MY health at college having shown signs of giving way, Uncle George had been kind enough to advance the means for my passage to Brisbane, Australia, and back, in order to carry out the doctor’s recommendation for a long sea-voyage. I scarcely think the good man intended me to go steerage in a cargo-boat, which I did to make my money last; and I imagine he would have been anything but pleased if he could have seen me on the eve of starting from Brisbane itself for the South Sea Islands with twelve tons of assorted merchandise. Indeed, I was not a little surprised at myself, and at times in the long night watches I blubbered like a baby at my own venturesomeness. But with me, though my people at home did not know it, college had been a failure. I sometimes wondered whether I was unusually dull, or my companions at that inhospitable northern university were above the normal intelligence; but whatever the cause, I know only that I was unable to keep the pace that was set me to follow.

And here I was, with my heart in my mouth, starting on a career of my own choosing, the lessee of a trading station on an island called Tapatuea! More I knew not, beyond the fact that I was to receive a moiety of any profits I might earn, and had bound myself to stay where I was put for the space of three years. Considering my age and inexperience, this was a most liberal arrangement, and I have never ceased wondering since how my employers, Messrs. John CÆsar Bibo & Co., were ever dragooned into adding me to their forces. I say “dragooned” advisedly, for it was due entirely to my good friend Henry Mears, the shipping broker of Lonsdale Place, that I happened to be engaged, in spite of the firm’s most strenuous protest. Mears had taken to me from the day I first wandered into his office by an accident; and from that time down to the sailing hour of the Belle Mahone there was nothing he would not do to serve me. I am not sure that he was financially interested in the firm of John CÆsar Bibo & Co., but he always acted as though his was the controlling voice in its affairs, and he was the only man I ever knew who dared stand up to Old Bee, as we called him. This last-named, the directing spirit of a business that spread its net over half the islands of the Pacific, was a grim, taciturn individual of an indeterminable age,—it was variously reckoned from seventy to a hundred and ten,—who made periodical descents into Mears’s office, and sat closeted there for hours. His presence always inspired constraint, and the sight of his ancient, sallow cheek was enough to thin the ranks of the broker’s clients—shipmasters and supercargoes for the most part, not all of them sober, and none, apparently, able to look Old Bee in the eye.I shall never forget my introduction to the great man.

“This is a nice boy, Mr. Bibo, sir,” said Mears, indicating me with a cast of his eye.

“Oh!” said Old Bee.

“I want him to have that Tapatuea store,” said Mears.

“You mean the easterly one, where Bob killed the Chinaman?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“I’ll see him in hell first,” said Old Bee.

I thought this ended the matter for good, and said as much to Mears when John CÆsar had departed. But my friend was far from being cast down.

“Oh, that’s all right,” he said. “I count it as good as settled.”

This was more than I could say, and I had no cause to change my mind on my next meeting with Old Bee.

“I’m putting twelve tons of stuff aboard for the Tapatuea store,” said Mears, “and I’ve told Young Hopeful, here, that you’ll keep a berth for him.”

“The devil!” said Old Bee, and went straight on with the business he had in hand.

The next day the broker signed my contract by virtue of some power of attorney he possessed for Bibo & Co.

“If he backs out now, you can sue him for damages,” he said cheerfully.

I was in a tremble when I next met my employer. It was near our sailing time, and he was in a violent hurry. He threw down a paper on the desk and told Mears it was the list of things he had put by for the last.

“Send some one along for them,” he said, “some one that knows how to keep his mouth shut. I’ve clean forgot all that business of the King of Pingalap’s: the breech-loading cannon I promised him from Hudson’s, and those damned guinea-fowls, and that cylinder for his musical box!”

“Here’s one of your own men,” said Mears. “You know young Bence?”

“Good God, that child!” cried the old man. “Didn’t I tell you I wouldn’t have him?”

“Pity you hadn’t spoken before,” said the broker, with surprise. “I only signed his contract yesterday.”

Old Bee regarded me sourly.

“I don’t understand the joke,” he said.

“Oh, come, come. He’s twenty-two if he’s a day,” said Mears, adding four years to my age; “and as to being young, I dare say he’ll get over it.”

“What’s he done, that you’re so keen to get him off?” said Old Bee, still eyeing me with strong disfavour. “However, as you have made it your business to push him down my throat, I suppose I’ve got to bolt him.”

“He’d sue you like a shot if you didn’t,” said Mears. “With that contract in his pocket he’s regularly got you in his power.”

This view of the situation made even Old Bee smile, and caused Mears to laugh outright. For me it was scarcely so entertaining; never in my life had I felt so small or insignificant, though I plucked up courage when the great man handed me his list and bade the broker count me out sixty sovereigns. This showed that in some small measure I must have won his good opinion, a conviction that was still further strengthened by his departure, when, in the excitement and flurry of the moment, he even shook me by the hand.

A few days after this conversation I found myself at sea, a regularly enrolled trader of the firm’s, and one of the after-guard of the bark Belle Mahone, Captain Mins. We were bound, according to the timehonoured formula, “for the island of Guam or any other port the master may so direct.” I presume there are ships that actually do go to Guam,—if, indeed, there be such a place at all,—but it has never been my fate to come across one. Our Guam was like the rest, a polite fiction to cover up our track and leave a veil of mystery over our voyage. Besides John CÆsar Bibo, with whom I have already made you acquainted, there were three others in our little company astern. Captain Mins was a short, bullnecked man of fifty, with abrupt manners and a singularly deliberate way of speech, due perhaps to some impediment of the tongue. This lent to his utterance a gravity almost judicial, and gave an added force to the contradiction which was his only conversational counter. Jean Bonnichon, or “Frenchy,” as we called him, was one of the firm’s traders returning to the Islands after a brief holiday. He, like Mins, was short and thick-set, but with this ended all resemblance between them. Bonnichon’s story was that he had come of a wealthy family in Normandy; and it was indubitable (from the papers he had in his possession) that he had served as an officer of horse-artillery in the French army. What he had done to leave it no one precisely knew, nor was our curiosity satisfied by the conflicting explanations he himself was at pains to give. As a soldier of fortune in the Old World, with the Turks, the Bulgarians, and finally with the Arabs of Sus, he had sunk lower and lower, until he had come at last to Australia, there to sink lower still.

