Edward Barry: South Sea Pearler (1914)
Louis Becke




[Frontispiece: Barry lifted her in his arms and carried her down to the boat.]





CONTENTS.


     I. "EDWARD BARRY--'DEAD BROKE'"
    II. THE MAYNARDS
   III. THE BRIG _MAHINA_
    IV. MR. BILLY WARNER OF PONAPÉ
     V. VELO, THE SAMOAN, PROPHESIES.
    VI. IN ARRECIFOS LAGOON
   VII. ALICE TRACEY
  VIII. MRS. TRACEY TELLS HER STRANGE STORY
    IX. "ALLA GOODA COMRADE"
     X. A REPENTANCE
    XI. CAPTAIN RAWLINGS PROPOSES "A LITTLE CELEBRATION"
   XII. BARRY AND VELO DISCOURSE ON MARRIAGE
  XIII. "THE LITTLE CELEBRATION COMES OFF"
   XIV. BARRY HOISTS THE FLAG OF ENGLAND
    XV. FAREWELL TO ARRECIFOS
   XVI. EXIT RAWLINGS AND THE GREEK
  XVII. BARRY RECEIVES A "STIFFENER"
 XVIII. ON BOARD THE NEW BARQUE




EDWARD BARRY.


CHAPTER I.

"EDWARD BARRY--'DEAD BROKE.'"

A wild, blustering day in Sydney, the Queen City of the Southern Seas.
Since early morn a keen, cutting, sleet-laden westerly gale had been
blowing, rattling and shaking the windows of the houses in the higher
and more exposed portions of the town, and churning the blue waters of
the harbour into a white seethe of angry foam as it swept outwards to
the wide Pacific.

In one of the little bays, situated between Miller's Point and Dawe's
Battery, and overlooked by the old-time Fort Phillip on Observatory
Hill, were a number of vessels, some alongside the wharves, and others
lying to their anchors out in the stream, with the wind whistling
through their rain-soaked cordage.  They were of all rigs and sizes,
from the lordly Black Ball liner of a thousand tons to the small fore
and aft coasting schooner of less than fifty.  Among them all there was
but one steamer, a handsome brig-rigged, black-painted and
black-funnelled craft of fifteen hundred tons, flying the house flag of
the Peninsular and Oriental Company.  Steamers were rare in Sydney
Harbour in those days (it was the year 1860), and the Avoca had pride
of place and her own mooring buoy, for she was the only English mail
boat, and her commander and his officers were regarded with the same
respect as if they and their ship were the admiral and staff of the
Australian squadron.

Leaning with folded arms upon one of the wharf bollards, and apparently
oblivious of the driving sleet and cutting wind, a shabbily dressed man
of about thirty years of age was looking, pipe in mouth, at the mail
boat and the sailing vessels lying in the stream.  There were four in
all--the steamer, an American whaling barque, a small brig of about two
hundred tons flying the Hawaiian Island colours, and a big, sprawling,
motherly-looking full-rigged ship, whose huge bow ports denoted her to
be a lumberman.

The man put his hand in his pocket and jingled together his few small
remaining coins; then he turned away and walked along the wharf till he
reached the side of a warehouse, the lee of which was sheltered from
the wind and rain.  He leant his back against the wall and again
handled the coins.

"Seven shillings and two coppers," he said to himself, "and a waterman
would want at least three shillings to pull round here from the
Circular Quay in such nasty weather.  No, Ted Barry, my boy, the funds
won't run it.  But that brig is my fancy.  She's all ready for sea--all
her boats up with the gripes lashed, and the Custom House fellow doing
his dog-trot under the awning, waiting for the skipper to come aboard,
and the tug to range alongside as soon as this howling gale takes off a
bit.  I'll wait here for another hour and watch for him."

Sitting under the lee of the wall, he again filled his pipe and began
to smoke placidly, scanning with a seaman's eye the various vessels
lying alongside the wharves.

Work had ceased for the day, the lumpers and longshore men had gone to
their homes, and the usual idlers and loafers, which are always to be
found in the immediate vicinity of shipping, or sitting about on the
wharf stringers, fishing, had been driven away by the inclemency of the
weather, or were gathered in small parties in the bars of the numerous
public-houses near by.  Now and then a seaman would be seen either
returning to his ship or hurrying along the wharf towards the city with
his coat collar turned up to his ears, and his hands thrust into the
capacious pockets of his heavy jacket; the whole scene was miserable
and depressing.

Presently a policeman appeared, walking slowly along under the shelter
of the warehouse walls.  He too was enjoying the luxury of a pipe, for
there was no danger of running across the sergeant on such a day as
this.  As he drew near to the man who was sitting down he gave him a
quick but apparently careless glance--a wharf policeman has a natural
distrust of a man who keeps hanging about the stores and warehouses,
doing nothing, or standing out in the open, exposed to the rain.  But
the guardian of the peace was satisfied that the object of his brief
scrutiny was no loafer or possible burglar, and bade him a civil
"Good-day," to which the man at once responded.

