rev. Wesley was bidden to marry and -depart. - -There were plenty to advise him at this juncture, and half a -dozen young ladies were entered, so to speak, for the matrimonial -steeplechase. But Wesley, contrary to all expectation and not a -little to the chagrin of the narrow set in which he moved, showed -some determination to have his own way in this important matter, and -after a brief courtship he carried Miss Minnie Chandler to the altar. -She was the proud and defiant beauty of the town, the self-willed, -high-spirited young woman whose name was in every mouth, and whose -rejected suitors numbered half the bachelors in the neighbourhood. -Many wondered at her choice, until it was whispered about that she -was heartsick over her affair with Harry Jardine, the manufacturer’s -son, and that she preferred the missionary wilds to life in the same -country with the man who had broken his troth. Be that as it may, she -was joined to Wesley Cook in the bonds of holy matrimony, and after a -quiet wedding, at which the breakfast was frugal and prayer abundant, -the young couple bade farewell to their relations and departed for the -uttermost isles of the sea. - -Six months later the _Morning Star_ hove to off the iron-bound coast -of Savai’i, and her surf-boats landed the Rev. Wesley on the shores of -his new home, together with a ton of provisions, some cheap furniture, -a box of theological books, and a Samoan grammar. He found a concrete -house already prepared for him, a church with sand-bagged windows and -a plank door still studded with bullets,--an alarming reminder of the -unsettled state of his district,--and an obsequious band of church -elders, sticky with oil, and, to his notion of things, almost naked in -their kilts of paper cloth. Bewildered and unhappy, with his wife in -tears beside him, he gazed despairingly at the fast-dwindling ship, -which he could not hope to see again for the space of a year. - -The natives hung about like flies, buzzing through the stuffy rooms -of the old mission-house so long closed to their little world, or -bestirred themselves with noisy good will to the task of bringing -up the freight and the pastor’s scanty boxes. He, poor fellow, with -haggard face and eyes smarting with sweat, checked off the tally on an -envelope, and strove to bear himself like the picture of the martyr -Williams in “The Heroes of the Cross.” Numberless old men shook him by -the hand, and talked to him loudly as though he were deaf, or drew him -off to a distance and, leaning on long sticks, barked orations at his -head. Bands of youths staggered in, singing, with loads of squealing -pigs, and unsavoury victuals in baskets, while shaven-headed children -tied chickens to the verandah-posts, and women and girls unfolded -offerings of prawns and snaky eels. There was a live turtle in the -sitting-room, a bull-calf in the kitchen, and at every turn veritable -mountains of half-roasted pork. It was a wild scene for a man new -come from quiet England, and the long, even days of life at sea; the -unceasing press and bustle of the multitude, the squawking of chickens, -and the screams of fettered pigs, all wore on his nerves until his head -was giddy and his pulse throbbing. It was late in the afternoon before -the mob scampered off with the suddenness and decision of a flock of -birds, leaving the missionary and his wife to the peace they so sorely -needed. The poor exiles, with sinking hearts, brewed their tea beside -a packing-case, and wondered (much in the spirit of convicts who have -left another world beyond the prison door) whether the captain had won -his philopena of Mrs. McDougall, or if Miss Mossby had made it up with -young Sturgis. - -A year later the new missionary found himself somewhat at home in -Fangaloa. He had preached a halting sermon in the native tongue, which, -though no one could understand it, had evoked a respectful admiration. -The school was now on its feet, and the children came eagerly, -seemingly pleased with the rudiments of learning he managed to teach -them. His parishioners, too, began to give evidence of their finer and -nobler qualities, and warmed his heart by their kindness, generosity, -and intelligence. Their laborious talks, as they sat at night round the -fires, or on mats beneath the tropic moon, revealed to him a tenderness -and refinement he was little prepared to find; and, from a task, these -gatherings became an entertainment to be prepared for by anxious study -of the phrase-book, and bewildering consultations with an old man who -was supposed to understand English. Cook liked the admiration and -deference of these ragged chiefs; he loved to note the bustle that -heralded his own approach; the shaking out of the finest mats for his -special seat; the polite chorus of “_Maliu mai, susu mai Tutumanaia_” -(“You are high chief come, Cook the Handsome”); the closing up of -the ranks, and the row of expectant faces. He was the little god of -Fangaloa Bay, and in a hesitating, humble way he began to taste the -sweets of power and authority. - -But with his wife it was very different. Her beautiful face grew pale -and sharp, as the days rolled on in a blank succession of household -tasks begun and ended. In the long night hours, when the heat made -sleep impossible, and her heart turned to England and those dear ones -she could not hope to see again for years, she would abandon herself -to despair. She never complained, but went about her duties with -sad-eyed patience, mixing very little with the many servants provided -for her--the young men who studied for the ministry in the intervals of -bread-making and waiting at table, and the girls of rank whose fathers -were eager for them to keep pace with the strange new times they lived -in. She never chid them, as most missionaries’ wives would have done, -for trifling faults or petty forgetfulnesses. She never realised the -enormity of breaking a plate, or the crime of tinting the pudding with -washing-blue to enrich the colour; she allowed things to take their -untroubled course in a way that amazed her household. When one’s heart -is slowly breaking, it is hard to count the sugar in the bowl or watch -the soap with housewifely care. In the hot afternoons she would take -her work and seek the shadow of a tall cocoanut-grove which stood on -a hill behind the town, and there remain for hours, gazing out at the -vast shining bosom of the ocean, or at the blue mountains of Upolu, -far across the strait. So regular was her visit to this little grove -that her boys built a bench of _tamanu_ wood for her to sit on, and -raised a roof overhead to protect her from passing showers or the -glancing rays of the sun; and the place was called “_o le Nofoali’i -o Misi Mini_,” or the Throne of Mrs. Minnie, which name it bears to -the present day, though all the actors in this story have long been -laid beneath the sod. Once, after a solitary vigil of more than usual -length, she returned and sought her room, now a little sanctuary of her -irrevocable life; for here were gathered the treasures of her past; -the photographs, mementoes, and keepsakes that she had clung to in her -exile. Here she breathed again the air of home; here she could caress -the fading photographs that were so dear to her, and indulge unstinted -in passionate rebellion against her fate. On the day of which we write -she found no comfort in her shrine. The faces of her friends looked -down mournfully at her from the walls, tormenting her with a thousand -recollections. Existence was unbearable enough without such added -bitterness. These things, inanimate though they were, devoured her -while they pretended to comfort; they broke her heart while she looked -to them for solace. For a moment she saw the truth and trembled for -herself. Madness lay on the road she had begun to follow. - -One by one, she gathered them together; the picture of her father -and mother, the photographs of her relations and girl friends, old -Christmas cards, bits of ribbon, little odds and ends that had played -each a part in those bygone days. There were letters, too, precious -bundles of letters tied with ribbon, which she kissed and cried over -before consigning to destruction; and from one such packet dropped the -likeness of a man in uniform, which she pressed to her breast before -tearing it into a hundred pieces. When at last the room was stripped of -everything, she bore the heap of tender rubbish to the fire, and, with -a stony face, fed it to the flames. - -The Rev. Wesley Cook and his wife were not the only whites in their -corner of Savai’i, as indeed they had first imagined themselves to -be. There was still another in Fangaloa, an old, white-haired Irish -priest called Father Zosimus. No one could remember how many years -had passed since Father Zosimus came to Fangaloa and built the tiny -house and chapel in the mango-grove; for he was an old, old man, and -had come to that sleepy hollow when his hair was as black and his feet -were as light as those of the nimblest warrior of the bay. He had no -followers to speak of, for Fangaloa was Protestant to the core, and -his congregation numbered no more than one family of eight, three -transient young men who had run away with as many girls from Upolu, -and Filipo, the aged catechist, who acted as his servant. But Father -Zosimus never faltered in the path he had set himself to follow. For -seven and forty years he had daily broken the stillness of the grove -with the tinkle of his little bell, and never failed to carry on the -service of his church. He scarcely heeded the new arrivals, and more -than once he had had to chide old Filipo for gossiping about the -_papalangi_ on the hill. He never gave them a second thought, in fact, -until one day he happened to see Tutumanaia passing on his way to -church. The sight of that fresh, clear-eyed youngster greatly moved -the old priest. He was troubled and uneasy as he walked home, and his -heart ached a little. The new missionary belonged to his own race; he -had the air of a scholar, and the frank, open face and quick eyes of a -man full of enthusiasms and generous impulses; yet, so mused Zosimus -on his homeward way, this charity, this noble purpose, were all for -the aborigines alone. There would be none to spare for an old man to -whom no music was so sweet as his mother-tongue, and whose loneliness -was intensified by the burden of advancing years. For nearly half a -century Father Zosimus had lived in exile, and his soul continually -thirsted for the companionship which had been denied him all his life. -The few whites who had come his way before had been scrubby traders, -a priest or two a year, or some nondescript beach-comber, rough and -foul-mouthed, begging brandy and food. True, he had spent eighteen -years within a furlong of the Rev. Josiah Fison, Cook’s predecessor -in Fangaloa; but that gentleman’s Christian charity stopped short at -what he called a “rank Jesuit,” and they had never exchanged even so -much as a word. In Father Zosimus there was a strain of Irish gaiety; -he loved talk, and laughter, and argument; and the humblest white man -who could speak English was welcomed to his table and treated to the -best that Fangaloa afforded. Indeed, among the “squires of Savai’i” he -was honoured and respected, from Falealupo to the strait. But these -men were, most of them, gross and common. In Wesley Cook he saw a -being of another world, a young man of refinement and spirituality, -a fellow-missionary, a fellow-countryman, with whom all intercourse -was inexorably barred, with whom he should live out the balance of his -days and know no more than if an ocean rolled between them. No longer -did he stem the tide of old Filipo’s gossip; on the contrary, he could -now never learn enough of the new arrivals, and little passed in the -mission-house that was not reported to him at once. He learned, with -a singular feeling of delight, of the young minister’s kindness and -ability; how he had mastered the language in less time than a foreigner -had been ever before known to take; how he had raised the dying, nay, -the breathless dead themselves, back to life with the costly medicines -he never stinted to the poorest. “Oh, he is a minister wise and good,” -said Filipo, “and his heart is not stony against us Catholics like -the last pig-face; only yesterday he said that thou, Zosimus, wert -honourable, and deserving of respect as a man who had trod the narrow -road his whole life long.” - -The old priest hung upon his words as though Filipo were inspired. -The next day he went purposely out of his way to gain another look at -Tutumanaia, and came back more affected than he had been before. - -“Had I not entered the priesthood, I might have had a son like that,” -he mused to himself, as he trudged homeward. “But that I gave to God, -scarce knowing the sacrifice.” Then he rebuked himself for his impiety. - -More than once, as time passed, he turned over in his mind the -possibility of calling at the Protestant mission. But no young girl -could have shown more timidity than Father Zosimus. Many a time he -brought out his best cassock, and brushed his best hat, and took a -long look at himself in the cracked shaving-glass. But he would sigh -as he saw the image of that wrinkled, shaggy-haired old man. “You’re -nothing but a frowsy old frump, Zosimus,” he would say to himself, -“nothing but the husk of what was once a man. Sure, they would have -little use for you, that handsome boy and girl in their elegant home.” -For to Father Zosimus the whitewashed, coral-built mission-house, with -its shining windows and its trim garden laid out in plots, was a fairy -palace resplendent with luxury and filled with a thousand treasures. -In his simple heart, half prepared as it was to believe anything -that redounded to the honour of his hero, he had received with all -confidence the glowing tales the natives brought him; and the very -glamour with which his imagination endowed the spot helped to keep him -back. “If the boy cares to know me, he will come himself,” he said; and -the camphor-wood chest would close, perhaps for the twentieth time, on -the father’s Sunday best. - -But the boy never came. He, too, was timid, and though he often noticed -the gaunt old priest, and longed also to speak his mother-tongue -with the only creature save his wife who could understand it in all -Fangaloa, the opportunity never came to break the ice. A whole year -passed, and the Rev. Wesley Cook and the Rev. Father Zosimus, S. J., -were no nearer an acquaintance than before. Yet there was seldom a day -but they saw each other from afar, the one shy and kind, half hoping -to receive the first advances, the other no less eager and no less -restrained. - -One day Filipo brought a rumour to his master which the latter listened -to with deep concern. For a whole afternoon he gave up his usual -digging in the garden and paced his little verandah to and fro. Once -he even washed and dressed himself in his best, and trimmed his ragged -beard; but he took off his clothes again and smoked another pipe -instead of paying the visit he had so nearly decided to make. He called -in Filipo from the taro-field, and bade him waylay Misi’s girls every -day and bring news of Mrs. Cook’s condition. - -Day by day the two old men discussed the coming event, and Father -Zosimus grew by turns glad and fearful at the prospect. The news came -to him one morning in October, as he was kneeling to implore divine aid -in the hour of a woman’s agony. Dawn was breaking as Filipo rushed into -the chapel, coughing and panting. “It is all over,” he cried,--“the -mother well and happy, and the child a little chief, of a strength and -beauty the like of which has never been seen in Fangaloa.” - -“God be thanked!” cried Father Zosimus, throwing himself once more on -his knees. - -With the later hours there came less assuring news of the mother and -the little chief. There was a devil in Misi, said Filipo; a devil that -caused her to lie as dead, or to burst forth furiously into strange -tongues, so that all about her stood amazed and trembling. The little -chief lay helpless in old Sisimaile’s arms, and the flame of its -tiny life was that of a flickering torch. Yes, the _papatisonga_ had -not been neglected. Old Tuisunga and Leotele, the speaking-man, were -the godfathers at the font; and Tutumanaia read fast, with tears in -his voice, lest the babe should die before it had been joined to the -Tahitian religion. For Master Wesley Chandler Cook was not destined -long to be a member of Christ’s church on earth. As they bore him back -to the room where his mother lay, he closed his eyes for ever. - -Father Zosimus was stunned when the news first reached him, and the -tears rolled down his cheeks as he listened to Filipo. Then he went -indoors and rummaged the old chests where he kept his treasures, -turning out some trashy velvet with which he had meant to decorate -the chapel, a bottle of varnish, some brass nails, and a bundle of -well-seasoned, well-polished _maalava_ boards that he had laid away -to build himself a desk. He spread them out on the rough table, and -studied them long and earnestly. In his youth he had been a joiner and -a worker in wood, and though his hand was palsied with age, and his -eye not so true as it once had been, he was still more than a fair -craftsman. He brought out his tools, clamps, and measures, and asked -Filipo what he judged to be the bigness of the chief-son of Tutumanaia. - -“Not very long,” said the old retainer,--“scarcely more than the half -of your Highness’s arm.” - -Father Zosimus put on his spectacles, measured off the velvet, scanned -his materials and tools with a workmanlike eye, and then, when all -lay ready to his hand, he went outside and began to pace up and down -his verandah. The devil of irresolution and doubt was again gnawing -at his heart. Unsought and unasked, what business was it of his to -make a coffin for the dead child? There was not a soul in Fangaloa but -knew that Father Zosimus was skilled in such matters, as his house and -chapel so abundantly testified. Were his help required, they would -come and seek it. Would it not look strange for him to make a coffin -unbidden? Would it not appear forward, grasping, perhaps as though -he expected payment for his work? For an hour he wrestled with the -problem. Finally he told Filipo to spread the news about the village -that the old priest looked to undertake this task for nothing, and -was waiting only to be asked. With that he shut himself up in the -chapel, and spent the forenoon in reciting prayers for the dead. But, -devout though he ordinarily was in everything touching the services of -his church, Father Zosimus found it hard, on this occasion, to dwell -on things heavenly when all the while his body was quivering with -suspense, and his soul hearkened for that footfall on the coral floor. -Again and again he seemed to hear the sound of voices, Filipo answering -with soft deliberation, the minister agitated and saying with mournful -earnestness, “Tell the _ali’i patele_ I must see him instantly.” But -no message came; no discreet cough or dog-like scratching against the -door warned him that his attention was desired; and the stillness of -the chapel remained untroubled save for the murmuring surf and the coo -of wild pigeons in the forest. - -It was late in the afternoon, and the fierce heat of day was already -melting into the softness of night, when the minister’s little son was -borne to his rest. Under the equator burial follows swiftly on the -heels of death, and life no sooner leaves the body than the diggers -must sweat and the hammers fly. There can be no decorous pause to -soften the blow or strengthen the bereaved for that last farewell -beside the grave. Ashamed, he knew not why, with a desolate sense of -defeat, Father Zosimus was drawn to gaze on the burial from afar, -crouching on a knoll that overlooked the spot. He watched, with an -emotion not to be expressed in words, the affecting scene which played -itself out before him. Across the strait blue Upolu sparkled in the -setting sun; the foaming breakers outlined the coast like a fringe of -silver, and thrilled faintly on the ear; the evening star quivered in -the blackening sky, and the constellation of the Southern Cross gleamed -in the heavens, the bright solace of many a Christian heart. - -The coffin lay on a rough bier of mingled boughs and flowers, borne -in procession by eight solemn little boys all of a size, who were -tricked out in a uniform of white cotton. Behind them, very pale and -handsome, walked Tutumanaia, in duck clothes and a pith helmet. On his -one hand was the smug-faced native pastor from the next bay; on the -other, Tuisunga, the towering old chief, imperious of eye, stately -in manner, as befitted the occasion and the man. Behind these again, -and at the head of the elders and speaking-men with their fly-flappers -and Bibles, strode the _taupou_ of Fangaloa, in a striped silk _apana_ -and a skirt made of a fine mat. The village matrons made up the middle -of the procession, with their hands full of hibiscus, frangipani, -stephanotis, and _moso’oi_, followed by groups of young girls and young -men, decorously apart, as convention demands; the former in bright -_lavalavas_ and little shirts of flowers and leaves, or with their -brown bosoms glistening through entwined _laumaile_ and necklaces of -scarlet _singano_; the latter with lime-whitened heads and flaming -_aute_-blossoms behind their ears. Throughout swarmed the village -children, with shaven heads and eager faces, and ears all unmindful of -the click-click of their warning parents, romping, quarrelling, and -chasing one another through the crowd. - -The pall-bearers laid down their burden beside the empty grave, and -knelt on the grass in a little semicircle. Tutumanaia and his two -companions threw themselves on a mat which a woman unrolled and spread -out for them. The _taupou_ took her position at the head of the coffin, -and raised her silken parasol, less to shade her eyes than to display -a cherished possession. At a respectful distance, the chiefs, elders, -and speaking-men formed the first rank of a great circle, their deeply -lined faces overcast and solemn. The silence was first broken by a -shrill hymn, and then Cook rose to his feet, drew a Testament from his -pocket, and began to address the village. What he said was commonplace -enough, and only the echo of what he had said a hundred times before, -but the stress of a deep emotion ennobled his ready phrases and -impassioned the narrow vocabulary of Samoan woe. It seemed to Father -Zosimus that he was listening to an angel, or to one of those inspired -beings on whom the church is founded; and, indeed, a painter would have -found a saint to his hand in the tall, shining white figure of the -young minister, with his aureole of golden hair, his hand uplifted to -the sky, and his pale, rapt face raised to God. - -He faltered as he drew near the close of his address, and when at last -he looked down and pointed to the little coffin, the stream of his -eloquence suddenly ran dry. He tried to go on, hesitated, and covered -his face with his hands, leaving it for the pastor to continue. This -the Rev. Tavita Singua did without further loss of time. He expatiated -on the godlike virtues of Tutumanaia in a strain that would have made -an angel blush, and did not spare the poor clay that had lived but to -die. Another piercing hymn preceded the third address. Old Tuisunga -now stepped forward, his battle-scarred chest naked to the heavens, -the bunching tapa round his loins his only garment. Slowly, softly, -with the tenderest deliberation, he began to speak. He was a born -orator, and knew the way to men’s hearts, rugged old barbarian though -he was. His theme was the bond that this little grave would for ever -be between the missionary and themselves, and his voice thrilled as he -invited Wesley into the fellowship of the bereaved, and told of the -tragedy that underlies the life of man. He drew familiar instances from -the village history; here a cherished boy destined for a name renowned; -there a young maid struck down in all her bright promise. He called to -mind his own son Rafael, who had fallen beside him on the battle-field, -his Absalom, for whom he would have died a thousand deaths. He spoke, -he said, as one man of sorrow to another, one whose heart lay beneath a -fathom of Samoan earth. He drew to a close by declaring that no common -hand should touch the coffin of their beloved. He, the son of chiefs, -the father of famous warriors, would lay the little body to its last -repose, so that it should say when its spirit reached the angels, -“Behold, I am the son of Tutumanaia, and my servant Tuisunga laid me -to rest in the house of sandalwood.” He tenderly lifted the coffin in -his arms, pressed his lips against the unpainted boards, and lowered it -into the grave. - - * * * * * - -An hour later, a gaunt, black-robed figure made its way through the -trampled grass and fell on its knees beside the grave. It was Father -Zosimus, bowed in supplication before the throne of grace. - - * * * * * - -It was strange what a simple matter at last brought about the -acquaintance of the only two white men in Fangaloa. Each had timidly -waited for the other to make the first advances, and each had gone -his solitary way, sick at heart, and hungering for the companionship -which would have been so eagerly accorded. It befell that Cook’s well -went dry, and there being no other water in the village save the -brackish fluid the natives were content to drink, one of the mission -boys suggested that they apply to the old priest. So Tutumanaia sat -down and wrote a polite note, explaining his predicament, and begging -for a little water. The note was sent by a messenger with a bucket. -Father Zosimus was overwhelmed when he opened and read the letter; he -was dazed by the suddenness of his own good fortune; he bade Filipo -feed the boy with the best the house afforded, with sucking pig and -_palusami_ unstinted, while he hurriedly made ready for the visit that -he was at last to pay. - -Oh, that first meeting! It exceeded his wildest expectations, his most -sanguine dream! Wesley Cook was so cordial, so frankly anxious to be -friends, so overflowing with pent-up confidences, that the priest -almost wept as he unbosomed himself of the scruples that had kept him -back. With innocent craft, he left nothing undone to establish his -footing, and his bland and beaming smile hid a thousand schemes for -entangling Cook in a web of obligation. Could he send some roses to -madam, his beautiful wife? It might distract her from the thought of -her terrible loss. He had so many roses--to give a few would be such a -pleasure, such an honour. Ah, madam would be pleased with them, were -she fond of flowers. She, too, must come and see his garden, his poor -garden, where he grudged not the labour, as it seemed to bring him -close to God. Could he not provide her with some special seeds sent him -all the way from Ceylon--acclimated seeds from the famous gardens of -the lay brothers at Point de Galle? Some guava jelly of his own making? -Some smoked pigeons that he ventured to say were delicious? Would Cook -accept some cherries in brandy that the captain of the _Wild Cat_ had -presented to him years ago--that headstrong naval captain who had come -to bombard Fangaloa, and ended by giving prizes to the school-children? - -Father Zosimus did not overstay his welcome. On the contrary, he had -to tear himself away almost by force, so insistent was Cook to keep -him. But he knew how much depended on that first visit; he would -not jeopardise the precious friendship by remaining too long; and -he took early leave, exulting like a child in the rosy vistas that -opened before him. This proved to be the first of many visits, and the -beginning of an acquaintance that ripened into the closest intimacy. -In the day each had his duties to perform, his quiet routine of tasks -to fulfil. Father Zosimus sawed stone for the unfinished church he had -been ten years building with the perseverance of an ant, or dug in the -garden hard by the chapel whose tinkling bell called him periodically -to devotions. Tutumanaia had his school, his Young Men’s Institute, -his medical practice, and the thousand and one labours imposed upon -him by his position and the multitude of his flock. One hour daily he -devoted to the intricacies of the language, another to the translation -of the “Peep o’ Day” and “Glimpses of the Holy Land” into the Samoan -tongue. But at night, when all the village lay quiet on its mats, and -nothing broke the stillness save the drone of the surf and the rustle -of flying-foxes among the trees, then it was that Father Zosimus would -seek the mission verandah and the society of the friend that had become -so dear to him. - -Side by side, with their canvas chairs touching, the strange pair would -talk far into the night. The world passed in review before them, that -great world of which they both knew so little; and from their village -on the shores of an uncharted sea they weighed and examined, criticised -and condemned it. Or perhaps from such lofty themes their talk would -drift into the homelier channel of local gossip, or stray into the -labyrinths of Samoan politics. Or Origen, Athanasius, George of -Cappadocia, would be drawn from their distant past to point an argument -or illustrate a deep dissertation on the primitive church. And from -these, again, perhaps to Steinberger’s new poll-tax and the fighting in -Pango Pango. - -On one subject they never spoke--the great barrier reef of dogma that -lay between them. Once only was it in any way alluded to--once after -a memorable night when Wesley had opened his heart to the old priest. -In saying farewell the latter had raised his hands, and was deeply -chagrined when his companion leaped back with a look of consternation. - -“Oh, my son,” said Zosimus, “the blessing of an old and not unworthy -man cannot harm thee. Do we not each serve God according to our lights?” - -But if Father Zosimus had succeeded in winning the young minister’s -confidence and friendship, with Mrs. Cook he had not fared so well. -In the bottom of his heart he felt that the woman’s ill will was -the rock on which the precious friendship might founder, and he -accordingly left no stone unturned to ingratiate himself in her -favour. But the lonely, wilful, moody woman, with her health impaired -by her recent confinement, and her spirit warped by disappointment -and the consciousness of dimming beauty, was in no state of mind -to receive his advances. Unhappy herself, she was in the tigerish -humour when one must rend, if one can, the happiness of others. She -had nothing in common with the frowsy old priest who wore blue jeans -under his snuffy cassock and smelled of garden mould. Moreover, her -pride was wounded by her tacit exclusion from the nightly company on -the porch. Her presence brought constraint and what seemed to her -disordered nerves a scarcely veiled resentment. Though she yawned in -her husband’s face when they were alone together, and did nothing to -seek his confidence, she detested his intimacy with the old priest, -and the thought of it rankled perpetually within her. At first she -had ignored Father Zosimus’s very existence, repelling his overtures -with an indifference quite unaffected, and treating him with the frank -rudeness that springs from unconcern. But as time passed, and every -fibre of her being revolted at the narrowness and hopelessness of her -imprisoned life; as her spirit beat against the bars and her heart -seemed to burst within her breast; she began to perceive in the priest -the means of striking at her husband. Not that she did not love Wesley, -after a fashion; if things had so fallen out, she could have felt the -most poignant jealousy; but she resented the easy, contented nature -that blossomed in that hot hole where they lived, among those greasy, -fawning savages with whom their lot was so inexorably cast. His prattle -about the school, the progress of the “Peep o’ Day,” his zeal for -unearthing legends and old Samoan songs, his whole innocent enjoyment -in his daily tasks and duties, all fanned the flame of her revolt. If -he, too, had risen against the dreary confinement of their life; if -he, too, had faced each succeeding day with ineffable disgust, and had -lain weary and heartsick in her arms at night; she would have comforted -him, encouraged him, strengthened him for the task he had so rashly -undertaken. What she could not bear, what she could not forgive or -condone, was his mild acceptance of his fate; his zest in the pitiful -drudgery of his every-day existence; the petty nature that could thus -expand in the close air of a prison. With a malignity that was crazed -in its intensity, the outcome of hysteria and the first gnawings -of disease, she sought to shatter the placidity which had grown as -intolerable to her as