The Project Gutenberg EBook of John Frewen, South Sea Whaler, by Louis Becke This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org Title: John Frewen, South Sea Whaler 1904 Author: Louis Becke Release Date: March 11, 2008 [EBook #24806] Last Updated: March 8, 2018 Language: English Character set encoding: UTF-8 *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JOHN FREWEN, SOUTH SEA WHALER *** Produced by David Widger
* A wooden pole with a small pennon; used by whalers' boats as a signal to the ship.Lopez nodded, but said nothing. They pulled up alongside, and the mate's boatsteerer stepped out on to the body of Leviathan and pulled out the whift pole, which was firmly embedded in the blubber. “There's a letter tied round the pole, sir,” he said to his officer, as he got back to the boat again and passed the whift aft. The “letter” had been carefully wrapped in a strip of oilskin, and then tied around the whift pole by a piece of sail twine. It was a sheet of soiled paper with a few pencilled lines written on it. Lopez read it:—
“For the information of Ethan Keller, Haser: This whale was struck, for the sake of his shipmates' lays, by Randall Cheyne, the 'yaller-hided Samoan,' who has struck more whales than old Haser Keller ever saw. If Haser Keller wants us he will find us at Savage Island, where we shall be ready for him. (Signed) “R. Cheyne, Boatsteerer, “Casilda.”“Where is Mr. Frewen, sir?” inquired the boatsteerer anxiously. “Gone for a picnic,” replied the mate laconically. “Now, look lively, my lads. We've got to tow this fish to the ship and 'cut in' before the sharks save us the trouble.”
* “Greeting, gentlemen.”“Thank God you are here, Randall,” she said, leading the way into another room. “Tom will tell you of what has happened. I will return as soon as I can.” “How is Captain Marston?” asked Raymond, as she stood for a moment with her hand on the handle of the door. “Still unconscious. Mrs. Marston is with him.” She paused, and then turned her dark and beautiful tear-dimmed eyes to Frewen: “Tom, perhaps this gentleman might be able to do something. Will he come in and see?” Raymond drew him aside. “Go in and see the poor fellow. He can't last long—his skull is fractured.” Frewen followed Mrs. Raymond into the large room, and saw lying on her own bed the figure of a man whose features were of the pallor of death. His head was bound up, and kneeling by his side, with her eyes bent upon his closed lids, was a woman, or rather a girl of twenty-two or twenty-three years of age. As, at the sound of footsteps, she raised her pale, agonised face, something like a gleam of hope came into it. “Are you a doctor?” she asked in a trembling whisper. The seaman shook his head respectfully. “No, madam; I would I were.” He leant over the bed, and looked at the still, quiet face of the man, whom he could see was in the prime of life, and whose regular, clear-cut features showed both refinement and strength of character. “He still breathes,” whispered the poor wife. “Yes, so I see,” said Frewen, as he rose. Then he asked Mrs. Raymond a few questions as to the nature of the wound, and learned that in addition to a fractured skull a pistol bullet had entered at the back of the neck. “There is no hope, you think. I can see that by your face,” said Mrs. Marston, suppressing a sob. “I cannot tell, madam. But I do think that his condition is very, very serious.” She bent her head, and then sank on her knees again beside the bed, but suddenly she rose again, and placed her hand on Frewen's sleeve. “I know that my husband must die, no human aid can save him. But will you, sir, go and see poor Mr. Villari. Mr. Raymond has hopes for him at least. And he fought very bravely for my husband.” Villari was the first mate of the ship, and was lying in another room, together with three wounded seamen. He was a small, wiry Italian, and when Frewen entered with Raymond and Mrs. Raymond, he waved his right hand politely to them, and a smile lit up his swarthy features. He had two bullet wounds, one a clean hole through the right shoulder, the other in the thigh. He had lost a great deal of blood, but none of his high courage, though Raymond at first thought he could not live. “I am not going to die,” he said. “Per Bacco, no.” Frewen spoke encouragingly to him and then turned his attention to the seamen, all of whom were Englishmen. None of them were severely wounded, and all that could be done for them had been done by Raymond and their own unwounded shipmates, of whom there were four. “Now I shall tell you the story,” said Raymond to Frewen and Cheyne, as he led the way to the verandah, on which a table with refreshments had been placed. “But, first of all, do you see that ship out there? Well, that is the Esmeralda. She is now in the possession of the mutineers, and has on board forty-five thousand dollars. You see that she is becalmed?” “And likely to continue so for another three or four days, if I am any judge of the weather in this part of the Pacific,” said Frewen, “I agree with you. And now, before I begin to tell you the story of the mutiny, I want to know if you two will help me to recapture her? You are seamen, and—” Both men sprang to their feet. “Yes, we will!” “Ah! I thought you would not refuse. Now wait a moment,” and calling to a young native who was near, he bade him go to the chief of Samatau and ask him to come to the house as quickly as possible. “Malië, the chief of Samatau, will help us,” he said to Frewen; “he has two hundred of the best fighting men in Samoa, and I shall ask him to pick out fifty. But we want a nautical leader—some one to take charge of the ship after we get possession of her.” “Now here is the story of the mutiny, told to me by poor Mrs. Marston.”