"It's beastly weather, isn't it?" said the official, as he leant
against the wall, evidently disposing himself for a chat.

"It is indeed," replied the other, "and it's getting dirtier still over
there to the south-east."

"That's pleasant for me.  I don't get relieved until midnight, and this
beat here is none too pleasant a one on a dark night, believe me."

"So I should imagine.  I'll be glad to get back into the city as soon
as I can; but I'm waiting here to see if I can get aboard that little
brig over there.  Do you know her name?"

"Yes.  She's the _Mahina_, a South Sea trader.  But I don't see how you
can get off to her, there's no waterman here, and none of her boats
will come ashore--I can tell you that much for certain.  The captain is
on shore looking for men, and those who are aboard won't be given a
chance to put foot in a boat."

"Why, anything gone wrong aboard?"

"Rather!  There's been a lot of trouble with the men, though there
hasn't been any court work over it.  The captain and mate are holy
terrors--regular brutes, I'm told.  Six of the hands swam ashore a few
nights ago and got clean away, poor beggars.  You ain't thinking of
joining her, are you?"

"Indeed I am.  I want a ship pretty badly.  I'm broke."

"Well, don't ship on _that_ craft, young fellow, take my advice.  Are
you dead, stony broke?"

"Pretty near, all but a few shillings.  And I find it hard to get a
ship--that is, the sort of ship I want.  I've been in the South Sea
trade a couple of years, and I like it."

"Ah, I see.  Well, you know best, mister.  I daresay you'll see the
_Mahina's_ captain coming down the wharf before it gets dark.  He's a
little, dark-faced, good-looking chap, with a pointed beard.  I wish
you luck, anyway."

"Thank you," said Barry, as he returned the policeman's good-natured
nod and watched him saunter off again towards the end of the wharf.

Half an hour later five men appeared, all walking quickly towards the
spot where Barry was still patiently waiting.  The man who was leading
he at once recognized as the captain of the brig--the four who followed
at his heels were common seamen by their dress, and ruffians of the
first water by their appearance.  Each carried a bundle under his arm,
and one a small chest on his shoulder; he was evidently the wealthy man
of the lot.

Stepping out from under the shelter of the wall, Barry stood in the
centre of the path, and waited the captain's approach.

"Are you in want of hands, sir?" he asked, touching his cap.  The
master of the brig gave him a swift, searching glance from head to
feet, and then without answering the inquiry he turned to his followers.

"Go on to the end of the wharf.  Hail the brig to send a boat ashore,
and then wait for me."  His voice was clear and sharp, but not
unpleasant.  The four men shuffled off, and the moment they were out of
hearing he addressed himself to Barry.

"I've just found all the men I want, but I could do with another--if he
is anything better than such things as those," and he nodded
contemptuously at the figures of the four seamen.  Then with
lightning-like rapidity of utterance he asked, "You're not a foremast
hand?"

"I want to ship before the mast," was the quiet answer.

"Got a mate's or second mate's certificate?"

"Yes; both."

"Last ship?"

"The _Tawera_, brig, of Tahiti."

"Ha!  You're used to the Island trade, then?"

"Pretty well."

"Willing to ship as mate or second mate?"

"Yes, and no.  Willing enough in one way, and not liking it in another.
I'm hard-up, have no clothes, and should cut a sorry figure on such a
smart-looking brig as yours when I haven't even a donkey's breakfast[1]
to bring aboard if I shipped before the mast.  And I'm not the man to
stand guying, especially from beauties like those who were here just
now."

Again the captain's keen, dark eyes flashed--this time in a
semi-approving manner--as he looked at Barry's bronzed face and tall,
square-built figure.  He stroked his carefully trimmed pointed beard
and thought for a few moments.

"I want a chief mate for the _Mahina_; the one I have now is seriously
ill and cannot live more than a day or two.  When can you come
aboard--to-night?"

Barry shook his head impatiently.  "I told you, sir, that I have no
clothes but those I stand up in----"

"Can you get what you want right off if I advance you ten sovereigns?"

"Five will do--or three if you have a slop chest aboard."

"The _Mahina_ is a trading vessel (though I'm going to have a try at
pearling this trip) and carries a general store from a needle to an
anchor aboard; but at the same time, although you can get what you want
in the way of clothing, you may want money for other purposes.  Are you
willing to come aboard to-night, and take first mate's duty?"

"Yes."

"Then take these"--he took two five pound notes from his pocket-book
and placed them in Barry's hand.  "This is Saturday, and the shops keep
open till late.  But I rely on you to be here on this wharf not later
than midnight.  My mate, whose place you will take, is very ill, my
crew are a troublesome lot--six of them have deserted, and the rest of
them would clear out to-night if they could.  I shall look out for you,
and send a boat when you hail."