the Samoan sun at noon. In Father Zosimus she -perceived the dagger with which she could stab her husband through -and through; and in the maturing of her plot she enjoyed the nearest -approach to happiness that had ever come her way in Fangaloa. - -One evening, when Father Zosimus arrived as usual, he was met on the -verandah by Mrs. Cook, and informed that the minister had been detained -in the village by some trifling errand. He felt a tone of menace in -her voice, and foreboded no good from her high colour and quivering -lips. He would have excused himself had a lie come easily to his lips, -but he was not quick in such things, and took the offered seat with a -sinking heart. He searched nervously here and there for some topic of -conversation that might be interesting and yet free from the slightest -possibility of offence, his ear, meanwhile, alert for the sound of the -minister’s footsteps. But Mrs. Cook was too adroit for the old man, -and, to his inexpressible chagrin, he soon found himself stumbling into -an argument, and the target for humiliating and derisive questions. -He now thought only of escape, for his hands were trembling, and he -felt his cheeks flushing with indignation. Every word he said seemed -only to land him deeper in the mire. When, at last, Mrs. Cook began to -taunt him with a recent scandal in Upolu involving the good name of a -nun, Father Zosimus cried out inarticulately, and flung himself past -her into the darkness. Even as he did so, Wesley Cook came swinging -up the path, and instinctively stepped aside to allow the flying -figure to pass. He looked back at it irresolutely, and then continued -on his way with a premonition of evil to come. His wife received -him with vehement caresses, clinging to him in an hysterical frenzy. -Between her choking sobs she overflowed with foolish, disjointed, and -often incoherent accusations against the old priest. “That horrible -old Jesuit!” she cried; “that sly, slinking, wicked creature; never, -never must he be permitted to cross the threshold again.” Her cheeks -flamed as she continued her tirade; as she described the shame, -the humiliation she had secretly undergone; as she affected, with -passionated outbursts of indignation, to keep back things that were too -black even for utterance. All the time she searched Wesley’s eyes for -an answering fire, and could read nothing but incredulity and dismay. -Then her wrath turned full upon him, and with a hundred quotations from -his own lips she denounced his intimacy with a Jesuit, and bade him -choose between the priest and her. - -She threatened to seek old Tuisunga’s protection were he to persist -in this unworthy friendship, and drew in no uncertain colours the -effect of the letter she would write to the missionary authorities at -Malua. Wesley was frightened to the core, and quaked under the lash -of her denunciation. He saw himself disgraced; dismissed from the -Society; turned out into the world, that most forlorn and helpless of -human beings, the discarded missionary. Abjectly he begged for mercy, -simulated an indignation against Father Zosimus he could in no wise -feel, and was in due course forgiven on promising to break for ever -with the old priest. - -He passed a troubled night; he felt he had made a mean capitulation, -and, try as he would, he was unable to gloss the matter to his -conscience. He was stung by the conviction of his cowardice and -disloyalty, and yet his common sense told him that he was powerless in -his wife’s hands. He could never outlive the scandal of her desertion, -or explain away those letters which would write him down a pervert. -In the morning Wesley timidly expostulated with his wife, quoting all -the texts he could remember that bore on charity and forgiveness. This -was a course little calculated to allay Mrs. Cook’s wrath. She burst -out upon him with a fury that completely crushed his last effort at -intercession. She stood over him as he wrote the letter in which, with -smooth and nicely balanced sentences, interspersed with religious -commonplaces and trite expressions of regret, he raised a wall of words -between himself and the old man he had called his friend. He knew, -he said, that Father Zosimus could have had no intention to offend, -but Mrs. Cook had taken the matter of overnight in such a way that he -felt unable to resume an intimacy which had been very precious to him. -No apologies or explanations could avail, and he begged that none be -offered; but he trusted, he need not say how earnestly, that in some -future time (D. V.) the dark clouds would roll away, and with them all -memories of this unhappy misunderstanding. - -The letter was brought to Father Zosimus in the garden, where he was -digging furiously to drive away the devils that beset him. He tore it -open with his grimy hands, and read it with a feeling of despair. -The few kindly allusions brought tears to his eyes, and his first -resentment against Tutumanaia passed away as he re-read them; but -against Mrs. Cook, the author of his humiliation, his whole nature -rose in arms. Disciplined though he was by seven and forty years of -abnegation, the old Adam in him lay still fiery and untamed. He was -consumed with bitterness towards the woman who had so cruelly wronged -him. What had he to hope “in some future time (D. V.),” old and broken -man that he was? In the fierceness of his indignation he called down -the vengeance of God upon her until contrition overpowered him, and he -threw himself on his knees. - -“Oh, Zosimus,” he said, “so old and still so foolish!” - -After such a blow it was hard to pick up the threads of life once more, -and interest himself in the recurring tasks which rounded out each day. -But in Father Zosimus there was the stuff of which martyrs are made. -Sore of heart though he was, and spent of body, his unremitting energy -and indomitable faith drove him to work and pray as he had never worked -or prayed before. His lacerated feelings found an outlet in dazzling -garden-beds, trellises of bamboo, and in the stone wall he had so -often planned and as often given up, which was to inclose the seaward -side of his little plantation. And in these tranquil and unexciting -occupations, which kept the hands busy while the mind was free to rove, -a certain scheme unfolded itself which found increasing favour in his -eyes; the means, in fact, by which he might score a triumph over Mrs. -Cook, and restore himself once again in her good graces. Not that he -had forgiven her for the part she had taken against him; his anger -still smouldered beneath the blanket of Christian charity with which he -had sought to smother it; but were he to gain again his footing in that -household on the hill; were he to renew the intimacy that was the very -salt of his life; he must needs pay toll to the woman who held the key -of his happiness. As he dug, or weeded, or carried stones to his wall, -or climbed the ladder beside the shining trellis-work, the old priest -was never far from a sheet of paper and a pencil. Sometimes it was a -hammer that kept these things in place, sometimes it was the well-worn -shovel-hat that guarded them from the puffs of the trade or chance -cat’s-paws from the mountains, while Zosimus, his head economically -wrapped in banana-leaves, seized many an occasion during the course of -his labours to scribble another word on the anchored sheet, or erase -something already written. It was a list of such delicacies as the -limited markets of Apia afforded, for which the old man was intending -to lay out the savings of a year. - -It must not be supposed that the Rev. Wesley Cook was having a -particularly pleasant time of it during the days that followed the -breaking off with Father Zosimus. For half a week, indeed, his wife -exerted herself to supply the old man’s place, and had never before -shown herself so agreeable or so helpful. She interested herself in -Wesley’s legends, listened patiently to the story of Sopo’s misdoings, -of the brilliant possibilities that lay in Popo would he only apply -himself in earnest, or lamented with her husband the bad influences -which were undermining the character of a gentleman named O; she wrote -to his dictation a little essay on the “King-names of Samoa,” which -Cook intended sending to the Polynesian Society of New Zealand; and, -in fact, proved herself a zealous, clever, and indefatigable comrade. -All thought of Father Zosimus would soon have slipped from Wesley’s -memory had this new-found companionship been destined to endure; but -it was nothing more than a flash in the pan, due half to remorse, half -to policy, a means to gain time for the breach to widen irrevocably -between her husband and the priest. - -The sour, capricious woman could not long brook the task she had -set herself to perform; her spirit soon flagged in the dull round -which made up her husband’s life, and her new part in it grew daily -more intolerable. She slowly lapsed again into the dark humour which -was fast becoming her second nature, and took no further trouble to -conciliate her husband. Cook was slow to realise the change, but -when at last it dawned upon him that she listened with unconcealed -indifference to the tale of the day’s doings, and made no further -pretence of caring either for his work in Fangaloa or for the literary -labours which were his only relaxation, he, too, grew gloomy and -dispirited. The essay languished; the “Peep o’ Day” stood still; and -he spent solitary hours in his study in a kind of stupor. A thousand -times his heart turned towards his old friend, and he longed to -throw himself at his feet and say, “Father, comfort me! I am weak of -spirit and sore distressed.” But loyalty to the overwrought and nigh -crazy woman he called his wife, as well as the timidity which was -constitutional in the man, forbade an open reconciliation, and he -shrank from the thoughts of a clandestine one. So he went his lonely -way, bearing his cross as best he might. - -At last the time grew near for the execution of the plan which had cost -Father Zosimus so much trouble and calculation, not to speak of many -dollars from his scanty hoard. - -On Christmas morn, as the cannon at Faleapuni pealed along the shore -and roused the villages with its joyful reverberations, Father Zosimus -hastened to transform his dwelling into a bower of ferns and flowers. -With Filipo to assist him, and _’afa_ enough to have built a chief’s -house, the pair worked unceasingly until there remained not an inch -without its flower nor a post unentwined with brilliant creepers and -fragrant _moso’oi_. He drew a breath of satisfaction when it was all -finished to his liking, and while Filipo swept out the litter he sat -down and wrote the following letter: - - FANGALOA, December 25, 186-. - - MY DEAR CHILDREN: On this blessed morning no Christian can harbour - any unkindness in his heart, nor cast up another’s shortcomings - against him. I am an old and a failing man; the day of my release is - close at hand, and you both must be generous to me as one so soon to - stand before his God. And if I have unwittingly offended you,--as I - know I have done,--I pray you to forgive me for the sake of Him who - was born to-day. I have ventured to prepare a little feast in your - honour, with which I hope we may celebrate, in innocent gaiety, the - renewal of our friendship. At twelve o’clock I shall expect you both. - - I remain, my dear children, with heartfelt wishes for your good - health and continued prosperity, - - Your old friend, - ZOSIMUS, S. J. - -He read the note several times to himself before putting it into an -envelope and addressing it to Mr. and Mrs. Cook. Filipo was at hand, -garlanded with red _singano_ and elegantly garbed in white, prepared -to make a good appearance before the young ladies of the mission. He -trotted off with the note carefully wrapped in a banana-leaf, that it -might be delivered in all its virgin purity. Father Zosimus lit a pipe -and impatiently set himself to await his messenger’s return. - -“_Se’i ave le tusi lea ia Misi_,” said Filipo to the young lady that -met him at the door. “_Ou te fa’atali i’inei mo le tali._” (“Give this -letter to Misi. I will wait here for the answer.”) Now, in Samoa, the -word “Misi” is used to designate and address Protestant missionaries -of either sex, and the maid carried the letter, not to Wesley Cook -in his study, but to Mrs. Cook, who was listlessly lolling in the -sitting-room. She tore it open, read it with attention, and putting it -hastily in her pocket, bade the girl send Filipo away. “Tell him Misi -says there is no answer,” she said. - -The old catechist skipped down the hill, and repeated to his master the -message that had been given him. - -Father Zosimus was painfully overcome. - -“Filipo,” he said, “did you see the minister with your very own eyes?” - -“_Ioe_,” answered the catechist, cheerfully; “he was writing in his -room, and I saw him through the window, looking very sad, and eating -his pen like a cow at a breadfruit-tree.” Filipo mimicked the action on -his finger. - -Father Zosimus sat for a long time in a kind of dream. A glass of wine -served to rouse and strengthen him, and the unaccustomed stimulant -put him in some sort of trim to carry on the duties of the day. But a -recurring dizziness and a sinking at the heart soon drove him to take -an enforced rest. He told Filipo he did not care to eat, bidding him -put away the wine, and call Iosefo and his family to the feast that had -been made ready for such different guests. - -With the passing of Christmas Father Zosimus began to work harder -than ever in his garden; early and late he could be seen in the midst -of its blooming flower-beds, digging, weeding, or transplanting -with passionate intensity. A loutish fellow from the westward, a -heavy-featured son of Wallis Island, had been engaged to divide the -burden of these tasks, and for a wage infinitesimally small toiled and -sweated under the father’s eye. To guard this creature from the prattle -of the passers-by, and to check his tendency to gaze dreamily into the -sun; to stifle his inclination to drink, to smoke, to chatter, to -explain how much better they did things in Wallis Island; to keep his -fat face, in fact, on the weeds in front of him, became, indeed, Father -Zosimus’s constant study. Day by day, he stood sentinel over his Uvean, -applied the man’s clumsy force to profitable ends, and kept his own -unconquerable heart from breaking. - -It was not every day he could pursue the occupation he loved best, and -watch his plans take shape with slow but appreciable success. January -falls in the depth of the wet season; furious rains and long stretches -of boisterous weather often interrupted the Uvean’s labours, driving -both him and his taskmaster to the enforced idleness of the house--the -former to sleep on the floor or to smoke interminable _suluis_ with -Filipo: the priest to read his breviary by dim lamplight as the deluge -pounded on the roof. It was during one of these black days, when all -the world was awash outside, and a wild westerly wind was tearing -through the trees, bombarding the village with crashing boughs and -cocoanuts, that the priest’s ancient barometer sank to 29°, and gave a -quivering promise of worse to follow. He was looking at the mercury, -and setting the gauge, when Filipo appeared in the passage, his face -bright with news. - -“The partner of Tutumanaia is known to your Highness?” he began, with a -question that might well have appeared superfluous. - -Father Zosimus turned instantly. - -“God is high-chief angry with her rock-like heart,” went on Filipo, -with the calm intonation of one vindicated. “She was presumptuous and -beautiful like an angel; now she is pig-faced and torn of devils; and -her man, oh, he weeps like an _aitu_ in the wilderness.” - -“Whence didst thou get this _tala_?” asked the priest, mindful of past -mare’s nests on his servant’s part. - -“The _tala_ is a true one, Zosimus,” he said. “Even now the pastor -of Faleapuni is praying with a loud voice in the room of the sick, -tussling with the devil, while the family shrieks and is distracted. -The hand of God lies heavy upon her, and they say she will die; her -face scorches the touch like a hot lamp, and she talks constantly the -words of devils.” - -Zosimus made a gesture of annoyance; at any other time he would have -reproved Filipo for retailing such heathenish fables, and reopened a -discussion that had continued between them for upward of thirty years; -but his solicitude for Wesley Cook monopolized every thought, and he -allowed his servant’s words to pass unchallenged. - -“But her sickness?” he demanded. “How first did it come upon her?” - -“It was thus,” returned Filipo: “thy grieving heart was known of God, -and when he looked down at that costly feast to which neither the -minister nor his wife would deign to come--” - -“Stop!” cried the priest. “This is the talk of an untattooed boy. Have -I not told thee a thousand times that sickness has invariably a cause?” - -“The maids say that last week she had a long talk with her husband,” -said Filipo, “and together they quarrelled until she talked loud and -fierce, like a German, and he cried and cried, and threw himself on -the mats. Then she went out of the house, and to her there was neither -umbrella nor coat, though it rained; and she walked, uselessly, all the -way to Faleapuni, so burned her heart with anger; and when she returned -she was trembling with the cold so that her teeth went thus. Then she -went to bed, and vomited terribly, and every time she breathed, it -hurt her chest so that she said, ‘Ugh! ugh!’ like a man sorely wounded -on the field. Then the minister came to her and tried to talk and -bedarling her; but she mocked at him, and said her heart was in the -White Country. After that she began to talk the devil-stuttering which -is not understandable of man.” - -Father Zosimus’s jaw fell, and he looked about him like a man on the -brink of some great resolve. - -“She was never the same after the day of the feast,” said Filipo. - -The priest put on his yellow oilskin, and placing a bottle of brandy in -one pocket, he grasped the bunched umbrella that was his inseparable -companion. Thus prepared to face the elements and carry succour to the -sick, he made his way into the open and ascended the hill towards the -mission-house. His face tingled under the lash of the wind and rain as -he struggled on, dodging the nuts that occasionally shot across his -path like cannon-balls; and when at last he reached his goal in safety, -he was surprised to see the curtains pulled down within, and to find no -one to answer his repeated knocks. - -He was emboldened to turn the knob and enter, which he did -hesitatingly, not knowing what reception awaited him. At the end of -the hall a half-open door let out a flood of lamplight, betraying one -room, at least, in which he might expect to find some member of the -household. On the bed beside the wall Mrs. Cook lay in disordered -bedclothes, her glassy eyes upturned in delirium, her face yellow -and pinched almost beyond recognition, one thin arm on the pillow -beneath her head, the other thrown limply across the sheet. Not far -from her, in shabby dressing-gown and slippers, Wesley himself was -asleep in a canvas chair, sunk in the deep oblivion that follows an -all-night watch. On the floor two native girls slumbered in boluses -of matting, their heads side by side on a bamboo pillow. The priest -stole softly to the bed and looked down on Mrs. Cook’s face; but there -was no understanding in the bright, troubled glance that met his own, -no coherence in the whispered words she repeated to herself. He was -angered to think of his own ignorance and helplessness as he stood the -brandy on the littered table beside the copy of “Simple Remedies for -the Home,” and studied the woman with renewed anxiety. In truth, she -looked grievously ill. Sixty miles of wild water and mountainous seas -separated them from Apia and the only doctor in the group; he shivered -as he caught the wail of the wind without, and saw in mind the breakers -that were thundering against their iron coast. - -He fell on his knees and prayed, and then went out into the air again, -his mind made up to a desperate measure. He now took another path, one -that led him across the village to Tuisunga’s stately house. It was -nearly filled with chiefs and speaking-men, ranged round in a great -circle, and the high-pitched, measured periods of an orator could -be heard above the wind and the pelting rain. On his approach there -burst out a chorus of “_Maliu mai, susu mai, ali’i Zosimo_”; and he -bent under the eaves and made his way, half crouching, to a place by -Tuisunga’s side. The eyes of all the party turned on him with surprise, -and there was a little burst of expectation, broken only by the -embittered hawking of the interrupted orator. - -“Your Majesty Tuisunga, chiefs, and speaking-men of Fangaloa,” began -Zosimus, “be not angry with me for disturbing this meeting. I have just -come from the house of mourning, where God’s hand lies heavy upon your -pastor’s wife, so that she is like to die. It is my thought that we -take a boat and go with all expedition for the German doctor in Apia.” - -“Chief Zosimus,” answered Tuisunga, “the gentlemen you see before you -have been discussing this very matter. We are agreed that if the lady -is to live, we must seek help at once from the wise white man in Apia, -though the storm is heavy upon us, and the risk more than bullets in -the fighting line. But what boat can live in such a gale, save one that -is strong indeed, and well wrought? Our man-of-war that pulls forty -oars is with Forster to be mended; my own whaler is too old and rotten -for so bold a _malanga_; the others we possess are small and useless.” - -“There is Ngau’s boat,” said the priest, with a flash of his eyes -towards a sullen-looking old chief. “It is new, and strong like a ship -of two masts.” - -Ngau’s withered face hardened. A titter ran round the assembled chiefs. - -“That is the knot,” said Tuisunga; “it is not the will of Ngau to give -his boat, lest it be cast away.” - -“Not to save the life of a dying woman?” demanded Father Zosimus. - -“Ngau is accustomed to the white man’s way,” said Tuisunga. “He is -mean, and his heart is like a stone.” - -All eyes turned to Ngau, who stared back, defiant and unabashed. - -“If he has a white man’s heart, we will treat him to the white man’s -law,” cried Zosimus. “We will take his boat by force.” - -“But it is Ngau’s boat,” said Tuisunga. - -“It is Ngau’s boat,” echoed the chiefs. - -“And thou wilt let the woman die?” cried Father Zosimus. - -“It is Ngau’s boat,” said Tuisunga. - -“What dost thou want for the boat?” demanded the priest. - -“Five dollars and a tin of biscuit,” replied Ngau, promptly; “and if it -be wrecked, one hundred and twelve dollars, a water-bottle, and a coil -of rope as thick as a man’s thumb.” - -“I will take it on myself,” said Father Zosimus. “I am poor; I belong -to a faith that thou deridest; yet my heart is not weak and fearful -like thine. I will answer for thy boat, Chief Ngau, before all these -gentlemen as witnesses.” - -“_O le tino tupe lava_ [hard money]” inquired Ngau, “to be put in my -hand before the young men touch my boat?” - -“I have not so much,” cried the priest. “I have not money in my house -like drinking-nuts. It comes this month, and that a little at a time. -But I tell thee truly, I will pay thee every _seni_.” - -The owner of the boat shook his head. - -“I want one hundred and twelve dollars,” he said, “a water-bottle, and -a coil of rope as thick as my thumb.” - -“Why dost thou call thyself chief of this village, Tuisunga?” demanded -the priest. “The only chief I see here is Ngau. He speaks: we obey. It -matters not what I want, or what thou wishest, or whether the pastor’s -wife lies dying. It is his Majesty Ngau who is King of Fangaloa. Thy -power is no stronger than that of an untattooed boy.” - -“But it is Ngau’s boat,” said Tuisunga, looking very black. - -“Zosimus,” said Ngau, “they tell me thou hast costly things in thy -church--cups of silver, two silver candlesticks, each heavy as a gun, -and a silver cross on which there is the image of Jesus. Bring these -to me, together with five dollars of hard money and the musical box -that sounds so sweetly of an evening, and I will hold them for the -price of my boat. If it be cast, thou shalt pay me, from time to time, -one hundred and twelve dollars, a water-bottle, and a coil of rope as -thick as a man’s thumb, and when the contract is finished I will give -thee back the precious things. But if no harm befall the boat, I shall -return them at once, and the price of it will be five dollars and a tin -of biscuit.” - -“Thou shalt have them,” cried Father Zosimus; “and if thou hadst said, -‘Zosimus, take an axe and strike off thy right hand,’ that also would I -have done. A life is more to me than dollars in a bag, Chief Ngau. Of -thee, Tuisunga, one only is the question I desire to ask: When I bring -back my precious things according to the will of Ngau, how may I be -sure, indeed, that thou wilt not claim another price for the crew?” - -The chief hung his head. “We are not all like Ngau,” he returned. - -In half an hour the priest was back, with Filipo at his heels, the arms -of both filled with well-wrapped packages. Father Zosimus laid his -burden on the floor, and began to pluck away the _siapo_ that enfolded -it. - -“Stop!” cried Tuisunga. - -The priest desisted with a look of angry wonder, as though some fresh -imposition were to be laid upon him. - -“Zosimus,” said Tuisunga, “since thou left us, these gentlemen and -myself have been looking down into our hearts. They are black and -pig-like, and we feel ashamed before thee. It would be a mock and an -everlasting disgrace to Fangaloa wert thou to sacrifice thy holy things -to the meanness of the pig-face Ngau. We have taken counsel together in -thine absence, and this is our decision: The boat shall be taken from -Ngau, and not one _seni_ shall be paid him, nor shall a water-bottle -be given, nor a coil of rope; and if his boat be cast away, well, -it is God’s will. Furthermore, Ngau’s house shall be burned and his -plantation destroyed for a punishment, and thou shalt have him (if thou -shouldst so high-chief will) to make of him a Catholic; for Ngau has -been expelled from the Protestant religion, and his communion ticket -has been taken from him as one unworthy.” - -Father Zosimus said nothing, but his eyes gleamed like coals of fire as -he hurriedly put his treasures in order for their return; in a trice -Filipo was scudding away with them down the hill, to the mirth of all -the chiefs, some of whom shouted after him derisively to make haste. - -“When are we to start?” asked the priest. “If it be thy high-chief -will, the sooner the better.” - -“But thou canst not go,” said Tuisunga. “Thou art old and unfit.” - -“No man is too old to serve God,” returned the priest. - -There rose a murmur of dissent from the assembled chiefs. The old man -would be a dead weight in the boat; by carrying a priest they would -infallibly bring down the anger of God upon them all; even the whites -who cared for naught but money dreaded to sail with a _faifeau_. - -“This is foolish talk,” said Tuisunga. “Do we not need Zosimus to talk -for us in Apia? Do we not know the ways of whites, and their disdain -and pride? Who will speak to the German doctor? Everywhere we shall be -disregarded and mocked at. We will say that the wife of Tutumanaia is -dying, and behold, they will answer with contumely. ‘There is no such -minister,’ for we know not his name in the foreign stutter.” - -“Let us start,” cried Father Zosimus. “We have no time to waste.” - -On the rocky beach they found the boat had already been drawn from the -shed and made ready by the young men. Ngau’s house, which stood close -by the landing, was packed with his relatives and family, who looked -out from beneath the eaves with lowering faces. The sea was white as -far as the eye could reach, and was bursting furiously against the -coast and into the half-moon of the bay, while overhead, and against -the obliterated sky-line, the wild clouds drove stormily to leeward. -The young men looked troubled, and old Tuisunga himself was lost in -gloom as he studied the breakers that seemed about to engulf them. -Father Zosimus alone was calm and unconcerned in the busy tumult of -their making ready; for was not God beside him, with the blessed -saints? Bidding Filipo tell the minister of their errand, he took his -seat without a tremor when the young men lined themselves beside the -gunwales, and began to drive the boat slowly into the water. - -There was a yell as she floated off. The young men sprang to their -paddles, while Tuisunga seized the steering-oar in his sinewy -hands. They rode dry over the first wave, then dug into the next bow -foremost, and rose half swamped. The third was a huge comber, green as -bottle-glass, steep as a park wall, which shot up before them and raced -shoreward with a smoking crest. There was a convulsive scurry among the -crew; a roar from the crowded beach; as Tuisunga, standing full upright -in the stern, and swaying with every jerk of the paddles, headed the -boat into the boiling avalanche. The whaler rose like a cork, darted -her nose high in air, and for one awful moment seemed to stand on -end. When Father Zosimus opened his eyes, she was speeding seaward on -something like an even keel, sixteen eager paddles driving her past -the point where the breakers sprang. But working out of the bight, -they lost the shelter it gave them, and began to feel, for the first -time, the unrestrained fury of the gale. There was a frightful sea -running; the boat took in water at every turn; and though the wind was -favourable, they could not take advantage of it at once. A rag of sail -was raised at last, and a straight course laid for Apia, while half the -crew rested and the other half baled. But no boat could run before such -a sea as followed them. They had one narrow escape, then another by a -hair’s-breadth; and as they tried to turn, a great black wave suddenly -caught and smothered them beneath mountains of water. The crew rose -laughing and shouting to the surface, but one grey head was missing. -Father Zosimus had received his martyr’s crown. - - - - -FRENCHY’S LAST JOB - - - - -FRENCHY’S LAST JOB - - -My health at college having shown signs of giving way, Uncle George -had been kind enough to advance the means for my passage to Brisbane, -Australia, and back, in order to carry out the doctor’s recommendation -for a long sea-voyage. I scarcely think the good man intended me to -go steerage in a cargo-boat, which I did to make my money last; and -I imagine he would have been anything but pleased if he could have -seen me on the eve of starting from Brisbane itself for the South Sea -Islands with twelve tons of assorted merchandise. Indeed, I was not a -little surprised at myself, and at times in the long night watches I -blubbered like a baby at my own venturesomeness. But with me, though my -people at home did not know it, college had been a failure. I sometimes -wondered whether I was unusually dull, or my companions at that -inhospitable northern university were above the normal intelligence; -but whatever the cause, I know only that I was unable to keep the pace -that was set me to follow. - -And here I was, with my heart in my mouth, starting on a career of -my own choosing, the lessee of a trading station on an island called -Tapatuea! More I knew not, beyond the fact that I was to receive a -moiety of any profits I might earn, and had bound myself to stay -where I was put for the space of three years. Considering my age and -inexperience, this was a most liberal arrangement, and I have never -ceased wondering since how my employers, Messrs. John Cæsar Bibo & Co., -were ever dragooned into adding me to their forces. I say “dragooned” -advisedly, for it was due entirely to my good friend Henry Mears, the -shipping broker of Lonsdale Place, that I happened to be engaged, in -spite of the firm’s most strenuous protest. Mears had taken to me from -the day I first wandered into his office by an accident; and from that -time down to the sailing hour of the _Belle Mahone_ there was nothing -he would not do to serve me. I am not sure that he was financially -interested in the firm of John Cæsar Bibo & Co., but he always acted -as though his was the controlling voice in its affairs, and he was the -only man I ever knew who dared stand up to Old Bee, as we called him. -This last-named, the directing spirit of a business that spread its net -over half the islands of the Pacific, was a grim, taciturn individual -of an indeterminable age,--it was variously reckoned from seventy to a -hundred and ten,--who made periodical descents into Mears’s office, and -sat closeted there for hours. His presence always inspired constraint, -and the sight of his