diff options
Diffstat (limited to 'old/62875-h/62875-h.htm')
| -rw-r--r-- | old/62875-h/62875-h.htm | 10613 |
1 files changed, 0 insertions, 10613 deletions
diff --git a/old/62875-h/62875-h.htm b/old/62875-h/62875-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index 7212668..0000000 --- a/old/62875-h/62875-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,10613 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" - "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> -<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> -<head> -<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=ISO-8859-1" /> -<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Queen Versus Billy and Other Stories, by Lloyd Osbourne</title> -<link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" /> - <style type="text/css"> - -body { - margin-left: 10%; - margin-right: 10%; -} - - h1,h2 { - text-align: center; - clear: both; -} - -p { - margin-top: .51em; - text-align: justify; - margin-bottom: .49em; -} - -div.chapter {page-break-before: always;} -h2.nobreak {page-break-before: avoid;} - -div.titlepage {text-align: center; page-break-before: always; page-break-after: always;} -div.titlepage p {text-align: center; font-weight: bold; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: 2em;} - -hr { - width: 33%; - margin-top: 2em; - margin-bottom: 2em; - margin-left: 33.5%; - margin-right: 33.5%; - clear: both; -} - -hr.chap {width: 65%; margin-left: 17.5%; margin-right: 17.5%;} -hr.tb {width: 45%; margin-left: 27.5%; margin-right: 27.5%;} - -.ph1 {text-align: center; font-size: large; font-weight: bold;} - -table { - margin-left: auto; - margin-right: auto; -} - - .tdl {text-indent: -1em;} - .tdr {text-align: right;} - .tdc {text-align: center;} - -.pagenum { - position: absolute; - left: 92%; - font-size: smaller; - text-align: right; -} - - -.center {text-align: center;} - -.right {text-align: right;} - -.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} - -.indentright {margin-right: 5em;} - -.xlarge {font-size: 150%;} -.large {font-size: 125%;} - -.figcenter { - margin: auto; - text-align: center; -} - -p.drop-cap { - text-indent: -0.2em; -} -p.drop-cap2 { - text-indent: -0.5em; -} -p.drop-cap:first-letter, p.drop-cap2:first-letter -{ - float: left; - margin: 0.15em 0.1em 0em 0em; - font-size: 250%; - line-height:0.55em; - text-indent: 0em; -} -@media handheld -{ - p.drop-cap, p.drop-cap2 { - text-indent: 0em; - } - p.drop-cap:first-letter, p.drop-cap2:first-letter - { - float: none; - margin: 0; - font-size: 100%; - } -} - -.transnote {background-color: #E6E6FA; - color: black; - font-size:smaller; - padding:0.5em; - margin-bottom:5em; - font-family:sans-serif, serif; } - - - h1.pgx { text-align: center; - clear: both; - font-weight: bold; - font-size: 190%; - margin-top: 0em; - margin-bottom: 1em; - word-spacing: 0em; - letter-spacing: 0em; - line-height: 1; } - h2.pgx { text-align: center; - clear: both; - font-weight: bold; - font-size: 135%; - margin-top: 2em; - margin-bottom: 1em; - word-spacing: 0em; - letter-spacing: 0em; - page-break-before: avoid; - line-height: 1; } - h3.pgx { text-align: center; - clear: both; - font-weight: bold; - font-size: 110%; - margin-top: 2em; - margin-bottom: 1em; - word-spacing: 0em; - letter-spacing: 0em; - line-height: 1; } - h4.pgx { text-align: center; - clear: both; - font-weight: bold; - font-size: 100%; - margin-top: 2em; - margin-bottom: 1em; - word-spacing: 0em; - letter-spacing: 0em; - line-height: 1; } - hr.pgx { width: 100%; - margin-top: 3em; - margin-bottom: 0em; - margin-left: auto; - margin-right: auto; - height: 4px; - border-width: 4px 0 0 0; /* remove all borders except the top one */ - border-style: solid; - border-color: #000000; - clear: both; } - </style> -</head> -<body> -<h1 class="pgx" title="">The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Queen Versus Billy and Other Stories, by -Lloyd Osbourne</h1> -<p>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 <a -href="http://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. 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.</p> -<p>Title: The Queen Versus Billy and Other Stories</p> -<p> 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</p> -<p>Author: Lloyd Osbourne</p> -<p>Release Date: August 7, 2020 [eBook #62875]</p> -<p>Language: English</p> -<p>Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1</p> -<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE QUEEN VERSUS BILLY AND OTHER STORIES***</p> -<p> </p> -<h4 class="pgx" title="">E-text prepared by D A Alexander, David E. Brown,<br /> - and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team<br /> - (<a href="http://www.pgdp.net">http://www.pgdp.net</a>)<br /> - from page images generously made available by<br /> - Internet Archive<br /> - (<a href="https://archive.org">https://archive.org</a>)</h4> -<p> </p> -<table border="0" style="background-color: #ccccff;margin: 0 auto;" cellpadding="10"> - <tr> - <td valign="top"> - Note: - </td> - <td> - Images of the original pages are available through - Internet Archive. See - <a href="https://archive.org/details/queenversesbilly00osborich"> - https://archive.org/details/queenversesbilly00osborich</a> - </td> - </tr> -</table> -<p> </p> -<hr class="pgx" /> -<p> </p> -<p> </p> -<p> </p> -<p> </p> - -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/cover.jpg" alt="" /></div> -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h1>The Queen versus<br /> -Billy and<br /> -Other Stories</h1> - - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="titlepage"> -<p><span class="xlarge">THE QUEEN VERSUS<br /> -BILLY AND<br /> -OTHER STORIES</span></p> - -<p><span class="large"><i>By</i> LLOYD OSBOURNE</span></p> - -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i_title.jpg" alt="" /></div> - -<p>Charles Scribner’s Sons<br /> -New York . . . . 1900</p></div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p class="center">Copyright, 1900, by<br /> -<span class="smcap">Charles Scribner’s Sons</span><br /> -<br /> -<small>THE DEVINNE PRESS.</small></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak"> -Contents</h2></div> - - - -<table border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="2" summary="table"> - -<tr><td> </td><td class="tdr">Page</td></tr> - -<tr><td>The Queen versus Billy</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_3"> 3</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>The Beautiful Man of Pingalap</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_31"> 31</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>The Dust of Defeat</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_65"> 65</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>The Happiest Day of his Life</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_109"> 109</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>Father Zosimus</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_127"> 127</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>Frenchy’s Last Job</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_171"> 171</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>The Devil’s White Man</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_213"> 213</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>The Phantom City</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_237"> 237</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>Amatua’s Sailor</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_287"> 287</a></td></tr> -</table> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[1]</a></span></p> - - - - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak">THE QUEEN VERSUS BILLY</h2></div> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[2]</a></span></p> -<hr class="chap" /> - - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span> -<h2 class="nobreak">THE QUEEN VERSUS BILLY</h2></div> - - -<p class="drop-cap">IT was the <i>Sandfly</i>, Captain Toombs, that brought -the news to Sydney and intercepted her Majesty’s -third-class cruiser <i>Stingaree</i>, 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 <i>Meg Merrilies</i> 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.”</p> - -<p>It was not everybody who would have liked such a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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 <i>Stingaree</i> 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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>The first lieutenant nodded. He was a burly, inarticulate -man, to whom speech was always a serious -matter.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Am I to go, sir?” asked the lieutenant.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span> -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.”</p> - -<p>“All right, sir,” said Facey.</p> - -<p>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 <i>Stingaree</i> 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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>“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!”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Well, how did you make out?” asked the captain.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span> -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 <i>Royalist</i>; -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.”</p> - -<p>“You’ve done well, Mr. Facey,” said Casement, as -his lieutenant drew to a close, “and I tell you the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span> -story sha’n’t lose when I report it to the admiral. -You had better go now and get your clothes off,” he -added.</p> - -<p>Facey jumped to his feet. “I am sure I am awfully -obliged to you, sir,” he said.</p> - -<p>“Ugh, that’s all right,” said Casement, in his testy -way. “What have you done with the prisoner?”</p> - -<p>“Turned him over to the sergeant for safe-keeping, -sir,” returned the officer.</p> - -<p>“Leg-irons?” asked Casement.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span>“Burder will prosecute for the Queen,” he said. -“Pickthorn will act as clerk. Sennett, Roche, and I -will compose the court.”</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“I’ll move for an adjournment,” said Facey.</p> - -<p>“I’ll be hanged if you will,” said the captain. -“It’s a beastly business, and we have got to put it -through.”</p> - -<p>Facey groaned.</p> - -<p>“Well, do you think I like it?” said Casement.</p> - -<p>The lieutenant saluted and walked away to find his -prisoner.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Billy,” said Facey, “they are going to make judge -and jury for you by and by; and I am to talky-talky -for you.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span>“All same Queensland,” returned Billy. “May the -Lord have mercy on your sinful soul!”</p> - -<p>Facey was stupefied. “Where in thunder did you -learn that?” he demanded.</p> - -<p>“Oh, me savvy too much,” said Billy.</p> - -<p>“Now, see here,” said the lieutenant. “You didn’t -kill that trader?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, I kill him,” said Billy, cheerfully.</p> - -<p>“You did?” cried the other.</p> - -<p>“White fellow no good; I kill him,” said the -prisoner.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>The black boy looked distressed and nodded a forlorn -assent.</p> - -<p>“You’ll be a big fool to say that,” said Facey.</p> - -<p>“White fellow no good; I kill him,” repeated Billy.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>Billy began to whimper; the other’s loud voice and -threatening demeanour seemed to overwhelm him.</p> - -<p>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?”</p> - -<p>Billy rolled his eyes, and wiped away the tears with -a grimy paw.</p> - -<p>“White fellow no good; I kill—”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span>“You be damned!” cried his legal adviser.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Kiss the book and say whether you murdered the -trader or not,” said the captain.</p> - -<p>“White fellow no good; I kill him,” quavered the -prisoner.</p> - -<p>“Pleads guilty,” said Casement to the clerk.</p> - -<p>“What did you do it for?” demanded the court.</p> - -<p>Billy reiterated his stock phrase.</p> - -<p>“Take him away,” said the captain.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>Then rose Burder for the Queen. He was a cheeky -youngster, with pink cheeks, a glib tongue, and no -end of assurance.</p> - -<p>“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—</p> - -<p>“Stick to the prisoner,” cried the court.</p> - -<p>“I bow to correction, sir,” went on Burder. “I say<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span> -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.”</p> - -<p>“I believe you appear for the defence, Mr. Facey?” -said Casement, as the Queen’s prosecutor took his -seat.</p> - -<p>“I do, sir,” returned the first lieutenant, nervously.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span> -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.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span>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:</p> - -<p>“Mr. Sennett, as the youngest member, it is for -you to speak first.”</p> - -<p>“I think he’s guilty, sir,” said Sennett.