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The Ebb-Tide A Trio And Quartett=
e
By
Robert Louis Stevenson
=
'There is a tide in the affairs of men.'
=
Contents
Chapter
2. MORNING ON THE BEACH--THE THREE LETTERS.
Chapter
3. THE OLD CALABOOSE--DESTINY AT THE DOOR.
Chapter
5. THE CARGO OF CHAMPAGNE
Chapter
8. BETTER ACQUAINTANCE
Throughout the island world of the Pacific,
scattered men of many European races and from almost every grade of society
carry activity and disseminate disease. Some prosper, some vegetate. Some h=
ave
mounted the steps of thrones and owned islands and navies. Others again must
marry for a livelihood; a strapping, merry, chocolate-coloured dame support=
s them
in sheer idleness; and, dressed like natives, but still retaining some fore=
ign
element of gait or attitude, still perhaps with some relic (such as a single
eye-glass) of the officer and gentleman, they sprawl in palm-leaf verandahs=
and
entertain an island audience with memoirs of the music-hall. And there are
still others, less pliable, less capable, less fortunate, perhaps less base,
who continue, even in these isles of plenty, to lack bread.
At the far end of the town of Papeete, three s=
uch
men were seated on the beach under a purao tree.
It was late. Long ago the band had broken up a=
nd
marched musically home, a motley troop of men and women, merchant clerks and
navy officers, dancing in its wake, arms about waist and crowned with garla=
nds.
Long ago darkness and silence had gone from house to house about the tiny p=
agan
city. Only the street lamps shone on, making a glow-worm halo in the umbrag=
eous
alleys or drawing a tremulous image on the waters of the port. A sound of
snoring ran among the piles of lumber by the Government pier. It was wafted
ashore from the graceful clipper-bottomed schooners, where they lay moored
close in like dinghies, and their crews were stretched upon the deck under =
the
open sky or huddled in a rude tent amidst the disorder of merchandise.
But the men under the purao had no thought of
sleep. The same temperature in England would have passed without remark in
summer; but it was bitter cold for the South Seas. Inanimate nature knew it,
and the bottle of cocoanut oil stood frozen in every bird-cage house about =
the
island; and the men knew it, and shivered. They wore flimsy cotton clothes,=
the
same they had sweated in by day and run the gauntlet of the tropic showers;=
and
to complete their evil case, they had no breakfast to mention, less dinner,=
and
no supper at all.
In the telling South Sea phrase, these three m=
en
were ON THE BEACH. Common calamity had brought them acquainted, as the three
most miserable English-speaking creatures in Tahiti; and beyond their miser=
y,
they knew next to nothing of each other, not even their true names. For each
had made a long apprenticeship in going downward; and each, at some stage o=
f the
descent, had been shamed into the adoption of an alias. And yet not one of =
them
had figured in a court of justice; two were men of kindly virtues; and one,=
as
he sat and shivered under the purao, had a tattered Virgil in his pocket.
Certainly, if money could have been raised upon
the book, Robert Herrick would long ago have sacrificed that last possessio=
n;
but the demand for literature, which is so marked a feature in some parts of
the South Seas, extends not so far as the dead tongues; and the Virgil, whi=
ch
he could not exchange against a meal, had often consoled him in his hunger.=
He
would study it, as he lay with tightened belt on the floor of the old
calaboose, seeking favourite passages and finding new ones only less beauti=
ful
because they lacked the consecration of remembrance. Or he would pause on
random country walks; sit on the path side, gazing over the sea on the
mountains of Eimeo; and dip into the Aeneid, seeking sortes. And if the ora=
cle
(as is the way of oracles) replied with no very certain nor encouraging voi=
ce,
visions of England at least would throng upon the exile's memory: the busy
schoolroom, the green playing-fields, holidays at home, and the perennial r=
oar
of London, and the fireside, and the white head of his father. For it is the
destiny of those grave, restrained and classic writers, with whom we make
enforced and often painful acquaintanceship at school, to pass into the blo=
od
and become native in the memory; so that a phrase of Virgil speaks not so m=
uch
of Mantua or Augustus, but of English places and the student's own irrevoca=
ble
youth.
Robert Herrick was the son of an intelligent, =
active,
and ambitious man, small partner in a considerable London house. Hopes were
conceived of the boy; he was sent to a good school, gained there an Oxford =
scholarship,
and proceeded in course to the Western University. With all his talent and
taste (and he had much of both) Robert was deficient in consistency and
intellectual manhood, wandered in bypaths of study, worked at music or at
metaphysics when he should have been at Greek, and took at last a paltry
degree. Almost at the same time, the London house was disastrously wound up=
; Mr
Herrick must begin the world again as a clerk in a strange office, and Robe=
rt
relinquish his ambitions and accept with gratitude a career that he detested
and despised. He had no head for figures, no interest in affairs, detested =
the
constraint of hours, and despised the aims and the success of merchants. To
grow rich was none of his ambitions; rather to do well. A worse or a more b=
old young
man would have refused the destiny; perhaps tried his future with his pen;
perhaps enlisted. Robert, more prudent, possibly more timid, consented to
embrace that way of life in which he could most readily assist his family. =
But
he did so with a mind divided; fled the neighbourhood of former comrades; a=
nd
chose, out of several positions placed at his disposal, a clerkship in New
York.
His career thenceforth was one of unbroken sha=
me.
He did not drink, he was exactly honest, he was never rude to his employers,
yet was everywhere discharged. Bringing no interest to his duties, he broug=
ht no
attention; his day was a tissue of things neglected and things done amiss; =
and
from place to place and from town to town, he carried the character of one
thoroughly incompetent. No man can bear the word applied to him without some
flush of colour, as indeed there is none other that so emphatically slams i=
n a
man's face the door of self-respect. And to Herrick, who was conscious of
talents and acquirements, who looked down upon those humble duties in which=
he
was found wanting, the pain was the more exquisite. Early in his fall, he h=
ad
ceased to be able to make remittances; shortly after, having nothing but
failure to communicate, he ceased writing home; and about a year before this
tale begins, turned suddenly upon the streets of San Francisco by a vulgar =
and infuriated
German Jew, he had broken the last bonds of self-respect, and upon a sudden
Impulse, changed his name and invested his last dollar in a passage on the =
mail
brigantine, the City of Papeete. With what expectation he had trimmed his
flight for the South Seas, Herrick perhaps scarcely knew. Doubtless there w=
ere
fortunes to be made in pearl and copra; doubtless others not more gifted th=
an himself
had climbed in the island world to be queen's consorts and king's ministers.
But if Herrick had gone there with any manful purpose, he would have kept h=
is
father's name; the alias betrayed his moral bankruptcy; he had struck his f=
lag;
he entertained no hope to reinstate himself or help his straitened family; =
and
he came to the islands (where he knew the climate to be soft, bread cheap, =
and
manners easy) a skulker from life's battle and his own immediate duty. Fail=
ure,
he had said, was his portion; let it be a pleasant failure.
It is fortunately not enough to say 'I will be
base.' Herrick continued in the islands his career of failure; but in the n=
ew
scene and under the new name, he suffered no less sharply than before. A pl=
ace
was got, it was lost in the old style; from the long-suffering of the keepe=
rs
of restaurants he fell to more open charity upon the wayside; as time went =
on,
good nature became weary, and after a repulse or two, Herrick became shy. T=
here
were women enough who would have supported a far worse and a far uglier man;
Herrick never met or never knew them: or if he did both, some manlier feeli=
ng would
revolt, and he preferred starvation. Drenched with rains, broiling by day,
shivering by night, a disused and ruinous prison for a bedroom, his diet be=
gged
or pilfered out of rubbish heaps, his associates two creatures equally outc=
ast
with himself, he had drained for months the cup of penitence. He had known =
what
it was to be resigned, what it was to break forth in a childish fury of
rebellion against fate, and what it was to sink into the coma of despair. T=
he
time had changed him. He told himself no longer tales of an easy and perhap=
s agreeable
declension; he read his nature otherwise; he had proved himself incapable of
rising, and he now learned by experience that he could not stoop to fall.
Something that was scarcely pride or strength, that was perhaps only
refinement, withheld him from capitulation; but he looked on upon his own
misfortune with a growing rage, and sometimes wondered at his patience.
It was now the fourth month completed, and sti=
ll
there was no change or sign of change. The moon, racing through a world of
flying clouds of every size and shape and density, some black as ink stains,
some delicate as lawn, threw the marvel of her Southern brightness over the=
same
lovely and detested scene: the island mountains crowned with the perennial
island cloud, the embowered city studded with rare lamps, the masts in the
harbour, the smooth mirror of the lagoon, and the mole of the barrier reef =
on
which the breakers whitened. The moon shone too, with bull's-eye sweeps, on=
his
companions; on the stalwart frame of the American who called himself Brown,=
and
was known to be a master mariner in some disgrace; and on the dwarfish pers=
on,
the pale eyes and toothless smile of a vulgar and bad-hearted cockney clerk.
Here was society for Robert Herrick! The Yankee skipper was a man at least:=
he had
sterling qualities of tenderness and resolution; he was one whose hand you
could take without a blush. But there was no redeeming grace about the othe=
r,
who called himself sometimes Hay and sometimes Tomkins, and laughed at the
discrepancy; who had been employed in every store in Papeete, for the creat=
ure
was able in his way; who had been discharged from each in turn, for he was
wholly vile; who had alienated all his old employers so that they passed hi=
m in
the street as if he were a dog, and all his old comrades so that they shunn=
ed
him as they would a creditor.
Not long before, a ship from Peru had brought =
an
influenza, and it now raged in the island, and particularly in Papeete. From
all round the purao arose and fell a dismal sound of men coughing, and
strangling as they coughed. The sick natives, with the islander's impatienc=
e of
a touch of fever, had crawled from their houses to be cool and, squatting on
the shore or on the beached canoes, painfully expected the new day. Even as=
the
crowing of cocks goes about the country in the night from farm to farm,
accesses of coughing arose, and spread, and died in the distance, and spran=
g up
again. Each miserable shiverer caught the suggestion from his neighbour, was
torn for some minutes by that cruel ecstasy, and left spent and without voi=
ce
or courage when it passed. If a man had pity to spend, Papeete beach, in th=
at
cold night and in that infected season, was a place to spend it on. And of =
all
the sufferers, perhaps the least deserving, but surely the most pitiable, w=
as
the London clerk. He was used to another life, to houses, beds, nursing, and
the dainties of the sickroom; he lay there now, in the cold open, exposed to
the gusting of the wind, and with an empty belly. He was besides infirm; the
disease shook him to the vitals; and his companions watched his endurance w=
ith
surprise. A profound commiseration filled them, and contended with and
conquered their abhorrence. The disgust attendant on so ugly a sickness mag=
nified
this dislike; at the same time, and with more than compensating strength, s=
hame
for a sentiment so inhuman bound them the more straitly to his service; and
even the evil they knew of him swelled their solicitude, for the thought of
death is always the least supportable when it draws near to the merely sens=
ual and
selfish. Sometimes they held him up; sometimes, with mistaken helpfulness, =
they
beat him between the shoulders; and when the poor wretch lay back ghastly a=
nd
spent after a paroxysm of coughing, they would sometimes peer into his face,
doubtfully exploring it for any mark of life. There is no one but has some
virtue: that of the clerk was courage; and he would make haste to reassure =
them
in a pleasantry not always decent.
'I'm all right, pals,' he gasped once: 'this is
the thing to strengthen the muscles of the larynx.'
'Well, you take the cake!' cried the captain.<= o:p>
'O, I'm good plucked enough,' pursued the suff=
erer
with a broken utterance. 'But it do seem bloomin' hard to me, that I should=
be
the only party down with this form of vice, and the only one to do the funn=
y business.
I think one of you other parties might wake up. Tell a fellow something.'
'The trouble is we've nothing to tell, my son,'
returned the captain.
'I'll tell you, if you like, what I was thinki=
ng,'
said Herrick.
'Tell us anything,' said the clerk, 'I only wa=
nt
to be reminded that I ain't dead.'
Herrick took up his parable, lying on his face=
and
speaking slowly and scarce above his breath, not like a man who has anythin=
g to
say, but like one talking against time.
'Well, I was thinking this,' he began: 'I was
thinking I lay on Papeete beach one night--all moon and squalls and fellows
coughing--and I was cold and hungry, and down in the mouth, and was about
ninety years of age, and had spent two hundred and twenty of them on Papeete
beach. And I was thinking I wished I had a ring to rub, or had a fairy
godmother, or could raise Beelzebub. And I was trying to remember how you d=
id
it. I knew you made a ring of skulls, for I had seen that in the Freischutz=
: and
that you took off your coat and turned up your sleeves, for I had seen Form=
es
do that when he was playing Kaspar, and you could see (by the way he went a=
bout
it) it was a business he had studied; and that you ought to have something =
to
kick up a smoke and a bad smell, I dare say a cigar might do, and that you
ought to say the Lord's Prayer backwards. Well, I wondered if I could do th=
at;
it seemed rather a feat, you see. And then I wondered if I would say it
forward, and I thought I did. Well, no sooner had I got to WORLD WITHOUT EN=
D,
than I saw a man in a pariu, and with a mat under his arm, come along the b=
each
from the town. He was rather a hard-favoured old party, and he limped and
crippled, and all the time he kept coughing. At first I didn't cotton to his
looks, I thought, and then I got sorry for the old soul because he coughed =
so hard.
I remembered that we had some of that cough mixture the American consul gave
the captain for Hay. It never did Hay a ha'porth of service, but I thought =
it
might do the old gentleman's business for him, and stood up.
"Yorana!" says I. "Yorana!" says he. "Look here,&q=
uot;
I said, "I've got some first-rate stuff in a bottle; it'll fix your co=
ugh,
savvy? Harry my and I'll measure you a tablespoonful in the palm of my hand,
for all our plate is at the bankers." So I thought the old party came =
up,
and the nearer he came, the less I took to him. But I had passed my word, y=
ou
see.'
'Wot is this bloomin' drivel?' interrupted the
clerk. 'It's like the rot there is in tracts.'
'It's a story; I used to tell them to the kids=
at
home,' said Herrick. 'If it bores you, I'll drop it.'
'O, cut along!' returned the sick man, irritab=
ly.
'It's better than nothing.'
'Well,' continued Herrick, 'I had no sooner gi=
ven
him the cough mixture than he seemed to straighten up and change, and I saw=
he
wasn't a Tahitian after all, but some kind of Arab, and had a long beard on=
his
chin. "One good turn deserves another," says he. "I am a
magician out of the Arabian Nights, and this mat that I have under my arm is
the original carpet of Mohammed Ben Somebody-or-other. Say the word, and yo=
u can
have a cruise upon the carpet." "You don't mean to say this is th=
e Travelling
Carpet?" I cried. "You bet I do," said he. "You've been=
to
America since last I read the Arabian Nights," said I, a little suspic=
ious.
"I should think so," said he. "Been everywhere. A man with a=
carpet
like this isn't going to moulder in a semi-detached villa." Well, that
struck me as reasonable. "All right," I said; "and do you me=
an
to tell me I can get on that carpet and go straight to London, England?&quo=
t; I
said, "London, England," captain, because he seemed to have been =
so
long in your part of the world. "In the crack of a whip," said he=
. I figured
up the time. What is the difference between Papeete and London, captain?'
'Taking Greenwich and Point Venus, nine hours,=
odd
minutes and seconds,' replied the mariner.
'Well, that's about what I made it,' resumed
Herrick, 'about nine hours. Calling this three in the morning, I made out I
would drop into London about noon; and the idea tickled me immensely.
"There's only one bother," I said, "I haven't a copper cent.=
It
would be a pity to go to London and not buy the morning Standard."
"O!" said he, "you don't realise the conveniences of this
carpet. You see this pocket? you've only got to stick your hand in, and you
pull it out filled with sovereigns."
'Double-eagles, wasn't iff inquired the captai=
n.
'That was what it was!' cried Herrick. 'I thou=
ght
they seemed unusually big, and I remember now I had to go to the money-chan=
gers
at Charing Cross and get English silver.'
'O, you went there?' said the clerk. 'Wot did =
you
do? Bet you had a B. and S.!'
'Well, you see, it was just as the old boy
said--like the cut of a whip,' said Herrick. 'The one minute I was here on =
the
beach at three in the morning, the next I was in front of the Golden Cross =
at
midday. At first I was dazzled, and covered my eyes, and there didn't seem =
the smallest
change; the roar of the Strand and the roar of the reef were like the same:
hark to it now, and you can hear the cabs and buses rolling and the streets
resound! And then at last I could look about, and there was the old place, =
and
no mistake! With the statues in the square, and St Martin's-in-the-Fields, =
and
the bobbies, and the sparrows, and the hacks; and I can't tell you what I f=
elt
like. I felt like crying, I believe, or dancing, or jumping clean over the
Nelson Column. I was like a fellow caught up out of Hell and flung down int=
o the
dandiest part of Heaven. Then I spotted for a hansom with a spanking horse.
"A shilling for yourself, if you're there in twenty minutes!" sai=
d I
to the jarvey. He went a good pace, though of course it was a trifle to the
carpet; and in nineteen minutes and a half I was at the door.'
'What door?' asked the captain.
'Oh, a house I know of,' returned Herrick.
'But it was a public-house!' cried the clerk--=
only
these were not his words. 'And w'y didn't you take the carpet there instead=
of
trundling in a growler?'
'I didn't want to startle a quiet street,' said
the narrator.
'Bad form. And besides, it was a hansom.'
'Well, and what did you do next?' inquired the
captain.
'Oh, I went in,' said Herrick.
'The old folks?' asked the captain.
'That's about it,' said the other, chewing a
grass.
'Well, I think you are about the poorest 'and = at a yarn!' cried the clerk. 'Crikey, it's like Ministering Children! I can tell= you there would be more beer and skittles about my little jaunt. I would go and= have a B. and S. for luck. Then I would get a big ulster with astrakhan fur, and take my cane and do the la-de-la down Piccadilly. Then I would go to a slap= -up restaurant, and have green peas, and a bottle of fizz, and a chump chop--Oh! and I forgot, I'd 'ave some devilled whitebait first--and green gooseberry tart, and 'ot coffee, and some of that form of vice in big bottles with a seal--Benedictine--that's the bloomin' nyme! Then I'd drop into a theatre, = and pal on with some chappies, and do the dancing rooms and bars, and that, and wouldn't go 'ome till morning, till daylight doth appear. And the next day = I'd have water-cresses, 'am, muffin, and fresh butter; wouldn't I just, O my!'<= o:p>
The clerk was interrupted by a fresh attack of
coughing.
'Well, now, I'll tell you what I would do,' sa=
id
the captain: 'I would have none of your fancy rigs with the man driving from
the mizzen cross-trees, but a plain fore-and-aft hack cab of the highest
registered tonnage. First of all, I would bring up at the market and get a
turkey and a sucking-pig. Then I'd go to a wine merchant's and get a dozen =
of champagne,
and a dozen of some sweet wine, rich and sticky and strong, something in the
port or madeira line, the best in the store. Then I'd bear up for a toy-sto=
re,
and lay out twenty dollars in assorted toys for the piccaninnies; and then =
to a
confectioner's and take in cakes and pies and fancy bread, and that stuff w=
ith
the plums in it; and then to a news-agency and buy all the papers, all the
picture ones for the kids, and all the story papers for the old girl about =
the
Earl discovering himself to Anna-Mariar and the escape of the Lady Maude fr=
om
the private madhouse; and then I'd tell the fellow to drive home.'
'There ought to be some syrup for the kids,'
suggested Herrick; 'they like syrup.'
'Yes, syrup for the kids, red syrup at that!' =
said
the captain. 'And those things they pull at, and go pop, and have measly po=
etry
inside. And then I tell you we'd have a thanksgiving day and Christmas tree=
combined.
Great Scott, but I would like to see the kids! I guess they would light rig=
ht
out of the house, when they saw daddy driving up. My little Adar--'
The captain stopped sharply.
'Well, keep it up!' said the clerk.
'The damned thing is, I don't know if they ain=
't
starving!' cried the captain.
'They can't be worse off than we are, and that= 's one comfort,' returned the clerk. 'I defy the devil to make me worse off.'<= o:p>
It seemed as if the devil heard him. The light=
of
the moon had been some time cut off and they had talked in darkness. Now th=
ere
was heard a roar, which drew impetuously nearer; the face of the lagoon was
seen to whiten; and before they had staggered to their feet, a squall burst=
in rain
upon the outcasts. The rage and volume of that avalanche one must have live=
d in
the tropics to conceive; a man panted in its assault, as he might pant unde=
r a
shower-bath; and the world seemed whelmed in night and water.
They fled, groping for their usual shelter--it
might be almost called their home--in the old calaboose; came drenched into=
its
empty chambers; and lay down, three sops of humanity on the cold coral floo=
rs,
and presently, when the squall was overpast, the others could hear in the d=
arkness
the chattering of the clerk's teeth.
'I say, you fellows,' he walled, 'for God's sa=
ke,
lie up and try to warm me. I'm blymed if I don't think I'll die else!'
So the three crept together into one wet mass,=
and
lay until day came, shivering and dozing off, and continually re-awakened to
wretchedness by the coughing of the clerk.
The clouds were all fled, the beauty of the tr=
opic
day was spread upon Papeete; and the wall of breaking seas upon the reef, a=
nd
the palms upon the islet, already trembled in the heat. A French man-of-war=
was
going out, homeward bound; she lay in the middle distance of the port, an a=
nt heap
for activity. In the night a schooner had come in, and now lay far out, har=
d by
the passage; and the yellow flag, the emblem of pestilence, flew on her. Fr=
om
up the coast, a long procession of canoes headed round the point and towards
the market, bright as a scarf with the many-coloured clothing of the natives
and the piles of fruit. But not even the beauty and the welcome warmth of t=
he
morning, not even these naval movements, so interesting to sailors and to
idlers, could engage the attention of the outcasts. They were still cold at
heart, their mouths sour from the want of steep, their steps rambling from =
the lack
of food; and they strung like lame geese along the beach in a disheartened
silence. It was towards the town they moved; towards the town whence smoke
arose, where happier folk were breakfasting; and as they went, their hungry
eyes were upon all sides, but they were only scouting for a meal.
A small and dingy schooner lay snug against the
quay, with which it was connected by a plank. On the forward deck, under a =
spot
of awning, five Kanakas who made up the crew, were squatted round a basin of
fried feis, and drinking coffee from tin mugs.
'Eight bells: knock off for breakfast!' cried =
the
captain with a miserable heartiness. 'Never tried this craft before; positi=
vely
my first appearance; guess I'll draw a bumper house.'
He came close up to where the plank rested on =
the
grassy quay; turned his back upon the schooner, and began to whistle that
lively air, 'The Irish Washerwoman.' It caught the ears of the Kanaka seamen
like a preconcerted signal; with one accord they looked up from their meal =
and crowded
to the ship's side, fei in hand and munching as they looked. Even as a poor=
brown
Pyrenean bear dances in the streets of English towns under his master's bat=
on;
even so, but with how much more of spirit and precision, the captain footed=
it
in time to his own whistling, and his long morning shadow capered beyond hi=
m on
the grass. The Kanakas smiled on the performance; Herrick looked on heavy-e=
yed,
hunger for the moment conquering all sense of shame; and a little farther o=
ff,
but still hard by, the clerk was torn by the seven devils of the influenza.=
The captain stopped suddenly, appeared to perc=
eive
his audience for the first time, and represented the part of a man surprise=
d in
his private hour of pleasure.
'Hello!' said he.
The Kanakas clapped hands and called upon him =
to
go on.
'No, SIR!' said the captain. 'No eat, no dance.
Savvy?'
'Poor old man!' returned one of the crew. 'Him=
no
eat?'
'Lord, no!' said the captain. 'Like-um too much
eat. No got.'
'All right. Me got,' said the sailor; 'you tome
here. Plenty toffee, plenty fei. Nutha man him tome too.'
'I guess we'll drop right in,' observed the
captain; and he and his companions hastened up the plank. They were welcome=
d on
board with the shaking of hands; place was made for them about the basin; a
sticky demijohn of molasses was added to the feast in honour of company, an=
d an
accordion brought from the forecastle and significantly laid by the perform=
er's
side.
'Ariana,' said he lightly, touching the instru=
ment
as he spoke; and he fell to on a long savoury fei, made an end of it, raised
his mug of coffee, and nodded across at the spokesman of the crew. 'Here's =
your
health, old man; you're a credit to the South Pacific,' said he.
With the unsightly greed of hounds they glutted
themselves with the hot food and coffee; and even the clerk revived and the
colour deepened in his eyes. The kettle was drained, the basin cleaned; the=
ir
entertainers, who had waited on their wants throughout with the pleased
hospitality of Polynesians, made haste to bring forward a dessert of island
tobacco and rolls of pandanus leaf to serve as paper; and presently all sat
about the dishes puffing like Indian Sachems.
'When a man 'as breakfast every day, he don't =
know
what it is,' observed the clerk.
'The next point is dinner,' said Herrick; and =
then
with a passionate utterance: 'I wish to God I was a Kanaka!'
'There's one thing sure,' said the captain. 'I=
'm
about desperate, I'd rather hang than rot here much longer.' And with the w=
ord
he took the accordion and struck up. 'Home, sweet home.'
'O, drop that!' cried Herrick, 'I can't stand
that.'
'No more can I,' said the captain. 'I've got to
play something though: got to pay the shot, my son.' And he struck up 'John
Brown's Body' in a fine sweet baritone: 'Dandy Jim of Carolina,' came next;
'Rorin the Bold,' 'Swing low, Sweet Chariot,' and 'The Beautiful Land'
followed. The captain was paying his shot with usury, as he had done many a=
time
before; many a meal had he bought with the same currency from the melodious=
-minded
natives, always, as now, to their delight.
He was in the middle of 'Fifteen Dollars in the
Inside Pocket,' singing with dogged energy, for the task went sore against =
the
grain, when a sensation was suddenly to be observed among the crew.
'Tapena Tom harry my,' said the spokesman,
pointing.
And the three beachcombers, following his indi=
cation,
saw the figure of a man in pyjama trousers and a white jumper approaching
briskly from the town.
'Captain Tom is coming.'
'That's Tapena Tom, is it?' said the captain,
pausing in his music. 'I don't seem to place the brute.'
'We'd better cut,' said the clerk. ''E's no go=
od.'
'Well,' said the musician deliberately, 'one c=
an't
most generally always tell. I'll try it on, I guess. Music has charms to so=
othe
the savage Tapena, boys. We might strike it rich; it might amount to iced p=
unch
in the cabin.'
'Hiced punch? O my!' said the clerk. 'Give him something 'ot, captain. "Way down the Swannee River"; try that.'<= o:p>
'No, sir! Looks Scotch,' said the captain; and=
he
struck, for his life, into 'Auld Lang Syne.'
Captain Tom continued to approach with the same
business-like alacrity; no change was to be perceived in his bearded face a=
s he
came swinging up the plank: he did not even turn his eyes on the performer.=
&=
nbsp;
'We twa hae paidled in the burn Frae mornin=
g tide
till dine,'
went the song.
Captain Tom had a parcel under his arm, which =
he
laid on the house roof, and then turning suddenly to the strangers: 'Here,
you!' he bellowed, 'be off out of that!'
The clerk and Herrick stood not on the order of
their going, but fled incontinently by the plank. The performer, on the oth=
er
hand, flung down the instrument and rose to his full height slowly.
'What's that you say?' he said. 'I've half a m=
ind
to give you a lesson in civility.'
'You set up any more of your gab to me,' retur=
ned
the Scotsman, 'and I'll show ye the wrong side of a jyle. I've heard tell of
the three of ye. Ye're not long for here, I can tell ye that. The Government
has their eyes upon ye. They make short work of damned beachcombers, I'll s=
ay
that for the French.'
'You wait till I catch you off your ship!' cri=
ed
the captain: and then, turning to the crew, 'Good-bye, you fellows!' he sai=
d.
'You're gentlemen, anyway! The worst nigger among you would look better upo=
n a quarter-deck
than that filthy Scotchman.'
Captain Tom scorned to reply; he watched with a
hard smile the departure of his guests; and as soon as the last foot was off
the plank; turned to the hands to work cargo.
The beachcombers beat their inglorious retreat
along the shore; Herrick first, his face dark with blood, his knees trembli=
ng
under him with the hysteria of rage. Presently, under the same purao where =
they
had shivered the night before, he cast himself down, and groaned aloud, and=
ground
his face into the sand.
'Don't speak to me, don't speak to me. I can't
stand it,' broke from him.
The other two stood over him perplexed.
'Wot can't he stand now?' said the clerk. ''As=
n't
he 'ad a meal? I'M lickin' my lips.'
Herrick reared up his wild eyes and burning fa=
ce.
'I can't beg!' he screamed, and again threw himself prone.
'This thing's got to come to an end,' said the
captain with an intake of the breath.
'Looks like signs of an end, don't it?' sneered
the clerk.
'He's not so far from it, and don't you deceive
yourself,' replied the captain. 'Well,' he added in a livelier voice, 'you
fellows hang on here, and I'll go and interview my representative.'
Whereupon he turned on his heel, and set off a=
t a
swinging sailor's walk towards Papeete.
It was some half hour later when he returned. =
The
clerk was dozing with his back against the tree: Herrick still lay where he=
had
flung himself; nothing showed whether he slept or waked.
'See, boys!' cried the captain, with that
artificial heartiness of his which was at times so painful, 'here's a new
idea.' And he produced note paper, stamped envelopes, and pencils, three of
each. 'We can all write home by the mail brigantine; the consul says I can =
come
over to his place and ink up the addresses.'
'Well, that's a start, too,' said the clerk. 'I
never thought of that.'
'It was that yarning last night about going ho=
me
that put me up to it,' said the captain.
'Well, 'and over,' said the clerk. 'I'll 'ave a
shy,' and he retired a little distance to the shade of a canoe.
The others remained under the purao. Now they
would write a word or two, now scribble it out; now they would sit biting at
the pencil end and staring seaward; now their eyes would rest on the clerk,
where he sat propped on the canoe, leering and coughing, his pencil racing
glibly on the paper.