Six years of colonial life, followed by seven on the island of Apaiang, had transformed Frenchy into one of those strange creatures without a country. Under the heel of adversity the Frenchman had been completely stamped out of him; only some fragments of the army officer remained; the bulging chest, the loud, peremptory voice, the instant obedience to any one he counted his superior. He annoyed Old Bee excessively by leaping to his feet whenever our employer addressed him, a military habit so ingrained that he was quite unable to break himself of it. Intended for deference, its effect on John CÆsar (the most fidgety and preoccupied of patriarchs) was to drive him into one of his sudden tempers, when woe betide the man who dared to first address him. Adam Babcock, a humble, silent creature, completed the number of our mess. He was the mate of the ship, and took his meals alone after we had quitted the table, a forlorn arrangement that is usual in small vessels. He was so completely null in our life that I have some difficulty in recollecting him at all. He had seen misfortunes, I remember, and had certainly come down very much in the world, for he was the only person aft who treated me with the least consideration. On one occasion he even called me “sir,” and gave me a present of some shells.

With Frenchy I was soon on terms of shipboard acquaintance, but for the others I might have been invisible, for all they ever noticed me. Old Bee, for the matter of that, seldom spoke to any one, and the sight of his bilious cheek would have daunted, I believe, the most incorrigible bore in London. We saw little of him save at meal-times, for he was perpetually busy in his cabin, adding up figures, or stamping on his copying-book like a dancing dervish. I am at a loss to say what his labours were all about; they were, and always have been, to me the cause of unceasing amazement. I was not sorry, however, that Old Bee kept so much to himself, for I feared him like the plague, and never felt comfortable within the range of his bloodshot eyes. It fell to Frenchy and the captain to keep the ball of conversation rolling, which they did by disputing with each other on every topic that came up. Were the captain, with some warmth, to make a statement, it was just as certain to be met by Frenchy’s great horse-laugh and shrill, jeering contradiction. They could agree on nothing, whether it was the origin of the Russo-Turkish war or the way the natives cook devil-fish. No provocation was too unimportant to set them at each other’s throats, no slight too trivial to be ignored.Once, to my extreme embarrassment, they differed on the subject of myself; the Frenchman saying that I was the type of young ne’er-do-well under which the colony of Queensland was sinking; while the captain just as vehemently persisted (for the time being only) that it was such as I who had made the British Empire! The complimentary view of Captain Mins’s made very little practical difference in his treatment of me, which from the beginning had been marked by coldness and dislike. In fact, I could not help perceiving, for all their wrangling and apparent disagreement, that the pair were fast friends. It was I, not Frenchy, who was the outsider on that ship. Indeed, I count some of those lonely days on the Belle Mahone as the very bitterest part of my life, and I wished myself at home a thousand times.

My only friend on board was Lum, the Chinese cook, whose circumstances were so akin to mine that we were drawn together by a common instinct. He, too, was condemned to solitude, having little in common with our crew of Rotumah Islanders, who shunned him like a leper; while I, as the reader knows, held a scarcely better position among the after-guard. When his work was done, Lum and I used to smoke cigarettes together under the lee of a boat, or, if it rained, within the stuffy confines of his cabin next the galley. He was a mine of worldly wisdom, for there was nothing he had not done or had not tried to do, from piracy to acting on the stage; and he would unfold the tale of his experiences with such drollery and artlessness that his society was to me an endless entertainment. Poor Lum! there was little of the seamy side of life he had not seen, scarcely a treachery he had not endured, in the years he had followed the sea.

Our first port was to be Lascom Island, an immense atoll which had remained uninhabited until Bibo & Co. took possession of it in the eighties. Their intention had been to extend its few cocoanut-palms into one vast grove, and for this purpose they maintained a force of half a dozen indentured labourers from Guadalcanar, who were superintended by a white man named Stocker. It was for the purpose of carrying this Stocker supplies and inspecting his year’s work that we were here to make our first call.

We reached the island late at night, and lay off and on till dawn. The daylight showed me a narrow, bush-grown strip of unending sand, which stretched in a great curve until lost to view beneath the horizon. As far as the eye could reach, the breakers were thundering against the huge horseshoe with a fury that made one sick to hear them. Of all forsaken and desolate places it has ever been my lot to see, I search my memory in vain for the match of Lascom Island. Once, however, that we had opened its channel and made our hesitating way into the lagoon beyond, I found more to please me. Skimming over the lake-like surface, with every stitch drawing, and the captain in the crosstrees conning the ship through the gleaming dangers that beset us on every hand, it was indeed an experience not to be recalled without a thrill. We had need of a lynx eye aloft, for the lagoon was thick with coral rocks, and the channel, besides, was so tortuous and so cramped that one false turn of a spoke would have torn our bottom out.

I let myself down beside the dolphin-striker, and sat there above our hissing bows, enjoying as I did so an extraordinary sense of danger and exhilaration. At times it seemed to me as though we were sailing through air, so transparent was the medium through which we moved, so clear the tangled coral garden that lay below. From my perch I contemplated the gradual unfolding of the little settlement towards which we were tending: first of all a faint blur, which gradually became transformed into a grove of cocoanuts; bits of white and brown which resolved themselves into houses and sheds; a dark patch on the lagoon shore that I made out to be a sort of pier; then, last of all, the finished picture, in which there was nothing hid, or left to the imagination to decipher. There was something most depressing in the sight of this tiny village, with its faded whitewash, its general appearance of lifelessness and decay, and above its roofs the palm-tops bending like grass in the gusty breeze. Nothing stirred in the profound shade; not a sound came forth to greet us; and, except for a faint haze of smoke above one of the trees, we might have thought the place abandoned. I remembered that Stocker was in likelihood planting cocoanuts with his men, perhaps miles away on the wild sea-beach; in my mind’s eye I could see him pursuing his monotonous vocation, a miserable Crusoe toiling for a wage. My thoughts were still running in some such channel when I was suddenly startled by the apparition of a man who came running out of the shadow with a bundle in his arms. It was a flag, which he fixed to the halyards of the staff and slowly ran up. When it was half-mast high he twitched it loose, displaying the British ensign upside down. Then, as I was still gazing at him, he made fast the ropes and hurried down to the pier.

