CHAPTER XI

Six bells struck, and then once more the stars went out, and the sky

changed from blue to dull grey.

“Very heavy rain will fall again presently,” said Raymond to the leader

of the mutineers, “and as the ship is well now in the counter current

and out of danger, the chief would like to call his men alongside for a

rest. But we'll tow you for another mile or so after the rain ceases--if

you wish it.”

Ryan was keenly anxious to put as much distance between the land and

the _Esmeralda_ as possible, for he was haunted by the fear that the

captain's boat had been picked up by some ship which might be sighted at

any time. The further away from the land, the safer he would feel.

“I should like them to tow me along for another hour or two, after the

rain is oyer,” he said. “I will pay liberally.”

Raymond spoke to the chief in Samoan and told him the captain's request,

and Maliè answered in the same language.

“As you will, Lèmonti. But why toil any longer? My men are all ready and

anxious. We can take the ship now at any time, once my men are here.”

“And I, too, am ready, Alalia. But it was in my mind to wait and see if,

when the bell strikes eight, half of the _auva'a_ (ship's crew) would

not go below to sleep, so that we shall have less disturbance.”

“What matters it?” said Alalia with good-humoured contempt; “there are

less than a score of them, and when the word is spoken they will be as

easily overpowered and bound as a strong man can overpower and bind a

child.”

“Then let it be as you say,” said Raymond in the same quiet tones; “let

us call the men on board, and, when the bell is struck at midnight,

we shall seize those evil men together--as the bell is struck the last

time.”

“Good!” said the chief, as he nonchalantly rolled himself a cigarette in

a piece of dried banana leaf which he took from his tappa waist cloth.

“I will tell them how to act.”

“What does he say?” asked Ryan.

“He is quite willing, but he says his men are really tired now, and want

a good long spell. They are not used to such work, and he does not

want to give them cause for grumbling. They are very touchy sometimes.

However, after the next downpour clears off, they will tow you another

two or three miles.” (And Raymond meant this literally, for he, Frewen,

and the chief wanted to see the _Esmeralda_ at anchor off Samatau by

daylight.)

At a call from Raymond the boats came alongside, and as the crews

clambered on deck Maliê told them how to dispose themselves about the

ship so that when the signal was given the mutineers could be seised

without their being afforded any opportunity of resistance. Five or six

of his best men followed him aft, whilst the others mingled with the

crew, most of them going down into the foc'sle. The Chilenos, however,

although satisfied of the friendly intentions of their visitors, were

still a little nervous, for, despite the fact that none of the natives

carried even so much as a knife, the wild appearance they presented was

somewhat disconcerting to men who had never before come in contact with

what they termed “savages.” Fully one half of Malië's followers were

men of such stature that the undersized though wiry Chilenos looked like

dwarfs beside them; then, in addition to this, their immense “mops” of

bright golden hair--dyed that colour by the application of lime--and

their wonderfully tatooed bodies, with the first intricate lines

beginning at the waist and ending at the knees, accentuated the velvety

and rich reddish brown of their skins. Each of the Chileno seamen still

carried a brace of pistols in his belt and a cutlass hung by his side,

but the natives apparently took no notice of such a manifestation of

distrust, and they and the mutineers exchanged cigars and cigarettes as

if they were the best friends in the world.

Suddenly the rain fell, and all other sounds were deadened by the

downpour; it continued for three-quarters of an hour, and then, as

Frewen remarked, ceased with a “snap.”

In the main cabin Raymond, with Maliê, was seated at the table talking

to Ryan; on the poop and under the shelter of the temporary awning

were Cheyne, Frewen, Foster, the ruffianly Rivas, and two other of the

Ghileno seamen, with three of the natives who had accompanied Cheyne and

his Mend from Lepâ.

Five minutes before eight bells Foster turned to Rivas, and, speaking in

Spanish, told him to go for'ard and tell the hands that there would be

no watch below that night, all hands were to stay on deck till daylight.

Frewen gave Cheyne a glance, and the half-caste sauntered off after

Rivas, whilst the three Samoans moved nearer towards the two Ghilenos.

“Mr. Foster” went to the skylight and looked down into the cabin at the

clock, which was placed so that it could be seen by any one standing

beside the binnacle. Then he looked at a handsome gold watch, which two

days previously had been in Villari's vest pocket, and, stepping to the

break of the poop, called out--

“Eight bells!”

The big bell under the topgallant foc'sle sent out its deep, sonorous

clang, and as the last note was struck, “Mr. Foster” went over on his

back with a crash, and in another five seconds Frewen had turned him

over on his face and was lashing his hands behind him. The Greek was too

stunned to even try to speak, and when he came to again he found lying

beside him Rivas and the other two Ghileno sailors, with half a dozen

Samoans standing guard over them.

Down in the cabin Raymond and Malië had been equally as quick, and when

Frewen and Cheyne came below they found “Captain” Ryan, together with

the Chileno who was acting as steward, tied hand and foot and lying

outside Captain Maraton's stateroom door.

“Everything all right, Mr. Frewen?” inquired Raymond.

“Everything. All the gentry up for'ard are bussed up comfortably like

fowls for cooking. No one has been hurt; Maliè's men simply picked the

mongrels up by the scruff of their necks and then tied them up. The ship

is ours.”

“Then you are in command, Mr. Frewen. Please give your orders.”

“Very well, Mr. Raymond. But first let me see to the distinguished Senor

Almanza.”

He opened the door of Almanza's stateroom. The Chilian was asleep.

Frewen was about to touch and awaken him but pity for a badly wounded

man predominated, so he let him lie undisturbed.

“Now, Mr. Raymond, I am at your service. Will you ask Malië to man his

boats, and we will start towing again.”

“With pleasure. But let us first call our good men together and drink

success to ourselves and the _Esmeralda_. And then, whilst we are being

towed towards Samatau, we can overhaul poor Captain Marston's cabin. All

the specie, so this scoundrel tells me”--and he pointed to the Chileno

steward--“is still in a safe in the captain's cabin, and has not yet

been touched. But it was to be divided to-morrow.”

And then Randall Cheyne sprang on deck and shouted out in Samoan--

“Friends, the ship is ours! Let ten men remain on board to guard these

murderers, and the rest take to the boats and tow the ship to Samatau.”

The willing natives answered him with a loud “Ave!” and ten minutes

later the _Esmeralda_ was again moving through the water.

An hour before daylight her cable rattled through her hawse-pipe, and

she swung quietly to her anchor in Samatau Bay.

END OF BOOK I

BOOK II

CHAPTER XII

Twelve months had come and gone, and Frewen, now “Captain” Frewen, was

seated in the office of Ramon Mercado, the Valparaiso agent of the late

captain and owner of the _Esmeralda_, which had arrived in port the

previous day.

The worthy merchant--a little stout man with merry, twinkling eyes--was

listening to the detailed story of the capture of the ship by the

mutineers, her subsequent recapture, and of all that had occurred since

she had been brought to an anchor in front of Raymond's house in Samatau

Bay. Mercado himself, four months previously, had received a letter from

Mrs. Marston, acquainting him with what had occurred up to the time of

her husband's death, and telling him that the _Esmeralda_, as soon as a

crew could be obtained, would sail under Frewen's command for Manila,

and from there proceed to Newcastle, in New South Wales, and load a

cargo of coal for Valparaiso. This letter had reached him by an American

whale-ship which had touched at Samoa (a month or two after the

_Esmeralda_ had sailed for Manila), and which, after cruising among the

Galapagos Islands, had, as the master had told Mrs. Marston would be

very likely, called at Valparaiso to refit.

* * * * *

A few days after the burial of Captain Marston his wife asked Frewen

to take command of the ship, as Villari would be incapacitated for some

months.

Villari himself had at first strenuously, and even somewhat bitterly,

protested.

“Why should Mr. Frewen, much as he has done to help you to recapture

the ship, be given command?” he said excitedly to Raymond. “Does Mrs.

Marston distrust me? Do I not possess her confidence as I did that of

her husband? Beg her to come to me. Surely she will not give the command

of the ship to a stranger! I tell you, Mr. Raymond, that I would give my

life for Mrs. Marston, as I was ready to give it for her husband,” and

his dark eyes blazed.

“There is no reflection either upon your integrity or ability, Mr.

Villari,” said the planter. “But here is the situation--and I am sure

your own sound sense will make you approve of Mrs. Marston asking Mr.

Frewen to take charge of the _Esmeralda_. And, before I go any further,

I must tell you that Mr. Frewen not only did not seek the position, but

said pointedly to Mrs. Marston--only an hour or two ago--that he would

be quite satisfied to sail with you as mate. He is as honest as the sun.

Pray do not for one moment imagine that he has supplanted you.”

“Then let him come with me as mate,” urged the Italian.

Raymond shook his head. “It is quite out of the question your taking

command, Mr. Villari. You will not be able to get about for some months,

and I, as a business man, see the necessity of the ship proceeding on

her voyage as quickly as possible. She has a cargo that will bring a

large sum of money to Mrs. Marston if it is delivered in Manila in

good time. But in this humid climate it would become worthless in a

few months. And it was purely my suggestion to Mrs. Marston to ask Mr.

Frewen to take charge. She is, as you know, almost heartbroken at the

calamity which has overtaken her. And then your remaining here will,

I am sure, be a source of comfort to her, for she has the very highest

opinion of you.”

Villari's eyes sparkled with pleasure. “What! Is not Mrs. Marston

sailing in the _Esmeralda?_”

“No; it will be better for her to remain here until the youngster comes.