'I can't do it,' said Herrick suddenly. 'I hav=
en't
got the heart.'
'See here,' said the captain, speaking with
unwonted gravity; 'it may be hard to write, and to write lies at that; and =
God
knows it is; but it's the square thing. It don't cost anything to say you're
well and happy, and sorry you can't make a remittance this mail; and if you
don't, I'll tell you what I think it is--I think it's about the high-water =
mark
of being a brute beast.'
'It's easy to talk,' said Herrick. 'You don't =
seem
to have written much yourself, I notice.'
'What do you bring in me for?' broke from the
captain. His voice was indeed scarce raised above a whisper, but emotion
clanged in it. 'What do you know about me? If you had commanded the finest
barque that ever sailed from Portland; if you had been drunk in your berth =
when
she struck the breakers in Fourteen Island Group, and hadn't had the wit to=
stay
there and drown, but came on deck, and given drunken orders, and lost six
lives--I could understand your talking then! There,' he said more quietly, =
'that's
my yarn, and now you know it. It's a pretty one for the father of a family.
Five men and a woman murdered. Yes, there was a woman on board, and hadn't =
no
business to be either. Guess I sent her to Hell, if there is such a place. I
never dared go home again; and the wife and the little ones went to England=
to
her father's place. I don't know what's come to them,' he added, with a bit=
ter
shrug.
'Thank you, captain,' said Herrick. 'I never l=
iked
you better.'
They shook hands, short and hard, with eyes av=
erted,
tenderness swelling in their bosoms.
'Now, boys! to work again at lying!' said the
captain.
'I'll give my father up,' returned Herrick wit=
h a
writhen smile. 'I'll try my sweetheart instead for a change of evils.'
And here is what he wrote:
'Emma, I have scratched out the beginning to my
father, for I think I can write more easily to you. This is my last farewel=
l to
all, the last you will ever hear or see of an unworthy friend and son. I ha=
ve
failed in life; I am quite broken down and disgraced. I pass under a false =
name;
you will have to tell my father that with all your kindness. It is my own
fault. I know, had I chosen, that I might have done well; and yet I swear to
you I tried to choose. I could not bear that you should think I did not try=
. For
I loved you all; you must never doubt me in that, you least of all. I have
always unceasingly loved, but what was my love worth? and what was I worth?=
I
had not the manhood of a common clerk, I could not work to earn you; I have
lost you now, and for your sake I could be glad of it. When you first came =
to
my father's house--do you remember those days? I want you to--you saw the b=
est
of me then, all that was good in me. Do you remember the day I took your ha=
nd
and would not let it go--and the day on Battersea Bridge, when we were look=
ing
at a barge, and I began to tell you one of my silly stories, and broke off =
to
say I loved you? That was the beginning, and now here is the end. When you =
have
read this letter, you will go round and kiss them all good-bye, my father a=
nd
mother, and the children, one by one, and poor uncle; And tell them all to
forget me, and forget me yourself. Turn the key in the door; let no thought=
of
me return; be done with the poor ghost that pretended he was a man and stole
your love. Scorn of myself grinds in me as I write. I should tell you I am =
well
and happy, and want for nothing. I do not exactly make money, or I should s=
end
a remittance; but I am well cared for, have friends, live in a beautiful pl=
ace
and climate, such as we have dreamed of together, and no pity need be waste=
d on
me. In such places, you understand, it is easy to live, and live well, but
often hard to make sixpence in money. Explain this to my father, he will
understand. I have no more to say; only linger, going out, like an unwilling
guest. God in heaven bless you. Think of me to the last, here, on a bright
beach, the sky and sea immoderately blue, and the great breakers roaring
outside on a barrier reef, where a little isle sits green with palms. I am =
well
and strong. It is a more pleasant way to die than if you were crowding abou=
t me
on a sick-bed. And yet I am dying. This is my last kiss. Forgive, forget the
unworthy.'
So far he had written, his paper was all fille=
d,
when there returned a memory of evenings at the piano, and that song, the
masterpiece of love, in which so many have found the expression of their
dearest thoughts. 'Einst, O wunder!' he added. More was not required; he kn=
ew
that in his love's heart the context would spring up, escorted with fair im=
ages
and harmony; of how all through life her name should tremble in his ears, h=
er
name be everywhere repeated in the sounds of nature; and when death came, a=
nd
he lay dissolved, her memory lingered and thrilled among his elements.
&=
nbsp;
'Once, O wonder! once from the ashes of my heart Arose a
blossom--'
Herrick and the captain finished their letters
about the same time; each was breathing deep, and their eyes met and were
averted as they closed the envelopes.
'Sorry I write so big,' said the captain gruff=
ly.
'Came all of a rush, when it did come.'
'Same here,' said Herrick. 'I could have done =
with
a ream when I got started; but it's long enough for all the good I had to s=
ay.'
They were still at the addresses when the clerk
strolled up, smirking and twirling his envelope, like a man well pleased. He
looked over Herrick's shoulder.
'Hullo,' he said, 'you ain't writing 'ome.'
'I am, though,' said Herrick; 'she lives with =
my
father. Oh, I see what you mean,' he added. 'My real name is Herrick. No mo=
re
Hay'--they had both used the same alias--'no more Hay than yours, I dare sa=
y.'
'Clean bowled in the middle stump!' laughed the
clerk. 'My name's 'Uish if you want to know. Everybody has a false nyme in =
the
Pacific. Lay you five to three the captain 'as.'
'So I have too,' replied the captain; 'and I've
never told my own since the day I tore the title page out of my Bowditch and
flung the damned thing into the sea. But I'll tell it to you, boys. John Da=
vis
is my name. I'm Davis of the Sea Ranger.'
'Dooce you are!' said Hush. 'And what was she?=
a
pirate or a slyver?'
'She was the fastest barque out of Portland,
Maine,' replied the captain; 'and for the way I lost her, I might as well h=
ave
bored a hole in her side with an auger.'
'Oh, you lost her, did you?' said the clerk. '=
'Ope
she was insured?'
No answer being returned to this sally, Huish,
still brimming over with vanity and conversation, struck into another subje=
ct.
'I've a good mind to read you my letter,' said=
he.
'I've a good fist with a pen when I choose, and this is a prime lark. She w=
as a
barmaid I ran across in Northampton; she was a spanking fine piece, no end =
of
style; and we cottoned at first sight like parties in the play. I suppose I
spent the chynge of a fiver on that girl. Well, I 'appened to remember her
nyme, so I wrote to her, and told her 'ow I had got rich, and married a que=
en
in the Hislands, and lived in a blooming palace. Such a sight of crammers! I
must read you one bit about my opening the nigger parliament in a cocked 'a=
t.
It's really prime.'
The captain jumped to his feet. 'That's what y=
ou
did with the paper that I went and begged for you?' he roared.
It was perhaps lucky for Huish--it was surely =
in
the end unfortunate for all--that he was seized just then by one of his
prostrating accesses of cough; his comrades would have else deserted him, so
bitter was their resentment. When the fit had passed, the clerk reached out=
his
hand, picked up the letter, which had fallen to the earth, and tore it into=
fragments,
stamp and all.
'Does that satisfy you?' he asked sullenly.
'We'll say no more about it,' replied Davis.
The old calaboose, in which the waifs had so l=
ong
harboured, is a low, rectangular enclosure of building at the corner of a s=
hady
western avenue and a little townward of the British consulate. Within was a
grassy court, littered with wreckage and the traces of vagrant occupation. =
Six
or seven cells opened from the court: the doors, that had once been locked =
on
mutinous whalermen, rotting before them in the grass. No mark remained of t=
heir
old destination, except the rusty bars upon the windows.
The floor of one of the cells had been a little
cleared; a bucket (the last remaining piece of furniture of the three caiti=
ffs)
stood full of water by the door, a half cocoanut shell beside it for a drin=
king
cup; and on some ragged ends of mat Huish sprawled asleep, his mouth open, =
his
face deathly. The glow of the tropic afternoon, the green of sunbright foli=
age,
stared into that shady place through door and window; and Herrick, pacing to
and fro on the coral floor, sometimes paused and laved his face and neck wi=
th
tepid water from the bucket. His long arrears of suffering, the night's vig=
il,
the insults of the morning, and the harrowing business of the letter, had
strung him to that point when pain is almost pleasure, time shrinks to a me=
re
point, and death and life appear indifferent. To and fro he paced like a ca=
ged
brute; his mind whirling through the universe of thought and memory; his ey=
es,
as he went, skimming the legends on the wall. The crumbling whitewash was a=
ll
full of them: Tahitian names, and French, and English, and rude sketches of
ships under sail and men at fisticuffs.
It came to him of a sudden that he too must le=
ave
upon these walls the memorial of his passage. He paused before a clean spac=
e,
took the pencil out, and pondered. Vanity, so hard to dislodge, awoke in hi=
m.
We call it vanity at least; perhaps unjustly. Rather it was the bare sense =
of
his existence prompted him; the sense of his life, the one thing wonderful,=
to
which he scarce clung with a finger. From his jarred nerves there came a st=
rong
sentiment of coming change; whether good or ill he could not say: change, he
knew no more--change, with inscrutable veiled face, approaching noiseless. =
With
the feeling, came the vision of a concert room, the rich hues of instrument=
s,
the silent audience, and the loud voice of the symphony. 'Destiny knocking =
at
the door,' he thought; drew a stave on the plaster, and wrote in the famous
phrase from the Fifth Symphony. 'So,' thought he, 'they will know that I lo=
ved
music and had classical tastes. They? He, I suppose: the unknown, kindred
spirit that shall come some day and read my memor querela. Ha, he shall have
Latin too!' And he added: terque quaterque beati Queis ante ora patrum.
He turned again to his uneasy pacing, but now =
with
an irrational and supporting sense of duty done. He had dug his grave that
morning; now he had carved his epitaph; the folds of the toga were composed,
why should he delay the insignificant trifle that remained to do? He paused=
and
looked long in the face of the sleeping Huish, drinking disenchantment and
distaste of life. He nauseated himself with that vile countenance. Could the
thing continue? What bound him now? Had he no rights?--only the obligation =
to
go on, without discharge or furlough, bearing the unbearable? Ich trage
unertragliches, the quotation rose in his mind; he repeated the whole piece,
one of the most perfect of the most perfect of poets; and a phrase struck h=
im
like a blow: Du, stolzes Herz, A hast es ja gewolit. Where was the pride of=
his
heart? And he raged against himself, as a man bites on a sore tooth, in a h=
eady
sensuality of scorn. 'I have no pride, I have no heart, no manhood,' he
thought, 'or why should I prolong a life more shameful than the gallows? Or=
why
should I have fallen to it? No pride, no capacity, no force. Not even a ban=
dit!
and to be starving here with worse than banditti--with this trivial hell-ho=
und!'
His rage against his comrade rose and flooded him, and he shook a trembling
fist at the sleeper.
A swift step was audible. The captain appeared
upon the threshold of the cell, panting and flushed, and with a foolish fac=
e of
happiness. In his arms he carried a loaf of bread and bottles of beer; the
pockets of his coat were bulging with cigars.
He rolled his treasures on the floor, grasped
Herrick by both hands, and crowed with laughter.
'Broach the beer!' he shouted. 'Broach the bee=
r,
and glory hallelujah!'
'Beer?' repeated Huish, struggling to his feet.
'Beer it is!' cried Davis. 'Beer and plenty of it. Any number of persons can
use it (like Lyon's tooth-tablet) with perfect propriety and neatness. Who'=
s to
officiate?'
'Leave me alone for that,' said the clerk. He
knocked the necks off with a lump of coral, and each drank in succession fr=
om
the shell.
'Have a weed,' said Davis. 'It's all in the bi=
ll.'
'What is up?' asked Herrick.
The captain fell suddenly grave. 'I'm coming to
that,' said he. 'I want to speak with Herrick here. You, Hay--or Huish, or
whatever your name is--you take a weed and the other bottle, and go and see=
how
the wind is down by the purao. I'll call you when you're wanted!'
'Hay? Secrets? That ain't the ticket,' said Hu=
ish.
'Look here, my son,' said the captain, 'this is
business, and don't you make any mistake about it. If you're going to make
trouble, you can have it your own way and stop right here. Only get the thi=
ng
right: if Herrick and I go, we take the beer. Savvy?'
'Oh, I don't want to shove my oar in,' returned
Huish. 'I'll cut right enough. Give me the swipes. You can jaw till you're =
blue
in the face for what I care. I don't think it's the friendly touch: that's
all.' And he shambled grumbling out of the cell into the staring sun.
The captain watched him clear of the courtyard;
then turned to Herrick.
'What is it?' asked Herrick thickly.
'I'll tell you,' said Davis. 'I want to consult
you. It's a chance we've got. What's that?' he cried, pointing to the music=
on
the wall.
'What?' said the other. 'Oh, that! It's music;
it's a phrase of Beethoven's I was writing up. It means Destiny knocking at=
the
door.'
'Does it?' said the captain, rather low; and he
went near and studied the inscription; 'and this French?' he asked, pointin=
g to
the Latin.
'O, it just means I should have been luckier i= f I had died at horne,' returned Herrick impatiently. 'What is this business?'<= o:p>
'Destiny knocking at the door,' repeated the
captain; and then, looking over his shoulder. 'Well, Mr Herrick, that's abo=
ut
what it comes to,' he added.
'What do you mean? Explain yourself,' said
Herrick.
But the captain was again staring at the music.
'About how long ago since you wrote up this truck?' he asked.
'What does it matter?' exclaimed Herrick. 'I d=
are
say half an hour.'
'My God, it's strange!' cried Davis. 'There's =
some
men would call that accidental: not me. That--' and he drew his thick finger
under the music--'that's what I call Providence.'
'You said we had a chance,' said Herrick.
'Yes, SIR!' said the captain, wheeling suddenly
face to face with his companion. 'I did so. If you're the man I take you fo=
r,
we have a chance.'
'I don't know what you take me for,' was the
reply. 'You can scarce take me too low.'
'Shake hands, Mr Herrick,' said the captain. 'I
know you. You're a gentleman and a man of spirit. I didn't want to speak be=
fore
that bummer there; you'll see why. But to you I'll rip it right out. I got a
ship.'
'A ship?' cried Herrick. 'What ship?'
'That schooner we saw this morning off the
passage.'
'The schooner with the hospital flag?'
'That's the hooker,' said Davis. 'She's the
Farallone, hundred and sixty tons register, out of 'Frisco for Sydney, in
California champagne. Captain, mate, and one hand all died of the smallpox,
same as they had round in the Paumotus, I guess. Captain and mate were the =
only
white men; all the hands Kanakas; seems a queer kind of outfit from a Chris=
tian
port. Three of them left and a cook; didn't know where they were; I can't t=
hink
where they were either, if you come to that; Wiseman must have been on the
booze, I guess, to sail the course he did. However, there HE was, dead; and
here are the Kanakas as good as lost. They bummed around at sea like the ba=
bes
in the wood; and tumbled end-on upon Tahiti. The consul here took charge. He
offered the berth to Williams; Williams had never had the smallpox and back=
ed
down. That was when I came in for the letter paper; I thought there was
something up when the consul asked me to look in again; but I never let on =
to you
fellows, so's you'd not be disappointed. Consul tried M'Neil; scared of sma=
llpox.
He tried Capirati, that Corsican and Leblue, or whatever his name is, would=
n't
lay a hand on it; all too fond of their sweet lives. Last of all, when there
wasn't nobody else left to offer it to, he offers it to me. "Brown, wi=
ll
you ship captain and take her to Sydney?" says he. "Let me choose=
my
own mate and another white hand," says I, "for I don't hold with =
this
Kanaka crew racket; give us all two months' advance to get our clothes and
instruments out of pawn, and I'll take stock tonight, fill up stores, and g=
et
to sea tomorrow before dark!" That's what I said. "That's good
enough," says the consul, "and you can count yourself damned luck=
y,
Brown," says he. And he said it pretty meaningful-appearing, too. Howe=
ver,
that's all one now. I'll ship Huish before the mast--of course I'll let him
berth aft--and I'll ship you mate at seventy-five dollars and two months'
advance.'
'Me mate? Why, I'm a landsman!' cried Herrick.=
'Guess you've got to learn,' said the captain.
'You don't fancy I'm going to skip and leave you rotting on the beach perha=
ps?
I'm not that sort, old man. And you're handy anyway; I've been shipmates wi=
th
worse.'
'God knows I can't refuse,' said Herrick. 'God
knows I thank you from my heart.'
'That's all right,' said the captain. 'But it
ain't all.' He turned aside to light a cigar.
'What else is there?' asked the other, with a =
pang
of undefinable alarm.
'I'm coming to that,' said Davis, and then pau=
sed
a little. 'See here,' he began, holding out his cigar between his finger and
thumb, 'suppose you figure up what this'll amount to. You don't catch on? W=
ell,
we get two months' advance; we can't get away from Papeete--our creditors w=
ouldn't
let us go--for less; it'll take us along about two months to get to Sydney;=
and
when we get there, I just want to put it to you squarely: What the better a=
re
we?'
'We're off the beach at least,' said Herrick.<= o:p>
'I guess there's a beach at Sydney,' returned =
the
captain; 'and I'll tell you one thing, Mr Herrick--I don't mean to try. No,
SIR! Sydney will never see me.'
'Speak out plain,' said Herrick.
'Plain Dutch,' replied the captain. 'I'm going=
to
own that schooner. It's nothing new; it's done every year in the Pacific. S=
tephens
stole a schooner the other day, didn't he? Hayes and Pease stole vessels al=
l the
time. And it's the making of the crowd of us. See here--you think of that
cargo. Champagne! why, it's like as if it was put up on purpose. In Peru we=
'll
sell that liquor off at the pier-head, and the schooner after it, if we can
find a fool to buy her; and then light out for the mines. If you'll back me=
up,
I stake my life I carry it through.'
'Captain,' said Herrick, with a quailing voice,
'don't do it!'
'I'm desperate,' returned Davis. 'I've got a
chance; I may never get another. Herrick, say the word; back me up; I think
we've starved together long enough for that.'
'I can't do it. I'm sorry. I can't do it. I've=
not
fallen as low as that,' said Herrick, deadly pale.
'What did you say this morning?' said Davis. '=
That
you couldn't beg? It's the one thing or the other, my son.'
'Ah, but this is the jail!' cried Herrick. 'Do=
n't
tempt me. It's the jail.'
'Did you hear what the skipper said on board t=
hat
schooner?' pursued the captain. 'Well, I tell you he talked straight. The
French have let us alone for a long time; It can't last longer; they've got
their eye on us; and as sure as you live, in three weeks you'll be in jail
whatever you do. I read it in the consul's face.'
'You forget, captain,' said the young man. 'Th=
ere
is another way. I can die; and to say truth, I think I should have died thr=
ee
years ago.'
The captain folded his arms and looked the oth=
er
in the face. 'Yes,' said he, 'yes, you can cut your throat; that's a frozen
fact; much good may it do you! And where do I come in?'
The light of a strange excitement came in
Herrick's face. 'Both of us,' said he, 'both of us together. It's not possi=
ble
you can enjoy this business. Come,' and he reached out a timid hand, 'a few
strokes in the lagoon--and rest!'
'I tell you, Herrick, I'm 'most tempted to ans=
wer
you the way the man does in the Bible, and say, "Get thee behind me,
Satan!"' said the captain. 'What! you think I would go drown myself, a=
nd I
got children starving? Enjoy it? No, by God, I do not enjoy it! but it's the
row I've got to hoe, and I'll hoe it till I drop right here. I have three o=
f them,
you see, two boys and the one girl, Adar. The trouble is that you are not a
parent yourself. I tell you, Herrick, I love you,' the man broke out; 'I di=
dn't
take to you at first, you were so anglified and tony, but I love you now; i=
t's
a man that loves you stands here and wrestles with you. I can't go to sea w=
ith
the bummer alone; it's not possible. Go drown yourself, and there goes my l=
ast
chance--the last chance of a poor miserable beast, earning a crust to feed =
his
family. I can't do nothing but sail ships, and I've no papers. And here I g=
et a
chance, and you go back on me! Ah, you've no family, and that's where the
trouble is!'
'I have indeed,' said Herrick.
'Yes, I know,' said the captain, 'you think so.
But no man's got a family till he's got children. It's only the kids count.
There's something about the little shavers... I can't talk of them. And if =
you
thought a cent about this father that I hear you talk of, or that sweetheart
you were writing to this morning, you would feel like me. You would say, Wh=
at
matters laws, and God, and that? My folks are hard up, I belong to them, I'=
ll
get them bread, or, by God! I'll get them wealth, if I have to burn down Lo=
ndon
for it. That's what you would say. And I'll tell you more: your heart is sa=
ying
so this living minute. I can see it in your face. You're thinking, Here's p=
oor
friendship for the man I've starved along of, and as for the girl that I se=
t up
to be in love with, here's a mighty limp kind of a love that won't carry me=
as
far as 'most any man would go for a demijohn of whisky. There's not much RO=
mance
to that love, anyway; it's not the kind they carry on about in songbooks. B=
ut
what's the good of my carrying on talking, when it's all in your inside as
plain as print? I put the question to you once for all. Are you going to de=
sert
me in my hour of need?--you know if I've deserted you--or will you give me =
your
hand, and try a fresh deal, and go home (as like as not) a millionaire? Say=
no,
and God pity me! Say yes, and I'll make the little ones pray for you every
night on their bended knees. "God bless Mr Herrick!" that's what
they'll say, one after the other, the old girl sitting there holding stakes=
at
the foot of the bed, and the damned little innocents.. . He broke off. 'I d=
on't
often rip out about the kids,' he said; 'but when I do, there's something f=
etches
loose.'
'Captain,' said Herrick faintly, 'is there not=
hing
else?'
'I'll prophesy if you like,' said the captain =
with
renewed vigour. 'Refuse this, because you think yourself too honest, and be=
fore
a month's out you'll be jailed for a sneak-thief. I give you the word fair.=
I
can see it, Herrick, if you can't; you're breaking down. Don't think, if you
refuse this chance, that you'll go on doing the evangelical; you're about
through with your stock; and before you know where you are, you'll be right=
out
on the other side. No, it's either this for you; or else it's Caledonia. I =
bet
you never were there, and saw those white, shaved men, in their dust clothes
and straw hats, prowling around in gangs in the lamplight at Noumea; they l=
ook
like wolves, and they look like preachers, and they look like the sick; Hul=
sh is
a daisy to the best of them. Well, there's your company. They're waiting for
you, Herrick, and you got to go; and that's a prophecy.'
And as the man stood and shook through his gre=
at
stature, he seemed indeed like one in whom the spirit of divination worked =
and
might utter oracles. Herrick looked at him, and looked away; It seemed not
decent to spy upon such agitation; and the young man's courage sank.
'You talk of going home,' he objected. 'We cou=
ld
never do that.'
'WE could,' said the other. 'Captain Brown
couldn't, nor Mr Hay, that shipped mate with him couldn't. But what's that =
to
do with Captain Davis or Mr Herrick, you galoot?'
'But Hayes had these wild islands where he use=
d to
call,' came the next fainter objection.
'We have the wild islands of Peru,' retorted
Davis. 'They were wild enough for Stephens, no longer agone than just last
year. I guess they'll be wild enough for us.'
'And the crew?'
'All Kanakas. Come, I see you're right, old ma=
n. I
see you'll stand by.' And the captain once more offered his hand.
'Have it your own way then,' said Herrick. 'I'=
ll
do it: a strange thing for my father's son. But I'll do it. I'll stand by y=
ou,
man, for good or evil.'
'God bless you!' cried the captain, and stood
silent. 'Herrick,' he added with a smile, 'I believe I'd have died in my
tracks, if you'd said, No!'
And Herrick, looking at the man, half believed=
so
also.
'And now we'll go break it to the bummer,' said
Davis.
'I wonder how he'll take it,' said Herrick.
'Him? Jump at it!' was the reply.
The schooner Farallone lay well out in the jaw=
s of
the pass, where the terrified pilot had made haste to bring her to her moor=
ings
and escape. Seen from the beach through the thin line of shipping, two obje=
cts
stood conspicuous to seaward: the little isle, on the one hand, with its pa=
lms and
the guns and batteries raised forty years before in defence of Queen Pomare=
's
capital; the outcast Farallone, upon the other, banished to the threshold of
the port, rolling there to her scuppers, and flaunting the plague-flag as s=
he
rolled. A few sea birds screamed and cried about the ship; and within easy
range, a man-of-war guard boat hung off and on and glittered with the weapo=
ns
of marines. The exuberant daylight and the blinding heaven of the tropics
picked out and framed the pictures.
A neat boat, manned by natives in uniform, and
steered by the doctor of the port, put from shore towards three of the
afternoon, and pulled smartly for the schooner. The fore-sheets were heaped
with sacks of flour, onions, and potatoes, perched among which was Huish
dressed as a foremast hand; a heap of chests and cases impeded the action of
the oarsmen; and in the stern, by the left hand of the doctor, sat Herrick,=
dressed
in a fresh rig of slops, his brown beard trimmed to a point, a pile of paper
novels on his lap, and nursing the while between his feet a chronometer, for
which they had exchanged that of the Farallone, long since run down and the
rate lost.
They passed the guard boat, exchanging hails w=
ith
the boat-swain's mate in charge, and drew near at last to the forbidden shi=
p.
Not a cat stirred, there was no speech of man; and the sea being exceeding =
high
outside, and the reef close to where the schooner lay, the clamour of the s=
urf
hung round her like the sound of battle.
'Ohe la goelette!' sang out the doctor, with h=
is
best voice.
Instantly, from the house where they had been
stowing away stores, first Davis, and then the ragamuffin, swarthy crew made
their appearance.
'Hullo, Hay, that you?' said the captain, lean=
ing
on the rail. 'Tell the old man to lay her alongside, as if she was eggs.
There's a hell of a run of sea here, and his boat's brittle.'
The movement of the schooner was at that time =
more
than usually violent. Now she heaved her side as high as a deep sea steamer=
's,
and showed the flashing of her copper; now she swung swiftly toward the boat
until her scuppers gurgled.
'I hope you have sea legs,' observed the docto=
r.
'You will require them.'
Indeed, to board the Farallone, in that exposed
position where she lay, was an affair of some dexterity. The less precious
goods were hoisted roughly in; the chronometer, after repeated failures, was
passed gently and successfully from hand to hand; and there remained only t=
he
more difficult business of embarking Huish. Even that piece of dead weight =
(shipped
A.B. at eighteen dollars, and described by the captain to the consul as an
invaluable man) was at last hauled on board without mishap; and the doctor,
with civil salutations, took his leave.
The three co-adventurers looked at each other,=
and
Davis heaved a breath of relief.
'Now let's get this chronometer fixed,' said h=
e,
and led the way into the house. It was a fairly spacious place; two statero=
oms
and a good-sized pantry opened from the main cabin; the bulkheads were pain=
ted
white, the floor laid with waxcloth. No litter, no sign of life remained; f=
or
the effects of the dead men had been disinfected and conveyed on shore. Onl=
y on
the table, in a saucer, some sulphur burned, and the fumes set them coughin=
g as
they entered. The captain peered into the starboard stateroom, where the
bed-clothes still lay tumbled in the bunk, the blanket flung back as they h=
ad
flung it back from the disfigured corpse before its burial.
'Now, I told these niggers to tumble that truck
overboard,' grumbled Davis. 'Guess they were afraid to lay hands on it. Wel=
l,
they've hosed the place out; that's as much as can be expected, I suppose.
Huish, lay on to these blankets.'
'See you blooming well far enough first,' said
Huish, drawing back.
'What's that?' snapped the captain. 'I'll tell
you, my young friend, I think you make a mistake. I'm captain here.'
'Fat lot I care,' returned the clerk.
'That so?' said Davis. 'Then you'll berth forw=
ard
with the niggers! Walk right out of this cabin.'
'Oh, I dessay!' said Huish. 'See any green in =
my
eye? A lark's a lark.'
'Well, now, I'll explain this business, and yo=
u'll
see (once for all) just precisely how much lark there is to it,' said Davis.
'I'm captain, and I'm going to be it. One thing of three. First, you take my
orders here as cabin steward, in which case you mess with us. Or second, yo=
u refuse,
and I pack you forward--and you get as quick as the word's said. Or, third =
and
last, I'll signal that man-of-war and send you ashore under arrest for muti=
ny.'
'And, of course, I wouldn't blow the gaff? O n=
o!'
replied the jeering Huish.
'And who's to believe you, my son?' inquired t=
he
captain. 'No, sir! There ain't no lark about my captainising. Enough said. =
Up
with these blankets.'
Huish was no fool, he knew when he was beaten;=
and
he was no coward either, for he stepped to the bunk, took the infected
bed-clothes fairly in his arms, and carried them out of the house without a
check or tremor.
'I was waiting for the chance,' said Davis to
Herrick. 'I needn't do the same with you, because you understand it for
yourself.'
'Are you going to berth here?' asked Herrick,
following the captain into the stateroom, where he began to adjust the
chronometer in its place at the bed-head.
'Not much!' replied he. 'I guess I'll berth on
deck. I don't know as I'm afraid, but I've no immediate use for confluent
smallpox.'
'I don't know that I'm afraid either,' said
Herrick. 'But the thought of these two men sticks in my throat; that captai=
n and
mate dying here, one opposite to the other. It's grim. I wonder what they s=
aid
last?'
'Wiseman and Wishart?' said the captain. 'Prob=
ably
mighty small potatoes. That's a thing a fellow figures out for himself one =
way,
and the real business goes quite another. Perhaps Wiseman said, "Here =
old man,
fetch up the gin, I'm feeling powerful rocky." And perhaps Wishart sai=
d,
"Oh, hell!"'
'Well, that's grim enough,' said Herrick.
'And so it is,' said Davis. 'There; there's th=
at
chronometer fixed. And now it's about time to up anchor and clear out.'
He lit a cigar and stepped on deck.