ancient, sallow cheek was enough to thin the ranks -of the broker’s clients--shipmasters and supercargoes for the most -part, not all of them sober, and none, apparently, able to look Old Bee -in the eye. - -I shall never forget my introduction to the great man. - -“This is a nice boy, Mr. Bibo, sir,” said Mears, indicating me with a -cast of his eye. - -“Oh!” said Old Bee. - -“I want him to have that Tapatuea store,” said Mears. - -“You mean the easterly one, where Bob killed the Chinaman?” he asked. - -“Yes.” - -“I’ll see him in hell first,” said Old Bee. - -I thought this ended the matter for good, and said as much to Mears -when John Cæsar had departed. But my friend was far from being cast -down. - -“Oh, that’s all right,” he said. “I count it as good as settled.” - -This was more than I could say, and I had no cause to change my mind on -my next meeting with Old Bee. - -“I’m putting twelve tons of stuff aboard for the Tapatuea store,” said -Mears, “and I’ve told Young Hopeful, here, that you’ll keep a berth for -him.” - -“The devil!” said Old Bee, and went straight on with the business he -had in hand. - -The next day the broker signed my contract by virtue of some power of -attorney he possessed for Bibo & Co. - -“If he backs out now, you can sue him for damages,” he said cheerfully. - -I was in a tremble when I next met my employer. It was near our sailing -time, and he was in a violent hurry. He threw down a paper on the desk -and told Mears it was the list of things he had put by for the last. - -“Send some one along for them,” he said, “some one that knows how to -keep his mouth shut. I’ve clean forgot all that business of the King of -Pingalap’s: the breech-loading cannon I promised him from Hudson’s, and -those damned guinea-fowls, and that cylinder for his musical box!” - -“Here’s one of your own men,” said Mears. “You know young Bence?” - -“Good God, that child!” cried the old man. “Didn’t I tell you I -wouldn’t have him?” - -“Pity you hadn’t spoken before,” said the broker, with surprise. “I -only signed his contract yesterday.” - -Old Bee regarded me sourly. - -“I don’t understand the joke,” he said. - -“Oh, come, come. He’s twenty-two if he’s a day,” said Mears, adding -four years to my age; “and as to being young, I dare say he’ll get over -it.” - -“What’s he done, that you’re so keen to get him off?” said Old Bee, -still eyeing me with strong disfavour. “However, as you have made it -your business to push him down my throat, I suppose I’ve got to bolt -him.” - -“He’d sue you like a shot if you didn’t,” said Mears. “With that -contract in his pocket he’s regularly got you in his power.” - -This view of the situation made even Old Bee smile, and caused Mears -to laugh outright. For me it was scarcely so entertaining; never in my -life had I felt so small or insignificant, though I plucked up courage -when the great man handed me his list and bade the broker count me out -sixty sovereigns. This showed that in some small measure I must have -won his good opinion, a conviction that was still further strengthened -by his departure, when, in the excitement and flurry of the moment, he -even shook me by the hand. - -A few days after this conversation I found myself at sea, a regularly -enrolled trader of the firm’s, and one of the after-guard of the -bark _Belle Mahone_, Captain Mins. We were bound, according to the -timehonoured formula, “for the island of Guam or any other port the -master may so direct.” I presume there are ships that actually do -go to Guam,--if, indeed, there be such a place at all,--but it has -never been my fate to come across one. Our Guam was like the rest, -a polite fiction to cover up our track and leave a veil of mystery -over our voyage. Besides John Cæsar Bibo, with whom I have already -made you acquainted, there were three others in our little company -astern. Captain Mins was a short, bullnecked man of fifty, with abrupt -manners and a singularly deliberate way of speech, due perhaps to some -impediment of the tongue. This lent to his utterance a gravity almost -judicial, and gave an added force to the contradiction which was his -only conversational counter. Jean Bonnichon, or “Frenchy,” as we called -him, was one of the firm’s traders returning to the Islands after a -brief holiday. He, like Mins, was short and thick-set, but with this -ended all resemblance between them. Bonnichon’s story was that he had -come of a wealthy family in Normandy; and it was indubitable (from the -papers he had in his possession) that he had served as an officer of -horse-artillery in the French army. What he had done to leave it no -one precisely knew, nor was our curiosity satisfied by the conflicting -explanations he himself was at pains to give. As a soldier of fortune -in the Old World, with the Turks, the Bulgarians, and finally with the -Arabs of Sus, he had sunk lower and lower, until he had come at last to -Australia, there to sink lower still. - -Six years of colonial life, followed by seven on the island of Apaiang, -had transformed Frenchy into one of those strange creatures without a -country. Under the heel of adversity the Frenchman had been completely -stamped out of him; only some fragments of the army officer remained; -the bulging chest, the loud, peremptory voice, the instant obedience -to any one he counted his superior. He annoyed Old Bee excessively by -leaping to his feet whenever our employer addressed him, a military -habit so ingrained that he was quite unable to break himself of it. -Intended for deference, its effect on John Cæsar (the most fidgety -and preoccupied of patriarchs) was to drive him into one of his -sudden tempers, when woe betide the man who dared to first address -him. Adam Babcock, a humble, silent creature, completed the number -of our mess. He was the mate of the ship, and took his meals alone -after we had quitted the table, a forlorn arrangement that is usual -in small vessels. He was so completely null in our life that I have -some difficulty in recollecting him at all. He had seen misfortunes, I -remember, and had certainly come down very much in the world, for he -was the only person aft who treated me with the least consideration. -On one occasion he even called me “sir,” and gave me a present of some -shells. - -With Frenchy I was soon on terms of shipboard acquaintance, but for the -others I might have been invisible, for all they ever noticed me. Old -Bee, for the matter of that, seldom spoke to any one, and the sight of -his bilious cheek would have daunted, I believe, the most incorrigible -bore in London. We saw little of him save at meal-times, for he was -perpetually busy in his cabin, adding up figures, or stamping on his -copying-book like a dancing dervish. I am at a loss to say what his -labours were all about; they were, and always have been, to me the -cause of unceasing amazement. I was not sorry, however, that Old Bee -kept so much to himself, for I feared him like the plague, and never -felt comfortable within the range of his bloodshot eyes. It fell to -Frenchy and the captain to keep the ball of conversation rolling, which -they did by disputing with each other on every topic that came up. Were -the captain, with some warmth, to make a statement, it was just as -certain to be met by Frenchy’s great horse-laugh and shrill, jeering -contradiction. They could agree on nothing, whether it was the origin -of the Russo-Turkish war or the way the natives cook devil-fish. No -provocation was too unimportant to set them at each other’s throats, no -slight too trivial to be ignored. - -Once, to my extreme embarrassment, they differed on the subject of -myself; the Frenchman saying that I was the type of young ne’er-do-well -under which the colony of Queensland was sinking; while the captain -just as vehemently persisted (for the time being only) that it was such -as I who had made the British Empire! The complimentary view of Captain -Mins’s made very little practical difference in his treatment of me, -which from the beginning had been marked by coldness and dislike. In -fact, I could not help perceiving, for all their wrangling and apparent -disagreement, that the pair were fast friends. It was I, not Frenchy, -who was the outsider on that ship. Indeed, I count some of those lonely -days on the _Belle Mahone_ as the very bitterest part of my life, and I -wished myself at home a thousand times. - -My only friend on board was Lum, the Chinese cook, whose circumstances -were so akin to mine that we were drawn together by a common instinct. -He, too, was condemned to solitude, having little in common with -our crew of Rotumah Islanders, who shunned him like a leper; while -I, as the reader knows, held a scarcely better position among the -after-guard. When his work was done, Lum and I used to smoke cigarettes -together under the lee of a boat, or, if it rained, within the stuffy -confines of his cabin next the galley. He was a mine of worldly wisdom, -for there was nothing he had not done or had not tried to do, from -piracy to acting on the stage; and he would unfold the tale of his -experiences with such drollery and artlessness that his society was to -me an endless entertainment. Poor Lum! there was little of the seamy -side of life he had not seen, scarcely a treachery he had not endured, -in the years he had followed the sea. - -Our first port was to be Lascom Island, an immense atoll which had -remained uninhabited until Bibo & Co. took possession of it in the -eighties. Their intention had been to extend its few cocoanut-palms -into one vast grove, and for this purpose they maintained a force -of half a dozen indentured labourers from Guadalcanar, who were -superintended by a white man named Stocker. It was for the purpose of -carrying this Stocker supplies and inspecting his year’s work that we -were here to make our first call. - -We reached the island late at night, and lay off and on till dawn. The -daylight showed me a narrow, bush-grown strip of unending sand, which -stretched in a great curve until lost to view beneath the horizon. As -far as the eye could reach, the breakers were thundering against the -huge horseshoe with a fury that made one sick to hear them. Of all -forsaken and desolate places it has ever been my lot to see, I search -my memory in vain for the match of Lascom Island. Once, however, that -we had opened its channel and made our hesitating way into the lagoon -beyond, I found more to please me. Skimming over the lake-like surface, -with every stitch drawing, and the captain in the crosstrees conning -the ship through the gleaming dangers that beset us on every hand, it -was indeed an experience not to be recalled without a thrill. We had -need of a lynx eye aloft, for the lagoon was thick with coral rocks, -and the channel, besides, was so tortuous and so cramped that one false -turn of a spoke would have torn our bottom out. - -I let myself down beside the dolphin-striker, and sat there above our -hissing bows, enjoying as I did so an extraordinary sense of danger -and exhilaration. At times it seemed to me as though we were sailing -through air, so transparent was the medium through which we moved, -so clear the tangled coral garden that lay below. From my perch I -contemplated the gradual unfolding of the little settlement towards -which we were tending: first of all a faint blur, which gradually -became transformed into a grove of cocoanuts; bits of white and brown -which resolved themselves into houses and sheds; a dark patch on the -lagoon shore that I made out to be a sort of pier; then, last of -all, the finished picture, in which there was nothing hid, or left -to the imagination to decipher. There was something most depressing -in the sight of this tiny village, with its faded whitewash, its -general appearance of lifelessness and decay, and above its roofs the -palm-tops bending like grass in the gusty breeze. Nothing stirred in -the profound shade; not a sound came forth to greet us; and, except for -a faint haze of smoke above one of the trees, we might have thought the -place abandoned. I remembered that Stocker was in likelihood planting -cocoanuts with his men, perhaps miles away on the wild sea-beach; in -my mind’s eye I could see him pursuing his monotonous vocation, a -miserable Crusoe toiling for a wage. My thoughts were still running in -some such channel when I was suddenly startled by the apparition of a -man who came running out of the shadow with a bundle in his arms. It -was a flag, which he fixed to the halyards of the staff and slowly ran -up. When it was half-mast high he twitched it loose, displaying the -British ensign upside down. Then, as I was still gazing at him, he made -fast the ropes and hurried down to the pier. - -Realising that something must be wrong on shore, I climbed back to the -deck and hastened to where Old Bee and Frenchy were standing aft. I -think the former must have seen the question on my lips, for he gave -me such a swift, angry look that I dared not open my mouth, but slunk -behind Frenchy in silence. He, the trader, must have just endured some -such rebuff himself, for he was in a frightful ill humour, and swore at -me when I tried to whisper in his ear. To learn anything from Babcock -was impossible, for he was jumping about the topgallant forecastle, -clearing the anchors and getting in the head-sails. When the vessel had -been brought to a standstill near a rusty buoy, a boat was cleared and -lowered, and we all got into it with alacrity: Old Bee, Mins, Frenchy, -and I, and a couple of hands to pull. - -We were met at the pier by some natives in singlets and dungaree -trousers, who gazed at us as solemnly as we gazed back at them. One -grizzled old fellow was spokesman for the rest,--Joe, they called -him,--and he told us, with a great deal of writhing (as though he -had pain in his inside), that Stocker was dead. He had died ten days -before, “of some kind of sickness,” as Joe called it; and lest we had -any doubt about it, we were pressed to walk up to Stocker’s house and -see for ourselves. For, fearing that they might subsequently be accused -of making away with him, they had left Stocker’s body untouched in the -bed where he had died. The fact was palpable enough before we had gone -a hundred yards in the direction of a little house, which from the -distance looked very quaint and pretty. But I forbore to follow the -others any further in the investigation they were obviously inclined to -make, and I struck off from them to examine the settlement alone. - -I have good reasons for thinking that it had been planned originally -for other purposes than that of merely sheltering a gang of indentured -labourers. It was to have been the entrepôt or hub of a huge South Sea -system, and from its central warehouses a whole empire of surrounding -groups was to have been supplied. Indeed, the whole project had so far -taken shape that large sheds had even been erected for the commerce -that was destined never to come, and commodious houses raised for the -managers and clerks whose contracts were still unwritten. I wandered -at will through those crumbling rooms, some of which had never been -occupied, though they were now in decay; and along the grassy street -on which they had been made to face. I found a battery of four small -cannon covering the approach from the pier; a dozen ship’s tanks -filled with rain-water (the only kind obtainable on the island); and -in a shuttered room I stumbled over a hundred Snyder rifles shining -in the dark. But what riveted my attention most was the interior -of a long, low warehouse full of wreckage. Here, in mouldering, -unsorted confusion, had been thrown all that a dozen years had seen -salvaged from the sea: binnacles, hatches, yards and canvas, old -steering-wheels, blocks, and strange tangles of gear and junk that -seemed scarcely worth the saving. Here were life-belts in the last -stages of rottenness; odds and ends of perished cargoes; barrels of -tallow; twisted drums of what had once been paint or varnish; some -cuddy-chairs of the folding kind; and a quantity of boards, barnacled -and water-worn. I must have spent the better part of an hour turning -over all this stuff, and in reconstructing in my mind the bygone ships -from which they had been taken; musing on the fate of those who had -once sailed them so unwisely that Lascom Island had been their final -port and its bursting seas their grave. - -When at last I emerged again into the open air, I perceived with relief -that our boat still lay beside the steps of the pier, for I had no -desire to be left alone on Lascom Island even for a single hour. I -counted for so little on board the ship that I had a panic fear that -they might go to sea again without me, and I accordingly returned to -the seamen who were smoking under the lee of a palm. We waited there a -long time before we were aroused by the sound of voices and the sight -of Old Bee and Frenchy walking slowly towards us. The old rogue looked -pale and agitated; he had his arm through Frenchy’s, and was speaking -to him with intense seriousness and a volubility quite unusual. He -seemed pleading with the trader, urging him apparently to something -distasteful, something that was perpetually negatived by Frenchy’s -bullet-head and his reiterated “No, sare; no, sare; it is eempossible.” - -“I’ll make it seventy-five a month,” quavered Bibo, “and all found.” - -Again the Frenchman shook his head. - -“Ask anysing else, sare,” he said; “but this, oh, no. But why not the -boy?” he added. - -“That young ass!” cried Old Bee. - -“I won’t stay here alone, if that’s what you mean,” said Frenchy. “But -if you’ll run down to Treachery Island and let me get a girl there, -I tell you, sare, I will do it for the seventy-five. But alone? Good -Lord! I’d follow Stocker in ze mont’.” - -Bibo groaned aloud. “It’ll take a day and a half to run down there, and -all of three to beat back,” he said; “and you might be a week getting a -girl.” - -Frenchy shrugged his shoulders. “Old Tom Ryegate’s there,” he said. -“He’ll do ze thing quick enough if I make it worth his while. They say, -too, that he’s in with the Samoan pastor there, Jimmy Upolu. Brice of -the _Wandering Minstrel_ told me he was at Treachery three years ago, -and picked up ze prettiest woman in the island for sixteen pounds. Told -me he gave four pounds to Tom, four to ze pastor, and the rest to ze -woman’s folks in trade. He was in such a damned rush he couldn’t wait -to cheapen things--just paid his money and went. But she was a tearing -fine piece, he said.” - -Old Bee hardly seemed to listen to him. “I suppose _you_ don’t care,” -he said bitterly, “but this business is going to put me two weeks -behind and maybe lose me the shell at Big Muggin. Of all cursed luck, -who ever had the match of it? First to last, this island has been -a millstone round my neck, one everlasting drain and bother. What -with the rats, and Charley Sansome’s D. T.’s, and the lawsuit with -Poppenheifer, and this business of Stocker’s, I tell you, Frenchy, -I’m clean sick of it. It’s just money, money, money all the time, and -I don’t believe I’ve ever made enough out of it to buy me a suit of -clothes!” - -He stopped speaking when he caught sight of me, and stepped down into -the boat without another word. Frenchy, too, said nothing as we pulled -back to the ship, but chewed at his mustache in a moody, impatient -way. But once on board, the captain was called below, and an animated -discussion ensued in the main cabin. Through the open skylight I could -not forbear overhearing a little of what was said, and I gathered that -Mins was joining with his employer in trying to persuade Frenchy to -remain on the island in Stocker’s place. At least, I caught Frenchy’s -explosive remonstrances, and half-jeering, half-angry efforts to -extricate himself from their snares. Apparently he succeeded only too -well, for Old Bee, somewhat half-heartedly, at last proposed Babcock’s -name. At this the captain himself was up in arms. Wasn’t he doing with -one white mate when he ought by rights to have two? Nothing would -induce him, he said, to surrender Babcock; nor would he, in such a -case, answer for the safety of the ship, nor for the insurance were she -lost. Then he turned the tables completely by proposing that Old Bee -himself should stop on the island! This was received by Frenchy with -a roar of laughter and a blow of his fist that shook the cabin. Old -Bee did not take it with the same good humour, but broke out furiously -that he might as well throw up the cruise at once. Mine, of course, -was the next name to come up, and Frenchy was sent to bring me before -the meeting. I am ashamed to think what a fool they must have thought -me, for instead of offering me the seventy-five dollars a month--not -that I would have taken the job for a million--Old Bee held out the -inducement of ten a week. From the manner in which he spoke to me, and -the bullying tone of his voice, it was not easy to gather whether I was -asked or ordered to go ashore in Stocker’s shoes; and it is my belief -that if I had knuckled down in the slightest he would have dropped the -first formula altogether. But I had overheard too much to be taken at -a disadvantage. Besides, I shrank from the proposal with every fibre -in my body, and was determined not to be put ashore except by force. -My repulsion was so unconcealed; and it was so plain that I could be -neither threatened nor cajoled; that more than once Frenchy burst out -with his great laugh, and even Mins smiled sourly at my vehemence. Old -Bee did not long persist in the attempt to override my resolution; he -had always taken an unflattering view of my capabilities, and even as -a planter of cocoanuts I had perhaps excited his distrust. Besides, I -would not do it. There was no getting over that! - -I was thankful at last to be dismissed, even at the price of a stinging -word or two. What were words in comparison with a year on Lascom -Island! I went and locked myself in my cabin, and blocked the door of -it with my trunk, so fearful was I that I might in some way be tricked -or dragged ashore. I dared not emerge until long after the anchor had -been weighed and the sails set, and even then I came out of my room -with the utmost caution. When I reached the deck, the settlement was -already far astern and the ship heading through the western passage for -the sea. Lum told me that we were running down to Treachery Island, and -gave me some hot bread and tea in the galley in place of the lunch I -had lost. - -I had read of South Sea paradises, but at Treachery Island I was soon -to see one for myself. After the desolate immensity of Lascom, it was -delightful to reach this tiny isle, with its lagoon no bigger than the -Serpentine and its general appearance of fertility and life. As we -ran close along its wooded shores, and saw the beehive houses in the -shade, and the people running out to wave a greeting to our passing -ship; as we saw the drawn-up boats, the little coral churches, and the -shimmering lagoon beyond, on which there was many a white sail dancing, -I thought I had never in all my life imagined any place more beautiful. -Nor did I think to change my mind when we hove to off a glorious -beach, and dropped the ladder for a score of smiling islanders to swarm -aboard. I loved the sight of their kindly faces after the sullen looks -that had so long been my portion; and my heart warmed towards them as -it might to some old and half-forgotten friends. - -When a boat was lowered, I kept close at the heels of Old Bee, Frenchy, -and the captain as they descended and took their places; and I followed -their example with so much assurance that it never occurred to any one -to say me nay. The captain swore at me for jumping on his foot, but -that was all the attention I received. Frenchy was the hero of the -hour, and his gay sash and tie and spotless ducks were the occasion -of many pleasantries at his expense. Even Old Bee condescended to -tease our beau on the subject of the future Mrs. Frenchy; and at the -home thrusts and innuendoes (not all of which I could understand) the -captain’s red face deepened into purple as he shook with laughter and -slapped his friend upon the back. Frenchy pretended not to like it, -and gave tit for tat in good earnest; but it was evident that he was -prodigiously pleased with himself and the others. With his chest thrown -out, his black brush of a mustache waxed to a point, and his military, -dandified air, Frenchy seemed more low, more indefinably offensive, -wicked, and dangerous than he had ever appeared to me before. - -Every one was in a high good humour when we reached the beach, where -special precautions had to be taken in order to spare Frenchy’s finery -the least contamination; and we were soon walking up together through -a crowd of islanders to the trader’s house. Tom Ryegate was there to -meet us, a benignant-looking old man with a plenitude of grey hair, -a watery blue eye, and a tell-tale tremor of his hands. A closer -inspection revealed the fact that Tom Ryegate was soaked and pickled in -gin, a circumstance which perhaps accounted for the depressing views -he took of life and for his somewhat snarling mode of address. When -the news had been passed, and Stocker’s demise talked over, with some -very unedifying reminiscences of the deceased’s peculiarities, the -conversation was brought gently round to the business in hand. - -But on the subject of girls Tom Ryegate was a broken reed. We might -be able to pick up a likely young woman, or we might not. “It all -depended,” he said, without adding on what. The fack was that things -wasn’t as they used to be on Treachery; the niggars had lost all -respeck for whites; it was money they cared for now, nothing but money. -It made old Tom Ryegate sick to think of it; it was all this missionary -coddling and putting ideas into their heads. Why, he remembered the -day when you could buy a ton of shell for a trade gun; when a white -man knew no law but what seemed good to him. But it was all changed -now; them days was passed for ever; the niggars had no more respeck for -whites: it was all money, all money. - -This dreary and unsatisfactory monologue was the preface to a recital -of all his recent troubles. Mrs. Captain Saxe had been kind enough to -bring him back his daughter Elsie. Captain Mins would remember his -little Elsie? No? Well, it didn’t much matter; howsomever, as he was -saying, she had been educated in the convent at Port Darwin--for an -island girl there was no better place than a convent (here’s luck, -gentlemen). She was sixteen, and that pretty and nice-behaved that he -almost cried when he saw her! And white? Why, you couldn’t have told -she was a quarter-carste, she was that white. At first they had got -along together very nicely, for she was no slouch of a girl, and could -cook and sew, and play her little piece on the zither in the evening, -and sing! Sing? Why, you just orter hear that girl sing! And to see her -kneel down at night and pray in her little shimmy, it made him feel -what a bad old feller he was--by God, it did--and so far to leeward of -everything decent and right. Well, well, it went along so far nigh six -months (drink hearty, gentlemen; Mr. Bibo, sir, here’s my respecks), -and he had no more thought of what was a-coming than a babe unborn. - -There was a half-carste here named Ned Forrest, who did a little -boat-building and traded a bit besides. Not a bad chap for a -half-carste, only he fancied himself overmuch, and thought because -he could read and drink square-face that he was as good as any white -man. It made him sick, the airs that feller put on at times. Imagine -his feelings, then, when this Forrest up and asked him one day for -permission to marry Elsie, and said a lot of rot about their being in -love with each other! Just animalism, that’s what he called it. His -Elsie, who had been bred up a lady in Port Darwin! Hadn’t he said that -the niggars were losing all respeck for whites? He booted the swine -off his verandah, that’s what he did, and he gave Elsie such a talking -to that she cried for three days afterwards. He thought she had had a -passing fancy for the swine, but he bade her remember her self-respeck -and just let out a few things about the feller to put her on her guard -like. But though she promised to give him up, she took it kind of hard. -He used often to find her crying and moping about the house, and, like -a fool, had thought little of it. He did think enough of it, however, -to go to Jimmy Upolu--that’s the Summoan native pastor here--to forbid -him to marry the pair if they had in mind any hanky-panky tricks. - -By God, it was well he did so, for what was his surprise to find -that Forrest had been trying to get round the pastor for that very -purpose--mending his boat, stepping a new mast in it, and lending -a hand generally with the church repairs. The pastor was a crafty -customer and had a considerable eye for the main chance, but he was a -sight too far in Tom’s debt to go against him. Tom had only to raise -his hand and Jimmy was as good as bounced off the island, for Jimmy’s -no pay, and a complaint at headquarters would settle his hash. So he -didn’t mince matters with Jimmy, but told him flat out that there must -be no marrying Elsie on the sly. - -That done, he gave the girl another dressing down. Pity he hadn’t -thrashed her, like he had often done her ma, but it wasn’t in flesh -and blood to lash your own daughter. So he let it go at that, and -arranged with Peter, the king, to run up some kind of a charge against -Ned Forrest, so that the next man-of-war might deport him. Luckily -Ned was a British subject, and it would have been strange if the navy -captain wouldn’t have taken the word of a responsible white merchant, -not to speak of the king’s and the missionary’s, against a dirty swine -of a half-carste. Howsomever, no man-of-war came,--they never do when -they’re wanted,--and things went on from bad to worse. - -One morning he awoke to find that Elsie had skipped out. Yes, by God, -gone with the half-carste! At first he couldn’t believe it; but when he -went off in a tearing rage to see the pastor, he found a crowd gathered -round the church door, all chattering at once, like niggars do. They -made way for him, and what do you think he saw on that door, so help -him? A regular proclamation in English and native, saying as how Elsie -Ryegate and Edward George Forrest had taken each other for husband and -wife, for better or worse, for sickness or sorrow, until death should -them part, and a lot of stuff besides about the pastor and the king -both refusing to perform the marriage ceremony. It was well written, -that he would allow, though it made him wild to read it. He tore it -down and put it into his pocket for evidence, and went on to see Jimmy -Upolu. Jimmy was in fits too, for if people got to marrying one another -in that church doorway, what would become of Jimmy’s fees? - -But though Jimmy could talk, he wasn’t much of a hand to do things. -What missionary niggar is? He wouldn’t hear of no trial, let alone a -little idea with a stick of dynamite. He could think of nothing better -than excommunication and talking _at_ him from the pulpit--a fat lot -he’d care for either, would Forrest! It seemed nothing could be done, -for without the pastor and the king where would be the use? A man had -to be keerful these days: the natives were losing all respeck for -whites, and them men-of-war fellers were as likely to take a niggar’s -word as his own. Wasn’t it sickening! Well, so it all ended in smoke, -and Elsie and Ned set up housekeeping together. He had never clapped -eyes on her but once, when she threw herself on her knees before him, -right there in the dirt, and said she’d die if he wouldn’t forgive her, -and please, wouldn’t he let the pastor marry her and Ned? It was a -tight place for a father--a father as doted on that girl. But a filthy -half-carste! Who could stomach such a swine for his daughter? He told -her he’d rather see her stretched dead at his feet; that’s what he -said, just like that, and walked on. It was hard, but a man must do -his dooty. That was the last he had seen of her--the last he wished to -see of her till she’d quit that feller. If she’d do that, his poor, -dishonoured girl, she’d never find her father’s door closed against -her; no, by God, it stood open for her night and day. - -I had become pretty tired of the old man and his daughter long before -he had reached the conclusion of his tale; but the others listened -readily enough, and seemed genuinely to commiserate him. Captain -Mins remarked in his slow, deliberate tones, that wherever you went, -half-castes were the same--all swine. And Old Bee said that he’d see -that the matter was properly represented to the next man-of-war that -came down that way. Frenchy went further and asked a whole raft of -questions; about the girl; about Forrest; about the island generally. -What sort of man might the king be? Oh, Peter was all right, was -he? Was this Forrest a stranger, or had he been born on the island? -A stranger. Well, he couldn’t have much of a poosh then--not many -_kowtubs_ to back him up in case of a row? And the missionary niggar -was square, was he? Old Tom hadn’t any picture of that there girl, had -he? So this didn’t do her justice, eh? Why, she was a perfect leetle -beauty. Frenchy held the photograph a long time in his hand, studying -it with close attention as he puffed at his cigarette. Finally tossing -it to one side, he looked earnestly at the floor, and drummed in an -undecided way with one foot. Then he stretched out his arms and gave a -great yawn. - -“Let’s me and you go for a promenade, sonny,” he said, addressing me. -“We don’t want to sit here all ze day, do we?” - -Once in the open air, however, his desire to walk seemed to vanish, for -he began to ask for Ned Forrest’s store, and offered a stick of tobacco -to any one that could guide us there. Pretty well the whole village did -that, and we were conducted in state to a wooden house near the lagoon, -about a mile distant from the spot where we had first landed. Frenchy -stood on no ceremony on going in, and I followed close behind him, much -less at my ease than my companion. It was dark within the house, and -the hum of a sewing-machine covered our approach; it was a minute or -two before we were discovered by the young girl we dimly saw at work, -who sprang up at last, with a little cry, and came towards us. - -Frenchy became suavity itself: begged Mrs. Forrest’s pardon for our -intrusion, but it was eempossible to reseest the pleasure of calling -upon a white lady. Might he have ze honour of acquainting her with hees -friend, Mr. Bence? - -The young lady, though somewhat fluttered by our unexpected visit, -betrayed no more than natural embarrassment. She begged us to be -seated, inquired the name of our vessel, and acquitted herself with -an ease and self-possession that few young white women could have -rivalled. It was we, indeed, Frenchy and I, who completely lost our -heads; for Tom Ryegate’s daughter was of such a captivating prettiness, -and her manners were at once so gentle, arch, and engaging, that we -could hardly forbear staring her out of countenance, or restrain our -admiration within the bounds of ordinary politeness. She was no darker -than a Spaniard, with sparkling eyes, and the most glorious black hair -in the world. Her girlish figure was not too well concealed by the -flimsy cotton dress in which we had surprised her, and it failed to -hide altogether her rich young beauty. From the top of her curly head -to the little naked feet she kept so anxiously beneath her gown, there -was not one feature to mar the rest, not a curve nor a dimple that one -would have wished to change. I cannot recall much of what we talked -about, though the picture of her there in that dark room is as vivid a -memory as any I have. We drank fresh cocoanuts, I remember; listened -to a cheap music-box; and looked at the photographs in an album. With -the practical gallantry of the Islands, Frenchy begged her to ask for -any favour that we had it in our power to grant. The whole ship, he -said, was at her deesposal. Was she sure that she needed nozing? Some -ear-rings? A bolt of silk? A really nice beet of lace he had intended -for the queen of Big Muggin? - -But she would accept nothing. You see, her husband did not like her to -take presents from white gentlemen. The supercargo of the _Lancashire -Lass_ had given her two pairs of shoes, and some goldfish in a bottle, -but Ned was much displeased. Ned said that people would talk and take -away her character; besides, it wasn’t for poor folks to have shoes and -goldfish. Ned was a very proud man and did not pretend to be what he -was not. She was still speaking when Ned himself unexpectedly appeared -at another door. Amid laughing explanations, we were made acquainted -with the head of the house, a big, shy half-caste, who welcomed us with -a tremendous hand-shake apiece. He was a powerful young man, and his -muscular throat and arms were still grimy with the blacksmithing at -which he had been engaged. I liked his unshrinking, honest look, and as -he turned his eyes on his beautiful wife there was in them something -of the tenderness and devotion of a dog’s. Elsie ordered the great -fellow about with a pretty imperiousness that only lovers use, and with -a peculiar softness of intonation that did not escape me. It made me -a little envious and heartsick to see this happiness in which I could -have no share, and I was almost glad at last when Frenchy rose to go. -Lifting her little hand to his lips, he begged her to please count him -her friend and serviteur to command, and regretted that the preessure -of affairs would preclude him from calling again before the ship -sailed. He had been so assiduous in his attentions to the young beauty -that I was at a loss to understand this sudden renunciation; but I put -it down to his common sense, which must have told him that in this -quarter his gallantry could only be wasted. Any one could see that our -pretty quarter-caste was head over heels in love with her own husband; -and however much she might laugh and talk with strangers, and enjoy -the impression her starry eyes indubitably produced, her heart, at -least, was in no uncertain keeping. It was just as much Ned Forrest’s -as the clothes upon her back or the house in which she lived. How I -envied him his prize as Frenchy and I walked back silently towards old -Tom’s, and saw the bark’s sails shining through the trees. I tried -to say something about the charming girl we had left, but Frenchy -hardly seemed to listen. For a long time he continued in a deep study, -puffing hard at his cigarette, and looking, as it appeared to me, more -than usually reckless and devil-may-care. We found the others exactly -where we had left them,--though not perhaps so sober,--and they haled -Frenchy in and bade him report himself, the square-face meanwhile -making another round. - -“What news of thy quest, O illustrious horse-soldier?” demanded the -captain, in his usual thick, loud voice--a little louder and a little -thicker for the gin. “Hast thou found a damsel to thy taste on this thy -servant’s isle?” - -“_Hein?_” said Frenchy, with a queer glance at me. - -“You must do something,” said Old Bee, “and do that something soon, -Frenchy my Bo, for I can’t stay here for ever at seven pound a day!” - -“Here’s luck!” said the gentleman thus addressed, raising his eyebrows -significantly over his glass. There must have been further interchange -of signals, for Bibo turned to me and in a very kind and flattering -way requested me to go back to the ship. The fact was, he said, that -it was not right to leave her altogether to Babcock, and it would -go far to lessen his own anxiety if there were another white man on -board. I ought to know pretty well by this time what Kanakas were -like, he continued, and how little the crew would care if they laid -the bark ashore or drowned her in a squall. He put it to me, he -said, as a personal favour to himself. To such a request I could, of -course, make but one answer, though it went sorely against the grain -for me to return again on board; the more especially when I found the -reliable Babcock snoring on a hatch. I had only to look from him to the -boatswain’s leathery, watchful face to realise how completely I had -been tricked. The ship was as safe under Johnny’s care as she would -have been in Brisbane harbour, and I could see that he was handling her -with the most admirable skill. My only complaint was that he acquitted -himself far too well, for in the humour that then possessed me I would -gladly have seen him pile her on the reef. - -It was hot on board, and the day seemed endless, so slowly did the -hours drag on. Three or four times the boat came off from shore and -returned again. At one time it brought out old Tom Ryegate, together -with our whole party, who at once went below. Afterwards they sent the -steward up for Johnny and two or three of the hands to come down. I -felt too sulky and ill used to pay much attention to all this coming -and going, though in the bottom of my heart I could not resist a -certain pang of curiosity. I doubted not that my companions were up to -some mischief, the nature of which I was at a loss to understand; but -the way they put their heads together was enough to inspire me with -alarm; and I did not like at all this calling in of the crew. I tried -to sound Johnny after they had pulled back to the settlement, but he -turned a deaf ear to me and pretended not to understand my questions. -I tried Lum with like ill success, finding him also (though from a -different reason) cross and uncommunicative. - -“White man all same devil,” he said, and went on kneading his dough. - -Supper-time came, and Babcock and I had the table to ourselves; he -was very garrulous and tiresome, and I suspect he had been nipping -on the sly, for he giggled a lot, and sometimes talked foolishly to -himself. Altogether I was sick of the ship and of Babcock and of my own -company; and when I came on deck after supper, and saw the shore lights -twinkling through the palms, and the torches of the fishers on the -roof, I felt I could no longer control my impatience. - -Slipping down the gangway, I signalled to one of the canoes that -hung about the ship, and a few minutes later I was landed for the -second time near old Tom Ryegate’s store. Needless to say, I gave it -a wide berth, for the last thing I wished was to run across any of my -shipmates. I was spied out by some little children playing tag in the -dark, who took me by the hands and led me about the settlement. I was -conducted into half a dozen houses, and given green nuts to drink, with -here and there a present of a hat or a mat or some pearl-shells. I do -not know how long I had been wandering about in this fashion--but it -must have been nearer two hours than one--when I was suddenly startled -by a roar of voices and a sound of scurrying feet. In an instant we -were all rushing in the direction of the noise, falling and stumbling -over one another in our excitement. At the church I found a crowd -assembled, buzzing like bees, and crushing frantically against the -unglazed windows for a sight of what was taking place within. I jostled -my way round to the door, where I was surprised to find our brawny -boatswain Johnny, together with several of our men, keeping the other -natives at bay. They would have kept me out, too, if they had dared, -but I pushed boldly past them and entered the building. - -It was all but empty. At the farther end, by the light of a tawdry -hanging lamp, I perceived that some sort of service or ceremony was -in progress, and I was thunderstruck to recognise in the little -congregation there assembled every member of the shore party. Old Bee -and the captain were standing on one side, the latter smoking a cigar -and spitting from time to time on the coral floor; next them, his -benignant hair all awry, was Tom Ryegate, leaning unsteadily against -the wall, and wiping his eyes on a trade handkerchief. A burly Kanaka -whom I had no difficulty in recognising as Jimmy Upolu, the native -pastor, was reciting something out of a book over the heads of Frenchy -and a woman, who both knelt before him. Frenchy’s costume had suffered -not a little since the morning; it was dirty and stained, and the -collar of his coat was torn half-way down his back, as though some one -had seized him there with a smutty hand. In an instant I seemed to see -the whole thing. I ran forward with my heart in my mouth, and even as I -did so there rose from the outside the strangled cry of a man, followed -by a scuffle and the noise of blows. - -The woman beside Frenchy sprang to her feet, and as she turned towards -me I recognised the ashen face of Elsie Ryegate. Frenchy caught her in -his arms, and swearing beneath his breath, forced her down again beside -him; while the pastor, not a whit abashed, rattled on briskly with the -service. - -He soon came to an end, closing his book with a flourish, as much as -to say the ceremony was over. Frenchy rose to his feet, still with one -arm round Elsie’s waist. - -“How much?” he asked. - -Then old Tom Ryegate came staggering up, boo-hooing like a great -baby. He wrung Frenchy’s hand; gave his daughter a slobbering kiss; -and broke out into a whole rigmarole of how pleased he was to see her -made an honest woman, by God, and married to a gentleman she could -respeck and look up to. The girl herself might have been dead, for all -the attention she paid to him or any one; but for Frenchy’s enfolding -arm, I believe she would have fallen to the ground, for she was stony -white, and shaking in a kind of chill. I could hear her teeth chatter, -while Frenchy haggled with the pastor, and the trader went on with his -endless gabble. - -We all moved out of the church together, old Tom Ryegate stumbling -along in the rear, making very poor weather of it in the dark. All at -once he went sprawling over something, and we could hear him cursing to -himself as he tried to get on his legs again. - -“Now’s our chance, gentlemen all,” cried the captain, and off we set -running for the beach, old Tom’s voice growing fainter and fainter -in our rear. We tumbled pell-mell into the boat that was waiting for -us, and shoved off into deep water amid a hullabaloo of laughter and -cheers. Far behind us we could still hear the old fellow calling and -swearing, and even when we drew up under the bark, I thought I could -yet detect the faint echo of his voice. All this time Elsie herself -had made no sound, and had submitted like a terror-stricken child to -be led where Frenchy wished. But when she felt her feet on the gangway -ladder, and saw above her head the tangled yards and rigging of the -ship, she must have realised all at once what fate had in store for -her, for she uttered a shuddering cry and began to sob. I stood up in -the boat; I tried to say something of what I felt; I remember I called -Frenchy a damned villain, and us no better for helping him. - -“Stop that row!” cried the captain, giving me a punch in the ribs that -made me gasp and turn sick. “I won’t have a word spoken against Mr. or -Mrs. Bonnichon, and if I catch you at it again, you young whelp, I’ll -lick you within an inch of your life. I won’t allow a mischief-maker -on my ship, nor a dirty scandal-monger. Just you remember that, young -gentleman.” - -I went up the gangway in silence, humiliated and rebellious, to spend -a sleepless night in plans of revenge. My heart seemed to burst with -a sense of my powerlessness, and I turned and turned on my pillow in -a fever. The morning found us beating up against a stiff trade-wind -and a heavy sea, and at breakfast the captain had more than once to -leave the table in order to see us through a squall. He and Old Bee -were the only persons at that meal except myself, but neither commented -on Frenchy’s absence or said a word about the events of yesterday. -Indeed, I don’t think they exchanged three remarks in all, and these -were about the weather. I could not help gazing from time to time at -the door of Frenchy’s state-room; and once, in so doing, I encountered -the captain’s baleful eye. I looked away hastily, and, I am ashamed -to add, I trembled. Frenchy made no appearance at lunch, but towards -three o’clock of the afternoon I saw him steal stealthily out and get -a bottle of whisky and some biscuits, and then close his door again on -our little world. I was struck afresh with his gross, evil look, and -shrank, as one might from a wild beast, at the very sight of him. - -The second day passed much as the first, though it found us lying -better up to windward. Frenchy still kept away from the table, and I -used to stare at his closed state-room door with an awful curiosity. -My two companions were, if anything, more glum and uncommunicative -than ever; and when I tried to draw out Babcock I found that his mouth -also had been sealed. He would give me only snapping answers, and was -painfully ill at ease in my presence. Lum had scalded himself twice -in the galley, and was in no conversational mood; and when I tried to -unbosom myself to him he cut me short with the remark that “white men -were all same devil.” - -We ran into Lascom in the morning of the third day, and by ten o’clock -were at anchor off the settlement. Babcock at once hoisted out eight or -nine tons of Frenchy’s stuff, most of it food for his year’s sojourn -on the island, together with a lot of mess pork and biscuits for -the Kanakas; and all hands were busy getting it into the whale-boat -alongside. The captain and Old Bee were sitting side by side on the top -of the house, the latter with a pocket full of papers and a portfolio -desk across his knee. They were laughing together, and Mins was holding -the ink-bottle in one hand. Lum was standing at the break of the poop, -peeling potatoes and watching his bread, which was spread out on the -hatch to rise. I could not stay still, but kept moving about in a state -of frightful agitation, for I knew that Elsie and the Frenchman must -soon appear. - -Suddenly I heard a half-smothered oath, the shattering of glass, the -rapid patter of naked feet. I turned, and there was Elsie Ryegate -poised on the ship’s rail, her black hair flying to the wind, her bare -arms outspread. She was over like a flash, and her feet had barely -touched the water when Frenchy leaped after her. We all shouted and ran -aft, the crew whooping like a pack of boys. The girl headed as straight -as an arrow for the shore, but she had not swum twenty strokes before -Frenchy was panting and blowing close behind her. Seeing, apparently, -that she could not hope to escape, she turned and seemed to resign -herself to capture. But as Frenchy tried to seize her by the hair, she -swiftly threw both her arms round his neck, and with a tragic look of -exultation she sank with him below. - -Down, down they went, the puddled green water showing them vaguely -beneath the surface, sometimes with a ghastly distinctness, sometimes -with strange distortions of feature and limb. They rose at last, still -struggling, still drowning each other, the girl’s arms clinched round -the man’s neck, he spluttering horribly and trying to strike at her -with his fist. Spellbound, we saw them sink again, their convulsed -faces almost touching, their bodies writhing in agony. Mins let out -a great roar and darted for the life-belt; there was a rush forward -to cast off the whaler in which Frenchy’s stuff was being lightered; -Old Bee screamed out, “Jump! jump!” to our boatswain, who was looking -on transfixed, pointing madly at the bubbles that kept rising to -the surface. Johnny made one step aft, and was just on the point of -vaulting over the rail when Lum caught him squarely round the waist -and held him like a vise. There was a short, violent struggle between -them, and the Chinaman went down with a crash under the Kanaka. But by -the time the latter was on his feet again the moment for his services -had passed, for Frenchy’s body, still locked in Elsie Ryegate’s arms, -drifted lifeless under our quarter. The captain pointed at it with an -awe-stricken finger, and signalled the whale-boat where to pull. - -The girl’s corpse was thrown on an old sail in the waist, and left -there, naked and dripping, for the crew to gape at; while Frenchy was -borne off by the captain, who, with streaming tears, worked over him -for an hour in the trade-room. When Lum and I had recovered our wits, -we drew the poor drowned creature into the galley, put hot bottles to -her feet, rubbed her icy body with our hands, and held her up between -us to the blazing fire. Lum blew into her mouth, worked her arms up -and down, and exhausted a thousand ingenuities to call her back to -life; but the little looking-glass he held so persistently to her -lips remained to the end untarnished by a breath. We were compelled at -last--though God knows how reluctantly--to give up all hope; and laying -her gently in the Chinaman’s berth, we covered her beautiful face. Then -I took occasion to ask Lum why he had prevented Johnny from diving -overboard--Johnny who was a powerful swimmer and certain to have saved -them. - -“More better she die,” he said; and then, with a dramatic gesture, he -pointed to the shore, and asked me in his broken English whether she -could have endured a year of it with that man. - -“More better she die,” he repeated, and regarded me with a deep -solemnity. - -There was not much dinner eaten that day, though one must needs be -cooked and served. I looked fearfully into the trade-room, and saw -Frenchy’s body stretched out on the counter, a towel drawn over his -swarthy face. Lum and I closed the galley doors, and smoked countless -cigarettes together in the semi-darkness, finding consolation in -one another’s company. The tragedy hung heavy upon us both; and the -knowledge that one of its victims lay but a yard away seemed to bring -death close to us all; so that we trembled for ourselves and sat near -together in a sort of horror. Towards three o’clock some one pounded -violently at the door, and on Lum’s unlocking it, we found ourselves -confronted by Johnny the boatswain. - -He told us bluntly he wanted the girl’s body, to bury it ashore. - -“Captain’s orders,” he said, with a nasty look at the Chinaman. - -“You make two hole?” queried Lum--“two grave?” - -“One, that’s all,” said Johnny, with a grin. “We bury them together, -you China fool.” - -“No, that you will not!” cried Lum, with a sudden flame in his almond -eyes. “You can bury Frenchy, but me and Bence make hole for the girl.” - -“No, you won’t,” cried Johnny, making a movement to force his way in; -but Lum caught up the cleaver, and stood there, looking so incensed and -defiant that the Kanaka was glad to move away. He went off, swearing -all kinds of things, and we saw him afterwards complaining angrily to -Old Bee. - -But the Chinaman was in a fighting humour. It would have taken more -than mere words to cow his spirit. He called me out on deck, and there, -between us, we got the dinghy off the beds and launched her alongside -the ship--without asking by your leave or anything--and pulled her -round to the gangway ladder. Then, as I held her fast with the -boat-hook, Lum went back, and reappeared a minute later with Elsie’s -corpse in his arms. Settling it carefully in the bottom of the boat, -her comely head resting on a bundle tied in yellow silk, the Chinaman -took one of the oars and bade me pull with the other. Even as I did so -I noticed the meat-cleaver bulging out his jumper and a six-shooter in -the hind pocket of his jeans. - -We headed for the shore about a mile above the settlement, and made a -landing in a shallow cove. My companion lifted out the girl’s body and -waded with it ashore, carrying the yellow bundle by his teeth like a -dog. I followed him in silence as he passed into the scrub and tramped -heavily towards the weather side of the island. We emerged on a wide -and glaring beach, on which, as far as the eye could reach, a furious -surf was thundering. Lum laid his burden down beneath the shade of a -palm, and set himself to dig a grave with the cleaver. As he toiled the -sweat rolled off him in great beads and his saturated clothes stuck to -him as though he had been soaked in water. Once or twice he rested, -wiping his hands and face on my handkerchief, and smoking the cigarette -I rolled for him. It must have been a couple of hours before the grave -was finished to his liking, for he was particular to have it deep and -well squared. Then he opened the little bundle that had served so long -for Elsie’s pillow, and took from it a roll of magenta-coloured silk, -some artificial flowers, a packet of sweet-smelling leaves, and a -number of red tissue-paper sheets printed with gilt Chinese characters. -The silk he used to partly cover the bottom of the grave; the flowers -and fragrant leaves were placed at the end where her head would lie; -and all being thus ready for her last bed, the two of us lowered her -sorrowfully into it. This done, Lum shrouded her in the remnant of the -silk, and we filled up the grave together, shovelling the sand in with -our hands. - -Lum took the pieces of red tissue-paper, and laid some on the ground -to mark the place, pinning a dozen more to the neighbouring shrubs -and trees, where they fluttered in the boisterous trade. Some got -away altogether and went scudding along the beach or out to sea, and -one blew high in the air like a kite. Lum watched them for a while in -silence, and then, with a sigh, turned about to recross the island. - -“A week ago she little thought this would be her end,” I said, half to -myself. - -I shall never forget the look Lum gave me. The self-reproach and shame -of it was too poignant for words. - -“I think you and me all same coward,” he said. - - - - -THE DEVIL’S WHITE MAN - - - - -THE DEVIL’S WHITE MAN - - -We were all lying on the floor of Letonu’s big house, Tautala and I -side by side, our heads both pillowed on the same bamboo. About us on -the mats the whole family lay outstretched in slumber, save little -Titi, who was droning on a jews’-harp, and my coxswain, George Leapai, -who was playing a game of draughts with the chief. The air was hot and -drowsy, and the lowered eaves let through streaks of burning sunshine, -outlining a sort of pattern on an old fellow who moaned occasionally in -his sleep. - -“In the White Country,” said Tautala, “didst thou ever happen to meet a -chief named Patsy?--a beautiful young man with sea-blue eyes and golden -hair?” - -“What was his other name?” I asked. - -Tautala could not recall it, the foreign stutter being so -unrememberable. Indeed, she doubted almost if she had ever heard -it. “We called him Patsy,” she said, “and he used to tell us he was -descended from a line of kings.” - -“Wasn’t it O’ something?” I inquired. - -No, she couldn’t remember. It was long ago, when she was a little child -and knew nothing; but she had loved Patsy, and it was a sad day to her -when the devil took him. - -“Tell me about it,” I said. “I have never heard that _tala_.” - -“Oh, it is a true story,” she said; “for was not my own sister Java -married to Patsy, and did I not see it all with my own eyes, from the -beginning even to the end? But thou must strengthen thyself to hear it, -for it is a tale of sadness.” - -“I will strive to bear it,” I replied. - -“Well, it was this way,” she began. “Many years ago a steamer reached -our bay, and it was neither a man-of-war, nor a trading-vessel, nor -a ship of pleasuring; and the hold of it was filled with nothing but -rope, miles and miles of rope, all of a single piece like a ball of -great string; nor was the least piece of it for sale; no, not even -though a ton of coprah were offered for a single fathom. The officers -of the ship were most agreeable people, and so polite that, except -for the colour of their skins, you would never think them white men -at all; and the captain gave my father his photograph, and made for -us a feast on board his ship, of sardines and tea, so that we were -soon very friendly together and almost like members of one family. -Then the captain begged my father’s permission to build a little house -on the edge of the bay, which was no sooner asked than done; for -behold, it was in measured pieces for the building. Farther inland, -near the old _vi_-tree, another house was raised, this also of boards -previously cut and prepared. Then the end of the big rope was carried -to the beach-house in a boat, and made fast to all manner of strange -_tongafiti_ within, some that ticked like clocks, and others that went -‘whir, whir,’ like a bird with a broken wing. Here, in the middle of it -all, a shining chair was prepared for Patsy to sit in and a big desk -for Patsy to write at. But to the inland house was brought his bed, -and countless cases of sardines and pea-soup, and all the many things -needed for the comfort and well-being of a white man. - -“When all was thus ready to the captain’s liking, he blew his whistle -and sailed out of the bay, leaving Patsy singly to take care of the end -of the big rope. This Patsy did with assiduity, so that there was never -a morning but found him sitting beside it, and seldom an afternoon or -evening he did not visit it at intervals. Sometimes the rope would -hold him there the whole night, saying without end, ‘click, click, -whir, whir,’ as its manner was, so that I would fall asleep with the -light of Patsy’s lamp in my eyes, and wake again at dawn to find it -still burning; and if we went down to the shore, as we often did at -first in our curiosity, we would see the white man lying asleep in his -chair, his cold pipe on the table beside him. People asked one another -the meaning of a rope so singular, and wondered ceaselessly as to the -nature of Patsy’s concern with it. From all the villages expeditions -came in crowded boats to behold the marvel with their own eyes, so that -they, too, might hear it say ‘click, click, whir, whir,’ as its manner -was, and stare the while at Patsy through the window. Songs were made -about the rope, some of them gay, others grave and beautiful, with -parables; it became a proverb hereabouts to say ‘as long as Patsy’s -rope,’ meaning a thing without end, as the perpetual crying of a -child, or the love of a maid for a man. - -“Thou must not think, Siosi, that Patsy was not often asked the reason -of his strange employment, and a thousand questions besides about the -wonderful rope; but at first he knew nothing of our language, and -when people would point at it and say, ‘click, click, whir, whir,’ in -mockery of what it uttered continually, Patsy would only smile and -repeat back to them, ‘click, click, whir, whir,’ so that nothing was -accomplished. But he was so gentle and well-mannered, and so generous -with his property, that one could hardly count him a white man at all; -and those who had at first mistrusted his presence in our village began -soon to love him like a relation. No music-box was sweeter than his -voice, and often on a moonlight night the whole village would gather -round his house to hear him sing, or to see him dance hornpipes on his -verandah. - -“One day, in a boat from Safotulafai, there arrived a native of this -island who had long been absent, sailing in the white men’s ships. This -man being, of course, familiar with the white stutter, it occurred to -Nehemiah the pastor (who had long been troubled by the matter of the -rope) that here, at last, was the means of learning the truth from -Patsy. Whereupon a meeting of the village chiefs was summoned in the -house of Nehemiah; and after a great deal of speech-making it was -determined to wait on Patsy in a body, Tomasi, the seaman, going with -them to interpret. - -“Patsy was at his usual place beside the big rope, smoking his pipe -and hearkening to the voice as it said ‘click, click, whir, whir,’ -as its manner was. My father, Letonu, was the first to speak; then -Nehemiah the pastor; Tomasi translating every word, as had been -previously agreed. They both asked for an explanation of the great -rope, and why it had been made fast to our island, and where it went to -underneath the sea, and the reason of its continually saying ‘click, -click, whir, whir.’ - -“Patsy took some thought to answer, and when at last he spoke, his -words overwhelmed every one with astonishment and fear. It seemed that -the devil was afraid that our village was becoming too good; for being -himself so busy in Tonga and Fiji and the White Country, he could not -give our place the proper oversight; and was mortified to see that -every Aunu’u dead person went straight to heaven. Thereupon he had run -this cable from hell, and had hired Patsy for a hundred dollars a month -to warn him when anything bad was happening. Patsy explained that the -great rope was like a dog: one pinched his tail here and he barked -there; thus signals were exchanged, as had been earlier agreed upon, -so that two barks meant A, and three meant B, and so on through the -_alafapeta_. - -“Then Nehemiah asked him in a trembling voice (for horror of the devil -was upon them all) how dared he serve the Evil One for the sake of a -few dollars this month and that, thus imperilling his own immortal -soul for ever. But Patsy answered that the White Country was cold and -barren, and fuller of men than our beach of grains of sand. He said -that the lands, such as they were, belonged only to a few, and those -who possessed none must needs seek a living where they could, or die of -hunger in the road. All this was borne out by Tomasi, who himself had -seen old white chieftainesses begging for food in the White Country, -and little children perishing unrelieved. Patsy said that when a man -was wanted to do a thing for hire, a hundred offered themselves only -to be turned away, so great was the misery of the White Country, so -mean the hearts of those who were rich. Whereupon, said Patsy, he had -been glad to take the devil’s money and do the devil’s work, for other -choice there was none. - -“Then said Letonu, my father, ‘Patsy, thou must leave the devil and -cease to do his bidding; and though we have no hundred dollars, we can -give thee, here in Aunu’u, everything else the heart of man desires: -_taro_, breadfruit, yams, pigs, _valo_, squid, and chickens, wild doves -in their season, and good fish for every day of the year; and I will -take thee to be my son, to live with me in my fine house and share with -me everything I possess.’ - -“But Patsy only shook his head, and the rope, seemingly terrified lest -it were about to lose him, began to click convulsively and without -ceasing. Patsy kept hearkening to it while he listened also to my -father, which he did with a divided face, like one hearing two voices -at once. He said he thanked my father very much for his kindness, but -the fact was, he liked the devil, who was now to him almost a member -of his own family, and unfailing with the money, one hundred dollars -this month and that. Then Nehemiah made another speech, full of piety -and warning, and thereupon finding that nothing could turn Patsy’s -rock-like heart, he rose slowly to his feet and led the party out of -doors. There a new discussion took place, the pastor proposing to kill -Patsy that night and burn down his house; my father resisting him and -saying that he would permit no harm to come to his friend the white -man, whether he belonged to the devil or not. - -“I don’t know how it was, but from the day of that meeting Patsy began -greatly to love my father, and half his time he spent in our house and -near him, so that the neighbours marvelled about it and were crazed -with envy. He gave my father a black coat to wear on Sundays, and -cartridges for his gun, and nightly they took lessons together in our -language, Letonu teaching him to say our words, while Patsy wrote them -down on a sheet of paper. Nehemiah preached against us in the church, -and would have stopped my father’s communion ticket, but Letonu said he -would shoot him, if he did, with both barrels of his gun. - -“One day my sister Java returned from Savalalo, where she had been -living in the family of my uncle. She was a girl beautiful to look at, -and so tall and graceful that there was not a young man in the village -but whose heart burned at the sight of her. Of them all Patsy alone -seemed not to care; and in the evenings, when his devil work was done -and he would romp with us on the mats or talk with my father about -foreign countries, he never had as much as a glance for my sister; -while she, on her side, treated him always with disdain, and often kept -away from the house when she knew him to be there. I think Patsy must -somehow have found this out, for one night he told us that he would -never come back again, as Java hated him; and he kissed us all, and -departed sorrowfully into the darkness. After that, when he was not -busy in the devil-house, he took long walks into the bush with his gun, -or sat solitary on his verandah, reading a book; at night he sang no -more, nor danced hornpipes, but read and read with a sad face, like a -person who mourned a relation. - -“We were angry with Java for having driven Patsy away, and told her -to go back to Savalalo and let us have our darling; but she seemed -not to care for what we said, and only answered that she hoped never -to see the devil’s white man again. My father, who loved Patsy, was -greatly vexed with her, though he said little at first, thinking that -our friend would soon return and that Java would grow ashamed. But when -day after day passed and he stayed away continually, my father talked -to Java with severity, and bade her go down to the devil-house and ask -Patsy’s pardon for her wickedness. She was very loath to obey, and only -went at last when Letonu threatened to send her lashed like a pig to a -pole, and pretended to call his young men together for that purpose. I -was told to go with her, for thou knowest our custom forbidding a young -girl to go anywhere alone, lest people should talk and take away her -reputation. But I felt sorry for Patsy as I walked behind my sister -down the path to his house, for she carried herself defiantly, and -there were tears of anger in her beautiful eyes. - -“We found Patsy sitting, as usual, in the devil-house, the great -rope tail clicking at his elbow with messages from hell; and though -he sprang up smiling when Java opened the door, I thought his face -looked sad and changed. She bade me stay outside, and as she seated -herself in Patsy’s chair and began to explain the errand on which she -had come, I could see that her lips were trembling. For a long time I -heard them talking in low voices, and then, growing weary of waiting, I -fell asleep on the warm door-step. I do not know how long I slept, but -when I at last awoke I could still hear the unceasing murmur of their -voices inside the room, sweet and soft, as of pigeons cooing in the -mountains. I turned the knob of the door and went in; and there, to my -astonishment, I beheld my sister in Patsy’s arms, her head buried in -his breast, her hands clasped thus about his neck, while he was talking -foolishly like a mother to her nursing child. At the sight of me they -sprang apart, laughing loudly like children at play; and when I asked -Java if she had given her message, they both laughed more than ever and -caught each other’s hands. - -“On our return, Java asked me to say nothing of what I had seen; and -told me, in answer to my questions, that Patsy had been secretly -breaking his heart for her, though she had never known it; and that -she, no less, had been delirious for the love of him. She said, too, -that he was the most beautiful man in the world, and wise and good -above all others, and that her love for him was so great that it almost -choked her. When I spoke doubtfully of the devil, she said that was -all a _pepelo_, a joke of Patsy’s; that the rope was what she called -a _telenafo_, which ran under the sea from one country to another, -telling the news of each. She said that Patsy had explained everything -to her, and had even shown her the little pots of thunder and lightning -with which the _telenafo_ was controlled. - -“It was not long after this that Patsy and Java were married by the -pastor Nehemiah, my father giving them a wedding feast the like of -which had never before been seen in Aunu’u, so innumerable were the -pigs, so gorgeous the fine mats and offerings. Java went to live in the -inland house, and wore a gold ring on her finger and new dresses every -day. Patsy gave her another sewing-machine in the place of the old one, -and a present of two chests for her clothes; and every day she ate -sardines and salt beef like a white person. At first she was pleased -with everything, and her face was always smiling with her happiness; -but as days grew on she began to tire of the white way,--which, as -thou knowest, Siosi, is relentless and unchanging,--and of the work, -which is continual. A daughter of a chief lives easily in Rakahanga, -and little is expected of her, for there are girls to wait on her and -men to do the heavy labour. Java grew sad in her elegant house, and -cared less and less to paint the stove with blacking and wash greasy -dishes all day, while the village maids were sporting in the lagoon or -fishing by torch-light on the reef. She opened her distressed heart to -Patsy, and old Ta’a was called in, at a monthly wage of three dollars, -to carry the burden of these unending tasks. But old Ta’a was a -busybody and a thief, and the lies she said with her tongue were worse -to be endured than even the loss of kerosene and rice which took place -continually. Every day something was taken, and when Patsy wondered and -complained, the old one said the fault was Java’s for giving to her -family like a delirious person. Were I to get a biscuit, the old one -changed it into six; and were Letonu to beg a little tea and sugar for -his cough, it became transformed in the telling into many basket-loads. -On the other side, Ta’a slowly embittered Java’s mind against her -husband, telling her that the marriage was no true marriage, and that -when Patsy saw a prettier face he would not scruple to cast her off. So -the old woman stayed on and thrived, like a fat maggot in a breadfruit, -while Java cried in secret and Patsy grew daily more downcast and -silent. - -“At last the storm burst which had so long been gathering, and the -little house that had been so joyful now shook with the sound of -quarrelling voices. Java took her golden ring and threw it on the -floor, and with it her golden comb, her much-prized ear-rings, and the -brooch which in years gone by had belonged to Patsy’s mother in the -White Country; she stripped off her dress, her shoes and stockings, -even the ribbon from her long black hair; and then, half naked, she -returned to our father’s house. - -“Letonu was, of course, much concerned, and went down immediately to -see Patsy in order to make things smooth again. But the white man was -sullen and proud, and would talk of nothing, except that Java could -do as she pleased, and that it was the same to him whether she stayed -or went. My father, who had been a handsome man in his youth and knew -the ways of women, urged Patsy a thousand times to make it up quickly -with his wife, telling him to put his arms round her and kiss her and -all would be well. ‘Thou mayest know much about the _telenafo_, and -how to keep thunder and lightning in pots,’ said my wise father, ‘but -assuredly, Patsy, thou art ignorant of the hearts of women.’ He told -him that Java was already repentant and ashamed, and, like a person on -the top of a high wall, a push would send her either way. But Patsy, -like a little sulky child, sat in his chair and refused to speak, while -Ta’a rattled the dishes and laughed sideways to herself. It was sad, -when my father returned, to see the look that Java gave him. Her hot -fit was already past, and her face was full of longing and sorrow; -and on his saying that nothing could be accomplished, she lay down on -a mat, and remained there all day like a sick person. She lay thus -for nearly a week; and if we asked her anything, she would only groan -and turn away her head. She was waiting for her man to come to her; -but to him there was no such intention; for he stayed shut up in the -devil-house, or wandered uselessly in the bush by himself. - -“At last she got up, more dead than living, so thin she was and -changed; and calling for food, she ate with the voracity of a starving -person; and then she bathed, and did her hair with flowers, and put -on the poor clothes she had worn as a maid. ‘Behold,’ she said, ‘I am -now one of the _aualuma_ and no longer married.’ And from that day -she who had been the most circumspect girl in the village, and the -best behaved, became swiftly a run-wild-in-the-bush, going everywhere -unattended, and sitting up with the young men at night, so that people -called her a _paumotu_, and her communion ticket was withdrawn. - -“Patsy never lacked for news of her down-going, for old Ta’a still -kept house for him; and no tale was ever told of Java but the old one -brought it to him, and more also, conceived by her lying heart. Patsy -never tried to see his wife or to do anything to bring about peace -between them; and if he passed her in the path he would turn away his -head, even if it were night, and she alone with another man. Once, -only, he showed that he still remembered her at all, at a time when she -was possessed of a devil and like to die; then he came to our house, -and felt her hands, and gave her medicines from a little box, and told -my father to do this and that. And when she grew better and able to sit -up, he sent us salt beef and sardines for her well-being. - -“Now it happened there belonged to Ta’a’s family a girl named Sina, a -thin, hungry piece with a canoe-nose like a white man’s, and a face -so unsightly that it resembled a pig’s; and if she went anywhere the -children would cry after her, ‘Pig-face, Pig-face!’ like that, so -that her name of Sina was forgotten, and even members of her family -called her unmindfully by the other. Compared to Java, who was tall -and beautiful like a daughter of chiefs, this little Sina was no more -than a half-grown child; and when she was stripped for bathing, behold, -you could count the ribs of her body. But Ta’a brought her every day -to Patsy’s house, so that by degrees he became accustomed to the -sight of her; and all the time the old one kept telling him that the -little Pig-face loved him--which, perhaps, indeed was true, for none -of our young men ever looked twice her way, except to laugh, and she -might have stayed out all night and no one would have thought to speak -against her character. Patsy was kind and gentle to her, as he was to -every one save poor Java; and the little Pig-face followed him like a -dog, and lay at his feet at night, while he read and read on his front -verandah. So slavish was her soul that she would have kissed his feet -if he had kicked her, and nothing pleased her so much as to sit beside -him when he slept and keep the flies from off his face. In the end, of -course, there happened that which Ta’a had long been planning: Patsy -took the little Pig-face to live with him, and pacified her father with -two kegs of beef and fifteen silver dollars. - -“When the news reached Java she was consumed with a frightful anger, -and spoke wildly and murderously, like a drunken white man, clinching -her fists and kicking with her legs. She set to sharpening a knife upon -a stone, and we saw that she meant to cut off the little Pig-face’s -nose; for, as thou knowest, Siosi, such is our custom here when one -woman wrongs another. She called together all the old ladies of the -family, and they took counsel with one another in a secret place, -arranging between them a scheme for Sina’s capture. But the little -Pig-face was cowardly beyond anything ever before known; she bathed -not, neither did she wash nor walk about, but lay all day, trembling -and noisome, at Patsy’s feet. Once, indeed, she was nearly caught, -when upward of a month had passed and she had grown careless in her -watching. In the middle of the night the house was set on fire, and as -the two rushed out in confusion, Sina was seized in the arms of a dozen -women. Had it not been for the darkness, which made seeing difficult, -her canoe-nose would have been swiftly lost to her; but for light they -had need to drag her to the burning house, she screaming the while like -a hundred pigs. Patsy knew instantly what was happening, and began to -fire his pistol in the air as he ran to his partner’s help, giving -no thought at all to his perishing house. It was well for the little -Pig-face that he did so, for the knife had already sunk below the skin, -and a twist would have left her noseless. - -“As for the house, it burned and burned until nothing was left of it, -though the most of what it held was carried out in safety. The next -morning Patsy moved everything down to the devil-house, making of it a -fort, with a high fence of wire all round, full of barbs and points for -the lacerating of flesh. And the little Pig-face, with her nose tied up -in cloths, ran this way and that, helping him with nails, while Java -and I lay in a hiding-place and counted her ribs. - -“Thou wouldst have thought that Java might now have rested in her -anger, for Patsy’s house was consumed and her rival had felt the sharp -edge of her knife. But there was no appeasing Java’s heart; and wicked -though she was herself, and misconducted, she still could not endure to -be supplanted by another. My father spoke to her with severity, saying -that she had done all that our custom demanded, and that there must -now be peace and forgetting. But the blood came hotly into her face, -and she answered not a word, nor made the least sign to obey Letonu’s -words. Then I saw with a certainty that the war with Sina, far from -being finished, was only just beginning; and my body quivered all over -with the fear of what was to come. - -“For a long time, however, Java did nothing, and went about as usual, -seeming to take no further thought. The old women of the family -returned to their ordinary occupations, and no longer lay banded in -places where Sina might pass. It would have mattered nothing if they -had, for the little Pig-face stuck to her house like a barnacle to a -rock; and except on Sundays, when she went to church between Patsy and -Ta’a, we never saw the least hair of her head. But Java knew of means -more potent than knives for the undoing of a worthless person, and -she sought out Malesa, the old wizard of Aleipata, to whom one went -ordinarily for love-philters and medicines. For a dollar he gave Java -a curse on a sheet of paper, and told her to nail it to the church -door on the following Sunday. This she did, to the great indignation -of Nehemiah and the elders, though to no purpose so far as concerned -the little Pig-face, who happened that day and all the Sundays after to -keep away from church, like a heathen in the Black Islands. For what -worth is a curse if thy enemy reads it not, nor goest even near the -door on which it is placed? Is it not like firing a bullet in the air, -hurting nothing? - -“So Java returned again to Malesa the wizard, and, for lack of better -gifts, she carried with her the sewing-machine she had possessed before -her marriage. But the old man said he must have more, and spoke like -one delirious, of a hundred dollars and a boat; and when she cried out, -he laid his skinny hand on her shoulder and looked a long time into -her eyes, and then turned the wheel of the sewing-machine to show that -it was broken. But Java’s heart was stronger than a man’s and full of -hatred; so instead of shrinking back, as most women would have done, -she told him boldly to name some other price, thinking, perhaps, to -give a finger, as Fetuao had done when her husband was perishing with -the measles. - -“‘Thy long, curly hair,’ said Tingelau, slowly, ‘and I will make of it -a head-dress for my son.’ - -“‘I will give thee that and more, also,’ said Java, with the tears in -her eyes, for there was to her nothing so beautiful as her hair. - -“Then, behold, a strange thing happened, for as she knelt before the -wizard and undid the knot of her hair, letting it tumble over her bosom -like a cascade, the old man touched it not with the scissors in his -hand, no, not even cutting so much as a single hair. - -“‘Java,’ he said, ‘thou art too beautiful to mar. Some other girl must -provide a head-dress for my son, and thou shalt return perfect as thou -camest; though I shall retain the sewing-machine for my pains, and -from time to time, without fail, thou shalt give me a silver dollar -until five be reached. And for this small, insignificant reward I shall -prepare thee a curse the like of which no wizard ever made before--a -curse which beside the other shall be as a man to a child, so that the -whole world shall tremble and the dead turn in their graves.’ - -“Accordingly, in three days my sister returned to Aleipata, where old -Malesa, faithful to his word, handed her the curse he had been so -assiduously preparing. Ah, Siosi, the reading of it was enough to make -one’s blood run cold, and palsy the hand that held the written sheet. -The little Pig-face was cursed outside and inside, in this world and -the next world, part by part, so that nothing was forgotten, even to -the lobes of her ears and the joints of her toes. There was nothing -of her but what was to be scorched with fire, torn away with pincers, -scratched, pierced, and destroyed with pointed sticks; lo, she would -scream for death while the sharks fought for her dismembering flesh and -squid sucked out her eyes, no one being at hand to give her the least -assistance. Java smiled as she read the curse aloud, and took counsel -with Tu, the brave and handsome, who had agreed to nail it to Patsy’s -door. - -“It was black night when Tu made the attempt, holding the paper in his -mouth like a dog as he climbed the scratching wall of wire. At every -moment Java and I expected to hear the explosion of a gun or some -sudden sound of awakening from within the devil-house; yet nothing -reached our ears but the beating of our own anxious hearts. After a -long while we heard Tu whispering in the darkness beside us, and our -first thought was that he had failed. But we were wrong, for Tu had -succeeded in every way, and that with the utmost secrecy and skill. -Then we went and lay behind a big bush about a hundred fathoms inland -of the house, so that we might see with advantage what was to happen in -the morning; and Java and I petted Tu, and talked to him sweetly, for -he had a brave heart, and his handsome body was everywhere torn with -the points of wire. - -“_Panga!_ Siosi, never was a dawn so slow to come as the one we then -waited for, nor any so bitter and chill. Our teeth clicked in our -heads, and though we lay closer together than a babe to its nursing -mother, or soldiers to one another in the bush, we nearly died with -the cold, like people in the White Country. When at last the sun rose -in a haze like that of blood and smoke commingled, we felt, indeed, -that the curse was already at work; for the air turned sultry beyond -all believing, so that we breathed suffocatingly, and endured the -taste of matches in our throats and mouths. Tu said prayers--very -good prayers and long, which he had learned in the missionary college -before he had been expelled; all of them about the beauty of holiness -and well-doing. But Java attended to none of these things, nor seemed -to care whether we ourselves lived or died, for her eyes were ever on -Patsy’s house. - -“Patsy himself was the first to come out, leaving the door open behind -him, so that the curse was unluckily hidden from his view. He had clubs -in his hands, which he twirled in the air as his manner was every -morning for the strengthening of his arms. After a few movements he -called out to the little Pig-face, saying, ‘Sina, Sina,’ like that. -‘Come out to thy work, thou idle one.’ Thereupon she too appeared, -rubbing her eyes, and in her hands were two clubs like those of -Patsy’s. But instead of leaving open the door, as her partner had done, -she closed it with a push of her hand, and lo, the curse shone white -upon it like a splash of lime on a dark cloth. At the sight of it she -shrieked to Patsy, and together, side by side, they read what was there -written, clinging to each other with fainting hearts. - -“When Patsy had read it to an end, he uttered a great, mocking laugh, -and struck the paper with his club, so that the whole house shook, and -old Ta’a came tumbling out like a scared rat. Then he laughed again -until the whole bay reëchoed round, and every time he laughed his -voice grew more shrill and screaming, like that of a woman in a fit. -But there was no laughter at all in the little Pig-face, who went and -lay down in the sand, hiding her eyes with her hands. And old Ta’a, -the thief, the evil-hearted, the out-islander, she tore down the curse -with derisive shoutings, and danced on it a shameful dance which is -prohibited by the church. But for all that, we could see that she and -Patsy were greatly discountenanced, as well they might have been; for -who could read such a curse without trembling, or regard with calm -the smoky air now thick with the smell of matches? As for the little -Pig-face, she was helped inside the house like a drowning person from -the sea, for her legs would no longer carry her, and she could not -breathe for very terror. The clubs were left untouched where they had -fallen; and when Patsy and Ta’a had carried Sina into the devil-house -they shut the door and locked themselves within. - -“I don’t know how long it was after this that we lay still spying from -our _ti’a_, but it seemed to me like the space of many hours. For my -part, I should have gladly returned home, for I was gnawed with hunger, -and stiff with the cold night watching; so also was Tu, who spoke -piteously of his love for Java, and how it might be the means, through -this lawless dabbling with the unseen world, of cutting him off in his -prime. But so rock-like was Java’s heart, so fierce the flame of her -revenge, that she had no compassion for this beautiful young man, nor a -single word for the comfort of his spirit. With her burning eyes fixed -on Patsy’s house, she lay motionless on the ground like a dead person, -her only thought to see the curse accomplished. - -“Suddenly we were startled by a peal of thunder; low at first, and then -tumultuously rising, which, with repeated explosions like those of -cannon, seemed to shake the island to its bottommost roots. We jumped -to our feet, clinging wildly to one another, while the earth shook -under us like the sea, and the skies above were rent with a thousand -burstings. Even as we stood there, swaying and horror-stricken, I felt -Java’s fingers tighten on my arm and heard her voice in my ear, crying, -‘Look, look!’ And behold! what did I see but Patsy’s house rising in -the air and darting seaward at the tail of the great rope, which, -hand over fist, the devil was now pulling in from hell. The rope was -covered with long, green sea-grass, and all manner of curious shells, -which sparkled and twisted in the sun; and it went thus in jumps, like -the crackling of a mighty whip; and with every jerk the house skimmed -forward like a boatswain-bird, showing us at a broken window the faces -of the accursed, who with frenzied movements climbed the one above the -other, striving to escape like a tangle of worms in a pot, each one -pushing away the other, until at last the water closed over them all. -And from that day to this, Siosi, nothing has ever been seen of Ta’a, -nor of Sina, nor of the devil’s white man.” - - - - -THE PHANTOM CITY - - - - -THE PHANTOM CITY - - -“God has sent you to the right place here,” said Father Studby, -solemnly, to the lay brother. “Life in Lauli’i flows in the same -channel, day by day, year by year, so that we wonder to grow old and -are surprised to see our changing faces in the glass. When we think, -it is of the goodness of God; when we fear, it is for the sick or for -the machinations of the Evil One. Our little bay is a monastery, remote -from all the passions and fevers of mankind; and the people we live -among are pleasant children, naïve, gay, and pious.” - -“You must not consider me a sick man,” said Brother Michael, with -his dark smile. “I am worn out with teaching, and the hot bustle of -Nukualofa. The doctor said I needed rest, that I needed peace and fresh -air, and the bishop has sent me here to get them.” - -“In Nukualofa,” said the old priest, who entertained a partisan’s -contempt for the neighbouring island, “in Nukualofa they do not know -the meaning of those words. They exist in a frenzy of excitement, -amid the intrigues of three conflicting nationalities; one’s ear is -dinned with rumours; and one wearies with the very names of consuls and -captains. One cannot take a walk without beholding a fresh proclamation -on a cocoanut-tree, or turn round without offending some preposterous -regulation. The natives wear trousers and drink whisky; they model -themselves on the dissolute whites set over them, and degenerate as -rapidly as their masters.” - -“I never could see what people found to like in the natives,” said the -lay brother. “I dare say they are good enough in their way, and fill a -necessary place in the world, but to me they are greasy and offensive.” - -“Ah, but you have never seen the true Samoan,” exclaimed the priest. -“Here it is so different from Nukualofa. Here our people are better -born; here they are self-respecting, honest, and kind; here you will -see at once an astonishing contrast to those you have left.” - -Once launched on his favourite topic, the superiority of Lauli’i to -all the villages of the group, the old missionary knew not when to -stop, and his interminable tongue ran on in an unceasing harangue. The -new-comer listened with a sort of detachment, as he might have done -to some strange parrot screaming in a zoo, assenting by perfunctory -nods to that long tale of Samoan virtue, religion, and generosity. His -black eyes ranged about the room and through the open window at its -back, where, within a distance of a dozen yards, a little church half -barred the vista of peaks and forest. Still talking, Father Studby led -him away to see it, this scene of his professional life which had been -raised, stone upon stone, by his own assiduous hands. The lay brother -was shown the altar, with its artless decoration of tissue-paper -flowers; the pulpit inlaid with pearl-shell; the sacramental vessels -in their wrappings of tapa-cloth. The father seated himself at a crazy -harmonium, which was planted on the sandy floor like some derelict cast -up by the sea, and ran his fingers over the yellow keys. He played, -after a manner, with considerable skill and vivacity, his preference -being for the sentimental ballads of his youth, and the dance-music -which had then been in fashion. It was strange to hear these old -waltzes, so long dead and forgotten, coming to life again in that -darkened chapel and from the hands of such a player. The lay brother -leaned against an open window, from which there was a wonderful view -of wooded mountains half screened in mist, and sighed moodily as he -gazed about him. Under the spell of those swaying measures, his heart -returned to the Australian plains where he had been born, and he felt -himself, indeed, an exile. - -On leaving the church, the father took him on a little tour of the -garden: showed him the cemented oven where the bread was baked, the -roofed-in spring, the hives, the cow, the imported cock, everything, in -fact, down to the grindstone and the rusty scythe. - -Michael followed as in duty bound; asked the proper questions; showed -everywhere a becoming interest; endured it all with propriety. He -asked his host many questions, some of them the inspiration of mere -politeness, such as the best food for chickens, and the precautions to -be taken in handling bees; others, in which he seemed more genuinely -concerned, as to the nature of the inland country and its resources. -He was surprised to hear that the island had only once been crossed -by whites; he was impatient of the priest’s statement that it did not -greatly matter, as the natives suffered in social consideration by -living too far from the sea, and were, besides, better off for the fish -it afforded and the easy means of communication. - -“There are other things in Samoa besides Samoans,” exclaimed Brother -Michael, with a disdain that he could but ill conceal. “Here is an -island scarcely forty miles wide, which apparently has only once -been crossed in the memory of living man. Why, the thing stirs the -imagination; it makes the blood tingle in one’s veins; it makes one -speculate on a thousand possibilities. In those secluded depths there -may be the ruins of ancient cities; mouldering tombs covered with -hieroglyphs; perhaps even another race still surviving in those inner -valleys! There may be whole forests of sandalwood, beds of fine coal, -deposits of rich ores. Who knows, but there may be gold!” - -Father Studby crossed himself. - -“God forbid,” he said. - -“You must remember,” he went on, “that every village has some -knowledge of the land behind it, and if you could combine what they -know you would find that the interior is not such a mystery as you -imagine; though, of course, there may be tracts which have never yet -been penetrated by a white man. At one time and another I have been -many miles inland of Lauli’i, but I never got so far but what every -gully had a name, every acre an owner. Why our people should dispute -among themselves for such blocks of worthless forest and rock is a -thing beyond my comprehension; but as a matter of fact they do attach -an inordinate value to them, and it would astound you to find how -exactly the boundaries are remembered.” - -“You interest me immensely,” said the lay brother. “I see that you can -tell me everything I want to know, and I congratulate myself again that -my lucky star has brought me to your door. In Nukualofa they could not -answer half my questions.” - -“In Nukualofa,” said Father Studby, bitterly, “they know nothing,--less -than nothing,--for they mislead you and tell you lies. The natives -there, besides, are of a low stock, interbred with out-islanders and -without an ancestry among them. You will look in vain for such a man -as our Maunga, who goes back seventeen generations to the legendary -Fasito’o, or a family such as the Sā; Satupaialā;, who have what you -might almost call a special language of their own. They die, they spit, -they moor a boat, they steal breadfruit, they commit adultery, all in -different words from those commonly employed. It has been my