he had reached the conclusion of his tale; but the others listened
readily enough, and seemed genuinely to commiserate him. Captain
Mins remarked in his slow, deliberate tones, that wherever you went,
half-castes were the same--all swine. And Old Bee said that he’d see
that the matter was properly represented to the next man-of-war that
came down that way. Frenchy went further and asked a whole raft of
questions; about the girl; about Forrest; about the island generally.
What sort of man might the king be? Oh, Peter was all right, was
he? Was this Forrest a stranger, or had he been born on the island?
A stranger. Well, he couldn’t have much of a poosh then--not many
_kowtubs_ to back him up in case of a row? And the missionary niggar
was square, was he? Old Tom hadn’t any picture of that there girl, had
he? So this didn’t do her justice, eh? Why, she was a perfect leetle
beauty. Frenchy held the photograph a long time in his hand, studying
it with close attention as he puffed at his cigarette. Finally tossing
it to one side, he looked earnestly at the floor, and drummed in an
undecided way with one foot. Then he stretched out his arms and gave a
great yawn.
“Let’s me and you go for a promenade, sonny,” he said, addressing me.
“We don’t want to sit here all ze day, do we?”
Once in the open air, however, his desire to walk seemed to vanish, for
he began to ask for Ned Forrest’s store, and offered a stick of tobacco
to any one that could guide us there. Pretty well the whole village did
that, and we were conducted in state to a wooden house near the lagoon,
about a mile distant from the spot where we had first landed. Frenchy
stood on no ceremony on going in, and I followed close behind him, much
less at my ease than my companion. It was dark within the house, and
the hum of a sewing-machine covered our approach; it was a minute or
two before we were discovered by the young girl we dimly saw at work,
who sprang up at last, with a little cry, and came towards us.
Frenchy became suavity itself: begged Mrs. Forrest’s pardon for our
intrusion, but it was eempossible to reseest the pleasure of calling
upon a white lady. Might he have ze honour of acquainting her with hees
friend, Mr. Bence?
The young lady, though somewhat fluttered by our unexpected visit,
betrayed no more than natural embarrassment. She begged us to be
seated, inquired the name of our vessel, and acquitted herself with
an ease and self-possession that few young white women could have
rivalled. It was we, indeed, Frenchy and I, who completely lost our
heads; for Tom Ryegate’s daughter was of such a captivating prettiness,
and her manners were at once so gentle, arch, and engaging, that we
could hardly forbear staring her out of countenance, or restrain our
admiration within the bounds of ordinary politeness. She was no darker
than a Spaniard, with sparkling eyes, and the most glorious black hair
in the world. Her girlish figure was not too well concealed by the
flimsy cotton dress in which we had surprised her, and it failed to
hide altogether her rich young beauty. From the top of her curly head
to the little naked feet she kept so anxiously beneath her gown, there
was not one feature to mar the rest, not a curve nor a dimple that one
would have wished to change. I cannot recall much of what we talked
about, though the picture of her there in that dark room is as vivid a
memory as any I have. We drank fresh cocoanuts, I remember; listened
to a cheap music-box; and looked at the photographs in an album. With
the practical gallantry of the Islands, Frenchy begged her to ask for
any favour that we had it in our power to grant. The whole ship, he
said, was at her deesposal. Was she sure that she needed nozing? Some
ear-rings? A bolt of silk? A really nice beet of lace he had intended
for the queen of Big Muggin?
But she would accept nothing. You see, her husband did not like her to
take presents from white gentlemen. The supercargo of the _Lancashire
Lass_ had given her two pairs of shoes, and some goldfish in a bottle,
but Ned was much displeased. Ned said that people would talk and take
away her character; besides, it wasn’t for poor folks to have shoes and
goldfish. Ned was a very proud man and did not pretend to be what he
was not. She was still speaking when Ned himself unexpectedly appeared
at another door. Amid laughing explanations, we were made acquainted
with the head of the house, a big, shy half-caste, who welcomed us with
a tremendous hand-shake apiece. He was a powerful young man, and his
muscular throat and arms were still grimy with the blacksmithing at
which he had been engaged. I liked his unshrinking, honest look, and as
he turned his eyes on his beautiful wife there was in them something
of the tenderness and devotion of a dog’s. Elsie ordered the great
fellow about with a pretty imperiousness that only lovers use, and with
a peculiar softness of intonation that did not escape me. It made me
a little envious and heartsick to see this happiness in which I could
have no share, and I was almost glad at last when Frenchy rose to go.