'Here, you! What's YOUR name?' he cried to one=
of
the hands, a lean-flanked, clean-built fellow from some far western island,=
and
of a darkness almost approaching to the African.
'Sally Day,' replied the man.
'Devil it is,' said the captain. 'Didn't know =
we
had ladies on board. Well, Sally, oblige me by hauling down that rag there.
I'll do the same for you another time.' He watched the yellow bunting as it=
was
eased past the cross-trees and handed down on deck. 'You'll float no more on
this ship,' he observed. 'Muster the people aft, Mr Hay,' he added, speaking
unnecessarily loud, 'I've a word to say to them.'
It was with a singular sensation that Herrick
prepared for the first time to address a crew. He thanked his stars indeed,
that they were natives. But even natives, he reflected, might be critics too
quick for such a novice as himself; they might perceive some lapse from tha=
t precise
and cut-and-dry English which prevails on board a ship; it was even possible
they understood no other; and he racked his brain, and overhauled his
reminiscences of sea romance for some appropriate words.
'Here, men! tumble aft!' he said. 'Lively now!=
All
hands aft!'
They crowded in the alleyway like sheep.
'Here they are, sir,' said Herrick.
For some time the captain continued to face the
stern; then turned with ferocious suddenness on the crew, and seemed to enj=
oy
their shrinking.
'Now,' he said, twisting his cigar in his mouth
and toying with the spokes of the wheel, 'I'm Captain Brown. I command this
ship. This is Mr Hay, first officer. The other white man is cabin steward, =
but
he'll stand watch and do his trick. My orders shall be obeyed smartly. You =
savvy,
"smartly"? There shall be no growling about the kaikai, which wil=
l be
above allowance. You'll put a handle to the mate's name, and tack on
"sir" to every order I give you. If you're smart and quick, I'll =
make
this ship comfortable for all hands.' He took the cigar out of his mouth. '=
If you're
not,' he added, in a roaring voice, 'I'll make it a floating hell. Now, Mr =
Hay,
we'll pick watches, if you please.'
'All right,' said Herrick.
'You will please use "sir" when you
address me, Mr Hay,' said the captain. 'I'll take the lady. Step to starboa=
rd,
Sally.' And then he whispered in Herrick's ear: 'take the old man.'
'I'll take you, there,' said Herrick.
'What's your name?' said the captain. 'What's =
that
you say? Oh, that's no English; I'll have none of your highway gibberish on=
my
ship. We'll call you old Uncle Ned, because you've got no wool on the top of
your head, just the place where the wool ought to grow. Step to port, Uncle=
. Don't
you hear Mr Hay has picked you? Then I'll take the white man. White Man, st=
ep
to starboard. Now which of you two is the cook? You? Then Mr Hay takes your
friend in the blue dungaree. Step to port, Dungaree. There, we know who we =
all
are: Dungaree, Uncle Ned, Sally Day, White Man, and Cook. All F.F.V.'s I gu=
ess.
And now, Mr Hay, we'll up anchor, if you please.'
'For Heaven's sake, tell me some of the words,'
whispered Herrick.
An hour later, the Farallone was under all pla=
in
sail, the rudder hard a-port, and the cheerfully clanking windlass had brou=
ght
the anchor home.
'All clear, sir,' cried Herrick from the bow.<= o:p>
The captain met her with the wheel, as she bou=
nded
like a stag from her repose, trembling and bending to the puffs. The guard =
boat
gave a parting hail, the wake whitened and ran out; the Farallone was under=
weigh.
Her berth had been close to the pass. Even as =
she
forged ahead Davis slewed her for the channel between the pier ends of the
reef, the breakers sounding and whitening to either hand. Straight through =
the narrow
band of blue, she shot to seaward: and the captain's heart exulted as he fe=
lt
her tremble underfoot, and (looking back over the taffrail) beheld the roof=
s of
Papeete changing position on the shore and the island mountains rearing hig=
her
in the wake.
But they were not yet done with the shore and =
the
horror of the yellow flag. About midway of the pass, there was a cry and a
scurry, a man was seen to leap upon the rail, and, throwing his arms over h=
is
head, to stoop and plunge into the sea.
'Steady as she goes,' the captain cried,
relinquishing the wheel to Huish.
The next moment he was forward in the midst of=
the
Kanakas, belaying pin in hand.
'Anybody else for shore?' he cried, and the sa=
vage
trumpeting of his voice, no less than the ready weapon in his hand, struck =
fear
in all. Stupidly they stared after their escaped companion, whose black hea=
d was
visible upon the water, steering for the land. And the schooner meanwhile s=
lipt
like a racer through the pass, and met the long sea of the open ocean with a
souse of spray.
'Fool that I was, not to have a pistol ready!'
exclaimed Davis. 'Well, we go to sea short-handed, we can't help that. You =
have
a lame watch of it, Mr Hay.'
'I don't see how we are to get along,' said
Herrick.
'Got to,' said the captain. 'No more Tahiti for
me.'
Both turned instinctively and looked astern. T=
he
fair island was unfolding mountain top on mountain top; Eimeo, on the port
board, lifted her splintered pinnacles; and still the schooner raced to the
open sea.
'Think!' cried the captain with a gesture,
'yesterday morning I danced for my breakfast like a poodle dog.'
The ship's head was laid to clear Eimeo to the
north, and the captain sat down in the cabin, with a chart, a ruler, and an
epitome.
'East a half no'the,' said he, raising his face
from his labours. 'Mr Hay, you'll have to watch your dead reckoning; I want
every yard she makes on every hair's-breadth of a course. I'm going to knoc=
k a
hole right straight through the Paumotus, and that's always a near touch. N=
ow,
if this South East Trade ever blew out of the S.E., which it don't, we might
hope to lie within half a point of our course. Say we lie within a point of=
it.
That'll just about weather Fakarava. Yes, sir, that's what we've got to do,=
if
we tack for it. Brings us through this slush of little islands in the clean=
est
place: see?' And he showed where his ruler intersected the wide-lying labyr=
inth
of the Dangerous Archipelago. 'I wish it was night, and I could put her abo=
ut
right now; we're losing time and easting. Well, we'll do our best. And if we
don't fetch Peru, we'll bring up to Ecuador. All one, I guess. Depreciated =
dollars
down, and no questions asked. A remarkable fine institootion, the South
American don.'
Tahiti was already some way astern, the Diadem
rising from among broken mountains--Eimeo was already close aboard, and sto=
od
black and strange against the golden splendour of the west--when the captain
took his departure from the two islands, and the patent log was set.
Some twenty minutes later, Sally Day, who was
continually leaving the wheel to peer in at the cabin clock, announced in a
shrill cry 'Fo'bell,' and the cook was to be seen carrying the soup into the
cabin.
'I guess I'll sit down and have a pick with yo=
u,'
said Davis to Herrick. 'By the time I've done, it'll be dark, and we'll cla=
p the
hooker on the wind for South America.'
In the cabin at one corner of the table,
immediately below the lamp, and on the lee side of a bottle of champagne, s=
at
Huish. 'What's this? Where did that come from?' asked the captain.
'It's fizz, and it came from the after-'old, if
you want to know,' said Huish, and drained his mug.
'This'll never do,' exclaimed Davis, the merch=
ant
seaman's horror of breaking into cargo showing incongruously forth on board
that stolen ship. 'There was never any good came of games like that.'
'You byby!' said Huish. 'A fellow would think =
(to
'ear him) we were on the square! And look 'ere, you've put this job up
'ansomely for me, 'aven't you? I'm to go on deck and steer while you two sit
and guzzle, and I'm to go by nickname, and got to call you "sir" =
and
"mister." Well, you look here, my bloke: I'll have fizz ad lib., =
or
it won't wash. I tell you that. And you know mighty well, you ain't got any
man-of-war to signal now.'
Davis was staggered. 'I'd give fifty dollars t=
his
had never happened,' he said weakly.
'Well, it 'as 'appened, you see,' returned Hui=
sh.
'Try some; it's devilish good.'
The Rubicon was crossed without another strugg=
le.
The captain filled a mug and drank.
'I wish it was beer,' he said with a sigh. 'But
there's no denying it's the genuine stuff and cheap at the money. Now, Huis=
h,
you clear out and take your wheel.'
The little wretch had gained a point, and he w=
as
gay. 'Ay, ay, sir,' said he, and left the others to their meal.
'Pea soup!' exclaimed the captain. 'Blamed if I
thought I should taste pea soup again!'
Herrick sat inert and silent. It was impossible
after these months of hopeless want to smell the rough, high-spiced sea
victuals without lust, and his mouth watered with desire of the champagne. =
It
was no less impossible to have assisted at the scene between Huish and the
captain, and not to perceive, with sudden bluntness, the gulf where he had =
fallen.
He was a thief among thieves. He said it to himself. He could not touch the
soup. If he had moved at all, it must have been to leave the table, throw
himself overboard, and drown--an honest man.
'Here,' said the captain, 'you look sick, old =
man;
have a drop of this.'
The champagne creamed and bubbled in the mug; =
its
bright colour, its lively effervescence, seized his eye. 'It is too late to
hesitate,' he thought; his hand took the mug instinctively; he drank, with =
unquenchable
pleasure and desire of more; drained the vessel dry, and set it down with
sparkling eyes.
'There is something in life after all!' he cri=
ed.
'I had forgot what it was like. Yes, even this is worth while. Wine, food, =
dry
clothes--why, they're worth dying, worth hanging, for! Captain, tell me one
thing: why aren't all the poor folk foot-pads?'
'Give it up,' said the captain.
'They must be damned good,' cried Herrick.
'There's something here beyond me. Think of that calaboose! Suppose we were
sent suddenly back.' He shuddered as though stung by a convulsion, and buri=
ed
his face in his clutching hands.
'Here, what's wrong with you?' cried the capta=
in.
There was no reply; only Herrick's shoulders heaved, so that the table was
shaken. 'Take some more of this. Here, drink this. I order you to. Don't st=
art
crying when you're out of the wood.'
'I'm not crying,' said Herrick, raising his fa=
ce
and showing his dry eyes. 'It's worse than crying. It's the horror of that
grave that we've escaped from.'
'Come now, you tackle your soup; that'll fix y=
ou,'
said Davis kindly. 'I told you you were all broken up. You couldn't have st=
ood
out another week.'
'That's the dreadful part of it!' cried Herric=
k.
'Another week and I'd have murdered someone for a dollar! God! and I know t=
hat?
And I'm still living? It's some beastly dream.'
'Quietly, quietly! Quietly does it, my son. Ta=
ke
your pea soup. Food, that's what you want,' said Davis.
The soup strengthened and quieted Herrick's
nerves; another glass of wine, and a piece of pickled pork and fried banana
completed what the soup began; and he was able once more to look the captai=
n in
the face.
'I didn't know I was so much run down,' he sai=
d.
'Well,' said Davis, 'you were as steady as a r=
ock
all day: now you've had a little lunch, you'll be as steady as a rock again=
.'
'Yes,'was the reply, 'I'm steady enough now, b=
ut
I'm a queer kind of a first officer.'
'Shucks!' cried the captain. 'You've only got =
to
mind the ship's course, and keep your slate to half a point. A babby could =
do
that, let alone a college graduate like you. There ain't nothing TO sailori=
ng,
when you come to look it in the face. And now we'll go and put her about. B=
ring
the slate; we'll have to start our dead reckoning right away.'
The distance run since the departure was read =
off
the log by the binnacle light and entered on the slate.
'Ready about,' said the captain. 'Give me the
wheel, White Man, and you stand by the mainsheet. Boom tackle, Mr Hay, plea=
se,
and then you can jump forward and attend head sails.'
'Ay, ay, sir,' responded Herrick.
'All clear forward?' asked Davis.
'All clear, sir.'
'Hard a-lee!' cried the captain. 'Haul in your
slack as she comes,' he called to Huish. 'Haul in your slack, put your back
into it; keep your feet out of the coils.' A sudden blow sent Huish flat al=
ong
the deck, and the captain was in his place. 'Pick yourself up and keep the
wheel hard over!' he roared. 'You wooden fool, you wanted to get killed, I =
guess.
Draw the jib,' he cried a moment later; and then to Huish, 'Give me the whe=
el
again, and see if you can coil that sheet.'
But Huish stood and looked at Davis with an ev=
il
countenance. 'Do you know you struck me?' said he.
'Do you know I saved your life?' returned the
other, not deigning to look at him, his eyes travelling instead between the
compass and the sails. 'Where would you have been, if that boom had swung o=
ut
and you bundled in the clack? No, SIR, we'll have no more of you at the mai=
nsheet.
Seaport towns are full of mainsheet-men; they hop upon one leg, my son, wha=
t's
left of them, and the rest are dead. (Set your boom tackle, Mr Hay.) Struck
you, did I? Lucky for you I did.'
'Well,' said Huish slowly, 'I daresay there ma=
y be
somethink in that. 'Ope there is.' He turned his back elaborately on the
captain, and entered the house, where the speedy explosion of a champagne c=
ork
showed he was attending to his comfort.
Herrick came aft to the captain. 'How is she d=
oing
now?' he asked.
'East and by no'the a half no'the,' said Davis.
'It's about as good as I expected.'
'What'll the hands think of it?' said Herrick.=
'Oh, they don't think. They ain't paid to,' sa=
ys
the captain.
'There was something wrong, was there not? bet=
ween
you and--' Herrick paused.
'That's a nasty little beast, that's a biter,'
replied the captain, shaking his head. 'But so long as you and me hang in, =
it
don't matter.'
Herrick lay down in the weather alleyway; the night was cloudless, the movement of the ship cradled him, he was oppressed besides by the first generous meal after so long a time of famine; and he w= as recalled from deep sleep by the voice of Davis singing out: 'Eight bells!'<= o:p>
He rose stupidly, and staggered aft, where the
captain gave him the wheel.
'By the wind,' said the captain. 'It comes a
little puffy; when you get a heavy puff, steal all you can to windward, but
keep her a good full.'
He stepped towards the house, paused and hailed
the forecastle.
'Got such a thing as a concertina forward?' sa=
id
he. 'Bully for you, Uncle Ned. Fetch it aft, will you?'
The schooner steered very easy; and Herrick,
watching the moon-whitened sails, was overpowered by drowsiness. A sharp re=
port
from the cabin startled him; a third bottle had been opened; and Herrick
remembered the Sea Ranger and Fourteen Island Group. Presently the notes of=
the
accordion sounded, and then the captain's voice:
'O
honey, with our pockets full of money,
We
will trip, trip, trip, we will trip it on the quay,
And I
will dance with Kate, and Tom will dance with Sall,
When
we're all back from South Amerikee.'
So it went to its quaint air; and the watch be=
low
lingered and listened by the forward door, and Uncle Ned was to be seen in =
the
moonlight nodding time; and Herrick smiled at the wheel, his anxieties a wh=
ile forgotten.
Song followed song; another cork exploded; there were voices raised, as tho=
ugh
the pair in the cabin were in disagreement; and presently it seemed the bre=
ach
was healed; for it was now the voice of Huish that struck up, to the captai=
n's
accompaniment--
=
'Up in a balloon,
boys,
Up in a ba=
lloon,
All among the li=
ttle
stars
And round =
about
the moon.'
=
A wave
of nausea overcame Herrick at the wheel. He wondered why the air, the words
(which were yet written with a certain knack), and the voice and accent of =
the
singer, should all jar his spirit like a file on a man's teeth. He sickened=
at
the thought of his two comrades drinking away their reason upon stolen wine,
quarrelling and hiccupping and waking up, while the doors of the prison yaw=
ned
for them in the near future. 'Shall I have sold my honour for nothing?' he
thought; and a heat of rage and resolution glowed in his bosom--rage against
his comrades--resolution to carry through this business if it might be carr=
ied;
pluck profit out of shame, since the shame at least was now inevitable; and
come home, home from South America--how did the song go?--'with his pockets
full of money':
=
'O
honey, with our pockets full of money,
We will trip, trip, trip, we will trip it on t=
he
quay:'
so the words ran in his head; and the honey to=
ok
on visible form, the quay rose before him and he knew it for the lamplit
Embankment, and he saw the lights of Battersea bridge bestride the sullen
river. All through the remainder of his trick, he stood entranced, reviewing
the past. He had been always true to his love, but not always sedulous to
recall her. In the growing calamity of his life, she had swum more distant,=
like
the moon in mist. The letter of farewell, the dishonourable hope that had
surprised and corrupted him in his distress, the changed scene, the sea, the
night and the music--all stirred him to the roots of manhood. 'I WILL win h=
er,'
he thought, and ground his teeth. 'Fair or foul, what matters if I win her?=
'
'Fo' bell, matey. I think um fo' bell'--he was
suddenly recalled by these words in the voice of Uncle Ned.
'Look in at the clock, Uncle,' said he. He wou=
ld
not look himself, from horror of the tipplers.
'Him past, matey,' repeated the Hawaiian.
'So much the better for you, Uncle,' he replie=
d;
and he gave up the wheel, repeating the directions as he had received them.=
He took two steps forward and remembered his d=
ead
reckoning. 'How has she been heading?' he thought; and he flushed from head=
to
foot. He had not observed or had forgotten; here was the old incompetence; =
the
slate must be filled up by guess. 'Never again!' he vowed to himself in sil=
ent fury,
'never again. It shall be no fault of mine if this miscarry.' And for the
remainder of his watch, he stood close by Uncle Ned, and read the face of t=
he
compass as perhaps he had never read a letter from his sweetheart.
All the time, and spurring him to the more
attention, song, loud talk, fleering laughter and the occasional popping of=
a
cork, reached his ears from the interior of the house; and when the port wa=
tch
was relieved at midnight, Huish and the captain appeared upon the quarter-d=
eck
with flushed faces and uneven steps, the former laden with bottles, the lat=
ter
with two tin mugs. Herrick silently passed them by. They hailed him in thick
voices, he made no answer, they cursed him for a churl, he paid no heed
although his belly quivered with disgust and rage. He closed-to the door of=
the
house behind him, and cast himself on a locker in the cabin--not to sleep he
thought--rather to think and to despair. Yet he had scarce turned twice on =
his
uneasy bed, before a drunken voice hailed him in the ear, and he must go on
deck again to stand the morning watch.
The first evening set the model for those that
were to follow. Two cases of champagne scarce lasted the four-and-twenty ho=
urs,
and almost the whole was drunk by Huish and the captain. Huish seemed to th=
rive
on the excess; he was never sober, yet never wholly tipsy; the food and the=
sea
air had soon healed him of his disease, and he began to lay on flesh. But w=
ith
Davis things went worse. In the drooping, unbuttoned figure that sprawled a=
ll
day upon the lockers, tippling and reading novels; in the fool who made of =
the
evening watch a public carouse on the quarter-deck, it would have been hard=
to
recognise the vigorous seaman of Papeete roads. He kept himself reasonably =
well
in hand till he had taken the sun and yawned and blotted through his calcul=
ations;
but from the moment he rolled up the chart, his hours were passed in slavis=
h self-indulgence
or in hoggish slumber. Every other branch of his duty was neglected, except
maintaining a stern discipline about the dinner table. Again and again Herr=
ick would
hear the cook called aft, and see him running with fresh tins, or carrying =
away
again a meal that had been totally condemned. And the more the captain beca=
me
sunk in drunkenness, the more delicate his palate showed itself. Once, in t=
he
forenoon, he had a bo'sun's chair rigged over the rail, stripped to his
trousers, and went overboard with a pot of paint. 'I don't like the way thi=
s schooner's
painted,' said he, 'and I've taken a down upon her name.' But he tired of i=
t in
half an hour, and the schooner went on her way with an incongruous patch of
colour on the stern, and the word Farallone part obliterated and part looki=
ng
through. He refused to stand either the middle or the morning watch. It was
fine-weather sailing, he said; and asked, with a laugh, 'Who ever heard of =
the
old man standing watch himself?' To the dead reckoning which Herrick still
tried to keep, he would pay not the least attention nor afford the least
assistance.
'What do we want of dead reckoning?' he asked.=
'We
get the sun all right, don't we?'
'We mayn't get it always though,' objected
Herrick. 'And you told me yourself you weren't sure of the chronometer.'
'Oh, there ain't no flies in the chronometer!'
cried Davis.
'Oblige me so far, captain,' said Herrick stif=
fly.
'I am anxious to keep this reckoning, which is a part of my duty; I do not =
know
what to allow for current, nor how to allow for it. I am too inexperienced;=
and
I beg of you to help me.'
'Never discourage zealous officer,' said the
captain, unrolling the chart again, for Herrick had taken him over his day's
work and while he was still partly sober. 'Here it is: look for yourself;
anything from west to west no'the-west, and anyways from five to twenty-five
miles. That's what the A'm'ralty chart says; I guess you don't expect to ge=
t on
ahead of your own Britishers?'
'I am trying to do my duty, Captain Brown,' sa=
id
Herrick, with a dark flush, 'and I have the honour to inform you that I don=
't
enjoy being trifled with.'
'What in thunder do you want?' roared Davis. '=
Go
and look at the blamed wake. If you're trying to do your duty, why don't yo=
u go
and do it? I guess it's no business of mine to go and stick my head over the
ship's rump? I guess it's yours. And I'll tell you what it is, my fine fell=
ow, I'll
trouble you not to come the dude over me. You're insolent, that's what's wr=
ong
with you. Don't you crowd me, Mr Herrick, Esquire.'
Herrick tore up his papers, threw them on the
floor, and left the cabin.
'He's turned a bloomin' swot, ain't he?' sneer=
ed
Huish.
'He thinks himself too good for his company,
that's what ails Herrick, Esquire,' raged the captain. 'He thinks I don't
understand when he comes the heavy swell. Won't sit down with us, won't he?
won't say a civil word? I'll serve the son of a gun as he deserves. By God,
Huish, I'll show him whether he's too good for John Davis!'
'Easy with the names, cap',' said Huish, who w=
as
always the more sober. 'Easy over the stones, my boy!'
'All right, I will. You're a good sort, Huish.=
I
didn't take to you at first, but I guess you're right enough. Let's open
another bottle,' said the captain; and that day, perhaps because he was exc=
ited
by the quarrel, he drank more recklessly, and by four o'clock was stretched=
insensible
upon the locker.
Herrick and Huish supped alone, one after the
other, opposite his flushed and snorting body. And if the sight killed
Herrick's hunger, the isolation weighed so heavily on the clerk's spirit, t=
hat
he was scarce risen from table ere he was currying favour with his former
comrade.
Herrick was at the wheel when he approached, a=
nd
Huish leaned confidentially across the binnacle.
'I say, old chappie,' he said, 'you and me don=
't
seem to be such pals somehow.'
Herrick gave her a spoke or two in silence; his
eye, as it skirted from the needle to the luff of the foresail, passed the =
man
by without speculation. But Huish was really dull, a thing he could support
with difficulty, having no resources of his own. The idea of a private talk=
with
Herrick, at this stage of their relations, held out particular inducements =
to a
person of his character. Drink besides, as it renders some men hyper-sensit=
ive,
made Huish callous. And it would almost have required a blow to make him qu=
it
his purpose.
'Pretty business, ain't it?' he continued; 'Dy=
vis
on the lush? Must say I thought you gave it 'im A1 today. He didn't like it=
a
bit; took on hawful after you were gone.--"'Ere," says I, "'=
old
on, easy on the lush," I says. "'Errick was right, and you know i=
t.
Give 'im a chanst," I says.--"Uish," sezee, "don't you
gimme no more of your jaw, or I'll knock your bloomin' eyes out." Well,
wot can I do, 'Errick? But I tell you, I don't 'arf like it. It looks to me
like the Sea Rynger over again.'
Still Herrick was silent.
'Do you hear me speak?' asked Huish sharply.
'You're pleasant, ain't you?'
'Stand away from that binnacle,' said Herrick.=
The clerk looked at him, long and straight and
black; his figure seemed to writhe like that of a snake about to strike; th=
en
he turned on his heel, went back to the cabin and opened a bottle of champa=
gne.
When eight bells were cried, he slept on the floor beside the captain on th=
e locker;
and of the whole starboard watch, only Sally Day appeared upon the summons.=
The
mate proposed to stand the watch with him, and let Uncle Ned lie down; it w=
ould
make twelve hours on deck, and probably sixteen, but in this fair-weather
sailing, he might safely sleep between his tricks of wheel, leaving orders =
to
be called on any sign of squalls. So far he could trust the men, between wh=
om
and himself a close relation had sprung up. With Uncle Ned he held long
nocturnal conversations, and the old man told him his simple and hard story=
of
exile, suffering, and injustice among cruel whites. The cook, when he found
Herrick messed alone, produced for him unexpected and sometimes unpalatable
dainties, of which he forced himself to eat. And one day, when he was forwa=
rd, he
was surprised to feel a caressing hand run down his shoulder, and to hear t=
he
voice of Sally Day crooning in his ear: 'You gootch man!' He turned, and,
choking down a sob, shook hands with the negrito. They were kindly, cheery,
childish souls. Upon the Sunday each brought forth his separate Bible--for =
they
were all men of alien speech even to each other, and Sally Day communicated
with his mates in English only, each read or made believe to read his chapt=
er,
Uncle Ned with spectacles on his nose; and they would all join together in =
the
singing of missionary hymns. It was thus a cutting reproof to compare the
islanders and the whites aboard the Farallone. Shame ran in Herrick's blood=
to
remember what employment he was on, and to see these poor souls--and even S=
ally
Day, the child of cannibals, in all likelihood a cannibal himself--so faith=
ful
to what they knew of good. The fact that he was held in grateful favour by
these innocents served like blinders to his conscience, and there were times
when he was inclined, with Sally Day, to call himself a good man. But the
height of his favour was only now to appear. With one voice, the crew
protested; ere Herrick knew what they were doing, the cook was aroused and =
came
a willing volunteer; all hands clustered about their mate with expostulatio=
ns
and caresses; and he was bidden to lie down and take his customary rest wit=
hout
alarm.
'He tell you tlue,' said Uncle Ned. 'You sleep.
Evely man hae he do all light. Evely man he like you too much.'
Herrick struggled, and gave way; choked upon s=
ome
trivial words of gratitude; and walked to the side of the house, against wh=
ich
he leaned, struggling with emotion.
Uncle Ned presently followed him and begged hi=
m to
lie down.
'It's no use, Uncle Ned,' he replied. 'I could=
n't
sleep. I'm knocked over with all your goodness.'
'Ah, no call me Uncle Ned no mo'!' cried the o=
ld
man. 'No my name! My name Taveeta, all-e-same Taveeta King of Islael. Wat f=
or
he call that Hawaii? I think no savvy nothing--all-e-same Wise-a-mana.'
It was the first time the name of the late cap=
tain
had been mentioned, and Herrick grasped the occasion. The reader shall be
spared Uncle Ned's unwieldy dialect, and learn in less embarrassing English,
the sum of what he now communicated. The ship had scarce cleared the Golden
Gates before the captain and mate had entered on a career of drunkenness, w=
hich
was scarcely interrupted by their malady and only closed by death. For days=
and
weeks they had encountered neither land nor ship; and seeing themselves los=
t on
the huge deep with their insane conductors, the natives had drunk deep of
terror.
At length they made a low island, and went in;=
and
Wiseman and Wishart landed in the boat.
There was a great village, a very fine village,
and plenty Kanakas in that place; but all mighty serious; and from every he=
re
and there in the back parts of the settlement, Taveeta heard the sounds of
island lamentation. 'I no savvy TALK that island,' said he. 'I savvy hear um
CLY. I think, Hum! too many people die here!' But upon Wiseman and Wishart =
the
significance of that barbaric keening was lost. Full of bread and drink, th=
ey
rollicked along unconcerned, embraced the girls who had scarce energy to re=
pel
them, took up and joined (with drunken voices) in the death wail, and at la=
st
(on what they took to be an invitation) entered under the roof of a house in
which was a considerable concourse of people sitting silent. They stooped b=
elow
the eaves, flushed and laughing; within a minute they came forth again with=
changed
faces and silent tongues; and as the press severed to make way for them,
Taveeta was able to perceive, in the deep shadow of the house, the sick man
raising from his mat a head already defeatured by disease. The two tragic
triflers fled without hesitation for their boat, screaming on Taveeta to ma=
ke
haste; they came aboard with all speed of oars, raised anchor and crowded s=
ail
upon the ship with blows and curses, and were at sea again--and again
drunk--before sunset. A week after, and the last of the two had been commit=
ted
to the deep. Herrick asked Taveeta where that island was, and he replied th=
at,
by what he gathered of folks' talk as they went up together from the beach,=
he supposed
it must be one of the Paumotus. This was in itself probable enough, for the
Dangerous Archipelago had been swept that year from east to west by devasta=
ting
smallpox; but Herrick thought it a strange course to lie from Sydney. Then =
he
remembered the drink.
'Were they not surprised when they made the
island?' he asked.
'Wise-a-mana he say "dam! what this?"=
;'
was the reply.
'O, that's it then,' said Herrick. 'I don't
believe they knew where they were.'
'I think so too,' said Uncle Ned. 'I think no
savvy. This one mo' betta,' he added, pointing to the house where the drunk=
en
captain slumbered: 'Take-a-sun all-e-time.'
The implied last touch completed Herrick's pic=
ture
of the life and death of his two predecessors; of their prolonged, sordid,
sodden sensuality as they sailed, they knew not whither, on their last crui=
se.
He held but a twinkling and unsure belief in any future state; the thought =
of
one of punishment he derided; yet for him (as for all) there dwelt a horror=
about
the end of the brutish man. Sickness fell upon him at the image thus called=
up;
and when he compared it with the scene in which himself was acting, and
considered the doom that seemed to brood upon the schooner, a horror that w=
as
almost superstitious fell upon him. And yet the strange thing was, he did n=
ot
falter. He who had proved his incapacity in so many fields, being now false=
ly
placed amid duties which he did not understand, without help, and it might =
be
said without countenance, had hitherto surpassed expectation; and even the
shameful misconduct and shocking disclosures of that night seemed but to ne=
rve and
strengthen him. He had sold his honour; he vowed it should not be in vain; =
'it
shall be no fault of mine if this miscarry,' he repeated. And in his heart =
he
wondered at himself. Living rage no doubt supported him; no doubt also, the
sense of the last cast, of the ships burned, of all doors closed but one, w=
hich
is so strong a tonic to the merely weak, and so deadly a depressant to the
merely cowardly.