</p> - -<p>Casement turned his quick glance on Roche.</p> - -<p>“Same here,” said the doctor.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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 <i>versus</i> Billy what?”</p> - -<p>“Billy nothing,” said the captain, savagely. “Call -him William Pickthorn if you think it sounds better.”</p> - -<p>The verdict of the court was explained to Jibberik,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>“White fellow no good; I kill him.”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>“White fellow no good; I kill him.”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span> -on board. Go ashore? Escape? Not for -worlds!</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Mr. Facey,” he said, “send Mr. Burder ashore -with an armed party; tell him just to show himself -a bit and come off again.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span>“Yes, sir,” said Facey.</p> - -<p>“I am thinking they might take that fellow Billy to -translate for them,” he went on, shamefacedly.</p> - -<p>The first lieutenant turned to go.</p> - -<p>“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—”</p> - -<p>Facey smiled.</p> - -<p>“Of course,” rasped out the captain, “I can’t tolerate -any dereliction of duty; but if the young devil -made a break for it—”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Burder skipped up the steps and saluted the captain -on the bridge.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir,” returned Burder. “Looked for him -high and low, sir.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“No, sir,” said Burder.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span> -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!”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Billy, on the starboard bow!”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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 -<i>Stingaree</i> was at anchor off the blow-hole.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir,” said the lieutenant, turning very pale.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>Billy did not at first realize how seriously he was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Will you give the prisoner a minute to make his -peace with God?” asked old Quinn.</p> - -<p>Facey nodded.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span>“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.”</p> - -<p>For a moment Billy made no answer. At last, in -a husky voice, he said:</p> - -<p>“You mean Cap’n Tom, who live here before?”</p> - -<p>“Him you hurled into eternity with all his sins hot -on him. Yes, Captain Tom, the trader.”</p> - -<p>“No!” cried Billy, with a strangled cry. “Me no -sorry. White fellow no good; I kill him.”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“Stand right there, Billy,” said the officer, turning -the prisoner round to face the firing party, that was -already drawn up.</p> - -<p>“Good-bye, Missy Facey and gennelmen all,” whimpered -the boy.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“Fire!”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span></p> - - - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak">THE BEAUTIFUL MAN OF -PINGALAP</h2></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span></p> -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span> -<h2 class="nobreak">THE BEAUTIFUL MAN OF -PINGALAP</h2></div> - - -<p class="drop-cap">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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“And the girl?” I asked.</p> - -<p>“Who’d tyke her?” he replied, with a drop of his -lip. “Did you ever see an uglier piece in all your -life?”</p> - -<p>“What do you mean to do with her?” I asked, -knowing that the firm had promised him a passage -to Sydney in the <i>Ransom</i>, and wondering what would -become of the unfortunate Bo, whom he was little -likely to drag with him to the colonies.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span> -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.”</p> - -<p>“Lickings!” I said. “Is that the way you taught -Bo?”</p> - -<p>“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 <i>Belle Brandon</i> went -ashore on Fourteen Island Group.”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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 <i>Ransom</i>; 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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span> -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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>“You’re going to miss them things up there,” he -would say. “My word, ain’t you going to miss -them!”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I shan’t stand in her blooming light,” he said.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span> -“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?”</p> - -<p>“I’ll give you twenty-five dollars for her,” I said, -“and not one penny more.”</p> - -<p>“My word,” he said, “you’re getting her cruel -cheap!”</p> - -<p>“Well, that’s my price,” I said.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Hearten you up, you mean,” I said.</p> - -<p>“I never was no haggler,” he said. “She’s yours, -Mr. Logan, at twenty-five dollars.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span> -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:</p> - -<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="table"> - -<tr><td class="tdl">W. J. Logan, Dr., to Henery Hinton:</td></tr> - - - - -<tr><td>1 Young Woman, cut price</td><td class="tdr"> $25.00</td></tr> -<tr><td>1 Superior Congo Monkey</td><td class="tdr"> 7.50</td></tr> -<tr><td>1 Choice Imported Parrot</td><td class="tdr"> 4.50</td></tr> -<tr><td>1 Chest Fancy Female Wearing Apparel</td><td class="tdr"> 40.00</td></tr> -<tr><td>7 Extra-size Special Kingsmill Mats</td><td class="tdr"> 5.00</td></tr> -<tr><td>5 lbs. Best Assorted Beads</td><td class="tdr"> 2.50</td></tr> -<tr><td> </td><td class="tdr">———</td></tr> -<tr><td class="tdc">Total</td><td class="tdr"> $84.50</td></tr> -</table> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span> -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 <i>Cape Horn Pigeon</i>, 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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span> -to lunch I asked the steward, as a favour, to allow me -seamen’s biscuit in its stead.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>All that day and all the following night Bo lay -supinely on the mats, and hardly deigned to touch<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span> -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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span> -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!</p> - -<p>The idea of Bo and I both leaving together never -struck my mind until the opportune arrival of the -<i>Fleur de Lys</i>, bound for Ruk, suddenly turned my -thoughts in a new direction. With feverish haste -I calculated the course of the <i>Ransom</i>, 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 <i>Fleur -de Lys</i> 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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span> -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 <i>Fleur de Lys</i> 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 -<i>Ransom</i> 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.</p> - -<p>By the time we had raised the white beaches of our<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span> -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 <i>Ransom</i> 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 <i>Ransom</i>, 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 <i>Ransom</i>. 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.</p> - -<p>Resisting my first impulse to kick him, I controlled -myself sufficiently to say that I was <i>not</i> 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.</p> - -<p>“My word!” he said, “you don’t think I’m going to -tyke her?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span>“That’s your affair,” said I, moving off.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“Oh, I s’y!” he faltered, and allowed me to descend -in quiet to my boat.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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 <i>Ransom</i>, 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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“W’y, w’at’s this you have against me?” he asked, -with a very creditable show of astonishment.</p> - -<p>I pointed to the melancholy spectre on the beach.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span>“W’at of it?” he said. “She ain’t mine: she’s yours.”</p> - -<p>“You wait till I see the captain!” I retorted.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“That’s a nice sight, sir,” I said, pointing in the -direction of Bo.</p> - -<p>He gave a snort and muttered something below his -breath.</p> - -<p>“Is his order good?” I asked.</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir,” he replied; “his order is good.”</p> - -<p>“See here, Hinton,” I said, “wouldn’t you care to -sell it?”</p> - -<p>“W’y, w’at are you driving at?” he returned.</p> - -<p>“If you’ll take her back,” I said, indicating Bo in -the distance, “I’ll buy your passage for what it’s -worth.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span>“I don’t know as I’d care to sell,” he returned; -“leastw’ys, at any figger you’d care to nyme.”</p> - -<p>“What would you care to nyme?” I repeated after -him, in involuntary mimicry of his whine.</p> - -<p>“One hundred dollars,” he replied.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, come off!” he exclaimed. “Ain’t you blooming -well deserting her yourself?”</p> - -<p>“If you are not careful I will punch your head,” I -said.</p> - -<p>“Don’t mind me, sir,” said the captain, significantly, -turning an enormous back upon us.</p> - -<p>“Is it business you’re talking, or fight?” inquired -the Beautiful Man. “You sort of mix a feller up.”</p> - -<p>“I tell you I’ll pay you one hundred dollars on -those terms,” I said.</p> - -<p>“Hand them along, then,” said Hinton. “I tyke you.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span>I was rather disarmed by this gift and took it with -a smile, putting in another good word for Bo.</p> - -<p>“Might I ask what you are going to do now?” -asked the captain, addressing Hinton in a tone that -bordered on ferocity.</p> - -<p>“W’y, I was just thinking of st’ying to breakfast, -sir,” quavered the little man, “and then toddle ashore -to my happy home.”</p> - -<p>“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!”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Your bag!” cried the captain, going to the open -skylight and thundering out: “Steward, bring up -that beach-comber’s bag!”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>I spent the rest of the morning writing letters to go -by the <i>Ransom</i>, 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.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“I won’t forget her,” I answered pretty quietly. -“Nor you either, you little cur.”</p> - -<p>“Cur!” he repeated, edging away from me.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>As I was hurrying down to the beach, I saw the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>One hundred and thirty-seven dollars!</p> - -<p>It was Bo’s restitution.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span></p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span> -<h2 class="nobreak">THE DUST OF DEFEAT</h2></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span></p> -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span> -<h2 class="nobreak"> -THE DUST OF DEFEAT</h2></div> - - -<p class="drop-cap">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.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“I would like to know,” she answered; “but I was -afraid. I didn’t wish to be—to be—”</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span> -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.”</p> - -<p>“You are innocent?” she cried, looking up at him -with eyes full of tenderness and curiosity. “You -have shielded some one?”</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>His companion shuddered.</p> - -<p>“Pardon me,” he continued. “God knows, I have -no desire to be merry; my heart is heavy enough, in -all conscience.”</p> - -<p>“You will tell me everything,” she said softly.</p> - -<p>He walked along in silence for several minutes, -moody and preoccupied, staring on the ground before -him.</p> - -<p>“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)<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span> -make her <i>salon</i> the centre of all the gaiety and wit -of France.</p> - -<p>“From her earliest infancy my sister Berthe was -counted one of the company at the château, and while -I was at the <i>lycée</i> 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.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span> -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 <i>laisser-faire</i>.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span> -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!