Realising that something must be wrong on shore, I climbed back to the deck and hastened to where Old Bee and Frenchy were standing aft. I think the former must have seen the question on my lips, for he gave me such a swift, angry look that I dared not open my mouth, but slunk behind Frenchy in silence. He, the trader, must have just endured some such rebuff himself, for he was in a frightful ill humour, and swore at me when I tried to whisper in his ear. To learn anything from Babcock was impossible, for he was jumping about the topgallant forecastle, clearing the anchors and getting in the head-sails. When the vessel had been brought to a standstill near a rusty buoy, a boat was cleared and lowered, and we all got into it with alacrity: Old Bee, Mins, Frenchy, and I, and a couple of hands to pull.

We were met at the pier by some natives in singlets and dungaree trousers, who gazed at us as solemnly as we gazed back at them. One grizzled old fellow was spokesman for the rest,—Joe, they called him,—and he told us, with a great deal of writhing (as though he had pain in his inside), that Stocker was dead. He had died ten days before, “of some kind of sickness,” as Joe called it; and lest we had any doubt about it, we were pressed to walk up to Stocker’s house and see for ourselves. For, fearing that they might subsequently be accused of making away with him, they had left Stocker’s body untouched in the bed where he had died. The fact was palpable enough before we had gone a hundred yards in the direction of a little house, which from the distance looked very quaint and pretty. But I forbore to follow the others any further in the investigation they were obviously inclined to make, and I struck off from them to examine the settlement alone.

I have good reasons for thinking that it had been planned originally for other purposes than that of merely sheltering a gang of indentured labourers. It was to have been the entrepÔt or hub of a huge South Sea system, and from its central warehouses a whole empire of surrounding groups was to have been supplied. Indeed, the whole project had so far taken shape that large sheds had even been erected for the commerce that was destined never to come, and commodious houses raised for the managers and clerks whose contracts were still unwritten. I wandered at will through those crumbling rooms, some of which had never been occupied, though they were now in decay; and along the grassy street on which they had been made to face. I found a battery of four small cannon covering the approach from the pier; a dozen ship’s tanks filled with rain-water (the only kind obtainable on the island); and in a shuttered room I stumbled over a hundred Snyder rifles shining in the dark. But what riveted my attention most was the interior of a long, low warehouse full of wreckage. Here, in mouldering, unsorted confusion, had been thrown all that a dozen years had seen salvaged from the sea: binnacles, hatches, yards and canvas, old steering-wheels, blocks, and strange tangles of gear and junk that seemed scarcely worth the saving. Here were life-belts in the last stages of rottenness; odds and ends of perished cargoes; barrels of tallow; twisted drums of what had once been paint or varnish; some cuddy-chairs of the folding kind; and a quantity of boards, barnacled and water-worn. I must have spent the better part of an hour turning over all this stuff, and in reconstructing in my mind the bygone ships from which they had been taken; musing on the fate of those who had once sailed them so unwisely that Lascom Island had been their final port and its bursting seas their grave.

When at last I emerged again into the open air, I perceived with relief that our boat still lay beside the steps of the pier, for I had no desire to be left alone on Lascom Island even for a single hour. I counted for so little on board the ship that I had a panic fear that they might go to sea again without me, and I accordingly returned to the seamen who were smoking under the lee of a palm. We waited there a long time before we were aroused by the sound of voices and the sight of Old Bee and Frenchy walking slowly towards us. The old rogue looked pale and agitated; he had his arm through Frenchy’s, and was speaking to him with intense seriousness and a volubility quite unusual. He seemed pleading with the trader, urging him apparently to something distasteful, something that was perpetually negatived by Frenchy’s bullet-head and his reiterated “No, sare; no, sare; it is eempossible.”

“I’ll make it seventy-five a month,” quavered Bibo, “and all found.”

Again the Frenchman shook his head.

“Ask anysing else, sare,” he said; “but this, oh, no. But why not the boy?” he added.

“That young ass!” cried Old Bee.

“I won’t stay here alone, if that’s what you mean,” said Frenchy. “But if you’ll run down to Treachery Island and let me get a girl there, I tell you, sare, I will do it for the seventy-five. But alone? Good Lord! I’d follow Stocker in ze mont’.”

Bibo groaned aloud. “It’ll take a day and a half to run down there, and all of three to beat back,” he said; “and you might be a week getting a girl.”

Frenchy shrugged his shoulders. “Old Tom Ryegate’s there,” he said. “He’ll do ze thing quick enough if I make it worth his while. They say, too, that he’s in with the Samoan pastor there, Jimmy Upolu. Brice of the Wandering Minstrel told me he was at Treachery three years ago, and picked up ze prettiest woman in the island for sixteen pounds. Told me he gave four pounds to Tom, four to ze pastor, and the rest to ze woman’s folks in trade. He was in such a damned rush he couldn’t wait to cheapen things—just paid his money and went. But she was a tearing fine piece, he said.”Old Bee hardly seemed to listen to him. “I suppose you don’t care,” he said bitterly, “but this business is going to put me two weeks behind and maybe lose me the shell at Big Muggin. Of all cursed luck, who ever had the match of it? First to last, this island has been a millstone round my neck, one everlasting drain and bother. What with the rats, and Charley Sansome’s D. T.’s, and the lawsuit with Poppenheifer, and this business of Stocker’s, I tell you, Frenchy, I’m clean sick of it. It’s just money, money, money all the time, and I don’t believe I’ve ever made enough out of it to buy me a suit of clothes!”

