"STOLEN FROM THE SEA!"
"Love, whose month is ever May,
Spied a blossom passing fair."
_Much Ado About Nothing._
"ANOTHER fine, sunshiny day," is naturally of common recurrence in
the East, and it was yet another magnificent afternoon at Ross—very
bright, very warm, and very still. Underneath the long wooden pier
vast shoals of little silver sardines were hurrying through the water,
pursued by a greedy dolphin, and leaping now and then in a glittering
shower into the air to escape his voracious jaws. Coal-black, stunted
Andamanese were here and there squatting on the rocks, patiently
angling with the most primitive of tackle, and two or three policemen,
in roomy blue tunics and portentous turbans, were gossiping together
about rupees and rice. Some half-dozen soldiers, with open coats and
pipe in mouth, sat, with their legs dangling over the pier, fishing.
Further on, with folded arms, and wistful eyes, a tall gaunt Bengalee
stood, aloof and alone. He was a zemindar from Oude, and had been in
the settlement since 1858 (an ominous date); now he was the holder
of a ticket, was free to open a shop in the bazaar, and make a rapid
fortune; free to accept a plot of the most fertile ground on the
face of the globe, free to marry a convict woman, free within the
settlement, but there his liberty ended. His body is imprisoned, but
who can chain the mind? His is far away beyond those dim, blue islands,
and the shining "Kala Panee!" In imagination he now stands, not upon
Ross pier, but on wide-stretching plains far north; his horizon is
bounded by magnificent forest trees, and topes of fragrant mangoes:
once more he sees his native village, and the familiar well, his plot
of land, his home; just as he saw it twenty years ago. But too well
does he remember every inmate of those small, white-washed hovels;
their faces are before him now—for, alas! what has been left to _him_
but memory? Bitterly has he expiated those few frenzied weeks, when
for a brief space, he and his neighbours felt that they had broken the
accursed yoke, and trampled it beneath their feet—bitterer, ten times,
is it to know that he was sold and betrayed by his own familiar friend!
At this maddening recollection, a kind of convulsive spasm contracts
his features, and he mutters fiercely in his beard. He would
gladly—nay, gratefully—give all that remains to him of life, just to
have "Ram Sing" at his mercy for one short moment—ay, but one! These
are some of the thoughts that flit through his mind, as he stands apart
with folded arms, and his dark, hawk-like countenance immovably bent
on the sea, deaf to the hoarse, loud laughter of Tommy Atkins, who
has had a good "take"—to the screeching home-bound peacocks, and the
discordant yells of the Andamanese at play.
They have no tragic memories, this group of young men coming down the
pier in tennis garb; or, if they have, their faces much belie them—Mr.
Quentin, Captain Rodney, Mr. Reid, and Dr. Malone (whose smooth, fair
skin, and sandy hair disavow his thirty summers).
"I told you so!" he exclaimed, as he hitched himself up on the edge of
the pier. "They are all gone out, every man Jack of them—the Creerys,
the Homes, Dr. Parkes, and Mr. Latimer, not to speak of our two young
ladies. They have gone down to Chatham to take tea with Mrs. Graham,
and the island is a desert!"
"Fancy going three miles by water for a cup of hot water," said Mr.
Quentin derisively; "but women will go _anywhere_ for tea. Where are
Jones and Lea?" he inquired.
"Where you ought to be, my boy: up decorating the mess for the dance
this evening."
"Oh!" rather grandly, "I sent my butler over, and lots of flowers."
"If we were all to do that, I wonder 'what like it would be,' as they
say in your native land, Reid?" remarked Dr. Malone. "And where is
Green?"
"Out fishing with Lisle," replied Captain Rodney. "And, ahem! talk of
angels, here they come," as at this moment a sailing-boat suddenly shot
round a point and made for the pier.
"I've not seen Lisle for weeks!" remarked Dr. Malone; "not since the
picnic on Mount Harriet. What has he been up to?"—to Mr. Quentin.
"Oh! he only enjoys society by fits and starts, and a little of it goes
a long way with him."
"Hullo, you fellows!" hailed the doctor, leaning half his long body
over the railings, "any luck?"
"Luck? I should just think so!" returned Lisle, standing up. "Two
bottle-nosed sharks, a conger-eel, a sword-fish, and any quantity of
sea-monsters, name and tribe unknown."
"Is that all?"
"No, not all. Green caught about a dozen crabs going out."