pleasure, -you might almost call it my folly, to absorb myself in such studies. I -am afraid you will find me nothing more than an old Kanaka pundit, with -my cracked head full of legends and ancient songs.” - -The priest saw very little of his guest, who followed the doctor’s -prescription of fresh air with a literalness that made him almost -a stranger in the house. Every morning, after participating in the -service in the little church, Brother Michael would take his gun -and disappear for the day, returning at sundown with what pigeons he -had shot, and an appetite that played havoc with his host’s frugal -housekeeping. He would eat a pound of meat at a sitting, make way -with an entire loaf of bread, and thought nothing of helping himself -four times to marmalade, in spite of the father’s disapproving looks, -and the calculated contrast of his bare plate. In the light of that -frightful inroad on his provisions, Father Studby’s good opinion of the -stranger began to change into a sentiment approaching aversion, and it -seemed to him an added injury that the young man would no longer eat -his own pigeons, insisting, with gross self-indulgence, on an unending -succession of chicken, ham, and costly preserves. He said that _taro_ -gave him heartburn, evoked the physician’s ban on all native food, -and demanded, on the same shadowy authority, a daily ration of brandy -from the father’s slender stock. It was hard on the old missionary, -who was abstemious to a degree and seldom allowed himself the comfort -of a dram, to pour his liquor down that insatiable throat, and be -condemned to hold the bottle, while the other smacked his lips like a -beach-comber in a bar, in no wise ashamed to drink alone. The bottle, -too, until it was placed under lock and key, showed a tendency to -decline unduly, and even biscuit and sardines were not exempt from a -similar and no less exasperating shrinkage. And then, in his religious -exercises the lay brother betrayed a disheartening coldness, and what -spiritual fire had ever been in him seemed smothered over with torpor -and indifference. His vocation meant no more to him than a means to -live. He yawned at mass, nodded intermittently through the priest’s -interminable sermons, and when it was proposed that he should take -temporary charge of the school he did not hesitate for a moment to -refuse. - -Of course, a word to Nukualofa would have speedily rid Father Studby -of his guest; he had only to write, to expostulate, and the thing -was done. More than once, under the influence of some particular -indignation, he had set himself to the task. But he had never got -beyond the first few lines before his natural generosity reasserted -itself. Who was he, that he should make himself the young man’s judge; -that he should help, perhaps, to mar prospects none too bright, and -throw the last stone at one already tottering to his fall? Besides, -were the grounds of his objection as sincere as he imagined? Was he -not meanly condemning the lay brother for his appetite, for the hole -that he was making in that dwindling larder, rather than for his lack -of religious conviction which at times seemed so shocking? After -all, was it not natural for a young man to eat well, to help himself -unchecked to marmalade, to devour expensive tinned meats like a wolf? -It was the result of those immense walks, ordered by the doctor, to -which Michael so assiduously applied himself. Was there not something -even admirable in so strict an obedience to hygiene, especially in one -constitutionally slothful and self-indulgent? - -One afternoon Michael returned from his walk in a state of high -excitement. His black eyes were burning, and for once, contrary to -his usual habit, he was extraordinarily noisy and talkative. He kept -breaking out into wild laughter, even when not a word was said, and -seemed to possess, buried somewhere within him, the secret of an -unextinguishable entertainment. Instead of dozing after supper in his -chair, he grew, if anything, wider awake than ever, and his hilarity -continued with a kind of violence. Father Studby was carried off his -feet by that wave of gaiety; he felt the contagion of that singular -fever which had so transformed his companion; he, too, laughed at -nothing, and found himself talking with an animation that he could -not remember to have displayed for years. But with it all he had -an unaccountable sense of suspicion, of being on his guard against -something, he knew not what, of some pitfall yawning for his unwary -feet. He felt that he was watched; that those strange, mocking eyes -of his companion were mutely tempting him to evil; at times he almost -wondered whether the dark lay brother were not the devil himself. - -The young man’s talk was rambling and inconsequent, a mere rattle of -autobiography, punctuated with laughter. He had much to say of his -college days; his penury; his struggles; his shabby makeshifts; the -pranks he and his companions had played on the professors. He roared -as he recalled them, and hammered the table with his fist. He spoke of -his mother and her hard life; the ne’er-do-well father; the brother -that drank; the sister with the hip disease. And from that again to -the price of native land, the way to secure good titles, the need, as -he had been told, to buy the same property from a dozen conflicting -owners. Then he broke out about the power of money, the unlimited power -of money, the lawlessness of money in unprincipled hands; the way it -could buy everything the world had to offer, social position, beautiful -women, the entrée to great houses. With money, what could a man ask -for in vain! In this world, he meant, of course--in this world. In the -next, thank God, it would be different; the rich would pay through -the nose then for their pleasures. But some of them perhaps would not -repent it; the most would be as bad again, if only the chance were -offered; the dogs would return to their vomit. - -Father Studby listened to these confidences with amazement; they -depressed and angered him unspeakably; they seemed to disclose in his -companion a cynicism and a moral deficiency that he had not previously -suspected. He felt, too, as he had never felt before, the full -horror of that brutal civilisation, so merciless, so inexorable, its -obliterating march whitened with the bones of thousands; everything -with its price, even to the honour of shrinking women and the corpses -of the dead. If you had no money the wheels rolled over you; if you -had no money you sank and died. There was no one to help, no one to -pity; all were scrambling horribly to save themselves on the shoulders -of those below. What a contrast to the calm of that Samoan life, -primitive, kindly, and religious, in which accursed money was unknown! -He was led to declaim hotly on the high breeding and chivalry of -these misjudged people, and protested that they had more to teach than -to learn. Where, he demanded of the lay brother, could one find such -hearts as these? where such brave men and compassionate women? where -else a land with neither rich nor poor? Here, if one starved, all -starved; here, if need be, the last banana was divided into a hundred -pieces; here they would all take shame if a single child went hungry. - -The old priest went on and on with his tale of Samoan virtue, of Samoan -superiority. God had never made such a people; there was in them the -seed that would regenerate the world. There was nothing in which they -did not excel. He carried his reluctant hearer into the mazes of native -poetry; he repeated hundreds of lines in his resounding voice, blowing -out clouds of tobacco smoke between each stanza. Where, he asked, were -the whites who could match such things as these; who could bring the -tears to your eyes or convulse you with laughter at will? He would -repeat that last verse, if his companion did not mind; it described how -To, wandering on the sea-shore at dawn, met Tingalau returning from his -fishing, and led on to twenty stanzas more of what To said to Tingalau, -and Tingalau to To! - -Michael lay back in his chair, scarce heeding the soft gibberish -that to him meant nothing. He was living in a tumult of his own -thoughts--thoughts in which Kanaka poetry had no part, though the -priest himself was sometimes present, but whether as a friend or foe -he could not yet determine; and while he wondered and conjectured the -old man himself seemed to disappear in his own smoke, until nothing -remained of him but a faint, passionate buzzing, like that of a -bumblebee in a field. - -The next day Michael was up and gone before daybreak, and the little -service in the church proceeded for once without him. The father was -vexed at such remissness, and tolled the bell with pious indignation. -Was the young man no better than a heathen, thus to scamp God’s morning -hour--to attend so grossly to the fleshly needs and let the soul go -wanting? Depend upon it, he had not left without something to stay his -stomach, though God’s claim on him might wait. The priest turned a cold -face to his guest when the latter returned at dusk with the invariable -pigeons in his hand. But Michael was too tired to notice these altered -looks, nor did he seem concerned when at last his delinquency was -pointed out to him in no uncertain words. His church, he answered, -with mocking defiance, his church was in the woods, at the foot of a -towering banyan, or in some dim recess beside a stream; he knelt when -the impulse came to him, like some primitive monk wandering with God in -the wilds. The priest received this explanation with a dubious silence; -he was not at all satisfied with its truth, and yet scarcely knew what -to reply, feeling himself helpless and outwitted. He was almost glad -that the pigeons, still lying on the floor, gave him an obvious excuse -to leave the room. - -“The chief has done well to-day,” he said to Ngalo, his servant. - -The boy laughed. - -“Excellency,” he said, “the Helper does not shoot these pigeons. He -buys them for sixpences from our people.” - -“Impossible!” cried the old man. “Thou talkest like a delirious person.” - -“Excellency,” said the boy, “saving thy presence, the Helper lies. -Behold in this pigeon the truth of what I say. Does the chief use -gravel in his gun, like a Samoan, to whom there is no lead?” - -“Perhaps he does,” said the priest. “Such a thing had not occurred to -me.” - -“Perhaps he does _not_,” exclaimed Ngalo, meaningly. “On Tuesday he -bought eight birds of my mother’s brother’s son; one was scented and -had to be thrown away.” - -“Ngalo,” cried the priest, with a sudden change of tone, “is there a -woman in this hidden business? Is there gossip in the village?” - -Ngalo shook his head. - -“He is blameless of such an evil,” he said. “But the village talks -continually, and the people ask, ‘What does the Helper in the bush?’” - -Father Studby breathed a great sigh of relief. - -“He walks about,” he explained, “this way and that, according to the -command of the wise doctor in Nukualofa. The peace refreshes him and -makes him well. I, too, in my youth, used to wander in the mountains -and find consolation.” - -Ngalo’s face showed that he had more to tell. - -“The Helper does strange things,” he said. “He goes along, even as you -say, through the village and the outlying plantations like an uncaring -child, with no purpose in what it does. But when he reaches a certain -_ifi_-tree on the land we call Lefoa, behold, all is changed. He stops, -he looks about, he listens assiduously like a warrior on the outpost. -Then he puts his gun in a hidden place, and with it his shot-bottle and -his powder-bottle; then he girds up his dress to the knee, and runs -into the bush with the swiftness of a dog. When he returns, late in the -afternoon, it is with the same quickness until the tree is reached. -There he takes breath, composes himself, and with slow steps returns -seaward buying what pigeons he can on the road.” - -“Well, and what else, Mr. Make-the-News?” demanded the father, as Ngalo -hesitated. - -“There are those in the village who know nothing,” he went on, “mere -worthless heathen of no family, without consideration or land of -their own, living meanly like slaves on the bounty of others, who say -strenuously, with the persistency of barking dogs, that the Helper is -under the spell of Saumaiafe!” - -The priest stamped his foot with anger. Was that superstition never -to die? Saumaiafe, the fabled witch, who, in the guise of a beautiful -woman, lured men to ruin in the bush! Saumaiafe, that intolerable -myth with which he had been combating for more than eighteen years! -Saumaiafe! - -“Thou art a fool!” he cried. “You are all fools. Sometimes I feel as -though I had spent my life in vain. I, too, was a fool to ever think -you teachable.” - -“Your Excellency is right,” said Ngalo. “It is an unendurable village -altogether, and ignorant beyond anything before conceived. Indeed, so -weak are men’s hearts in this matter of Saumaiafe and the Helper that -none now go into the bush, even those who are distressed for bamboo, or -for red clay with which to beautify their hair.” - -The priest turned away without a word. He was almost inclined to laugh -as he went back to the other room, and to tell the lay brother the -commotion his actions had excited. But the sight of Michael’s face -somehow daunted him; those suspicious, bloodshot eyes suggested dangers -that he was at a loss to name. He remembered the hiding of the gun; -the strange deceit about the pigeons; he seemed to see the young man -kilting up his cassock and plunging furtively into the dark forest. -What did it all mean? he asked himself again and again. Mercy of God, -what did it mean? - -That night he slept but little. He tossed on his hot bed, and whether -he lay on this side or on that, the same question dinned in his ears -without cessation. He was tortured by thoughts of hidden wickedness in -the bush; mysteries of evil in rocky defiles, in caves beside great -waterfalls. He rose and went out into the starlight, reproaching -himself for his foolishness; and even as he did so, Brother Michael’s -even breathing thrilled on his ears like a vindication. When all was -said, what was it that he feared for the young man? What could an -old priest fear but the one thing--a woman? And what woman, he asked -himself, however dissolute or abandoned, would venture alone into those -haunted woods? He could trust superstition to keep the wickedest from -such a course. Had he indeed become such an old Kanaka, that even he, -Father Studby, was to credit the existence of the witch, roving in her -naked beauty, a peril to white lay brothers? Perish the thought, so -degrading and childish! Assuredly it was not Saumaiafe he had to fear. - -He got to bed again, and waited with open eyes for the approach of day. -As the cocks began to crow, he heard, with a sudden sinking of the -heart, the sound of the lay brother stirring in the next room; heard -him dress and go stealthily out, shaking the verandah under his heavy -tread. - -Mercy of God, what did it all mean? - -Morning after morning he asked himself the same question, as the -mysterious routine continued with unabated regularity; and the thought -of it haunted him persistently throughout the day as he tried to fix -his mind on other things. Evening after evening he saw the young man -return with his tired face, the pigeons so ambiguously obtained, -the gun that had never been fired. They would eat their silent meal -together, and then Michael would doze in his chair till bedtime. On -Sunday, the only day he remained at home, the lay brother resigned -himself to the unavoidable services of religion, going with the father -to mass, and assisting, by his presence at least, the cause to which -they had both pledged their lives. The few hours of his leisure were -spent at a little lock-fast desk; and the nature of this correspondence -became the second mystery of his singular and baffling life. Once, -looking up from his half-written page, he asked the priest how -many feet went to a mile. On another occasion he inquired as to the -soundings of the bay, and the most likely point for a steamship pier. -Steamship piers, and feet in miles! Miles of what? Whose steamships, -and what was there to bring them? Mercy of God, what did it all mean? - -In the beginning, when Father Studby had first begun to suspect he knew -not what, to worry, to ask himself importunate questions, a way had -occurred to him--a way not altogether honourable nor dignified--which -could not fail to lead to some elucidation of the mystery. He had -put it behind him with decision, as unworthy of himself and his -reputation. What! act the spy and follow the young man? See with his -own eyes, from the vantage of some thick fern or bush, the nature of -that strange tryst? No; let him keep his honour, even if curiosity -went unsatisfied--even if that same curiosity were not wholly bad, -but inspired by a genuine regard for the young brother’s welfare, for -which, as the elder of the two, he was in some degree responsible. It -was only right to hold out your hand to a sinking man. But could the -lay brother be called a sinking man? Ah, if one could be sure of that, -how much might be pardoned! - -One morning Father Studby could bear it no longer. As the boards -creaked in the next room, he, too, rose and dressed himself, trembling -as he did so with a sense of guilt. When the front door at length -closed on the lay brother, and his quick step was heard on the path -outside, Father Studby found himself on the verandah, looking after -him in the dawn. He would have followed; he even took a few steps down -the hill. But the folly of such a course was at once apparent. To -act the detective, one must one’s self remain undiscovered. Yet how -could he hope to elude observation and keep on Brother Michael’s heels -all through the open village and the wide _malae_? It was manifestly -impossible. In the forest it might be different; yes, in the forest, -crouching in the thick undergrowth, it would not be so hard to track a -man down. - -The next night, which happened to be one of a moon almost full, the -father lay down ready dressed for a new adventure. A little after one -o’clock, he rose, crossed himself, and cautiously quitted the house, -making his way through the sleeping village to the path across the -swamp. This he followed, slipping on the sodden tree-trunks that served -as bridges, until he attained the farther region of cocoanut, banana, -and breadfruit plantations. These were in a choking tangle of weeds -and lianas; trees thirty feet in height bent under their weight of -parasites; others, still higher, were altogether overwhelmed and lost -to view in a wall of green; and in the forks of the giant breadfruits -orchids were sprouting like the scabs of some foul disease. Keeping -with difficulty on the half-obliterated track, the priest toiled slowly -and painfully through this belt of so-called cultivation, from which, -indeed, the village drew no considerable portion of its sustenance, -until at last he reached the welcome shelter of the forest. In contrast -to the zone through which he had just emerged, opened by man to the -furious energy of the sun, the forest floor itself, densely shaded from -this fecundating fire, was comparatively open and easy to penetrate. -It was dark, of course, dark as the inside of a well; and the father -stopped and lighted the lantern he carried in his hand. He peered about -him, blinded by the glare, and uncertain for the first time as to his -road. Yes, he had not been misguided; he could trust the instinct of -eighteen years to steer him through these labyrinths. Here, indeed, was -the _ifi_-tree of which Ngalo had told him, with its low, spreading -foliage that had so often concealed Michael’s gun. At the thought -of the lay brother his heart began to beat, and he crossed himself -repeatedly. - -He paced off seven, eight, nine, ten yards from the trunk of the _ifi_; -and his feet at that distance carried him into a thicket of fern and -wild bananas. He blew out the lantern, and settled himself in the damp -ambush so providentially at hand, drawing the big leaves over his head -until he could no longer see the stars. From two o’clock--for such he -judged the hour when he first took up his station in the ferns--from -two o’clock till five he remained huddled in his green lair, praying -at intervals, and counting the interminable minutes to dawn. With the -first peep of day his impatience turned no less swiftly into dread. -What had tempted him to such madness, such dishonour? What if he should -be discovered in this shameful nest, and incontinently revealed to the -jeers and laughter of the man he thought to track down? What if the -lay brother, turning a little aside, should stumble over his cramped -and aching body? Explain? How could he explain? Mercy of God, what a -position for an old religious! He underwent spasms of panic; he was of -two minds whether or not to rise and run. But the sound of a footstep, -of a man’s hoarse breathing, of rustling branches and snapping twigs, -suddenly brought the heart to his mouth. The wild animal in him was -instantly on the defensive, and he flattened himself to the ground. - -He lay like a log, not moving so much as an eyelash. He heard the -ring of metal as Michael apparently fumbled with his gun in the lower -branches of the _ifi_-tree. The shot-flask fell with a crash, and -the brother swore--yes, said “damn” audibly, and picked it up. Then -there was a silence; an eternity of suspense; then a faint crackling -as of parting boughs. The father peeped out, and saw a black figure -disappearing inland; an unmistakable black figure, bent and furtive, -speeding mysteriously through the gloom. He was up and following in -a second, half doubled together, like the man he pursued, eager as a -bloodhound with his nose to the spoor. The way, with few intermissions, -ran steadily uphill, up and up, faster and faster, until one’s side -seemed to crack and one’s heart to burst. Up and up, with a swing to -the right to avoid the splashing waterfalls of the Vaita’i; through -groves of _moso’oi_ that stifled the air with sweetness; under towering -_maalava_-trees that seemed to pierce the very sky. - -Would he never stop? - -But the lay brother, without once turning, without once stopping -either to rest or to look back, plunged forward with the certainty of -a man who knew his way blindfold. They were, now, pursued and pursuer, -on the high ridge between two river valleys; on the one hand was the -Vailoloa, a tributary of the Vaita’i, on the other the roaring Fuasou, -both racing tumultuously to the sea. The father wondered how Michael -meant to extricate himself from such a cul-de-sac, unless (and the -thought dashed his hopes to the ground) he intended to assail the -cloudy slopes of Mount Loamu itself and make a circuit of a dozen miles. - -But his question no sooner suggested itself than it was answered. Of a -sudden the brother stopped on the edge of the Fuasou ravine, dropped -one leg over, then the other, and began to disappear hand over hand by -means of a hidden ladder. The priest stood where he was, transfixed -with astonishment. To hurry now seemed unwise. If he had come to -ladders he was not improbably near the goal itself. Patience! A breath -or two, a moment to cast one’s self full length on the ground and wipe -the acrid sweat from one’s eyes, and then, having given the lay brother -a minute’s start, to descend the precipice in his wake. - -Father Studby approached the brink and looked over. Below him, -dropping, perhaps, sixteen feet, was a roughly made ladder of bamboo -which rested at the bottom on a rocky buttress of the cliff. On the -edge of that, again, with its splintered ends appearing through the -trampled undergrowth, was a continuing ladder, the second of a -series that dropped, one after another, into the deep defile. With -guarded steps, and after a prolonged deliberation, the priest let -himself slowly down ladder number one; down number two; down number -three, which ran so long and straight on the open face of the rock -that he faltered, turned dizzy, and had to close his eyes to recover -himself; down number four; down number five, at the base of which there -descended a zigzag path to the river. Following this unhesitatingly, -with the noise of rushing water in his ears, he emerged at last on a -basaltic shelf not six feet above the bed of the Fuasou. From this -coign of vantage he gazed about in vain for any sight of Michael, -until, on creeping to the very edge of the rock, he ventured to look -below. There, immediately beneath him, so close, indeed, that he might -have touched him with his hand, was the lay brother himself, busy -shovelling a bucket full of sand. - -“Mercy of God!” exclaimed the priest below his breath; and even as he -did so, by that singular telepathy which so often confounds us, Michael -lifted his head and looked his pursuer squarely in the face. For an -appreciable instant the pair challenged each other’s eyes in silence; -the lay brother’s were kindling and fierce, the priest’s all abashed, -like those of a girl. - -“Come down here,” said Michael, peremptorily. “I have something to tell -you.” - -The priest obeyed, with the mien of a man descending to his execution. - -“You old interloper,” cried Michael, with a mirthless laugh. “So you -are here at last, are you? I have seen it working in your silly old -head for weeks. I never looked up but I thought to see your bloody -boots!” - -This unexpected address only served to add to the old man’s confusion. -He looked about him helplessly. Such unrestrained language seemed to -call for a sharp rebuke. He was shocked and frightened; as much so as -a woman insulted on the street; and yet the consciousness of his own -position--that of the detected spy--froze the words of correction on -his lips. - -“Of course, you want to know what I have been doing here,” continued -Michael, in his mocking tone. “If you’ll look into that cradle you will -see quick enough. Why, man alive, don’t you know what it is?” - -Amazed and ashamed, Father Studby touched the dirty sediment with his -finger. - -“That’s gold!” cried the lay brother. - -The priest hastily withdrew his hand and stared at his companion in -consternation. - -Gold! - -The priest’s head went round; his heart thumped in his breast, -with that word everything was forgotten--his shame, his anger, his -humiliation. - -“Oh, Michael!” he broke out incoherently. “Oh, Michael!” - -“I am taking out about twenty ounces a day,” said the lay brother. -“Some days I have touched forty.” - -“Mercy of God!” cried the old man, hoarsely. “Mercy of God, show me how -you do it!” - -Michael had another cradle ready to hand. It was the first he had made -he said, and nothing like so good as the other; but it would do for a -day or two until they made a new one--yes, it would do, though a lot -of the finer stuff was lost. You did it this way--so--just rocking it -like a baby’s cradle; the squares of blanket screened the gold, and you -washed them out afterwards in a pan. A place? Oh, anywhere along the -stream. It was all rotten with gold. - -The priest hurried off, and was soon shaking frantically a hundred -yards below. He had not been gone an hour when he came hurrying back to -where his companion was still at work. - -“Look at that!” he cried, holding out a trembling hand. “Oh, Michael, -what is it worth?” - -“Three or four pounds, perhaps,” said the lay brother, indulgently. - -“Mercy of God!” cried the priest, and he was off again at a run. - -A little later he came back again. They were watched, he said; he was -certain they were watched. He could hardly speak for agitation. He had -heard noises behind him, again, and again, like the laughter of girls -in the bush. - -But Michael only derided his fears. The bush was a creepy place, he -said, when you were all alone in it. He had felt the same way himself -when he first came, and was eternally peeping over his shoulder and -stopping his work to listen. One got used to it after a while; he -supposed it must be some kind of a bird. - -All day long they worked together in the stream, stopping only at noon -for a bite of bread and a pipe. So engrossing was the occupation that -one seemed never to grow tired; the glittering reward was always a -fresh incentive to try one’s luck again. Five pounds, four pounds, -six pounds, three pounds! One lost all count, and the level of the -tobacco-tin in which the golden sand was poured rose and rose in -half-inch tides. Father Studby was almost angry when his companion -declared it was time to go. He was hurt at such a suggestion; he was -disappointed; he almost cried. Michael showed him his watch. Mercy of -God, it was past five o’clock! Then he remembered, for the first time, -his neglected duties: the morning service, the school, the woman who -lay dying in Nofo’s house; the hundred calls, great and small, that -kept his day so busy. He wondered at his own unconcern, at his own -apathy and selfishness. He felt that his contrition lacked the proper -sting; he asked himself whether, indeed, he cared. He was dizzy with -the thought of gold, of cradles and rich pockets, of those bright -specks that still stuck to his hands. He followed his companion in a -sort of dream, silent and triumphant, trying to fasten on himself a -remorse that would not come. - -“I’ll never forget the first time I got into that valley,” said -Michael, on the long road home. “It was the hardest job of my life to -follow up that river. I climbed into places that would have scared a -sea-faring man; and I was no sooner up one than I would have to risk -my life shinning up another, hanging on to lianas and kicking for my -life. Tired? Why, I would regularly lie down and gasp--when there was -anything big enough to lie on; and the noise of those falls, those that -I was on top of, and those that were still to come--my word! it made me -sick to hear them. And when I at last got into the place, and sat down -by a big pool, and saw the black sand with the shrimps wriggling in it, -I simply said to myself, as quiet as that: ‘Here’s gold.’” - -When they reached home Michael called loudly for brandy. The priest -himself was glad of a little after that day of days; placer-mining -was a new experience, even to that veteran of labour, and he felt -extraordinarily stiff and tired. He remembered with contrition how -often in the past he had grudged his companion the stimulant, and he -now blushed for those trivial economies with a hot sense of impatience. -Could he not take out in a day what they represented in a twelvemonth? -With a new-found sense of freedom, he helped himself again to the -bottle, and, for once in his frugal life, did not measure the allowance -with his thumb. Then Michael, with an elaborate pantomime of secrecy, -beckoned him into the other room, and, after shutting and bolting the -door, threw open the top of his trunk. Beneath the rumpled heap of -clothes there were a dozen tin cans of all shapes, some with their own -original covers, others capped with packing-paper like pots of jam. -The lay brother opened them one by one, lovingly, exultingly, his face -shining with satisfaction. Each was filled to the brim with coarse -gold-dust; each weighed down the hand like an ingot. - -“Take one, father,” said Michael. “It is a little enough return for -all your kindness.” - -The priest trembled and drew back. - -“No, no!” he cried. - -“As you like,” said Michael, with a tone of affected indifference. “You -will be doing as well yourself in a few days.” - -“God help me!” exclaimed the priest, and buried his face in his hands. - -The lay brother looked down at him strangely and said nothing. He knew -something of the hidden conflict at that moment raging in the old man’s -breast, and he had too much at stake himself to venture an incautious -word. Everything depended now upon the priest, for good or evil; it -lay with him to keep the secret inviolate, or to spread it to all the -world; to accept the partnership thus tacitly offered, and allow them -both to reap a colossal harvest; or, standing coldly on the letter of -his vows, to open the door to a rush of thousands. The brother held his -breath and waited for that supreme decision on which so much depended; -he was afraid to speak, afraid even to move, as he looked down at his -companion in a fever of suspense. The intolerable silence weighed upon -him like a nightmare. He felt that it was the enemy of all his hopes; -that every minute of it increased the hazard of his fortunes; that he -was being tried, that he was being condemned. - -“Father,” he broke out, “your name need not appear in this; you need -do nothing but hold your tongue; you can be my partner without a soul -to know it. As God sees me, I will divide with you to the last penny.” - -The old man lifted his head. - -“I don’t know what to do,” he said. - -“It’s just this,” said Michael, regaining a little confidence. “If