He stopped speaking when he caught sight of me, and stepped down into the boat without another word. Frenchy, too, said nothing as we pulled back to the ship, but chewed at his mustache in a moody, impatient way. But once on board, the captain was called below, and an animated discussion ensued in the main cabin. Through the open skylight I could not forbear overhearing a little of what was said, and I gathered that Mins was joining with his employer in trying to persuade Frenchy to remain on the island in Stocker’s place. At least, I caught Frenchy’s explosive remonstrances, and half-jeering, half-angry efforts to extricate himself from their snares. Apparently he succeeded only too well, for Old Bee, somewhat half-heartedly, at last proposed Babcock’s name. At this the captain himself was up in arms. Wasn’t he doing with one white mate when he ought by rights to have two? Nothing would induce him, he said, to surrender Babcock; nor would he, in such a case, answer for the safety of the ship, nor for the insurance were she lost. Then he turned the tables completely by proposing that Old Bee himself should stop on the island! This was received by Frenchy with a roar of laughter and a blow of his fist that shook the cabin. Old Bee did not take it with the same good humour, but broke out furiously that he might as well throw up the cruise at once. Mine, of course, was the next name to come up, and Frenchy was sent to bring me before the meeting. I am ashamed to think what a fool they must have thought me, for instead of offering me the seventy-five dollars a month—not that I would have taken the job for a million—Old Bee held out the inducement of ten a week. From the manner in which he spoke to me, and the bullying tone of his voice, it was not easy to gather whether I was asked or ordered to go ashore in Stocker’s shoes; and it is my belief that if I had knuckled down in the slightest he would have dropped the first formula altogether. But I had overheard too much to be taken at a disadvantage. Besides, I shrank from the proposal with every fibre in my body, and was determined not to be put ashore except by force. My repulsion was so unconcealed; and it was so plain that I could be neither threatened nor cajoled; that more than once Frenchy burst out with his great laugh, and even Mins smiled sourly at my vehemence. Old Bee did not long persist in the attempt to override my resolution; he had always taken an unflattering view of my capabilities, and even as a planter of cocoanuts I had perhaps excited his distrust. Besides, I would not do it. There was no getting over that!

I was thankful at last to be dismissed, even at the price of a stinging word or two. What were words in comparison with a year on Lascom Island! I went and locked myself in my cabin, and blocked the door of it with my trunk, so fearful was I that I might in some way be tricked or dragged ashore. I dared not emerge until long after the anchor had been weighed and the sails set, and even then I came out of my room with the utmost caution. When I reached the deck, the settlement was already far astern and the ship heading through the western passage for the sea. Lum told me that we were running down to Treachery Island, and gave me some hot bread and tea in the galley in place of the lunch I had lost.

I had read of South Sea paradises, but at Treachery Island I was soon to see one for myself. After the desolate immensity of Lascom, it was delightful to reach this tiny isle, with its lagoon no bigger than the Serpentine and its general appearance of fertility and life. As we ran close along its wooded shores, and saw the beehive houses in the shade, and the people running out to wave a greeting to our passing ship; as we saw the drawn-up boats, the little coral churches, and the shimmering lagoon beyond, on which there was many a white sail dancing, I thought I had never in all my life imagined any place more beautiful. Nor did I think to change my mind when we hove to off a glorious beach, and dropped the ladder for a score of smiling islanders to swarm aboard. I loved the sight of their kindly faces after the sullen looks that had so long been my portion; and my heart warmed towards them as it might to some old and half-forgotten friends.

When a boat was lowered, I kept close at the heels of Old Bee, Frenchy, and the captain as they descended and took their places; and I followed their example with so much assurance that it never occurred to any one to say me nay. The captain swore at me for jumping on his foot, but that was all the attention I received. Frenchy was the hero of the hour, and his gay sash and tie and spotless ducks were the occasion of many pleasantries at his expense. Even Old Bee condescended to tease our beau on the subject of the future Mrs. Frenchy; and at the home thrusts and innuendoes (not all of which I could understand) the captain’s red face deepened into purple as he shook with laughter and slapped his friend upon the back. Frenchy pretended not to like it, and gave tit for tat in good earnest; but it was evident that he was prodigiously pleased with himself and the others. With his chest thrown out, his black brush of a mustache waxed to a point, and his military, dandified air, Frenchy seemed more low, more indefinably offensive, wicked, and dangerous than he had ever appeared to me before.

Every one was in a high good humour when we reached the beach, where special precautions had to be taken in order to spare Frenchy’s finery the least contamination; and we were soon walking up together through a crowd of islanders to the trader’s house. Tom Ryegate was there to meet us, a benignant-looking old man with a plenitude of grey hair, a watery blue eye, and a tell-tale tremor of his hands. A closer inspection revealed the fact that Tom Ryegate was soaked and pickled in gin, a circumstance which perhaps accounted for the depressing views he took of life and for his somewhat snarling mode of address. When the news had been passed, and Stocker’s demise talked over, with some very unedifying reminiscences of the deceased’s peculiarities, the conversation was brought gently round to the business in hand.

But on the subject of girls Tom Ryegate was a broken reed. We might be able to pick up a likely young woman, or we might not. “It all depended,” he said, without adding on what. The fack was that things wasn’t as they used to be on Treachery; the niggars had lost all respeck for whites; it was money they cared for now, nothing but money. It made old Tom Ryegate sick to think of it; it was all this missionary coddling and putting ideas into their heads. Why, he remembered the day when you could buy a ton of shell for a trade gun; when a white man knew no law but what seemed good to him. But it was all changed now; them days was passed for ever; the niggars had no more respeck for whites: it was all money, all money.

This dreary and unsatisfactory monologue was the preface to a recital of all his recent troubles. Mrs. Captain Saxe had been kind enough to bring him back his daughter Elsie. Captain Mins would remember his little Elsie? No? Well, it didn’t much matter; howsomever, as he was saying, she had been educated in the convent at Port Darwin—for an island girl there was no better place than a convent (here’s luck, gentlemen). She was sixteen, and that pretty and nice-behaved that he almost cried when he saw her! And white? Why, you couldn’t have told she was a quarter-carste, she was that white. At first they had got along together very nicely, for she was no slouch of a girl, and could cook and sew, and play her little piece on the zither in the evening, and sing! Sing? Why, you just orter hear that girl sing! And to see her kneel down at night and pray in her little shimmy, it made him feel what a bad old feller he was—by God, it did—and so far to leeward of everything decent and right. Well, well, it went along so far nigh six months (drink hearty, gentlemen; Mr. Bibo, sir, here’s my respecks), and he had no more thought of what was a-coming than a babe unborn.