Lifting her little hand to his lips, he begged her to please count him
her friend and serviteur to command, and regretted that the preessure
of affairs would preclude him from calling again before the ship
sailed. He had been so assiduous in his attentions to the young beauty
that I was at a loss to understand this sudden renunciation; but I put
it down to his common sense, which must have told him that in this
quarter his gallantry could only be wasted. Any one could see that our
pretty quarter-caste was head over heels in love with her own husband;
and however much she might laugh and talk with strangers, and enjoy
the impression her starry eyes indubitably produced, her heart, at
least, was in no uncertain keeping. It was just as much Ned Forrest’s
as the clothes upon her back or the house in which she lived. How I
envied him his prize as Frenchy and I walked back silently towards old
Tom’s, and saw the bark’s sails shining through the trees. I tried
to say something about the charming girl we had left, but Frenchy
hardly seemed to listen. For a long time he continued in a deep study,
puffing hard at his cigarette, and looking, as it appeared to me, more
than usually reckless and devil-may-care. We found the others exactly
where we had left them,--though not perhaps so sober,--and they haled
Frenchy in and bade him report himself, the square-face meanwhile
making another round.
“What news of thy quest, O illustrious horse-soldier?” demanded the
captain, in his usual thick, loud voice--a little louder and a little
thicker for the gin. “Hast thou found a damsel to thy taste on this thy
servant’s isle?”
“_Hein?_” said Frenchy, with a queer glance at me.
“You must do something,” said Old Bee, “and do that something soon,
Frenchy my Bo, for I can’t stay here for ever at seven pound a day!”
“Here’s luck!” said the gentleman thus addressed, raising his eyebrows
significantly over his glass. There must have been further interchange
of signals, for Bibo turned to me and in a very kind and flattering
way requested me to go back to the ship. The fact was, he said, that
it was not right to leave her altogether to Babcock, and it would
go far to lessen his own anxiety if there were another white man on
board. I ought to know pretty well by this time what Kanakas were
like, he continued, and how little the crew would care if they laid
the bark ashore or drowned her in a squall. He put it to me, he
said, as a personal favour to himself. To such a request I could, of
course, make but one answer, though it went sorely against the grain
for me to return again on board; the more especially when I found the
reliable Babcock snoring on a hatch. I had only to look from him to the
boatswain’s leathery, watchful face to realise how completely I had
been tricked. The ship was as safe under Johnny’s care as she would
have been in Brisbane harbour, and I could see that he was handling her
with the most admirable skill. My only complaint was that he acquitted
himself far too well, for in the humour that then possessed me I would
gladly have seen him pile her on the reef.
It was hot on board, and the day seemed endless, so slowly did the
hours drag on. Three or four times the boat came off from shore and
returned again. At one time it brought out old Tom Ryegate, together
with our whole party, who at once went below. Afterwards they sent the
steward up for Johnny and two or three of the hands to come down. I
felt too sulky and ill used to pay much attention to all this coming
and going, though in the bottom of my heart I could not resist a
certain pang of curiosity. I doubted not that my companions were up to
some mischief, the nature of which I was at a loss to understand; but
the way they put their heads together was enough to inspire me with
alarm; and I did not like at all this calling in of the crew. I tried
to sound Johnny after they had pulled back to the settlement, but he
turned a deaf ear to me and pretended not to understand my questions.
I tried Lum with like ill success, finding him also (though from a
different reason) cross and uncommunicative.
“White man all same devil,” he said, and went on kneading his dough.
Supper-time came, and Babcock and I had the table to ourselves; he
was very garrulous and tiresome, and I suspect he had been nipping
on the sly, for he giggled a lot, and sometimes talked foolishly to
himself. Altogether I was sick of the ship and of Babcock and of my own
company; and when I came on deck after supper, and saw the shore lights
twinkling through the palms, and the torches of the fishers on the
roof, I felt I could no longer control my impatience.
