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BEYOND THE BLACK WATERS
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Illustration: “_‘I would tell you everything,’ said Oscar, ‘were
not your peace dearer to me than my own.’_”
_Page 117._
BEYOND THE BLACK WATERS
By A. L. O. E.
Illustration: _Oscar gave in the letter with a hand that did
not tremble._
_Page 173._
T. NELSON AND SONS
London, Edinburgh, and New York
BEYOND THE BLACK WATERS
_A Tale_
BY
A. L. O. E.,
Author of “Pictures of St. Peter in an English Home,”
“Driven into Exile,” “Harold’s Bride,”
“War and Peace,”
&c. &c.
Illustration: (‡ decoration)
London
THOMAS NELSON AND SONS
35 Paternoster Row
EDINBURGH, AND NEW YORK
1890
Preface.
The title of this work would probably convey no definite idea to the
minds of most Europeans; it might be considered as merely a figurative
expression. It is otherwise with the native of Hindostan. The Black
Waters are to him those that cut off from happiness and home the
criminals of that vast region to which he belongs. Beyond the Black
Waters lie the Andaman Islands, where, at the present time, about
_thirteen thousand_ convicts of both sexes――thieves, murderers, and
murderesses――endure the punishment of exile, the due reward of their
crimes.
A kind of mysterious pall seems to hang over the isles beyond the
Black Waters. The convicts are under Government protection and
Government control; nor can there be communication with them (at any
rate with those confined in jail) without Government permission. The
criminals are not treated harshly; the place of their exile is fruitful
and fair. Nature smiles upon the Andaman Islands; it is man, guilty
man, who seems to have forgotten how to smile.
To turn to a brighter part of the background of my tale: the stories
of the Karens, their traditions, and of the remarkable man who stands
amongst them conspicuous as a lighthouse at night, are no invention of
mine. These belong to fact and not to fiction. If I would fain awaken
pity for the sinners, I would also kindle admiration for the saints,
and a keener and more practical interest in England and America for
missionary labours in the lands of the East.
Contents.
I. NEWLY ARRIVED.
II. THE PRODIGY.
III. DEAD OR ALIVE?
IV. THE MYSTERIOUS CLOUD.
V. ANCIENT TRADITIONS.
VI. MODERN THEORIES.
VII. EXPECTED AND WELCOMED.
VIII. A REFUSAL.
IX. QUIET CONVERSE.
X. THE SCORPION’S STING.
XI. A PRESCRIPTION.
XII. CONJECTURES.
XIII. THE EXPEDITION.
XIV. A DISCOVERY.
XV. MOUNT AND AWAY.
XVI. THE LONE VILLAGE.
XVII. IN THE FOREST.
XVIII. RESCUED.
XIX. THE PREACHER.
XX. DARK MEMORIES.
XXI. CONFESSION.
XXII. HOME AGAIN.
XXIII. AN ORDEAL.
XXIV. CHRISTMAS.
XXV. FAREWELL.
XXVI. PRISON LIFE.
XXVII. ADVENTURES OF AN OWL.
XXVIII. UNWILLING WITNESSES.
XXIX. THE SENTENCE.
XXX. CONSOLATION.
XXXI. THE VOYAGE.
XXXII. CONCLUSION.
APPENDIX.
BEYOND THE BLACK WATERS.
CHAPTER I.
NEWLY ARRIVED.
“You’ll see it, Mr. Lawrence, you’ll see it――everything will be changed
in England now that the old king is dead and the sailor William on the
throne. The people are mad for changes, and shout for reform, as if it
meant bread to their butter, or rather beef-steaks and plum-pudding.”
“But the Duke――” began Mr. Lawrence; but Dr. Pinfold cut him short ere
he could finish the sentence.
“The Iron Duke is facing the mob like a man, but he’ll have to give
way to popular excitement. Westminster is not Waterloo; let Londoners
roar as they will, he can’t say, ‘Up, Guards, and at them.’ The Duke
can no more stem the current than he can stop with his field-marshal’s
baton one of those new-fangled monster engines which crushed out poor
Huskisson’s life.”
The two gentlemen who were discoursing on politics were the chaplain
of Moulmein and the doctor of the station. Their path was along a
cactus-bordered road, where every here and there the plantain waved
its broad green leaves aloft, as if proud of the heavy clusters of
fruit forming below. The two men were very different in appearance:
the clergyman was small, slight, pale, and fair-haired; the doctor
was somewhat portly, with grizzled eyebrows and a copious beard. He
was full of the subject of politics, to which Mr. Lawrence gave very
divided attention.
“Every ship from England brings stirring tidings,” continued the doctor.
“Have you seen the papers to-day?”
“Not yet,” replied the chaplain. “I was rather absorbed in the perusal
of home letters. I am by no means indifferent to what is passing in
the dear old island at the other end of the world; but the sounds of
political changes, roaring mobs, and exciting orations in London, only
reach me here at Moulmein as the distant plash of surges breaking on
the shore.”
“So it is,” observed the doctor philosophically. “What is near always
affects us most, a button close to the eye shuts out the landscape,
and excludes even the sun. It is of more importance to me that my
_bhansamar_ should cook my _pillau_ to my taste than that the Tories
should secure a majority in the House. Perhaps your small parish here
in Moulmein (if it can be called a parish at all)――your handful of
soldiers, and a few scattered Europeans, take up more of your attention
than the affairs of England, with Scotland and Ireland to boot.”
“Perhaps so,” replied the chaplain; “but my interest in what concerns
Siam and Burmah is by no means confined to what you call my parish
in Moulmein. I have hearty sympathy to give to our American brethren,
labouring nobly and successfully amongst the native races.”