"I shall be here sooner, if you wish it," replied Barry, "but I do not
want all this," and he gave back one of the bank notes.  "I don't owe a
cent to any one, but I have some gear of mine in pawn."

The captain waved it back courteously.  "Keep it, sir; keep it--we sail
early on Monday morning, and you will not be able to get on shore
again."

"Thank you," laughed Barry.  "I've no doubt I can find use for it."
Then he added, "My name is Barry."

"And mine is Rawlings.  I hope we shall pull together, Mr. Barry," this
with a pleasant smile as he buttoned up his overcoat.  "Ha, there is my
boat, and I must take my gaol-birds on board.  Good-afternoon.  I shall
look for you about twelve o'clock."

Then with a polite inclination of his head he stepped out towards the
waiting boat, and left his new chief officer to pursue his way into the
city with a light heart.



[1] A now almost obsolete nautical expression for a mattress staffed
with straw.




CHAPTER II.

THE MAYNARDS.

A quarter of an hour's walk through the dimly lighted and squalid
streets which intersect Miller's Point and Church Hill brought Barry
out into the glare and noise of the lower part of the principal
thoroughfares of the city, which, boisterous as was the night, was
fairly thronged with the poorer class of people engaged in their
Saturday night's shopping.

Pushing his way through the crowd in no very gentle manner, for he was
both wet and hungry, he at last reached a respectable-looking
second-class hotel at the corner of George and Bridge streets.  The
house was much frequented by men of his own position in the merchant
service, and, as he walked into the comfortable parlour and stood by
the fire to warm himself, he was greeted by all the occupants of the
room--four decently dressed mates or second mates.

"You look pretty wet," said an old red-faced man, moving his chair
further away from the fire, so as to give the newcomer more room; "why
didn't you take your oilskins with you when you went out?"

Barry laughed with the utmost good-nature.  "Because Uncle Levi Harris
down the street is taking care of them for me, Mr. Todd.  And he's got
my watch and chain, and my sextant and some other things as well."

The four men--mere casual acquaintances of a few weeks' standing--gave
a sympathetic murmur, and then one of them in a deep, rumbling kind of
voice, and without even looking at Barry, inquired if he could "do with
a change of togs?"

"Much obliged to you, Mr. Watson," replied the young man, "but I'll be
all right now.  I've got a ship, the skipper has given me an advance
out of his own pocket, and as soon as I get my watch and other things
out of old Levi's I'm going up the town to buy some clothes."

"You ain't going into a pawnshop yourself, are you?" inquired Todd.
"Don't you do it, young fellow.  Why, the skipper as give you the
advance might see you going in, and chuck it up in your teeth again
some day."

"Aye, that's true," said another; "men like us can't run the risk of
being seen even looking in at a pawnshop window."

"Well, as I can't get any one to go for me, I must go myself," said
Barry, who was quick to perceive that his companions thought nothing of
a man having to avail himself of a pawnbroker's shop, but did think it
exceedingly improper to be seen entering or leaving one.

"Leave it till Monday morning," said another.  "I'll get one of the
hands aboard my hooker to go for you if you give me the tickets."

Barry shook his head.  "I've promised to be aboard to-night, and we
sail early on Monday morning."

"Humph!  That's a corker," said the man with the rumbling voice;
"there's no getting out of that;" then rising from his seat he walked
to the door, opened it, and then turning his head, said, "Just come
here a minute, mister, and I'll tell you how we might manage it."

Barry followed him out into the passage and then upstairs into his
bedroom.

"Look here," said Watson as he struck a match, lit a candle and then
his pipe, and speaking amidst a cloud of smoke, "you don't know much of
me, and I don't know much of you, but I do know that you're one of the
right sort.  I could see you were getting pretty well pushed, although
you have always kept a stiff upper lip.  Now, look there.  There's my
chest.  Help yourself to some dry togs--they'll fit you right enough.
Then go out, and do all you want to do, and if you have time come back
here and we'll have a glass of grog together.  If you haven't--why, it
don't matter.  I've been on _my_ beam ends often enough, I can tell
you."

Barry put out his hand.  "Thank you, Mr. Watson.  If you'll lend me a
suit of clothes, I'll feel grateful.  I've only those I stand up in,
and I'm feeling jolly cold.  But I've a good suit or two in pawn with
my other gear, and I'll be back here with them in half an hour."

Without another word Watson opened his sea chest and threw a collection
of clothing upon the bed.

"There's shirts, collars, ties, and everything else you want in the
chest, and boots under the bed.  Blow out the light when you've
finished, lock the door, and leave the key in the bar, and if you're on
for a yarn when you come back, you'll find me downstairs with old Billy
Todd.  Welsh rarebit at ten o'clock."