For some time the voyage went otherwise well. =
They
weathered Fakarava with one board; and the wind holding well to the southwa=
rd
and blowing fresh, they passed between Ranaka and Ratiu, and ran some days =
north-east
by east-half-east under the lee of Takume and Honden, neither of which they
made. In about 14 degrees South and between 134 and 135 degrees West, it fe=
ll a
dead calm with rather a heavy sea. The captain refused to take in sail, the
helm was lashed, no watch was set, and the Farallone rolled and banged for =
three
days, according to observation, in almost the same place. The fourth mornin=
g, a
little before day, a breeze sprang up and rapidly freshened. The captain had
drunk hard the night before; he was far from sober when he was roused; and =
when
he came on deck for the first time at half-past eight, it was plain he had
already drunk deep again at breakfast. Herrick avoided his eye; and resigned
the deck with indignation to a man more than half-seas over.
By the loud commands of the captain and the
singing out of fellows at the ropes, he could judge from the house that sail
was being crowded on the ship; relinquished his half-eaten breakfast; and c=
ame
on deck again, to find the main and the jib topsails set, and both watches =
and
the cook turned out to hand the staysail. The Farallone lay already far ove=
r; the
sky was obscured with misty scud; and from the windward an ominous squall c=
ame
flying up, broadening and blackening as it rose.
Fear thrilled in Herrick's vitals. He saw death
hard by; and if not death, sure ruin. For if the Farallone lived through the
coming squall, she must surely be dismasted. With that their enterprise was=
at
an end, and they themselves bound prisoners to the very evidence of their
crime. The greatness of the peril and his own alarm sufficed to silence him=
. Pride,
wrath, and shame raged without issue in his mind; and he shut his teeth and
folded his arms close.
The captain sat in the boat to windward, bello=
wing
orders and insults, his eyes glazed, his face deeply congested; a bottle set
between his knees, a glass in his hand half empty. His back was to the squa=
ll,
and he was at first intent upon the setting of the sail. When that was done=
, and
the great trapezium of canvas had begun to draw and to trail the lee-rail of
the Farallone level with the foam, he laughed out an empty laugh, drained h=
is
glass, sprawled back among the lumber in the boat, and fetched out a crumpl=
ed
novel.
Herrick watched him, and his indignation glowed
red hot. He glanced to windward where the squall already whitened the near =
sea
and heralded its coming with a singular and dismal sound. He glanced at the
steersman, and saw him clinging to the spokes with a face of a sickly blue.=
He
saw the crew were running to their stations without orders. And it seemed a=
s if
something broke in his brain; and the passion of anger, so long restrained,=
so
long eaten in secret, burst suddenly loose and shook him like a sail. He
stepped across to the captain and smote his hand heavily on the drunkard's
shoulder.
'You brute,' he said, in a voice that tottered,
'look behind you!'
'Wha's that?' cried Davis, bounding in the boat
and upsetting the champagne.
'You lost the Sea Ranger because you were a
drunken sot,' said Herrick. 'Now you're going to lose the Farallone. You're
going to drown here the same way as you drowned others, and be damned. And =
your
daughter shall walk the streets, and your sons be thieves like their father=
.'
For the moment, the words struck the captain w=
hite
and foolish. 'My God!' he cried, looking at Herrick as upon a ghost; 'my Go=
d,
Herrick!'
'Look behind you, then!' reiterated the assail=
ant.
The wretched man, already partly sobered, did =
as
he was told, and in the same breath of time leaped to his feet. 'Down
staysail!' he trumpeted. The hands were thrilling for the order, and the gr=
eat
sail came with a run, and fell half overboard among the racing foam. 'Jib t=
opsail-halyards!
Let the stays'l be,' he said again.
But before it was well uttered, the squall sho=
uted
aloud and fell, in a solid mass of wind and rain commingled, on the Farallo=
ne;
and she stooped under the blow, and lay like a thing dead. From the mind of=
Herrick
reason fled; he clung in the weather rigging, exulting; he was done with li=
fe,
and he gloried in the release; he gloried in the wild noises of the wind and
the choking onslaught of the rain; he gloried to die so, and now, amid this
coil of the elements. And meanwhile, in the waist up to his knees in water-=
-so
low the schooner lay--the captain was hacking at the foresheet with a pocket
knife. It was a question of seconds, for the Farallone drank deep of the
encroaching seas. But the hand of the captain had the advance; the foresail
boom tore apart the last strands of the sheet and crashed to leeward; the
Farallone leaped up into the wind and righted; and the peak and throat
halyards, which had long been let go, began to run at the same instant.
For some ten minutes more she careered under t=
he
impulse of the squall; but the captain was now master of himself and of his
ship, and all danger at an end. And then, sudden as a trick change upon the
stage, the squall blew by, the wind dropped into light airs, the sun beamed
forth again upon the tattered schooner; and the captain, having secured the=
foresail
boom and set a couple of hands to the pump, walked aft, sober, a little pal=
e,
and with the sodden end of a cigar still stuck between his teeth even as the
squall had found it. Herrick followed him; he could scarce recall the viole=
nce
of his late emotions, but he felt there was a scene to go through, and he w=
as
anxious and even eager to go through with it.
The captain, turning at the house end, met him
face to face, and averted his eyes. 'We've lost the two tops'ls and the
stays'l,' he gabbled. 'Good business, we didn't lose any sticks. I guess you
think we're all the better without the kites.'
'That's not what I'm thinking,' said Herrick, =
in a
voice strangely quiet, that yet echoed confusion in the captain's mind.
'I know that,' he cried, holding up his hand. =
'I
know what you're thinking. No use to say it now. I'm sober.'
'I have to say it, though,' returned Herrick.<= o:p>
'Hold on, Herrick; you've said enough,' said
Davis. 'You've said what I would take from no man breathing but yourself; o=
nly
I know it's true.'
'I have to tell you, Captain Brown,' pursued H=
errick,
'that I resign my position as mate. You can put me in irons or shoot me, as=
you
please; I will make no resistance--only, I decline in any way to help or to
obey you; and I suggest you should put Mr Huish in my place. He will make a=
worthy
first officer to your captain, sir.' He smiled, bowed, and turned to walk
forward.
'Where are you going, Herrick?' cried the capt=
ain,
detaining him by the shoulder.
'To berth forward with the men, sir,' replied
Herrick, with the same hateful smile. 'I've been long enough aft here with
you--gentlemen.
'You're wrong there,' said Davis. 'Don't you be
too quick with me; there ain't nothing wrong but the drink--it's the old st=
ory,
man! Let me get sober once, and then you'll see,' he pleaded.
'Excuse me, I desire to see no more of you,' s=
aid
Herrick.
The captain groaned aloud. 'You know what you =
said
about my children?' he broke out.
'By rote. In case you wish me to say it you
again?' asked Herrick.
'Don't!' cried the captain, clapping his hands=
to
his ears. 'Don't make me kill a man I care for! Herrick, if you see me put
glass to my lips again till we're ashore, I give you leave to put bullet
through me; I beg you to do it! You're the only man aboard whose carcase is
worth losing; do you think I don't know that? do you think I ever went back=
on you?
I always knew you were in the right of it--drunk or sober, I knew that. Wha=
t do
you want?--an oath? Man, you're clever enough to see that this is sure-enou=
gh
earnest.'
'Do you mean there shall be no more drinking?'
asked Herrick, 'neither by you nor Huish? that you won't go on stealing my
profits and drinking my champagne that I gave my honour for? and that you'll
attend to your duties, and stand watch and watch, and bear your proper shar=
e of
the ship's work, instead of leaving it all on the shoulders of a landsman, =
and
making yourself the butt and scoff of native seamen? Is that what you mean?=
If
it is, be so good as to say it categorically.'
'You put these things in a way hard for a
gentleman to swallow,' said the captain. 'You wouldn't have me say I was
ashamed of myself? Trust me this once; I'll do the square thing, and there'=
s my
hand on it.'
'Well, I'll try it once,' said Herrick. 'Fail =
me
again...'
'No more now!' interrupted Davis. 'No more, old
man! Enough said. You've a riling tongue when your back's up, Herrick. Just=
be
glad we're friends again, the same as what I am; and go tender on the raws;
I'll see as you don't repent it. We've been mighty near death this day--don=
't
say whose fault it was!--pretty near hell, too, I guess. We're in a mighty =
bad line
of life, us two, and ought to go easy with each other.'
He was maundering; yet it seemed as if he were
maundering with some design, beating about the bush of some communication t=
hat
he feared to make, or perhaps only talking against time in terror of what
Herrick might say next. But Herrick had now spat his venom; his was a kindl=
y nature,
and, content with his triumph, he had now begun to pity. With a few soothing
words, he sought to conclude the interview, and proposed that they should
change their clothes.
'Not right yet,' said Davis. 'There's another
thing I want to tell you first. You know what you said about my children? I
want to tell you why it hit me so hard; I kind of think you'll feel bad abo=
ut
it too. It's about my little Adar. You hadn't ought to have quite said
that--but of course I know you didn't know. She--she's dead, you see.'
'Why, Davis!' cried Herrick. 'You've told me a
dozen times she was alive! Clear your head, man! This must be the drink.'
'No, SIR,' said Davis. 'She's dead. Died of a
bowel complaint. That was when I was away in the brig Oregon. She lies in
Portland, Maine. "Adar, only daughter of Captain John Davis and Mariar=
his
wife, aged five." I had a doll for her on board. I never took the paper
off'n that doll, Herrick; it went down the way it was with the Sea Ranger, =
that
day I was damned.'
The Captain's eyes were fixed on the horizon, =
he
talked with an extraordinary softness but a complete composure; and Herrick
looked upon him with something that was almost terror.
'Don't think I'm crazy neither,' resumed Davis.
'I've all the cold sense that I know what to do with. But I guess a man tha=
t's
unhappy's like a child; and this is a kind of a child's game of mine. I nev=
er
could act up to the plain-cut truth, you see; so I pretend. And I warn you
square; as soon as we're through with this talk, I'll start in again with t=
he
pretending. Only, you see, she can't walk no streets,' added the captain,
'couldn't even make out to live and get that doll!'
Herrick laid a tremulous hand upon the captain=
's
shoulder.
'Don't do that,' cried Davis, recoiling from t=
he
touch. 'Can't you see I'm all broken up the way it is? Come along, then; co=
me
along, old man; you can put your trust in me right through; come along and =
get
dry clothes.'
They entered the cabin, and there was Huish on=
his
knees prising open a case of champagne.
''Vast, there!' cried the captain. 'No more of
that. No more drinking on this ship.'
'Turned teetotal, 'ave you?' inquired Hu'sh. '=
I'm
agreeable. About time, eh? Bloomin' nearly lost another ship, I fancy.' He =
took
out a bottle and began calmly to burst the wire with the spike of a corkscr=
ew.
'Do you hear me speak?' cried Davis.
'I suppose I do. You speak loud enough,' said
Huish. 'The trouble is that I don't care.'
Herrick plucked the captain's sleeve. 'Let him
free now,' he said. 'We've had all we want this morning.'
'Let him have it then,' said the captain. 'It's
his last.'
By this time the wire was open, the string was
cut, the head of glided paper was torn away; and Huish waited, mug in hand,
expecting the usual explosion. It did not follow. He eased the cork with his
thumb; still there was no result. At last he took the screw and drew it. It
came out very easy and with scarce a sound.
''Illo!'said Huish. ''Ere's a bad bottle.'
He poured some of the wine into the mug; it was
colourless and still. He smelt and tasted it.
'W'y, wot's this?' he said. 'It's water!'
If the voice of trumpets had suddenly sounded
about the ship in the midst of the sea, the three men in the house could
scarcely have been more stunned than by this incident. The mug passed round;
each sipped, each smelt of it; each stared at the bottle in its glory of go=
ld
paper as Crusoe may have stared at the footprint; and their minds were swif=
t to
fix upon a common apprehension. The difference between a bottle of champagne
and a bottle of water is not great; between a shipload of one or the other =
lay
the whole scale from riches to ruin.
A second bottle was broached. There were two c=
ases
standing ready in a stateroom; these two were brought out, broken open, and
tested. Still with the same result: the contents were still colourless and
tasteless, and dead as the rain in a beached fishing-boat.
'Crikey!' said Huish.
'Here, let's sample the hold!' said the captai=
n,
mopping his brow with a back-handed sweep; and the three stalked out of the
house, grim and heavy-footed.
All hands were turned out; two Kanakas were se=
nt
below, another stationed at a purchase; and Davis, axe in hand, took his pl=
ace
beside the coamings.
'Are you going to let the men know?' whispered
Herrick.
'Damn the men!' said Davis. 'It's beyond that.
We've got to know ourselves.'
Three cases were sent on deck and sampled in t=
urn;
from each bottle, as the captain smashed it with the axe, the champagne ran
bubbling and creaming.
'Go deeper, can't you?' cried Davis to the Kan=
akas
in the hold.
The command gave the signal for a disastrous
change. Case after case came up, bottle after bottle was burst and bled mere
water. Deeper yet, and they came upon a layer where there was scarcely so m=
uch
as the intention to deceive; where the cases were no longer branded, the bo=
ttles
no longer wired or papered, where the fraud was manifest and stared them in=
the
face.
'Here's about enough of this foolery!' said Da=
vis.
'Stow back the cases in the hold, Uncle, and get the broken crockery overbo=
ard.
Come with me,' he added to his co-adventurers, and led the way back into th=
e cabin.
Each took a side of the fixed table; it was the
first time they had sat down at it together; but now all sense of incongrui=
ty,
all memory of differences, was quite swept away by the presence of the comm=
on
ruin.
'Gentlemen,' said the captain, after a pause, =
and
with very much the air of a chairman opening a board-meeting, 'we're sold.'=
Huish broke out in laughter. 'Well, if this ai=
n't
the 'ighest old rig!' he cried. 'And Dyvis, 'ere, who thought he had got up=
so
bloomin' early in the mornin'! We've stolen a cargo of spring water! Oh, my
crikey!' and he squirmed with mirth.
The captain managed to screw out a phantom smi=
le.
'Here's Old Man Destiny again,' said he to
Herrick, 'but this time I guess he's kicked the door right in.'
Herrick only shook his head.
'O Lord, it's rich!' laughed Huish. 'It would
really be a scrumptious lark if it 'ad 'appened to somebody else! And wot a=
re
we to do next? Oh, my eye! with this bloomin' schooner, too?'
'That's the trouble,' said Davis. 'There's only
one thing certain: it's no use carting this old glass and ballast to Peru. =
No,
SIR, we're in a hole.'
'O my, and the merchand' cried Huish; 'the man
that made this shipment! He'll get the news by the mail brigantine; and he'=
ll
think of course we're making straight for Sydney.'
'Yes, he'll be a sick merchant,' said the capt=
ain.
'One thing: this explains the Kanaka crew. If you're going to lose a ship, I
would ask no better myself than a Kanaka crew. But there's one thing it don=
't explain;
it don't explain why she came down Tahiti ways.'
'Wy, to lose her, you byby!' said Huish.
'A lot you know,' said the captain. 'Nobody wa=
nts
to lose a schooner; they want to lose her ON HER COURSE, you skeericks! You
seem to think underwriters haven't got enough sense to come in out of the
rain.'
'Well,' said Herrick, 'I can tell you (I am
afraid) why she came so far to the eastward. I had it of Uncle Ned. It seems
these two unhappy devils, Wiseman and Wishart, were drunk on the champagne =
from
the beginning--and died drunk at the end.'
The captain looked on the table.
'They lay in their two bunks, or sat here in t=
his
damned house,' he pursued, with rising agitation, 'filling their skins with=
the
accursed stuff, till sickness took them. As they sickened and the fever ros=
e, they
drank the more. They lay here howling and groaning, drunk and dying, all in
one. They didn't know where they were, they didn't care. They didn't even t=
ake
the sun, it seems.'
'Not take the sun?' cried the captain, looking=
up.
'Sacred Billy! what a crowd!'
'Well, it don't matter to Joe!' said Huish. 'W=
ot
are Wiseman and the t'other buffer to us?'
'A good deal, too,' says the captain. 'We're t=
heir
heirs, I guess.'
'It is a great inheritance,' said Herrick.
'Well, I don't know about that,' returned Davi=
s.
'Appears to me as if it might be worse. 'Tain't worth what the cargo would =
have
been of course, at least not money down. But I'll tell you what it appears =
to
figure up to. Appears to me as if it amounted to about the bottom dollar of=
the
man in 'Frisco.'
''Old on,' said Huish. 'Give a fellow time; 'o=
w's
this, umpire?'
'Well, my sons,' pursued the captain, who seem=
ed
to have recovered his assurance, 'Wiseman and Wishart were to be paid for
casting away this old schooner and its cargo. We're going to cast away the
schooner right enough; and I'll make it my private business to see that we =
get
paid. What were W. and W. to get? That's more'n I can tell. But W. and W. w=
ent into
this business themselves, they were on the crook. Now WE'RE on the square, =
we
only stumbled into it; and that merchant has just got to squeal, and I'm the
man to see that he squeals good. No, sir! there's some stuffing to this
Farallone racket after all.'
'Go it, cap!' cried Huish. 'Yoicks! Forrard! '=
Old
'ard! There's your style for the money! Blow me if I don't prefer this to t=
he
hother.'
'I do not understand,' said Herrick. 'I have to
ask you to excuse me; I do not understand.'
'Well now, see here, Herrick,' said Davis, 'I'm
going to have a word with you anyway upon a different matter, and it's good=
that
Huish should hear it too. We're done with this boozing business, and we ask
your pardon for it right here and now. We have to thank you for all you did=
for
us while we were making hogs of ourselves; you'll find me turn-to all right=
in
future; and as for the wine, which I grant we stole from you, I'll take sto=
ck
and see you paid for it. That's good enough, I believe. But what I want to
point out to you is this. The old game was a risky game. The new game's as =
safe
as running a Vienna Bakery. We just put this Farallone before the wind, and=
run
till we're well to looard of our port of departure and reasonably well up w=
ith
some other place, where they have an American Consul. Down goes the Farallo=
ne,
and good-bye to her! A day or so in the boat; the consul packs us home, at
Uncle Sam's expense, to 'Frisco; and if that merchant don't put the dollars
down, you come to me!'
'But I thought,' began Herrick; and then broke
out; 'oh, let's get on to Peru!'
'Well, if you're going to Peru for your health= , I won't say no!' replied the captain. 'But for what other blame' shadow of a reason you should want to go there, gets me clear. We don't want to go there with this cargo; I don't know as old bottles is a lively article anywheres;= leastways, I'll go my bottom cent, it ain't Peru. It was always a doubt if we could se= ll the schooner; I never rightly hoped to, and now I'm sure she ain't worth a = hill of beans; what's wrong with her, I don't know; I only know it's something, = or she wouldn't be here with this truck in her inside. Then again, if we lose = her, and land in Peru, where are we? We can't declare the loss, or how did we ge= t to Peru? In that case the merchant can't touch the insurance; most likely he'l= l go bust; and don't you think you see the three of us on the beach of Callao?'<= o:p>
'There's no extradition there,' said Herrick.<= o:p>
'Well, my son, and we want to be extraded,' sa=
id
the captain.
'What's our point? We want to have a consul
extrade us as far as San Francisco and that merchant's office door. My idea=
is
that Samoa would be found an eligible business centre. It's dead before the
wind; the States have a consul there, and 'Frisco steamers call, so's we co=
uld skip
right back and interview the merchant.'
'Samoa?' said Herrick. 'It will take us for ev=
er
to get there.'
'Oh, with a fair wind!' said the captain.
'No trouble about the log, eh?' asked Huish.
'No, SIR,' said Davis. 'Light airs and baffling
winds. Squalls and calms. D. R.: five miles. No obs. Pumps attended. And fi=
ll
in the barometer and thermometer off of last year's trip.' 'Never saw such =
a voyage,'
says you to the consul. 'Thought I was going to run short...' He stopped in=
mid
career. 'Say,' he began again, and once more stopped. 'Beg your pardon,
Herrick,' he added with undisguised humility, 'but did you keep the run of =
the
stores?'
'Had I been told to do so, it should have been
done, as the rest was done, to the best of my little ability,' said Herrick.
'As it was, the cook helped himself to what he pleased.'
Davis looked at the table.
'I drew it rather fine, you see,' he said at l=
ast.
'The great thing was to clear right out of Papeete before the consul could
think better of it. Tell you what: I guess I'll take stock.'
And he rose from table and disappeared with a =
lamp
in the lazarette.
''Ere's another screw loose,' observed Huish.<= o:p>
'My man,' said Herrick, with a sudden gleam of
animosity, 'it is still your watch on deck, and surely your wheel also?'
'You come the 'eavy swell, don't you, ducky?' =
said
Huish.
'Stand away from that binnacle. Surely your w'=
eel,
my man. Yah.'
He lit a cigar ostentatiously, and strolled in=
to
the waist with his hands in his pockets.
In a surprisingly short time, the captain
reappeared; he did not look at Herrick, but called Huish back and sat down.=
'Well,' he began, 'I've taken stock--roughly.'=
He
paused as if for somebody to help him out; and none doing so, both gazing on
him instead with manifest anxiety, he yet more heavily resumed. 'Well, it w=
on't
fight. We can't do it; that's the bed rock. I'm as sorry as what you can be,
and sorrier. We can't look near Samoa. I don't know as we could get to Peru=
.'
'Wot-ju mean?' asked Huish brutally.
'I can't 'most tell myself,' replied the capta=
in.
'I drew it fine; I said I did; but what's been going on here gets me! Appea=
rs
as if the devil had been around. That cook must be the holiest kind of frau=
d.
Only twelve days, too! Seems like craziness. I'll own up square to one thin=
g: I
seem to have figured too fine upon the flour. But the rest--my land! I'll n=
ever
understand it! There's been more waste on this twopenny ship than what ther=
e is
to an Atlantic Liner.' He stole a glance at his companions; nothing good wa=
s to
be gleaned from their dark faces; and he had recourse to rage. 'You wait ti=
ll I
interview that cook!' he roared and smote the table with his fist. 'I'll
interview the son of a gun so's he's never been spoken to before. I'll put a
bead upon the--'
'You will not lay a finger on the man,' said
Herrick. 'The fault is yours and you know it. If you turn a savage loose in
your store-room, you know what to expect. I will not allow the man to be
molested.'
It is hard to say how Davis might have taken t=
his
defiance; but he was diverted to a fresh assailant.
'Well!' drawled Huish, 'you're a plummy captai=
n,
ain't you? You're a blooming captain! Don't you, set up any of your chat to=
me,
John Dyvis: I know you now, you ain't any more use than a bloomin' dawl! Oh,
you "don't know", don't you? Oh, it "gets you", do it? =
Oh,
I dessay! W'y, we en't you 'owling for fresh tins every blessed day? 'Ow of=
ten
'ave I 'eard you send the 'ole bloomin' dinner off and tell the man to chuc=
k it
in the swill tub? And breakfast? Oh, my crikey! breakfast for ten, and you
'ollerin' for more! And now you "can't 'most tell"! Blow me, if i=
t ain't
enough to make a man write an insultin' letter to Gawd! You dror it mild, J=
ohn
Dyvis; don't 'andle me; I'm dyngerous.'
Davis sat like one bemused; it might even have
been doubted if he heard, but the voice of the clerk rang about the cabin l=
ike
that of a cormorant among the ledges of the cliff.
'That will do, Huish,' said Herrick.
'Oh, so you tyke his part, do you? you stuck-up
sneerin' snob! Tyke it then. Come on, the pair of you. But as for John Dyvi=
s,
let him look out! He struck me the first night aboard, and I never took a b=
low
yet but wot I gave as good. Let him knuckle down on his marrow bones and be=
g my
pardon. That's my last word.'
'I stand by the Captain,' said Herrick. 'That
makes us two to one, both good men; and the crew will all follow me. I hope=
I
shall die very soon; but I have not the least objection to killing you befo=
re I
go. I should prefer it so; I should do it with no more remorse than winking.
Take care--take care, you little cad!'
The animosity with which these words were utte=
red
was so marked in itself, and so remarkable in the man who uttered them that
Huish stared, and even the humiliated Davis reared up his head and gazed at=
his
defender. As for Herrick, the successive agitations and disappointments of =
the
day had left him wholly reckless; he was conscious of a pleasant glow, an
agreeable excitement; his head seemed empty, his eyeballs burned as he turn=
ed
them, his throat was dry as a biscuit; the least dangerous man by nature,
except in so far as the weak are always dangerous, at that moment he was re=
ady
to slay or to be slain with equal unconcern.
Here at least was the gage thrown down, and ba=
ttle
offered; he who should speak next would bring the matter to an issue there =
and
then; all knew it to be so and hung back; and for many seconds by the cabin
clock, the trio sat motionless and silent.
Then came an interruption, welcome as the flow=
ers
in May.
'Land ho!' sang out a voice on deck. 'Land a
weatha bow!'
'Land!' cried Davis, springing to his feet.
'What's this? There ain't no land here.'
And as men may run from the chamber of a murde=
red
corpse, the three ran forth out of the house and left their quarrel behind
them, undecided.
The sky shaded down at the sea level to the wh=
ite
of opals; the sea itself, insolently, inkily blue, drew all about them the
uncompromising wheel of the horizon. Search it as they pleased, not even the
practisect eye of Captain Davis could descry the smallest interruption. A f=
ew
filmy clouds were slowly melting overhead; and about the schooner, as aroun=
d the
only point of interest, a tropic bird, white as a snowflake, hung, and circ=
led,
and displayed, as it turned, the long vermilion feather of its tall. Save t=
he
sea and the heaven, that was all.
'Who sang out land?' asked Davis. 'If there's =
any
boy playing funny dog with me, I'll teach him skylarking!'
But Uncle Ned contentedly pointed to a part of=
the
horizon, where a greenish, filmy iridescence could be discerned floating li=
ke
smoke on the pale heavens.
Davis applied his glass to it, and then looked=
at
the Kanaka. 'Call that land?' said he. 'Well, it's more than I do.'
'One time long ago,' said Uncle Ned, 'I see An=
aa
all-e-same that, four five hours befo' we come up. Capena he say sun go dow=
n,
sun go up again; he say lagoon all-e-same milla.'
'All-e-same WHAT?' asked Davis.
'Milla, sah,' said Uncle Ned.
'Oh, ah! mirror,' said Davis. 'I see; reflecti=
on
from the lagoon. Well, you know, it is just possible, though it's strange I
never heard of it. Here, let's look at the chart.'
They went back to the cabin, and found the
position of the schooner well to windward of the archipelago in the midst o=
f a
white field of paper.
'There! you see for yourselves,' said Davis.
'And yet I don't know,' said Herrick, 'I someh=
ow
think there's something in it. I'll tell you one thing too, captain; that's=
all
right about the reflection; I heard it in Papeete.'
'Fetch up that Findlay, then!' said Davis. 'I'=
ll
try it all ways. An island wouldn't come amiss, the way we're fixed.'
The bulky volume was handed up to him,
broken-backed as is the way with Findlay; and he turned to the place and be=
gan
to run over the text, muttering to himself and turning over the pages with a
wetted finger.
'Hullo!' he exclaimed. 'How's this?' And he re=
ad
aloud. 'New Island. According to M. Delille this island, which from private
interests would remain unknown, lies, it is said, in lat. 12 degrees 49'
10" S. long. 113 degrees 6' W. In addition to the position above given
Commander Matthews, H.M.S. Scorpion, states that an island exists in lat. 1=
2 degrees
0' S. long. 13 degrees 16' W. This must be the same, if such an island exis=
ts,
which is very doubtful, and totally disbelieved in by South Sea traders.'
'Golly!' said Huish.
'It's rather in the conditional mood,' said
Herrick.
'It's anything you please,' cried Davis, 'only
there it is! That's our place, and don't you make any mistake.'
"'Which from private interests would rema=
in
unknown,"' read Herrick, over his shoulder. 'What may that mean?'
'It should mean pearls,' said Davis. 'A pearli=
ng
island the government don't know about? That sounds like real estate. Or
suppose it don't mean anything. Suppose it's just an island; I guess we cou=
ld
fill up with fish, and cocoanuts, and native stuff, and carry out the Samoa
scheme hand over fist. How long did he say it was before they raised Anaa? =
Five
hours, I think?'
'Four or five,' said Herrick.
Davis stepped to the door. 'What breeze had you
that time you made Anaa, Uncle Ned?' said he.
'Six or seven knots,' was the reply.
'Thirty or thirty-five miles,' said Davis. 'Hi=
gh
time we were shortening sail, then. If it is an island, we don't want to be
butting our head against it in the dark; and if it isn't an island, we can =
get
through it just as well by daylight. Ready about!' he roared.
And the schooner's head was laid for that elus=
ive
glimmer in the sky, which began already to pale in lustre and diminish in s=
ize,
as the stain of breath vanishes from a window pane. At the same time she was
reefed close down.
About four in the morning, as the captain and
Herrick sat together on the rail, there arose from the midst of the night in
front of them the voice of breakers. Each sprang to his feet and stared and
listened. The sound was continuous, like the passing of a train; no rise or
fall could be distinguished; minute by minute the ocean heaved with an equa=
l potency
against the invisible isle; and as time passed, and Herrick waited in vain =
for
any vicissitude in the volume of that roaring, a sense of the eternal weigh=
ed
upon his mind. To the expert eye the isle itself was to be inferred from a
certain string of blots along the starry heaven. And the schooner was laid =
to
and anxiously observed till daylight.
There was little or no morning bank. A brighte=
ning
came in the east; then a wash of some ineffable, faint, nameless hue between
crimson and silver; and then coals of fire. These glimmered a while on the =
sea
line, and seemed to brighten and darken and spread out, and still the night=
and
the stars reigned undisturbed; it was as though a spark should catch and gl=
ow
and creep along the foot of some heavy and almost incombustible wall-hangin=
g,
and the room itself be scarce menaced. Yet a little after, and the whole ea=
st
glowed with gold and scarlet, and the hollow of heaven was filled with the
daylight.