“The natives!” repeated Dr. Pinfold in a tone of contempt. “Do you
think that all the praying and preaching in the world can wash the
niggers white, or get the blackness out of their blood? The Yankees
could as easily turn pomegranates into potatoes, or make monkeys into
men.”
Mark Lawrence held a different opinion, but he saw that there would be
no use at that time in pressing his views on the cheerful, corpulent
doctor, from whom his own button of personal comfort shut out the
view of anything of a higher nature. Dr. Pinfold’s favourite maxim was
_Live, and let live_: the first, and to him more important, part of the
proverb meaning what is called _good-living_――not a mere seat, but a
well-cushioned chair; not simple food, but a banquet, washed down with
old wine. It must be owned that the second clause of the proverb was
by no means forgotten. Dr. Pinfold was popular as a medical man; and
not without reason, for he was not only clever in his profession, but
he took a pleasure in curing his patients. Pinfold liked to relieve
pain, and to see people happy; and he had a feeling of general goodwill
towards all his fellow-countrymen which passed for benevolence, though
his charity was ever of the kind which begins at home, and is limited
to a conveniently small circle beyond it.
“I wish to know something of the family who arrived yesterday from
England _via_ Calcutta――the Coldstreams, to whom you are going to
introduce me,” said Mark Lawrence, changing the subject of conversation.
“I think that we are now approaching their bungalow; a very pleasant
dwelling it appears to be.”
“It’s a capital house,” observed the doctor; “there’s not a prettier
one in Moulmein. It is fitted up too with perfect taste; for, you see,
Oscar Coldstream arranged everything himself, and built and ornamented
the house for the girl to whom he was engaged, whom he has just brought
out as his wife. Coldstream came out first, two years ago, to get
everything ready; a sensible plan, to my mind, for it is folly to bring
a pretty girl still in her teens to face all sorts of discomforts in a
heathenish country like this.”
“What sort of man is Mr. Coldstream?” inquired Mark Lawrence. “I like
to know every member of my flock.”
“Oscar Coldstream is not much like a sheep,” said the doctor gaily;
“more like a vigorous, energetic shepherd, who, like the Jewish hero,
could catch a lion by the beard or conquer a giant one day, and sing
psalms all the next.”
The young chaplain’s rather melancholy face brightened with pleasure.
“I may find in him a helper then,” he observed.
“Yes; Coldstream is one of _your_ sort,” said Pinfold, with a
slight emphasis on the pronoun which implied “not one of _my_ sort.”
“But he’s a good fellow, a right good fellow, notwithstanding a
little Puritanical strictness. Coldstream is a capital shot; he is a
first-rate companion on a shooting expedition――can tell you a story
to set you in roars of laughter, and is more lively on cold water than
most men are when sipping good wine. He does a good business down at
the wharf, and has no lack of rupees to jingle. I saw a good deal of
Coldstream last year,” continued Dr. Pinfold; “for I am an old friend
of the Thorns, the family into which he was going to marry. I had
played with his lady-love before she was out of baby-clothes. I used
to carry her round and round the room perched on my shoulder. I was
proud to act _gee-gee_ to the dimpled, laughing, dark-eyed child, whose
chubby hand grasped my shaggy poll as her rein. Ha! ha! ha! how missie
urged me to speed by vigorous movements of her tiny foot encased in its
dainty pink kid shoe! That merry child and I were grand playmates; and
even when she was promoted to pinafores, and her clustering curls were
imprisoned in braids, Io delighted to challenge me to a game. I see
her now――dodging me round chairs, defying me to catch her, hiding, and
then betraying her hiding-place by an irrepressible laugh. Coldstream
thoroughly enjoyed my long stories about his betrothed. My friendship
with the Thorns was the one grand link between us; for if ever a
man was over head and ears in love, that man was Oscar Coldstream.
Certainly Io is worthy of any man’s love.”
“And now Mr. Coldstream is a happy married man,” observed Lawrence,
perhaps with something of envy, for his own hopes had been blighted by
one of the letters received from England.
“A married man certainly,” replied Dr. Pinfold, “but whether happy
or not I cannot yet tell, as I have only seen the pair once since they
landed. I went down to the wharf to welcome them to their new home
in Moulmein. You know that the ship arrived only yesterday evening.
I had not much more time than to shake hands, say a little appropriate
nonsense to the pretty little bride, and help to look after the luggage.
I shall know more about the wedded couple when I have seen them in
their own house.”
“Mr. Coldstream no doubt looked very happy,” said the chaplain. “He has
everything to make life bright.”
“He looked very much changed,” said the doctor, with a grave expression
on his usually cheerful face. “Coldstream hardly seemed to be the same
man as he who, in the wildest spirits, not a year ago, embarked in
the ship bound for old England. Such a buoyant step was his, such a
sparkling eye, as if the cup of joy awaiting him intoxicated him by
anticipation! Certainly there is a difference now.”
“What kind of difference?” asked Mark Lawrence.
“The difference between a handsome lamp lighted, and the flame turned
up high, and the same lamp turned down, almost extinguished. Oscar
looked like his own elder brother――a grave, thoughtful man; not in the
least like a jolly bridegroom.”
“Perhaps he was ill,” suggested the chaplain.
“He said not, for I asked him the question. Then the bonnie bride told
me that Coldstream had been very ill just before his marriage, but that
he had long ago recovered his health. I’ve my doubts about that――my
doubts about that,” continued the doctor, slightly shaking his head in
a professional way. “People don’t lose flesh and colour at Coldstream’s
age if there’s nothing the matter. I should like to have asked some
questions; found out the state of his――. But here we are at the house,
and yonder’s a _koi-hai_ to take in your card. I shall not waste my bit
of pasteboard; none is needed when you call on a young lady who knows
your name as well as her own. I shall be Io’s ‘_Doctor Pinny_’ to the
end of the chapter.”