Then refusing to listen to Barry's thanks, he went out to rejoin his
companions.

Immediately he had finished dressing himself in his new friend's
clothes, Barry rolled his own up in a bundle, locked the room door, and
hurried down into the bar, where he left the key as directed, and had
some coffee and a sandwich or two instead of supper, for he was anxious
to return as quickly as possible, and then make his way down to the
_Mahina_.

The pawnbroker's shop was less than ten minutes' walk from the hotel,
and stepping briskly along he soon reached its doors, entered, and went
directly to the open counter instead of availing himself of one of the
dirty, ill-smelling little confessional boxes wherein hapless creatures
confess their poverty to Poverty's Father Confessor, mine uncle.

Producing his tickets, a young Hebrew gentleman at once gave him his
immediate attention, and one by one the articles were brought and
delivered to him, after repayment of the money loaned and interest,
which transaction took four pounds out of the ten he possessed.  His
watch and chain were the last to be produced, and as he was winding up
the former, before placing it in his vest pocket, he heard a voice
proceeding from the nearest confessional box, speaking to one of the
assistants, which caused him to start and then listen intently.  It was
a voice he remembered well--clear, refined, but tremulous with age.

"I can assure you," it said, "that it was bought in Calcutta fifty
years ago, and cost two hundred rupees."

"Vell, my good sir, it doesn't madder nodings to me vat it cost.  I
dell you dot ve don't advance nodings on dose dings.  Ve cannot fill up
dis blace mit such rubbish."

"Will you buy it, then?  Will you give me three pounds?"

"Vy don't you say dree dousand!  Now I dell you vat I vill do, so as to
have no more droubles mit you, ven I have mine pizness to addend--I
vill give five shillings for it."

"Will you, you sweep!" shouted Barry, striking the wooden partition a
blow with the side of his clenched hand; and then to the astonishment
of the pawnbroker and his assistants, and the people in the shop, he
seized his parcel, and pushing open the partition door kicked
vigorously at the "confession box."

"Open the door and come out of this place, Mr. Maynard," he cried--"I'm
Ted Barry!"

In an instant the door was opened, and a little, pale-faced,
white-moustached man came out.  A faint cry of astonishment escaped his
lips.

"Come, sir, take my arm," quickly said the seaman, who saw that the old
man was trembling with excitement; "let us get out of this before we
have a crowd round us."

"Yes, yes, Mr. Barry," was the eager reply, "do let us get away.  I
feel so upset; and then, too, your voice gave me a shock--no, no, not a
shock, my boy, but a surprise, a pleasant surprise," and he pressed his
arm closely to Barry's.  "Rose, poor Rose will be delighted to hear I
have seen you."

"Where is she?" asked Barry quickly.

The old man halted and looked piteously into his face.

"She is near here, Mr. Barry.  We are poor, very poor now; she is
serving in a draper's shop."

An exclamation of pity that he could not repress burst from the
seaman's lips.  Then he pulled himself together again.

"Let us sit down somewhere for half an hour if you can spare me the
time," he said.  "See, there's a good place," and he indicated a large,
brilliantly lighted restaurant on the opposite side of the street.
"I've had no supper.  Will you come and have some with me, and we can
have a chat?"

"Yes, yes; of course I will, my dear boy.  But I must not stay long.  I
always wait for Rose to see her home, and must be outside the shop at
nine o'clock."

"It is now a little past eight.  We will have something to eat; and
then--if you will allow me to come with you--I should like to see Miss
Maynard.  This is my last night on shore.  My ship sails early on
Monday."

"She will be delighted to see you, poor child; delighted and yet
distressed to hear that you are leaving.  She has never forgotten you,
and we have often wondered why you have not written to us for so long.
'Tis quite a year."

Barry's face flushed with pleasure, but he made no reply.  Entering the
restaurant, he chose a table in a quiet corner, and ordered some
supper.  Then for the first time he was able to observe the thin,
pinched face and shabby clothing of his companion.  "Poor old fellow,
and poor little girl!" he said to himself, and then, being a man of
action, he at once went to the point that was uppermost in his mind.

Placing his big, sun-tanned hand on that of the old man, he said
somewhat nervously,--

"What you told me just now about your changed circumstances has
distressed me very much.  Will you, for the sake of our old friendship
when I was chief officer of the _Maid of Judah_, accept a small loan
from me?  Do not refuse me, please.  I assure you it will give me the
greatest happiness in the world," and then disregarding the old
gentleman's protestations with smiling good-humour, he forced the money
into his hand, and went on volubly, "You see, sir, it's only a
trifle--six pounds--and of no earthly use to me, especially as I'm off
to sea again.  So pray do not refuse me."

