“_For now they are so few indeed_
(_Not more than three in all_)
_Who e’er will think of me or heed_
_What fate may me befall._”
On board the S.S. _Batava_, outward bound for West Africa, all was
bustle and confusion. On the lower deck a couple of men stood, one of
whom was watching the passengers coming off the last tender.
“Well,” he remarked presently, “your little girl with the ‘clematis’
eyes married him in spite of the word in season.”
The remark made Captain Fletcher turn sharply.
“What the devil are you talking about?” he asked.
“Here comes your latest Hyena with the little white lamb you were so
anxious about.”
Fletcher’s gaze followed Mellors’. He saw a girl with a pair of eyes
that he, in a weak and sentimental moment, had likened to a clematis.
“Poor kid! She must have been all alone in the world or that wouldn’t
have happened.”
“Well, there’s no need for you to waste any further thought or
sympathy on her,” Mellors replied. “She looks perfectly pleased with
her bargain. But it’s surprising what some women will swallow provided
it’s sufficiently gilded.”
Fletcher watched the two coming along the deck. Lebrassa was the first
to see him and over his dark face there crept a vestige of sardonic
amusement.
He made some remark to Leslie that brought her attention to the two
men.
For an instant the vivid eyes that had haunted Fletcher for the last
few months looked straight at him. But the girl made no acknowledgment
of his presence, unless the sudden rush of color to her face counted
as such.
“The cut direct,” Mellors murmured as she passed on.
There he was wrong. It was the act of a child caught doing what it
knew it ought not to do, moreover, what it had been told not to do,
very anxious to attract no further attention to itself.
Lebrassa’s remark, “There are two friends of yours,” had made Leslie
look round in quick curiosity.
Fletcher and Mellors were the last people she had expected to see. She
knew they had recognized her. With an unpleasant rush their presence
brought back every word Fletcher had said about colored men. And the
look of contempt on Mellors’ face told her, for the first time, what
she might have to put up with on the voyage out, and what certainly
would be her lot in Calabar.
By the time she was two steps away it dawned on her that she might
have saved herself some future unpleasantness had she given Fletcher
the barest recognition. Having once cut him she could hardly smile
upon him the next time they met. Then all he had said about Lebrassa,
which had proved absolutely false, made her glad she had treated him
in the way he deserved.
A prey to a variety of emotions, Fletcher watched her go, the
principal being that their former meetings had left her with such an
unfavorable impression of himself that his advice counted for nothing.
In gloomy silence he stood watching her retreating figure, then he
left his friend and went to the saloon to study the passenger list.
He returned to Mellors with a buoyancy in his step that had not been
there when he left.
“You’re wrong,” he said. “She’s not married to that nigger.”
“What the deuce is she doing with him then?”
“I want to know what he’s doing with her,” Fletcher replied, “because
she’s going to Calabar.”
For the rest of the day Fletcher kept a sharp lookout for Leslie, but
he saw nothing more of her. Out in the Irish Sea the worst gale of the
season was raging, and all but the most seasoned travelers sought the
refuge of their cabins.
One afternoon about two days later, he came across what looked to be a
bundle of rugs stretched out on a deck chair. As he neared it, it took
shape and became a girl asleep in the sun. The sight brought him to an
abrupt halt, for he had determined to make, not one, but many efforts
to gain the confidence of this friendless little girl, and the
opportunity seemed favorable.
Leaning on a rail near, he waited until Leslie awoke.
All at once she opened her eyes, but seeing him on guard there, closed
them again before he had time to speak.
Fletcher knew she had seen him. Also, he knew she was now keeping her
eyes shut deliberately, for the sole purpose of not seeing him.
Leslie was very conscious of the big man leaning against the rail
near. Angrily she wondered why he should take it upon himself to stand
just there, and she was waiting for him to move before she sat up.
She had made up her mind to ignore everybody on board except Lebrassa.
Already her destination was being whispered about. To feel herself
despised and an object of contempt was a new sensation.