Slipping down the gangway, I signalled to one of the canoes that
hung about the ship, and a few minutes later I was landed for the
second time near old Tom Ryegate’s store. Needless to say, I gave it
a wide berth, for the last thing I wished was to run across any of my
shipmates. I was spied out by some little children playing tag in the
dark, who took me by the hands and led me about the settlement. I was
conducted into half a dozen houses, and given green nuts to drink, with
here and there a present of a hat or a mat or some pearl-shells. I do
not know how long I had been wandering about in this fashion--but it
must have been nearer two hours than one--when I was suddenly startled
by a roar of voices and a sound of scurrying feet. In an instant we
were all rushing in the direction of the noise, falling and stumbling
over one another in our excitement. At the church I found a crowd
assembled, buzzing like bees, and crushing frantically against the
unglazed windows for a sight of what was taking place within. I jostled
my way round to the door, where I was surprised to find our brawny
boatswain Johnny, together with several of our men, keeping the other
natives at bay. They would have kept me out, too, if they had dared,
but I pushed boldly past them and entered the building.
It was all but empty. At the farther end, by the light of a tawdry
hanging lamp, I perceived that some sort of service or ceremony was
in progress, and I was thunderstruck to recognise in the little
congregation there assembled every member of the shore party. Old Bee
and the captain were standing on one side, the latter smoking a cigar
and spitting from time to time on the coral floor; next them, his
benignant hair all awry, was Tom Ryegate, leaning unsteadily against
the wall, and wiping his eyes on a trade handkerchief. A burly Kanaka
whom I had no difficulty in recognising as Jimmy Upolu, the native
pastor, was reciting something out of a book over the heads of Frenchy
and a woman, who both knelt before him. Frenchy’s costume had suffered
not a little since the morning; it was dirty and stained, and the
collar of his coat was torn half-way down his back, as though some one
had seized him there with a smutty hand. In an instant I seemed to see
the whole thing. I ran forward with my heart in my mouth, and even as I
did so there rose from the outside the strangled cry of a man, followed
by a scuffle and the noise of blows.
The woman beside Frenchy sprang to her feet, and as she turned towards
me I recognised the ashen face of Elsie Ryegate. Frenchy caught her in
his arms, and swearing beneath his breath, forced her down again beside
him; while the pastor, not a whit abashed, rattled on briskly with the
service.
He soon came to an end, closing his book with a flourish, as much as
to say the ceremony was over. Frenchy rose to his feet, still with one
arm round Elsie’s waist.
“How much?” he asked.
Then old Tom Ryegate came staggering up, boo-hooing like a great
baby. He wrung Frenchy’s hand; gave his daughter a slobbering kiss;
and broke out into a whole rigmarole of how pleased he was to see her
made an honest woman, by God, and married to a gentleman she could
respeck and look up to. The girl herself might have been dead, for all
the attention she paid to him or any one; but for Frenchy’s enfolding
arm, I believe she would have fallen to the ground, for she was stony
white, and shaking in a kind of chill. I could hear her teeth chatter,
while Frenchy haggled with the pastor, and the trader went on with his
endless gabble.
We all moved out of the church together, old Tom Ryegate stumbling
along in the rear, making very poor weather of it in the dark. All at
once he went sprawling over something, and we could hear him cursing to
himself as he tried to get on his legs again.
“Now’s our chance, gentlemen all,” cried the captain, and off we set
running for the beach, old Tom’s voice growing fainter and fainter
in our rear. We tumbled pell-mell into the boat that was waiting for
us, and shoved off into deep water amid a hullabaloo of laughter and
cheers. Far behind us we could still hear the old fellow calling and
swearing, and even when we drew up under the bark, I thought I could
yet detect the faint echo of his voice. All this time Elsie herself
had made no sound, and had submitted like a terror-stricken child to
be led where Frenchy wished. But when she felt her feet on the gangway
ladder, and saw above her head the tangled yards and rigging of the
ship, she must have realised all at once what fate had in store for
her, for she uttered a shuddering cry and began to sob. I stood up in
the boat; I tried to say something of what I felt; I remember I called
Frenchy a damned villain, and us no better for helping him.
“Stop that row!” cried the captain, giving me a punch in the ribs that
made me gasp and turn sick. “I won’t have a word spoken against Mr. or
Mrs. Bonnichon, and if I catch you at it again, you young whelp, I’ll
lick you within an inch of your life. I won’t allow a mischief-maker
on my ship, nor a dirty scandal-monger. Just you remember that, young
gentleman.”