</p> - -<p>“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 <i>mondaine</i>, 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.</p> - -<p>“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.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span> -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 <i>beaux yeux</i> 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!</p> - -<p>“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;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span> -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 <i>monde</i> 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!</p> - -<p>“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.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span> -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!</p> - -<p>“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,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span> -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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span> -play-acting to win the regard of these poor women. -Let me do the man that justice.</p> - -<p>“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’<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>“‘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 <i>le boxe</i> (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!’</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>“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,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span> -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 <i>blonde</i> and <i>brune</i> 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 <i>bonnes fortunes</i>.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>“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 -<i>rencontre</i> on the street put me on de Gonse’s track, -and I ran him down in the <i>salle</i> 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.</p> - -<p>“I lifted my glove and struck him square across -his handsome face.</p> - -<p>“‘You will understand what that is for, M. le -Marquis de Gonse!’ I cried.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span>“He turned deadly white, and with a quick movement -caught my wrists in both his hands.</p> - -<p>“‘<i>Mon enfant!</i>’ 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.’</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“De Gonse slunk back with a sort of sob.</p> - -<p>“‘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.’</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>“‘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?’</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>“‘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.</p> - -<p>“‘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.’</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span> -the average proficiency. He appeared to great advantage -on the field; so cool, so handsome, such a <i>grand -seigneur</i>—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 <i>galant homme</i> -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.</p> - -<p>“We were placed in position. Everything was <i>en -règle</i>. 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.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span> -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!</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>“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. ‘<i>Mon colonel</i>,’ 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.’</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>“‘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.’</p> - -<p>“I folded my arms.</p> - -<p>“‘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.’</p> - -<p>“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?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span> -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!</p> - -<p>“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 <i>cause célèbre</i>, 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!</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span> -went mad. She died. My military degradation is -another of those things unspeakable. The epaulets -were torn from my shoulders, the <i>galons</i> 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!</p> - -<p>“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 <i>maire</i> and council in carriages, the -charity children on foot, the <i>pompiers</i> with their engine, -a battalion of the National Guard, and the band<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span> -of the Ninth Marine Infantry! What mockery! -What horror!</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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 <i>parole d’honneur</i>. It is only Frenchmen who could -ask such a thing of a convict, but, as I told you before,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span> -I was regarded as an exception, a man whose -word might safely be taken.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span> -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?</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>He had not looked at the girl once during the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>“I shall never forget,” she said.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>She made a motion of dissent, drawing closer to him -as though to express her confidence.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“I must go,” she said, with a little thrill of anger -or agitation in her voice. “I have stayed too long -already.”</p> - -<p>He came towards her.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>She avoided his glance, and opened the box, giving, -as she did so, an exclamation of astonishment.</p> - -<p>It was full of rings.</p> - -<p>“They were my poor mother’s,” he explained. “By -special permission I was allowed to receive them here; -I feared they might go astray.”</p> - -<p>There were, perhaps, ten rings in all, every one the -choice of a woman of refinement and great wealth—diamonds,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>Miss Coulstoun held it up to the light, turning it -from side to side.</p> - -<p>“It is like a pool of fire,” she said.</p> - -<p>“Won’t you try it on?” he asked.</p> - -<p>She did so, and held out her hand for him to see. -The ring might have been made to the measure of her -finger.</p> - -<p>“You will never take it off again,” he said. “You -will keep it for a souvenir—for a remembrance.”</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>“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.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span> -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.”</p> - -<p>The girl looked away.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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 <i>convenances</i> 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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span> -‘It’s all right, it’s all right’; but in an island full of -con—”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“M. de Charruel has just presented it to me, papa,” -she returned. “Is it not beautiful?”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“I am told that it is worth about twelve thousand -francs,” said the Frenchman.</p> - -<p>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—”</p> - -<p>This little aside finished, the general came back -again to the attack, more civil, however, and more -conciliatory in his tone.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span> -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.”</p> - -<p>“It rests entirely with Miss Coulstoun,” returned -de Charruel.</p> - -<p>“In that case, there can certainly be no question,” -said the general.</p> - -<p>“I shall not give it back, papa,” said Amy.</p> - -<p>Her father stared at her in amazement, and from -her distrustfully to de Charruel.</p> - -<p>“Is he not a—convict?” he asked.</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“And you are going to accept a present from a -convict?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“A present said to be worth twelve thousand -francs?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“My God!” he cried, “I could not have believed it -possible.”</p> - -<p>At this she burst out crying.</p> - -<p>The general put his arm round her. “Come away, -my daughter,” he said. “For once in my life I am -ashamed of you.”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span>The convict raised it slowly to his lips. Their eyes -met for the last time.</p> - -<p>“Good-bye,” he said.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>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!</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>By dawn he was at Fitzroy’s, begging the Irishman<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span> -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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>De Charruel thanked her with ceremony.</p> - -<p>“Your errand cannot be the same as that which -brings the others,” she went on, half smiling. “<i>Mon -Dieu!</i>” she exclaimed, as she saw the truth in his reddening -face. “You, a noble! a <i>chef de famille</i>! It is -impossible.”</p> - -<p>“I am only the convict de Charruel,” he answered.</p> - -<p>The old woman looked at him with keen displeasure.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Does she fulfil my conditions?” asked the count.</p> - -<p>“Yes; a thousand times, yes!” exclaimed the Mother -Superior. “Shall I give orders for her to be -brought?”</p> - -<p>“If you would have the kindness,” said de Charruel.</p> - -<p>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,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>The Mother Superior motioned her to take a seat.</p> - -<p>“This is Suzanne,” she said.</p> - -<p>De Charruel rose to his feet and bowed.</p> - -<p>There was a dead silence.</p> - -<p>“Can you not say something?” said the old lady, -turning to the count with some asperity.</p> - -<p>“Mademoiselle,” he said, with a sensation of extreme -embarrassment, “I have the honour to ask you -to marry me.”</p> - -<p>“You need not commit yourself,” interrupted the -Mother Superior. “You can have the choice of two -more.”</p> - -<p>“If I saw a hundred, madame,” he replied, “I could -find no one I preferred to this young lady.”</p> - -<p>There was another prolonged silence.</p> - -<p>“You must answer, Suzanne,” said the old lady. -“Yes or no?”</p> - -<p>The girl burst into tears.</p> - -<p>“Yes or no?” reiterated the Mother.</p> - -<p>“I weep at monsieur’s extraordinary goodness,” -said the girl. “Yes, madame, yes.”</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>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.</p> - - - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span>“Paul,” she said, with a little tremor in her voice, -“you have hidden nothing from me? You have done -nothing wrong, Paul?”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“The authorities—” she answered. “There has -been a messenger from the mine with a blue official -letter. Oh, Paul, it frightens me.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“I am so happy, Paul,” she said,—“so happy that -I tremble for my happiness!”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“You must go back to prison?” she cried in a voice -of agony.</p> - -<p>He could only shake his head.</p> - -<p>“Speak!” she cried again. “Paul, Paul, I must -know, if it kills me!”</p> - -<p>He gave her a dreadful look.</p> - -<p>“I am pardoned,” he said. “I am free!”</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span> -<h2 class="nobreak">THE HAPPIEST DAY OF HIS LIFE</h2></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span></p> -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span> -<h2 class="nobreak"> -THE HAPPIEST DAY OF HIS LIFE</h2></div> - - -<p class="drop-cap">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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“The white man said you would give us a tin of -salmon and six <i>masi</i>,” said the little girl, in native.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p><span class="smcap">My dear Nephew</span> [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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p class="right"> -<span class="indentright">Affectionately yours,</span><br /> - -<span class="smcap">Alfred Bannock</span>. -</p></blockquote> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>There were a dozen little villages to be passed before -he could attain the rocky promontory that barred<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span> -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 <i>’ava</i>; 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,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“How do you do, Engelbert?” he said.</p> - -<p>The German looked at him with smouldering eyes. -“Gan’t you see I’m busy?” he said.</p> - -<p>“You might offer a man a chair,” said Kinross, -seating himself on the tool-chest.</p> - -<p>“Dere iss no jare for dem dat issn’t welgome,” said -the German.