There was a half-carste here named Ned Forrest, who did a little boat-building and traded a bit besides. Not a bad chap for a half-carste, only he fancied himself overmuch, and thought because he could read and drink square-face that he was as good as any white man. It made him sick, the airs that feller put on at times. Imagine his feelings, then, when this Forrest up and asked him one day for permission to marry Elsie, and said a lot of rot about their being in love with each other! Just animalism, that’s what he called it. His Elsie, who had been bred up a lady in Port Darwin! Hadn’t he said that the niggars were losing all respeck for whites? He booted the swine off his verandah, that’s what he did, and he gave Elsie such a talking to that she cried for three days afterwards. He thought she had had a passing fancy for the swine, but he bade her remember her self-respeck and just let out a few things about the feller to put her on her guard like. But though she promised to give him up, she took it kind of hard. He used often to find her crying and moping about the house, and, like a fool, had thought little of it. He did think enough of it, however, to go to Jimmy Upolu—that’s the Summoan native pastor here—to forbid him to marry the pair if they had in mind any hanky-panky tricks.

By God, it was well he did so, for what was his surprise to find that Forrest had been trying to get round the pastor for that very purpose—mending his boat, stepping a new mast in it, and lending a hand generally with the church repairs. The pastor was a crafty customer and had a considerable eye for the main chance, but he was a sight too far in Tom’s debt to go against him. Tom had only to raise his hand and Jimmy was as good as bounced off the island, for Jimmy’s no pay, and a complaint at headquarters would settle his hash. So he didn’t mince matters with Jimmy, but told him flat out that there must be no marrying Elsie on the sly.

That done, he gave the girl another dressing down. Pity he hadn’t thrashed her, like he had often done her ma, but it wasn’t in flesh and blood to lash your own daughter. So he let it go at that, and arranged with Peter, the king, to run up some kind of a charge against Ned Forrest, so that the next man-of-war might deport him. Luckily Ned was a British subject, and it would have been strange if the navy captain wouldn’t have taken the word of a responsible white merchant, not to speak of the king’s and the missionary’s, against a dirty swine of a half-carste. Howsomever, no man-of-war came,—they never do when they’re wanted,—and things went on from bad to worse.

One morning he awoke to find that Elsie had skipped out. Yes, by God, gone with the half-carste! At first he couldn’t believe it; but when he went off in a tearing rage to see the pastor, he found a crowd gathered round the church door, all chattering at once, like niggars do. They made way for him, and what do you think he saw on that door, so help him? A regular proclamation in English and native, saying as how Elsie Ryegate and Edward George Forrest had taken each other for husband and wife, for better or worse, for sickness or sorrow, until death should them part, and a lot of stuff besides about the pastor and the king both refusing to perform the marriage ceremony. It was well written, that he would allow, though it made him wild to read it. He tore it down and put it into his pocket for evidence, and went on to see Jimmy Upolu. Jimmy was in fits too, for if people got to marrying one another in that church doorway, what would become of Jimmy’s fees?But though Jimmy could talk, he wasn’t much of a hand to do things. What missionary niggar is? He wouldn’t hear of no trial, let alone a little idea with a stick of dynamite. He could think of nothing better than excommunication and talking at him from the pulpit—a fat lot he’d care for either, would Forrest! It seemed nothing could be done, for without the pastor and the king where would be the use? A man had to be keerful these days: the natives were losing all respeck for whites, and them men-of-war fellers were as likely to take a niggar’s word as his own. Wasn’t it sickening! Well, so it all ended in smoke, and Elsie and Ned set up housekeeping together. He had never clapped eyes on her but once, when she threw herself on her knees before him, right there in the dirt, and said she’d die if he wouldn’t forgive her, and please, wouldn’t he let the pastor marry her and Ned? It was a tight place for a father—a father as doted on that girl. But a filthy half-carste! Who could stomach such a swine for his daughter? He told her he’d rather see her stretched dead at his feet; that’s what he said, just like that, and walked on. It was hard, but a man must do his dooty. That was the last he had seen of her—the last he wished to see of her till she’d quit that feller. If she’d do that, his poor, dishonoured girl, she’d never find her father’s door closed against her; no, by God, it stood open for her night and day.

I had become pretty tired of the old man and his daughter long before he had reached the conclusion of his tale; but the others listened readily enough, and seemed genuinely to commiserate him. Captain Mins remarked in his slow, deliberate tones, that wherever you went, half-castes were the same—all swine. And Old Bee said that he’d see that the matter was properly represented to the next man-of-war that came down that way. Frenchy went further and asked a whole raft of questions; about the girl; about Forrest; about the island generally. What sort of man might the king be? Oh, Peter was all right, was he? Was this Forrest a stranger, or had he been born on the island? A stranger. Well, he couldn’t have much of a poosh then—not many kowtubs to back him up in case of a row? And the missionary niggar was square, was he? Old Tom hadn’t any picture of that there girl, had he? So this didn’t do her justice, eh? Why, she was a perfect leetle beauty. Frenchy held the photograph a long time in his hand, studying it with close attention as he puffed at his cigarette. Finally tossing it to one side, he looked earnestly at the floor, and drummed in an undecided way with one foot. Then he stretched out his arms and gave a great yawn.

“Let’s me and you go for a promenade, sonny,” he said, addressing me. “We don’t want to sit here all ze day, do we?”

Once in the open air, however, his desire to walk seemed to vanish, for he began to ask for Ned Forrest’s store, and offered a stick of tobacco to any one that could guide us there. Pretty well the whole village did that, and we were conducted in state to a wooden house near the lagoon, about a mile distant from the spot where we had first landed. Frenchy stood on no ceremony on going in, and I followed close behind him, much less at my ease than my companion. It was dark within the house, and the hum of a sewing-machine covered our approach; it was a minute or two before we were discovered by the young girl we dimly saw at work, who sprang up at last, with a little cry, and came towards us.

Frenchy became suavity itself: begged Mrs. Forrest’s pardon for our intrusion, but it was eempossible to reseest the pleasure of calling upon a white lady. Might he have ze honour of acquainting her with hees friend, Mr. Bence?