My wife and I will be only too glad to have her with us. It would be

impossible for her to go to sea now her poor husband is dead. And she

knows no one in Manila. So you must be content to remain here at Samatau

as my welcome guest. Frewen will take the ship to Manila, and then

decide as to his future course. He thinks that after selling the

cargo at Manila he should proceed to Australia for a cargo of coal for

Valparaiso. I think it a very sensible suggestion, especially as he can

then see poor Marston's agent there and settle up with him regarding

some money due to Marston.”

The Italian's face assumed a placid appearance. “You are quite right,

Mr. Raymond. And I shall be content to remain here. _Per Bacco!_

Mr. Frewen is a gentleman, and I wish him all good lack with the

_Esmeralda_. But I should like the lady to know that I am prepared to

return to the ship this moment if she so wishes it.”

“She does know it, Mr. Villari. You have her full esteem and

confidence--as you had that of her poor husband, who just before he died

anxiously inquired about you, and said that he regretted not taking your

advice concerning the two Greeks.”

“Ah! Mr. Raymond,” and the man raised and clenched his right hand, “I

was a fool! I suspected that mischief was afoot that night when I found

Almanza and the two Greeks talking together; I simply reported the

matter to the captain, who thought nothing of it. Had I done my duty I

should have watched, for no one can trust a Greek.”

“Do not reproach yourself, Mr. Villari. I may as well tell you that poor

Captain Marston, when he was inquiring about you just before he died,

spoke in the highest terms of you, and asked Mrs. Marston to see that

you were given five hundred pounds.”

Villari raised himself on his elbow. “I swear to you, Mr. Raymond, that

I do not want any money--compensation--reward--gift--call it what you

will--for doing my duty as a seaman. Captain Marston was not only my

captain, but my friend. And I would give my life for his wife. Tell her

from me that it will hurt me if she even speaks of this money to me.”

“As you will, Mr. Villari,” said Raymond kindly, who saw that the

Italian was excited. “I will tell her to-morrow. But I trust you will

now understand that Mr. Frewen had no desire to supplant you in any

way.”

“I understand. Can I see him now, for there is much that I have to tell

him about the ship--things that he would like to know.”

So Frewen came in, and he and the Italian mate had quite a long talk

about the _Esmeralda_, and when they parted they did so with a feeling

of growing friendship.

Anxious to obtain a reliable crew as quickly as possible, Frewen, on the

following day, sent Randall Gheyne to Lepi to see if he could persuade

the men who had deserted from the _Casilda_ to come and help man the

_Esmeralda_. But they were all too enamoured of island life to accept

the offer he made them, which was generous enough--two hundred and fifty

dollars each for the voyage to Manila. So Cheyne came back disappointed,

and Frewen then went to Apia in the _Casilda's_ whale-boat, and

succeeded in engaging ten natives of Niué,{*} who, with half a dozen

Samoans, made up a sufficient complement for the ship.

* Niué, the “Savage Island” of Captain Cook. The natives

are always in great request as seamen. Even to the present

day most of the trading vessels carry a few Niué seamen.

During this time Almansa and his fellow-mutineers had been confined on

board the ship, guarded by a number of Malië's warriors. Then to the

joy of Raymond and Frewen there came into Apia Harbour a British gunboat

bound from the Phoenix Islands to Sydney, and within forty-eight hours

the planter, accompanied by the unwounded survivors of the English crew

of the _Esmeralda_, were on board, and related the tale of the mutiny to

the captain of the man-of-war.

“I am letting myself in for a lot of trouble, Mr. Raymond,” said the

captain of the warship, “but I do not see how I can avoid it. I suppose

that as the _Esmeralda_ is a British ship and is now in distress I must

be a sort of fairy godmother and take these beastly mongrels of Chilenos

and Greeks to Sydney to be hanged on the evidence of these men whom you

have brought. By the way, Mrs. Marston can have a passage with me if she

wishes it.”

Raymond thanked him, and said Mrs. Marston wished to remain at Samatau

with his (Raymond's) wife for an indefinite time.

“Very well, Mr. Raymond. I should be delighted to give her a passage to

Sydney, and I'm delighted she can't come. You understand me? I cannot

refuse a passage to a lady in such circumstances as Mrs. Marston, but

the _Virago_ is a man-of-war, and--you know.”

Raymond laughed. “I think I know what you mean, Captain Armitage; a

lady passenger on a man-of-war would be a bit of a trial. But on Mrs.

Marston's behalf I thank you sincerely.”

“That's all right,” said the bluff commander of the _Virago_; “now you

can get home, and in a day or so I'll come round to Samatau and take

these mutineering scoundrels into custody. Pity you did not get your

Samoan friend Malië to hang or shoot them out of hand. It would have

saved Her Majesty's Government something in food, and me much trouble.”

CHAPTER XIII

“I must congratulate you, captain,” said the merchant, when Frewen had

finished his story; “and I trust you will always retain command of the

_Esmeralda_. She is a beautiful ship, and, ever since you took charge,

has proved herself a lucky one.”

“I certainly have had great luck. We had a beautiful passage to Manila

from Samoa, and from Manila to Newcastle I made the quickest run on

record, and from there to Valparaiso we were only thirty-five days.”

Some further conversation followed regarding the future movements of the

ship, and it was arranged that she should load Chilian flour for Sydney,

and from there proceed to Samoa for orders from her owner.

Three weeks later, Frewen bid the hospitable Meroado goodbye, and sailed

for Sydney. The merchant had sold the cargo brought from Newcastle very

satisfactorily, and in addition to the amount given him for this, Frewen

also received from Mercado over two thousand pounds belonging to Captain

Marston's estate.

The crew of the _Esmeralda_ consisted of twenty men, ten of whom were

either Englishmen, Americans, and Scandinavians, and ten stalwart

natives of Savage Island. The first officer was a Dane named Petersen,

whom Frewen had engaged at Samoa. He was an excellent seaman, and took a

great pride in the ship; the second officer was Randall Cheyne; and the

third, a sturdy old Yorkshireman of sixty, with the frame and voice of a

bull. Frewen was as satisfied with his officers as he was with his crew,

and the exceedingly good fortune which had attended him since he had

taken charge at Samatau had put him in a very pleasant frame of mind,

and he was eagerly looking forward to meeting Mrs. Marston and rendering

an account of his stewardship. When he reached Sydney from Manila he

had placed a considerable sum to her credit, and learned that Captain

Armitage, of the _Virago_, who had conveyed to Sydney the specie which

was on board the _Esmeralda_ when the mutiny had occurred, had safely

deposited it in her name in the leading bank there. He found that

the mutineers had been tried and sentenced; two of them, “Foster” and

“Ryan,” going to the gallows, whilst Almanza and the Chileno seamen all

received long terms of imprisonment. The trial had aroused considerable

excitement, and so, when the _Esmeralda_ arrived, she was visited by

many hundreds of people. In Sydney Harbour in those days might be seen

numbers of the finest sailing vessels in the world; many of them were

noted “crack” passenger ships trading between London and Sydney and

Melbourne, but not one of them surpassed the _Esmeralda_ in her graceful

lines and beautiful appearance. Then, too, the extraordinarily quick

passage she had made from Manila gave her further fame, and nearly

all the ship masters in port called on board, and paid Frewen many

compliments. Through the manager of the bank in which he had deposited

the money for Mrs. Marston, he was introduced to an excellent agent--a

Mr. Beilby--who was a shipowner as well, and had for many years employed

a fleet of small vessels in the South Sea Islands trade.

The voyage across the Pacific from Valparaiso to Sydney was

disappointing--calms and light, variable winds being met with for nearly

a month; and then between Australia and New Zealand, two weeks of savage

westerly gales tried the ship's weatherly qualities to the utmost.

However, after a passage of nearly seven weeks, she once more dropped

anchor in the deep, blue waters of the most beautiful harbour in the

southern hemisphere.

The agent at once came on board, and Frewen was glad to receive two

letters from him--one from Raymond, the other from Mrs. Marston. The

latter afforded him great pleasure to read, and was to the effect

that she would be very glad to see him back in Samoa, as she wished to

consult him in regard to a project of Mr. Raymond's.

“What the project is, he will himself explain to you in writing. I shall

be very pleased if you and he come to an arrangement, especially as I

have made up my mind to remain here at Samatau indefinitely with Mrs.

Raymond, or somewhere near her, and as her husband may be away from her

for many months at a time (this, however, all depends upon yourself)

this will be equally as pleasant for her as for me. I feel that I have

a home here, and in fact I may remain in Samoa altogether. Anyway, Mr.

Raymond is now in treaty with Malië for a piece of land adjoining his

own estate. If he secures it for me, I am having a house built upon it.”

Raymond's letter was a voluminous one, but Frewen soon became deeply

engrossed in its contents.

“My dear Frewen (let us now drop the 'Sir' and 'Captain,' for I am sure

we each regard the other as a friend), I am now starting on a very long

letter, and have but little time in which to finish it, for the _Dancing

Wave_, by which I am sending it, leaves Apia to-morrow at daylight, and

it will take a native runner all his time to cross over the mountains

with it to Apia.”

Then he went on to say that, about six months previously, Maliê had been

approached by a German gentleman (who had just arrived from Hamburg) and

asked if he would sell a large tract of land near Samatau. The chief

at once consulted Raymond, who could not help feeling some natural

curiosity as to the object of the German gentleman making such a large

purchase of land so far away from the principal port of the group

(Apia). Maliê could give him no information on the subject--all he knew

was that he (Maliê) had been offered a very fair price for a tract of

country that he was willing to lease, but not to sell, for on it were

several villages, and the soil was of such fertility that the people

would deeply resent their chief parting with it and making them remove

to less productive lands.