</p> - -<p>“I used to be welcome here,” said Kinross. “There -was a time when you were a precious good friend of -mine, Paul Engelbert.”</p> - -<p>“Dat wass long ago,” said the trader.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span>“I’ve been thinking,” said Kinross, “that I’ve -acted like a damned fool about those trees.”</p> - -<p>“Dat wass what I wass dinking, too, dese two dree -years,” responded the other.</p> - -<p>“Take them; they are yours,” said Kinross. “You -can build your fence there to-morrow.”</p> - -<p>“So!” said Engelbert, with dawning intelligence. -“The Yerman gonsul has at last to my gomplaint -listened.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“And you want noding?” asked Engelbert, still -incredulous.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>“A friend is worth more than seven breadfruits,” -said Kinross.</p> - -<p>“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!”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span>His strapping native wife appeared with bottles and -mugs; at the sight of their guest she could scarcely -conceal her surprise.</p> - -<p>“Prosit!” said Engelbert, touching glasses.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>Kinross nodded, but his face fell in spite of himself.</p> - -<p>“I from the American gonsul bought him,” went -on the German, “very sheap: two hundred dollars -Chile money.”</p> - -<p>Kinross looked black. Engelbert patted his hand -and smiled ambiguously.</p> - -<p>“Dey are yours,” he said. “Pay me back when -you have de money. I buy dem only to spite you. -<i>My friend</i>, take dem.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>He was crossing the <i>malae</i>, 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 <i>siapo</i>. 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,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span> -and slipped under the eaves near the place where the -old chief was sitting alone.</p> - -<p>“<i>Talofa</i>, Tangaloa,” he cried out cordially, shaking -hands.</p> - -<p>The chief responded somewhat drily to the salutation -and assumed a vacant expression.</p> - -<p>“That dog!” began the trader.</p> - -<p>“That dog!” repeated the chief, with counterfeit -surprise.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“But it is dead,” said Tangaloa.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“Cease,” said the chief; “there was no worth to the -dog, and I have no anger against thee, Kinilosi.”</p> - -<p>“You mock at me, Tangaloa,” said Kinross. -“There is anger in thine eyes even as thou speakest -to me.”</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span> -wise was it and loving; and if I were sick it would -not eat.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Impossible,” said Tangaloa. “When the cocoanut -is split, who can make it whole?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>At this Tangaloa laughed for the first time. “And -what about thy chickens?” he demanded, “and thy -things to eat hung out at night?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Cease, Kinilosi; I am thy friend already,” said -Tangaloa, extending his hand. “It is forgotten about -the dog, and lo, the anger is buried.”</p> - -<p>“And the price?” inquired Kinross.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“I shall be pleased indeed,” said the trader, who of -a sudden assumed an intent, listening attitude.</p> - -<p>“What is the matter?” demanded Tangaloa.</p> - - - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span>“Sh-sh!” exclaimed the white man.</p> - -<p>“There is nothing,” said the chief.</p> - -<p>“Yes, yes,” said Kinross; “listen, your Highness! -A faint, faint bark like that of a spirit dog.”</p> - -<p>“Oh,” said the chief, looking about uneasily.</p> - -<p>“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!’”</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>“I think he says fifty cents,” said Kinross.</p> - -<p>“No, no,” cried the chief; “it was like this—quite -plain: ‘One-dollar-one-dollar!’”</p> - -<p>“That ends it,” said Kinross. “I must haste to obey -the voice of the spirit dog. Good-bye, your Highness.”</p> - -<p>“Good-bye, Kinilosi,” returned the chief, warmly. -“I laugh and talk jestingly, but my heart—”</p> - -<p>“Mine also,” added Kinross, quickly, again grasping -the old man’s hand.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span> -was her match in all the seas? He threw his arm -round her and kissed her on the lips.</p> - -<p>“Of all things in the world what wouldst thou like -the most, Leata?” he asked.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“But there are other things than love,” persisted -Kinross. “Ear-rings, musical boxes, print for -dresses.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“But if I gave you a little bag of gold shillings,” -he said, “and took thee to Apia, my pigeon, what -wouldst thou buy?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“O thou foolish Leata,” said Kinross, “and nothing -for thyself?”</p> - -<p>“There is still more in my bag,” she answered, -“enough for a golden locket and a golden chain.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span> -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!”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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!”</p> - -<p>Kinross looked at her with great gentleness. His -resolution was taken, be it for good or evil.</p> - -<p>“I shall never go back,” he said.</p> - -<p>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!”</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span> -<h2 class="nobreak">FATHER ZOSIMUS</h2></div> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span></p> -<hr class="chap" /> - - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span> -<h2 class="nobreak"> -FATHER ZOSIMUS</h2></div> - - -<p class="drop-cap">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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>Six months later the <i>Morning Star</i> 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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span> -fast-dwindling ship, which he could not hope to see -again for the space of a year.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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 “<i>Maliu mai, susu -mai Tutumanaia</i>” (“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.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span>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 <i>tamanu</i> wood -for her to sit on, and raised a roof overhead to protect -her from passing showers or the glancing rays of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span> -the sun; and the place was called “<i>o le Nofoali’i o -Misi Mini</i>,” 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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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 <i>papalangi</i> -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,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span> -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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span> -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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>“God be thanked!” cried Father Zosimus, throwing -himself once more on his knees.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span> -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 <i>papatisonga</i> 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.</p> - -<p>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 -<i>maalava</i> 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.</p> - -<p>“Not very long,” said the old retainer,—“scarcely -more than the half of your Highness’s arm.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span>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 <i>ali’i patele</i> I must -see him instantly.” But no message came; no discreet -cough or dog-like scratching against the door<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span> -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 <i>taupou</i> of Fangaloa, in a striped -silk <i>apana</i> 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 <i>moso’oi</i>, followed by groups of young -girls and young men, decorously apart, as convention -demands; the former in bright <i>lavalavas</i> and -little shirts of flowers and leaves, or with their -brown bosoms glistening through entwined <i>laumaile</i> -and necklaces of scarlet <i>singano</i>; the latter with -lime-whitened heads and flaming <i>aute</i>-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.</p> - -<p>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 <i>taupou</i> 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,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>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.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span> -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 -<i>palusami</i> unstinted, while he hurriedly made ready -for the visit that he was at last to pay.</p> - -<p>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,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span> -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 <i>Wild Cat</i> 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?</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Oh, my son,” said Zosimus, “the blessing of an<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span> -old and not unworthy man cannot harm thee. Do -we not each serve God according to our lights?”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span> -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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span> -in the maturing of her plot she enjoyed the nearest -approach to happiness that had ever come her -way in Fangaloa.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>He passed a troubled night; he felt he had made a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>“Oh, Zosimus,” he said, “so old and still so -foolish!”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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 <i>’afa</i> 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 <i>moso’oi</i>. 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:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p class="right"> -<span class="smcap">Fangaloa</span>, December 25, 186-.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">My Dear Children</span>: 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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>I remain, my dear children, with heartfelt wishes for -your good health and continued prosperity,</p> - -<p class="right"> -<span class="indentright">Your old friend,</span><br /> -<span class="smcap">Zosimus</span>, S. J.</p></blockquote> - -<p>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 <i>singano</i> 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.</p> - -<p>“<i>Se’i ave le tusi lea ia Misi</i>,” said Filipo to the -young lady that met him at the door. “<i>Ou te fa’atali -i’inei mo le tali.</i>” (“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.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span>The old catechist skipped down the hill, and repeated -to his master the message that had been -given him.</p> - -<p>Father Zosimus was painfully overcome.</p> - -<p>“Filipo,” he said, “did you see the minister with -your very own eyes?”</p> - -<p>“<i>Ioe</i>,” 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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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 <i>suluis</i> -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.</p> - -<p>“The partner of Tutumanaia is known to your -Highness?” he began, with a question that might well -have appeared superfluous.</p> - -<p>Father Zosimus turned instantly.</p> - -<p>“God is high-chief angry with her rock-like heart,” -went on Filipo, with the calm intonation of one vindicated.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span> -“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 <i>aitu</i> in the wilderness.”</p> - -<p>“Whence didst thou get this <i>tala</i>?” asked the -priest, mindful of past mare’s nests on his servant’s -part.</p> - -<p>“The <i>tala</i> 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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“But her sickness?” he demanded. “How first -did it come upon her?”</p> - -<p>“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—”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“The maids say that last week she had a long talk -with her husband,” said Filipo, “and together they<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span> -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.”</p> - -<p>Father Zosimus’s jaw fell, and he looked about him -like a man on the brink of some great resolve.</p> - -<p>“She was never the same after the day of the -feast,” said Filipo.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span>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.