"Mr. Barry . . . my dear boy . . . you are indeed a generous friend,
and a friend in need, but"--and here the tears stole down his withered
cheeks as he tried to smile--"I know your good-nature too well.  I was
always, as my poor wife used to say, a stupid old man, but I am not so
stupid as not to know that had matters gone well with you, I should not
have met you to-night where I did.  No, no, I cannot take all this
hard-earned money from you; but if you will lend me thirty
shillings----"

"Sh! sh! my dear sir, you are entirely mistaken.  I am not rolling in
wealth, I admit; but at the same time I'm not in want of money, and
have a good ship.  And then," he added in the most unblushing manner,
"I only went to the pawnshop to redeem these things here for a friend
of mine, who couldn't go for them himself.  Now here's our supper, and
if you say another word about that wretched money you'll spoil my
appetite, which at present is a remarkably healthy one."

"Then God bless you, my dear boy.  Rose will herself thank----"

"If you say a word about the matter to Miss Maynard in my presence I
_shall_ be put out," said Barry with unmistakable emphasis.

As they ate their supper, Barry, whose spirits seemed to become
brighter every minute, led the old man to talk, and he soon learnt of
the misfortune that had befallen him--an unfortunate copper mining
investment had stripped him of almost every penny in the world, and
from comparative affluence he had fallen into almost deepest poverty.
Too old to obtain employment in his former profession--that of an
architect--and too proud to ask for assistance from any of his friends
who might have helped him, he at last succeeded in securing a miserable
weekly wage as clerk in a shipping firm, where his knowledge of foreign
languages was of value.  For some few months he and his daughter
managed to keep their heads above water; then came sickness and
consequent loss of his clerkship, and increasing hardships to be
endured in their poor lodgings in the poorest quarter of the city.
Rose Maynard, with aching heart, saw him rapidly sinking into
despondency as their funds became lower and lower with each rent day.
What could she do to help?  Against her father's wish, she had written
to his sister in England, and told her of his position.  The sister, a
wealthy maiden lady, had sent a 5 pound note and a long letter to her
brother full of indignation at his "criminal carelessness" and
suggesting that Rose was quite old enough to go out as a governess to
some "well-connected family, or, failing that, as companion," and
winding up with the intimation that the money enclosed had been sent
"out of sisterly regard, though destined for a far worthier
purpose--the restoration fund of St. Barnabas's Church."

Barry ground his teeth and muttered something under his breath.  He had
often heard Rose Maynard speak of her aunt Martha, who was evidently
not a lovable person.

"It hurt us terribly," continued Mr. Maynard, "but our necessities were
pressing, and I decided to keep the gift.  Rose, however, begged me not
to use it till the following day.  Then she went out.  She was only
away for a few hours, and on her return I found she had obtained a
situation in a draper's shop at thirty shillings a week.  That very day
I returned my sister's gift, urging her to use it for the 'worthier
purpose.'  Rose, who cannot help being mischievous, was in such high
spirits that she added a postscript, asking her aunt to be sure to send
us six copies of the free parish magazine containing the announcement
of her princely donation, as it would interest people in Australia; and
the wilful girl enclosed sixpence for postage."

"Bravo, Rose----Miss Maynard!" cried the seaman, leaning back in his
chair and laughing heartily.

"Since then we have managed to get along fairly well, but a month ago
Rose contracted a low fever, and had to remain at home until the
beginning of this week.  She is quite recovered now, thank Heaven, and
this afternoon, as I was turning over some of the little articles we
had saved when our home was broken up, I came across this curiously
carved ivory tobacco-box.  It belonged to my father, who told me that
he had paid two hundred rupees for it in India.  Surely, I thought, I
can either sell or pawn it for a few pounds, so that when Rose comes
home to-night I can give her a pleasant surprise.  But, as you know, I
was bitterly mistaken; and yet I was about to take the man's offer,
when I heard your voice.  See, here it is."

The box was certainly an exquisite specimen of Indian carving, and, as
Mr. Maynard said, of great antiquity.

Barry looked at it admiringly for a minute or two, and then said,--

"Do not offer it to a pawnbroker again.  I should think it is worth at
least twenty pounds.  There is a famous collector in Sydney--a Colonel
Maclean; do you know him?"

"No, I have never heard the name."

"I know him very well; he visits every ship that comes from the South
Seas, in search of rare curios.  Take or send this to him.  He is a
wealthy and liberal man, and will give you its full value, or three
times as much if he wants it badly."  Then he gave Mr. Maynard the
address.

Their supper being finished, and it being nearly nine o'clock, Barry
paid the bill out of his remaining seven shillings, and left his parcel
under the care of the waiter.

The draper's shop was just closing as they reached it; presently one by
one the employees came out and stood under the awning, gazing with
apprehension at the rain and soaking streets.