I went up the gangway in silence, humiliated and rebellious, to spend
a sleepless night in plans of revenge. My heart seemed to burst with
a sense of my powerlessness, and I turned and turned on my pillow in
a fever. The morning found us beating up against a stiff trade-wind
and a heavy sea, and at breakfast the captain had more than once to
leave the table in order to see us through a squall. He and Old Bee
were the only persons at that meal except myself, but neither commented
on Frenchy’s absence or said a word about the events of yesterday.
Indeed, I don’t think they exchanged three remarks in all, and these
were about the weather. I could not help gazing from time to time at
the door of Frenchy’s state-room; and once, in so doing, I encountered
the captain’s baleful eye. I looked away hastily, and, I am ashamed
to add, I trembled. Frenchy made no appearance at lunch, but towards
three o’clock of the afternoon I saw him steal stealthily out and get
a bottle of whisky and some biscuits, and then close his door again on
our little world. I was struck afresh with his gross, evil look, and
shrank, as one might from a wild beast, at the very sight of him.
The second day passed much as the first, though it found us lying
better up to windward. Frenchy still kept away from the table, and I
used to stare at his closed state-room door with an awful curiosity.
My two companions were, if anything, more glum and uncommunicative
than ever; and when I tried to draw out Babcock I found that his mouth
also had been sealed. He would give me only snapping answers, and was
painfully ill at ease in my presence. Lum had scalded himself twice
in the galley, and was in no conversational mood; and when I tried to
unbosom myself to him he cut me short with the remark that “white men
were all same devil.”
We ran into Lascom in the morning of the third day, and by ten o’clock
were at anchor off the settlement. Babcock at once hoisted out eight or
nine tons of Frenchy’s stuff, most of it food for his year’s sojourn
on the island, together with a lot of mess pork and biscuits for
the Kanakas; and all hands were busy getting it into the whale-boat
alongside. The captain and Old Bee were sitting side by side on the top
of the house, the latter with a pocket full of papers and a portfolio
desk across his knee. They were laughing together, and Mins was holding
the ink-bottle in one hand. Lum was standing at the break of the poop,
peeling potatoes and watching his bread, which was spread out on the
hatch to rise. I could not stay still, but kept moving about in a state
of frightful agitation, for I knew that Elsie and the Frenchman must
soon appear.
Suddenly I heard a half-smothered oath, the shattering of glass, the
rapid patter of naked feet. I turned, and there was Elsie Ryegate
poised on the ship’s rail, her black hair flying to the wind, her bare
arms outspread. She was over like a flash, and her feet had barely
touched the water when Frenchy leaped after her. We all shouted and ran
aft, the crew whooping like a pack of boys. The girl headed as straight
as an arrow for the shore, but she had not swum twenty strokes before
Frenchy was panting and blowing close behind her. Seeing, apparently,
that she could not hope to escape, she turned and seemed to resign
herself to capture. But as Frenchy tried to seize her by the hair, she
swiftly threw both her arms round his neck, and with a tragic look of
exultation she sank with him below.
Down, down they went, the puddled green water showing them vaguely
beneath the surface, sometimes with a ghastly distinctness, sometimes
with strange distortions of feature and limb. They rose at last, still
struggling, still drowning each other, the girl’s arms clinched round
the man’s neck, he spluttering horribly and trying to strike at her
with his fist. Spellbound, we saw them sink again, their convulsed
faces almost touching, their bodies writhing in agony. Mins let out
a great roar and darted for the life-belt; there was a rush forward
to cast off the whaler in which Frenchy’s stuff was being lightered;
Old Bee screamed out, “Jump! jump!” to our boatswain, who was looking
on transfixed, pointing madly at the bubbles that kept rising to
the surface. Johnny made one step aft, and was just on the point of
vaulting over the rail when Lum caught him squarely round the waist
and held him like a vise. There was a short, violent struggle between
them, and the Chinaman went down with a crash under the Kanaka. But by
the time the latter was on his feet again the moment for his services
had passed, for Frenchy’s body, still locked in Elsie Ryegate’s arms,
drifted lifeless under our quarter. The captain pointed at it with an
awe-stricken finger, and signalled the whale-boat where to pull.