</p> - -<p>He fell on his knees and prayed, and then went out<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span> -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 “<i>Maliu mai, susu mai, ali’i Zosimo</i>”; -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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span> -<i>malanga</i>; the others we possess are small and useless.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>Ngau’s withered face hardened. A titter ran round -the assembled chiefs.</p> - -<p>“That is the knot,” said Tuisunga; “it is not the -will of Ngau to give his boat, lest it be cast away.”</p> - -<p>“Not to save the life of a dying woman?” demanded -Father Zosimus.</p> - -<p>“Ngau is accustomed to the white man’s way,” said -Tuisunga. “He is mean, and his heart is like a -stone.”</p> - -<p>All eyes turned to Ngau, who stared back, defiant -and unabashed.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“But it is Ngau’s boat,” said Tuisunga.</p> - -<p>“It is Ngau’s boat,” echoed the chiefs.</p> - -<p>“And thou wilt let the woman die?” cried Father -Zosimus.</p> - -<p>“It is Ngau’s boat,” said Tuisunga.</p> - -<p>“What dost thou want for the boat?” demanded -the priest.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“I will take it on myself,” said Father Zosimus.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span> -“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.”</p> - -<p>“<i>O le tino tupe lava</i> [hard money]” inquired Ngau, -“to be put in my hand before the young men touch -my boat?”</p> - -<p>“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 <i>seni</i>.”</p> - -<p>The owner of the boat shook his head.</p> - -<p>“I want one hundred and twelve dollars,” he said, -“a water-bottle, and a coil of rope as thick as my -thumb.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“But it is Ngau’s boat,” said Tuisunga, looking -very black.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span> -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.”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>The chief hung his head. “We are not all like -Ngau,” he returned.</p> - -<p>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 <i>siapo</i> that enfolded -it.</p> - -<p>“Stop!” cried Tuisunga.</p> - -<p>The priest desisted with a look of angry wonder, -as though some fresh imposition were to be laid -upon him.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span> -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 <i>seni</i> 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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“When are we to start?” asked the priest. “If it -be thy high-chief will, the sooner the better.”</p> - -<p>“But thou canst not go,” said Tuisunga. “Thou -art old and unfit.”</p> - -<p>“No man is too old to serve God,” returned the -priest.</p> - -<p>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 <i>faifeau</i>.</p> - -<p>“This is foolish talk,” said Tuisunga. “Do we not<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span> -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.”</p> - -<p>“Let us start,” cried Father Zosimus. “We have -no time to waste.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>There was a yell as she floated off. The young -men sprang to their paddles, while Tuisunga seized<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span> -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.</p> - - - - - - - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span> -<h2 class="nobreak">FRENCHY’S LAST JOB</h2></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span></p> -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span> -<h2 class="nobreak"> -FRENCHY’S LAST JOB</h2></div> - - -<p class="drop-cap">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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span> -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 <i>Belle Mahone</i> 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.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span>I shall never forget my introduction to the great -man.</p> - -<p>“This is a nice boy, Mr. Bibo, sir,” said Mears, indicating -me with a cast of his eye.</p> - -<p>“Oh!” said Old Bee.</p> - -<p>“I want him to have that Tapatuea store,” said -Mears.</p> - -<p>“You mean the easterly one, where Bob killed the -Chinaman?” he asked.</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“I’ll see him in hell first,” said Old Bee.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Oh, that’s all right,” he said. “I count it as -good as settled.”</p> - -<p>This was more than I could say, and I had no -cause to change my mind on my next meeting with -Old Bee.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“The devil!” said Old Bee, and went straight on -with the business he had in hand.</p> - -<p>The next day the broker signed my contract by -virtue of some power of attorney he possessed for -Bibo & Co.</p> - -<p>“If he backs out now, you can sue him for damages,” -he said cheerfully.</p> - -<p>I was in a tremble when I next met my employer. -It was near our sailing time, and he was in a violent<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>“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!”</p> - -<p>“Here’s one of your own men,” said Mears. “You -know young Bence?”</p> - -<p>“Good God, that child!” cried the old man. -“Didn’t I tell you I wouldn’t have him?”</p> - -<p>“Pity you hadn’t spoken before,” said the broker, -with surprise. “I only signed his contract yesterday.”</p> - -<p>Old Bee regarded me sourly.</p> - -<p>“I don’t understand the joke,” he said.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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 <i>Belle Mahone</i>, 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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span>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 <i>Belle -Mahone</i> as the very bitterest part of my life, and I -wished myself at home a thousand times.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span> -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.”</p> - -<p>“I’ll make it seventy-five a month,” quavered Bibo, -“and all found.”</p> - -<p>Again the Frenchman shook his head.</p> - -<p>“Ask anysing else, sare,” he said; “but this, oh, -no. But why not the boy?” he added.</p> - -<p>“That young ass!” cried Old Bee.</p> - -<p>“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’.”</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>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 <i>Wandering Minstrel</i> 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.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span>Old Bee hardly seemed to listen to him. “I suppose -<i>you</i> 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!”</p> - -<p>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,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span> -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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span> -even as a planter of cocoanuts I had perhaps excited -his distrust. Besides, I would not do it. There was -no getting over that!</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[191]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>That done, he gave the girl another dressing down. -Pity he hadn’t thrashed her, like he had often done<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[192]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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?</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[193]</a></span>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 <i>at</i> 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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[194]</a></span> -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 <i>kowtubs</i> 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.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[195]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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?</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[196]</a></span> -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?</p> - -<p>But she would accept nothing. You see, her husband -did not like her to take presents from white -gentlemen. The supercargo of the <i>Lancashire Lass</i> -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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[197]</a></span> -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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[198]</a></span> -so sober,—and they haled Frenchy in and bade him -report himself, the square-face meanwhile making -another round.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“<i>Hein?</i>” said Frenchy, with a queer glance at -me.</p> - -<p>“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!”</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[199]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“White man all same devil,” he said, and went on -kneading his dough.</p> - -<p>Supper-time came, and Babcock and I had the table -to ourselves; he was very garrulous and tiresome, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[200]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[201]</a></span> -had dared, but I pushed boldly past them and entered -the building.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>He soon came to an end, closing his book with a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[202]</a></span> -flourish, as much as to say the ceremony was over. -Frenchy rose to his feet, still with one arm round -Elsie’s waist.</p> - -<p>“How much?” he asked.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[203]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[204]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[205]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[206]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[207]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“More better she die,” he repeated, and regarded -me with a deep solemnity.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>He told us bluntly he wanted the girl’s body, to bury -it ashore.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[208]</a></span>“Captain’s orders,” he said, with a nasty look at the -Chinaman.</p> - -<p>“You make two hole?” queried Lum—“two -grave?”</p> - -<p>“One, that’s all,” said Johnny, with a grin. “We -bury them together, you China fool.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>We headed for the shore about a mile above the -settlement, and made a landing in a shallow cove. My<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[209]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[210]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>“A week ago she little thought this would be her -end,” I said, half to myself.</p> - -<p>I shall never forget the look Lum gave me. The -self-reproach and shame of it was too poignant for -words.</p> - -<p>“I think you and me all same coward,” he said.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[211]</a></span> -<h2 class="nobreak">THE DEVIL’S WHITE MAN</h2></div> - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[212]</a></span></p> -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[213]</a></span> -<h2 class="nobreak">THE DEVIL’S WHITE MAN</h2></div> - - -<p class="drop-cap">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.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“What was his other name?” I asked.</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>“Wasn’t it O’ something?” I inquired.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[214]</a></span>“Tell me about it,” I said. “I have never heard -that <i>tala</i>.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“I will strive to bear it,” I replied.</p> - -<p>“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 <i>vi</i>-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 <i>tongafiti</i> -within, some that ticked like clocks, and others that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[215]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[216]</a></span> -thing without end, as the perpetual crying of a child, -or the love of a maid for a man.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“Patsy was at his usual place beside the big rope,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[217]</a></span> -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.’</p> - -<p>“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 <i>alafapeta</i>.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[218]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>“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: <i>taro</i>, breadfruit, yams, pigs, <i>valo</i>, 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.’</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[219]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[220]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[221]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[222]</a></span> -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 <i>pepelo</i>, a joke of Patsy’s; that the rope -was what she called a <i>telenafo</i>, 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 <i>telenafo</i> was controlled.