Mrs. Banneret, recalling her Flemington experiences on Cup Day, had
arranged for a symposium on a novel and comprehensive scale—to take
place after the great event of the day. Notwithstanding the widely
differing conditions of the respective race-courses, she determined,
with the co-operation of her husband and sons, to have something like
a representative Australian function, worthy of her country’s
hospitable customs and of this truly memorable occasion.
Having persuaded several of their most intimate friends to have their
carriages standing fairly close to each other, a sort of ‘corral’ was
arranged, within which a clear space was left free.
This gave room for tressels, upon which were placed temporary tables,
rather long and narrow, but capable of holding such meats, wines, and
other refreshments as are usually dispensed at races. Of course some
diplomatic management was necessary to carry through an innovation
foreign to the traditionary, time-honoured habitudes of English
race-goers. With the help of a few extra police (the Inspector had
been in Australia) and a small army of waiters, supplied by the
caterer, a reasonable compromise was arrived at. A calculation was
made, by which it could be demonstrated that if even a third more than
the number of expected guests arrived, they could be supplied with
seats and a liberal supply of the delicacies of the season, together
with a few glasses of ‘Dry Monopole,’ or, having regard to the lower
temperature of Britain, with a ‘touch of the real Mackay.’
It was well that the calculation did not fail on the elastic side; for
when it leaked out that Arnold Banneret, sometime of Carjagong, New
South Wales, and more recently of Pilot Mount, West Australia, was
entertaining his friends, had won largely, indeed, on the victory of
Moifaa, it was wonderful what a number of colonists turned up. Among
them were Lord Newstead and his lovely wife, the latter in her
priceless Russian sables, and otherwise appropriately adorned. She was
so glad to meet her husband’s kind, good friends, whose chance meeting
with Percy and poor dear Southwater had been so fortunate for both.
She hoped that Mr. and Mrs. Banneret and the girls would pay her a
visit at Newstead. As for Mr. Reginald and Mr. Eric, if they could
spare the time, they would know—young men being so scarce just now—how
welcome they would be at her country house, or, indeed, any other. She
believed she would really take a run over to that delightful Golden
West some day—where, apparently, the precious metal was lying about in
heaps, waiting to be picked up.
‘Not quite so easy a game as that,’ said his Lordship—‘eh,
Mr. Banneret? Little accidents like fever, “robbery under arms,”
hunger and thirst, intervene sometimes _before_ the discovery of Tom
Tiddler’s Ground, or Pilot Mount. We both had a look-in from the fever
fiend—a “close call,” too, as our Yankee friends say—and but for that
tender nursing—why, bless my soul! you don’t say?—it can’t be! Well,
of all the people in the world who’d have ever thought of seeing _you_
here!’ and upon this excited exclamation, Percy, Lord Newstead, rushed
forward, and accosting a pair of rather distinguished-looking persons,
seized the lady by the hand, and shook it effusively, somewhat to the
surprise of her companion, who had evidently never seen his Lordship
before. Lady Newstead, too, looked slightly curious until her husband,
almost dragging the strange lady with him, said, ‘My dear, allow me to
introduce to you Mrs. Lilburne, who saved my life in West Australia,
and to whom you owe your present possession of my unworthy self. There
was _one night_ on which I never thought to see England again, I
assure you.’
‘My dear Percy, you needn’t be quite so demonstrative. Mrs. Lilburne
looks almost alarmed. I quite agree with you in believing that we
should never have met here but for her great care and kindness.
Really, Mrs. Lilburne, I think I should have recognised you even
without Percy’s assistance—he has so often described you to me. But I
see Mrs. Banneret is laying claim to a share of your attention; so I
think we had better do honour now to the lunch, to which we were all
so kindly invited. Mr. Lilburne is wondering where _he_ comes in. I
see we must make common cause. I am anxious to hear some of _your_
adventures, which I am told are too thrilling.’