On the spur of the moment--and feeling that there was some very good

reason for the German making the chief such a substantial offer--Raymond

said to Maliê--

“The German has offered you ten thousand dollars for the land, but will

not lease it from you. Now I am not a rich man, and even if you were

willing to sell it to me for five thousand dollars, I could not buy it.

But I will lease it from you for one year. I will not disturb any of

your people, but at the end of the year I will make you another offer.

There is some mischief on foot, Maliê. Let you and I go to Apia and find

out who this man is, and why he is so eager to buy your land.”

They set out together, and at Apia gained all the information they

desired. The German gentleman was the agent of a rich corporation of

Hamburg merchants who wished to purchase all the available land in Samoa

for the purpose of founding a colony, the principal industry of which

would be cotton-growing. Cotton was bringing fabulous prices in Europe,

and the corporation had already made purchases of land both in Fiji and

Tahiti, and were using every effort to obtain more.

Raymond quickly made up his mind as to his course of action. He had a

hurried interview with two other English planters, and a partnership of

three was formed in half an hour. They had then made an agreement with

Maliê and another chief to lease all the unoccupied country for many

miles on each side of Samatau Bay.

“Now,” the letter went on, “here is what we purpose to do. We are going

to found the biggest cotton and coffee plantation in all the South Seas,

and will make a pile of money. But the one all-important thing is

to have plenty of labour, and that we can only obtain from other

islands--New Britain, the Solomon Group, and thereabouts, and also from

the Equatorial Islands. But it is risky work recruiting labour with

small, weakly-manned schooners. What is required is a big lump of a

vessel, well armed, and with two crews--a white crew to work the ship

and a native crew to work the boats. The _Esmeralda_ is just the ship.

She can carry six hundred native passengers, and in two trips we shall

have all the labourers we want, instead of getting them in drafts of

fifty or sixty at a time by small schooners--which would always be

liable to be cut off and all hands killed--especially in the Solomon

Islands.

“I laid our scheme before Mrs. Marston, and, to be as brief as possible,

she is not only willing to let us charter her ship, but also wishes to

take a share in the venture. But she wants you to keep command of the

_Esmeralda_, as I trust you will.”

Then followed a long list of stores, trade goods, arms, ammunition, &c,

&c, which Raymond wished Frewen to purchase in Sydney, and the letter

concluded with a request for him to leave for Samatau as quickly as

possible.

On a separate sheet he made mention of Villari, saying that he had

thoroughly recovered from his wound and was living at Apia.

“To tell you the truth, we are all glad he has gone away from us, for he

fell madly in love with Mrs. Marston, and proposed to her, and took

her kindly rejection of him very badly. He then left the house, but has

twice since come to see her. At last she began to get alarmed at

his conduct, and finally I had to frankly tell him that he was an

undesirable visitor. It stung him deeply, but he persists in writing her

the most passionate letters, asking her to reconsider her decision. I

am sorry for the fellow, as we all liked him. Frohmann, the new German

doctor at Apia, told me that he believes the poor fellow is not 'all

there' mentally.”

CHAPTER XIV

Frewen showed his letters to the agent Beilby, who corroborated

Raymond's statement in every particular regarding the money that could

be made by growing cotton on an organised system with native labour,

and with proper machinery to clean and pack it; and he also bore out the

planter's remarks about the danger that attended small vessels employed

in the black labour trade.

“You have seen a good deal of the natives of the South Sea Islands,

Captain Frewen, and know what desperate cut-throats are those of the

Western Pacific Groups. Two small trading vessels of my own have been

cut off within the last five years, and every soul massacred, and the

vessels looted and then burnt. It is a most difficult matter to keep

a swarm of natives off the decks of a vessel with a low freeboard, all

they have to do is to step out of their canoes over the rail, and if

they are bent on mischief they can simply overpower a small vessel's

company by mere weight of numbers. You will be surprised to hear

that, even now, some of the Sydney trading craft use the old-fashioned

boarding nettings, and their skippers only allow a certain number

of natives on board at a time. But with a large vessel like the

_Esmeralda_, this very great source of danger--the low freeboard--is

absent; and besides that, you can carry a crew large enough to squelch

any attempt at a rising, if, after you get them on board, your gentle

passengers took it into their heads to attempt to possess themselves of

the ship.”

“Just so. And I have heard of several instances where Honolulu and

Tahiti labour vessels have been captured, even though they carried large

crews and were well armed.”

“Exactly! Just carelessness. You never know, when you have a hundred or

so of these savages on board, what they may do. They all know that they

are going to a foreign country to work on sugar or cotton plantations

for three years, at the end of which they will be paid for their labour

in guns, powder, beads, calicoes, &c, &c. Well, they come on board

perfectly content, and all goes well for a week or two, until some of

them begin to notice that the crew are not keeping such a good watch

over them as they did when they first came on board. These fellows begin

the mischief. 'Why should we not kill the white men on board?' (they

will argue) 'and help ourselves to _everything_--guns, pistols, powder,

and bullets, cutlasses, grog and tobacco, and all the other riches in

the ship? It is much better than working for three years for one gun and

one keg of powder and bag of bullets, a knife or two, and a few other

things, and then bringing them back to our own country to be despoiled

of them by our relations.' Do you understand, Captain Frewen?”

“Quite.”

“Well, they lie low and wait, and when the opportunity comes the beggars

set to work with a vengeance-Only three years ago one of the Hawaiian

Islands labour vessels recruited ninety Gilbert Islands natives to work

on the new sugar plantations near Honolulu. They behaved themselves

splendidly--for they were well treated--for about a fortnight, and the

skipper of the vessel (an old hand in the island trade) allowed them to

lie on deck at night, feeling sure that they would give no trouble. More

than this, he even told his officers and crew to discontinue carrying

their Colts' pistols. The result was that one night, when the watch were

taking in sail during a squall, the natives took possession of the brig,

killed the mate and all the men of the watch who were on deck, and would

certainly have slaughtered every one of the ship's company had it not

been for the captain himself; who, hearing the noise, rushed up from

below armed with a whale-ship bomb gun, loaded with slugs. He fired

right into the mob of natives on the main deck, killed three or four,

and wounded twice as many. Then the second mate and the rest of the

watch below came tumbling up, headed by a big Nova Scotian A.B. He was a

tremendously powerful fellow, and had armed himself with the carpenter's

broad axe, and in a few minutes he cut down five of the natives, one of

whom was the ringleader. Then the steward and supercargo turned up with

nine-bore double-barrelled shot-guns, loaded with No. 1 shot, and they

and the bluenose{*} practically saved the ship, or with their four shots

they laid out nearly a dozen more natives, and the others bolted down

to the hold and asked for quarter. Ah, Captain Frewen, there is nothing

like buckshot or slogs to squash a mutiny. You most get some nine-bore

guns made here to take away with you.”

* A “bluenose” is a sailor's term for a Canadian or Nova

Scotian.

“Thank you for the suggestion, Mr. Beilby. But whalers' bomb guns--which

can be easily procured in Sydney--are better still. You can load them

with a small charge of powder and crushed rock salt, which won't kill a

man, but which will prevent him from doing any mischief for a long time.

When I was a boatsteerer some years ago on a New Bedford whaler--the

_Aaron Burr_--we had serious trouble with about thirty Portuguese

negroes we picked up off the coast of Brazil. They were in two boats,

and were deserters from a Brazilian man-of-war, which had gone ashore

off Santos. Many of our men were down with fever of some sort, and

these black gentry (who were all armed with knives), thinking that

the after-guard was not able to cope with them, came aft and told our

skipper that if he did not give them all the liquor they wanted they

would throw him overboard, set fire to the ship, and go ashore again. He

seemed to be very much frightened--he was an undersized, quiet man--and

begged them to go on deck and remain there whilst he and the steward and

such of the officers who were not ill with fever would get up a keg of

rum from the lazzarette. Then--he spoke Spanish pretty well--he asked

them not to be too hard on him. He would treat them as gentlemen, &c.,

and, with apparently trembling hands, he gave them boxes of cigars, and

addressed them as if they were caballeros of the highest rank whom he

was delighted to honour. Some of them cursed him for an Americano, but

the majority were too hugely elated at the prospect of a keg of ram to

say more to him than to hurry up with it.

“He did hurry up with a vengeance, for in five minutes he and the mate

had each loaded a bomb gun with a heavy charge of sheet-lead slugs. They

rushed on deck together, and with a warning cry to our men to get out

of the way, they fired into the negroes, who were squatted about on the

main hatch smoking their cigars and waiting for the rum. The effect was

something terrifying, for although none of them were killed, fully

half of them were wounded, and their groans and yells were something

horrible. We did not give them much time to rally, for all of us who

were well enough made a rush, and with belaying-pins and anything else

which came to our hands drove them over the side into their boats.”

“Then get some of those bomb-guns, captain, by all means. I think I have

seen one--a thing like a bloated blunderbuss without the bell mouth.”

“That's it,” said Frewen with a laugh; “it is not a handsome weapon, but

we whalemen do not go in for 'objects of bigotry and virtue.' A bomb-gun

is made for a practical purpose--the stock is almost solid metal, and

altogether it is no light weight.”

During the following two weeks both Frewen and the agent were very busy.