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[223]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[224]</a></span>“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 <i>telenafo</i>, -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.</p> - -<p>“At last she got up, more dead than living, so thin<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[225]</a></span> -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 <i>aualuma</i> 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 <i>paumotu</i>, and -her communion ticket was withdrawn.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[226]</a></span>’ -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.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[227]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[228]</a></span> -and that, helping him with nails, while Java and I lay -in a hiding-place and counted her ribs.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[229]</a></span> -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?</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“‘Thy long, curly hair,’ said Tingelau, slowly, ‘and -I will make of it a head-dress for my son.’</p> - -<p>“‘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.</p> - -<p>“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,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[230]</a></span> -the old man touched it not with the scissors in his -hand, no, not even cutting so much as a single hair.</p> - -<p>“‘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.’</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[231]</a></span>“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.</p> - -<p>“<i>Panga!</i> 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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[232]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[233]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>“I don’t know how long it was after this that we lay -still spying from our <i>ti’a</i>, 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.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[234]</a></span> -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.”</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[235]</a></span> -<h2 class="nobreak">THE PHANTOM CITY</h2></div> - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[236]</a></span></p> -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[237]</a></span> -<h2 class="nobreak">THE PHANTOM CITY</h2></div> - - -<p class="drop-cap">“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[238]</a></span> -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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[239]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[240]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>“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!”</p> - -<p>Father Studby crossed himself.</p> - -<p>“God forbid,” he said.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[241]</a></span> -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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[242]</a></span> -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 <i>taro</i> 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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[243]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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?</p> - -<p>One afternoon Michael returned from his walk in a -state of high excitement. His black eyes were burning,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[244]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[245]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[246]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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!</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[247]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“The chief has done well to-day,” he said to Ngalo, -his servant.</p> - -<p>The boy laughed.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[248]</a></span>“Excellency,” he said, “the Helper does not shoot -these pigeons. He buys them for sixpences from our -people.”</p> - -<p>“Impossible!” cried the old man. “Thou talkest -like a delirious person.”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“Perhaps he does,” said the priest. “Such a thing -had not occurred to me.”</p> - -<p>“Perhaps he does <i>not</i>,” 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.”</p> - -<p>“Ngalo,” cried the priest, with a sudden change of -tone, “is there a woman in this hidden business? Is -there gossip in the village?”</p> - -<p>Ngalo shook his head.</p> - -<p>“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?’”</p> - -<p>Father Studby breathed a great sigh of relief.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>Ngalo’s face showed that he had more to tell.</p> - -<p>“The Helper does strange things,” he said. “He -goes along, even as you say, through the village and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[249]</a></span> -the outlying plantations like an uncaring child, with -no purpose in what it does. But when he reaches a -certain <i>ifi</i>-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.”</p> - -<p>“Well, and what else, Mr. Make-the-News?” demanded -the father, as Ngalo hesitated.</p> - -<p>“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!”</p> - -<p>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!</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Your Excellency is right,” said Ngalo. “It is an<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[250]</a></span> -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.”</p> - -<p>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?</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[251]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Mercy of God, what did it all mean?</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[252]</a></span> -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?</p> - -<p>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!</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[253]</a></span> -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 <i>malae</i>? 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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[254]</a></span> -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 <i>ifi</i>-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.</p> - -<p>He paced off seven, eight, nine, ten yards from the -trunk of the <i>ifi</i>; 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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[255]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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 <i>ifi</i>-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 <i>moso’oi</i> that stifled the air with -sweetness; under towering <i>maalava</i>-trees that seemed -to pierce the very sky.</p> - -<p>Would he never stop?</p> - -<p>But the lay brother, without once turning, without<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[256]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[257]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“Come down here,” said Michael, peremptorily. -“I have something to tell you.”</p> - -<p>The priest obeyed, with the mien of a man descending -to his execution.</p> - -<p>“You old interloper,” cried Michael, with a mirthless -laugh. “So you are here at last, are you? I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[258]</a></span> -have seen it working in your silly old head for weeks. -I never looked up but I thought to see your bloody -boots!”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>Amazed and ashamed, Father Studby touched the -dirty sediment with his finger.</p> - -<p>“That’s gold!” cried the lay brother.</p> - -<p>The priest hastily withdrew his hand and stared at -his companion in consternation.</p> - -<p>Gold!</p> - -<p>The priest’s head went round; his heart thumped -in his breast, with that word everything was forgotten—his -shame, his anger, his humiliation.</p> - -<p>“Oh, Michael!” he broke out incoherently. “Oh, -Michael!”</p> - -<p>“I am taking out about twenty ounces a day,” said -the lay brother. “Some days I have touched forty.”</p> - -<p>“Mercy of God!” cried the old man, hoarsely. -“Mercy of God, show me how you do it!”</p> - -<p>Michael had another cradle ready to hand. It was -the first he had made he said, and nothing like so good<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[259]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Look at that!” he cried, holding out a trembling -hand. “Oh, Michael, what is it worth?”</p> - -<p>“Three or four pounds, perhaps,” said the lay -brother, indulgently.</p> - -<p>“Mercy of God!” cried the priest, and he was off -again at a run.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[260]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[261]</a></span> -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.’”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Take one, father,” said Michael. “It is a little -enough return for all your kindness.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[262]</a></span>The priest trembled and drew back.</p> - -<p>“No, no!” he cried.</p> - -<p>“As you like,” said Michael, with a tone of affected -indifference. “You will be doing as well yourself in -a few days.”</p> - -<p>“God help me!” exclaimed the priest, and buried -his face in his hands.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[263]</a></span>The old man lifted his head.</p> - -<p>“I don’t know what to do,” he said.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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!”</p> - -<p>“No,” said the father, “you have put the matter in -a new light. I should fail in my duty if I let this<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[264]</a></span> -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.”</p> - -<p>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?</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[265]</a></span> -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.”</p> - -<p>“The others!” cried the priest. “Mercy of God, -let us keep the thing to ourselves!”</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[266]</a></span> -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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Michael,” he said, “have you ever thought how it -will be with our people?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[267]</a></span>“Oh, the Kanakas!” said the lay brother.</p> - -<p>“Yes, the Samoans,” said Father Studby. “What -is to become of them, Michael?”</p> - -<p>“They will go,” said the young man, coolly, “where -the inferior race always goes in a gold rush. They -will go to the devil.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, Michael,” exclaimed the priest, “I cannot bear -to think of them!”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>The priest groaned.</p> - -<p>“I wish you had never found the gold!” he cried -out passionately.</p> - -<p>“Well, it is too late now,” said Michael.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>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 <i>polas</i> rise, disclosing dark -interiors and smoking lamps; he heard the <i>pāté</i>, that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[268]</a></span> -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 <i>alia</i>, -the huge double canoe, which belonged in common to -all Lauli’i.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[269]</a></span> -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?</p> - -<p>Mercy of God, let the accursed gold lie undug!</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[270]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>He would have passed on, but the priest caught him -by the arm.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>The lay brother stopped short.</p> - -<p>“You cannot permit what?” he demanded.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>The lay brother grew suddenly pale, and, with a -violent movement, shook himself free.</p> - -<p>“You old fool!” he exclaimed. “Keep your dirty -hands off me, I tell you. Leave me alone.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[271]</a></span>“I forbid you to take another step,” cried the priest. -“In the name of God I forbid you.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[272]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[273]</a></span> -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!</p> - -<p>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 <i>muaau</i>, 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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[274]</a></span> -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?</p> - -<p>He went into the cook-house, where Ngalo was -sitting on the steps playing hymns on his mouth-organ.</p> - -<p>“Ngalo,” he said, “I want your rifle and some cartridges.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Doubtless your Excellency has seen a wild cow in -the bush?” Ngalo at length inquired.