The isle--the undiscovered, the scarce
believed-in--now lay before them and close aboard; and Herrick thought that
never in his dreams had he beheld anything more strange and delicate. The b=
each
was excellently white, the continuous barrier of trees inimitably green; the
land perhaps ten feet high, the trees thirty more. Every here and there, as=
the
schooner coasted northward, the wood was intermitted; and he could see clear
over the inconsiderable strip of land (as a man looks over a wall) to the
lagoon within--and clear over that again to where the far side of the atoll
prolonged its pencilling of trees against the morning sky. He tortured hims=
elf
to find analogies. The isle was like the rim of a great vessel sunken in the
waters; it was like the embankment of an annular railway grown upon with wo=
od:
so slender it seemed amidst the outrageous breakers, so frail and pretty, he
would scarce have wondered to see it sink and disappear without a sound, and
the waves close smoothly over its descent.
Meanwhile the captain was in the forecross-tre=
es,
glass in hand, his eyes in every quarter, spying for an entrance, spying for
signs of tenancy. But the isle continued to unfold itself in joints, and to=
run
out in indeterminate capes, and still there was neither house nor man, nor =
the
smoke of fire. Here a multitude of sea-birds soared and twinkled, and fishe=
d in
the blue waters; and there, and for miles together, the fringe of cocoa-palm
and pandanus extended desolate, and made desirable green bowers for nobody =
to
visit, and the silence of death was only broken by the throbbing of the sea=
.
The airs were very light, their speed was smal=
l;
the heat intense. The decks were scorching underfoot, the sun flamed overhe=
ad,
brazen, out of a brazen sky; the pitch bubbled in the seams, and the brains=
in
the brain-pan. And all the while the excitement of the three adventurers gl=
owed
about their bones like a fever. They whispered, and nodded, and pointed, and
put mouth to ear, with a singular instinct of secrecy, approaching that isl=
and
underhand like eavesdroppers and thieves; and even Davis from the cross-tre=
es
gave his orders mostly by gestures. The hands shared in this mute strain, l=
ike
dogs, without comprehending it; and through the roar of so many miles of
breakers, it was a silent ship that approached an empty island.
At last they drew near to the break in that
interminable gangway. A spur of coral sand stood forth on the one hand; on =
the
other a high and thick tuft of trees cut off the view; between was the mout=
h of
the huge laver. Twice a day the ocean crowded in that narrow entrance and w=
as
heaped between these frail walls; twice a day, with the return of the ebb, =
the mighty
surplusage of water must struggle to escape. The hour in which the Farallone
came there was the hour of flood. The sea turned (as with the instinct of t=
he
homing pigeon) for the vast receptacle, swept eddying through the gates, was
transmuted, as it did so, into a wonder of watery and silken hues, and brim=
med
into the inland sea beyond. The schooner looked up close-hauled, and was ca=
ught
and carried away by the influx like a toy. She skimmed; she flew; a momenta=
ry
shadow touched her decks from the shore-side trees; the bottom of the chann=
el
showed up for a moment and was in a moment gone; the next, she floated on t=
he
bosom of the lagoon, and below, in the transparent chamber of waters, a myr=
iad of
many-coloured fishes were sporting, a myriad pale-flowers of coral diversif=
ied
the floor.
Herrick stood transported. In the gratified lu=
st
of his eye, he forgot the past and the present; forgot that he was menaced =
by a
prison on the one hand and starvation on the other; forgot that he was come=
to
that island, desperately foraging, clutching at expedients. A drove of fish=
es, painted
like the rainbow and billed like parrots, hovered up in the shadow of the
schooner, and passed clear of it, and glinted in the submarine sun. They we=
re
beautiful, like birds, and their silent passage impressed him like a strain=
of
song.
Meanwhile, to the eye of Davis in the cross-tr=
ees,
the lagoon continued to expand its empty waters, and the long succession of=
the
shore-side trees to be paid out like fishing line off a reel. And still the=
re
was no mark of habitation. The schooner, immediately on entering, had been =
kept
away to the nor'ard where the water seemed to be the most deep; and she was=
now
skimming past the tall grove of trees, which stood on that side of the chan=
nel
and denied further view. Of the whole of the low shores of the island, only
this bight remained to be revealed. And suddenly the curtain was raised; th=
ey
began to open out a haven, snugly elbowed there, and beheld, with an
astonishment beyond words, the roofs of men.
The appearance, thus 'instantaneously disclose=
d'
to those on the deck of the Farallone, was not that of a city, rather of a
substantial country farm with its attendant hamlet: a long line of sheds and
store-houses; apart, upon the one side, a deep-verandah'ed dwelling-house; =
on
the other, perhaps a dozen native huts; a building with a belfry and some r=
ude
offer at architectural features that might be thought to mark it out for a
chapel; on the beach in front some heavy boats drawn up, and a pile of timb=
er
running forth into the burning shallows of the lagoon. From a flagstaff at =
the
pierhead, the red ensign of England was displayed. Behind, about, and over,=
the
same tall grove of palms, which had masked the settlement in the beginning,
prolonged its root of tumultuous green fans, and turned and ruffled overhea=
d,
and sang its silver song all day in the wind. The place had the indescribab=
le
but unmistakable appearance of being in commission; yet there breathed from=
it
a sense of desertion that was almost poignant, no human figure was to be
observed going to and fro about the houses, and there was no sound of human
industry or enjoyment. Only, on the top of the beach and hard by the flagst=
aff,
a woman of exorbitant stature and as white as snow was to be seen beckoning
with uplifted arm. The second glance identified her as a piece of naval
sculpture, the figure-head of a ship that had long hovered and plunged into=
so
many running billows, and was now brought ashore to be the ensign and presi=
ding
genius of that empty town.
The Farallone made a soldier's breeze of it; t=
he
wind, besides, was stronger inside than without under the lee of the land; =
and
the stolen schooner opened out successive objects with the swiftness of a
panorama, so that the adventurers stood speechless. The flag spoke for itse=
lf;
it was no frayed and weathered trophy that had beaten itself to pieces on t=
he
post, flying over desolation; and to make assurance stronger, there was to =
be
descried in the deep shade of the verandah, a glitter of crystal and the
fluttering of white napery. If the figure-head at the pier end, with its
perpetual gesture and its leprous whiteness, reigned alone in that hamlet a=
s it
seemed to do, it would not have reigned long. Men's hands had been busy, me=
n's
feet stirring there, within the circuit of the clock. The Farallones were s=
ure
of it; their eyes dug in the deep shadow of the palms for some one hiding; =
if
intensity of looking might have prevailed, they would have pierced the wall=
s of
houses; and there came to them, in these pregnant seconds, a sense of being
watched and played with, and of a blow impending, that was hardly bearable.=
The extreme point of palms they had just passed
enclosed a creek, which was thus hidden up to the last moment from the eyes=
of
those on board; and from this, a boat put suddenly and briskly out, and a v=
oice
hailed.
'Schooner ahoy!' it cried. 'Stand in for the p=
ier!
In two cables' lengths you'll have twenty fathoms water and good holding
ground.'
The boat was manned with a couple of brown oar=
smen
in scanty kilts of blue. The speaker, who was steering, wore white clothes,=
the
full dress of the tropics; a wide hat shaded his face; but it could be seen
that he was of stalwart size, and his voice sounded like a gentleman's. So =
much
could be made out. It was plain, besides, that the Farallone had been descr=
ied
some time before at sea, and the inhabitants were prepared for its receptio=
n.
Mechanically the orders were obeyed, and the s=
hip
berthed; and the three adventurers gathered aft beside the house and waited,
with galloping pulses and a perfect vacancy of mind, the coming of the stra=
nger
who might mean so much to them. They had no plan, no story prepared; there =
was
no time to make one; they were caught red-handed and must stand their chanc=
e.
Yet this anxiety was chequered with hope. The island being undeclared, it w=
as
not possible the man could hold any office or be in a position to demand th=
eir
papers. And beyond that, if there was any truth in Findlay, as it now seemed
there should be, he was the representative of the 'private reasons,' he must
see their coming with a profound disappointment; and perhaps (hope whispere=
d)
he would be willing and able to purchase their silence.
The boat was by that time forging alongside, a=
nd
they were able at last to see what manner of man they had to do with. He wa=
s a
huge fellow, six feet four in height, and of a build proportionately strong,
but his sinews seemed to be dissolved in a listlessness that was more than =
languor.
It was only the eye that corrected this impression; an eye of an unusual
mingled brilliancy and softness, sombre as coal and with lights that outsho=
ne
the topaz; an eye of unimpaired health and virility; an eye that bid you be=
ware
of the man's devastating anger. A complexion, naturally dark, had been tann=
ed
in the island to a hue hardly distinguishable from that of a Tahitian; only=
his
manners and movements, and the living force that dwelt in him, like fire in
flint, betrayed the European. He was dressed in white drill, exquisitely ma=
de; his
scarf and tie were of tender-coloured silks; on the thwart beside him there
leaned a Winchester rifle.
'Is the doctor on board?' he cried as he came =
up.
'Dr Symonds, I mean? You never heard of him? Nor yet of the Trinity Hall? A=
h!'
He did not look surprised, seemed rather to af=
fect
it in politeness; but his eye rested on each of the three white men in
succession with a sudden weight of curiosity that was almost savage. 'Ah,
THEN!' said he, 'there is some small mistake, no doubt, and I must ask you =
to
what I am indebted for this pleasure?'
He was by this time on the deck, but he had the
art to be quite unapproachable; the friendliest vulgarian, three parts drun=
k,
would have known better than take liberties; and not one of the adventurers=
so
much as offered to shake hands.
'Well,' said Davis, 'I suppose you may call it=
an
accident. We had heard of your island, and read that thing in the Directory
about the PRIVATE REASONS, you see; so when we saw the lagoon reflected in =
the
sky, we put her head for it at once, and so here we are.'
''Ope we don't intrude!' said Huish.
The stranger looked at Huish with an air of fa=
int
surprise, and looked pointedly away again. It was hard to be more offensive=
in
dumb show.
'It may suit me, your coming here,' he said. '=
My
own schooner is overdue, and I may put something in your way in the meantim=
e.
Are you open to a charter?'
'Well, I guess so,' said Davis; 'it depends.'<= o:p>
'My name is Attwater,' continued the stranger.
'You, I presume, are the captain?'
'Yes, sir. I am the captain of this ship: Capt=
ain
Brown,' was the reply.
'Well, see 'ere!' said Huish, 'better begin fa=
ir!
'E's skipper on deck right enough, but not below. Below, we're all equal, a=
ll
got a lay in the adventure; when it comes to business, I'm as good as 'e; a=
nd
what I say is, let's go into the 'ouse and have a lush, and talk it over am=
ong pals.
We've some prime fizz,' he said, and winked.
The presence of the gentleman lighted up like a
candle the vulgarity of the clerk; and Herrick instinctively, as one shields
himself from pain, made haste to interrupt.
'My name is Hay,' said he, 'since introductions
are going. We shall be very glad if you will step inside.'
Attwater leaned to him swiftly. 'University ma=
n?'
said he.
'Yes, Merton,' said Herrick, and the next mome=
nt
blushed scarlet at his indiscretion.
'I am of the other lot,' said Attwater: 'Trini=
ty
Hall, Cambridge. I called my schooner after the old shop. Well! this is a q=
ueer
place and company for us to meet in, Mr Hay,' he pursued, with easy incivil=
ity
to the others. 'But do you bear out ... I beg this gentleman's pardon, I re=
ally
did not catch his name.'
'My name is 'Uish, sir,' returned the clerk, a=
nd
blushed in turn.
'Ah!' said Attwater. And then turning again to
Herrick, 'Do you bear out Mr Whish's description of your vintage? or was it
only the unaffected poetry of his own nature bubbling up?'
Herrick was embarrassed; the silken brutality =
of
their visitor made him blush; that he should be accepted as an equal, and t=
he
others thus pointedly ignored, pleased him in spite of himself, and then ran
through his veins in a recoil of anger.
'I don't know,' he said. 'It's only California;
it's good enough, I believe.'
Attwater seemed to make up his mind. 'Well the=
n,
I'll tell you what: you three gentlemen come ashore this evening and bring a
basket of wine with you; I'll try and find the food,' he said. 'And by the =
by,
here is a question I should have asked you when I come on board: have you h=
ad smallpox?'
'Personally, no,' said Herrick. 'But the schoo=
ner
had it.'
'Deaths?' from Attwater.
'Two,' said Herrick.
'Well, it is a dreadful sickness,' said Attwat=
er.
''Ad you any deaths?' asked Huish, ''ere on the
island?'
'Twenty-nine,' said Attwater. 'Twenty-nine dea=
ths
and thirty-one cases, out of thirty-three souls upon the island.--That's a
strange way to calculate, Mr Hay, is it not? Souls! I never say it but it
startles me.'
'Oh, so that's why everything's deserted?' said
Huish.
'That is why, Mr Whish,' said Attwater; 'that =
is
why the house is empty and the graveyard full.'
'Twenty-nine out of thirty-three!' exclaimed
Herrick, 'Why, when it came to burying--or did you bother burying?'
'Scarcely,' said Attwater; 'or there was one d=
ay
at least when we gave up. There were five of the dead that morning, and
thirteen of the dying, and no one able to go about except the sexton and
myself. We held a council of war, took the... empty bottles... into the lag=
oon,
and buried them.' He looked over his shoulder, back at the bright water. 'W=
ell,
so you'll come to dinner, then? Shall we say half-past six. So good of you!=
'
His voice, in uttering these conventional phra=
ses,
fell at once into the false measure of society; and Herrick unconsciously
followed the example.
'I am sure we shall be very glad,' he said. 'At
half-past six? Thank you so very much.'
'"For my vo=
ice
has been tuned to the note of the gun
That startles th=
e deep
when the combat's begun,"'
quoted Attwater, with a smile, which instantly
gave way to an air of funereal solemnity. 'I shall particularly expect Mr
Whish,' he continued. 'Mr Whish, I trust you understand the invitation?'
'I believe you, my boy!' replied the genial Hu=
ish.
'That is right then; and quite understood, is =
it
not?' said Attwater. 'Mr Whish and Captain Brown at six-thirty without
fault--and you, Hay, at four sharp.'
And he called his boat.
During all this talk, a load of thought or anx=
iety
had weighed upon the captain. There was no part for which nature had so
liberally endowed him as that of the genial ship captain. But today he was
silent and abstracted. Those who knew him could see that he hearkened close=
to every
syllable, and seemed to ponder and try it in balances. It would have been h=
ard
to say what look there was, cold, attentive, and sinister, as of a man matu=
ring
plans, which still brooded over the unconscious guest; it was here, it was
there, it was nowhere; it was now so little that Herrick chid himself for an
idle fancy; and anon it was so gross and palpable that you could say every =
hair
on the man's head talked mischief.
He woke up now, as with a start. 'You were tal=
king
of a charter,' said he.
'Was I?' said Attwater. 'Well, let's talk of i=
t no
more at present.'
'Your own schooner is overdue, I understand?'
continued the captain.
'You understand perfectly, Captain Brown,' said
Attwater; 'thirty-three days overdue at noon today.'
'She comes and goes, eh? plies between here
and...?' hinted the captain.
'Exactly; every four months; three trips in the
year,' said Attwater.
'You go in her, ever?' asked Davis.
'No, one stops here,' said Attwater, 'one has
plenty to attend to.'
'Stop here, do you?' cried Davis. 'Say, how lo=
ng?'
'How long, O Lord,' said Attwater with perfect,
stern gravity. 'But it does not seem so,' he added, with a smile.
'No, I dare say not,' said Davis. 'No, I suppo=
se
not. Not with all your gods about you, and in as snug a berth as this. For =
it
is a pretty snug berth,' said he, with a sweeping look.
'The spot, as you are good enough to indicate,=
is
not entirely intolerable,' was the reply.
'Shell, I suppose?' said Davis.
'Yes, there was shell,' said Attwater.
'This is a considerable big beast of a lagoon,
sir,' said the captain. 'Was there a--was the fishing--would you call the
fishing anyways GOOD?'
'I don't know that I would call it anyways
anything,' said Attwater, 'if you put it to me direct.'
'There were pearls too?' said Davis.
'Pearls, too,' said Attwater.
'Well, I give out!' laughed Davis, and his
laughter rang cracked like a false piece. 'If you're not going to tell, you=
're
not going to tell, and there's an end to it.'
'There can be no reason why I should affect the
least degree of secrecy about my island,' returned Attwater; 'that came who=
lly
to an end with your arrival; and I am sure, at any rate, that gentlemen like
you and Mr Whish, I should have always been charmed to make perfectly at ho=
me.
The point on which we are now differing--if you can call it a difference--i=
s one
of times and seasons. I have some information which you think I might impar=
t,
and I think not. Well, we'll see tonight! By-by, Whish!' He stepped into his
boat and shoved off. 'All understood, then?' said he. 'The captain and Mr W=
hish
at six-thirty, and you, Hay, at four precise. You understand that, Hay? Min=
d, I
take no denial. If you're not there by the time named, there will be no
banquet; no song, no supper, Mr Whish!'
White birds whisked in the air above, a shoal =
of
parti-coloured fishes in the scarce denser medium below; between, like
Mahomet's coffin, the boat drew away briskly on the surface, and its shadow
followed it over the glittering floor of the lagoon. Attwater looked steadi=
ly
back over his shoulders as he sat; he did not once remove his eyes from the=
Farallone
and the group on her quarter-deck beside the house, till his boat ground up=
on
the pier. Thence, with an agile pace, he hurried ashore, and they saw his w=
hite
clothes shining in the chequered dusk of the grove until the house received
him.
The captain, with a gesture and a speaking
countenance, called the adventurers into the cabin.
'Well,' he said to Herrick, when they were sea=
ted,
'there's one good job at least. He's taken to you in earnest.'
'Why should that be a good job?' said Herrick.=
'Oh, you'll see how it pans out presently,'
returned Davis. 'You go ashore and stand in with him, that's all! You'll get
lots of pointers; you can find out what he has, and what the charter is, and
who's the fourth man--for there's four of them, and we're only three.'
'And suppose I do, what next?' cried Herrick.
'Answer me that!'
'So I will, Robert Herrick,' said the captain.
'But first, let's see all clear. I guess you know,' he said with an imperio=
us
solemnity, 'I guess you know the bottom is out of this Farallone speculatio=
n? I
guess you know it's RIGHT out? and if this old island hadn't been turned up
right when it did, I guess you know where you and I and Huish would have be=
en?'
'Yes, I know that,' said Herrick. 'No matter w=
ho's
to blame, I know it. And what next?'
'No matter who's to blame, you know it, right
enough,' said the captain, 'and I'm obliged to you for the reminder. Now he=
re's
this Attwater: what do you think of him?'
'I do not know,' said Herrick. 'I am attracted=
and
repelled. He was insufferably rude to you.'
'And you, Huish?' said the captain.
Huish sat cleaning a favourite briar root; he
scarce looked up from that engrossing task. 'Don't ast me what I think of h=
im!'
he said. 'There's a day comin', I pray Gawd, when I can tell it him myself.=
'
'Huish means the same as what I do,' said Davi=
s.
'When that man came stepping around, and saying "Look here, I'm
Attwater"--and you knew it was so, by God!--I sized him right straight=
up.
Here's the real article, I said, and I don't like it; here's the real,
first-rate, copper-bottomed aristocrat. 'AW' I DON'T KNOW YE, DO I? GOD DAMN
YE, DID GOD MAKE YE?' No, that couldn't be nothing but genuine; a man got t=
o be
born to that, and notice! smart as champagne and hard as nails; no kind of a
fool; no, SIR! not a pound of him! Well, what's he here upon this beastly
island for? I said. HE'S not here collecting eggs. He's a palace at home, a=
nd
powdered flunkies; and if he don't stay there, you bet he knows the reason =
why!
Follow?'
'O yes, I 'ear you,' said Huish.
'He's been doing good business here, then,'
continued the captain. 'For ten years, he's been doing a great business. It=
's
pearl and shell, of course; there couldn't be nothing else in such a place,=
and
no doubt the shell goes off regularly by this Trinity Hall, and the money f=
or
it straight into the bank, so that's no use to us. But what else is there? =
Is
there nothing else he would be likely to keep here? Is there nothing else he
would be bound to keep here? Yes, sir; the pearls! First, because they're t=
oo
valuable to trust out of his hands. Second, because pearls want a lot of
handling and matching; and the man who sells his pearls as they come in, one
here, one there, instead of hanging back and holding up--well, that man's a
fool, and it's not Attwater.'
'Likely,' said Huish, 'that's w'at it is; not
proved, but likely.'
'It's proved,' said Davis bluntly.
'Suppose it was?' said Herrick. 'Suppose that =
was
all so, and he had these pearls--a ten years' collection of them?--Suppose =
he
had? There's my question.'
The captain drummed with his thick hands on the
board in front of him; he looked steadily in Herrick's face, and Herrick as
steadily looked upon the table and the pattering fingers; there was a gentle
oscillation of the anchored ship, and a big patch of sunlight travelled to =
and
fro between the one and the other.
'Hear me!' Herrick burst out suddenly.
'No, you better hear me first,' said Davis. 'H=
ear
me and understand me. WE'VE got no use for that fellow, whatever you may ha=
ve.
He's your kind, he's not ours; he's took to you, and he's wiped his boots o=
n me
and Huish. Save him if you can!'
'Save him?' repeated Herrick.
'Save him, if you're able!' reiterated Davis, =
with
a blow of his clenched fist. 'Go ashore, and talk him smooth; and if you get
him and his pearls aboard, I'll spare him. If you don't, there's going to b=
e a funeral.
Is that so, Huish? does that suit you?'
'I ain't a forgiving man,' said Huish, 'but I'm
not the sort to spoil business neither. Bring the bloke on board and bring =
his
pearls along with him, and you can have it your own way; maroon him where y=
ou like--I'm
agreeable.'
'Well, and if I can't?' cried Herrick, while t=
he
sweat streamed upon his face. 'You talk to me as if I was God Almighty, to =
do
this and that! But if I can't?'
'My son,' said the captain, 'you better do your
level best, or you'll see sights!'
'O yes,' said Huish. 'O crikey, yes!' He looked
across at Herrick with a toothless smile that was shocking in its savagery;=
and
his ear caught apparently by the trivial expression he had used, broke into=
a
piece of the chorus of a comic song which he must have heard twenty years
before in London: meaningless gibberish that, in that hour and place, seeme=
d hateful
as a blasphemy: 'Hikey, pikey, crikey, fikey, chillingawallaba dory.'
The captain suffered him to finish; his face w=
as
unchanged.
'The way things are, there's many a man that
wouldn't let you go ashore,' he resumed. 'But I'm not that kind. I know you=
'd
never go back on me, Herrick! Or if you choose to--go, and do it, and be
damned!' he cried, and rose abruptly from the table.
He walked out of the house; and as he reached =
the
door, turned and called Huish, suddenly and violently, like the barking of a
dog. Huish followed, and Herrick remained alone in the cabin.
'Now, see here!' whispered Davis. 'I know that
man. If you open your mouth to him again, you'll ruin all.'
The boat was gone again, and already half-way =
to
the Farallone, before Herrick turned and went unwillingly up the pier. From=
the
crown of the beach, the figure-head confronted him with what seemed irony, =
her
helmeted head tossed back, her formidable arm apparently hurling something,
whether shell or missile, in the direction of the anchored schooner. She se=
emed
a defiant deity from the island, coming forth to its threshold with a rush =
as
of one about to fly, and perpetuated in that dashing attitude. Herrick look=
ed
up at her, where she towered above him head and shoulders, with singular
feelings of curiosity and romance, and suffered his mind to travel to and f=
ro
in her life-history. So long she had been the blind conductress of a ship a=
mong
the waves; so long she had stood here idle in the violent sun, that yet did=
not
avail to blister her; and was even this the end of so many adventures? he w=
ondered,
or was more behind? And he could have found in his heart to regret that she=
was
not a goddess, nor yet he a pagan, that he might have bowed down before her=
in
that hour of difficulty.
When he now went forward, it was cool with the
shadow of many well-grown palms; draughts of the dying breeze swung them
together overhead; and on all sides, with a swiftness beyond dragon-flies or
swallows, the spots of sunshine flitted, and hovered, and returned. Underfo=
ot,
the sand was fairly solid and quite level, and Herrick's steps fell there
noiseless as in new-fallen snow. It bore the marks of having been once weed=
ed
like a garden alley at home; but the pestilence had done its work, and the =
weeds
were returning. The buildings of the settlement showed here and there throu=
gh
the stems of the colonnade, fresh painted, trim and dandy, and all silent as
the grave. Only, here and there in the crypt, there was a rustle and scurry=
and
some crowing of poultry; and from behind the house with the verandahs, he s=
aw
smoke arise and heard the crackling of a fire.
The stone houses were nearest him upon his rig=
ht.
The first was locked; in the second, he could dimly perceive, through a win=
dow,
a certain accumulation of pearl-shell piled in the far end; the third, which
stood gaping open on the afternoon, seized on the mind of Herrick with its =
multiplicity
and disorder of romantic things. Therein were cables, windlasses and blocks=
of
every size and capacity; cabin windows and ladders; rusty tanks, a companion
hutch; a binnacle with its brass mountings and its compass idly pointing, in
the confusion and dusk of that shed, to a forgotten pole; ropes, anchors,
harpoons, a blubber dipper of copper, green with years, a steering wheel, a
tool chest with the vessel's name upon the top, the Asia: a whole
curiosity-shop of sea curios, gross and solid, heavy to lift, ill to break,
bound with brass and shod with iron. Two wrecks at the least must have
contributed to this random heap of lumber; and as Herrick looked upon it, it
seemed to him as if the two ships' companies were there on guard, and he he=
ard the
tread of feet and whisperings, and saw with the tail of his eye the commonp=
lace
ghosts of sailor men.
This was not merely the work of an aroused
imagination, but had something sensible to go upon; sounds of a stealthy
approach were no doubt audible; and while he still stood staring at the lum=
ber,
the voice of his host sounded suddenly, and with even more than the customa=
ry softness
of enunciation, from behind.
'Junk,', it said, 'only old junk! And does Mr =
Hay
find a parable?'
'I find at least a strong impression,' replied
Herrick, turning quickly, lest he might be able to catch, on the face of the
speaker, some commentary on the words.
Attwater stood in the doorway, which he almost
wholly filled; his hands stretched above his head and grasping the architra=
ve.
He smiled when their eyes Met, but the expression was inscrutable.
'Yes, a powerful impression. You are like me;
nothing so affecting as ships!' said he. 'The ruins of an empire would leav=
e me
frigid, when a bit of an old rail that an old shellback leaned on in the mi=
ddle
watch, would bring me up all standing. But come, let's see some more of the=
island.
It's all sand and coral and palm trees; but there's a kind of a quaintness =
in
the place.'
'I find it heavenly,' said Herrick, breathing
deep, with head bared in the shadow.
'Ah, that's because you're new from sea,' said
Attwater. 'I dare say, too, you can appreciate what one calls it. It's a lo=
vely
name. It has a flavour, it has a colour, it has a ring and fall to it; it's
like its author--it's half Christian! Remember your first view of the islan=
d,
and how it's only woods and water; and suppose you had asked somebody for t=
he
name, and he had answered--nemorosa Zacynthos!'
'Jam medio apparet fluctu!' exclaimed Herrick.=
'Ye
gods, yes, how good!'
'If it gets upon the chart, the skippers will = make nice work of it,' said Attwater. 'But here, come and see the diving-shed.'<= o:p>
He opened a door, and Herrick saw a large disp= lay of apparatus neatly ordered: pumps and pipes, and the leaded boots, and the huge snouted helmets shining in rows along the wall; ten complete outfits.<= o:p>
'The whole eastern half of my lagoon is shallo=
w,
you must understand,' said Attwater; 'so we were able to get in the dress to
great advantage. It paid beyond belief, and was a queer sight when they wer=
e at
it, and these marine monsters'--tapping the nearest of the helmets--'kept a=
ppearing
and reappearing in the midst of the lagoon. Fond of parables?' he asked
abruptly.
'O yes!' said Herrick.
'Well, I saw these machines come up dripping a=
nd
go down again, and come up dripping and go down again, and all the while the
fellow inside as dry as toast!' said Attwater; 'and I thought we all wanted=
a
dress to go down into the world in, and come up scatheless. What do you thi=
nk
the name was?' he inquired.
'Self-conceit,' said Herrick.
'Ah, but I mean seriously!' said Attwater.
'Call it self-respect, then!' corrected Herric=
k,
with a laugh.
'And why not Grace? Why not God's Grace, Hay?'
asked Attwater. 'Why not the grace of your Maker and Redeemer, He who died =
for
you, He who upholds you, He whom you daily crucify afresh? There is nothing=
here,'--striking
on his bosom--'nothing there'--smiting the wall--'and nothing
there'--stamping--'nothing but God's Grace! We walk upon it, we breathe it;=
we
live and die by it; it makes the nails and axles of the universe; and a pup=
py
in pyjamas prefers self-conceit!' The huge dark man stood over against Herr=
ick
by the line of the divers' helmets, and seemed to swell and glow; and the n=
ext
moment the life had gone from him. 'I beg your pardon,' said he; 'I see you=
don't
believe in God?'
'Not in your sense, I am afraid,' said Herrick=
.
'I never argue with young atheists or habitual
drunkards,' said Attwater flippantly. 'Let us go across the island to the o=
uter
beach.'
It was but a little way, the greatest width of=
that
island scarce exceeding a furlong, and they walked gently. Herrick was like=
one
in a dream. He had come there with a mind divided; come prepared to study t=
hat
ambiguous and sneering mask, drag out the essential man from underneath, and
act accordingly; decision being till then postponed. Iron cruelty, an iron
insensibility to the suffering of others, the uncompromising pursuit of his=
own
interests, cold culture, manners without humanity; these he had looked for,
these he still thought he saw. But to find the whole machine thus glow with=
the
reverberation of religious zeal, surprised him beyond words; and he laboure=
d in
vain, as he walked, to piece together into any kind of whole his odds and e=
nds of
knowledge--to adjust again into any kind of focus with itself, his picture =
of
the man beside him.