* Chief—gentleman. ** A whale-ship. *** His full title, “Malië, warrior of Samatau.” The present King Malietoa of Samoa is a descendant.The chief and his orator bent their heads, but said nothing beyond a simple Lelei, lelei lava (“Good, very good”). Then Raymond went to the point as quickly as possible, and asked the chief if he would assist him, Frewen, and Cheyne in recapturing the ship from the mutineers. Speaking, of course, in Samoan, he said— “As thou seest, Malië, the wind hath died away, and the ship is becalmed, so that the murderers on board cannot escape us if we do but act soon and come upon them suddenly.” The chief thought for a few moments, then answered— “I will not refuse thee anything in reason that thou asketh me, Lêmonti. But yet my people must be told of what is in thy mind.” “True. They shall know. But before I unfold to thee my plan to take this ship by surprise so that but little or no blood may be shed, I will pledge myself to the people of Samatan and to thee to act generously to them for the help they will give. The captain is hurt to death and cannot speak, and the lady his wife is too smitten with grief to consider aught but her husband, so on her behalf do I speak; for she is my countrywoman, and it would be a shameful thing for me did I not help her.” Then he went on, and dearly and lucidly detailed his scheme to the chief, afterwards translating his remarks into English for the benefit of Frewen, who listened with the keenest interest. Cheyne, of course, understood Samoan perfectly. Raymond's plan was simple enough. He proposed to take the Casilda's boat, and with Frewen, Cheyne, and a few natives go boldly off and board the ship, and representing himself as a trader anxious to buy European provisions, begin to work by throwing the mutineers off their guard, by warning them of the danger the ship was in through being in so close to the land during a calm, for the currents in the Straits of Manono were very strong and she would be carried on to the reef unless she was towed out of the danger limit towards which he would say (and truthfully enough) that she was drifting. The mutineers, he felt convinced, would feel so alarmed that they would listen to and accept his suggestion to let him engage the services of half a dozen native boats, whose united efforts would soon place the ship out of danger by towing her out of the danger zone. Then he and those with him would bide their time, and at a given signal spring upon the mutineers, who would be completely off their guard. He entered into the details so minutely that not only Frewen and Cheyne, but Malië as well, expressed the warmest admiration and approval. Then he told Malië exactly what to do when he (the chief) saw the whale-boat leaving the ship to return to the shore, and Malië listened carefully to his instructions and promised that they should be carried out exactly as he desired. Then the stalwart chief and his orator rose to take their leave, for they had to call the people together and acquaint them with what was to be done. “Have no fear, Lêmonti, that the calm will break,” he said in reply to a fear expressed by the planter that a breeze might, after all, spring up and carry the ship too far off the land for the attempt to be made. “'Tis a calm that will last for many days. Look at the mountains of Savai'i”—and he pointed out the cloud-capped summits of the range that traverses the great island of Savai'i—“when the clouds lie white and heavy and low down it meaneth no wind for many days, not as much as would stir a palm-leaf. But there will be rain at night—much rain.” “The better for our purpose,” said Raymond, as the chief left the house. “Now, Randall, we must hurry along. Take half a dozen of my people, and let them catch a couple of pigs and plenty of fowls; then cut about a dozen or so large bunches of bananas and get enough other fruit—pineapples, sugar-cane, guavas, and young coco-nuts as will make a big show in the boat. Mr. Frewen and I will join you in about a quarter of an hour, and then you and he can show the natives how to stow the things, as I have suggested to the chief.” Returning to the house he sought out his wife. “Marie, we are going to recapture that ship. Don't be alarmed, and don't say anything to poor Mrs. Marston till you see us returning; but you may tell the mate.” Mrs. Raymond never for one instant thought of trying to dissuade her husband from a mission which she felt was full of danger. She kissed him, and said, “Tell me what to get ready, Tom.”