The young lady, though somewhat fluttered by our unexpected visit, betrayed no more than natural embarrassment. She begged us to be seated, inquired the name of our vessel, and acquitted herself with an ease and self-possession that few young white women could have rivalled. It was we, indeed, Frenchy and I, who completely lost our heads; for Tom Ryegate’s daughter was of such a captivating prettiness, and her manners were at once so gentle, arch, and engaging, that we could hardly forbear staring her out of countenance, or restrain our admiration within the bounds of ordinary politeness. She was no darker than a Spaniard, with sparkling eyes, and the most glorious black hair in the world. Her girlish figure was not too well concealed by the flimsy cotton dress in which we had surprised her, and it failed to hide altogether her rich young beauty. From the top of her curly head to the little naked feet she kept so anxiously beneath her gown, there was not one feature to mar the rest, not a curve nor a dimple that one would have wished to change. I cannot recall much of what we talked about, though the picture of her there in that dark room is as vivid a memory as any I have. We drank fresh cocoanuts, I remember; listened to a cheap music-box; and looked at the photographs in an album. With the practical gallantry of the Islands, Frenchy begged her to ask for any favour that we had it in our power to grant. The whole ship, he said, was at her deesposal. Was she sure that she needed nozing? Some ear-rings? A bolt of silk? A really nice beet of lace he had intended for the queen of Big Muggin?

But she would accept nothing. You see, her husband did not like her to take presents from white gentlemen. The supercargo of the Lancashire Lass had given her two pairs of shoes, and some goldfish in a bottle, but Ned was much displeased. Ned said that people would talk and take away her character; besides, it wasn’t for poor folks to have shoes and goldfish. Ned was a very proud man and did not pretend to be what he was not. She was still speaking when Ned himself unexpectedly appeared at another door. Amid laughing explanations, we were made acquainted with the head of the house, a big, shy half-caste, who welcomed us with a tremendous hand-shake apiece. He was a powerful young man, and his muscular throat and arms were still grimy with the blacksmithing at which he had been engaged. I liked his unshrinking, honest look, and as he turned his eyes on his beautiful wife there was in them something of the tenderness and devotion of a dog’s. Elsie ordered the great fellow about with a pretty imperiousness that only lovers use, and with a peculiar softness of intonation that did not escape me. It made me a little envious and heartsick to see this happiness in which I could have no share, and I was almost glad at last when Frenchy rose to go. Lifting her little hand to his lips, he begged her to please count him her friend and serviteur to command, and regretted that the preessure of affairs would preclude him from calling again before the ship sailed. He had been so assiduous in his attentions to the young beauty that I was at a loss to understand this sudden renunciation; but I put it down to his common sense, which must have told him that in this quarter his gallantry could only be wasted. Any one could see that our pretty quarter-caste was head over heels in love with her own husband; and however much she might laugh and talk with strangers, and enjoy the impression her starry eyes indubitably produced, her heart, at least, was in no uncertain keeping. It was just as much Ned Forrest’s as the clothes upon her back or the house in which she lived. How I envied him his prize as Frenchy and I walked back silently towards old Tom’s, and saw the bark’s sails shining through the trees. I tried to say something about the charming girl we had left, but Frenchy hardly seemed to listen. For a long time he continued in a deep study, puffing hard at his cigarette, and looking, as it appeared to me, more than usually reckless and devil-may-care. We found the others exactly where we had left them,—though not perhaps so sober,—and they haled Frenchy in and bade him report himself, the square-face meanwhile making another round.

“What news of thy quest, O illustrious horse-soldier?” demanded the captain, in his usual thick, loud voice—a little louder and a little thicker for the gin. “Hast thou found a damsel to thy taste on this thy servant’s isle?”

“Hein?” said Frenchy, with a queer glance at me.

“You must do something,” said Old Bee, “and do that something soon, Frenchy my Bo, for I can’t stay here for ever at seven pound a day!”

“Here’s luck!” said the gentleman thus addressed, raising his eyebrows significantly over his glass. There must have been further interchange of signals, for Bibo turned to me and in a very kind and flattering way requested me to go back to the ship. The fact was, he said, that it was not right to leave her altogether to Babcock, and it would go far to lessen his own anxiety if there were another white man on board. I ought to know pretty well by this time what Kanakas were like, he continued, and how little the crew would care if they laid the bark ashore or drowned her in a squall. He put it to me, he said, as a personal favour to himself. To such a request I could, of course, make but one answer, though it went sorely against the grain for me to return again on board; the more especially when I found the reliable Babcock snoring on a hatch. I had only to look from him to the boatswain’s leathery, watchful face to realise how completely I had been tricked. The ship was as safe under Johnny’s care as she would have been in Brisbane harbour, and I could see that he was handling her with the most admirable skill. My only complaint was that he acquitted himself far too well, for in the humour that then possessed me I would gladly have seen him pile her on the reef.

It was hot on board, and the day seemed endless, so slowly did the hours drag on. Three or four times the boat came off from shore and returned again. At one time it brought out old Tom Ryegate, together with our whole party, who at once went below. Afterwards they sent the steward up for Johnny and two or three of the hands to come down. I felt too sulky and ill used to pay much attention to all this coming and going, though in the bottom of my heart I could not resist a certain pang of curiosity. I doubted not that my companions were up to some mischief, the nature of which I was at a loss to understand; but the way they put their heads together was enough to inspire me with alarm; and I did not like at all this calling in of the crew. I tried to sound Johnny after they had pulled back to the settlement, but he turned a deaf ear to me and pretended not to understand my questions. I tried Lum with like ill success, finding him also (though from a different reason) cross and uncommunicative.

“White man all same devil,” he said, and went on kneading his dough.

Supper-time came, and Babcock and I had the table to ourselves; he was very garrulous and tiresome, and I suspect he had been nipping on the sly, for he giggled a lot, and sometimes talked foolishly to himself. Altogether I was sick of the ship and of Babcock and of my own company; and when I came on deck after supper, and saw the shore lights twinkling through the palms, and the torches of the fishers on the roof, I felt I could no longer control my impatience.

Slipping down the gangway, I signalled to one of the canoes that hung about the ship, and a few minutes later I was landed for the second time near old Tom Ryegate’s store. Needless to say, I gave it a wide berth, for the last thing I wished was to run across any of my shipmates. I was spied out by some little children playing tag in the dark, who took me by the hands and led me about the settlement. I was conducted into half a dozen houses, and given green nuts to drink, with here and there a present of a hat or a mat or some pearl-shells. I do not know how long I had been wandering about in this fashion—but it must have been nearer two hours than one—when I was suddenly startled by a roar of voices and a sound of scurrying feet. In an instant we were all rushing in the direction of the noise, falling and stumbling over one another in our excitement. At the church I found a crowd assembled, buzzing like bees, and crushing frantically against the unglazed windows for a sight of what was taking place within. I jostled my way round to the door, where I was surprised to find our brawny boatswain Johnny, together with several of our men, keeping the other natives at bay. They would have kept me out, too, if they had dared, but I pushed boldly past them and entered the building.