'What brought you here to the South Seas?' he
asked presently.
'Many things,' said Attwater. 'Youth, curiosit=
y,
romance, the love of the sea, and (it will surprise you to hear) an interes=
t in
missions. That has a good deal declined, which will surprise you less. They=
go
the wrong way to work; they are too parsonish, too much of the old wife, an=
d even
the old apple wife. CLOTHES, CLOTHES, are their idea; but clothes are not
Christianity, any more than they are the sun in heaven, or could take the p=
lace
of it! They think a parsonage with roses, and church bells, and nice old wo=
men
bobbing in the lanes, are part and parcel of religion. But religion is a sa=
vage
thing, like the universe it illuminates; savage, cold, and bare, but infini=
tely
strong.'
'And you found this island by an accident?' sa=
id
Herrick.
'As you did!' said Attwater. 'And since then I
have had a business, and a colony, and a mission of my own. I was a man of =
the
world before I was a Christian; I'm a man of the world still, and I made my
mission pay. No good ever came of coddling. A man has to stand up in God's
sight and work up to his weight avoirdupois; then I'll talk to him, but not=
before.
I gave these beggars what they wanted: a judge in Israel, the bearer of the
sword and scourge; I was making a new people here; and behold, the angel of=
the
Lord smote them and they were not!'
With the very uttering of the words, which were
accompanied by a gesture, they came forth out of the porch of the palm wood=
by
the margin of the sea and full in front of the sun which was near setting.
Before them the surf broke slowly. All around, with an air of imperfect woo=
den things
inspired with wicked activity, the crabs trundled and scuttled into holes. =
On
the right, whither Attwater pointed and abruptly turned, was the cemetery of
the island, a field of broken stones from the bigness of a child's hand to =
that
of his head, diversified by many mounds of the same material, and walled by=
a
rude rectangular enclosure. Nothing grew there but a shrub or two with some
white flowers; nothing but the number of the mounds, and their disquieting
shape, indicated the presence of the dead.
'The
rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep!'
quoted Attwater as he entered by the open gate=
way
into that unholy close. 'Coral to coral, pebbles to pebbles,' he said, 'this
has been the main scene of my activity in the South Pacific. Some were good,
and some bad, and the majority (of course and always) null. Here was a fell=
ow, now,
that used to frisk like a dog; if you had called him he came like an arrow =
from
a bow; if you had not, and he came unbidden, you should have seen the
deprecating eye and the little intricate dancing step. Well, his trouble is
over now, he has lain down with kings and councillors; the rest of his acts,
are they not written in the book of the chronicles? That fellow was from
Penrhyn; like all the Penrhyn islanders he was ill to manage; heady, jealou=
s,
violent: the man with the nose! He lies here quiet enough. And so they all =
lie.
"And darkness was the burier o=
f the
dead!"'
He stood, in the strong glow of the sunset, wi=
th
bowed head; his voice sounded now sweet and now bitter with the varying sen=
se.
'You loved these people?' cried Herrick, stran=
gely
touched.
'I?' said Attwater. 'Dear no! Don't think me a
philanthropist. I dislike men, and hate women. If I like the islands at all=
, it
is because you see them here plucked of their lendings, their dead birds and
cocked hats, their petticoats and coloured hose. Here was one I liked thoug=
h,'
and he set his foot upon a mound. 'He was a fine savage fellow; he had a da=
rk soul;
yes, I liked this one. I am fanciful,' he added, looking hard at Herrick, '=
and
I take fads. I like you.'
Herrick turned swiftly and looked far away to
where the clouds were beginning to troop together and amass themselves round
the obsequies of day. 'No one can like me,' he said.
'You are wrong there,' said the other, 'as a m=
an
usually is about himself. You are attractive, very attractive.'
'It is not me,' said Herrick; 'no one can like=
me.
If you knew how I despised myself--and why!' His voice rang out in the quiet
graveyard.
'I knew that you despised yourself,' said
Attwater. 'I saw the blood come into your face today when you remembered
Oxford. And I could have blushed for you myself, to see a man, a gentleman,
with these two vulgar wolves.'
Herrick faced him with a thrill. 'Wolves?' he
repeated.
'I said wolves and vulgar wolves,' said Attwat=
er.
'Do you know that today, when I came on board, I trembled?'
'You concealed it well,' stammered Herrick.
'A habit of mine,' said Attwater. 'But I was
afraid, for all that: I was afraid of the two wolves.' He raised his hand
slowly. 'And now, Hay, you poor lost puppy, what do you do with the two
wolves?'
'What do I do? I don't do anything,' said Herr=
ick.
'There is nothing wrong; all is above board; Captain Brown is a good soul; =
he
is a... he is...' The phantom voice of Davis called in his ear: 'There's go=
ing
to be a funeral' and the sweat burst forth and streamed on his brow. 'He is=
a
family man,' he resumed again, swallowing; 'he has children at home--and a
wife.'
'And a very nice man?' said Attwater. 'And so =
is
Mr Whish, no doubt?'
'I won't go so far as that,' said Herrick. 'I =
do
not like Huish. And yet... he has his merits too.'
'And, in short, take them for all in all, as g=
ood
a ship's company as one would ask?' said Attwater.
'O yes,' said Herrick, 'quite.'
'So then we approach the other point of why you
despise yourself?' said Attwater.
'Do we not all despise ourselves?' cried Herri=
ck.
'Do not you?'
'Oh, I say I do. But do I?' said Attwater. 'One
thing I know at least: I never gave a cry like yours. Hay! it came from a b=
ad
conscience! Ah, man, that poor diving dress of self-conceit is sadly tatter=
ed!
Today, now, while the sun sets, and here in this burying place of brown inn=
ocents,
fall on your knees and cast your sins and sorrows on the Redeemer. Hay--'
'Not Hay!' interrupted the other, strangling.
'Don't call me that! I mean... For God's sake, can't you see I'm on the rac=
k?'
'I see it, I know it, I put and keep you there=
, my
fingers are on the screws!' said Attwater. 'Please God, I will bring a peni=
tent
this night before His throne. Come, come to the mercy-seat! He waits to be =
gracious,
man--waits to be gracious!'
He spread out his arms like a crucifix, his fa=
ce
shone with the brightness of a seraph's; in his voice, as it rose to the la=
st
word, the tears seemed ready.
Herrick made a vigorous call upon himself.
'Attwater,' he said, 'you push me beyond bearing. What am I to do? I do not
believe. It is living truth to you; to me, upon my conscience, only folk-lo=
re.
I do not believe there is any form of words under heaven by which I can lift
the burthen from my shoulders. I must stagger on to the end with the pack o=
f my
responsibility; I cannot shift it; do you suppose I would not, if I thought=
I
could? I cannot--cannot--cannot--and let that suffice.'
The rapture was all gone from Artwater's
countenance; the dark apostle had disappeared; and in his place there stood=
an
easy, sneering gentleman, who took off his hat and bowed. It was pertly don=
e,
and the blood burned in Herrick's face.
'What do you mean by that?' he cried.
'Well, shall we go back to the house?' said
Attwater. 'Our guests will soon be due.'
Herrick stood his ground a moment with clenched
fists and teeth; and as he so stood, the fact of his errand there slowly sw=
ung
clear in front of him, like the moon out of clouds. He had come to lure that
man on board; he was failing, even if it could be said that he had tried; he
was sure to fail now, and knew it, and knew it was better so. And what was =
to
be next?
With a groan he turned to follow his host, who=
was
standing with polite smile, and instantly and somewhat obsequiously led the=
way
in the now darkened colonnade of palms. There they went in silence, the ear=
th gave
up richly of her perfume, the air tasted warm and aromatic in the nostrils;=
and
from a great way forward in the wood, the brightness of lights and fire mar=
ked
out the house of Attwater.
Herrick meanwhile resolved and resisted an imm=
ense
temptation to go up, to touch him on the arm and breathe a word in his ear:
'Beware, they are going to murder you.' There would be one life saved; but =
what
of the two others? The three lives went up and down before him like buckets=
in
a well, or like the scales of balances. It had come to a choice, and one th=
at
must be speedy. For certain invaluable minutes, the wheels of life ran befo=
re
him, and he could still divert them with a touch to the one side or the oth=
er,
still choose who was to live and who was to die. He considered the men.
Attwater intrigued, puzzled, dazzled, enchanted and revolted him; alive, he
seemed but a doubtful good; and the thought of him lying dead was so unwelc=
ome
that it pursued him, like a vision, with every circumstance of colour and
sound. Incessantly, he had before him the image of that great mass of man
stricken down in varying attitudes and with varying wounds; fallen prone,
fallen supine, fallen on his side; or clinging to a doorpost with the chang=
ing
face and the relaxing fingers of the death-agony. He heard the click of the
trigger, the thud of the ball, the cry of the victim; he saw the blood flow.
And this building up of circumstance was like a consecration of the man, ti=
ll
he seemed to walk in sacrificial fillets. Next he considered Davis, with his
thick-fingered, coarse-grained, oat-bread commonness of nature, his indomit=
able
valour and mirth in the old days of their starvation, the endearing blend of
his faults and virtues, the sudden shining forth of a tenderness that lay t=
oo
deep for tears; his children, Adar and her bowel complaint, and Adar's doll.
No, death could not be suffered to approach that head even in fancy; with a
general heat and a bracing of his muscles, it was borne in on Herrick that
Adar's father would find in him a son to the death. And even Huish showed a
little in that sacredness; by the tacit adoption of daily life they were be=
come
brothers; there was an implied bond of loyalty in their cohabitation of the
ship and their passed miseries, to which Herrick must be a little true or
wholly dishonoured. Horror of sudden death for horror of sudden death, ther=
e was
here no hesitation possible: it must be Attwater. And no sooner was the tho=
ught
formed (which was a sentence) than his whole mind of man ran in a panic to =
the
other side: and when he looked within himself, he was aware only of turbule=
nce
and inarticulate outcry.
In all this there was no thought of Robert
Herrick. He had complied with the ebb-tide in man's affairs, and the tide h=
ad
carried him away; he heard already the roaring of the maelstrom that must h=
urry
him under. And in his bedevilled and dishonoured soul there was no thought =
of
self.
For how long he walked silent by his companion
Herrick had no guess. The clouds rolled suddenly away; the orgasm was over;=
he
found himself placid with the placidity of despair; there returned to him t=
he
power of commonplace speech; and he heard with surprise his own voice say:
'What a lovely evening!'
'Is it not?' said Attwater. 'Yes, the evenings
here would be very pleasant if one had anything to do. By day, of course, o=
ne
can shoot.'
'You shoot?' asked Herrick.
'Yes, I am what you would call a fine shot,' s=
aid
Attwater. 'It is faith; I believe my balls will go true; if I were to miss
once, it would spoil me for nine months.'
'You never miss, then?' said Herrick.
'Not unless I mean to,' said Attwater. 'But to
miss nicely is the art. There was an old king one knew in the western islan=
ds,
who used to empty a Winchester all round a man, and stir his hair or nick a=
rag
out of his clothes with every ball except the last; and that went plump bet=
ween
the eyes. It was pretty practice.'
'You could do that?' asked Herrick, with a sud=
den
chill.
'Oh, I can do anything,' returned the other. '=
You
do not understand: what must be, must.'
They were now come near to the back part of the
house. One of the men was engaged about the cooking fire, which burned with=
the
clear, fierce, essential radiance of cocoanut shells. A fragrance of strange
meats was in the air. All round in the verandahs lamps were lighted, so tha=
t the
place shone abroad in the dusk of the trees with many complicated patterns =
of
shadow.
'Come and wash your hands,' said Attwater, and=
led
the way into a clean, matted room with a cot bed, a safe, or shelf or two of
books in a glazed case, and an iron washing-stand. Presently he cried in the
native, and there appeared for a moment in the doorway a plump and pretty y=
oung
woman with a clean towel.
'Hullo!' cried Herrick, who now saw for the fi=
rst
time the fourth survivor of the pestilence, and was startled by the
recollection of the captain's orders.
'Yes,' said Attwater, 'the whole colony lives
about the house, what's left of it. We are all afraid of devils, if you ple=
ase!
and Taniera and she sleep in the front parlour, and the other boy on the
verandah.'
'She is pretty,' said Herrick.
'Too pretty,' said Attwater. 'That was why I h=
ad
her married. A man never knows when he may be inclined to be a fool about w=
omen;
so when we were left alone, I had the pair of them to the chapel and perfor=
med
the ceremony. She made a lot of fuss. I do not take at all the romantic vie=
w of
marriage,' he explained.
'And that strikes you as a safeguard?' asked
Herrick with amazement.
'Certainly. I am a plain man and very literal.
WHOM GOD HATH JOINED TOGETHER, are the words, I fancy. So one married them,=
and
respects the marriage,' said Attwater.
'Ah!' said Herrick.
'You see, I may look to make an excellent marr=
iage
when I go home,' began Attwater, confidentially. 'I am rich. This safe
alone'--laying his hand upon it--'will be a moderate fortune, when I have t=
he
time to place the pearls upon the market. Here are ten years' accumulation =
from
a lagoon, where I have had as many as ten divers going all day long; and I =
went
further than people usually do in these waters, for I rotted a lot of shell,
and did splendidly. Would you like to see them?'
This confirmation of the captain's guess hit
Herrick hard, and he contained himself with difficulty. 'No, thank you, I t=
hink
not,' said he. 'I do not care for pearls. I am very indifferent to all
these...'
'Gewgaws?' suggested Attwater. 'And yet I beli=
eve
you ought to cast an eye on my collection, which is really unique, and
which--oh! it is the case with all of us and everything about us!--hangs by=
a
hair. Today it groweth up and flourisheth; tomorrow it is cut down and cast
into the oven. Today it is here and together in this safe;
tomorrow--tonight!--it may be scattered. Thou fool, this night thy soul sha=
ll
be required of thee.'
'I do not understand you,' said Herrick.
'Not?' said Attwater.
'You seem to speak in riddles,' said Herrick,
unsteadily. 'I do not understand what manner of man you are, nor what you a=
re
driving at.'
Attwater stood with his hands upon his hips, a=
nd
his head bent forward. 'I am a fatalist,' he replied, 'and just now (if you
insist on it) an experimentalist. Talking of which, by the bye, who painted=
out
the schooner's name?' he said, with mocking softness, 'because, do you know=
? one
thinks it should be done again. It can still be partly read; and whatever is
worth doing, is surely worth doing well. You think with me? That is so nice!
Well, shall we step on the verandah? I have a dry sherry that I would like =
your
opinion of.'
Herrick followed him forth to where, under the
light of the hanging lamps, the table shone with napery and crystal; follow=
ed
him as the criminal goes with the hangman, or the sheep with the butcher; t=
ook
the sherry mechanically, drank it, and spoke mechanical words of praise. Th=
e object
of his terror had become suddenly inverted; till then he had seen Attwater
trussed and gagged, a helpless victim, and had longed to run in and save hi=
m;
he saw him now tower up mysterious and menacing, the angel of the Lord's wr=
ath,
armed with knowledge and threatening judgment. He set down his glass again,=
and
was surprised to see it empty.
'You go always armed?' he said, and the next
moment could have plucked his tongue out.
'Always,' said Attwater. 'I have been through a
mutiny here; that was one of my incidents of missionary life.'
And just then the sound of voices reached them,
and looking forth from the verandah they saw Huish and the captain drawing
near.
They sat down to an island dinner, remarkable =
for
its variety and excellence; turtle soup and steak, fish, fowls, a sucking p=
ig,
a cocoanut salad, and sprouting cocoanut roasted for dessert. Not a tin had
been opened; and save for the oil and vinegar in the salad, and some green
spears of onion which Attwater cultivated and plucked with his own hand, not
even the condiments were European. Sherry, hock, and claret succeeded each
other, and the Farallone champagne brought up the rear with the dessert.
It was plain that, like so many of the extreme=
ly
religious in the days before teetotalism, Attwater had a dash of the epicur=
e.
For such characters it is softening to eat well; doubly so to have designed=
and
had prepared an excellent meal for others; and the manners of their host we=
re
agreeably mollified in consequence.
A cat of huge growth sat on his shoulders purr=
ing,
and occasionally, with a deft paw, capturing a morsel in the air. To a cat =
he
might be likened himself, as he lolled at the head of his table, dealing out
attentions and innuendoes, and using the velvet and the claw indifferently.=
And
both Huish and the captain fell progressively under the charm of his hospit=
able
freedom.
Over the third guest, the incidents of the din=
ner
may be said to have passed for long unheeded. Herrick accepted all that was
offered him, ate and drank without tasting, and heard without comprehension.
His mind was singly occupied in contemplating the horror of the circumstanc=
es
in which he sat. What Attwater knew, what the captain designed, from which =
side
treachery was to be first expected, these were the ground of his thoughts.
There were times when he longed to throw down the table and flee into the
night. And even that was debarred him; to do anything, to say anything, to =
move
at all, were only to precipitate the barbarous tragedy; and he sat spellbou=
nd,
eating with white lips. Two of his companions observed him narrowly, Attwat=
er
with raking, sidelong glances that did not interrupt his talk, the captain =
with
a heavy and anxious consideration.
'Well, I must say this sherry is a really prime
article,' said Huish. ''Ow much does it stand you in, if it's a fair questi=
on?'
'A hundred and twelve shillings in London, and=
the
freight to Valparaiso, and on again,' said Attwater. 'It strikes one as rea=
lly
not a bad fluid.'
'A 'undred and twelve!' murmured the clerk,
relishing the wine and the figures in a common ecstasy: 'O my!'
'So glad you like it,' said Attwater. 'Help
yourself, Mr Whish, and keep the bottle by you.'
'My friend's name is Huish and not Whish, sit,'
said the captain with a flush.
'I beg your pardon, I am sure. Huish and not
Whish, certainly,' said Attwater. 'I was about to say that I have still eig=
ht
dozen,' he added, fixing the captain with his eye.
'Eight dozen what?' said Davis.
'Sherry,' was the reply. 'Eight dozen excellent
sherry. Why, it seems almost worth it in itself; to a man fond of wine.'
The ambiguous words struck home to guilty
consciences, and Huish and the captain sat up in their places and regarded =
him
with a scare.
'Worth what?' said Davis.
'A hundred and twelve shillings,' replied
Attwater.
The captain breathed hard for a moment. He rea=
ched
out far and wide to find any coherency in these remarks; then, with a great
effort, changed the subject.
'I allow we are about the first white men upon
this island, sir,' said he.
Attwater followed him at once, and with entire
gravity, to the new ground. 'Myself and Dr Symonds excepted, I should say t=
he
only ones,' he returned. 'And yet who can tell? In the course of the ages
someone may have lived here, and we sometimes think that someone must. The
cocoa palms grow all round the island, which is scarce like nature's planti=
ng. We
found besides, when we landed, an unmistakable cairn upon the beach; use
unknown; but probably erected in the hope of gratifying some mumbo jumbo wh=
ose
very name is forgotten, by some thick-witted gentry whose very bones are lo=
st.
Then the island (witness the Directory) has been twice reported; and since =
my
tenancy, we have had two wrecks, both derelict. The rest is conjecture.'
'Dr Symonds is your partner, I guess?' said Da=
vis.
'A dear fellow, Symonds! How he would regret i=
t,
if he knew you had been here!' said Attwater.
''E's on the Trinity 'All, ain't he?' asked Hu=
ish.
'And if you could tell me where the Trinity 'A=
ll
was, you would confer a favour, Mr Whish!' was the reply.
'I suppose she has a native crew?' said Davis.=
'Since the secret has been kept ten years, one
would suppose she had,' replied Attwater.
'Well, now, see 'ere!' said Huish. 'You have
everything about you in no end style, and no mistake, but I tell you it
wouldn't do for me. Too much of "the old rustic bridge by the mill&quo=
t;;
too retired, by 'alf. Give me the sound of Bow Bells!'
'You must not think it was always so,' replied
Attwater, 'This was once a busy shore, although now, hark! you can hear the
solitude. I find it stimulating. And talking of the sound of bells, kindly
follow a little experiment of mine in silence.' There was a silver bell at =
his
right hand to call the servants; he made them a sign to stand still, struck=
the
bell with force, and leaned eagerly forward. The note rose clear and strong=
; it
rang out clear and far into the night and over the deserted island; it died
into the distance until there only lingered in the porches of the ear a
vibration that was sound no longer. 'Empty houses, empty sea, solitary
beaches!' said Attwater. 'And yet God hears the bell! And yet we sit in this
verandah on a lighted stage with all heaven for spectators! And you call th=
at
solitude?'
There followed a bar of silence, during which =
the
captain sat mesmerised.
Then Attwater laughed softly. 'These are the
diversions of a lonely, man,' he resumed, 'and possibly not in good taste. =
One
tells oneself these little fairy tales for company. If there SHOULD happen =
to
be anything in folk-lore, Mr Hay? But here comes the claret. One does not o=
ffer
you Lafitte, captain, because I believe it is all sold to the railroad dini=
ng
cars in your great country; but this Brine-Mouton is of a good year, and Mr
Whish will give me news of it.'
'That's a queer idea of yours!' cried the capt=
ain,
bursting with a sigh from the spell that had bound him. 'So you mean to tel=
l me
now, that you sit here evenings and ring up... well, ring on the angels... =
by yourself?'
'As a matter of historic fact, and since you p=
ut
it directly, one does not,' said Attwater. 'Why ring a bell, when there flo=
ws
out from oneself and everything about one a far more momentous silence? the
least beat of my heart and the least thought in my mind echoing into eterni=
ty
for ever and for ever and for ever.'
'O look 'ere,' said Huish, 'turn down the ligh= ts at once, and the Band of 'Ope will oblige! This ain't a spiritual seance.'<= o:p>
'No folk-lore about Mr Whish--I beg your pardo=
n,
captain: Huish not Whish, of course,' said Attwater.
As the boy was filling Huish's glass, the bott=
le
escaped from his hand and was shattered, and the wine spilt on the verandah
floor. Instant grimness as of death appeared on the face of Attwater; he sm=
ote
the bell imperiously, and the two brown natives fell into the attitude of
attention and stood mute and trembling. There was just a moment of silence =
and
hard looks; then followed a few savage words in the native; and, upon a ges=
ture
of dismissal, the service proceeded as before.
None of the party had as yet observed upon the
excellent bearing of the two men. They were dark, undersized, and well set =
up;
stepped softly, waited deftly, brought on the wines and dishes at a look, a=
nd
their eyes attended studiously on their master.
'Where do you get your labour from anyway?' as=
ked
Davis.
'Ah, where not?' answered Attwater.
'Not much of a soft job, I suppose?' said the
captain.
'If you will tell me where getting labour is!'
said Attwater with a shrug. 'And of course, in our case, as we could name no
destination, we had to go far and wide and do the best we could. We have go=
ne
as far west as the Kingsmills and as far south as Rapa-iti. Pity Symonds is=
n't here!
He is full of yarns. That was his part, to collect them. Then began mine, w=
hich
was the educational.'
'You mean to run them?' said Davis.
'Ay! to run them,' said Attwater.
'Wait a bit,' said Davis, 'I'm out of my depth.
How was this? Do you mean to say you did it single-handed?'
=
'One
did it single-handed,' said Attwater, 'because there was nobody to help one=
.'
'By God, but you must be a holy terror!' cried=
the
captain, in a glow of admiration.
'One does one's best,' said Attwater.
'Well, now!' said Davis, 'I have seen a lot of
driving in my time and been counted a good driver myself; I fought my way,
third mate, round the Cape Horn with a push of packet rats that would have
turned the devil out of hell and shut the door on him; and I tell you, this
racket of Mr Attwater's takes the cake. In a ship, why, there ain't nothing=
to it!
You've got the law with you, that's what does it. But put me down on this
blame' beach alone, with nothing but a whip and a mouthful of bad words, and
ask me to... no, SIR! it's not good enough! I haven't got the sand for that=
!'
cried Davis. 'It's the law behind,' he added; 'it's the law does it, every
time!'
'The beak ain't as black as he's sometimes
pynted,' observed Huish, humorously.
'Well, one got the law after a fashion,' said
Attwater. 'One had to be a number of things. It was sometimes rather a bore=
.'
'I should smile!' said Davis. 'Rather lively, I
should think!'
'I dare say we mean the same thing,' said
Attwater. 'However, one way or another, one got it knocked into their heads
that they MUST work, and they DID... until the Lord took them!'
''Ope you made 'em jump,' said Huish.
'When it was necessary, Mr Whish, I made them
jump,' said Attwater.
'You bet you did,' cried the captain. He was a
good deal flushed, but not so much with wine as admiration; and his eyes dr=
ank
in the huge proportions of the other with delight. 'You bet you did, and you
bet that I can see you doing it! By God, you're a man, and you can say I sa=
id
so.'
'Too good of you, I'm sure,' said Attwater.
'Did you--did you ever have crime here?' asked
Herrick, breaking his silence with a pungent voice.
'Yes,' said Attwater, 'we did.'
'And how did you handle that, sir?' cried the
eager captain.
'Well, you see, it was a queer case,' replied
Attwater, 'it was a case that would have puzzled Solomon. Shall I tell it y=
ou?
yes?'
The captain rapturously accepted.
'Well,' drawled Attwater, 'here is what it was=
. I
dare say you know two types of natives, which may be called the obsequious =
and
the sullen? Well, one had them, the types themselves, detected in the fact;=
and
one had them together. Obsequiousness ran out of the first like wine out of=
a
bottle, sullenness congested in the second. Obsequiousness was all smiles; =
he
ran to catch your eye, he loved to gabble; and he had about a dozen words of
beach English, and an eighth-of-an-inch veneer of Christianity. Sullens was
industrious; a big down-looking bee. When he was spoken to, he answered wit=
h a
black look and a shrug of one shoulder, but the thing would be done. I don't
give him to you for a model of manners; there was nothing showy about Sulle=
ns;
but he was strong and steady, and ungraciously obedient. Now Sullens got in=
to trouble;
no matter how; the regulations of the place were broken, and he was punished
accordingly--without effect. So, the next day, and the next, and the day af=
ter,
till I began to be weary of the business, and Sullens (I am afraid)
particularly so. There came a day when he was in fault again, for the--oh,
perhaps the thirtieth time; and he rolled a dull eye upon me, with a spark =
in
it, and appeared to speak. Now the regulations of the place are formal upon=
one
point: we allow no explanations; none are received, none allowed to be offe=
red.
So one stopped him instantly; but made a note of the circumstance. The next=
day,
he was gone from the settlement. There could be nothing more annoying; if t=
he
labour took to running away, the fishery was wrecked. There are sixty miles=
of
this island, you see, all in length like the Queen's Highway; the idea of
pursuit in such a place was a piece of single-minded childishness, which one
did not entertain. Two days later, I made a discovery; it came in upon me w=
ith
a flash that Sullens had been unjustly punished from beginning to end, and =
the
real culprit throughout had been Obsequiousness. The native who talks, like=
the
woman who hesitates, is lost. You set him talking and lying; and he talks, =
and lies,
and watches your face to see if he has pleased you; till at last, out comes=
the
truth! It came out of Obsequiousness in the regular course. I said nothing =
to
him; I dismissed him; and late as it was, for it was already night, set off=
to
look for Sullens. I had not far to go: about two hundred yards up the islan=
d,
the moon showed him to me. He was hanging in a cocoa palm--I'm not botanist
enough to tell you how--but it's the way, in nine cases out of ten, these
natives commit suicide. His tongue was out, poor devil, and the birds had g=
ot
at him; I spare you details, he was an ugly sight! I gave the business six =
good
hours of thinking in this verandah. My justice had been made a fool of; I d=
on't
suppose that I was ever angrier. Next day, I had the conch sounded and all
hands out before sunrise. One took one's gun, and led the way, with Obsequi=
ousness.
He was very talkative; the beggar supposed that all was right now he had co=
nfessed;
in the old schoolboy phrase, he was plainly 'sucking up' to me; full of
protestations of goodwill and good behaviour; to which one answered one rea=
lly
can't remember what. Presently the tree came in sight, and the hanged man. =
They
all burst out lamenting for their comrade in the island way, and Obsequious=
ness
was the loudest of the mourners. He was quite genuine; a noxious creature, =
without
any consciousness of guilt. Well, presently--to make a long story short--one
told him to go up the tree. He stared a bit, looked at one with a trouble in
his eye, and had rather a sickly smile; but went. He was obedient to the la=
st;
he had all the pretty virtues, but the truth was not in him. So soon as he =
was
up, he looked down, and there was the rifle covering him; and at that he ga=
ve a
whimper like a dog. You could bear a pin drop; no more keening now. There t=
hey
all crouched upon the ground, with bulging eyes; there was he in the tree t=
op,
the colour of the lead; and between was the dead man, dancing a bit in the =
air.
He was obedient to the last, recited his crime, recommended his soul to God.
And then...'
Attwater paused, and Herrick, who had been
listening attentively, made a convulsive movement which upset his glass.
'And then?' said the breathless captain.
'Shot,' said Attwater. 'They came to ground
together.'
Herrick sprang to his feet with a shriek and an
insensate gesture.
'It was a murder,' he screamed. 'A cold-hearte=
d,
bloody-minded murder! You monstrous being! Murderer and hypocrite--murderer=
and
hypocrite--murderer and hypocrite--' he repeated, and his tongue stumbled a=
mong
the words.
The captain was by him in a moment. 'Herrick!'=
he
cried, 'behave yourself! Here, don't be a blame' fool!'
Herrick struggled in his embrace like a frantic
child, and suddenly bowing his face in his hands, choked into a sob, the fi=
rst
of many, which now convulsed his body silently, and now jerked from him ind=
escribable
and meaningless sounds.
'Your friend appears over-excited,' remarked
Attwater, sitting unmoved but all alert at table.