‘I should be charmed, Lady Newstead—they were rather unusual; but my
wife and I have entered into a solemn compact that I am not to divulge
the secrets of the prison-house. She has the copyright—if I may use
the term—and to her alone belongs the right to disclose that strange
passage of my life. In the meantime, we are both quite well, and more
than happy. Permit me to offer to fill your glass with our mutual
friends’ excellent champagne, and to wish them continued health and
unclouded happiness.’
Lady Newstead accepted the invitation, and they moved over to a
position nearer their hostess, who, with the aid of the head of the
house and the younger branches of the family, was ably discharging her
manifold duties.
Just then Mr. Banneret, whose ordinarily calm manner seemed to have
acquired an accession of gaiety from the influence of the scene, had
been explaining to Lady Woods, who, recently arrived from Perth, had
assumed her well-known character of ‘the life and soul of the party,’
how delighted he and his wife were to find so many old friends able to
keep high festival with them this day.
‘If I could (borrowing a joke from the “Goldfields Act and
Regulations,” which I used to know by heart) obtain a Booth License to
dispense wines and spirits, I should be inclined to call this the
“Inn of Strange Meetings”—inasmuch as the number of friends and
acquaintances who have “come up” from the Under World, as Tennyson
hath it, is like an army with banners. Not only from the inmost
deserts, but—and here’ (his face changing suddenly as he spoke) ‘comes
one from the grave itself.’
With these words he hailed a tall man sauntering past, who, dressed in
the height of the reigning race-course fashion, in no respect
diverging from the canon of ‘good form’ in raiment or otherwise, bore
yet an exceptional and striking personality.
‘Tena koe, Captain, haere mai.’
A Maori response immediately followed, as the person addressed,
drawing himself up, bent a pair of stern blue eyes upon his
interlocutor, while Arnold Banneret, whose expression was compounded
in almost equal parts of welcome and wonder, fear and amazement, gazed
anxiously upon the stranger’s countenance. The new-comer was tall,
considerably indeed above the height of men ordinarily thus described,
though his broad chest and athletic frame caused his unusual height to
be less apparent. His bronzed cheek was traversed by a scar, ‘a token
true of Bosworth Field,’ or other engagement, where shrewd blows had
been exchanged.
‘Glad to see you again,’ said the host. ‘Waiter, bring
Captain—Captain——’
‘Bucklaw,’ interposed the stranger guest—‘been back to the old place.’
‘Of course, of course, quite natural!’ continued his entertainer;
‘bring Captain Bucklaw champagne.’
The glasses were not small, having been specially ordered, and as the
gallant Captain drained his, he clinked glasses with his host, and,
with a glance which combined an air of reckless daring with a savour
of almost schoolboy mischief, he said: ‘It’s not necessary to say,
Judge, that I’m here incog.—Captain Bucklaw, of the steamer _Haitchi
Maru_, with British-owned cargo, and passenger steamer now at anchor
below Gravesend, cleared from San Francisco, is not to be mistaken for
the captain of the _Leonora_ beneath the blue wave of Chabrat Harbour.
I brought over a cargo of rice, and take back one of flour with, of
course, sundries, not particularly named in the manifest. She’s faster
than most “tramps,” and carries five guns—two of them No. 7
quick-firers.’
‘And so you came to England to see a steeplechase?’
‘That is so—or rather, being in England again, I thought I would have
a look at the great race that everybody was talking about. Heard, too,
that there was a New Zealand horse in it. You know that we Southerners
are death on horse-racing. That time you and I met at Opononi, Captain
John Webster’s place on the Hokianga (I bought a cargo of Kauri timber
from him), I went to the race meeting at Auckland, where we were
filling up with frozen lamb. I was struck then with the make and shape
of horses bred at Mount Eden—saw Carbine, too. What a horse that was!
Now in England, I hear. So I backed Moifaa, like the other flax and
manuka men, and made money enough almost to buy a new ship.’