* A large native town on the south side of Upolu.“A day at least—too long altogether with such a strong current setting the ship towards the reef.” “Ah, yes, I daresay it would,” he said meditatively; then, as if struck with a sudden inspiration, he added quickly, “What about Malië? He has any number of boats—a dozen at least.” “Just the man!” replied Raymond. “He will let the captain have all the boats and men to man them that are wanted—but he'll want to be paid for it.” “Certainly,” interrupted the mutineer, who little imagined how adroitly he was being meshed. “I'll pay anything reasonable. Who is he?” “Oh, he is a big chief living quite near me, and a decent enough fellow. He has a number of large native-built boats. The natives call them taumualua, which means sharp at both ends.{*} They seat from six to eight paddlers on each side. Five, or even four such boats, well manned, would make the ship move along. Three or four hours' towing will put her into the edge of the counter current setting to the south and eastward away from the land, and then she'll be out of danger, no matter how long the calm lasts.” In a few minutes it was decided that the boat should return to the shore, where Raymond was to see the chief and arrange with him to provide five or six well-manned taunwalua, which Frewen said should be alongside to receive the tow-lines within two or three hours. As he (Frewen) was about to go over the side Ryan made a half apology for the ship's crew carrying arms, at which the young man smiled and said— “Oh, a good many captains that touch at Samoa for the first time keep their crews armed, imagining the natives might try to cut them off. But the Samoans are a different kind of people to the savages of the Western Pacific; there has only been one ship cut off in this group, and that must have occurred fifty years ago. ”{**}
* These boats are usually built from the wood of the breadfruit-tree. Not a single nail is used in their construction; every plank is joined to its fellow by lashings of coconut fibre. ** A fact.Just as he had taken his seat beside Raymond and Cheyne, the Greek said politely— “If there is no necessity for both of you gentlemen to go on shore again, won't one of you stay on board and have some supper?” This was just the invitation that Frewen was looking for, but he appeared to hesitate for a moment or two. “Thank you, captain, I think I will. There is certainly nothing for me to do on shore that my partner cannot do as well or better than myself. And I should like to hear any news from Europe that you may have to tell.” As he clambered up the side again the boat pushed off, and the stalwart native crew sent her, now she was lightened of her load of provisions, skimming through the water. When the American returned to the quarter-deck, Ryan introduced to him “Mr. Foster, my second mate,” and added that in addition to the misfortune of losing twelve of his crew when coming through the Paumotu Group, his chief officer had accidentally shot himself, and shattered his collar-bone. “Indeed!” said Frewen, with an air of concern, instantly surmising that the injured man was either Almanza or the Chileno sailor whom Villari had shot. “Is he getting on all right?” “Not at all well—and unfortunately I do not know anything about a fractured collar-bone.” Frewen replied, with perfect truth, that he had seen several broken collar-bones. Perhaps he might be of assistance. “Captain Ryan” thanked him, and said he would at once go down, see how the injured man was getting on, and would send for him in ten minutes or so. Meanwhile would Mr. Frewen join Mr. Foster in a glass of wine. The young whaling officer sat down near the skylight, and as the dark-faced, dirty-looking ruffian seated opposite passed him, with an amiable grin, a decanter of excellent sherry, wondered which of the two Levantines was the greater cut-throat of the two. Ryan, as he called himself, was somewhat of a dandy. He did not wear ear-rings; and Villari's clothes—which fitted him very well—made him look as if he had been used to dress well all his life. Foster, on the other hand, who was arrayed in poor Marston's garments, was the typical Greek seaman one might meet any day in almost any seaport town of importance. He was a fairly tall man, well and powerfully built, but his hawk-like and truculent visage inspired the American with a deeper aversion than that with which he regarded Ryan—who, however, was in reality the more tigerish-natured of the two. As they sat talking, Frewen happened to look along the deck for'ard, and caught sight of a seaman with the lower part of his face bandaged. He was standing at the galley door talking to some one inside, but happening