"Oh! now I say," expostulated Mr. Green, a fair young subaltern about
six months from Sandhurst, "it was those beastly oars."
"There was an animal like a sea-cow that nearly towed us over to
Burmah," said Mr. Lisle, as he came up the steps, "and finally went off
with all the tackle."
"The sea serpent, of course!" ejaculated Dr. Malone. "And, by-the-way,
how is it that we have not seen you for a month of Sundays, eh? Coming
to the ball to-night?"
"Ball! what ball? How can there be one without ladies?"
"Nonsense, man alive! what are you talking about? Haven't we
seventeen?" putting his hat under his arm and commencing to count on
his fingers. "There is Mrs. King, Mrs. Graham, Mrs. Manners—the widow
from Viper—Mrs. Creery——"
"Mrs. Creery! You may as well say Mrs. Caggett while you are about it."
"I may _not_. Mrs. Creery is a grand woman to dance, and you will see
her and your humble servant taking the floor in style before you are
many hours older! If all the ladies put in an appearance, and do their
duty, we shall have an A1 dance. Of course you are coming?"
"No," put in Mr. Quentin, rather quickly. "How could you ask him?
Does he look like a dancing man? Here are the fish coming up. What
whoppers!" turning towards the steps.
"And here comes something else!" exclaimed the doctor, pointing to
a white sail approaching the island. "It's easy to see what _you_
have come down for, my boy!" to Apollo, who smiled significantly, and
accepted the soft impeachment without demur.
"Quentin is a lucky fellow, isn't he?" said Mr. Green, addressing
himself to Mr. Lisle with all the enthusiasm of ignorance. "He has had
it all his own way from the first; none of us were in it! And although
our circle of ladies _is_ small, I'll venture to say we could show a
beauty against Madras or Rangoon; yes, and I'll throw in Calcutta, too!
I'll back 'La Belle Hélène' against anything they like to enter, for
pace, shape and looks!"
Here Mr. Lisle turned upon his heel and walked away.
"What's up? What's the matter, eh?" demanded the youth of Mr. Quentin,
who was now gazing abstractedly at the approaching boat, with a
cigarette between his teeth.
"Oh, he did not approve of your conversation; he does not think ladies
should be talked about, and all that sort of rubbish."
"Pooh; why not?—and was I not praising her up to the skies? What more
could I have said? And I'm sure if you don't mind, _he_ need not!"
"No, but he did," remarked Dr. Malone. "He looked capable just now of
tossing you out as a sort of light supper to the sharks, my little C.
Green!"
"And a very light meal it would be," said Mr. Green with a broad grin.
"Nothing but clothes and bones. Here comes Miss Caggett and a whole lot
of people, and won't she just walk into _us_ for not decorating the
mess!"
At this instant Miss Caggett and some half-dozen satellites appeared
in view, and behind her, walking with Dr. Parkes, came a lady we have
never seen before, Mrs. Durand, who had only that morning returned to
the settlement.
"Well," cried the sprightly Lizzie, surveying the guilty group with
great dignity, "I call this _pretty_ behaviour! What a lazy, selfish,
good-for-nothing set!" beginning piano, and ending crescendo.
Dr. Malone nodded his head like a mandarin at each of these adjectives,
and declared,—
"So they _are_, Miss Caggett, so they are. I quite agree with you."
The young lady merely darted a scornful glance in his direction, and
proceeded,—
"Mr. Quentin, well, I've given you up long ago. Mr. Green, I cannot
say much to _you_, when grown-up people set you such an example" (a
back-handed slap at Mr. C. Green's tender years). "Mr. Lisle, you here?
and pray what have you got to say for yourself? What is your excuse?"
"My excuse," coming forward and doffing his hat, "is, that I have no
more idea of decorating a room than one of the settlement elephants—in
fact, my genius is of a destructive, rather than of a constructive
order. But I am always prepared to appreciate other people's handiwork."
"Well, you _are_ cool," staring at him for a second in scornful silence.
"Now, Dr. Malone," pointing at him with her parasol, "let us hear what
you have got to say for yourself."
Dr. Malone rested his chin on the top of his tennis-bat, and calmly
contemplated his fair questioner in a somewhat dreamy fashion, and then
was understood to say,—
"That as long as Miss Caggett was in a ball-room, any other decoration
was quite superfluous!"
To which Miss Caggett responded by rapping him on the knuckles with the
handle of her sunshade, and saying,—
"Blarney!"