Fletcher had heard rumors of where she was going, and it had made him
all the more determined to come between her and her folly.
Presently the vigorous ringing of the tea bell, almost in her ear,
made any further pretense impossible.
Leslie sat up, ready for the fray, knowing Fletcher was going to speak
to her.
“I hope you’re feeling better, Miss Graham,” he said.
“I’m quite well, thank you,” she replied in a frosty manner.
“I think you must have forgotten me,” he continued, ignoring her icy
tone, “so I’ve taken the liberty of recalling myself.”
“I remember seeing you in Harrogate.”
The reply was not encouraging. It said plainly she had no desire for
his acquaintance.
Fletcher’s jaw set in the way it did when he was leading a forlorn
hope.
“I’m going to Calabar,” he said stiffly. “If I can be of any use to
you either there or during the voyage, I’m always at your service.”
“I don’t think I shall have to avail myself of your offer,” she said
in a cutting one.
Fletcher was sorry he had spoken. He had wanted her to know she had at
least one friend on board, and he had only succeeded in annoying her.
“May I tell the steward to bring you some tea?” he asked prior to
departure.
“Mr. Lebrassa will do that.”
Fletcher knew she had said this purposely, to show him how much either
he, his opinion, or advice were worth in her estimation.
For three days Leslie pursued her own way, ignoring everybody but
Lebrassa, and herself ignored by most people.
The climax came the evening before the steamer reached Grand Canary.
A dance was taking place on the saloon deck, and the strains of the
music were wafted over the calm, starlit sea. Leslie was alone on the
deserted lower deck, gazing rather wistfully over the shrouded water.
She was learning that the lot of a pariah is not enviable.
All at once a figure loomed up beside her with a silence that made her
jump and broke the current of her thoughts.
“How you made me jump, Mr. Lebrassa,” she said, smiling up at him.
“What are you thinking about, all alone here?” he asked.
“I was thinking--how nice and quiet it was.”
The reply made Lebrassa smile.
In spite of her trying position no word of complaint had ever passed
the girl’s lips.
“Then you were not thinking you were just the least bit sorry you
hadn’t taken my advice and stayed in England?”
“Why should I be?” she asked, almost defiantly.
“I was afraid you were beginning to find things a bit changed.”
“I’d made up my mind to all that before I left England. It would be
rather foolish to start worrying now, wouldn’t it?”
“Are you always so brave and loyal?” he asked.
“There’s nothing very brave in giving up a hard life for an easy one.”
“So you think your life with Mrs. Cooper will be easy?”
“Well, I shan’t have to turn out every morning, whether I’m in the
mood for it or not. And in past days Molly was awfully good to me.”
He made no reply. Leaning against the rail, with stifled, unwilling
tenderness he watched her small, brave face.
“May I do my poor best to entertain you, Miss Graham?” he said at
length. “The other day you were boasting of your prowess as a
chess-player. May I challenge you to mortal combat?”
“It won’t be combat at all, but simple slaughter. I shall be wiped out
of existence in the first round.”
“Shall we fight over there?” he asked, indicating a lamp in a remote
and secluded corner. “Just the two of us alone, mortal enemies, to the
death. Then, when I’ve killed you I can drop you overboard and no one
will be any the wiser.”
“How vicious you sound! Hankering after bloodshed.”
“You forget I’m half a savage.”
In a gentle, understanding manner Leslie smiled at him.
“I don’t forget because I never thought you were.”
Rather abruptly Lebrassa turned away to fetch the chess-board and the
pieces. Leslie went across to the lighted corner and stood there
watching the figures flitting on the upper deck.
Up there were women who turned their backs on her, and men who did the
same or, worse still, whispered and laughed and tried to talk to her.
As the music struck up afresh she turned her back on the scene, and
picking up a book from one of the chairs looked at it with eyes too
blurred with tears to distinguish the letters.
Presently, approaching footsteps made her glance round, thinking it
was Lebrassa. But when her gaze fell on the figure coming along the
deck, she looked away again very quickly.