The former, with a gang of shore carpenters, was engaged in preparing

the 'tween decks of the ship for the reception of the native passengers,

and constructing two movable gratings to go across the upper deck--one

for'ard and the other aft--which, whilst they would practically allow

the natives the free run of the deck, would yet prevent them from making

any sudden onslaught on the crew.

Beilby, whose long experience of the South Sea Islands trade especially

fitted him for the task, devoted himself to the work of fulfilling

Raymond's orders as to the trade goods required, and in three weeks the

_Esmeralda_ was again ready for sea.

And when, under full sail, she passed down the harbour towards Sydney

Heads bound for beautiful Samoa, her captain's heart swelled with pride

as the crews of a score of other ships cheered, “Bravo, _Esmeralda!_”

CHAPTER XV

Under a shady wild orange-tree which grew just above high-water mark

on the white beach of Samatau Bay, Marie Raymond and Mrs. Marston were

seated together on a cane lounge imagining they were sewing, but in

reality only talking on subjects dear to every woman's heart.

Quite near them, and seated on mats, were the old nurse Mâlu, who held

Mrs. Marston's baby-girl, and Raymond's own little daughter Loisé, who

was playing with a young native girl--Olivee--grey-haired old Main's

assistant.

It was early in the morning--an hour after breakfast--and the two ladies

had come down to the beach to watch Raymond and his partners and some

hundreds of natives working at a jetty being constructed from slabs of

coral stone, and which was to be carried out into deep water.

The day was delightfully bright, and the soft cool breath of the brave

south-east trade wind, which rippled the blue of the ocean before them,

stirred and swayed and made rhythmic music among the plumed crests of

the graceful coco-palms above. And, as they talked, they heard, every

now and then, Raymond's cheery voice giving orders, and the workmen's

response, which was generally sung, some one among them improvising a

chant--for the Samoans, like many other Polynesian peoples, love to work

to the accompaniment of song.

“Marie,” said Mrs. Marston, as she let the piece of sewing which she

held in her hand fall unheeded to the ground and looked dreamily out

upon the blue ocean before them, “you must be a happy woman.”

“I am a very, very happy woman, Amy. And I shall be happier still if you

decide to remain and live near us. Oh, Amy, if you only knew how I try

not to think of the possibility of your going away from us--to think

that when you do go, it means that I may never see you again.”

“I do not want to go away, Marie. I have told you the story of my life,

and how very unhappy I was in my girlhood--an orphan without a friend in

the world except my aunt, who resented my orphanage, and treated me as

'a thorn in the flesh,' but I did not tell you that until I met you I

never had a girl or woman friend in all my life. And now I feel that as

I have found one, I cannot sever myself from her, now that my husband is

dead and I and the babe are alone in the world.”

Marie Raymond passed her arms around her friend's waist. “Amy, dear,

_do_ stay in Samoa. I, too, have no woman friend except some of my

mother's people--who would give their lives for me. But I am not a white

woman. My mother's blood--of which I _am_ proud--is in my veins, and

when I was at school in Australia, it used to cut me to the heart to

have to submit to insults from girls who took a delight in torturing and

harassing me because of it. One day I lost control of myself; I heard

them whispering something about 'the wild girl from the woods,' and I

told them that my mother could trace her descent back for five hundred

years in an unbroken line, whilst I was quite certain none of them would

like to say who their grandfathers were. My words told, for there were

really five or six girls in the school who had the convict taint. I was

called before the principal, and asked to apologise. I refused, and said

that I had only said openly and under the greatest provocation what more

than a dozen other girls had told me!”

“How did it end?”

“In mutual apologies, and peace was restored. But I was never happy

there--I loathe the memory of my school days, and was glad to come back

to Samoa.”

“Neither were my English school days happy, but I even liked being at

school in preference to staying with my aunt. I hated the thought of

going to her for the holidays. She was a narrow-minded, selfish woman--a

clergyman's widow, and seemed to take a delight in mortifying me by

continually reminding me that all the money left by my father was

£500, which would just pay for my education and no more. 'When you are

eighteen,' she would say, 'you must not expect a home with me. Other

girls go out as companions; you must do the same. Therefore try and fit

yourself for the position.' Everything I did was wrong--according

to her, I was rebellious, irreligious, too fond of dress, and lazy

physically and mentally. The fact was, I was simply a half-starved,

dowdy school-girl---often hungry for food and always hungry for love.

If I had had a dog to talk to I should have been happier. My mother died

when I was three years old, and my father two years later. Then, as I

told you, I went out as governess to the Warrens when I was nineteen,

and felt that I was a human being, for they were kind to me.

Colonel Warren, a rough, outspoken old soldier with a red face and

fierce-looking blue eyes under enormous white bushy eyebrows, was

very kind to me, and so was his wife. I was not treated as so many

governesses are treated in English families--as something between a

scullery-maid and a housekeeper, for whom anything is good enough to

eat, and any horrid, mean little room good enough to sleep in. When

she came to say good-night to the children after hearing them say their

prayers she would always ask me to come to her own room for an hour or

two. I was very happy there. I was only a little over a year with them

when I met and married Captain Marston.” “Some day, Amy, you will

marry again,” “I don't know, Marie,” said Mrs. Marston frankly. “I was

thinking the other day that such a thing may be possible. I have no

knowledge of the world, and am not competent to manage my business

affairs. But there will be plenty of years to think of such a thing. I

want to watch my baby grow up--I want her girlhood to be as bright and

as full of love as mine was dull and loveless.”

Presently a native boy came along the path carrying two letters. He

advanced, and handed one to Mrs. Marston, whose cheeks first paled,

and then flushed with anger as she took it, for she recognised the

handwriting.

“There is another letter for thy husband, lady,” he said to Mrs.

Raymond, “which also cometh from the _papalagi_{*} Villari.”

* Papalagi = foreigner.

Mrs. Raymond directed him where to find her husband, and then was about

to return to the house, but her friend, who had not yet opened the

letter in her hand, asked her to stay.

“Don't go, Marie. I shall not open this letter. It is too bad of Mr.

Villari to again write to me. Shall I send it back, or take no notice of

it?”

“I hardly know what to say, Amy. He is very rude to annoy you in this

way. Wait and hear what Tom thinks.”

A quarter of an hour later, the planter came up from the beach, and sat

down beside the ladies.

“I have a letter from Villari, Marie,” he said, “and have brought it up

to see what you and Mrs. Marston think of it.”

“Amy has also received one, Tom, but would not open it nor send it

back till she had your advice. I think it is altogether wrong of him to

persecute her in this way.”

“Oh, well, you'll be glad to know that he is sorry for what has

occurred. Here is his letter to me, Mrs. Marston--please read it.”

The letter was a courteously worded and apparently sincere expression

of regret for having forced his attentions upon Mrs. Marston, and asking

Raymond and his wife to intercede for him with her. “It will give me

the greatest joy if she will overlook my conduct, and accept my sincere

apologies, if she does not, I shall carry the remembrance of her just

anger to the end of my life. But when I think of her past friendliness

to me, I am excited with the hope that her ever-kind heart will perhaps

make her forget my unwarrantable presumption, which I look back upon

with a feeling of wonder at my being guilty of such temerity.” Then he

went on to say that Raymond would be interested to learn that he had

bought a small schooner of 100 tons called the _Lupetea_, on easy terms

of payment, and that he hoped to make a great deal of money by running

her in the inter-island trade. “I was only enabled to do this through

Mrs. Marston's generosity,” he concluded--“the £500 she gave me enabled

me to make a good 'deal.' I leave Apia to-morrow for a cruise round

Upolu, and as I find that I have some cargo for you, I trust that

you, your wife, and Mrs. Marston will at least let me set foot on your

threshold once more.”

“Well, the poor devil seems very sorry for having offended you so much

by his persistence, Mrs. Marston,” said the planter with a laugh, “and

he writes such a pretty letter that I'm sure you won't withhold your

forgiveness.”

“I don't think I can. But I must see what he has written to me,” and she

opened the letter. It contained but a very few lines in the same tenour

as that to Raymond, deploring his folly and begging her forgiveness.

“I'm very glad, Tom, that Amy sent him the £500, and that he had the

sense not to again refuse it. It would always be embarrassing to you,

Amy, whenever you met him.”

“It would indeed. But I doubt if he would have accepted it if it had

not been for Mr. Raymond's strongly worded letter on the subject,”

(The planter had sent the money to him in Apia with a note saying

that whatever her feelings were towards him, Mrs. Marston would be

additionally aggrieved if he refused to accept a bequest from her late

husband; it would, he said, have the result of making the lady feel that

his rejection of the gift was uncalled-for and discourteous.)

“So that's all right,” said Raymond, as he rose to return to the beach.

“I always liked the man, as you have often heard me say. And you really

must not be too angry with him, Mrs. Marston. These Italians--like all

Latins--are a fearfully idiotic people in some things--especially where

women are concerned. Now almost any decent Anglo-Saxon would have taken

his gruelling quietly if a woman told him three times that she didn't

want him. Frohmann thinks that that crack on the head has touched his

brain a bit; and at the same time, you must remember, Mrs. Marston,

that whether you like it or not, you won't be able to prevent men from

falling in love with you--look at me, for instance!”

Marie Raymond threw a reel of cotton at him--

“Be off to your work!”

CHAPTER XVI

A few days later the _Lupetea_ (White Pigeon) ran into the bay and

Raymond boarded her. He greeted Villari in a friendly manner, and tried

to put him at his ease by at once remarking that the ladies would be

very glad to see him again when he had time to come up to the house.