Meanwhile Mrs. Durand had joined the group, and now received a very
warm welcome. It was easy to see that she was a popular person at Port
Blair. She was upwards of thirty, with a full but very erect figure,
smiling dark eyes, good features, and white teeth, the upper row of
which she showed very much as she talked. She wore a hat with a dark
blue veil, a pretty cambric dress, and carried a red parasol over her
arm (a grand landmark, that same parasol, for Mrs. Creery).
"Great events never happen alone!" quoth Dr. Malone, bowing over his
bat. "Here, in one day, we have the mail in, the full moon, the ball,
and Mrs. Durand! It is quite needless to inquire after Mrs. Durand's
health?"
Mr. Quentin moved forward to accost the lady, his large person having
hitherto entirely concealed his friend, and as he moved, Mrs. Durand's
eyes fell upon Gilbert Lisle. She opened them very wide, shut them, and
opened them once more, and said in a slow, staccato voice,—
"I believe I am not dreaming, and that I see Mr. Lisle. Mr. Lisle,"
holding out a plump and eager hand, "what on _earth_ brings _you_ here?"
Precisely what every one wanted to know.
Mrs. Durand had a habit of laying great stress on some of her words,
and she uttered the word earth with extraordinary emphasis.
Her acquaintance, upon whom all eyes were now riveted, smiled, shook
hands, muttered incoherently, and contrived, by some skilful manœuvre,
to draw the lady from the centre of the crowd.
"I never was so amazed in my life!" she reiterated. "What put it into
your head to come here, of all places?"
"Oh, I wanted to see something out of the common, and to enlarge my
ideas."
"Indeed, I did not know that they required extension! One could
understand our being here—we are sent, like the convicts; but
outsiders—and, of all people, you!"
"There is first-class fishing to be had, and boating, and all that sort
of thing; and the scenery is perfect," he answered.
"Granted—and pray how long have you been at Port Blair?"
"I came in July," he replied, rather apologetically.
"July!" she echoed, "and this is November!—_five_ months! And may I
ask what is the attraction, besides sailing and sharks?"
"The unconventional life, the temporary escape from politics and post
cards, express trains, telegrams, and the bores of one's acquaintance."
"Well, every one to their taste, of course! You like Port Blair, give
_me_ park Lane. As to politics, we have our politics here. Have you not
discovered that we are an absolute monarchy?"
"Yes," smiling; "but, alas! I am not in favour at court."
"No? neither am I. I'm in the Opposition. I'm one of the reds,"
laughing, and displaying all her teeth. "Here are all these people
coming back, and I must go; I have a great deal to do at home.
Remember, that I shall expect to see you very often—_sans cérémonie_.
Oh, I suppose that tall girl is Miss Denis? Charlie says she is
uncommonly pretty, and not spoiled _yet_. By the way," pausing, and
looking at him significantly, "I wonder if you have been losing your
heart, as well as enlarging your ideas?"
"Do I ever lose my heart?" he asked. "Am I an inflammable person?"
"No, indeed—quite the reverse; warranted not to ignite, I should say,"
shaking her head. "And now I really must be going, or Mrs. Creery will
catch me, and cross-examine me. Of course, we shall meet this evening?"
Mr. Lisle walked with her to the end of the pier, bending towards her,
and apparently speaking with unusual earnestness, as Miss Caggett
remarked. At the gate, he and the lady parted, he taking off his hat,
she waving her hand towards him twice, as if to enforce some special
injunction.
The gig was now alongside the steps, and its late passengers had
ascended to the pier. Miss Denis was the last to leave the boat, and
was at once surrounded by Mr. Quentin, Dr. Malone, Captain Rodney, and
Mr. Green, a faithless quartette, who all quitted Miss Caggett in a
body.
"Well, Miss Denis," said Mr. Green, "I am glad to see that you have
not forgotten the button-hole I asked you to bring me," pointing to a
flower in the front of her dress.
"Oh, this!" taking it out and twirling it carelessly in her fingers.
"I certainly did not gather it for your adornment, but still, if you
like," half tendering it; but becoming conscious of Mr. Quentin's
greedy, outstretched hand, she paused.
"You surely would not?" he began pathetically.
"No, I would _not_, certainly not. I will give it to the sea," and
suiting the action to the word, she tossed it over the railings into
the water.