The newcomer was a stout, red-faced man--one of those who laughed and
whispered and tried to talk to her.
Halting at her side, he leant over her in a most familiar manner.
“What about this dance, Miss Graham?” he asked.
“I don’t dance,” she said curtly.
“Well, now I come to think of it, I don’t seem to have seen you
hopping round with that nigger.”
Leslie plunged again into her book, ignoring him completely.
“You’re not a very sociable sort,” he said, “and I’ve seen you talking
nineteen to the dozen to that Lebrassa.”
It was evident he meant to stay. Deliberately Leslie closed her book
and was in the act of moving away when he seized one of her bare arms
and, despite her struggles, kept her where she was.
“You’re not in such a dashed hurry to run away when that nigger comes
and talks to you,” he said, “so you needn’t put on any airs with me.”
The unexpected contact of his coarse, hot hand on her bare flesh made
her give a little gasping scream. The sound reached Fletcher just as
he was leaving the smoke-room. It brought him to a halt and made him
look sharply along the deserted deck.
On seeing the couple under the lamp, he turned swiftly in that
direction.
A voice, hoarse with suppressed anger, made the man loose Leslie’s
arm.
“You damned skunk!” it said. “How dare you come and annoy this lady.
If I catch you at it again I’ll thrash the life out of you.”
Gripping the man’s shoulder, Fletcher sent him swinging across the
deck.
In Leslie’s mind was the memory of her last interview with Fletcher.
Under his gaze all speech fled. Then, just as she was pulling herself
together, his voice scattered her thoughts again.
“At the risk of annoying you again, I must say it’s not wise of you to
stand about alone on deck at night. Considering the circumstances, you
lay yourself open to that sort of thing. And while I’m talking, let me
say I think you’re very foolish to ignore everybody but Lebrassa. I
know half a dozen men on board you could be friendly with and who
wouldn’t take advantage of your peculiar position.”
“I… I don’t want to know any one.”
Into the voice of the pariah crept the least suspicion of tears.
“I can quite understand that,” Fletcher replied. “But you’re putting
Lebrassa in a very unfair position. You can’t realize what you’re
doing or you wouldn’t act in such a foolish manner. What thoughts
would come into any man’s head if you were with him as much as you are
with this Lebrassa? In the words of the Americans, he’d think you’d
‘fallen for him.’ I’ve seen enough of Lebrassa to know he can behave
himself when he wants, and in you he knows he’s dealing with some one
very different from the women who usually seek out a man of his sort.
But if he should forget himself, you’ve only yourself to blame. I’m
sorry to have to speak so plainly. And if you should consider my
advice worth taking I’m always ready to help you.”
Quickly Fletcher turned away, fearing the storm that might break on
his offending head.
His words left Leslie stunned and petrified.
The idea that she might be leading Lebrassa to think she loved him,
filled her with horror.
The mulatto’s voice roused her from her stunned bewilderment.
“I must apologize for being so long, Miss Graham, but I had some
difficulty in collecting the weapons together.”
His bored, cultured voice that, in all her experience of him, had
never varied one whit, comforted her a little. Sitting down, she
watched him arrange the pieces, answering his remarks in a preoccupied
manner.
The game started. But Leslie was too full of what Fletcher had said to
give her whole attention to it.
Closely Lebrassa watched her. At once he noticed she was perturbed and
unusually silent.
During his absence something had happened--something that had startled
this little white fawn of his.
He recollected having met Fletcher coming along the deck as though
from her direction, and he determined to find out if his enemy had
been with her.
“If Captain Fletcher wanted you to dance, I hope you didn’t consider
our game,” he remarked.
Leslie looked up from her silent contemplation of the board.
“He didn’t ask me to dance,” she replied, her face flushing.
So Fletcher had been talking to her! Lebrassa wondered what had been
said, and he was sufficiently acquainted with his man to know it would
be nothing to his, Lebrassa’s, credit.
The thought appeared to amuse him, for a smile, half-tender,
half-cruel, came and played about his mouth as he watched his
companion. Her hand hovering uncertainly about a piece made his smile
deepen.