The girl’s corpse was thrown on an old sail in the waist, and left
there, naked and dripping, for the crew to gape at; while Frenchy was
borne off by the captain, who, with streaming tears, worked over him
for an hour in the trade-room. When Lum and I had recovered our wits,
we drew the poor drowned creature into the galley, put hot bottles to
her feet, rubbed her icy body with our hands, and held her up between
us to the blazing fire. Lum blew into her mouth, worked her arms up
and down, and exhausted a thousand ingenuities to call her back to
life; but the little looking-glass he held so persistently to her
lips remained to the end untarnished by a breath. We were compelled at
last--though God knows how reluctantly--to give up all hope; and laying
her gently in the Chinaman’s berth, we covered her beautiful face. Then
I took occasion to ask Lum why he had prevented Johnny from diving
overboard--Johnny who was a powerful swimmer and certain to have saved
them.
“More better she die,” he said; and then, with a dramatic gesture, he
pointed to the shore, and asked me in his broken English whether she
could have endured a year of it with that man.
“More better she die,” he repeated, and regarded me with a deep
solemnity.
There was not much dinner eaten that day, though one must needs be
cooked and served. I looked fearfully into the trade-room, and saw
Frenchy’s body stretched out on the counter, a towel drawn over his
swarthy face. Lum and I closed the galley doors, and smoked countless
cigarettes together in the semi-darkness, finding consolation in
one another’s company. The tragedy hung heavy upon us both; and the
knowledge that one of its victims lay but a yard away seemed to bring
death close to us all; so that we trembled for ourselves and sat near
together in a sort of horror. Towards three o’clock some one pounded
violently at the door, and on Lum’s unlocking it, we found ourselves
confronted by Johnny the boatswain.
He told us bluntly he wanted the girl’s body, to bury it ashore.
“Captain’s orders,” he said, with a nasty look at the Chinaman.
“You make two hole?” queried Lum--“two grave?”
“One, that’s all,” said Johnny, with a grin. “We bury them together,
you China fool.”
“No, that you will not!” cried Lum, with a sudden flame in his almond
eyes. “You can bury Frenchy, but me and Bence make hole for the girl.”
“No, you won’t,” cried Johnny, making a movement to force his way in;
but Lum caught up the cleaver, and stood there, looking so incensed and
defiant that the Kanaka was glad to move away. He went off, swearing
all kinds of things, and we saw him afterwards complaining angrily to
Old Bee.
But the Chinaman was in a fighting humour. It would have taken more
than mere words to cow his spirit. He called me out on deck, and there,
between us, we got the dinghy off the beds and launched her alongside
the ship--without asking by your leave or anything--and pulled her
round to the gangway ladder. Then, as I held her fast with the
boat-hook, Lum went back, and reappeared a minute later with Elsie’s
corpse in his arms. Settling it carefully in the bottom of the boat,
her comely head resting on a bundle tied in yellow silk, the Chinaman
took one of the oars and bade me pull with the other. Even as I did so
I noticed the meat-cleaver bulging out his jumper and a six-shooter in
the hind pocket of his jeans.
We headed for the shore about a mile above the settlement, and made a
landing in a shallow cove. My companion lifted out the girl’s body and
waded with it ashore, carrying the yellow bundle by his teeth like a
dog. I followed him in silence as he passed into the scrub and tramped
heavily towards the weather side of the island. We emerged on a wide
and glaring beach, on which, as far as the eye could reach, a furious
surf was thundering. Lum laid his burden down beneath the shade of a
palm, and set himself to dig a grave with the cleaver. As he toiled the
sweat rolled off him in great beads and his saturated clothes stuck to
him as though he had been soaked in water. Once or twice he rested,
wiping his hands and face on my handkerchief, and smoking the cigarette
I rolled for him. It must have been a couple of hours before the grave
was finished to his liking, for he was particular to have it deep and
well squared. Then he opened the little bundle that had served so long
for Elsie’s pillow, and took from it a roll of magenta-coloured silk,
some artificial flowers, a packet of sweet-smelling leaves, and a
number of red tissue-paper sheets printed with gilt Chinese characters.
The silk he used to partly cover the bottom of the grave; the flowers
and fragrant leaves were placed at the end where her head would lie;
and all being thus ready for her last bed, the two of us lowered her
sorrowfully into it. This done, Lum shrouded her in the remnant of the
silk, and we filled up the grave together, shovelling the sand in with
our hands.