"Oh, Miss Denis," exclaimed Mr. Green with a groan, "how could you
trifle with my feelings in such a manner? How could you raise me to a
pinnacle of happiness, and cast me down to the depths of despair? Have
you no conscience?"
"It would have been a precedent," she answered gaily. "I know you only
too well—you would have demanded a bouquet every time I returned to
the island."
Here, for the first time, her eyes fell upon Mr. Lisle, who had now
joined the outer circle—Mr. Lisle, whom she had not seen for six
weeks. She coloured with astonishment, and accorded him rather a stiff
little bow. He did not come forward, but contented himself with merely
raising his hat, and remaining in the background.
Helen had once rather timidly asked after him, from Mr. Quentin (it
seemed so strange, that he had never been over to Ross, since the day
of the picnic, when they had made that never-to-be-forgotten expedition
down the mountain, escorted by torches and fire-flies).
To Miss Denis's somewhat faltering question, Mr. Quentin had brusquely
replied "that Lisle had on one of his sulky fits, and the chances were,
he would not come over to Ross again—he was an odd, unsociable, surly
sort of beggar!"
Apparently he had now recovered from the sulks; for there he stood,
looking as sunburnt, as shabby, and as self-possessed as ever!
"We had a pleasant sail," remarked Mrs. Creery, "but I could not go in
at Chatham on account of Nip! Mrs. Graham makes such a fuss about that
hideous puppy of hers—and, after all, it's only Nip's play! Of course,
I could not leave the poor darling in the boat by himself, so we had
our tea sent out to us, and were very happy all the same," hugging him
as she spoke with sudden rapture.
But Nip (whose _play_ was death to other dogs) stiffened his spine,
and threw back his head; he evidently considered public endearments
inconsistent with personal dignity. He weighed fully twenty-four
pounds, and why Mrs. Creery carried an animal who had the excellent use
of his four legs, was best known to herself.
As she proceeded up the pier, with his head hanging over her shoulder,
he surveyed Dr. Malone and Lisle, who walked behind him, with
unconcealed contempt.
"What a fool she makes of herself about that beast!" muttered the
former. "He despises _us_ for not being carried too. I see it in his
eye! Brute! I'd like to vivisect him."
"Only imagine!" exclaimed Miss Caggett suddenly, "Miss Denis has never
been to a dance in her life!—and," giggling affectedly, "never danced
with any but _girls_."
"And remember," said Jim Quentin, impressively turning and speaking to
Helen in a tender undertone (for the benefit of his friend), "that you
have given _me_ the promise of the first waltz."
The party had now reached a little square, from whence their various
paths diverged.
"You wait for me on the pier like a good fellow," he said to his
companion. "I am just going to walk home with Miss Denis."
Every one now departed in different directions, excepting Mrs. Creery,
who remained behind at the cross-roads, for a moment, and waving her
green umbrella, called after them authoritatively,—
"Now mind that none of you are _late_ this evening!—especially you
men!"
* * * * *
Mr. Lisle went slowly back to the pier; it was almost deserted now.
Tommy Atkins had adjourned to his well-earned supper, the jailer to his
rice, the Andamanese to unknown horrors. The zemindar is alone—alone
he stands, and sees what is to him another wasted sun sink into the sea
like a ball of crimson fire! Apparently he is unconscious of a figure,
who comes and leans over the railings, with his eyes fixed abstractedly
on the sea, till with a sudden flash they become riveted on something,
scarcely deserving such eager inspection—merely a floating flower!
As Gilbert Lisle gazed, he was the prey of sore temptation. Surely, he
argued with himself, there would be no harm in picking up a castaway
lily, even Quentin would hardly grudge him that, and _he_ might as
well have it as the sea! Then he turned half away, as if thrusting the
impulse from him (the convict now noticed him for the first time); but
the flower was potent, and drew him back; he leant his arms on the
railings, and stared at it steadily. The zemindar watched him narrowly
out of his long, black eyes. The Sahib was debating some important
question in his own mind! he looked at his watch, he glanced nervously
up and down the pier, apparently his companion was as nought. Then
he hurried to the foot of the steps and unmoored a punt, and rowed
out several lengths, in quest of _what_? A white flower that the tall
English girl had thrown away.
The native followed his quest with scornful interest. He has it
now;—no, it has evaded him, and still floats on. Ah, he has reached
it this time, he has lifted it out of the water, as reverently as if
it were one of the sacred hairs of Buddha! He has dried it; he has
concealed it in his coat!
Bah! the Feringhee is a fool!