'It must be the wine,' replied the captain. 'He
ain't no drinking man, you see. I--I think I'll take him away. A walk'll so=
ber
him up, I guess.'
He led him without resistance out of the veran=
dah
and into the night, in which they soon melted; but still for some time, as =
they
drew away, his comfortable voice was to be heard soothing and remonstrating,
and Herrick answering, at intervals, with the mechanical noises of hysteria=
.
''E's like a bloomin' poultry yard!' observed
Huish, helping himself to wine (of which he spilled a good deal) with
gentlemanly ease. 'A man should learn to beyave at table,' he added.
'Rather bad form, is it not?' said Attwater. 'Well, well, we are left tete-a-tete. A glass of wine with you, Mr Whish!'<= o:p>
The captain and Herrick meanwhile turned their
back upon the lights in Attwater's verandah, and took a direction towards t=
he
pier and the beach of the lagoon.
The isle, at this hour, with its smooth floor =
of
sand, the pillared roof overhead, and the prevalent illumination of the lam=
ps,
wore an air of unreality like a deserted theatre or a public garden at
midnight. A man looked about him for the statues and tables. Not the least =
air
of wind was stirring among the palms, and the silence was emphasised by the=
continuous
clamour of the surf from the seashore, as it might be of traffic in the next
street.
Still talking, still soothing him, the captain
hurried his patient on, brought him at last to the lagoon-side, and leading=
him
down the beach, laved his head and face with the tepid water. The paroxysm
gradually subsided, the sobs became less convulsive and then ceased; by an =
odd
but not quite unnatural conjunction, the captain's soothing current of talk
died away at the same time and by proportional steps, and the pair remained
sunk in silence. The lagoon broke at their feet in petty wavelets, and with=
a
sound as delicate as a whisper; stars of all degrees looked down on their o=
wn
images in that vast mirror; and the more angry colour of the Farallone's ri=
ding
lamp burned in the middle distance. For long they continued to gaze on the
scene before them, and hearken anxiously to the rustle and tinkle of that
miniature surf, or the more distant and loud reverberations from the outer
coast. For long speech was denied them; and when the words came at last, th=
ey
came to both simultaneously. 'Say, Herrick...'the captain was beginning.
But Herrick, turning swiftly towards his
companion, bent him down with the eager cry: 'Let's up anchor, captain, and=
to
sea!'
'Where to, my son?' said the captain. 'Up anch=
or's
easy saying. But where to?'
'To sea,' responded Herrick. 'The sea's big
enough! To sea--away from this dreadful island and that, oh! that sinister
man!'
'Oh, we'll see about that,' said Davis. 'You b=
race
up, and we'll see about that. You're all run down, that's what's wrong with
you; you're all nerves, like Jemimar; you've got to brace up good and be
yourself again, and then we'll talk.'
'To sea,' reiterated Herrick, 'to sea
tonight--now--this moment!'
'It can't be, my son,' replied the captain fir=
mly.
'No ship of mine puts to sea without provisions, you can take that for
settled.'
'You don't seem to understand,' said Herrick. =
'The
whole thing is over, I tell you. There is nothing to do here, when he knows
all. That man there with the cat knows all; can't you take it in?'
'All what?' asked the captain, visibly
discomposed. 'Why, he received us like a perfect gentleman and treated us r=
eal
handsome, until you began with your foolery--and I must say I seen men shot=
for
less, and nobody sorry! What more do you expect anyway?'
Herrick rocked to and fro upon the sand, shaki=
ng
his head.
'Guying us,' he said, 'he was guying us--only
guying us; it's all we're good for.'
'There was one queer thing, to be sure,' admit=
ted
the captain, with a misgiving of the voice; 'that about the sherry. Damned =
if I
caught on to that. Say, Herrick, you didn't give me away?'
'Oh! give you away!' repeated Herrick with wea=
ry,
querulous scorn. 'What was there to give away? We're transparent; we've got
rascal branded on us: detected rascal--detected rascal! Why, before he came=
on
board, there was the name painted out, and he saw the whole thing. He made =
sure
we would kill him there and then, and stood guying you and Huish on the cha=
nce.
He calls that being frightened! Next he had me ashore; a fine time I had! T=
HE
TWO WOLVES, he calls you and Huish.--WHAT IS THE PUPPY DOING WITH THE TWO
WOLVES? he asked. He showed me his pearls; he said they might be dispersed
before morning, and ALL HUNG BY A HAIr--and smiled as he said it, such a sm=
ile!
O, it's no use, I tell you! He knows all, he sees through all; we only make=
him
laugh with our pretences--he looks at us and laughs like God!'
There was a silence. Davis stood with contorte=
d brows,
gazing into the night.
'The pearls?' he said suddenly. 'He showed the=
m to
you? he has them?'
'No, he didn't show them; I forgot: only the s=
afe
they were in,' said Herrick. 'But you'll never get them!'
'I've two words to say to that,' said the capt=
ain.
'Do you think he would have been so easy at ta=
ble,
unless he was prepared?' cried Herrick. 'The servants were both armed. He w=
as
armed himself; he always is; he told me. You will never deceive his vigilan=
ce. Davis,
I know it! It's all up; all up. There's nothing for it, there's nothing to =
be
done: all gone: life, honour, love. Oh, my God, my God, why was I born?'
Another pause followed upon this outburst.
The captain put his hands to his brow.
'Another thing!' he broke out. 'Why did he tell
you all this? Seems like madness to me!'
Herrick shook his head with gloomy iteration. =
'You
wouldn't understand if I were to tell you,' said he.
'I guess I can understand any blame' thing that
you can tell me,' said the captain.
'Well, then, he's a fatalist,' said Herrick.
'What's that, a fatalist?' said Davis.
'Oh, it's a fellow that believes a lot of thin=
gs,'
said Herrick, 'believes that his bullets go true; believes that all falls o=
ut
as God chooses, do as you like to prevent it; and all that.'
'Why, I guess I believe right so myself,' said
Davis.
'You do?' said Herrick.
'You bet I do!' says Davis.
Herrick shrugged his shoulders. 'Well, you mus=
t be
a fool,' said he, and he leaned his head upon his knees.
The captain stood biting his hands.
'There's one thing sure,' he said at last. 'I =
must
get Huish out of that. HE'S not fit to hold his end up with a man like you
describe.'
And he turned to go away. The words had been q=
uite
simple; not so the tone; and the other was quick to catch it.
'Davis!' he cried, 'no! Don't do it. Spare ME,=
and
don't do it--spare yourself, and leave it alone--for God's sake, for your
children's sake!'
His voice rose to a passionate shrillness; ano=
ther
moment, and he might be overheard by their not distant victim. But Davis tu=
rned
on him with a savage oath and gesture; and the miserable young man rolled o=
ver
on his face on the sand, and lay speechless and helpless.
The captain meanwhile set out rapidly for
Attwater's house. As he went, he considered with himself eagerly, his thoug=
hts
racing. The man had understood, he had mocked them from the beginning; he w=
ould
teach him to make a mockery of John Davis! Herrick thought him a god; give =
him
a second to aim in, and the god was overthrown. He chuckled as he felt the =
butt
of his revolver. It should be done now, as he went in. From behind? It was
difficult to get there. From across the table? No, the captain preferred to
shoot standing, so as you could be sure to get your hand upon your gun. The
best would be to summon Huish, and when Attwater stood up and turned--ah, t=
hen
would be the moment. Wrapped in his ardent prefiguration of events, the cap=
tain
posted towards the house with his head down.
'Hands up! Halt!' cried the voice of Attwater.=
And the captain, before he knew what he was do=
ing,
had obeyed. The surprise was complete and irremediable. Coming on the top c=
rest
of his murderous intentions, he had walked straight into an ambuscade, and =
now stood,
with his hands impotently lifted, staring at the verandah.
The party was now broken up. Attwater leaned o=
n a
post, and kept Davis covered with a Winchester. One of the servants was har=
d by
with a second at the port arms, leaning a little forward, round-eyed with e=
ager
expectancy. In the open space at the head of the stair, Huish was partly su=
pported
by the other native; his face wreathed in meaningless smiles, his mind
seemingly sunk in the contemplation of an unlighted cigar.
'Well,' said Attwater, 'you seem to me to be a
very twopenny pirate!'
The captain uttered a sound in his throat for
which we have no name; rage choked him.
'I am going to give you Mr Whish--or the wine-=
sop
that remains of him,' continued Attwater. 'He talks a great deal when he
drinks, Captain Davis of the Sea Ranger. But I have quite done with him--and
return the article with thanks. Now,' he cried sharply. 'Another false move=
ment
like that, and your family will have to deplore the loss of an invaluable
parent; keep strictly still, Davis.'
Attwater said a word in the native, his eye st=
ill
undeviatingly fixed on the captain; and the servant thrust Huish smartly
forward from the brink of the stair. With an extraordinary simultaneous
dispersion of his members, that gentleman bounded forth into space, struck =
the
earth, ricocheted, and brought up with his arms about a palm. His mind was =
quite
a stranger to these events; the expression of anguish that deformed his
countenance at the moment of the leap was probably mechanical; and he suffe=
red
these convulsions in silence; clung to the tree like an infant; and seemed,=
by
his dips, to suppose himself engaged in the pastime of bobbing for apples. A
more finely sympathetic mind or a more observant eye might have remarked, a
little in front of him on the sand, and still quite beyond reach, the unlig=
hted
cigar.
=
'There
is your Whitechapel carrion!' said Attwater. 'And now you might very well a=
sk
me why I do not put a period to you at once, as you deserve. I will tell you
why, Davis. It is because I have nothing to do with the Sea Ranger and the
people you drowned, or the Farallone and the champagne that you stole. That=
is
your account with God, He keeps it, and He will settle it when the clock
strikes. In my own case, I have nothing to go on but suspicion, and I do not
kill on suspicion, not even vermin like you. But understand! if ever I see =
any
of you again, it is another matter, and you shall eat a bullet. And now take
yourself off. March! and as you value what you call your life, keep your ha=
nds
up as you go!'
The captain remained as he was, his hands up, =
his
mouth open: mesmerised with fury.
'March!' said Attwater. 'One--two--three!'
And Davis turned and passed slowly away. But e=
ven
as he went, he was meditating a prompt, offensive return. In the twinkling =
of
an eye, he had leaped behind a tree; and was crouching there, pistol in han=
d, peering
from either side of his place of ambush with bared teeth; a serpent already
poised to strike. And already he was too late. Attwater and his servants had
disappeared; and only the lamps shone on the deserted table and the bright =
sand
about the house, and threw into the night in all directions the strong and =
tall
shadows of the palms.
Davis ground his teeth. Where were they gone, =
the
cowards? to what hole had they retreated beyond reach? It was in vain he sh=
ould
try anything, he, single and with a second-hand revolver, against three
persons, armed with Winchesters, and who did not show an ear out of any of =
the apertures
of that lighted and silent house? Some of them might have already ducked be=
low
it from the rear, and be drawing a bead upon him at that moment from the
low-browed crypt, the receptacle of empty bottles and broken crockery. No,
there was nothing to be done but to bring away (if it were still possible) =
his
shattered and demoralised forces.
'Huish,' he said, 'come along.'
''S lose my ciga',' said Huish, reaching vague=
ly
forward.
The captain let out a rasping oath. 'Come right
along here,' said he.
''S all righ'. Sleep here 'th Atty-Attwa. Go b=
oar'
t'morr',' replied the festive one.
'If you don't come, and come now, by the living
God, I'll shoot you!' cried the captain.
It is not to be supposed that the sense of the=
se
words in any way penetrated to the mind of Hulsh; rather that, in a fresh
attempt upon the cigar, he overbalanced himself and came flying erratically
forward: a course which brought him within reach of Davis.
'Now you walk straight,' said the captain,
clutching him, 'or I'll know why not!'
''S lose my ciga',' replied Huish.
The captain's contained fury blazed up for a
moment. He twisted Huish round, grasped him by the neck of the coat, ran hi=
m in
front of him to the pier end, and flung him savagely forward on his face.
'Look for your cigar then, you swine!' said he,
and blew his boat call till the pea in it ceased to rattle.
An immediate activity responded on board the
Farallone; far away voices, and soon the sound of oars, floated along the
surface of the lagoon; and at the same time, from nearer hand, Herrick arou=
sed
himself and strolled languidly up. He bent over the insignificant figure of
Huish, where it grovelled, apparently insensible, at the base of the
figure-head.
'Dead?' he asked.
'No, he's not dead,' said Davis.
'And Attwater?' asked Herrick.
'Now you just shut your head!' replied Davis. =
'You
can do that, I fancy, and by God, I'll show you how! I'll stand no more of =
your
drivel.'
They waited accordingly in silence till the bo=
at
bumped on the furthest piers; then raised Huish, head and heels, carried him
down the gangway, and flung him summarily in the bottom. On the way out he =
was
heard murmuring of the loss of his cigar; and after he had been handed up t=
he side
like baggage, and cast down in the alleyway to slumber, his last audible
expression was: 'Splen'l fl' Attwa'!' This the expert construed into 'Splen=
did
fellow, Attwater'; with so much innocence had this great spirit issued from=
the
adventures of the evening.
The captain went and walked in the waist with
brief, irate turns; Herrick leaned his arms on the taffrail; the crew had a=
ll
turned in. The ship had a gentle, cradling motion; at times a block piped l=
ike
a bird. On shore, through the colonnade of palm stems, Attwater's house was=
to be
seen shining steadily with many lamps. And there was nothing else visible,
whether in the heaven above or in the lagoon below, but the stars and their
reflections. It might have been minutes or it might have been hours, that
Herrick leaned there, looking in the glorified water and drinking peace. 'A
bath of stars,' he was thinking; when a hand was laid at last on his should=
er.
'Herrick,' said the captain, 'I've been walking
off my trouble.'
A sharp jar passed through the young man, but =
he
neither answered nor so much as turned his head.
'I guess I spoke a little rough to you on shor=
e,'
pursued the captain; 'the fact is, I was real mad; but now it's over, and y=
ou
and me have to turn to and think.'
'I will NOT think,' said Herrick.
'Here, old man!' said Davis, kindly; 'this won=
't
fight, you know! You've got to brace up and help me get things straight. Yo=
u're
not going back on a friend? That's not like you, Herrick!'
'O yes, it is,' said Herrick.
'Come, come!' said the captain, and paused as =
if
quite at a loss. 'Look here,' he cried, 'you have a glass of champagne. I w=
on't
touch it, so that'll show you if I'm in earnest. But it's just the pick-me-=
up for
you; it'll put an edge on you at once.'
'O, you leave me alone!' said Herrick, and tur=
ned
away.
The captain caught him by the sleeve; and he s=
hook
him off and turned on him, for the moment, like a demoniac.
'Go to hell in your own way!' he cried.
And he turned away again, this time unchecked,=
and
stepped forward to where the boat rocked alongside and ground occasionally
against the schooner. He looked about him. A corner of the house was interp=
osed
between the captain and himself; all was well; no eye must see him in that =
last
act. He slid silently into the boat; thence, silently, into the starry wate=
r.
Instinctively he swam a little; it would be ti=
me
enough to stop by and by.
The shock of the immersion brightened his mind
immediately. The events of the ignoble day passed before him in a frieze of
pictures, and he thanked 'whatever Gods there be' for that open door of
suicide. In such a little while he would be done with it, the random busine=
ss
at an end, the prodigal son come home. A very bright planet shone before him
and drew a trenchant wake along the water. He took that for his line and fo=
llowed
it. That was the last earthly thing that he should look upon; that radiant
speck, which he had soon magnified into a City of Laputa, along whose terra=
ces
there walked men and women of awful and benignant features, who viewed him =
with
distant commiseration. These imaginary spectators consoled him; he told him=
self
their talk, one to another; it was of himself and his sad destiny.
From such flights of fancy, he was aroused by =
the
growing coldness of the water. Why should he delay? Here, where he was now,=
let
him drop the curtain, let him seek the ineffable refuge, let him lie down w=
ith
all races and generations of men in the house of sleep. It was easy to say,=
easy
to do. To stop swimming: there was no mystery in that, if he could do it. C=
ould
he? And he could not. He knew it instantly. He was aware instantly of an
opposition in his members, unanimous and invincible, clinging to life with a
single and fixed resolve, finger by finger, sinew by sinew; something that =
was
at once he and not he--at once within and without him;--the shutting of some
miniature valve in his brain, which a single manly thought should suffice to
open--and the grasp of an external fate ineluctable as gravity. To any man
there may come at times a consciousness that there blows, through all the
articulations of his body, the wind of a spirit not wholly his; that his mi=
nd
rebels; that another girds him and carries him whither he would not. It came
now to Herrick, with the authority of a revelation. There was no escape pos=
sible.
The open door was closed in his recreant face. He must go back into the wor=
ld
and amongst men without illusion. He must stagger on to the end with the pa=
ck
of his responsibility and his disgrace, until a cold, a blow, a merciful ch=
ance
ball, or the more merciful hangman, should dismiss him from his infamy. The=
re
were men who could commit suicide; there were men who could not; and he was=
one
who could not.
For perhaps a minute, there raged in his mind =
the
coil of this discovery; then cheerless certitude followed; and, with an
incredible simplicity of submission to ascertained fact, he turned round an=
d struck
out for shore. There was a courage in this which he could not appreciate; t=
he
ignobility of his cowardice wholly occupying him. A strong current set agai=
nst
him like a wind in his face; he contended with it heavily, wearily, without
enthusiasm, but with substantial advantage; marking his progress the while,
without pleasure, by the outline of the trees. Once he had a moment of hope=
. He
heard to the southward of him, towards the centre of the lagoon, the wallow=
ing
of some great fish, doubtless a shark, and paused for a little, treading wa=
ter.
Might not this be the hangman? he thought. But the wallowing died away; mere
silence succeeded; and Herrick pushed on again for the shore, raging as he =
went
at his own nature. Ay, he would wait for the shark; but if he had heard him
coming!... His smile was tragic. He could have spat upon himself.
About three in the morning, chance, and the se=
t of
the current, and the bias of his own right-handed body, so decided it betwe=
en
them that he came to shore upon the beach in front of Attwater's. There he =
sat
down, and looked forth into a world without any of the lights of hope. The =
poor
diving dress of self-conceit was sadly tattered! With the fairy tale of
suicide, of a refuge always open to him, he had hitherto beguiled and suppo=
rted
himself in the trials of life; and behold! that also was only a fairy tale,
that also was folk-lore. With the consequences of his acts he saw himself
implacably confronted for the duration of life: stretched upon a cross, and
nailed there with the iron bolts of his own cowardice. He had no tears; he =
told
himself no stories. His disgust with himself was so complete that even the
process of apologetic mythology had ceased. He was like a man cast down fro=
m a pillar,
and every bone broken. He lay there, and admitted the facts, and did not
attempt to rise.
Dawn began to break over the far side of the
atoll, the sky brightened, the clouds became dyed with gorgeous colours, the
shadows of the night lifted. And, suddenly, Herrick was aware that the lago=
on
and the trees wore again their daylight livery; and he saw, on board the
Farallone, Davis extinguishing the lantern, and smoke rising from the galle=
y.
Davis, without doubt, remarked and recognised =
the
figure on the beach; or perhaps hesitated to recognise it; for after he had
gazed a long while from under his hand, he went into the house and fetched a
glass. It was very powerful; Herrick had often used it. With an instinct of=
shame,
he hid his face in his hands.
'And what brings you here, Mr Herrick-Hay, or =
Mr
Hay-Herrick?' asked the voice of Attwater. 'Your back view from my present
position is remarkably fine, and I would continue to present it. We can get=
on
very nicely as we are, and if you were to turn round, do you know? I think =
it would
be awkward.'
Herrick slowly rose to his feet; his heart
throbbed hard, a hideous excitement shook him, but he was master of himself.
Slowly he turned, and faced Attwater and the muzzle of a pointed rifle. 'Why
could I not do that last night?' he thought.
'Well, why don't you fire?' he said aloud, wit=
h a
voice that trembled.
Attwater slowly put his gun under his arm, then
his hands in his pockets.
'What brings you here?' he repeated.
'I don't know,' said Herrick; and then, with a
cry: 'Can you do anything with me?'
'Are you armed?' said Attwater. 'I ask for the
form's sake.'
'Armed? No!' said Herrick. 'O yes, I am, too!'=
And
he flung upon the beach a dripping pistol.
'You are wet,' said Attwater.
'Yes, I am wet,' said Herrick. 'Can you do
anything with me?'
Attwater read his face attentively.
'It would depend a good deal upon what you are=
,'
said he.
'What I am? A coward!' said Herrick.
'There is very little to be done with that,' s=
aid
Attwater. 'And yet the description hardly strikes one as exhaustive.'
'Oh, what does it matter?' cried Herrick. 'Her=
e I
am. I am broken crockery; I am a burst drum; the whole of my life is gone to
water; I have nothing left that I believe in, except my living horror of
myself. Why do I come to you? I don't know; you are cold, cruel, hateful; a=
nd I
hate you, or I think I hate you. But you are an honest man, an honest gentl=
eman.
I put myself, helpless, in your hands. What must I do? If I can't do anythi=
ng,
be merciful and put a bullet through me; it's only a puppy with a broken le=
g!'
'If I were you, I would pick up that pistol, c=
ome
up to the house, and put on some dry clothes,' said Attwater.
'If you really mean it?' said Herrick. 'You kn=
ow
they--we--they. .. But you know all.'
'I know quite enough,' said Attwater. 'Come up=
to
the house.'
And the captain, from the deck of the Farallon=
e,
saw the two men pass together under the shadow of the grove.
Huish had bundled himself up from the glare of=
the
day--his face to the house, his knees retracted. The frail bones in the thin
tropical raiment seemed scarce more considerable than a fowl's; and Davis,
sitting on the rail with his arm about a stay, contemplated him with gloom,
wondering what manner of counsel that insignificant figure should contain. =
For since
Herrick had thrown him off and deserted to the enemy, Huish, alone of manki=
nd,
remained to him to be a helper and oracle.
He considered their position with a sinking he=
art.
The ship was a stolen ship; the stores, either from initial carelessness or=
ill
administration during the voyage, were insufficient to carry them to any po=
rt
except back to Papeete; and there retribution waited in the shape of a gend=
arme,
a judge with a queer-shaped hat, and the horror of distant Noumea. Upon that
side, there was no glimmer of hope. Here, at the island, the dragon was rou=
sed;
Attwater with his men and his Winchesters watched and patrolled the house; =
let
him who dare approach it. What else was then left but to sit there, inactiv=
e,
pacing the decks--until the Trinity Hall arrived and they were cast into ir=
ons,
or until the food came to an end, and the pangs of famine succeeded? For the
Trinity Hall Davis was prepared; he would barricade the house, and die ther=
e defending
it, like a rat in a crevice. But for the other? The cruise of the Farallone,
into which he had plunged only a fortnight before, with such golden
expectations, could this be the nightmare end of it? The ship rotting at
anchor, the crew stumbling and dying in the scuppers? It seemed as if any
extreme of hazard were to be preferred to so grisly a certainty; as if it w=
ould
be better to up-anchor after all, put to sea at a venture, and, perhaps, pe=
rish
at the hands of cannibals on one of the more obscure Paumotus. His eye roved
swiftly over sea and sky in quest of any promise of wind, but the fountains=
of
the Trade were empty. Where it had run yesterday and for weeks before, a
roaring blue river charioting clouds, silence now reigned; and the whole he=
ight
of the atmosphere stood balanced. On the endless ribbon of island that stre=
tched
out to either hand of him its array of golden and green and silvery palms, =
not
the most volatile frond was to be seen stirring; they drooped to their stab=
le
images in the lagoon like things carved of metal, and already their long li=
ne
began to reverberate heat. There was no escape possible that day, none prob=
able
on the morrow. And still the stores were running out!
Then came over Davis, from deep down in the ro=
ots
of his being, or at least from far back among his memories of childhood and
innocence, a wave of superstition. This run of ill luck was something beyond
natural; the chances of the game were in themselves more various; it seemed=
as if
the devil must serve the pieces. The devil? He heard again the clear note of
Attwater's bell ringing abroad into the night, and dying away. How if God..=
.?
Briskly, he averted his mind. Attwater: that w=
as
the point. Attwater had food and a treasure of pearls; escape made possible=
in
the present, riches in the future. They must come to grips, with Attwater; =
the
man must die. A smoky heat went over his face, as he recalled the impotent =
figure
he had made last night and the contemptuous speeches he must bear in silenc=
e.
Rage, shame, and the love of life, all pointed the one way; and only invent=
ion
halted: how to reach him? had he strength enough? was there any help in that
misbegotten packet of bones against the house?
His eyes dwelled upon him with a strange avidi=
ty,
as though he would read into his soul; and presently the sleeper moved, sti=
rred
uneasily, turned suddenly round, and threw him a blinking look. Davis
maintained the same dark stare, and Huish looked away again and sat up.
'Lord, I've an 'eadache on me!' said he. 'I
believe I was a bit swipey last night. W'ere's that cry-byby 'Errick?'
'Gone,' said the captain.
'Ashore?' cried Huish. 'Oh, I say! I'd 'a gone
too.'
'Would you?' said the captain.
'Yes, I would,' replied Huish. 'I like Attwate=
r.
'E's all right; we got on like one o'clock when you were gone. And ain't his
sherry in it, rather? It's like Spiers and Ponds' Amontillado! I wish I 'ad=
a
drain of it now.' He sighed.
'Well, you'll never get no more of it--that's =
one
thing,' said Davis, gravely.
''Ere! wot's wrong with you, Dyvis? Coppers 'o=
t?
Well, look at me! I ain't grumpy,' said Huish; 'I'm as plyful as a canary-b=
ird,
I am.'
'Yes,' said Davis, 'you're playful; I own that;
and you were playful last night, I believe, and a damned fine performance y=
ou
made of it.'
''Allo!' said Huish. ''Ow's this? Wot
performance?'
'Well, I'll tell you,' said the captain, getti=
ng
slowly off the rail.
And he did: at full length, with every wounding
epithet and absurd detail repeated and emphasised; he had his own vanity and
Huish's upon the grill, and roasted them; and as he spoke, he inflicted and
endured agonies of humiliation. It was a plain man's masterpiece of the sar=
donic.
'What do you think of it?' said he, when he had
done, and looked down at Huish, flushed and serious, and yet jeering.
'I'll tell you wot it is,' was the reply, 'you=
and
me cut a pretty dicky figure.'
'That's so,' said Davis, 'a pretty measly figu=
re,
by God! And, by God, I want to see that man at my knees.'
'Ah!' said Huish. ''Ow to get him there?'
'That's it!' cried Davis. 'How to get hold of =
him!
They're four to two; though there's only one man among them to count, and t=
hat's
Attwater. Get a bead on Attwater, and the others would cut and run and sing=
out
like frightened poultry--and old man Herrick would come round with his hat =
for
a share of the pearls. No, SIR! it's how to get hold of Attwater! And we
daren't even go ashore; he would shoot us in the boat like dogs.'
'Are you particular about having him dead or
alive?' asked Huish.
'I want to see him dead,' said the captain.
'Ah, well!' said Huish, 'then I believe I'll d=
o a
bit of breakfast.'
And he turned into the house.
The captain doggedly followed him.
'What's this?' he asked. 'What's your idea,
anyway?'
'Oh, you let me alone, will you?' said Huish,
opening a bottle of champagne. 'You'll 'ear my idea soon enough. Wyte till I
pour some chain on my 'ot coppers.' He drank a glass off, and affected to
listen. ''Ark!' said he, ''ear it fizz. Like 'am fryin', I declyre. 'Ave a =
glass,
do, and look sociable.'
'No!' said the captain, with emphasis; 'no, I =
will
not! there's business.'
'You p'ys your money and you tykes your choice=
, my
little man,' returned Huish. 'Seems rather a shyme to me to spoil your
breakfast for wot's really ancient 'istory.'
He finished three parts of a bottle of champag=
ne,
and nibbled a corner of biscuit, with extreme deliberation; the captain sit=
ting
opposite and champing the bit like an impatient horse. Then Huish leaned his
arms on the table and looked Davis in the face.
'W'en you're ready!' said he.
'Well, now, what's your idea?' said Davis, wit=
h a
sigh.
'Fair play!' said Huish. 'What's yours?'
'The trouble is that I've got none,' replied
Davis; and wandered for some time in aimless discussion of the difficulties=
in
their path, and useless explanations of his own fiasco.
'About done?' said Huish.
'I'll dry up right here,' replied Davis.
'Well, then,' said Huish, 'you give me your 'a=
nd
across the table, and say, "Gawd strike me dead if I don't back you
up."'
His voice was hardly raised, yet it thrilled t=
he
hearer. His face seemed the epitome of cunning, and the captain recoiled fr=
om
it as from a blow.
'What for?' said he.
'Luck,' said Huish. 'Substantial guarantee
demanded.'
And he continued to hold out his hand.
'I don't see the good of any such tomfoolery,'
said the other.
'I do, though,' returned Huish. 'Gimme your 'a=
nd
and say the words; then you'll 'ear my view of it. Don't, and you won't.'
The captain went through the required form,
breathing short, and gazing on the clerk with anguish. What to fear, he knew
not; yet he feared slavishly what was to fall from the pale lips.
'Now, if you'll excuse me 'alf a second,' said
Huish, 'I'll go and fetch the byby.'
'The baby?' said Davis. 'What's that?'
'Fragile. With care. This side up,' replied the
clerk with a wink, as he disappeared.
He returned, smiling to himself, and carrying =
in his
hand a silk handkerchief. The long stupid wrinkles ran up Davis's brow, as =
he
saw it. What should it contain? He could think of nothing more recondite th=
an a
revolver.
Huish resumed his seat.
'Now,' said he, 'are you man enough to take ch=
arge
of 'Errick and the niggers? Because I'll take care of Hattwater.'
'How?' cried Davis. 'You can't!'