"Here is Miss Maynard, sir," said a young woman pleasantly to the old
gentleman, as a tall, slenderly built girl, closely wrapped up in a
serge overcoat, stepped out of the shop and looked eagerly up and down
the street.  In another moment she was at her father's side, her sweet,
pale face smiling into his.  Barry was standing a little distance away.

"Come, Rose, come.  I've such a pleasant surprise for you, my child,"
he heard her father say, as with the girl on his arm he pushed through
the little crowd to where his companion was waiting.  "Here she is, Mr.
Barry."

"Oh, I am so glad, so glad to see you again," was all she could say in
soft, trembling tones as his hand closed around hers, and simple as
were the words, they thrilled the man's heart.

"Glad indeed," echoed her father, "glad indeed, my child," and then his
next words sent a chill of misery through her; "but sad to say, we meet
but to part, and to part almost immediately, for he must leave us
before ten o'clock to go on board his ship, which sails on Monday.  So
let us make haste home, Rose, so that we may at least bid him farewell
in a better place than the open street."

Their lodgings were but a few doors away, and in a few minutes all
three were seated in the dingy little combined dining and sitting-room,
which, with two bedrooms, formed their "furnished apartments."  There
was, however, a bright wood fire burning in the grate, and this gave
the place an aspect of cheerfulness.  The table was laid for supper,
and Mr. Maynard, whose thin little face was flushed with excitement,
after divesting his daughter of her cloak, placed a kettle on the fire.
Then he turned to her with an expression of dismay.

"Dear, dear me, Rose.  I have quite forgotten to buy the coffee.  And
to-morrow will be Sunday.  How very thoughtless of me!"

Seizing his hat and umbrella, he bustled off.

"Poor father is quite excited, Mr. Barry," said Rose with a faint
smile, "but he won't be more than ten minutes.  He is housekeeper now.
. . .  I suppose you know all that has happened to us since----"

"Yes, yes," said Barry hurriedly, as he rose, and coming over to her
took both her hands in his, and looked into her pale face.  "Oh that I
had only known of his misfortunes six months ago, when I could have
helped you.  Rose, dear Rose----"

"Don't, don't," she said brokenly; "why do you come to us now, when for
a year you have never written?  I said to you just now that I was glad
to see you.  It is not so.  Your coming has made me very, very
unhappy--for I was trying to forget."

"For God's sake, Rose, hear me.  I cannot now tell you all that has
happened to me, for your father will be here presently, and my personal
honour is pledged to my captain to be on board to-night, and so I must
hurry away at once and it will be impossible for me to come ashore
to-morrow.  But you shall have a letter from me in the morning, that
will tell you all, and clear me in your eyes, dear."

The man's eyes glowed with the passionate sincerity of his words, and
she uttered a sob of joy.

"Oh, Ted, Ted, if you only knew how I have suffered!  I could not
understand it . . . it was killing me.  If it were not for poor father
I should have been glad to die.  And now you are going away again.  Oh,
what does it all mean?  I feel dull and stupid, and cannot think----"
then a burst of tears.

"Hush, little woman.  To-morrow my letter will help you to forget the
unhappiness I have unintentionally caused you.  There, look up, dear
Rose, and listen.  I hear your father coming.  I cannot again part from
you without telling him of my love for you."

"Ted!  I shall be the happiest woman in the world then; for then I can
talk of you to him when you are at sea.  How many long, long months
this time, Ted?" and she smiled through her tears.

"Not many, I hope, dear--not more than six, I hope."

Mr. Maynard's step sounded on the landing, and in another moment he
came in.

"Here it is, my dear----" he began, and then he stopped suddenly.
"Crying, my child?  Poor little girl, you are done up, and weak as
well."

"Indeed I'm not, father.  I feel lovely and strong.  See," and she
sprang to him, and threw her arms around his neck, to his intense
amazement.

Then Barry spoke out straightforwardly.

"Mr. Maynard, ever since we came out together in the _Maid of Judah_ I
have loved Rose.  And to-night I ask your forgiveness for not having
told you so two years ago.  But I was waiting till I got a ship of my
own."

The old man gently disengaged his daughter's arms and held out his hand
to the seaman.

"God bless you, my boy; why didn't you tell me before?  Surely her
happiness is my first care.  And I've guessed it all along."




CHAPTER III.

THE BRIG _MAHINA_.

Ten o'clock had just struck when Barry returned to the hotel, with a
heart as light as that of a boy, and walking into the parlour found it
occupied by his friend Watson and the three others.

"Here I am, you see, Mr. Watson, just in time for a yarn and smoke
before I leave.  Will you give me your key, please?"

"Aye, aye, sonny," said the rumbling-voiced mate, taking it from his
pocket.  "Hurry up.  Welsh rarebit in five minutes."