</p> - -<p>The father nodded and turned to go.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Blessed be the home-stayers,” returned the priest, -with conventional politeness.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>At last he was at the place—at the foot of the second -ladder, on the narrow ledge that overlooked the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[275]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[276]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>Hark! what was that? Mercy of God, what was -that?</p> - -<p>He peeped stealthily over the edge.</p> - -<p>Michael was standing at the foot of the ladder.</p> - -<p>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 <i>man</i>!” 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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[277]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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?</p> - -<p>Father Studby never turned from his position, nor<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[278]</a></span> -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!”</p> - -<p>Even as he did so, the father pulled the trigger.</p> - -<p>Then he turned, reclimbed the ladders, and went -home.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[279]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[280]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[281]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[282]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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?</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>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 <i>malae</i>, usually -so deserted on a hot afternoon, was overrun by an -excited throng. Had he not, then, heard the news?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[283]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p class="center"> -IN LIFE THEY WERE TOGETHER;<br /> -IN DEATH THEY WERE NOT DIVIDED.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[284]</a></span></p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> - - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[285]</a></span> -<h2 class="nobreak">AMATUA’S SAILOR</h2></div> - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[286]</a></span></p> -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[287]</a></span> -<h2 class="nobreak">AMATUA’S SAILOR</h2></div> - - -<p class="drop-cap2">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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[288]</a></span> -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!”</p> - -<p>“The chief says thou hidst his clothes,” said the -stranger, in the native language. “He says thou -triedst to lose him in the woods.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“And so thou hidst Bill’s clothes,” said the stranger. -“That was a fine way to help him!”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“The old women say that a great evil is about to -befall us,” said Amatua, gravely, entirely disregarding<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[289]</a></span> -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.”</p> - -<p>The stranger laughed, and translated all this long -explanation to Bill.</p> - -<p>“Goodness gracious!” said Bill. “Do you mean -that the kid believes this fool superstition, and was -trying to save me from the wreck?”</p> - -<p>“That’s it,” said the stranger. “I’ve known -Amatua for a long time, and I think he’s a pretty -square boy.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[290]</a></span> -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 <i>se’evae</i>, 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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[291]</a></span> -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 -<i>Trenton</i>.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[292]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>As to the third purchase there could be no manner -of doubt; some <i>’ava</i>, the white, dry root which, -pounded in water and strained by the dexterous use<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[293]</a></span> -of a wisp of fibre, supplies the Samoan for the lack -of every comfort. Oh, how the <i>’ava</i> 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 <i>’ava</i> 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 <i>lava lava</i>, 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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[294]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[295]</a></span> -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 <i>’ava</i> was of a -superb quality, fit for a king to drink.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[296]</a></span> -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.’”</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[297]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“How do you happen here, Chief Oa?” shouted -Amatua.</p> - -<p>“The Tamaseses have retired on Mulinuu,” said Oa. -“It is Mataafa’s order that we come and save what -lives we can.”</p> - -<p>“Germans, too?” asked Amatua, doubtfully, never -forgetful of his father’s wound, or of his uncle who -fell at Luatuanuu.</p> - -<p>“We are not at war with God,” said the chief,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[298]</a></span> -sternly. “To-night there is peace in every man’s -heart.”</p> - -<p>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?</p> - -<p>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,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[299]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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 <i>Adler</i>—lay broken-backed -and sideways on the reef; the <i>Olga</i> had been run -ashore, and looked none the worse for her adventure. -The United States ship <i>Vandalia</i> was a total wreck, -and half under water; close to her lay the <i>Trenton</i>, -with her gun-deck awash; and within a pistol-shot of -both was the old <i>Nipsic</i>, her nose high on land. -The British ship, the <i>Calliope</i>, was nowhere to be seen, -having forced her way to sea in the teeth of the hurricane.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[300]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[301]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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 <i>Nipsic</i> 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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[302]</a></span> -Bill. Some paid no attention to him; others laughed -and passed on; one man slapped him in the face.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Amatua cried as though his little heart would break.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[303]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>In a few moments that gentleman appeared, and was -bidden to ask Amatua what he wanted. The officers<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[304]</a></span> -gathered close behind their chief, and even the assiduous -writers looked up.</p> - -<p>“What does he want?” demanded the admiral, who -had no time to spare.</p> - -<p>“He wants to find a sailor named Bill,” said Moors. -“He’s afraid Bill is drowned, and thought he would -ask you.”</p> - -<p>Every one smiled save the admiral. “Are you sure -that is all?” he said.</p> - -<p>“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 <i>Nipsic</i> for an hour.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[305]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>Bostock stopped Amatua, and took his hand in his -own. “We’ll go find Bill,” he said.</p> - -<p>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 <i>Nipsic</i> -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.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[306]</a></span>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Two days after the storm—two as men count, but -centuries in Amatua’s calendar—the British ship -<i>Calliope</i> 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.</p> - -<p>But Amatua’s little head was far too full of something<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[307]</a></span> -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 <i>Trenton’s</i> treasure-chest. -He knew all about men-of-war by this time, -for he had the freedom of the <i>Nipsic’s</i> 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 <i>Nipsic</i> -had been got safely off the reef and once more divided -the waters of the bay.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[308]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>And the white man was Bill!</p> - -<p>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!</p> - -<p>“And where have you been all this time?” asked -Bostock.</p> - -<p>“Oh, I’m the boatswain’s mate of the <i>Calliope</i>,” said<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[309]</a></span> -Bill; “and what with the knocking about we got, I’ve -been kept hard at it on the rigging.”</p> - -<p>“You have been badly missed,” said Bostock.</p> - -<p>“Bless his old heart!” said the sailor, “I think a -lot of my little Am.”</p> - - - -<p> </p> -<hr class="chap" /> -<p> </p> - -<div class="transnote"> -<p class="ph1">TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE:</p> - -<p>Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.</p> - -<p>Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.</p> - -<p>Archaic or alternate spelling has been retained from the original.</p> -</div> - -<p> </p> -<hr class="pgx" /> -<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE QUEEN VERSUS BILLY AND OTHER STORIES***</p> -<p>******* This file should be named 62875-h.htm or 62875-h.zip *******</p> -<p>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:<br /> -<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/6/2/8/7/62875">http://www.gutenberg.org/6/2/8/7/62875</a></p> -<p> -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed.</p> - -<p>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. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm -concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, -and may not be used if you charge for the eBooks, unless you receive -specific permission. If you do not charge anything for copies of this -eBook, complying with the rules is very easy. You may use this eBook -for nearly any purpose such as creation of derivative works, reports, -performances and research. They may be modified and printed and given -away--you may do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks -not protected by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the -trademark license, especially commercial redistribution. -</p> - -<h2 class="pgx" title="Full Project Gutenberg License">START: FULL LICENSE<br /> -<br /> -THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE<br /> -PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK</h2> - -<p>To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free -distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work -(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full -Project Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at -www.gutenberg.org/license.</p> - -<h3 class="pgx" title="Section 1. General Terms">Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works</h3> - -<p>1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to -and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property -(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all -the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or -destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your -possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a -Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound -by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the -person or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph -1.E.8.</p> - -<p>1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be -used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who -agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few -things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See -paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this -agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below.</p> - -<p>1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the -Foundation" or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection -of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual -works in the collection are in the public domain in the United -States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the -United States and you are located in the United States, we do not -claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing, -displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as -all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope -that you will support the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting -free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm -works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the -Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with the work. You can easily -comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the -same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg-tm License when -you share it without charge with others.