to see the American looking at him, he hurriedly slipped round the for'ard end of the galley out of sight. “Ah,” thought Frewen, “that is the other fellow that Villari put out of action—the man below is Almansa.” His surmise he found was correct, for at the end of a quarter of an hour, Ryan, who had been giving Almansa all the news in the interval, appeared and asked him to come below and see the chief officer. He led the way below, and entering the officer's cabin, said— “Here is the gentleman from the shore, Mr. Almanza. Let him see your hurt.” The leader of the mutineers was evidently in great pain, and feverish as well, and Frewen in a few seconds found by examination that a splinter of the fractured bone had been driven into the muscles of the shoulder, where it seemed to be firmly embedded, although one end of it could almost be felt by gentle pressure, so close was it under the skin. The bullet itself had come out at the side of the neck. Telling them that, although he was no doctor, he was sure that it was most important that the splinter of bone should be removed, he offered to attempt it. The fractured collar-bone, he assured them, would knit of itself if the patient kept quiet. In those days the medicine chests of even fine ships like the Esmeralda were but poorly equipped, when contrasted with those to be found on much smaller vessels thirty years later, when antiseptic surgery and anæsthetics were beginning to be understood. But Almanza, who was in agony, begged the visitor to do what he could; and without further hesitation, Frewen took from the medicine chest what he considered was the most suitable knife, made an incision, and in less than five minutes had the splintered piece of bone out. Then came the agonising but effective sailor's styptic—cotton wool soaked in Friar's Balsam. Almanza tried to murmur his thanks, but feinted, and when he came to again, he found himself much freer from pain, and the poor negro steward's successor standing beside him with a tumbler of wine and water. “You must keep very quiet,” said Frewen, as he turned to leave the room, speaking coldly, for although he was very sympathetic with any one suffering pain, he could not but remember what the man before him had done. Returning on deck, he found Foster and Ryan talking on the poop, whilst the crew of Chilenos were sitting about on the hatches eating pineapples and bananas, and drinking coconuts. Even a non-seafaring man would have thought that there was a lack of discipline displayed, but Frewen, whose life had been spent on whaleships where the slightest liberty on the part of foc'sle hands towards the after-guard meets with swift and stern punishment, felt as if he would have liked to have kicked them all in turn, and then collectively. “Never mind,” he thought to himself, “I trust they are all reserved for higher things—they all deserve the gallows, and I sincerely trust they will get it.” Both Ryan and Foster, he could see, had not the slightest doubt of his and Raymond's bona-fides, and at supper both men were extremely affable to him. At the same time he thought he could perceive that they were anxious as to what had become of the captain's boat, for they asked him casually if there was any shipping at Apia, or at any of the other ports in the group. “Only the usual local trading vessels,” he replied. “Whenever a stranger comes in—even if it is only a native craft—I get the news at my place by runners in an hour or two.” And Almanza's mind, too, was at rest, for when he was groaning in agony in his bank, and he was told that a boat from the shore was coming alongside, he had started up and reached for his pistols. But Ryan had satisfied him completely. “We could have shot every one of them before the boat came alongside, had we wanted to, amigo,” he said. “Had they no arms?” asked the wounded man. “None—not so much as a cutlass even. Diego, Rivas, and Garcia, who helped them to discharge the boat, saw everything taken out of her but the oars and sails. There was a big man—a half-caste, who was dressed like a white man—in charge of the four Samoans. I asked him to come on deck and have a glass of grog; but he said his crew did not want him to leave the boat. They were frightened, he said, because our men had pistols in their belts.” Almanza gave a sigh of relief. “And you are sure they will return and tow us?” “Sure, amigo.” And just as supper was over, and Frewen and Ryan returned to the deck, a sailor called out that the whale boat and five others were in sight. “Ah, my partner is not the man to lose time in an important matter like this, Captain Ryan,” said Frewen; “your tow-line will be tautened out before the three hours we mentioned.”