The schooner was loaded with a general cargo for the various traders and

planters on the south side of the island, and that for Raymond consisted

principally of about forty tons of yams for the use of the numerous

local labourers already employed on the plantations.

The _Lupetea_ was a rather handsome little vessel, well-fitted for the

island trade, and carried besides Villari and the mate six hands, all of

whom were Europeans, and Raymond at once recognised several of them

as old _habituée_ of Apia beach--men whose reputation as loafers and

boozers of the first water was pretty well known in Samoa. The mate,

too, was one of the same sort. He was an old man named Hutton, and was

such an incorrigible drunkard that for two years past he had found it

increasingly difficult to get employment. He had in his time been mate

of some large ships, but his intemperate habits had caused him to come

down to taking a berth as mate or second mate on small coastal schooners

whenever he could get the position.

Before he returned to the shore the planter told Villari that he would

be glad if he would come to dinner at seven o'clock.

“We are a large party now, Mr. Villari. Besides Mrs. Marston and my wife

and myself there are my two partners, Budd and Meredith, and two white

overseers. The latter don't sleep in the house, but they have their

meals with us.”

Villari accepted the invitation, and at six o'clock landed in his boat

and met Raymond and his partners, who had just finished the day's work

and were on their way to the house. On the verandah they were received

by the ladies, and Mrs. Marston was glad to observe that the Italian

took her outstretched hand without any trace of embarrassment, asked if

her baby was thriving, and then greeted Mrs. Raymond, who said she was

glad to see him looking so well, and wished him prosperity with the

_Lupetea_.

The dinner passed off very well. Villari made inquiries as to the

whereabouts of the _Esmeralda_, and Mrs. Marston told him all that she

knew, and added that if the ship had arrived in Sydney from Valparaiso

about eight weeks before, as Frewen had indicated was likely in the

last letter received from him, it was quite possible that he would be at

Samatau within another ten or fourteen days, and then, as there was no

necessity for concealment, she said it was very probable that the ship's

next voyage would be to the Western Pacific to procure labourers for the

new plantation.

“You have no intention, I trust, of making the voyage in her, Mrs.

Marston?” queried the Italian; “the natives, I hear, are a very

treacherous lot.”

“No, indeed, Mr. Villari. I am staying here with Mrs. Raymond for quite

a long time yet, I hope. It is quite likely, though, that before a year

has gone she and I will be going to Sydney and our babies will make the

trip with us. I have never been to Australia, and am sure I should enjoy

being there if Mrs. Raymond were with me. I have two years' shopping to

do.”

Rudd--one of Raymond's partners--laughed. “Ah, Mrs. Raymond, why go to

Sydney when all of the few other white ladies here are satisfied with

Dennis Murphy's 'Imporium' at Apia, where, as he says, 'Yez can get

annything ye do be wantin' from a nadle to an anchor, from babies' long

clothes to pickled cabbage and gunpowder.'”

“Indeed, we are going there this day week,” broke in Mrs. Raymond.

“There are a lot of things Mrs. Marston and I want, and we mean to turn

the 'Emporium' upside down. But we are not entirely selfish, Tom; we are

buying new mosquito netting for you, Mr. Rudd, Mr. Meredith, Mr. Young,

and Mr. Lorimer.” (The two last-named were the overseers.)

“How are you going, Marie?” asked Raymond with a smile; “we can't spare

the cutter, and you don't want to be drowned in a _taumualua_.'

“Ah! we are not the poor, weak women you think we are. We are quite

independent--we are going to cross overland; and, more than that, we

shall be away eight days.”

“Clever woman!” retorted Raymond. “It is all very well for you,

Marie--you have crossed over on many occasions; but Mrs. Marston does

not understand our mountain paths.”

“My dear Tom, don't trouble that wise head of yours. _I_ have azranged

everything. Furthermore, the babies are coming with us! Serena, Olivee,

and one of Malië's girls--and I don't know how many others are to be

baby carriers. We go ten miles the first day along the coast, sleep at

Falelatai that night; then cross the range to the little bush village at

the foot of Tofua Mountain, sleep there, and then go on to Malua in the

morning. At Malua we get Harry Bevere's boat, and _he_ takes us to Apia.

Tom, it is a cut-and-dried affair, but now that I've told you of it, I

may as well tell you that Maliê has aided and abetted us--the dear old

fellow. We shall be treated like princesses at every village all along

the route, and I doubt very much if we shall do much walking at all--we

shall be carried on _fata_” (cane-work litters).

“All very well, my dear; but you and Malië have been counting your

chickens too soon. Harry Revere is now in our employ, and I yesterday

sent a runner to him to go off to Savai'i and buy us a hundred tons of

yams; and he has left by now.”

“Oh, Tom!” and Mrs. Raymond looked so blankly disappointed that all her

guests laughed. “Is there no other way of getting to Apia by water?”

“No, except by _toumualua_--and a pretty nice time you and Sirs. Marston

and the suffering infants would have in a native boat! On the other hand

you can walk--you are bent on walking--and by going along the coast you

can reach Apia in about four days. Give the idea up, Marie, for a month

or so, when Malië and some of his people can take you and Mrs. Marston

to Apia in comfort in the cutter.”

Villari turned his dark eyes to Mrs. Raymond--

“Will you do me the honour of allowing me to take you and Mrs. Marston

to Apia in the _Lupetea?_ I shall be delighted.”

“It is very kind of you, Captain Villari,” said the planter's wife with

a smile, as she emphasised the word “captain,” “but when will you be

sailing?”

The Italian considered a moment.

“I have some cargo for Manono, and some for the German trader at

Paulaelae. I shall leave here at daylight to-morrow; be at Manono before

noon; run across the straits to Paulaelae the same day, land a few cases

of goods for the German, and be back here, if the breeze holds good, the

day after to-morrow.”

“It is very kind of you, Mr. Villari,” said Raymond.

“Not at all, Mr. Raymond. It will be far easier for me to come back this

way than to beat up to Apia against the trade wind and strong current on

the north side.”

“True. I did not think of that. So there you are, Marie--'fixed up,' as

Frewen would say. The schooner, I believe, is pretty smart, isn't she,

Mr. Villari?”

“Very fair, Mr. Raymond--especially on a wind. We should get to Apia in

less than twenty-four hours if there is any kind of a breeze at all. And

for such a small vessel her accommodation is really very good, so the

ladies and children will be very comfortable, I hope.”

“Yes,” said Meredith, “the _Lupetea_ is the best schooner in the group.

I've made two or three trips in her to Fiji. She was built by Brander,

of Tahiti, for a yacht, and he used to carry his family with him on

quite long voyages. Took them to Sydney once.”

“Well, Captain Villari,” said Mrs. Raymond, “we shall be ready for you

the day after to-morrow. Be prepared for an infliction,” and holding

up her left hand, she began counting on her fingers: “Item, two babies;

item, mothers of babies aforesaid; item, Serena, nurse girl; item,

Olivee, nurse girl; item, one native boy named Lilo, who is a relative

of Malië's, is Mrs. Marston's especial protégé and wants to see the

great City of Apia; item, baskets and baskets _and_ baskets of roasted

fowls, mangoes, pineapples and other things which are for the use of the

captain, officers, crew and passengers of the _Lupetea_.”

Villari laughed. “There will be plenty of room, Mrs. Raymond.”

An hour or so later he bade them all good-night, and went on board.

The old mate was pacing to and fro on the main deck smoking his pipe,

and Villari asked him to come below.

He turned up the lamp and told Hutton to sit down.

“Will you have a drink, Hutton?”

“_Will_ I? You ought to know me by now.”

Villari went to his cabin and brought out a bottle of brandy. His

dark eyes were flashing with excitement, as he placed it on the table

together with two glasses.

“Drink as much as you like to-night,” he said; “but remember we lift

anchor at daylight. We must be back here the day after to-morrow. There

are passengers coming on board. You remember your promise to me?”

Hutton half-filled his tumbler with brandy, and swallowed it eagerly

before answering.

“I do, skipper; I'll do any blessed thing in the world except cuttin'

throats. I don't know what your game is, but I'm ready for anythink.

If it's a scuttlin' job, you needn't try to show me nothin'. I'm an old

hand at the game.”

Villari took a little brandy and sipped it slowly.

“It is not anything like that; I am only taking away a woman whom I want

to marry. She may give trouble at first. Will you stand by me?”

The man laughed. “Is that all, skipper? Why, I thought it was somethink

serious. You can depend on me,” and he poured out some more liquor.

“Here's luck to you, Captain. I consider as that fifty pound is in my

pocket already.”

CHAPTER XVII

Two days later the schooner came sweeping round the western point of

Samatau Bay and then hove-to abreast of the house. Villari at once went

on shore, found his passengers ready to embark, and in half an hour

they were all on board and the _Lupetea_ was spinning along the southern

shore of Upolu at a great rate, for the wind was fresh and the sea very

smooth. At midnight she was nearly abreast of a beautiful little harbour

called Lotofanga, and Villari, who was on deck, told the mate to haul

the head sheets to windward and ta lower the boat. This was done so

quietly that the only one of the passengers who knew what had been done

was the Samoan, Lilo--a bright, intelligent youth of about fifteen years

of age. He was lying on the after-deck, and saw the mate and four hands

go over the side into the boat, and then a trunk of clothing which

belonged to Mrs. Raymond, and which, as the weather was fine, had been

left on deck, was passed down. Wondering at this, he rose, and walking

to the side, was looking at the boat, when a sailor roughly seized him

by the shoulder and ordered him to go for'ard and stay there till he was

called. Very unwillingly he obeyed, and then a second man told him to

go below into the foc'sle, and made such a threatening gesture with

a belaying-pin, that the boy, now beginning to feel alarmed, at once

descended, and immediately the fore scuttle was closed and bolted from

the deck. The place was in darkness except for one small slush lamp, and

Lilo, taking his seat on a sailor's chest, looked round at the bunks.