'Tut, tut!' said the clerk. 'You gimme time. W=
ot's
the first point? The first point is that we can't get ashore, and I'll make=
you
a present of that for a 'ard one. But 'ow about a flag of truce? Would that=
do
the trick, d'ye think? or would Attwater simply blyze aw'y at us in the blo=
omin'
boat like dawgs?'
'No,' said Davis, 'I don't believe he would.'<= o:p>
'No more do I,' said Huish; 'I don't believe he
would either; and I'm sure I 'ope he won't! So then you can call us ashore.
Next point is to get near the managin' direction. And for that I'm going to
'ave you write a letter, in w'ich you s'y you're ashamed to meet his eye, a=
nd that
the bearer, Mr J. L. 'Uish, is empowered to represent you. Armed with w'ich
seemin'ly simple expedient, Mr J. L. 'Uish will proceed to business.'
He paused, like one who had finished, but still
held Davis with his eye.
'How?' said Davis. 'Why?'
'Well, you see, you're big,' returned Huish; '=
'e
knows you 'ave a gun in your pocket, and anybody can see with 'alf an eye t=
hat
you ain't the man to 'esitate about usin' it. So it's no go with you, and n=
ever
was; you're out of the runnin', Dyvis. But he won't be afryde of me, I'm su=
ch a
little un! I'm unarmed--no kid about that--and I'll hold my 'ands up right
enough.' He paused. 'If I can manage to sneak up nearer to him as we talk,'=
he
resumed, 'you look out and back me up smart. If I don't, we go aw'y again, =
and
nothink to 'urt. See?'
The captain's face was contorted by the frenzi=
ed
effort to comprehend.
'No, I don't see,' he cried, 'I can't see. Wha=
t do
you mean?'
'I mean to do for the Beast!' cried Huish, in a
burst of venomous triumph. 'I'll bring the 'ulkin' bully to grass. He's 'ad=
his
larks out of me; I'm goin' to 'ave my lark out of 'im, and a good lark too!=
'
'What is it?' said the captain, almost in a
whisper.
'Sure you want to know?' asked Huish.
Davis rose and took a turn in the house.
'Yes, I want to know,' he said at last with an
effort.
'We'n you're back's at the wall, you do the be=
st
you can, don't you?' began the clerk. 'I s'y that, because I 'appen to know
there's a prejudice against it; it's considered vulgar, awf'ly vulgar.' He =
unrolled
the handkerchief and showed a four-ounce jar. 'This 'ere's vitriol, this is=
,'
said he.
The captain stared upon him with a whitening f=
ace.
'This is the stuff!' he pursued, holding it up.
'This'll burn to the bone; you'll see it smoke upon 'im like 'ell fire! One
drop upon 'is bloomin' heyesight, and I'll trouble you for Attwater!'
'No, no, by God!' exclaimed the captain.
'Now, see 'ere, ducky,' said Huish, 'this is my
bean feast, I believe? I'm goin' up to that man single-'anded, I am. 'E's a=
bout
seven foot high, and I'm five foot one. 'E's a rifle in his 'and, 'e's on t=
he look-out,
'e wasn't born yesterday. This is Dyvid and Goliar, I tell you! If I'd ast =
you
to walk up and face the music I could understand. But I don't. I on'y ast y=
ou
to stand by and spifflicate the niggers. It'll all come in quite natural;
you'll see, else! Fust thing, you know, you'll see him running round and ow=
ling
like a good un...'
'Don't!' said Davis. 'Don't talk of it!'
'Well, you ARE a juggins!' exclaimed Huish. 'W=
hat
did you want? You wanted to kill him, and tried to last night. You wanted to
kill the 'ole lot of them and tried to, and 'ere I show you 'ow; and because
there's some medicine in a bottle you kick up this fuss!'
'I suppose that's so,' said Davis. 'It don't s=
eem
someways reasonable, only there it is.'
'It's the happlication of science, I suppose?'
sneered Huish.
'I don't know what it is,' cried Davis, pacing=
the
floor; 'it's there! I draw the line at it. I can't put a finger to no such
piggishness. It's too damned hateful!'
'And I suppose it's all your fancy pynted it,'
said Huish, 'w'en you take a pistol and a bit o' lead, and copse a man's br=
ains
all over him? No accountin' for tystes.'
'I'm not denying it,' said Davis, 'It's someth=
ing
here, inside of me. It's foolishness; I dare say it's dam foolishness. I do=
n't
argue, I just draw the line. Isn't there no other way?'
'Look for yourself,' said Huish. 'I ain't wedd=
ed
to this, if you think I am; I ain't ambitious; I don't make a point of play=
in'
the lead; I offer to, that's all, and if you can't show me better, by Gawd,=
I'm
goin' to!'
'Then the risk!' cried Davis.
'If you ast me straight, I should say it was a
case of seven to one and no takers,' said Huish. 'But that's my look-out,
ducky, and I'm gyme, that's wot I am: gyme all through.'
The captain looked at him. Huish sat there,
preening his sinister vanity, glorying in his precedency in evil; and the
villainous courage and readiness of the creature shone out of him like a ca=
ndle
from a lantern. Dismay and a kind of respect seized hold on Davis in his ow=
n despite.
Until that moment, he had seen the clerk always hanging back, always listle=
ss,
uninterested, and openly grumbling at a word of anything to do; and now, by=
the
touch of an enchanter's wand, he beheld him sitting girt and resolved, and =
his
face radiant. He had raised the devil, he thought; and asked who was to con=
trol
him? and his spirits quailed.
'Look as long as you like,' Huish was going on.
'You don't see any green in my eye! I ain't afryde of Attwater, I ain't afr=
yde
of you, and I ain't afryde of words. You want to kill people, that's wot YOU
want; but you want to do it in kid gloves, and it can't be done that w'y.
Murder ain't genteel, it ain't easy, it ain't safe, and it tykes a man to d=
o it.
'Ere's the man.'
'Huish!' began the captain with energy; and th=
en
stopped, and remained staring at him with corrugated brows.
'Well, hout with it!' said Huish. ''Ave you
anythink else to put up? Is there any other chanst to try?'
The captain held his peace.
'There you are then!' said Huish with a shrug.=
Davis fell again to his pacing.
'Oh, you may do sentry-go till you're blue in =
the
mug, you won't find anythink else,' said Huish.
There was a little silence; the captain, like a
man launched on a swing, flying dizzily among extremes of conjecture and
refusal.
'But see,' he said, suddenly pausing. 'Can you?
Can the thing be done? It--it can't be easy.'
'If I get within twenty foot of 'im it'll be d=
one;
so you look out,' said Huish, and his tone of certainty was absolute.
'How can you know that?' broke from the captai=
n in
a choked cry. 'You beast, I believe you've done it before!'
'Oh, that's private affyres,' returned Huish, =
'I
ain't a talking man.'
A shock of repulsion struck and shook the capt=
ain;
a scream rose almost to his lips; had he uttered it, he might have cast him=
self
at the same moment on the body of Huish, might have picked him up, and flung
him down, and wiped the cabin with him, in a frenzy of cruelty that seemed =
half
moral. But the moment passed; and the abortive crisis left the man weaker. =
The
stakes were so high--the pearls on the one hand--starvation and shame on the
other. Ten years of pearls! The imagination of Davis translated them into a
new, glorified existence for himself and his family. The seat of this new l=
ife
must be in London; there were deadly reasons against Portland, Maine; and t=
he
pictures that came to him were of English manners. He saw his boys marching=
in
the procession of a school, with gowns on, an usher marshalling them and
reading as he walked in a great book. He was installed in a villa,
semi-detached; the name, Rosemore, on the gateposts. In a chair on the grav=
el
walk, he seemed to sit smoking a cigar, a blue ribbon in his buttonhole, vi=
ctor
over himself and circumstances, and the malignity of bankers. He saw the pa=
rlour
with red curtains and shells on the mantelpiece--and with the fine
inconsistency of visions, mixed a grog at the mahogany table ere he turned =
in.
With that the Farallone gave one of the aimless and nameless movements which
(even in an anchored ship and even in the most profound calm) remind one of=
the
mobility of fluids; and he was back again under the cover of the house, the
fierce daylight besieging it all round and glaring in the chinks, and the c=
lerk
in a rather airy attitude, awaiting his decision.
He began to walk again. He aspired after the
realisation of these dreams, like a horse nickering for water; the lust of =
them
burned in his inside. And the only obstacle was Attwater, who had insulted =
him
from the first. He gave Herrick a full share of the pearls, he insisted on =
it;
Huish opposed him, and he trod the opposition down; and praised himself
exceedingly. He was not going to use vitriol himself; was he Huish's keeper=
? It
was a pity he had asked, but after all!... he saw the boys again in the sch=
ool
procession, with the gowns he had thought to be so 'tony' long since... And=
at
the same time the incomparable shame of the last evening blazed up in his m=
ind.
'Have it your own way!' he said hoarsely.
'Oh, I knew you would walk up,' said Huish. 'N=
ow
for the letter. There's paper, pens and ink. Sit down and I'll dictyte.'
The captain took a seat and the pen, looked a
while helplessly at the paper, then at Huish. The swing had gone the other =
way;
there was a blur upon his eyes. 'It's a dreadful business,' he said, with a
strong twitch of his shoulders.
'It's rather a start, no doubt,' said Huish. '=
Tyke
a dip of ink. That's it. William John Hattwater, Esq., Sir': he dictated.
'How do you know his name is William John?' as=
ked
Davis.
'Saw it on a packing case,' said Huish. 'Got
that?'
'No,' said Davis. 'But there's another thing. =
What
are we to write?'
'O my golly!' cried the exasperated Huish. 'Wot
kind of man do YOU call yourself? I'M goin' to tell you wot to write; that'=
s my
pitch; if you'll just be so bloomin' condescendin' as to write it down! WIL=
LIAM
JOHN ATTWATER, ESQ., SIR': he reiterated. And the captain at last beginning=
half
mechanically to move his pen, the dictation proceeded:
It is with feelings of shyme and 'artfelt cont=
rition
that I approach you after the yumiliatin' events of last night. Our Mr 'Err=
ick
has left the ship, and will have doubtless communicated to you the nature of
our 'opes. Needless to s'y, these are no longer possible: Fate 'as declyred=
against
us, and we bow the 'ead. Well awyre as I am of the just suspicions with w'i=
ch I
am regarded, I do not venture to solicit the fyvour of an interview for mys=
elf,
but in order to put an end to a situytion w'ich must be equally pyneful to =
all,
I 'ave deputed my friend and partner, Mr J. L. Huish, to l'y before you my
proposals, and w'ich by their moderytion, Will, I trust, be found to merit =
your
attention. Mr J. L. Huish is entirely unarmed, I swear to Gawd! and will 'o=
ld
'is 'ands over 'is 'ead from the moment he begins to approach you. I am you=
r fytheful
servant, John Davis.
=
Huish
read the letter with the innocent joy of amateurs, chuckled gustfully to
himself, and reopened it more than once after it was folded, to repeat the
pleasure; Davis meanwhile sitting inert and heavily frowning.
Of a sudden he rose; he seemed all abroad. 'No=
!'
he cried. 'No! it can't be! It's too much; it's damnation. God would never
forgive it.'
'Well, and 'oo wants Him to?' returned Huish,
shrill with fury. 'You were damned years ago for the Sea Rynger, and said so
yourself. Well then, be damned for something else, and 'old your tongue.'
The captain looked at him mistily. 'No,' he
pleaded, 'no, old man! don't do it.'
''Ere now,' said Huish, 'I'll give you my
ultimytum. Go or st'y w'ere you are; I don't mind; I'm goin' to see that man
and chuck this vitriol in his eyes. If you st'y I'll go alone; the niggers =
will
likely knock me on the 'ead, and a fat lot you'll be the better! But there's
one thing sure: I'll 'ear no more of your moonin', mullygrubbin' rot, and t=
yke
it stryte.'
The captain took it with a blink and a gulp.
Memory, with phantom voices, repeated in his cars something similar, someth=
ing
he had once said to Herrick--years ago it seemed.
'Now, gimme over your pistol,' said Huish. 'I =
'ave
to see all clear. Six shots, and mind you don't wyste them.'
The captain, like a man in a nightmare, laid d=
own
his revolver on the table, and Huish wiped the cartridges and oiled the wor=
ks.
It was close on noon, there was no breath of w=
ind,
and the heat was scarce bearable, when the two men came on deck, had the bo=
at
manned, and passed down, one after another, into the stern-sheets. A white
shirt at the end of an oar served as a flag of truce; and the men, by
direction, and to give it the better chance to be observed, pulled with ext=
reme
slowness. The isle shook before them like a place incandescent; on the face=
of
the lagoon blinding copper suns, no bigger than sixpences, danced and stabb=
ed
them in the eyeballs; there went up from sand and sea, and even from the bo=
at,
a glare of scathing brightness; and as they could only peer abroad from bet=
ween
closed lashes, the excess of light seemed to be changed into a sinister
darkness, comparable to that of a thundercloud before it bursts.
The captain had come upon this errand for any =
one
of a dozen reasons, the last of which was desire for its success. Superstit=
ion
rules all men; semi-ignorant and gross natures, like that of Davis, it rule=
s utterly.
For murder he had been prepared; but this horror of the medicine in the bot=
tle
went beyond him, and he seemed to himself to be parting the last strands th=
at
united him to God. The boat carried him on to reprobation, to damnation; an=
d he
suffered himself to be carried passively consenting, silently bidding farew=
ell
to his better self and his hopes. Huish sat by his side in towering spirits
that were not wholly genuine. Perhaps as brave a man as ever lived, brave a=
s a
weasel, he must still reassure himself with the tones of his own voice; he =
must
play his part to exaggeration, he must out-Herod Herod, insult all that was
respectable, and brave all that was formidable, in a kind of desperate wager
with himself.
'Golly, but it's 'ot!' said he. 'Cruel 'ot, I =
call
it. Nice d'y to get your gruel in! I s'y, you know, it must feel awf'ly
peculiar to get bowled over on a d'y like this. I'd rather 'ave it on a cow=
ld
and frosty morning, wouldn't you? (Singing) "'Ere we go round the mulb=
erry
bush on a cowld and frosty mornin'." (Spoken) Give you my word, I 'ave=
n't thought
o' that in ten year; used to sing it at a hinfant school in 'Ackney, 'Ackney
Wick it was. (Singing) "This is the way the tyler does, the tyler
does." (Spoken) Bloomin' 'umbug. 'Ow are you off now, for the notion o=
f a
future styte? Do you cotton to the tea-fight views, or the old red 'ot bogu=
ey
business?'
'Oh, dry up!' said the captain.
'No, but I want to know,' said Huish. 'It's wi=
thin
the sp'ere of practical politics for you and me, my boy; we may both be bow=
led
over, one up, t'other down, within the next ten minutes. It would be rather=
a lark,
now, if you only skipped across, came up smilin' t'other side, and a hangel=
met
you with a B. and S. under his wing. 'Ullo, you'd s'y: come, I tyke this ki=
nd.'
The captain groaned. While Huish was thus airi=
ng
and exercising his bravado, the man at his side was actually engaged in pra=
yer.
Prayer, what for? God knows. But out of his inconsistent, illogical, and ag=
itated
spirit, a stream of supplication was poured forth, inarticulate as himself,
earnest as death and judgment.
'Thou Gawd seest me!' continued Huish. 'I reme=
mber
I had that written in my Bible. I remember the Bible too, all about Abinadab
and parties. Well, Gawd!' apostrophising the meridian, 'you're goin' to see=
a
rum start presently, I promise you that!'
The captain bounded.
'I'll have no blasphemy!' he cried, 'no blasph=
emy
in my boat.'
'All right, cap,' said Huish. 'Anythink to obl=
ige.
Any other topic you would like to sudgest, the rynegyge, the lightnin' rod,
Shykespeare, or the musical glasses? 'Ere's conversation on a tap. Put a pe=
nny
in the slot, and... 'ullo! 'ere they are!' he cried. 'Now or never is 'e go=
in' to
shoot?'
And the little man straightened himself into an
alert and dashing attitude, and looked steadily at the enemy. But the capta=
in rose
half up in the boat with eyes protruding.
'What's that?' he cried.
'Wot's wot?' said Huish.
'Those--blamed things,' said the captain.
And indeed it was something strange. Herrick a=
nd
Attwater, both armed with Winchesters, had appeared out of the grove behind=
the
figure-head; and to either hand of them, the sun glistened upon two metallic
objects, locomotory like men, and occupying in the economy of these creatur=
es
the places of heads--only the heads were faceless. To Davis between wind and
water, his mythology appeared to have come alive, and Tophet to be vomiting
demons. But Huish was not mystified a moment.
'Divers' 'elmets, you ninny. Can't you see?' he
said.
'So they are,' said Davis, with a gasp. 'And w=
hy?
Oh, I see, it's for armour.'
'Wot did I tell you?' said Huish. 'Dyvid and
Goliar all the w'y and back.'
The two natives (for they it was that were
equipped in this unusual panoply of war) spread out to right and left, and =
at
last lay down in the shade, on the extreme flank of the position. Even now =
that
the mystery was explained, Davis was hatefully preoccupied, stared at the f=
lame
on their crests, and forgot, and then remembered with a smile, the explanat=
ion.
Attwater withdrew again into the grove, and
Herrick, with his gun under his arm, came down the pier alone.
About half-way down he halted and hailed the b=
oat.
'What do you want?' he cried.
'I'll tell that to Mr Attwater,' replied Huish,
stepping briskly on the ladder. 'I don't tell it to you, because you played=
the
trucklin' sneak. Here's a letter for him: tyke it, and give it, and be 'ang=
ed
to you!'
'Davis, is this all right?' said Herrick.
Davis raised his chin, glanced swiftly at Herr=
ick
and away again, and held his peace. The glance was charged with some deep
emotion, but whether of hatred or of fear, it was beyond Herrick to divine.=
'Well,' he said, 'I'll give the letter.' He dr=
ew a
score with his foot on the boards of the gangway. 'Till I bring the answer,
don't move a step past this.'
And he returned to where Attwater leaned again=
st a
tree, and gave him the letter. Attwater glanced it through.
'What does that mean?' he asked, passing it to
Herrick.
'Treachery?'
'Oh, I suppose so!' said Herrick.
'Well, tell him to come on,' said Attwater. 'O=
ne
isn't a fatalist for nothing. Tell him to come on and to look out.'
Herrick returned to the figure-head. Half-way =
down
the pier the clerk was waiting, with Davis by his side.
'You are to come along, Huish,' said Herrick. =
'He
bids you look out, no tricks.'
Huish walked briskly up the pier, and paused f=
ace
to face with the young man.
'W'ere is 'e?' said he, and to Herrick's surpr=
ise,
the low-bred, insignificant face before him flushed suddenly crimson and we=
nt
white again.
'Right forward,' said Herrick, pointing. 'Now =
your
hands above your head.'
The clerk turned away from him and towards the
figure-head, as though he were about to address to it his devotions; he was
seen to heave a deep breath; and raised his arms. In common with many men of
his unhappy physical endowments, Huish's hands were disproportionately long=
and
broad, and the palms in particular enormous; a four-ounce jar was nothing in
that capacious fist. The next moment he was plodding steadily forward on his
mission.
Herrick at first followed. Then a noise in his
rear startled him, and he turned about to find Davis already advanced as fa=
r as
the figure-head. He came, crouching and open-mouthed, as the mesmerised may
follow the mesmeriser; all human considerations, and even the care of his o=
wn
life, swallowed up in one abominable and burning curiosity.
'Halt!' cried Herrick, covering him with his
rifle. 'Davis, what are you doing, man? YOU are not to come.'
Davis instinctively paused, and regarded him w=
ith
a dreadful vacancy of eye.
'Put your back to that figure-head, do you hear
me? and stand fast!' said Herrick.
The captain fetched a breath, stepped back aga=
inst
the figure-head, and instantly redirected his glances after Huish.
There was a hollow place of the sand in that p=
art,
and, as it were, a glade among the cocoa palms in which the direct noonday =
sun
blazed intolerably. At the far end, in the shadow, the tall figure of Attwa=
ter was
to be seen leaning on a tree; towards him, with his hands over his head, and
his steps smothered in the sand, the clerk painfully waded. The surrounding
glare threw out and exaggerated the man's smallness; it seemed no less peri=
lous
an enterprise, this that he was gone upon, than for a whelp to besiege a
citadel.
'There, Mr Whish. That will do,' cried Attwate=
r.
'From that distance, and keeping your hands up, like a good boy, you can ve=
ry
well put me in possession of the skipper's views.'
The interval betwixt them was perhaps forty fe=
et;
and Huish measured it with his eye, and breathed a curse. He was already
distressed with labouring in the loose sand, and his arms ached bitterly fr=
om
their unnatural position. In the palm of his right hand, the jar was ready;=
and
his heart thrilled, and his voice choked as he began to speak.
'Mr Hattwater,' said he, 'I don't know if ever=
you
'ad a mother...'
'I can set your mind at rest: I had,' returned
Attwater; 'and henceforth, if I might venture to suggest it, her name need =
not
recur in our communications. I should perhaps tell you that I am not amenab=
le
to the pathetic.'
'I am sorry, sir, if I 'ave seemed to trespars=
e on
your private feelin's,' said the clerk, cringing and stealing a step. 'At
least, sir, you will never pe'suade me that you are not a perfec' gentleman=
; I know
a gentleman when I see him; and as such, I 'ave no 'esitation in throwin'
myself on your merciful consideration. It IS 'ard lines, no doubt; it's 'ard
lines to have to hown yourself beat; it's 'ard lines to 'ave to come and be=
g to
you for charity.'
'When, if things had only gone right, the whole
place was as good as your own?' suggested Attwater. 'I can understand the
feeling.'
'You are judging me, Mr Attwater,' said the cl=
erk,
'and God knows how unjustly! THOU GAWD SEEST ME, was the tex' I 'ad in my
Bible, w'ich my father wrote it in with 'is own 'and upon the fly leaft.'
'I am sorry I have to beg your pardon once mor=
e,'
said Attwater; 'but, do you know, you seem to me to be a trifle nearer, whi=
ch
is entirely outside of our bargain. And I would venture to suggest that you
take one--two--three--steps back; and stay there.'
The devil, at this staggering disappointment,
looked out of Huish's face, and Attwater was swift to suspect. He frowned, =
he
stared on the little man, and considered. Why should he be creeping nearer?=
The
next moment, his gun was at his shoulder.
'Kindly oblige me by opening your hands. Open =
your
hands wide--let me see the fingers spread, you dog--throw down that thing
you're holding!' he roared, his rage and certitude increasing together.
And then, at almost the same moment, the
indomitable Huish decided to throw, and Attwater pulled the trigger. There =
was
scarce the difference of a second between the two resolves, but it was in
favour of the man with the rifle; and the jar had not yet left the clerk's
hand, before the ball shattered both. For the twinkling of an eye the wretch
was in hell's agonies, bathed in liquid flames, a screaming bedlamite; and =
then
a second and more merciful bullet stretched him dead.
The whole thing was come and gone in a breath.
Before Herrick could turn about, before Davis could complete his cry of hor=
ror,
the clerk lay in the sand, sprawling and convulsed.
Attwater ran to the body; he stooped and viewed
it; he put his finger in the vitriol, and his face whitened and hardened wi=
th
anger.
Davis had not yet moved; he stood astonished, =
with
his back to the figure-head, his hands clutching it behind him, his body
inclined forward from the waist.
Attwater turned deliberately and covered him w=
ith
his rifle.
'Davis,' he cried, in a voice like a trumpet, =
'I
give you sixty seconds to make your peace with God!'
Davis looked, and his mind awoke. He did not d=
ream
of self-defence, he did not reach for his pistol. He drew himself up instea=
d to
face death, with a quivering nostril.
'I guess I'll not trouble the Old Man,' he sai=
d;
'considering the job I was on, I guess it's better business to just shut my
face.'
Attwater fired; there came a spasmodic movemen=
t of
the victim, and immediately above the middle of his forehead, a black hole
marred the whiteness of the figure-head. A dreadful pause; then again the
report, and the solid sound and jar of the bullet in the wood; and this time
the captain had felt the wind of it along his cheek. A third shot, and he w=
as
bleeding from one ear; and along the levelled rifle Attwater smiled like a =
Red
Indian.
The cruel game of which he was the puppet was =
now
clear to Davis; three times he had drunk of death, and he must look to drin=
k of
it seven times more before he was despatched. He held up his hand.
'Steady!' he cried; 'I'll take your sixty
seconds.'
'Good!' said Attwater.
The captain shut his eyes tight like a child: =
he
held his hands up at last with a tragic and ridiculous gesture.
'My God, for Christ's sake, look after my two
kids,' he said; and then, after a pause and a falter, 'for Christ's sake,
Amen.'
And he opened his eyes and looked down the rif=
le
with a quivering mouth.
'But don't keep fooling me long!' he pleaded.<= o:p>
'That's all your prayer?' asked Attwater, with=
a
singular ring in his voice.
'Guess so,' said Davis.
So?' said Attwater, resting the butt of his ri=
fle
on the ground, 'is that done? Is your peace made with Heaven? Because it is
with me. Go, and sin no more, sinful father. And remember that whatever you=
do
to others, God shall visit it again a thousand-fold upon your innocents.'
The wretched Davis came staggering forward from
his place against the figure-head, fell upon his knees, and waved his hands,
and fainted.
When he came to himself again, his head was on
Attwater's arm, and close by stood one of the men in divers' helmets, holdi=
ng a
bucket of water, from which his late executioner now laved his face. The me=
mory
of that dreadful passage returned upon him in a clap; again he saw Huish ly=
ing dead,
again he seemed to himself to totter on the brink of an unplumbed eternity.=
With
trembling hands he seized hold of the man whom he had come to slay; and his
voice broke from him like that of a child among the nightmares of fever: 'O!
isn't there no mercy? O! what must I do to be saved?'
'Ah!' thought Attwater, 'here's the true penit=
ent.'
On a very bright, hot, lusty, strongly blowing
noon, a fortnight after the events recorded, and a month since the curtain =
rose
upon this episode, a man might have been spied, praying on the sand by the
lagoon beach. A point of palm trees isolated him from the settlement; and f=
rom the
place where he knelt, the only work of man's hand that interrupted the expa=
nse,
was the schooner Farallone, her berth quite changed, and rocking at anchor =
some
two miles to windward in the midst of the lagoon. The noise of the Trade ran
very boisterous in all parts of the island; the nearer palm trees crashed a=
nd
whistled in the gusts, those farther off contributed a humming bass like the
roar of cities; and yet, to any man less absorbed, there must have risen at
times over this turmoil of the winds, the sharper note of the human voice f=
rom
the settlement. There all was activity. Attwater, stripped to his trousers =
and
lending a strong hand of help, was directing and encouraging five Kanakas; =
from
his lively voice, and their more lively efforts, it was to be gathered that
some sudden and joyful emergency had set them in this bustle; and the Union
Jack floated once more on its staff. But the suppliant on the beach,
unconscious of their voices, prayed on with instancy and fervour, and the s=
ound
of his voice rose and fell again, and his countenance brightened and was
deformed with changing moods of piety and terror.
Before his closed eyes, the skiff had been for
some time tacking towards the distant and deserted Farallone; and presently=
the
figure of Herrick might have been observed to board her, to pass for a while
into the house, thence forward to the forecastle, and at last to plunge into
the main hatch. In all these quarters, his visit was followed by a coil of =
smoke;
and he had scarce entered his boat again and shoved off, before flames broke
forth upon the schooner. They burned gaily; kerosene had not been spared, a=
nd
the bellows of the Trade incited the conflagration. About half way on the
return voyage, when Herrick looked back, he beheld the Farallone wrapped to=
the
topmasts in leaping arms of fire, and the voluminous smoke pursuing him alo=
ng
the face of the lagoon. In one hour's time, he computed, the waters would h=
ave
closed over the stolen ship.
It so chanced that, as his boat flew before the
wind with much vivacity, and his eyes were continually busy in the wake,
measuring the progress of the flames, he found himself embayed to the north=
ward
of the point of palms, and here became aware at the same time of the figure=
of
Davis immersed in his devotion. An exclamation, part of annoyance, part of =
amusement,
broke from him: and he touched the helm and ran the prow upon the beach not
twenty feet from the unconscious devotee. Taking the painter in his hand, he
landed, and drew near, and stood over him. And still the voluble and incohe=
rent
stream of prayer continued unabated. It was not possible for him to overhear
the suppliant's petitions, which he listened to some while in a very mingled
mood of humour and pity: and it was only when his own name began to occur a=
nd
to be conjoined with epithets, that he at last laid his hand on the captain=
's
shoulder.
'Sorry to interrupt the exercise,' said he; 'b=
ut I
want you to look at the Farallone.'
The captain scrambled to his feet, and stood
gasping and staring. 'Mr Herrick, don't startle a man like that!' he said. =
'I
don't seem someways rightly myself since...' he broke off. 'What did you say
anyway? O, the Farallone,' and he looked languidly out.
'Yes,' said Herrick. 'There she burns! and you=
may
guess from that what the news is.'
'The Trinity Hall, I guess,' said the captain.=
'The same,' said Herrick; 'sighted half an hour
ago, and coming up hand over fist.'
'Well, it don't amount to a hill of beans,' sa=
id
the captain with a sigh.
'O, come, that's rank ingratitude!' cried Herr=
ick.
'Well,' replied the captain, meditatively, 'you
mayn't just see the way that I view it in, but I'd 'most rather stay here u=
pon
this island. I found peace here, peace in believing. Yes, I guess this isla=
nd
is about good enough for John Davis.'
'I never heard such nonsense!' cried Herrick.
'What! with all turning out in your favour the way it does, the Farallone w=
iped
out, the crew disposed of, a sure thing for your wife and family, and you,
yourself, Attwater's spoiled darling and pet penitent!'
'Now, Mr Herrick, don't say that,' said the
captain gently; 'when you know he don't make no difference between us. But,=
O!
why not be one of us? why not come to Jesus right away, and let's meet in y=
on
beautiful land? That's just the one thing wanted; just say, Lord, I believe,
help thou mine unbelief! And He'll fold you in His arms. You see, I know! I=
've
been a sinner myself!'