* Note by the Author.—Nearly all Polynesians and Micronesians believed most firmly that the dissolution of soul from body always (excepting in cases of sudden death by violence or accident) occurred when the tide is on the ebb. From a long experience of life in the Pacific Islands, the writer is thoroughly imbued with and endorses that belief. The idea of the passing away of life with the ebbing of the tide will doubtless seem absurd to the European and civilised mind, but it must be remembered that an inborn and inherited belief, such as this, does, with many so-called semi-savage races, produce certain physical conditions that are well understood by pathologists.“Ay, good Mâlu. I know it. So keep the child within thy own room, so that the house may be quiet.” Old Mâlu, who had nursed Mrs. Raymond's mother, bent her head in assent, and went inside, and her mistress sat down in one of the cane-work lounge chairs on the wide verandah and closed her eyes, for she was wearied, physically and mentally. Her nerves had been strained greatly by the events of the day, and now the knowledge that within a few feet of where she sat, a life was passing away, and a woman's heart was breaking, saddened her greatly. “I must not give way,” she thought. “I must go and see how the wounded men are doing.” But ere she knew it, there came the low but hoarse murmuring cries of myriad terns and gulls flying homewards to the land, mingled with the deep evening note of the blue mountain pigeons; and then kindly slumber came, and rest for the troubled brain and sorrowing heart. She had slept for nearly an hour when a young native girl servant, who had been left to wait upon Mrs. Marston, came quickly but softly along the verandah and touched her arm. “Awake, Marie,{*} and come to the white lady.”
* It will doubtless strike the reader as being peculiar that
an educated and refined woman such as I have endeavoured to
portray in Mrs. Raymond would allow a servant to address her
by her Christian name. But the explanation is very simple:
In many European families living in Polynesia and in
Micronesia the native servants usually address their masters
and mistresses and their children by their Christian names—
unless it is a missionary household, when the master would
be addressed as “Misi “(Mr.) and the mistress as “Misi
fafine “(Mrs.). The difference does not in the least imply
that the servant speaks to the lay white man and his wife in
a more familiar manner than he would to his spiritual
teacher. No disrespect nor rude familiarity is intended—
quite the reverse; it is merely an affectionate manner of
speaking to the employer, not as an employer, but as the
friend of the household generally. It is related of the
martyred missionary John Williams, that a colleague of his
in Tahiti once reproved a native youth for addressing Mr.
Williams as “Viriamu” (Williams) instead of “Misi Yiriamu”
(Mr. Williams), whereupon the pioneer of missionary
enterprise in the South Seas remarked—” It does not matter,
Mr. ——-, I infinitely prefer to be called
'Viriamu' than 'Tione Viriamu Mamae' (the Sacred, or
Reverend, John Williams).”
She rose and followed the girl to the room where Marston lay. His wife was
kneeling by him with her lips pressed to his.
Marie Raymond knelt beside her, and passed her arm around her waist.
* Niué, the “Savage Island” of Captain Cook. The natives are always in great request as seamen. Even to the present day most of the trading vessels carry a few Niué seamen.During this time Almansa and his fellow-mutineers had been confined on board the ship, guarded by a number of Malië's warriors. Then to the joy of Raymond and Frewen there came into Apia Harbour a British gunboat bound from the Phoenix Islands to Sydney, and within forty-eight hours the planter, accompanied by the unwounded survivors of the English crew of the Esmeralda, were on board, and related the tale of the mutiny to the captain of the man-of-war. “I am letting myself in for a lot of trouble, Mr. Raymond,” said the captain of the warship, “but I do not see how I can avoid it. I suppose that as the Esmeralda is a British ship and is now in distress I must be a sort of fairy godmother and take these beastly mongrels of Chilenos and Greeks to Sydney to be hanged on the evidence of these men whom you have brought. By the way, Mrs. Marston can have a passage with me if she wishes it.” Raymond thanked him, and said Mrs. Marston wished to remain at Samatau with his (Raymond's) wife for an indefinite time. “Very well, Mr. Raymond. I should be delighted to give her a passage to Sydney, and I'm delighted she can't come. You understand me? I cannot refuse a passage to a lady in such circumstances as Mrs. Marston, but the Virago is a man-of-war, and—you know.” Raymond laughed. “I think I know what you mean, Captain Armitage; a lady passenger on a man-of-war would be a bit of a trial. But on Mrs. Marston's behalf I thank you sincerely.” “That's all right,” said the bluff commander of the Virago; “now you can get home, and in a day or so I'll come round to Samatau and take these mutineering scoundrels into custody. Pity you did not get your Samoan friend Malië to hang or shoot them out of hand. It would have saved Her Majesty's Government something in food, and me much trouble.”