They were all unoccupied, and this fact increased his fears. He,

however, was a courageous lad, and his first thought was to provide

himself with some sort of weapon, and by the aid of the lamp he began

searching the bunks. In a few minutes he found a sheath knife and belt,

which he at once secured, and then again sat down to wait events.

Meanwhile Villari was speaking to the mate.

“You are quite sure you know the landing-place?” he asked.

“Course I do. Didn't I tell you I've been at Loto-fanga half a dozen

times? It's right abreast of the passage, and no one couldn't miss it

on a clear night like this. But it's dead low tide. Why can't I put the

woman and girl on the reef, and let 'em walk to the village? Then we

don't run no risks of any natives a-seein' us and coming down to the

boat.”

“Ha! that's a good idea. But is it quite safe? I don't want them to meet

with any accident.”

“There ain't no danger. The reef is quite flat, with no pools in it, and

they needn't even wet their feet. I've walked over it myself.”

“Very well then. Now stand by, for I'm going below. As soon as they are

in the boat, push off and hurry all you can and get back. We must be out

of sight of land by daylight.”

The cabin, which was lighted by a swinging lamp, was very quiet as

Villari, first removing his boots, descended softly and bent oyer the

sleeping figures of Olivee and Serena, who were lying on mats spread

upon the floor outside the two cabins occupied by their mistresses. He

touched Olivee on the shoulder, and awakened her.

“Ask Mrs. Raymond to please dress and come on deck for a few minutes,”

he said quietly to the girl in English, which she understood. She at

once rose, and tapped at her mistress's door, and the Italian returned

on deck.

Wondering what could be the reason for such a request, Mrs. Raymond

dressed herself as quickly as possible, and was soon on deck followed by

the girl Olivee.

“What is the matter, Mr. Villari?” she inquired, and then, as she looked

at the man's face, something like fear possessed her. His eyes had the

same strange expression that she had often noticed when he was looking

at Mrs. Marston, and she remembered what the German doctor had said.

“You must not be alarmed, Mrs. Raymond,” he said, “but I am sorry to

say that the schooner has begun to leak in an alarming and extraordinary

manner, and the pumps are choked. For your own safety I am sending you

and Mrs. Marston and your servants on shore. We are now just abreast of

Lotofanga, and I am going to try and work the schooner in there and run

her ashore on the beach.”

Mrs. Raymond, now quite reassured, was at once practical. “We can be

ready in a minute, Mr. Villari. I will get little Loisé, and----”

“Do--as quickly as you can--and I will tell Mrs. Marston. I preferred

letting you know first. She is very nervous, and it will allay her alarm

when she finds that you are so cool. The boat is already alongside. Have

you any valuables in your cabin? If so, get them together.”

“Nothing but a little money. All my other things are on deck in a

trunk.”

“That is already in the boat; the mate told me it was yours.”

“Hurry up, please, ladies,” and the mate's head appeared above the rail.

“Just another minute, Hutton,” said Villari, as he, Mrs. Raymond, and

the Samoan girl all returned to the cabin together. The latter at once

picked up the sleeping Loisé, and her mother, as she wrapped her in a

shawl, heard Villari rouse the girl Serena and tell her to awaken her

mistress, and presently she heard his voice speaking to Mrs. Marston

telling her not to be alarmed, but he feared the schooner might founder

at any moment, and that he was sending her and Mrs. Raymond on shore.

“Very well, Mr. Villari,” she heard her friend say. “Have you told Mrs.

Raymond?”

“Yes,” he replied. “She is getting ready now--in fact, she _is_ ready.”

Then he returned to Mrs. Raymond's door, and met her just as she was

leaving the cabin with the nurse and child.

“Can I help you, Amy?” asked the planter's wife as she looked into Mrs.

Marston's cabin.

“No, dear. I did not quite undress, and I'll be ready in a minute. Baby

is fast asleep. Is Loisé awake?”

“No, I'm glad to say. Olivee has her.”

“Please come on, Mrs. Raymond,” said Villari, somewhat impatiently; “go

on, Olivee, with the little girl.”

He let them precede him, and almost before she knew it, Mrs. Raymond

found herself with the nurse and child in the boat, which was at once

pushed off and headed for the shore.

“Stop, stop!” cried the poor lady, clutching the mate by the arm. “Mrs.

Marston is coming.”

“Can't wait,” was the gruff rejoinder, and then, to her horror and

indignation, she saw that the boat's crew were pulling as if their lives

depended on their exertions.

“Shame, shame!” she cried wildly. “Are you men, to desert them! Oh, if

you have any feelings of humanity, turn back,” and, rising to her feet,

she shouted out at the top of her voice, “Captain Villari, Captain

Villari, for God's sake call the boat back!”

But no notice was taken, and a feeling of terror seized her when the

brutal Hutton bade her “sit down and take it easy.”

As Villari stood watching the disappearing boat Mrs. Marston, followed

by the girl Serena carrying her baby, came on deck.

“What is wrong?” she asked anxiously. “Why has the boat gone? What does

it mean?” and Yillari saw that she was trembling.

“Return to your cabin, Mrs. Marston. No harm shall come to you.

To-morrow morning I shall tell you why I have done this.”

A glimmering of the truth came to her, and she tried to speak, but no

words came to her lips, as in a dazed manner she took the infant from

Serena, and pressing it tightly to her bosom stepped back from him with

horror, contempt, and blazing anger shining from her beautiful eyes.

“Go below, I beg you,” said Villari huskily. “Here, girl, take this,

and give it to your mistress when you go below,” and he placed a loaded

Colt's pistol in the girl's hand. “No one shall enter the cabin till

to-morrow morning. You can shoot the first man who puts his foot on the

companion stairs.”

CHAPTER XVIII

A hot, blazing, and windless day, so hot that the branches of the

coco-palms, which at early morn had swished and merrily swayed to the

trade wind, now hung limp and motionless, as if they had suffered from

a long tropical drought instead of merely a few hours' cessation of the

brave, cool breeze, which for nine months out of twelve for ever made

symphony in their plumed crests.

On the shady verandah of a small but well-built native house Amy Marston

was seated talking to an old, snowy-haired white man, whose bright but

wrinkled face was tanned to the colour of dark leather by fifty years of

constant exposure to a South Sea sun.

“Don't you worry, ma'am. A ship is bound to come along here some time or

another, an' you mustn't repine, but trust to God's will.”

“Indeed I try hard not to repine, Mr. Manning. When I think of all that

has happened since that night, seven months ago, I have much for which

to thank God. I am alive and well, my child has been spared to me, and

in you, on this lonely island, I have found a good, kind friend, to whom

I shall be ever grateful.”

“That's the right way to look at it, ma'am. Until you came here I had

not seen a white woman for nigh on twenty years, and when I did first

see you I was all a-trembling--fearing to speak--for you looked to me as

if you were an angel, instead of----”

“Instead of being just what I was--a wretched, half-mad creature, whom

your kindness and care brought back to life and reason.”

The old man, who even as he sat leant upon a stick, pointed towards the

setting sun, whose rays were shedding a golden light upon the sleeping

sea.

“Whenever I see a thing like that, Mrs. Marston, I feel in my heart,

deep, deep down, that God is with us, and that I, Jim Manning, the old

broken-down, poverty-stricken trader of Anouda, has as much share in

His goodness and blessed love as the Pope o' Borne or the Archbishop o'

Canterbury. See how He has preserved you, and directed that schooner to

drift here to Anouda, instead of her going ashore on one of the Solomon

Islands, where you and all with you would have been killed by savage

cannibals and never been heard of again.”

Amy Marston left her seat, came over to the old man, and kneeling beside

him, placed her hands on his.

“Mr. Manning, whenever a ship does come, will you and your sons come

away with me to Samoa, and live with me and the kind friends of whom I

have told you. Ah, you have been so good to me and my baby that I would

feel very unhappy if, when a ship comes and I leave Anouda, you were to

stay behind. I am what is considered a fairly rich woman----”

“God bless you, my child--for you are only a child, although you are a

widow and have a baby--but you must not tempt me. I shall never leave

Anouda. I have lived here for five-and-thirty years, and shall die here.

I am now past seventy-six years of age, and every evening when the sun

is setting, as it is setting now, I sit in front of my little house and

watch it as I smoke my pipe, and feel more and more content and nearer

to God. Now, Mrs. Marston, I must be going home. Where is Lilo?''

“Out on the reef somewhere, fishing. Serena and the baby are in the

breadfruit grove behind the village. I sent them there, as it is cooler

than the house. I shall walk over there for them before it becomes too

dark. Ah, here comes the breeze at last.”

“Lilo is a good boy, a good boy,” said the old man as he rose and held

out his hand; “he is very proud of calling himself your _tausea_,{*} and

that he 'sailed' the _Lupetea_ so many hundreds of miles.”

* Protector.

“He is indeed a good boy. I do not think we should ever have reached

land had it not been for him.”

As the bent figure of the old trader disappeared along the path that

led to his own house, which was half a mile away, Mrs. Marston reseated

herself, and with her sunbrowned hands folded in her lap, gazed dreamily

out upon the glassy ocean, and gave herself up to reverie.