‘But, Captain, how is it that we see you here, or indeed anywhere
else, in _the flesh_? We heard that——’
‘Yes, I know—been dead nearly three years. Knocked on the head and
thrown overboard by a rascally cook’s mate. Dead, of course. Blue
shark’s meat, and so on.’
‘That part is true, then?’
‘Yes, I _was_ stunned and thrown overboard by that scoundrel and the
boatswain together. But I was not drowned—far from it. The water
brought me to, and I struck out for an island that I knew in that
latitude; and, fortunately, before I got near enough to the reef for
the sharks to sample me, I was picked up by a canoe, with natives,
crossing from one island to another.
‘They took me to their village, where I lived for six months. Reported
dead, of course. So I concluded to stay dead. It’s not a bad thing,
now and then. I was taken off by a whaler, and landed at Valparaiso to
begin life afresh as Captain Bucklaw, and got a new ship when this
Russo-Jap War broke out; and now stand a chance of dying an Admiral of
the Japanese Fleet. But say—isn’t that my passenger of the _Leonora_
from Molokai to Ponapé and ports? Don Carlos Alvarez? Suppose we fire
a gun across his bows, and bring him to? Who’s the handsome woman he’s
talking to?’
‘His wife—the celebrated Nurse Lilburne, of Pilot Mount, Kalgoorlie,
West Australia, who saved more lives in the typhoid fever epidemic
than all the doctors on the field.’
‘Is that so? Then I’m proud of having been the means of bringing her
best patient back to her. Hope he’ll stay _put_. The buccaneer has
more than one good deed to his account; maybe the recording angel
won’t forget to post that one up!’
‘Oh, Captain, is that you? We heard you were dead—how grieved Alister
and I were after parting with you.’
‘I was reported missing for six months, señora!’ said he, with a low
bow, and the fascinating smile, half melancholy, half remorseful,
which had proved so irresistible in his path through life. ‘It is
nearly the same thing—sometimes worse indeed—meaning slavery,
tortures, indignities; but occasionally, though rarely, one escapes,
through the mediation of his Patron Saint, let us say, and has once
more the honour to salute his friends—and passengers!’
By this time Mrs. Banneret had moved closer to the romantic personage,
to whom she was made known in due form; and the younger members of the
family having come up, lured by the report that the tall stranger was
a pirate of the Spanish main—or some such dark and terrible adventurer
analogous to fascinating outlawry, they were presented severally, but
kept gazing as if spellbound, congratulating themselves upon having
seen—even if it were for but once in their lives—a real-life
accredited delightful pirate!
‘Such a handsome man!’ said Hermione. ‘It’s not that alone—though, of
course, he _is_ very handsome, and he has beautiful eyes, that look
right through you, and has immense strength, plain for all men to see.
But there’s the calm dignity of command, a birthright never to be
acquired. You feel that such a man _must_ be obeyed; that no one would
_dare_ to resist for one moment. No doubt he has shed blood—which is
dreadful to think of—but he has saved life also, and done many
merciful and charitable actions—if we only knew.’
‘Oh, yes! scores, hundreds,’ said Vanda: ‘carried starving crowds of
natives away from their islands when the crops had failed; picked up
canoes at sea when they were beginning to cast lots for one to die to
save the rest; and——’
‘Don’t tell me any more,’ pleaded Hermione. ‘I can’t bear it.’
‘And they say that if he was arrested he could be thrown into prison
for offences against maritime law—whatever that may be. He _was_
arrested at Honolulu, and was a prisoner upon a British man-of-war.’
‘Yes!’ cried Vanda; ‘but they couldn’t prove anything against him. So
they had to let him go again, and he gave a ball afterwards. So he
couldn’t have done anything very wicked. He sings, and plays on the
violin, and guitar too. What a draw he would be in opera!’
‘Mrs. Lilburne says she will _never_ forget his kindness to her
husband. He got him away from that dreadful island, where he would
have died. So would she. She had a great mind to commit suicide, and
was only kept alive by the incessant work in the hospital at Pilot
Mount, where she nursed father, and Lord Newstead, and lots of poor
miners.’