Hastily changing his borrowed clothes Barry then went into his own room
and packed his one bag, which he at once carried downstairs.
Fortunately he owed the landlord nothing, and though he had but three
shillings in the world, his face indicated nothing but a supreme
content when he rejoined the old mate and his companions.

The Welsh rarebit and its liquid concomitants having been duly disposed
of, Barry rose and told his friends that as he must be on board his new
ship by midnight, and then had to write a letter, he must leave them.
Then he shook hands all round, each man wishing him luck.

Watson came to the door with him.  "Got all you want, sonny?  Anything
I can do for you?"

"Yes, come into the side parlour here, and I'll tell you my yarn before
I write that letter.  I've a full hour, and I can do both in that time."

"Aye, aye," said Watson in his deep voice, as he seated himself.

"Well, here it is--the yarn I mean.  I came out here to Sydney two
years ago, chief officer on the _Maid of Judah_.  There were a lot of
passengers.  One family--an old gentleman, his wife and daughter and
myself got pretty thick."

"'Count of the daughter?"

Barry nodded.  "Yes.  The skipper was a lardy-da sort of a beast, and
fell foul of me on account of talking to her too much--so he told the
girl's mother--who was a silly, brainless sort of a woman, and thought
him a perfect gentleman--I knew him to be a beast.  Between the two of
them they made trouble enough for me, though the old gentleman stuck to
me, and didn't believe in the skipper.  And anyway the girl liked me
best, you see."

The old mate nodded.  "I've seen a lot of skippers like that.  The way
women--married women travellin' alone especially--takes to such swabs
is agin Natur'.  _I_ don't understand it--never could."

"Well," resumed Barry, "one day, after we reached Sydney, the skipper
and I came to blows--over the girl.  I asked for leave--told him I was
going ashore to see the Maynards.  He said something foul about the
girl, and so I dropped it into him--knocked him off the break of the
poop on to the main deck.  He was nearly killed.  I got two months'
gaol."

Rumbling voice nodded again.  "An' o' course the gal wouldn't recognise
you again.  Don't tell me.  _I_ know something about women."

Barry smiled.  "But _she_ isn't one of that sort, Mr. Watson.  Both she
and her father used to come and see me--the mother hated me.  Of
course, when I came out, the owners of the _Maid of Judah_ wouldn't
have anything to do with me after spoiling the beauty of their
curly-headed pet skipper, and so I was stranded for a bit.  But I soon
got a berth as mate on a brig called the _Tawera_, trading between
Tahiti, Valparaiso, and Sydney.  Used to write to the girl (whose
mother had died meantime) and was putting by money.  Then I got into
another mess."

"Women?" queried Watson, puffing solemnly at his pipe.

"No," answered Barry hotly; "didn't I tell you that I used to write to
_her_?  I'm not one of that sort."

"Beg pardon, sonny.  I'm an old fool.  But what was the mess?"

"I left the _Tawera_--like a blind fool--at Tahiti, and sailed for the
Paumotu Group on a pearl-shelling cruise in a cutter.  We ran ashore on
a reef off Ahunui, and lost nearly everything of course--I was
half-owner--and lived on the Paumotus for nearly a year before I could
get away to Auckland.  Then I came to Sydney--best place for another
ship, you know--but couldn't get one.  Had to pawn all my gear to keep
myself going.  Didn't care to go and see her--you know, under the
circs--afraid of the old woman, who I didn't know was dead.  So I
booted it around trying to get a ship.  And now comes the curious part
of my yarn; I had hardly got a ship, when I--just after I left you this
evening--met Mr. Maynard.  He's broke, lost all his money in a mine or
something.  She--the girl I mean, had to take a berth in a draper's
shop.  But I've seen her, and everything's all right, and I'm as happy
as a sandboy.  Let's have something to drink.  I must hurry off aboard,
and write a letter to her."

"Steady, boy.  Steady about drinks," and the old man put his hand on
Barry's knee.  "I'll have a drink with you with pleasure, but I'll pay
for them.  I don't suppose you got much of an advance, did you now?
And how much have you left?"

Barry laughed, and then told the old mate his story in detail, and
confessed to having but three shillings left.

"Mr. Barry, you're a gentleman.  I hope the girl is one of the
right----"

"She is one----" began Barry.

"There, that'll do, my boy.  I'm sure she is; a girl who sticks to her
father in that way will make the two ends and bight of a good wife.
Now, look here.  I've a hundred or two in the Bank of Australasia here,
and if you want a tenner--aye, or two--you can have it straight away;
the landlord will cash a cheque for me."

Barry gripped the old sailor's hand.