It was all but empty. At the farther end, by the light of a tawdry hanging lamp, I perceived that some sort of service or ceremony was in progress, and I was thunderstruck to recognise in the little congregation there assembled every member of the shore party. Old Bee and the captain were standing on one side, the latter smoking a cigar and spitting from time to time on the coral floor; next them, his benignant hair all awry, was Tom Ryegate, leaning unsteadily against the wall, and wiping his eyes on a trade handkerchief. A burly Kanaka whom I had no difficulty in recognising as Jimmy Upolu, the native pastor, was reciting something out of a book over the heads of Frenchy and a woman, who both knelt before him. Frenchy’s costume had suffered not a little since the morning; it was dirty and stained, and the collar of his coat was torn half-way down his back, as though some one had seized him there with a smutty hand. In an instant I seemed to see the whole thing. I ran forward with my heart in my mouth, and even as I did so there rose from the outside the strangled cry of a man, followed by a scuffle and the noise of blows.

The woman beside Frenchy sprang to her feet, and as she turned towards me I recognised the ashen face of Elsie Ryegate. Frenchy caught her in his arms, and swearing beneath his breath, forced her down again beside him; while the pastor, not a whit abashed, rattled on briskly with the service.

He soon came to an end, closing his book with a flourish, as much as to say the ceremony was over. Frenchy rose to his feet, still with one arm round Elsie’s waist.

“How much?” he asked.

Then old Tom Ryegate came staggering up, boo-hooing like a great baby. He wrung Frenchy’s hand; gave his daughter a slobbering kiss; and broke out into a whole rigmarole of how pleased he was to see her made an honest woman, by God, and married to a gentleman she could respeck and look up to. The girl herself might have been dead, for all the attention she paid to him or any one; but for Frenchy’s enfolding arm, I believe she would have fallen to the ground, for she was stony white, and shaking in a kind of chill. I could hear her teeth chatter, while Frenchy haggled with the pastor, and the trader went on with his endless gabble.

We all moved out of the church together, old Tom Ryegate stumbling along in the rear, making very poor weather of it in the dark. All at once he went sprawling over something, and we could hear him cursing to himself as he tried to get on his legs again.

“Now’s our chance, gentlemen all,” cried the captain, and off we set running for the beach, old Tom’s voice growing fainter and fainter in our rear. We tumbled pell-mell into the boat that was waiting for us, and shoved off into deep water amid a hullabaloo of laughter and cheers. Far behind us we could still hear the old fellow calling and swearing, and even when we drew up under the bark, I thought I could yet detect the faint echo of his voice. All this time Elsie herself had made no sound, and had submitted like a terror-stricken child to be led where Frenchy wished. But when she felt her feet on the gangway ladder, and saw above her head the tangled yards and rigging of the ship, she must have realised all at once what fate had in store for her, for she uttered a shuddering cry and began to sob. I stood up in the boat; I tried to say something of what I felt; I remember I called Frenchy a damned villain, and us no better for helping him.

“Stop that row!” cried the captain, giving me a punch in the ribs that made me gasp and turn sick. “I won’t have a word spoken against Mr. or Mrs. Bonnichon, and if I catch you at it again, you young whelp, I’ll lick you within an inch of your life. I won’t allow a mischief-maker on my ship, nor a dirty scandal-monger. Just you remember that, young gentleman.”

I went up the gangway in silence, humiliated and rebellious, to spend a sleepless night in plans of revenge. My heart seemed to burst with a sense of my powerlessness, and I turned and turned on my pillow in a fever. The morning found us beating up against a stiff trade-wind and a heavy sea, and at breakfast the captain had more than once to leave the table in order to see us through a squall. He and Old Bee were the only persons at that meal except myself, but neither commented on Frenchy’s absence or said a word about the events of yesterday. Indeed, I don’t think they exchanged three remarks in all, and these were about the weather. I could not help gazing from time to time at the door of Frenchy’s state-room; and once, in so doing, I encountered the captain’s baleful eye. I looked away hastily, and, I am ashamed to add, I trembled. Frenchy made no appearance at lunch, but towards three o’clock of the afternoon I saw him steal stealthily out and get a bottle of whisky and some biscuits, and then close his door again on our little world. I was struck afresh with his gross, evil look, and shrank, as one might from a wild beast, at the very sight of him.

The second day passed much as the first, though it found us lying better up to windward. Frenchy still kept away from the table, and I used to stare at his closed state-room door with an awful curiosity. My two companions were, if anything, more glum and uncommunicative than ever; and when I tried to draw out Babcock I found that his mouth also had been sealed. He would give me only snapping answers, and was painfully ill at ease in my presence. Lum had scalded himself twice in the galley, and was in no conversational mood; and when I tried to unbosom myself to him he cut me short with the remark that “white men were all same devil.”

We ran into Lascom in the morning of the third day, and by ten o’clock were at anchor off the settlement. Babcock at once hoisted out eight or nine tons of Frenchy’s stuff, most of it food for his year’s sojourn on the island, together with a lot of mess pork and biscuits for the Kanakas; and all hands were busy getting it into the whale-boat alongside. The captain and Old Bee were sitting side by side on the top of the house, the latter with a pocket full of papers and a portfolio desk across his knee. They were laughing together, and Mins was holding the ink-bottle in one hand. Lum was standing at the break of the poop, peeling potatoes and watching his bread, which was spread out on the hatch to rise. I could not stay still, but kept moving about in a state of frightful agitation, for I knew that Elsie and the Frenchman must soon appear.