* * * * *

When, in an agony of fear, she had obeyed Villari's request to go below,

she had locked herself in her own cabin, and after putting her infant

to sleep, had sat up with the girl Serena, waiting for the morning. The

pistol which the Italian had given her she laid upon the little table,

and Serena, who knew of Villari's infatuation for her mistress, sat

beside her with a knife in her hand.

“I cannot shoot with the little gun which hath six shots, lady,” said

the girl, “but I can drive this knife into his heart.”

Half an hour passed without their being disturbed, and then they heard

Villari call out to let draw the head sheets, and in a few minutes the

schooner was running before a sharp rain squall from the northward. As

they sat listening to the spattering of the rain on the deck above, one

of the skylight flaps was lifted, and, to their joy, their names were

called by the boy Lilo.

“Serena, Ami! 'Tis I, Lilo. Do not shoot at me,” he cried, and at the

same moment Villari came to the skylight and said--

“The boy wants to stay below with you, Mrs. Marston. I did not know he

was on board till a little while ago.” Then the flap was lowered, and

they saw no more of him till the morning.

The delight of Lilo at finding Mrs. Marston and Serena together was

unbounded, and for some minutes the boy was so overjoyed at seeing them

again, that even Mrs. Marston, terrified and agitated as she was at

Villari's conduct, had to smile when he took her feet in his hands and

pressed them to his cheek. As soon as his excitement subsided, he told

them of what had occurred after he had been put down into the foc'sle.

About a quarter of an hour after the boat had gone, the scuttle was

opened, and one of the sailors who were left on board told him to come

up on deck. Villari was at the wheel, and was in a very bad temper, for

he angrily demanded of the two seamen what they meant by keeping him on

board, instead of sending him on shore in the boat. One of the men, who

was called “Bucky” and who had evidently been drinking, made Villari

a saucy answer, and said that he had kept the boy below with a view to

making him useful. The mate, he said, “knew all about it,” and Villari

had better “keep quiet.” In another moment Villari knocked him senseless

with a belaying pin, and then, ordering the other man to let draw the

head sheets, put the helm hard up, and the schooner stood away from the

land, just as a rain squall came away from the northward. As soon as

Bucky became conscious, Villari spoke to him and the other seaman,

cautioned them against disobedience, and said that if they did their

duty, he would divide a hundred pounds between them when the schooner

reached Noumea in New Caledonia. The men then asked him whether he meant

to leave the mate and the other four hands behind?

“Yes, I do,” he replied, “that is why I am giving you fifty pounds each.

But if you try on any nonsense with me, I'll shoot you both. Now go

for'ard and stand by to hoist the squaresail as soon as the squall dies

away--this boy will lend a hand.”

As soon as the squaresail was set, Villari told Lilo to call down the

skylight to Mrs. Marston.

“He told me,” concluded the boy, “that although I shall have to cook for

every one on board, I was to be your servant, and that I was to always

sleep in the cabin. And he himself is going to sleep in the deck house

behind the galley, for I saw that he has a lamp in there, and all his

things, and he asked me to bring him some writing paper, and ink, and

pens. Where shall I get them?”

Mrs. Marston found the articles for him, and Lilo at once took them to

Villari, who was at the wheel.

“Put them in the deck-house,” he said, “and tell one of the men to come

aft, and take the wheel. Then go below again and remain there. If any

one puts foot in the cabin, you can shoot him with the pistol I gave to

Serena.”

“Ami,” said the boy anxiously, when he retained, “he is _vale_ (mad),

for his eyes are the eyes of one who is mad. The land is now far astern,

and the ship is speeding fast away from it. What doth this mean?”

“I cannot tell thee, Lilo,” she replied, speaking in Samoan, “but as

thou sayest, he is mad. Let us trust in God to protect us.”

She rose and went into the main cabin, and looked at the tell-tale

compass, which swung over the table, and saw that the schooner was

heading south-west, which would be the course for New Caledonia.

All that night the _Lupetea_ swept steadily and swiftly along over a

smooth sea, and then at daylight, Mrs. Marston, who had fallen asleep,

was aroused by a loud cry of alarm from Lilo.

She sprang from her berth, and saw that the boy was kneeling beside

Villari, who was lying dead at the foot of the companion, with a pistol

in his hand.

“He hath killed himself, Ami,” said the boy. “As I sat here watching,

I heard two shots on deck, and then the ship came to the wind, and as I

was about to go on deck, Villari came down, and standing there, put the

pistol to his head and killed himself.”

“Come on deck,” she cried, “and see what has become of the men.”

Her fears that Villari had killed the two seamen were verified--they

were both lying dead, one beside the wheel, and the other on the main

deck. In the deckhouse was a wildly-incoherent and unfinished letter, to

her containing expressions of the most passionate devotion, and begging

her to pray for his soul.

The first thing to be done was to consider how to dispose of the bodies

of poor Villari and the unfortunate seamen. The land was now fifty miles

distant, and Lilo, pointing to the eastern horizon, assured Mrs. Marston

that bad weather was coming on, and that sail should be taken in as

quickly as possible.

“Let Serena and I cast the dead men overboard,” he said; “'tis better

than that we should keep them on board, for we know not how long it may

be ere we get to land again.”

Mrs. Marston shuddered.

“As you will, Lilo. When it is done, I will come on deck again and help

with the sails.”

An hour later the schooner was racing under close-reefed canvas before a

half-gale from the eastward.

“Let us steer to the westward,” Lilo had said to his mistress. “We

cannot beat back to Samoa against such a wind as this, which may last

many days. And straight to the west lieth Uea, on which live some white

men who will succour us.”

There was no general chart on board, but Mrs. Marston knew that Uea

(Wallis Island) was due west from Samoa, and distant about two or three

hundred miles.

For twelve hours the _Lupetea_ ran swiftly before a rapidly increasing

sea, and by night time Lilo was so exhausted in trying to keep her from

broaching to, that Serena came to his assistance. Neither he nor Mrs.

Marston knew how to heave-to the vessel; but, fearful of running past

Wallis Island in the night, they did the very thing they should not

have done--lowered and made fast both mainsail and foresail, and let the

vessel drive under bare poles.

Worn out with his exertions, Lilo still stuck manfully to his steering,

when, looking behind him, he saw a black, towering sea sweeping down

upon the schooner. Uttering a cry of alarm, he let go the wheel, and

darted into the cabin after Mrs. Marston, who had just left the deck.

Then came a tremendous crash, and the _Lupetea_ shook and quivered in

every timber, as the mighty avalanche of water fell upon and buried

her; smashing the wheel to splinters, snapping off the rudder head, and

sweeping the deck clean of everything movable.

A month later the vessel drifted ashore on Anouda Island, just as Mrs.

Marston was beginning to despair.

CHAPTER XIX

Darkness had fallen upon the little island, as with the girl Serena and

her infant charge, Mrs. Man-ton was walking back to the house. Lilo had

not yet returned, but as they emerged from the breadfruit grove, they

heard the sound of many voices, and then came a cry that made their

hearts thrill--

“_Te vaka nui, Te vaka nui!_” (“A ship! a ship!”) and almost at the same

moment Lilo and a score of natives came rushing along the path in search

of the white lady.

“A ship! aship!” shouted Lilo, who was almost frantic with excitement,

“your ship--your own ship! The ship that came to Samatau!”

“How know you, Lilo?” cried Mrs. Marston tremblingly. “How can you tell

it is my ship? And where is it?”

As soon as the boy was able to make himself heard through the clamour

of his companions, he told Mrs. Marston that whilst he was engaged in

fishing along the shore of an unfrequented little bay on the north end

of the island, he was startled by the sudden appearance of a large ship,

which he instantly recognised as the _Esmeralda_. She came around a

headland with a number of her hands aloft taking in sail, and dropped

anchor about half a mile from the land. Lilo waited some time to see if

a boat would come on shore, and also ran out to the edge of the reef,

and tried to attract the attention of the people on board, but no notice

was taken of him. Then, as darkness was coming on, he set off for the

village at a run to tell his mistress.

“We must hasten on board, Lilo,” said Mrs. Marston, as she walked

hurriedly along beside him to the house. “Run quickly to the old white

man, and ask him to send his boat here for me.”

But Manning had already heard the news, and his boat had not only been

launched, but, manned by half a dozen stalwart Anoudans, was at that

moment coming down inside the reef. The old trader's half-caste son Joe

was steering, and the moment the boat touched the beach, he sprang out

and ran up to the house.

“Father sent me for you, Mrs. Marston. The old man is nearly off his

head with excitement. He has sent a native out on the reef to burn a

blue light so that it can be seen by the people on board the ship, who

will then know that there are white people here.”

“Thank you, Joe,” she said, as, kissing her little Marie, and bidding

Serena take her to Manning's house, and there await her return from the

ship, she ran swiftly to the boat, which at once pushed off, accompanied

by twenty or thirty canoes--all crowded with natives.

“Look!” cried Joe Manning, “there is the blue light!”

Half a mile away, on a projecting horn of the reef, the blue flame was

shedding its brilliant light, and clearly revealing the all but nude

figure of the man who held it.

“Father said, Mrs. Marston, when he took those three blue lights ashore

from the wreck of the _Lupetea_, that they might come in useful some

night----” and then he uttered a yell of delight as a great rocket

shot high up in air and burst; the ship had seen the blue light and was

answering it!

“Hurrah! she sees the blue light!” he cried, and then with voice and

gesture he urged his crew to greater exertions. They responded with

a will, and then, as a second rocket shot upward, a deep “_Aue!_” of

admiration was chorused forth by the occupants of the canoes, which were

trying hard to keep pace with the swift whale-boat.