* A “bluenose” is a sailor's term for a Canadian or Nova Scotian.“Thank you for the suggestion, Mr. Beilby. But whalers' bomb guns—which can be easily procured in Sydney—are better still. You can load them with a small charge of powder and crushed rock salt, which won't kill a man, but which will prevent him from doing any mischief for a long time. When I was a boatsteerer some years ago on a New Bedford whaler—the Aaron Burr—we had serious trouble with about thirty Portuguese negroes we picked up off the coast of Brazil. They were in two boats, and were deserters from a Brazilian man-of-war, which had gone ashore off Santos. Many of our men were down with fever of some sort, and these black gentry (who were all armed with knives), thinking that the after-guard was not able to cope with them, came aft and told our skipper that if he did not give them all the liquor they wanted they would throw him overboard, set fire to the ship, and go ashore again. He seemed to be very much frightened—he was an undersized, quiet man—and begged them to go on deck and remain there whilst he and the steward and such of the officers who were not ill with fever would get up a keg of rum from the lazzarette. Then—he spoke Spanish pretty well—he asked them not to be too hard on him. He would treat them as gentlemen, &c., and, with apparently trembling hands, he gave them boxes of cigars, and addressed them as if they were caballeros of the highest rank whom he was delighted to honour. Some of them cursed him for an Americano, but the majority were too hugely elated at the prospect of a keg of ram to say more to him than to hurry up with it. “He did hurry up with a vengeance, for in five minutes he and the mate had each loaded a bomb gun with a heavy charge of sheet-lead slugs. They rushed on deck together, and with a warning cry to our men to get out of the way, they fired into the negroes, who were squatted about on the main hatch smoking their cigars and waiting for the rum. The effect was something terrifying, for although none of them were killed, fully half of them were wounded, and their groans and yells were something horrible. We did not give them much time to rally, for all of us who were well enough made a rush, and with belaying-pins and anything else which came to our hands drove them over the side into their boats.” “Then get some of those bomb-guns, captain, by all means. I think I have seen one—a thing like a bloated blunderbuss without the bell mouth.” “That's it,” said Frewen with a laugh; “it is not a handsome weapon, but we whalemen do not go in for 'objects of bigotry and virtue.' A bomb-gun is made for a practical purpose—the stock is almost solid metal, and altogether it is no light weight.” During the following two weeks both Frewen and the agent were very busy. The former, with a gang of shore carpenters, was engaged in preparing the 'tween decks of the ship for the reception of the native passengers, and constructing two movable gratings to go across the upper deck—one for'ard and the other aft—which, whilst they would practically allow the natives the free run of the deck, would yet prevent them from making any sudden onslaught on the crew. Beilby, whose long experience of the South Sea Islands trade especially fitted him for the task, devoted himself to the work of fulfilling Raymond's orders as to the trade goods required, and in three weeks the Esmeralda was again ready for sea. And when, under full sail, she passed down the harbour towards Sydney Heads bound for beautiful Samoa, her captain's heart swelled with pride as the crews of a score of other ships cheered, “Bravo, Esmeralda!”