Suddenly I heard a half-smothered oath, the shattering of glass, the rapid patter of naked feet. I turned, and there was Elsie Ryegate poised on the ship’s rail, her black hair flying to the wind, her bare arms outspread. She was over like a flash, and her feet had barely touched the water when Frenchy leaped after her. We all shouted and ran aft, the crew whooping like a pack of boys. The girl headed as straight as an arrow for the shore, but she had not swum twenty strokes before Frenchy was panting and blowing close behind her. Seeing, apparently, that she could not hope to escape, she turned and seemed to resign herself to capture. But as Frenchy tried to seize her by the hair, she swiftly threw both her arms round his neck, and with a tragic look of exultation she sank with him below.

Down, down they went, the puddled green water showing them vaguely beneath the surface, sometimes with a ghastly distinctness, sometimes with strange distortions of feature and limb. They rose at last, still struggling, still drowning each other, the girl’s arms clinched round the man’s neck, he spluttering horribly and trying to strike at her with his fist. Spellbound, we saw them sink again, their convulsed faces almost touching, their bodies writhing in agony. Mins let out a great roar and darted for the life-belt; there was a rush forward to cast off the whaler in which Frenchy’s stuff was being lightered; Old Bee screamed out, “Jump! jump!” to our boatswain, who was looking on transfixed, pointing madly at the bubbles that kept rising to the surface. Johnny made one step aft, and was just on the point of vaulting over the rail when Lum caught him squarely round the waist and held him like a vise. There was a short, violent struggle between them, and the Chinaman went down with a crash under the Kanaka. But by the time the latter was on his feet again the moment for his services had passed, for Frenchy’s body, still locked in Elsie Ryegate’s arms, drifted lifeless under our quarter. The captain pointed at it with an awe-stricken finger, and signalled the whale-boat where to pull.

The girl’s corpse was thrown on an old sail in the waist, and left there, naked and dripping, for the crew to gape at; while Frenchy was borne off by the captain, who, with streaming tears, worked over him for an hour in the trade-room. When Lum and I had recovered our wits, we drew the poor drowned creature into the galley, put hot bottles to her feet, rubbed her icy body with our hands, and held her up between us to the blazing fire. Lum blew into her mouth, worked her arms up and down, and exhausted a thousand ingenuities to call her back to life; but the little looking-glass he held so persistently to her lips remained to the end untarnished by a breath. We were compelled at last—though God knows how reluctantly—to give up all hope; and laying her gently in the Chinaman’s berth, we covered her beautiful face. Then I took occasion to ask Lum why he had prevented Johnny from diving overboard—Johnny who was a powerful swimmer and certain to have saved them.

“More better she die,” he said; and then, with a dramatic gesture, he pointed to the shore, and asked me in his broken English whether she could have endured a year of it with that man.

“More better she die,” he repeated, and regarded me with a deep solemnity.

There was not much dinner eaten that day, though one must needs be cooked and served. I looked fearfully into the trade-room, and saw Frenchy’s body stretched out on the counter, a towel drawn over his swarthy face. Lum and I closed the galley doors, and smoked countless cigarettes together in the semi-darkness, finding consolation in one another’s company. The tragedy hung heavy upon us both; and the knowledge that one of its victims lay but a yard away seemed to bring death close to us all; so that we trembled for ourselves and sat near together in a sort of horror. Towards three o’clock some one pounded violently at the door, and on Lum’s unlocking it, we found ourselves confronted by Johnny the boatswain.

He told us bluntly he wanted the girl’s body, to bury it ashore.“Captain’s orders,” he said, with a nasty look at the Chinaman.

“You make two hole?” queried Lum—“two grave?”

“One, that’s all,” said Johnny, with a grin. “We bury them together, you China fool.”

“No, that you will not!” cried Lum, with a sudden flame in his almond eyes. “You can bury Frenchy, but me and Bence make hole for the girl.”

“No, you won’t,” cried Johnny, making a movement to force his way in; but Lum caught up the cleaver, and stood there, looking so incensed and defiant that the Kanaka was glad to move away. He went off, swearing all kinds of things, and we saw him afterwards complaining angrily to Old Bee.

But the Chinaman was in a fighting humour. It would have taken more than mere words to cow his spirit. He called me out on deck, and there, between us, we got the dinghy off the beds and launched her alongside the ship—without asking by your leave or anything—and pulled her round to the gangway ladder. Then, as I held her fast with the boat-hook, Lum went back, and reappeared a minute later with Elsie’s corpse in his arms. Settling it carefully in the bottom of the boat, her comely head resting on a bundle tied in yellow silk, the Chinaman took one of the oars and bade me pull with the other. Even as I did so I noticed the meat-cleaver bulging out his jumper and a six-shooter in the hind pocket of his jeans.

We headed for the shore about a mile above the settlement, and made a landing in a shallow cove. My companion lifted out the girl’s body and waded with it ashore, carrying the yellow bundle by his teeth like a dog. I followed him in silence as he passed into the scrub and tramped heavily towards the weather side of the island. We emerged on a wide and glaring beach, on which, as far as the eye could reach, a furious surf was thundering. Lum laid his burden down beneath the shade of a palm, and set himself to dig a grave with the cleaver. As he toiled the sweat rolled off him in great beads and his saturated clothes stuck to him as though he had been soaked in water. Once or twice he rested, wiping his hands and face on my handkerchief, and smoking the cigarette I rolled for him. It must have been a couple of hours before the grave was finished to his liking, for he was particular to have it deep and well squared. Then he opened the little bundle that had served so long for Elsie’s pillow, and took from it a roll of magenta-coloured silk, some artificial flowers, a packet of sweet-smelling leaves, and a number of red tissue-paper sheets printed with gilt Chinese characters. The silk he used to partly cover the bottom of the grave; the flowers and fragrant leaves were placed at the end where her head would lie; and all being thus ready for her last bed, the two of us lowered her sorrowfully into it. This done, Lum shrouded her in the remnant of the silk, and we filled up the grave together, shovelling the sand in with our hands.

Lum took the pieces of red tissue-paper, and laid some on the ground to mark the place, pinning a dozen more to the neighbouring shrubs and trees, where they fluttered in the boisterous trade. Some got away altogether and went scudding along the beach or out to sea, and one blew high in the air like a kite. Lum watched them for a while in silence, and then, with a sigh, turned about to recross the island.

“A week ago she little thought this would be her end,” I said, half to myself.

I shall never forget the look Lum gave me. The self-reproach and shame of it was too poignant for words.

“I think you and me all same coward,” he said.