“We'll see her as soon as we get round the north end, ma'am,” said the

half-caste, as he swung the boat's head towards a passage through the

surrounding reef. Mrs. Marston made no reply; she was too excited to

speak, as with parted lips and eager eyes she sat gazing straight ahead.

Ten minutes passed, and only the _swish, swish_ of the canoe paddles

and the boat's oars broke the silence; then the high north point of the

island was rounded, and the _Esmeralda_ lay before them, so close, that

even though it was dark, figures could be seen moving about her decks,

which were well lit up.

Bidding his men cease pulling, and the natives in the canoes to keep

silent for a moment, the burly half-caste hailed.

“Ship ahoy!”

“Hallo, there!” cried Prewen's well-remembered voice, “we see you. Come

round on the port side.”

“Ay, ay, sir,” shouted Manning, and then, unable to restrain himself, he

expanded his mighty chest and bawled out--

“MRS. MARSTON IS HERE!”

In a moment or two there came an outburst of cheering from the ship, and

then amidst the shouts and yells of the Anouda natives the boat dashed

alongside, and Mrs. Marston ascended the ladder. A crowd of men were

at the gangway, and almost ere her foot had touched the deck Frewen had

grasped her hand.

“Thank God, we have found you at last, Mrs. Marston!”

She tried to speak, and then would have fallen, had not Randall Cheyne

sprung forward and caught her.

“Carry her to the cabin, Randall,” said Frewen, “the poor little woman

has fainted.”

Half an hour later, the chief officer ran up on the poop-deck and called

out--

“All hands aft!”

As the crew--who had been eagerly listening to Joe Manning's account

of how Mrs. Marston had come to the island--crowded aft, the mate cried

out--

“Boys, I want volunteers to man the starboard quarter-boat to bring Mrs.

Marston's baby on board.”

Such a wild rush was made for the boat falls that the good-natured

officer had to interfere and pick out eight men, and with Lilo as pilot

and himself in charge, the boat left the ship amid further cheering.

In the cabin Mrs. Marston, now looking bright and happy, was telling her

story to Frewen and Cheyne.

“And now,” she said, as she concluded, “I am the very happiest woman

in all the world, and oh! Captain Frewen, when I think I shall see Mrs.

Raymond within a few days, I feel almost hysterical. I'm sure I won't

want to go to sleep for a week.”

Frewen laughed as he looked at the flashed, beautiful face. “Well, I

don't think you'll get too much sleep to-night, for the men are as much

excited as any one aft, and I sent word that they can have a bit of fun

and make as much noise as they like until eight bells, and drink your

and your baby's health seven times.”

“Ah! my poor little baby. How cruel of me to forget her! Oh, please let

me go for her.”

“You are too late,” said Frewen with a smile, “the mate has just gone,

and he'll bring her to you before another hour has passed. He has taken

your boy Lilo with him as pilot.”

Mrs. Marston sighed contentedly, and then looked round at the familiar

cabin.

“Oh, how I shall love to see Samatau again, Captain Frewen, and oh! how

wonderful it is that the _Esmeralda_ of all ships should be the one to

find me. If only Mrs. Raymond could know I was safe and on board talking

to you of her!”

“She will indeed be yery happy; and yet, do you know, Mrs. Marston,

that she always said you were not dead, although when month after month

passed by, and a most careful search had been made of all the islands

within a radius of six hundred miles, and no trace of the _Lupetea_ was

found, Mr. Raymond himself lost all hope.”

“How long was it before Mr. Raymond knew of what had occurred on board

that night off Lotofanga?” she asked.

“Mrs. Raymond herself told him on the following afternoon, when, to his

astonishment, she arrived at Samatau in a native beat. It seems that

after Hutton landed them--she, little Loisé, and Olivee--on the reef,

they were met by a party of natives who were returning from a fishing

excursion. These people at once took them to the village, where, of

course, they were very kindly treated.

“Mrs. Raymond, who was half mad with anxiety for you, asked the chief

to provide her with a boat to return to Samatau and tell her husband of

what had happened. They left after an hour's rest and almost foundered

in the same squall which overtook the _Lupetea_. However, they reached

Samatau a little before sunset. Raymond at once sent Meredith and Rudd

to Apia to charter two or even three local schooners to sail in search

of the _Lupetea_, and for over a month whilst I was there a most

unremitting search was kept up, and letters were sent all over the

Pacific asking the traders at the various islands to keep a good

look-out either for the schooner or any wreckage which might come

ashore.

“I arrived at Samatau in the _Esmeralda_ about a fortnight after Villari

left there, and found Mrs. Raymond alone and distracted with fear for

your safety. During the following week, one of the schooners which

were out searching for you returned. Raymond was on board. He had been

searching through the windward islands of the Fiji Group, but without of

course finding a trace of the missing vessel. On the way back, though,

they spoke a Tahitian barque, whose captain told them that the bodies of

Hutton and the four men who were with him had been found on the reef at

Savai'i a few days after the scoundrels had put Mrs. Raymond ashore at

Lotofanga. The boat had evidently been driven ashore during the stormy

weather which prevailed for three or four days afterwards.

“After remaining ashore for a day only, Raymond again sailed--this time

to make a search among the Friendly Islands; and I, with Mr. Rudd and

Overseer Lorimer to assist me, sailed for the Solomon Group. We decided,

instead of proceeding direct to the Solomons for our cargo of black

humanity, to first cruise through the New Hebrides Group, in the hope we

might learn something of the _Lupetea_.”

“It makes me feel as if I were a real missing princess, Captain Frewen.”

“So you were--until to-night. Well, from the New Hebrides we went north

to the Solomons, where we were singularly fortunate in getting five

hundred natives in a few weeks without any trouble. I landed them at

Samatau without losing a single man, and they are now working on the new

plantation as happy as sand-boys.

“Raymond was at home when I returned, but there was still one vessel

away looking for you--the cutter _Alrema and Niya_--and in fact we long

since decided not to entirely abandon the search for a full year.

“I left on a second trip for the Solomons just nine days ago, and we

sighted this island early this morning. I did not think that we should

hear anything of the _Lupetea_ so far to the westward--over a thousand

miles from Samoa--but as three of our coloured crew are down with fever,

I decided to anchor, leave them here in care of the natives, and also

find out if any wreckage had been seen. We could not see any signs of

houses on this side of the island, but did see a man making gestures to

the ship from the reef; however, as I did not intend to go ashore until

the morning, we did not lower a boat. You can imagine our surprise when

the glare of a blue light was seen.”

“Mate's boat is alongside, sir,” announced the bos'un.

And in a few minutes the smiling Serena entered the cabin and placed

little Marie in her mother's arms.

* * * * *

Shortly after dawn the merry click of the windlass pawls told Mrs.

Marston that the _Esmeralda_ was getting underweigh again for Samoa--for

the projected voyage to the Solomon Islands was of course abandoned.

Old Manning and his stalwart sons came off to say goodbye, and at Mrs.

Marston's earnest request the trader consented to accept from her some

hundreds of pounds' worth of trade goods from the well-filled storeroom

of the _Esmeralda_.

“Goodbye, Mrs. Marston, and God bless you and the little one, and give

you all a safe passage to Samoa,” he cried, as he descended the side

into his boat.

For many hours she remained on deck watching the green little island as

it sunk astern, and thinking of the kindly-hearted old trader who had

so cheered her by his simple piety and unobtrusive goodness. Then her

thoughts turned joyfully to home--for the Raymonds' house was home to

her--and she sighed contentedly as the gallant _Esmeralda_, with every

stitch of canvas that could be set, slipped gracefully over the blue

Pacific on an east-south-east course, for it was the month of November,

and light westerly winds had set in.

Two weeks on such a happy ship soon passed away, and then early one

morning the grey dome of Mount Tofua stood out from the mantle of mist

which hid its verdant sides; and ere the sun had dried the heavy night

dews on the gaily-coloured crotons and waving pampas grass which grew

just above the beach, the brave ship dropped anchor once more in Samatau

Bay amidst a scene of the wildest confusion. For Raymond, as he had

stood on the verandah with his wife, watching her sailing in, and

wondering what had brought back Frewen so soon, saw this signal flying

from her spanker gaff.

O

W

S

V

B

R

C

“What does it mean, Tom?” “Found. All well!” he shouted, and pitching

his telescope clean over the tops of the wild orange-tree in front of

the house, he rushed down to the beach, crying out the news as he ran.

Boats, canoes, and _taumualuas_ by the score, all crowded with natives,

who were shouting themselves hoarse, paddled furiously off to the ship;

and ere her cable rattled through the hawse-pipe and the heavy anchor

plunged down to its coral bed, her decks were filled with people, and

Raymond, followed by the old chief Malie, was shaking hands warmly with

“the missing princess” and her rescuer.

*****

It is night at Samatau, and the two ladies are sitting on the verandah.

The house is very quiet.

“Amy?”

“Yes, Marie, dear.”

“Tom was asking me this morning if you have yet made up your mind to go

on building that house.”

“Oh, dear, Marie. I have hardly given it a thought since I came

back--and I've only been back a week!”

“Amy?”

“Marie?”

“I suppose, dear, that Captain Frewen won't give up the _Esmeralda_

altogether when he goes to America to see his people. He will come back,

will he not?”

Mrs. Marston blushed. “I--I think so, dear. Come inside, and I'll tell

you.”

THE END

End of Project Gutenberg's John Frewen, South Sea Whaler, by Louis Becke