“If you make that move, I win,” he remarked presently.
Leslie surveyed the position more closely.
“So you do,” she said.
Another move was tried, but further consideration proved it to be no
better than the first.
Lebrassa watched her as she sat, with puckered brow, considering her
position on the chess board. Just then he was filled with great relief
to know that Cooper had _not_ connected Molly’s friend with Lionel de
Tourville. In fact the negro had been too elated over his own marriage
to inquire further into the matter.
“Why, whatever I do, you win,” Leslie said presently.
Lebrassa swept the pieces together.
“Exactly. Whatever you do I win,” he replied in a voice that had in it
a queer undercurrent of savage satisfaction. “Shall we play again?
This time I’ll give you unto half of my kingdom, then we shall be more
evenly matched.”
“There are one or two letters I must write, so perhaps you’ll excuse
me,” Leslie said, very conscious of Fletcher’s advice.
“If I can give you a hand in any way, getting the right sort of stamps
or anything, don’t be afraid to ask,” he volunteered.
“… I’ve already been taking up too much of your time.”
Her nervous reply, with an unmistakable note of reserve, so different
from her usual friendly, straightforward manner, made a surge of anger
go coursing through Lebrassa.
What Fletcher had said to the girl had made her lose faith in him.
“How can you take up too much of my time, when Mrs. Cooper put you in
my charge?” he asked.
“But--I keep you away from your own friends.”
“My own friends! Who are they? If you mean the black passengers, I’m
sufficiently akin to them to despise them utterly. My friends! I never
had any. Those I want, despise me. Those who want me, I despise. I’m
nothing, neither black nor white, above the one, below the other. An
outcast and a pariah.”
Leslie was aghast at the storm her words had roused. And his dreary,
bitter voice cut her to the quick.
For a second time she had a glimpse of the galling black yoke--how it
chafed and tortured the man who wore it.
She glanced at him as he sat, all else forgotten but the black curse
on his life, with massive shoulders bowed, and a hopeless weariness in
his eyes.
The sight made her heart ache. He was so big and strong, so capable of
feeling, so full of suffering, so absolutely alone with a burden not
of his own making, and which none could help him with.
A sudden flood of sympathy and understanding swept through her.
Getting to her feet, she leant over him, a hand lightly on his
shoulder.
“It isn’t any fault of yours,” she whispered.
Her voice and light, caressing touch made him start up, shivering as
from ague.
Startled by the abruptness of his movement, she drew back quickly. He
had loomed over her so suddenly, big and all-powerful, blocking out
everything but the fact of himself. There was some emotion on his face
that her frightened expression and shrinking attitude stifled.
In a bitter, hopeless way, he laughed.
“Don’t waste any sympathy on me, Miss Graham. I’m not worth it.”
Abruptly he turned away.
As Leslie watched him go, the wail of a violin came sweeping along on
the night wind and died away in a long-drawn sigh. Just then the world
seemed all pain--pain that no human hands could lighten.
Hardly aware of where she was going, Leslie went along the deck. Her
only desire was to reach the light, to get away from the blackness
that shadowed and spoilt everything.
On the upper deck, among the gay flags and the colored lanterns, the
music that had seemed like weeping was only a waltz tune!
She leant against the rail, thankful for the light, watching the
dancers, glad there were still some happy people in the world, people
whom the black did not touch.
She looked round the deck for Fletcher. She knew she must accept his
offer of friendship, and not risk making things even worse by letting
Mr. Lebrassa think they ever could be more than friends.
A little way off, she saw her quarry watching the crowd moodily.
Leslie hesitated. His air of aloofness did not argue well for the
coming interview. And the fact that Fletcher had never on any occasion
approved of her behavior made her courage shrivel to vanishing point.
Then the thought of the consequences that might arise if she persisted
in her present line of action made her take her wavering determination
firmly in both hands.
A voice with a desperate “do or die” note in it broke in on his moody
reverie.