you -spread the news broadcast--and the merest whisper will do that--you -will get nothing at all and I will get no more than a beggarly claim. -Keep it to ourselves and we shall share tens of thousands of pounds.” - -“I am a Marist priest,” said Father Studby. “I am a missionary. I am an -old man nearing the end of my days. My vows prevent me from withholding -any property from my Order. I should be acting dishonourably in -entering into such an enterprise. I have no right to gain money for -myself.” - -“Who is asking you to keep it for yourself?” demanded Michael. “What -prevents you giving your Order every ounce that falls to your share? -Do you really think Monseigneur would find fault if you brought him a -check for a hundred thousand pounds? And I don’t even ask you to keep -silence for ever. In six months, or a year, or whatever it is,--when -the proper time comes,--you can make a clean breast of it. Of course, -if you choose the other thing, your Order will get nothing, and somehow -I don’t think they will be as pleased as you seem to think. Why, man, -think what the money would do for the cathedral! They could build the -new mission-house to-morrow. And remember for one moment what you could -do here!” - -“No,” said the father, “you have put the matter in a new light. I -should fail in my duty if I let this money go from us. They would be -right to reproach me if I let the chance slip. I fear I was thinking -more of myself than of them.” - -After supper they drew out their chairs on the moonlit verandah, and -sat for a while in silence. The priest was conscious, amid the uneasy -preoccupation that settled on him like a cloud, that in some manner -their relative positions had changed. The masterful young man, by -reason of his great discovery, on the strength, perhaps, of his more -vigorous and determined will, seemed now to arrogate to himself the -right to lead. It appeared natural to Father Studby to acquiesce in -this; to subordinate himself to his companion and wait timidly for him -first to speak; even to feel a kind of gratitude for the partnership -that caused him such qualms. Self-effacing and humble, it came easy to -him to sink to a second place and accept unquestioningly the orders of -a superior. Besides, what did he know of gold? - -“The first thing we must consider,” began Michael, “the first, because -it is the most important, is the land. It must all be ours, from the -sea to the mountain-tops, from one end of the bay to the other. In -a small way I have been already moving in the matter. I have taken -options from Maunga, Leapai, and George Tuimaleali’ifano, the three -principal chiefs here, for what seems to cover more than the area of -the group. I paid them out of hand about twenty dollars each; but the -options, to make them good, will call for twenty-eight thousand dollars -in Chile money. Oh, it’s all perfectly right and legal,” he broke out, -forestalling an objection he saw on his companion’s lips. “I had -the forms drawn up in Nukualofa by a lawyer; it cost me three pounds -to do it. The only point is how much of the land really belongs to -these chiefs, for there are bound to be half a hundred other claimants -whose consent will be needed to make the title good; and it will be -your part to ferret them out. What you must bear in mind most is -that we must nail every inch of the beach. There will be a city here -in a month after the news is out; in a year there will be tramways, -and newspapers, and brick banks and churches, and wharves with ships -discharging. Don’t you see, we must have our fist in all that; we must -have the lion’s share; every pound the others bring must pay us toll.” - -“The others!” cried the priest. “Mercy of God, let us keep the thing to -ourselves!” - -“We couldn’t, if we would,” cried the lay brother. “You might as well -try and hide the island as to keep them out. When I was a boy I was in -the Kattabelong gold rush with my father, and I know what I am talking -about. They rose up like waves in the sea--waves and waves of men, -bursting in with yells like an invading army. Why, it won’t be any time -before we are holding our valley with a line of rifles; you will see -all hell loose and a thousand devils landing at a time; you will see -the horizon black with steamer smoke, bringing in thousands more; you -will see men killed and their bodies rotting in the sun. That’s the -first stage of a gold rush--the pioneer stage, the stage of murder and -crime, of might for right. That will be the time for us to live through -as best we can. Bit by bit there comes a subsidence into a kind of -order. There is a rally of the better sort; the inevitable leader rises -to the top. You walk out one morning, and you run across Billy This, -the terror of the camp, swaying peacefully at the end of a rope. At -another turn it is Tommy That, with his toes turned up and a ticket on -his breast. The third period is the arrival of an official with a tin -office and blank forms. Who owns the land here? Why, we do. Who claims -that? Why, we claim it. Who owns the beach from a point beginning at -such and such a place, to a point marked B on the new official map? We -again! Who owns the mountain lakes they talk already of tapping for -the water-supply? We do. Who owns everything in sight? The same old -firm, if you please, sir. But I am not saying we can hold the fort -single-handed. God never made the two men that could. But this is what -we do. We grant titles, concessions, half and quarter interests to men -of the right stamp, and make them our partners against the mob. We take -the money they bring, and reserve a substantial profit in their future -undertakings. As I said before, we must have our fist in every pocket.” - -Michael paused and slowly filled a second pipe. The father remained -silent, his head resting on his trembling hand. He was staring into -vacancy, seeing through his half-shut eyes a myriad of changing -pictures. - -“Michael,” he said, “have you ever thought how it will be with our -people?” - -“Oh, the Kanakas!” said the lay brother. - -“Yes, the Samoans,” said Father Studby. “What is to become of them, -Michael?” - -“They will go,” said the young man, coolly, “where the inferior race -always goes in a gold rush. They will go to the devil.” - -“Oh, Michael,” exclaimed the priest, “I cannot bear to think of them!” - -“I am sure I am sorry, too,” said the lay brother. “But there is no -use blinking our eyes to facts, or feeling miserable about what can’t -be helped. The men must learn to work like other people, and I look to -you, with your influence here, to line them up on the right side. Fifty -or sixty of them would be worth everything to us at the start. As for -the nigger women, if they are young and pretty, I dare say a use can -be found for them, too. I am sorry, but what can you do? You can’t put -back the clock, old fellow.” - -The priest groaned. - -“I wish you had never found the gold!” he cried out passionately. - -“Well, it is too late now,” said Michael. - - * * * * * - -The next day the old man was up at the first peep of dawn. He had not -slept all night, but had lain with open eyes, in a fever of horror -and remorse. He walked down to the village and along the sandy beach, -and sat miserably for an hour on the bottom of an upturned canoe. One -by one, he saw the beehive houses awaken; he saw the _polas_ rise, -disclosing dark interiors and smoking lamps; he heard the _pāté_, -that most primitive of human signals, rousing the sluggards to -another day, its insistent tapping the prelude to the morning prayer -which rose here and there as each household assembled its members. -Grave old chiefs appeared at the eaves, yawned, gazed at the sun, and -exchanged ceremonious greetings; children trooped out sleepily to play; -half-grown girls tripped away for water, or sat on logs or strips of -matting, in twos and threes, staring out to sea. An imperious old -chief began to blow a conch-shell bigger than his head. Bu, bu, bu! it -sounded, rich and mellow, with faint reëchoings on the woody hills. The -young men assembled about him, laughing and shouting, and taking up -the note of the conch in a lusty chorus as they called out the names -of those still to come. The father remembered that they were to launch -the new _alia_, the huge double canoe, which belonged in common to all -Lauli’i. - -He looked about him mournfully; he felt himself a traitor through and -through; he dropped his eyes as every one saluted him and the little -children ran up to kiss his hands. He was about to sweep this all away, -this life of simplicity, peace, and beauty; he was going to enslave -these stalwart men; he was going to give these women to degradation. -Under the scorching breath of what was called civilisation they would -wither and die. God help them! On the ground where those houses now -stood there would rise the brick banks and churches of which Michael -had spoken; offices, stock exchanges, theatres, and roaring bars; -dance-halls full of shameless women, and dens where men would be -drugged and robbed. And what was he to gain for it all? What was the -price for so much sin and misery? Wealth for his Order! The biggest -account in that brick bank, blocks of bonds and shares, sheafs of -mortgages! Good God, how had he dared set his hand to such an infamy! -And if, by way of penance, he were to build a church, the great -church of which he had dreamed, with lofty windows of stained glass, -and an organ that would shake the very ground, and bells tempered -with hundredweights of silver, who, indeed, would there be left to -worship in it? What had gold-seekers to do with Christ, with God, with -the Blessed Virgin? There might appear, perhaps, a few brown faces, -changed and heartbroken, a few shrinking figures in the rags of the -disinherited, who would appeal to him for comfort in their extremity. -Ah, how could he look at them, these that he had wronged? - -Mercy of God, let the accursed gold lie undug! - -In an agony of self-denunciation, he walked hither and thither, without -looking, without caring where he went, treading the phantom streets of -that city of his dreams. He talked aloud and gesticulated to himself; -he knelt at the foot of a palm and prayed; he was overwhelmed by his -own powerlessness in the face of that impending calamity. He could see -no help, he could find no solace. And yet, all the while he felt, with -an intense conviction that belied the supplicating words on his lips, -that it lay with him, and him alone, to save his people. Thus writhing -in the coil of his perplexities, despairing and half mad at the -unavertible ruin he knew no way to avoid, he suddenly found himself at -his own door, confronting the man who had brought them all to such a -pass. - -“My word, father!” cried Michael, “you don’t look fit for another day -up there. Why, if you could see your face in the glass it would give -you the shakes; you ought to be in bed.” - -He would have passed on, but the priest caught him by the arm. - -“Michael,” he broke out, “Michael, stop and listen to me. I have -something important to tell you--something that must be said, however -little you may like to hear it. I--I find I cannot permit this to go -any further.” - -The lay brother stopped short. - -“You cannot permit what?” he demanded. - -“This digging of gold,” cried the priest; “this crime we have in mind -against these people, this crime against ourselves. Do you count our -vows for nothing, our holy vocation, the fact that God has set us -apart to guard the flocks he has confided to us? Fall on your knees, -miserable boy, and beg His pardon for your impiety--here, even as I -have done; down, down with you!” The old priest’s voice rose to a -scream; he wound his skinny arms round his companion, and calling on -the saints for help, tried to force him to the earth. - -The lay brother grew suddenly pale, and, with a violent movement, shook -himself free. - -“You old fool!” he exclaimed. “Keep your dirty hands off me, I tell -you. Leave me alone.” - -“I forbid you to take another step,” cried the priest. “In the name of -God I forbid you.” - -“See here,” said Michael, somewhat recovering himself, “I don’t want -to quarrel with you. I would rather cut off my right hand than quarrel -with you. I need you; and if you only had the sense to see it, you -would know that you need me. It would be a rotten business if we ruined -each other.” - -“Why can’t you take the gold you have, and go?” exclaimed the father. -“Leave the island and content yourself that you have got a competence. -It is more already than you could have gained by a lifetime of honest -work.” - -“I mean to stay just where I am,” returned the lay brother, “regardless -of whether you like it or don’t like it; I mean to stand by all my -rights, with you if I can, without you if I must. You can do me lots of -harm, and skim no end of cream off my milk; though I don’t think you -have much to gain by doing it, or that the niggers you are so fond of -will be greatly benefited. You have every reason to stand in with me, -both for your sake and theirs; and if the money cuts no figure with -you, you can surely see the sense of having some say in the subsequent -developments. That’s all I have time for now, though if you are more in -your right mind by evening I won’t mind talking it over with you again.” - -With that last word Michael passed on, with an air of assurance -implying that all would come right. The old priest remained standing -in the path, sullenly looking after him; and he remained long in -that attitude, even after the brother’s black figure had dwindled -and disappeared into the distance. He felt utterly baffled, utterly -conquered; he wondered whether he had any more resistance in him; he -asked himself if God had forsaken him. - -What was there now left for him to do, helpless and despairing as -he was, but to wait with what patience he might for the concluding -tragedy? After all, his own soul was clean; except for the one day, -when, in the exultation of the discovery, in the madness that had -temporarily possessed him, he had soiled his hands with the accursed -thing. He remembered, with self-disdain, how he had accepted the -partnership held out to him; how he had been dazzled, cajoled, swept -altogether off his feet by the importunity of the devil. But that was -all done with now. He would have none of the blood-money; if the knell -had sounded for his people, he at least would not profit by their ruin, -he at least would not transmute their agony into gold. The others could -do that; Michael and his white savages; the hosts that were to come. -Had the young man no conscience, no compassion? Was he simply a wall of -selfishness, against which one might beat in vain? Oh, the hypocrite, -the months he had lived a lie! Oh, the remorseless devil and his gold! -How could God endure such things? A man like that ought to be struck -down by thunderbolts; people ought to kill him like a mad dog. - -The thought made him tremble. If Michael were dead, who would ever know -about the gold? Had it not lain there all these years, latently evil -in the earth, no one dreaming of its existence? Why should it not -continue to lie for ever, powerless for all mischief, or until such a -time, perhaps, when men would no longer count it a thing of price; when -it would be relegated to museums for the curious to stare at, side by -side with the wampum of Indians, cowry-shells, and the white beards -that pass for money in the Marquesas. Ah, were it not for Michael! - -His hands shook and he began to pant for breath. Were it not better -that one should suffer than the many? one rather than a thousand? one -rather than a whole race, with countless generations yet unborn? He -looked down on the roofs of the village, a sight endeared to him by the -recollections of so many years; he saw, in the brilliant sunshine, amid -the houses that had sheltered them in life, the mossy tombs he knew -so well. There, under the shadow, lay Soalu, his first friend; there, -the black-browed Puluaoao, the heathen, the libertine, who had first -thwarted and then had loved him; there, the earth that covered Lala’ai, -in whose bright eyes he had looked once and never dared to look again, -whose memory was still as sweet to him as on the day she died; there -lay To, the silver-tongued; Silei, the poet; Lapongi, the _muaau_, -with a dozen bullets through his headless corpse; Faamuina, Tupua, -Sisimaile--how many there were! He had loved those honest hearts now -mouldering in the grave; to some he had given messages to carry beyond -the unknown river to those dark comrades who had already gone. He loved -their children, now men and women, who had been held out to him by -dying arms, and whom he had led crying from the house of bereavement -to comfort as best he could. For nigh twenty years he had been the -ruler and lawgiver of the bay, the trusted adviser of great chiefs, the -faithful priest, the ever-welcome friend. Should he desert his people -now? - -He went into the cook-house, where Ngalo was sitting on the steps -playing hymns on his mouth-organ. - -“Ngalo,” he said, “I want your rifle and some cartridges.” - -The boy looked up at his master’s face with astonishment,--the ways of -whites were past all understanding,--and it was not until he was asked -a second time that he rose and sought his gun. - -The priest tried to say something by way of explanation, but the words -would not come. He could do nothing but take the gun in silence, and -charge the magazine with an unsteady hand, while the boy’s eyes grew -bigger and bigger. - -“Doubtless your Excellency has seen a wild cow in the bush?” Ngalo at -length inquired. - -The father nodded and turned to go. - -“Blessed be the hunting!” cried the boy after him from the door, before -resuming the strains of “There’s a land that is fairer than day.” - -“Blessed be the home-stayers,” returned the priest, with conventional -politeness. - - * * * * * - -At last he was at the place--at the foot of the second ladder, on the -narrow ledge that overlooked the third. He scarcely knew why he had -been led to choose this spot, for the top would surely have done as -well. But the ladder there was shorter, and a desperate man might let -himself drop below, or rush up like lightning before one could pull a -second trigger. The third ladder was immensely long; Michael himself -had once said that it was sixty feet or more; in the middle of it a man -was helpless. If he fell it would be to smash to pieces on the rocks -beneath; if he elected to climb, it would be in the face of a dozen -bullets. - -He threw himself on the ground, and sat cross-legged, with the rifle -resting in his lap. He was haunted by a dread that the lay brother -might still outwit him; that he might burst on him from behind with a -mocking laugh; or dart up unexpectedly from the very edge of the cliff. -He wondered how Michael would look with a bullet through his face. He -remembered such a wound in the Talavao war, when he had helped to bury -the killed; and the thought of it made him shudder. He tried to pray, -but the words froze on his lips. What had a murderer to do with prayer? -But he was not yet a murderer--not yet. There was still time to draw -back; there was still time to save his soul from everlasting hell. How -dared he hesitate when all eternity was at stake? He was shocked at -himself, at his own resolution, at his own courage and steadfastness. -He meant to kill the lay brother, even if the skies were to fall. He -was there to make a sublime sacrifice for the sake of those he loved. -Let hell do its worst. He would say between the torments: “I saved -them! I saved them!” His only dread was that his hand might tremble on -the trigger; that at the supreme moment he might flinch and fail; that -he might throw his weapon from him in uncontrollable horror. - -Hark! what was that? Mercy of God, what was that? - -He peeped stealthily over the edge. - -Michael was standing at the foot of the ladder. - -The priest felt a sudden sinking in the region of the stomach. -Something seemed to say to him: “But that’s flesh and blood; that’s a -_man_!” He would have given worlds to have dispossessed himself of the -rifle; lies and explanations crowded to his lips; his teeth chattered -in his head. Then, as he cowered impotently to the ground, the ladder -shook with the weight of Michael’s feet on the lowest rung. - -He tried to pull himself together; but under the stress of that -overwhelming agitation the mechanical part of him seemed to stop. He -had to tell himself to breathe; his heart suffocated within his breast. -He gasped like a drowning man, drawing in the air with great, tremulous -sighs as his choking throat relaxed. Suddenly he ceased altogether to -be himself; he became a phantom in a dream; a twitching, crazy creature -whom he saw through a sort of mist, dizzily centred in a whirl of -forest and sky. - -He looked over and saw that Michael was more than half-way up. The lay -brother’s whole body spoke of dejection and fatigue, of a long day’s -work not yet ended, and it was evident that the heavy can slung from -his neck was for once more of a burden than a satisfaction. He raised -his weary eyes, and with a kind of a shock encountered those of Father -Studby peering down at him from above. He cried out inarticulately, and -began to redouble his exertions, smiling and panting as he did so. - -Still as in a dream, the priest leaned boldly over the precipice, and -dropped the point of his rifle until its farther sight was dancing -across the lay brother’s face, which, in swift gradations, underwent -the whole gamut of dismay, astonishment, and utter stupefaction. For -an instant Michael faltered and hung back; he even slunk down a step, -speechless and as white as death. Then, of a sudden, he broke out into -shrill peals of laughter, followed by a torrent of gabble, brisk, -friendly, and tremblingly insincere, such as one might address to a -madman from whom it is dangerous to run. He had struck a new place, -he cried. My word! there was no end to it--pockets upon pockets only -waiting to be washed out. It was at the fifth waterfall, not far from -the dam by the banyan-tree, and he had worked there all day with -extraordinary success. The other place was good enough, to be sure, -with its average of three pounds and more, but this at the fifth -waterfall was the real McKay. The father must positively come down and -see it at once; positively you could see the nuggets shining in every -spadeful; no matter if it were late, the father must come. He had -better leave his gun on the top, for who was there to touch it? - -Father Studby never turned from his position, nor made the least -pretence of answering the breathless patter with which the brother -tried to shield himself. Like a rock he waited, while the miserable man -below him, sweating with fear, moved slowly into point-blank range. -Talk as he might, with a volubility that grew increasingly anxious -and incoherent, Michael realised at last that his time had come. He -stopped; he raised his hand convulsively; he cried out in a broken -voice: “Oh, for God’s sake, don’t kill me!” - -Even as he did so, the father pulled the trigger. - -Then he turned, reclimbed the ladders, and went home. - - * * * * * - -That night the priest went outside the reef in his canoe, and emptied -Michael’s store of gold-dust into the sea, scattering it like seed on -the ocean floor at a point where the tide ran swiftest. On his return, -with a cunning that seemed to him the inspiration of the devil, he got -out the lay brother’s spare hat and some of the clothes that were in -his chest, and left them, to tell their own tale, on the sandy beach. -At dawn he made his way back to the valley, still sustained, in spite -of all his fatigue, by a consuming fire of activity. He felt that the -sands of his own life were running out; that at any moment he might be -struck down himself by an unseen hand; that those strange, benumbing -premonitions in his brain bade him imperiously to close the chapter of -his crime. The horror of dying with his purpose unfulfilled spurred him -on to desperate exertions. He stumbled again and again on the path; -he had recurring fits of giddiness, when the sun seemed darkened to -his eyes, when for a space he half forgot his dreadful errand, and -wondered to find himself in the bush. He expected, when he reached the -brink of the cliff and began to descend the long, shaky ladders, to -feel some recrudescence of the emotions of the day before. But, to his -own surprise, he discovered in himself a callousness that set all such -qualms at defiance; he had exhausted, in the course of those last forty -hours, all his capacity for such paralysing susceptibilities; like some -soldier after the battle, he was sated with the horrors through which -he had passed, and had become altogether deadened to those about him. -Even when he stood on the very place from which Michael had made his -last appeal, and, looking in the air above, more than half expected -to see the protruding muzzle of another rifle, he felt, indeed, no -answering thrill or perturbation. The burden of his own fatigue seemed -of greater moment than this reliving of a tragedy; and the thought of -how much there was for him still to do moved him infinitely more. - -At the foot of the ladder, shrunken and disordered, the corpse of -the dead brother lay tumbled in the grass like a sack. With his face -upturned to the sky, his sightless eyes, filming with corruption, his -tangled hair in a slime of blood and dirt, he opposed a ghastly barrier -to the old priest’s further progress; and seemed, even in death itself, -to continue to resist and defy him. But the father had passed the stage -when such a sight could turn him back, though he faltered for a moment -in the throes of an unconquerable disgust before daring at last to set -his foot across the body. Even when he did so, driving off the swarming -flies with both his hands, it was with an agony of precaution against -the least contact with that dead flesh. - -Descending into the valley, he drew together all the tell-tale -evidences of their work below, the cradles, picks, and shovels, the -tins and boxes and ends of boards and scantlings, which had been -carried, at one time and another, into that secluded place, and buried -them in one of the deepest holes along the stream. He broke down the -dams that Michael had spent days in building, the stones that had -been piled aside to uncover the ground of some new pocket, the rough -shelters he had raised here and there against the sun; he obliterated -with his knife the marks that had been blazed upon the trees, and -searched everywhere, with a feverish pertinacity that took him again -and again over the same ground, for the least detail that he might have -overlooked. - -Then, in a drip of sweat, and exhausted to such a pitch that he -wondered whether he should ever leave the valley alive, he took the -spade he had kept by him to the last, and mounted the bottom ladder. -As he went he cut away the lashings that bound it to the rock, and -from the top sent it headlong behind him. In the same manner, resting -painfully at each stopping-place, he detached the second ladder and -the third, arriving once more at the wide shelf where he had meant to -dig the grave. But his little strength suddenly forsook him; he was -overcome by a deadly nausea; he could hardly stand, much less dig. He -cast the spade into a thicket, and with unflinching resolution detached -the can of gold-dust from the dead man’s neck. That, at least, should -not remain to tell its tale, and he let the stuff dribble through his -fingers over the cliff. - -To do more was impossible. His only thought now was to escape; to climb -up into the fresher air above; to save himself while there was yet -time. That unmoving, silent thing in the grass, obscurely dissolving -into decay, must perforce be left as it was, to bear its horrible -witness against him. The declining margin of his strength filled him -with a frenzy of fear that if he waited overlong he might wait for -ever. Between the two risks, the one of a possible detection, the other -of a doom unspeakable, he did not venture to pause. He felt, indeed, -an extraordinary sense of relief as he began, rung by rung, to rise -above the narrow ledge; and with relief a strange fatalism, in which it -seemed to him that everything had been predestined from the beginning -of the world. As he clung to the ladder, overcome at times by spells of -faintness which he knew might bring him to the point of letting go his -hold, he was always sustained by the thought that the issue lay with -destiny. He would live, or he would fall, as it had been written. - -In this singular humour, in which all human responsibility for good or -evil seemed to count for nothing, the priest continued to mount the -steep face of the cliff. He rested at every second step; he struggled -against the recurring fits of giddiness that threatened to dash him -from his perch; he fought his way up inch by inch, wondering all the -time with a grim composure whether or not he was ever destined to reach -the top. When at last he drew himself into a coign of safety and sent -the great ladder crashing in his wake, when at last he put his foot -on the final goal and lay down beneath the trees, then it was that he -began to realise the perils to which he had so nearly succumbed, and to -quake with a thousand belated apprehensions. - -For an hour he remained huddled in the grass, starting at every sound, -and altogether daunted by the thought of returning to the village. How -would he dare encounter those familiar faces, take up the threads of -the old familiar life, endure those awful days to come when the mystery -of Michael’s disappearance would be in every mouth? Could he trust -himself to simulate the concern he was bound to show, the surprise, -the alarm, the increasing astonishment and horror as the days passed -and there would be still no news of the missing man? Ah, could he -trust himself? Had he in him the power to live such a lie, to go as -usual about his duties, to hear the confessions of others when his own -tortured heart was so dark with guilt? - - * * * * * - -When, with faltering steps, he at length reached the village, it was -to find the whole place in a tumult. Every canoe was afloat; a couple -of whale-boats were scouring the outer bay; and the _malae_, usually -so deserted on a hot afternoon, was overrun by an excited throng. Had -he not, then, heard the news? It was thought that the Helper had been -drowned that morning, and the boats were now searching for his body! -Behold, here were the unfortunate’s clothes, found even as they were, -and by order of the chief left untouched for the priest himself to see; -here, too, was old Lefao, the shrill mother of Pa’a, who had seen the -young man go in to his death, and had heard his sinking cry. “Lefao, -make for his Excellency a repetition of that mournful sound, and show -how he cast up his arms as thou watchedst him from the beach.” The old -impostor was enjoying all the importance of having such a tale to tell, -and the father winced under a pang of shame as he listened to this -unexpected confederate. - -It was afterwards thought that the sad affair must have unhinged Father -Studby’s mind, for he subsequently began to show symptoms of serious -mental disturbance, which culminated a few months later in his tragic -suicide. A marble pillar, the outcome of a public subscription in -Sydney, was raised to the memory of these two martyrs of the cross. In -faded letters, beneath their crumbling names, one can still spell out -the lies: - - IN LIFE THEY WERE TOGETHER; - IN DEATH THEY WERE NOT DIVIDED. - - - - -AMATUA’S SAILOR - - - - -AMATUA’S SAILOR - - -Amatua was running down a beautifully shaded road as fast as his -little legs would carry him, and close in chase, like a hawk after a -sparrow, was a grizzled man-of-war’s-man with a switch. The road was -long and straight; on both sides it was bordered by prickly hedges -bright with limes, and as impenetrable as a tangle of barbed wire. At -every step the white man gained on the boy, until the latter could -hear the hoarse, angry breath of his pursuer. Amatua stopped short, -and before he could even so much as turn he found himself in a grip -of iron. Whish, whish, whish! dashed the switch on his bare back and -legs, keen and stinging like the bite of fire-ants. It took all the -little fellow’s manliness to keep him from bellowing aloud. The tears -sprang to his eyes,--even the son of a chief is human like the rest of -us,--but he would not cry. - -“What’s all this?” rang out a voice, as a white man reined in his -horse beside them--a tall man in spectacles, who spoke with an air of -authority. - -The sailor touched his hat. “Why, sir, you’d scarcely believe it,” he -said, “the fuss I’ve had with this young savage! First he tried to -lose me in the woods. I didn’t think nothing of that; but when he got -me into a river for a swim, and then made off with my clothes, and hid -’em under a tree--I might have been looking for ’em yet, me that must -be aboard my ship at twelve o’clock. Why, it might have cost me my -stripe! I tell you, I never dreamed of such a thing, for me and Am have -been friends ever since the first day I came ashore. He’s no better -than a treacherous little what-d’ye-call-’em!” - -“The chief says thou hidst his clothes,” said the stranger, in the -native language. “He says thou triedst to lose him in the woods.” - -“Ask him if I haven’t always been a good friend to him,” said the -sailor. “Ask him who gave him the knife with the lanyard, and who made -him the little spear to jug fish on the reef. Just you ask him that, -sir.” - -“Your Highness,” said Amatua, in his own tongue, “Bill doesn’t -understand. I love Bill, and I don’t want him to drown. I want to save -Bill’s high-chief life.” - -“And so thou hidst Bill’s clothes,” said the stranger. “That was a fine -way to help him!” - -“Be not angry,” said Amatua. “Great is the wisdom of white chiefs in -innumerable things, but there are some little, common, worthless things -that they don’t understand at all.” - -“Tell him I’m a leading seaman, sir,” went on Bill, who of course -understood not a word of what Amatua was saying, and whose red, tired -face still showed his indignation. - -“The old women say that a great evil is about to befall us,” said -Amatua, gravely, entirely disregarding Bill. “Everybody is talking of -it, your Highness, even the wise minister from Malua College, Toalua, -whose wisdom is like that of Solomon. There’s to be a storm from the -north--a storm that will break the ships into ten thousand pieces, and -line the beach with dead. Last night I could not sleep for thinking -of Bill. Then I said to myself, ‘I will lose Bill for two days in the -woods, and then he won’t be drowned at all.’ But Bill is wise, and made -the sun guide him back to the right road. Then I made Bill bathe, and -tried to steal his clothes. But Bill looked and looked and looked, and -when he found them he thought I was a very bad boy.” - -The stranger laughed, and translated all this long explanation to Bill. - -“Goodness gracious!” said Bill. “Do you mean that the kid believes this -fool superstition, and was trying to save me from the wreck?” - -“That’s it,” said the stranger. “I’ve known Amatua for a long time, and -I think he’s a pretty square boy.” - -“Why, bless his little heart,” said the sailor, catching up the boy -in his arms, “I might have known he couldn’t mean no harm! I tell -you, we’ve been like father and son, me and Am has, up to this little -picnic. But just you say to him, sir, that, storm or no storm, Bill’s -place is the post of duty, and that he’d rather die there than live to -be disgraced.” - -But the white man had other work to do than translating for Bill and -Amatua. He rode off and left them to trudge along on foot. Half an hour -later they reached the beach, and saw the ships-of-war tugging heavily -at their anchors. The weather looked dark and threatening, and a leaden -surf was pounding the outer reefs. It appeared no easy matter to get -Bill into the boat that was awaiting him, for she was full of men bound -for the ship, and difficult to manage in the ebb and sweep of the seas. -Bill’s face grew stern as he stared before him. He walked to the end of -the wharf, and took a long, hawk-like look to seaward, never heeding -the shaking woodwork nor the breakers that wet him to the knees. There -was something ominous to Amatua in the sight of those deep-rolling -ships and the piercing brightness of their ensigns and signal-flags. -He was troubled, too, to see Bill so reckless in wetting his beautiful -blue trousers and reducing his sliding feet, as the natives call shoes, -his lovely patent-leather, silk-laced _se’evae_, to a state of pulp. -He tried to draw him back, and pointed to the shoes as a receding -wave left them once more to view. But Bill only laughed,--not one of -his big hearty laughs, but the ghost of a laugh,--and a queer look -came into his blue eyes. He walked slowly back to the boat, which was -still rising and falling beside the wharf with its load of silent men. -Suddenly he ran his hand into his pocket, and almost before Amatua -could realise what it all meant, he felt Bill’s watch in his hand, -and a round heavy thing that was unmistakably a dollar, and something -soft and silken that could be nothing else than the sailor’s precious -handkerchief. A second later Bill was in the boat, the tiller under his -arm, while a dozen backs bent to drive him seaward. Amatua stood on -the wharf and cried. He forgot the watch and the dollar and the silk -handkerchief; he thought only of Bill,--his friend Bill,--the proud -chief who would rather die at his post than find a coward’s place on -shore. “Come back, Bill,” he cried, as he ran out to the end of the -wharf, never caring for the waves that were dashing higher and higher. -But the boat held on her course, dipping into the seas or rising like -a storm-bird on some cresting comber until she vanished at last behind -the towering _Trenton_. - -Amatua did not sob for long. He was a practical boy, and knew that it -could not help Bill,--poor Bill!--who already had all the salt water -he cared about. So Amatua made his way back to land, and sought out a -quiet spot where he could look at his new treasure and calculate on the -most profitable way of spending his dollar. You could not say that the -dollar burned a hole in his pocket, for Amatua did not use pockets, and -his only clothes consisted of a little strip of very dingy cotton; but -he was just as anxious to spend it as an American boy with ten pockets. -First he looked at the watch. It was a lovely watch. It was none of -your puny watches such as white ladies wear, but a thumping big chief -of a watch, thick and heavy, with a tick like a missionary clock. It -was of shining silver, and the back of it was all engraved and carved -with ships and dolphins. Bill had shown it to him a hundred times when -they had strolled about the town, or had gone, hand in hand, in search -of many a pleasant adventure. It brought the tears to Amatua’s eyes -to recall it all, and he pushed the watch aside to have a look at the -handkerchief. This was another old friend. It was of the softest, -thickest silk, such as girls delight in, all red and green and blue and -yellow, like the colours of a rainbow. - -There was nothing small about Bill. Even the dollar seemed bigger and -fatter than any Amatua had seen; but then it must be remembered that -dollars had seldom come his way. Oh, that dollar! How was he to spend -it so that it would reach as far as two dollars?--a financial problem -every one has had to grapple with at some time or another. - -He was well up in the price of hardtack. The price fluctuated in -Apia--all the way from twelve for a quarter up to eighteen for a -quarter. Quality did not count; at any rate, Amatua was not one of -those boys who mind a little mustiness in their hardtack, or that -slight suspicion of rancid whale-oil which is a characteristic of the -cheaper article. Hardtack was hardtack, and eighteen were better than -twelve. Here was one quarter gone, and hardtack made way for soap. -Yes, he must have soap. Even yesterday old Lu’au had said: “War is a -terrible thing. It makes one’s heart shake like a little mouse in one’s -body. But lack of soap is worse than war. You can get used to war; but -who ever got used to going without soap?” Yes, there must be soap to -gladden old Lu’au. This meant another quarter. - -As to the third purchase there could be no manner of doubt; some -_’ava_, the white, dry root which, pounded in water and strained by the -dexterous use of a wisp of fibre, supplies the Samoan for the lack of -every comfort. Oh, how the _’ava_ would rejoice his father in those -dismal woods, where he lay with the famishing army, bearing hunger, -cold, and misery with uncomplaining fortitude. And it should be none -of that dusty, spotted stuff that so many traders sell to unknowing -whites, or natives in a hurry, but the white _’ava_ from Vaea, which -grows the very finest in the South Seas. And the last quarter? How -was that to go? Was it to be a new _lava lava_, or a white singlet, -or two rusty cans of salmon, or some barrel beef? Amatua would have -dearly loved some marbles; but in the depressed state of the family’s -finances these were not to be thought of. The beef was the thing; the -strong, rank beef that comes in barrels; you could get a slab of it -for a quarter, and Latapie, the French trader, would give you a box of -matches besides, or a few fish-hooks, for every quarter you spent at -his store. - -Having finished his calculations, Amatua started off to do his -shopping. Even in the short time he had spent in the corner of the -ruined church the sea had noticeably risen and was now thundering -along the beach, while on the reefs a gleaming spray hung above the -breakers like a mist. The stormy sky was splashed with ragged clouds -and streaked with flying scud. At their moorings the seven ships rolled -under until they seemed to drown the very muzzles of their guns; and -the inky vapour that oozed from their funnels, and the incessant shrill -shrieking of the boatswains’ whistles, all told a tale of brisk and -anxious preparation. “Oh, poor Bill!” thought Amatua, and looked away. -The wharf from which he had seen the last of his friend was already a -wreck, nothing showing of it but the jagged stumps as the seas rolled -back. - -Two boys told him that a boat of Misi Moa’s had been smashed to pieces, -and that a big whaler from Lufilufi that pulled fifty oars had shared -the same fate. Knots of white traders stood gazing solemnly out to sea; -the provost guards from the ships were ransacking the town for the few -men they still missed, and they were told to hurry or their boats would -never live to carry them back. There was a general air of apprehension -and excitement; people were nailing up their windows and drawing in -their boats before the encroaching ocean; and the impressiveness -of the situation was not a little heightened by the heavy guard of -blue-jackets lined up before the German consulate, and the throngs of -Tamasese’s warriors that swarmed everywhere about, fierce of mien in -that unfriendly town, with their faces blackened for war, and their -hands encumbered with rifles and head-knives. But Amatua had no time -to think of such things; the signs of war were familiar to him, and -the armed and overbearing adversaries of his tribe and people were no -longer so terrible as they once had been. - -The increasing roar of the sea and the wild sky that spoke of the -impending gale kept the thought of Bill close to his heart, and he went -about his business with none of the pleasure that the spending of -money once involved. Not that he forgot his prudence or his skill at -bargaining in the anxiety for Bill that tore his little heart. By dint -of walking and chaffering, he came off with twenty hardtack for his -first quarter; with the soap he extorted a package of starch; and after -he had sniffed beef all the way from Sogi to Vaiala,--a distance of two -miles,--he became the proprietor of a hunk at least six ounces heavier -than the ruling price allowed. The _’ava_ was of a superb quality, fit -for a king to drink. - -It was late when Amatua got home and crept into the great beehive -of a house that had been the pride of his father’s heart. The girls -shouted as they saw him, and old Lu’au clapped her hands as her quick -eyes perceived the soap. His mother alone looked sad--his poor mother, -who used to be so gay and full of fun in that happy time before the -war. She had never been the same since her cousin, the divinity -student, had brought back her brother’s head from the battle-field of -Luatuanuu--that terrible battle-field where the best blood of Samoa was -poured out like water. - -She looked anxiously at Amatua’s parcels, and motioned him to her side, -asking him in a low voice how and where he had got them. - -“It was this way,” said Amatua. “Bill and I are brothers. What is -mine is Bill’s; what is Bill’s is mine. We are two, but in heart we -are one. That’s how I understand Bill, though he talks only the white -man’s stutter. ‘Amatua,’ he said, just before he got into the boat,--I -mean what he said in his heart, for there was not time for words,--‘we -are all of us in God’s high-chief hands this day; a storm is coming, -and my place is on my ship, where I shall live or be cast away, as God -wills. Take you this dollar and spend it with care for the comfort of -all our family; take my very valuable watch, that ticks louder than a -missionary clock, and my handkerchief of silk, the like of which there -is not in Samoa, and keep them for me. My life is God’s alone, but -these things belong to all of our family. Stand firm in the love of -God, and strengthen your heart to obey his high-chief will.’” - - * * * * * - -It was late when Amatua awoke. The house was empty save for old Lu’au, -who was kindling a fire on the hearth. A strange uproar filled the -air, the like of which Amatua had never heard before--the tramp of -multitudes as they rushed and shouted, deafening explosions, and the -shrill, high scream of the long-expected gale. Amatua leaped from his -mats, girded up his loin-cloth, and ran headlong into the night. It -was piercing cold, and he shivered like a leaf, but he took thought -of nothing. He ran for the beach, which lay at no great distance from -his father’s house, and was soon panting down the lane beside Mr. -Eldridge’s store. It was flaming with lights and filled with a buzzing -crowd of whites and natives; and on the front verandah there lay the -dripping body of a sailor with a towel over his upturned face. The -beach was jammed with people, and above the fury of the gale and the -roaring breakers which threatened to engulf the very town there rang -out the penetrating voices of the old war chiefs as they vociferated -their orders and formed up their men. Even as Amatua stood dazed and -almost crushed in the mob, there was a sudden roar, a rush of feet, and -a narrow lane opened to a dozen powerful men springing through with the -bodies of two sailors. - -Amatua turned and fought his way seaward, boring through the crowd to -where the seas swept up to his ankles, and he could make out the lights -of the men-of-war. There was a ship on the reef; he could see the -stupendous tangle of her yards and rigging; every wave swept in some -of her perishing crew. The undertow ran out like a mill-race; living -men were tossed up the beach like corks, only to be sucked back again -to destruction. The Samoans were working with desperation to save the -seamen’s lives, and more than one daring rescuer was himself swept into -the breakers. - -Amatua found himself beside a man who had just been relieved, and was -thunderstruck to find that it was no other than Oa, an old friend of -his, who had been in the forest with Mataafa. - -“How do you happen here, Chief Oa?” shouted Amatua. - -“The Tamaseses have retired on Mulinuu,” said Oa. “It is Mataafa’s -order that we come and save what lives we can.” - -“Germans, too?” asked Amatua, doubtfully, never forgetful of his -father’s wound, or of his uncle who fell at Luatuanuu. - -“We are not at war with God,” said the chief, sternly. “To-night there -is peace in every man’s heart.” - -Amatua stood long beside his friend, peering into that great void in -which so many men were giving up their lives. Sometimes he could make -out the dim hulls of ships when they loomed against the sky-line or as -the heavens brightened for an instant. Bodies kept constantly washing -in, nearly all of them Germans, as Amatua could tell by their uniforms, -or, if these were torn from them in the merciless waters, by the -prevalence of yellow hair and fair skins. Amatua shrank from the sight -of these limp figures, and it was only his love for Bill that kept him -on the watch. Poor Bill! How had he fared this night? Was he even now -tumbling in the mighty rollers, his last duty done on this sorrowful -earth, his brave heart still for ever? Or did he lie, as so many lay -that night here and there about the town, wrapped in blankets in some -white man’s house or native chief’s, safe and sound, beside a blazing -fire? - -Amatua at last grew tired of waiting there beside Oa. The cold ate -into his very bones, and the crowd pressed and trampled on him without -ceasing. He cared for nothing so long as he thought he might find Bill; -but he now despaired of that and began to think of his tired little -self. He forced his way back, and moved aimlessly along from house to -house, looking in at the lighted windows in the vain hope of seeing -Bill. Of dead men there were plenty, but he could not bear to look -at them too closely. He was worn out by the horror and excitement he -had undergone, and when his eyes closed, as they sometimes would, he -seemed to see Bill’s face dancing before him. He was a very tired boy -by the time he made his way home and threw himself once again on the -mats in that empty house. - -It was a strange sight that met Amatua’s gaze the next day on the -Apia beach. The wind had fallen, and the mountainous waves of the -previous night had given way to a heavy ground-swell. But the ships, -the wreckage of ships, the ten thousand and one things--the million -and one things--which lined the beach for a distance of two miles! One -German man-of-war had gone down with every soul on board; another--the -_Adler_--lay broken-backed and sideways on the reef; the _Olga_ had -been run ashore, and looked none the worse for her adventure. The -United States ship _Vandalia_ was a total wreck, and half under water; -close to her lay the _Trenton_, with her gun-deck awash; and within a -pistol-shot of both was the old _Nipsic_, her nose high on land. The -British ship, the _Calliope_, was nowhere to be seen, having forced her -way to sea in the teeth of the hurricane. - -Amatua went almost crazy at the sight of what lay strewn on the beach -that morning. He ran hither and thither, picking up one thing and -then throwing it away for another he liked better: here an officer’s -full-dress coat gleaming with gold lace, there a photograph-album -in a woful state, some twisted rifles, and a broom; everywhere an -extraordinary hotchpotch of things diverse and innumerable. Amatua -found an elegant sword not a bit the worse for its trip ashore, an -officer’s gold-laced cap, and a ditty-box, full of pins and needles and -sewing-gear and old letters. He would also have carried off a tempting -little cannon had it weighed anything under a quarter of a ton; as it -was, he covered it with sand, and stood up the broom to mark the place, -which, strange to say, he has never been able to find since. He got -a cracked bell next, a tin of pork and beans, a bottle of varnish, a -one-pound Hotchkiss shell, a big platter, and a German flag! This he -thought enough for one load, and made his triumphant way home, where he -tried pork and beans for the first time in his life--and did not like -them. - -It would have fared badly with him, for there was nothing in the house -for him to eat save a few green bananas, had it not been for the Samoan -pastor next door. The pastor had hauled a hundred-pound barrel of -prime mess pork out of the surf, and in the fulness of his heart he -was dividing slabs of it among his parishioners. Another neighbour had -salvaged eleven cans of biscuit-pulp, which, though a trifle salt, was -yet good enough to eat. - -In fact, Amatua ate a rather hearty breakfast, and lingered longer -over it than perhaps was well for the best interests of his family. By -the time he returned to the beach the cream had been skimmed from the -milk. True, there was no lack of machinery and old iron, and mountains -of tangled rope and other ship’s gear; but there was no longer the -gorgeous profusion of smaller articles, for ten thousand busy hands -had been at work since dawn. Amatua searched for an hour, and got -nothing but a squashy stamp-album and a musical box in the last stages -of dissolution. - -He realised regretfully that he could hope for nothing more, and -after trading his album to a half-caste boy for a piece of lead, and -exchanging the musical box for six marbles, he again bent his energies -to the finding of Bill. - -For fear of a conflict, the naval commanders had divided their forces. -The Germans were encamped at one end of the town, the Americans at -the other, and armed sentries paced between. Amatua had never seen so -many white men in his life, and he knew scarcely which way to turn -first. He was bewildered by the jostling host that encompassed him on -every side, by the busy files that were marshalled away to work, the -march and countermarch of disciplined feet, the shrill pipe of the -boatswains’ calls, and the almost ceaseless bugling. He looked long and -vainly for Bill in every nook and cranny of the town. He watched beside -the _Nipsic_ for an hour; he forced the guard-house, and even made his -way into the improvised hospital, dodging the doctors and the tired -orderlies. But all in vain. He trudged into Savalalo and Songi, where -the Germans were gathered, fearing lest Bill might have been thrown -into chains by those haughty foemen; but he found nothing but rows of -dead, and weary men digging graves. He stopped officers on the street, -and kind-faced seamen and marines, and asked them earnestly if they had -seen Bill. Some paid no attention to him; others laughed and passed -on; one man slapped him in the face. - -When he came back from the German quarter he found a band playing in -front of Mr. Moors’s store, and noticed sentries about the place, -and important-looking officers, with swords and pistols. He was told -that the admiral was up-stairs, and that Mr. Moors’s house was now -the headquarters of the American forces. A great resolution welled up -in Amatua’s heart. If there was one man on earth that ought to know -about Bill, it was the admiral. Amatua dodged a sentry, and running -up the steps, he crept along the verandah, and peeped into the room -which Kimberly had exchanged for his sea-swept cabin. The admiral sat -at a big table strewn inches high with papers, reports, and charts. -He was writing in his shirt-sleeves, and on the chair beside him lay -his uniform coat and gold-laced cap. At another table two men were -also writing; at another a single man was nibbling a pen as he stared -at the paper before him. It reminded Amatua of the pastor’s school. -Half a dozen officers stood grouped in one corner, whispering to one -another, their hands resting on their swords. It was all as quiet as -church, and nothing could be heard but the scratch of pens as they -raced across the paper. Suddenly a frowning officer noticed Amatua at -the door. “Orderly,” he cried, “drive away that boy”; and Amatua was -ignominiously seized, led down-stairs, and thrown roughly into the -street. - -Amatua cried as though his little heart would break. He sat on the -front porch of the house, careless of the swarming folk about him, and -took a melancholy pleasure in being jostled and trampled on. Oh, it was -a miserable world! Bill was gone, and any one could cuff a little boy. -More than one sailor patted his curly head and lifted him in the air -and kissed him; but Amatua was too sore to care for such attentions. -It was cruel to think that the one man alone in Samoa who knew where -to find Bill, the great chief-captain up-stairs, was absolutely beyond -his power to reach. This thought was unbearable; he nerved himself to -try again; he recalled the admiral’s face, which was not unkindly, -though sad and stern. After all, nothing worse could befall him than -a beating. Again he dodged the lower sentry, and sprang up the stairs -like a cat. Again he gazed into that quiet room and listened to the -everlasting pens. This time he was discovered in an instant; the -orderly pounced at him, but Amatua, with his heart in his mouth, rushed -towards the admiral, and threw himself on his knees beside him. The old -man put a protecting arm round his neck, and the orderly, foiled in the -chase, could do nothing else than salute. - -“Anderson,” said the admiral to an officer, “it is the second time the -boy has been here. I tell you he is after something, and we are not in -a position to disregard anything in this extraordinary country. He may -have a message from King Mataafa. Send for Moors.” - -In a few moments that gentleman appeared, and was bidden to ask Amatua -what he wanted. The officers gathered close behind their chief, and -even the assiduous writers looked up. - -“What does he want?” demanded the admiral, who had no time to spare. - -“He wants to find a sailor named Bill,” said Moors. “He’s afraid Bill -is drowned, and thought he would ask you.” - -Every one smiled save the admiral. “Are you sure that is all?” he said. - -“He says he loved Bill very much,” said Moors, “and has searched the -beach and the hospital and even the lock-up without finding him. Says -he even waited alongside the _Nipsic_ for an hour.” - -“Half my men are named Bill,” said Kimberly; “but I fear his Bill is -numbered with the rest of our brave fellows who went down last night. -Moors,” he went on, “take the lad below, and give him any little thing -he fancies in the store.” - -Amatua did not know what might happen next, but he bravely tramped -beside Mr. Moors, prepared to face the worst. He felt dizzy and faint -when they got below, and Mr. Moors popped him up on the counter, and -asked him whether he would prefer candy or some marbles. “The great -chief-captain said thou wert a brave boy, and should have a present,” -said Mr. Moors. - -Amatua shook his head. Somehow he had lost interest in such trifles. -“Thank his Majesty the admiral,” he said, “but an aching heart takes -no pleasure in such things. With thy permission I will go out and look -again for Bill. Perhaps, if I change my mind, I will come back and -choose marbles,” he added cautiously; and with that he scrambled off -the counter and made for the door. - -“Oh, Bostock,” cried Moors to a naval officer lounging on the front -verandah, “if you have nothing better to do, just take this kid along -with you. He’s crazy to find a sailor named Bill, and he isn’t sure but -that he was drowned last night. He must be pretty well cut up if he -won’t take any marbles.” - -Bostock stopped Amatua, and took his hand in his own. “We’ll go find -Bill,” he said. - -Again was the search begun for Bill, along the main street; in the -alleys, and through the scattered native settlements behind the town as -far as the Uvea huts, at Vaimoso, and the slums of the Nieué Islanders. -Bostock let no seaman pass unnoticed; a heavy fatigue-party coming back -from work on the wrecks--sixty men and four officers--were lined up at -his request, and Amatua was led through the disciplined ranks in search -of Bill. Even the _Nipsic_ was boarded by the indefatigable Bostock -and the weary little boy; and although repairs were being rushed at a -tremendous pace, and every one looked overdriven and out of temper, the -huge ship was overhauled from top to bottom. From the grimy stoke-hole, -where everything dripped oil and the heat was insupportable, to the -great maintop where men were busy at the rigging; from the crowded -quarters of the seamen to the sodden and salt-smelling mess-room, in -which the red came off the cushions like blood, the pair made their way -in search of Bill. - -Bostock led the boy back to land, and said good-bye to him at the -corner of the Apia Hotel. He tried to raise his spirits, and atone -for their failure to find Bill, by the present of a shilling. Amatua -accepted it with quiet gratitude, although the gift had not the -cheering effect that Bostock desired. The little fellow was sick at -heart, and all the shillings in the world could not have consoled him -for the loss of Bill. The naval officer followed him with his eyes as -he trudged sorrowfully home. He, too, had lost a lifelong friend in -that awful night. - -Amatua gave up all hope of ever seeing Bill again, as time slipped -away and one day melted into another. He made friends with Bostock, -and spent many a pleasant hour in the company of that jovial officer, -following him about everywhere like a dog; but for all that he did not -love him as he had loved Bill. Those were exciting times in Apia, and -there was much to amuse and distract a little boy. In the day Bill -often passed from his thoughts, for the incessant panorama life had now -become almost precluded any other thought; but at night, when he awoke -in the early hours and heard the cocks calling, then it was that his -heart turned to Bill and overflowed with grief for his lost friend. - -Two days after the storm--two as men count, but centuries in Amatua’s -calendar--the British ship _Calliope_ returned to port, strained and -battered by that terrible hour when she had pitted her engines against -the gale and taken her desperate dash for freedom. - -But Amatua’s little head was far too full of something else for him to -bother about another man-of-war. Bostock had promised to take him to -the raft where men were diving for the _Trenton’s_ treasure-chest. He -knew all about men-of-war by this time, for he had the freedom of the -_Nipsic’s_ ward-room, and he took breakfast regularly with his friends, -the officers. They had given him a gold-laced cap and a tin sword, -and the tailor had made him a blue jacket with shoulder-straps and -brass buttons and the stripes of a second lieutenant. He had his own -appointed station when the ship beat to quarters; for the _Nipsic_ had -been got safely off the reef and once more divided the waters of the -bay. - -It was a beautiful morning when they pulled out in a shore boat to the -raft where the work was in progress. As the Americans possessed no -diving apparatus, Kane, the British captain, had lent them the one he -carried, with six good men who had some experience in such matters. -Amatua was disappointed to find so little to interest him. He examined -the pump with which two men were keeping life in the diver below; but -he could not understand the sense of it, and the continuous noise soon -grew monotonous. Except a tin pail containing the men’s lunch, the -brass-bound breaker of drinking water, and some old clothes, there -was nothing in the world to attract a small boy. Amatua stood beside -Bostock and yawned; the little second lieutenant longed to be on shore -playing marbles with his friends in civil life. He was half asleep -when Bostock plucked his arm and pointed into the depths beneath. A -glittering shell-fish of ponderous weight and monstrous size was -slowly rising to the surface. Every one rushed to the side of the raft, -save only the two men at the pumps, who went on unmoved. Amatua clung -to Bostock. Higher and higher came the hideous shell-fish, until its -great, goggling-eyed head appeared horribly above the water. Amatua -turned faint. The crew behaved with incredible daring, and seized the -huge, bulging thing with the utmost fearlessness. It was frightful to -see it step on the raft and toil painfully to the centre, as though it -had been wounded in some mortal part. One of the men lifted a hammer as -though to kill it, and began to tap, tap, tap on some weak spot in the -neck. Then he threw down the hammer, detached the long suckers which -reached from the beast’s snout, and started to unscrew its very head -from its body. Amatua looked on confounded; he was shaking with horror, -yet the fascination of that brassy monster drew him close. - -Suddenly the creature sank on its knees, and the man gripped the head -in both his hands and lifted it up. And underneath, wonder of wonders! -there was the face of a man--a white man. - -And the white man was Bill! - -With a cry Amatua threw himself into his friend’s arms, dripping though -he was. What did he care for the fine uniform, now that Bill was found -again! - -“And where have you been all this time?” asked Bostock. - -“Oh, I’m the boatswain’s mate of the _Calliope_,” said Bill; “and -what with the knocking about we got, I’ve been kept hard at it on the -rigging.” - -“You have been badly missed,” said Bostock. - -“Bless his old heart!” said the sailor, “I think a lot of my little Am.” - - - - - * * * * * * - - - - -Transcriber’s note: - - Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. - - Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized. - - Archaic or alternate spelling has been retained from the original. - - - -***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE QUEEN VERSUS BILLY AND OTHER -STORIES*** - - -******* This file should be named 62875-0.txt or 62875-0.zip ******* - - -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: -http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/6/2/8/7/62875 - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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