</p> - -<p>1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern -what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are -in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, -check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this -agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, -distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any -other Project Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no -representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any -country outside the United States.</p> - -<p>1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:</p> - -<p>1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other -immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear -prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work -on which the phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the -phrase "Project Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, -performed, viewed, copied or distributed:</p> - -<blockquote><p>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 <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. 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.</p></blockquote> - -<p>1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is -derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not -contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the -copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in -the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are -redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply -either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or -obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg-tm -trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.</p> - -<p>1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted -with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution -must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any -additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms -will be linked to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works -posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the -beginning of this work.</p> - -<p>1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this -work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm.</p> - -<p>1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this -electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without -prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with -active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project -Gutenberg-tm License.</p> - -<p>1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, -compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including -any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access -to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format -other than "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official -version posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site -(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense -to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means -of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original "Plain -Vanilla ASCII" or other form. Any alternate format must include the -full Project Gutenberg-tm License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.</p> - -<p>1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, -performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works -unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.</p> - -<p>1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing -access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -provided that</p> - -<ul> -<li>You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from - the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method - you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed - to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he has - agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid - within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are - legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty - payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in - Section 4, "Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg - Literary Archive Foundation."</li> - -<li>You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies - you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he - does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm - License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all - copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue - all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg-tm - works.</li> - -<li>You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of - any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the - electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of - receipt of the work.</li> - -<li>You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free - distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works.</li> -</ul> - -<p>1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work or group of works on different terms than -are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing -from both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and The -Project Gutenberg Trademark LLC, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm -trademark. Contact the Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below.</p> - -<p>1.F.</p> - -<p>1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable -effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread -works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project -Gutenberg-tm collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may -contain "Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate -or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other -intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or -other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or -cannot be read by your equipment.</p> - -<p>1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right -of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project -Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all -liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal -fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT -LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE -PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE -TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE -LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR -INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH -DAMAGE.</p> - -<p>1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a -defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can -receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a -written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you -received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium -with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you -with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in -lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person -or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second -opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If -the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing -without further opportunities to fix the problem.</p> - -<p>1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth -in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO -OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT -LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.</p> - -<p>1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied -warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of -damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement -violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the -agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or -limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or -unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the -remaining provisions.</p> - -<p>1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the -trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone -providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in -accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the -production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, -including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of -the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this -or any Project Gutenberg-tm work, (b) alteration, modification, or -additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any -Defect you cause. </p> - -<h3 class="pgx" title="Section 2. The Mission of Project Gutenberg">Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm</h3> - -<p>Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of -electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of -computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It -exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations -from people in all walks of life.</p> - -<p>Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the -assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's -goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will -remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure -and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future -generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see -Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at -www.gutenberg.org.</p> - -<h3 class="pgx" title="Section 3. The Project Gutenberg Literary">Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation</h3> - -<p>The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit -501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the -state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal -Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification -number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by -U.S. federal laws and your state's laws.</p> - -<p>The Foundation's principal office is in Fairbanks, Alaska, with the -mailing address: PO Box 750175, Fairbanks, AK 99775, but its -volunteers and employees are scattered throughout numerous -locations. Its business office is located at 809 North 1500 West, Salt -Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up to -date contact information can be found at the Foundation's web site and -official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact</p> - -<p>For additional contact information:</p> - -<p> Dr. Gregory B. Newby<br /> - Chief Executive and Director<br /> - gbnewby@pglaf.org</p> - -<h3 class="pgx" title="Section 4. Donations to PGLAF">Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation</h3> - -<p>Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide -spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of -increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be -freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest -array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations -($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt -status with the IRS.</p> - -<p>The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating -charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United -States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a -considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up -with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations -where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND -DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular -state visit <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/donate">www.gutenberg.org/donate</a>.</p> - -<p>While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we -have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition -against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who -approach us with offers to donate.</p> - -<p>International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make -any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from -outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.</p> - -<p>Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation -methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other -ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To -donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate</p> - -<h3 class="pgx" title="Section 5. Project Gutenberg Electronic Works">Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works.</h3> - -<p>Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project -Gutenberg-tm concept of a library of electronic works that could be -freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and -distributed Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of -volunteer support.</p> - -<p>Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed -editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in -the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not -necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper -edition.</p> - -<p>Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search -facility: www.gutenberg.org</p> - -<p>This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.</p> - -</body> -</html> - |