“I hadn’t time to thank you, Captain Fletcher. And I’m very grateful
for what you said and did.”
Hardly able to believe his ears, he turned. The cause of his gloomy
musings was with him, for the first time condescending to take any
notice of him or his advice.
“I’m only too pleased to be of any use to you, Miss Graham,” he said
eagerly.
There was a brief pause as Leslie wondered how to put her project into
words. She was anxious to justify Molly and to give Lebrassa his due
by letting Fletcher know the mulatto had done his best to keep her
from going to Africa.
Groping round in his head for some commonplace remark Fletcher watched
her, but her presence seemed to have deprived him of speech.
“You were quite right in what you said when that man came and annoyed
me,” Leslie said in a nervous manner. “But I’d never looked at it in
that light before. So I’d like you for my friend, and… and I’d like to
explain everything to you.”
“Don’t bother to explain. I shall be only too delighted if you will
count me as your friend without that.”
“But I’d much rather tell you all about it,” she insisted.
“Very well then, if you wish, but let me get you a chair first.”
In a more light-hearted frame of mind than had been his since leaving
Liverpool, he skirmished round the deck to find two chairs.
As they sat side by side, into Fletcher’s ears was poured the story of
the letter, how it never reached its destination, and the fatal
result. She told him of the one that had come to her from Molly in
Africa. How Lebrassa had tried to persuade her not to go to her
friend, but she had insisted.
“You see,” she finished, “Mrs. Cooper married that dreadful man to
save me, not because he’s rich, as people say. And I couldn’t leave
her in the lurch.”
Fletcher could read between the lines, and he knew Leslie had
struggled on, trying to keep her friend, handicapped beyond her
strength.
“I always suspected it was something of the sort, both in your case
and Mrs. Cooper’s,” he said in a kindly tone.
“It’s very good of you to have given the case so lenient a view. It
was all a mistake, so ghastly that at times I can’t believe it. Poor
little Molly tied for life to that--man, all because my letter went
astray.”
Fletcher recollected what he had heard in the hotel concerning
Lebrassa’s desire for his partner to marry Molly Seaton. With the
recollection came a feeling that the mulatto may have wanted the
marriage as a means of getting Leslie to Africa.
The idea made him probe deeper into the affair.
“Have any of your people anything to do with West Africa, Miss
Graham?”
“No. My father disliked everything African and he had an absolute
hatred of negroes. I once had a piece of jewelry that I found among
his things. A friend told me it was of West African origin, but it
couldn’t have been because my father had never been there, and he had
been to the place the name of which was engraved on the armlet,
because when he was… ill, he used to talk about it.”
“What was the name of the place?” Fletcher asked.
“Kallu.”
“I’ve never heard of it,” he said thoughtfully. “I’m much interested
in things West African, and I know more about them than most people.
If you’d let me have a look at that armlet I could tell whether it had
come from those parts.”
“I haven’t got it now. I had to sell it last year when Molly was so
ill.”
Scenting a mystery, Fletcher pondered on what she had said. He wanted
to ask Leslie more about her father. Finally he decided to leave the
subject until a more advanced stage of friendship permitted of
questions bordering on the inquisitive.
Her voice roused him.
“I like Mr. Lebrassa, and I consider the world is hard on him for a
reason that is no fault of his. For all that I shouldn’t like him to
think--to think he could be anything more than my friend.”
Leslie got to her feet.
“I’ve not been at all nice to you,” she continued, “and I appreciate
your kindness in… in coming to my rescue. Good-night and many thanks.”
Fletcher took the hand she held out to him, wondering why Fate had
left such an honorable, high-minded child to find her way through the
maze of life alone.
When she had gone, a desire for solitude drove him to the lower deck,
to walk up and down there, thinking of all she had said.
Lebrassa was there also, pacing up and down with the quiet, stealthy
tread of a jungle beast.
The sight of his dark, powerful face with its cruel mouth and
indifferent expression eventually drove Fletcher to his cabin, more
than ever convinced there was something behind it all that only the
mulatto knew.