* Papalagi = foreigner.Mrs. Raymond directed him where to find her husband, and then was about to return to the house, but her friend, who had not yet opened the letter in her hand, asked her to stay. “Don't go, Marie. I shall not open this letter. It is too bad of Mr. Villari to again write to me. Shall I send it back, or take no notice of it?” “I hardly know what to say, Amy. He is very rude to annoy you in this way. Wait and hear what Tom thinks.” A quarter of an hour later, the planter came up from the beach, and sat down beside the ladies. “I have a letter from Villari, Marie,” he said, “and have brought it up to see what you and Mrs. Marston think of it.” “Amy has also received one, Tom, but would not open it nor send it back till she had your advice. I think it is altogether wrong of him to persecute her in this way.” “Oh, well, you'll be glad to know that he is sorry for what has occurred. Here is his letter to me, Mrs. Marston—please read it.” The letter was a courteously worded and apparently sincere expression of regret for having forced his attentions upon Mrs. Marston, and asking Raymond and his wife to intercede for him with her. “It will give me the greatest joy if she will overlook my conduct, and accept my sincere apologies, if she does not, I shall carry the remembrance of her just anger to the end of my life. But when I think of her past friendliness to me, I am excited with the hope that her ever-kind heart will perhaps make her forget my unwarrantable presumption, which I look back upon with a feeling of wonder at my being guilty of such temerity.” Then he went on to say that Raymond would be interested to learn that he had bought a small schooner of 100 tons called the Lupetea, on easy terms of payment, and that he hoped to make a great deal of money by running her in the inter-island trade. “I was only enabled to do this through Mrs. Marston's generosity,” he concluded—“the £500 she gave me enabled me to make a good 'deal.' I leave Apia to-morrow for a cruise round Upolu, and as I find that I have some cargo for you, I trust that you, your wife, and Mrs. Marston will at least let me set foot on your threshold once more.” “Well, the poor devil seems very sorry for having offended you so much by his persistence, Mrs. Marston,” said the planter with a laugh, “and he writes such a pretty letter that I'm sure you won't withhold your forgiveness.” “I don't think I can. But I must see what he has written to me,” and she opened the letter. It contained but a very few lines in the same tenour as that to Raymond, deploring his folly and begging her forgiveness. “I'm very glad, Tom, that Amy sent him the £500, and that he had the sense not to again refuse it. It would always be embarrassing to you, Amy, whenever you met him.” “It would indeed. But I doubt if he would have accepted it if it had not been for Mr. Raymond's strongly worded letter on the subject,” (The planter had sent the money to him in Apia with a note saying that whatever her feelings were towards him, Mrs. Marston would be additionally aggrieved if he refused to accept a bequest from her late husband; it would, he said, have the result of making the lady feel that his rejection of the gift was uncalled-for and discourteous.) “So that's all right,” said Raymond, as he rose to return to the beach. “I always liked the man, as you have often heard me say. And you really must not be too angry with him, Mrs. Marston. These Italians—like all Latins—are a fearfully idiotic people in some things—especially where women are concerned. Now almost any decent Anglo-Saxon would have taken his gruelling quietly if a woman told him three times that she didn't want him. Frohmann thinks that that crack on the head has touched his brain a bit; and at the same time, you must remember, Mrs. Marston, that whether you like it or not, you won't be able to prevent men from falling in love with you—look at me, for instance!” Marie Raymond threw a reel of cotton at him— “Be off to your work!”
* Protector.“He is indeed a good boy. I do not think we should ever have reached land had it not been for him.” As the bent figure of the old trader disappeared along the path that led to his own house, which was half a mile away, Mrs. Marston reseated herself, and with her sunbrowned hands folded in her lap, gazed dreamily out upon the glassy ocean, and gave herself up to reverie.
O W S V B R C“What does it mean, Tom?” “Found. All well!” he shouted, and pitching his telescope clean over the tops of the wild orange-tree in front of the house, he rushed down to the beach, crying out the news as he ran. Boats, canoes, and taumualuas by the score, all crowded with natives, who were shouting themselves hoarse, paddled furiously off to the ship; and ere her cable rattled through the hawse-pipe and the heavy anchor plunged down to its coral bed, her decks were filled with people, and Raymond, followed by the old chief Malie, was shaking hands warmly with “the missing princess” and her rescuer.
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