"You're a 'white man' as they say here in Australia, a white man to the
backbone!  And I thank you sincerely, very sincerely, but I don't want
it.  But I'd like you to know Miss Maynard.  Here is the address, I'm
writing to her to-night, as soon as I get aboard, and I'll let her know
you are coming.  I had no time to tell her a heap of things--all about
our being cast away on the Paumotus, and all the rest of it.  Now I
must be off--it's past eleven, and I have promised to be on board at
twelve.  We sail at daylight."  Then he gave his friend some
particulars about the brig.

Watson shook the young man's hand warmly, and they parted.

Half an hour later Barry was standing on the wharf hailing the brig.  A
boat at once pushed off from her side and pulled in.  The wind by this
time had already decreased in violence, but it was still blowing
strongly, though the sky was fairly clear, and a few stars were showing.

Jumping into the boat, which was manned by four native sailors, and
steered by a thick-set, powerful white man, who was wrapped up in a
heavy coat, and who bade Barry a gruff "good evening," she was quickly
slewed round, and in a few minutes was alongside again.  No lights were
visible on deck, but Captain Rawlings was standing in the waist smoking
a cigar.

"Ha, here you are, Mr. Barry," he said pleasantly, shaking hands with
his new officer; "come below with me, please.  Mr. Barradas, hoist in
the boat as quickly as possible.  Mr. Barry, this is Mr. Barradas, my
second mate."

Following the captain, Barry entered the cabin, which was large and
well lighted.  A native steward was in attendance; at a sign from
Rawlings he brought decanters of spirits and two glasses, and placed
them on the table.

"Take a drink, Mr. Barry.  Let us drink success to our voyage."

"Thank you," said Barry, and Rawlings clinked his own glass against his
in a friendly fashion.  Then as he set his glass down the captain,
still smiling in a pleasant manner, said, "That is your cabin there,
Mr. Barry; the steward will put your things in.  And now you'll be
surprised to hear that I've decided to get under weigh at once, instead
of waiting for daylight.  Steward, tell Mr. Barradas to get ready to
heave up."

Barry's face expressed his astonishment and
disappointment--astonishment that the captain should choose a dark and
boisterous night to take his departure, and disappointment at his thus
being prevented from writing to Rose Maynard and sending his letter
ashore.  Rawlings was quick to note the change in his face, and his own
features, too, underwent a sudden transformation.

"I expect my orders not to be questioned, Mr. Barry," he said, in a
sharp, imperious tone.

"Certainly not," assented Barry, "I am merely disappointed at being
unable to write a very important letter.  That is all, sir."

The captain's smile was back in an instant.

"Can you do it in a quarter of an hour?" he asked.

"Less than that--ten, five minutes will do.  I can scribble a few lines
at once if you will allow me.  But how can I get it ashore?"

"Oh, the Custom House fellow--the tide-waiter will take it for you.
I'll put him ashore in the dinghy as soon as we begin to heave up.  Be
as quick as you can, please.  Steward, bring writing gear for Mr.
Barry, quick."

Whilst Barry hurriedly scribbled a few lines to Rose telling her that
the brig was putting to sea at that moment, and that he would write her
fully at the first available opportunity, Captain Rawlings paced to and
fro in the main cabin, waiting.

"Ah, finished already.  The tide-waiter is asleep in his cabin, and I
said I would not disturb him till the last moment.  But I'll wake him
now."

"Thank you," said Barry, handing him the letter.  "Shall I go for'ard
now, sir?"

"If you please," answered Rawlings politely.

The moment Barry left the cabin the captain opened the letter, read it,
smiled contemptuously, and closed it again.  Then he too went on deck,
and walked aft.

"Are you ready, bos'un?" he said to a man who with two others was
standing by the dinghy davits on the port side.

"Yes, sir."

"Then lower away.  And, here, put this letter in his pocket.  Take him
well up into the middle of the wharf, and lie him down somewhere under
shelter."

Just as the windlass pawls gave their first clink the dinghy was
lowered, and in a few seconds shot out from the brig's side.  Reaching
the wharf steps, one man jumped out and held the boat, whilst the other
two lifted out the inanimate figure of the Custom House officer,
carried him up the wharf, and laid him down under the shelter of a
housed-in donkey-engine.  Then one of them, the boatswain, thrust
Barry's letter into the man's breast-pocket, and the two left him.  In
less than ten minutes the boat was alongside again and being hoisted up.

As the brig's forefoot came over her anchor Rawlings, who gave his
orders very quietly, waited for a favourable moment.  A gust of wind
canted her head away from the shores of the little bay, and in a few
seconds her anchor was a-trip, and under her fore and main topsails and
headsails only the _Mahina_ wore round, and began to slip through the
water.

As soon as the anchor was secured Rawlings came for'ard and stood
beside his chief mate, watching the shore lights.

"That'll do, Mr. Barry.  We're all right now.  With this westerly we
won't run foul of anything coming up the harbour.  Leave a couple of
these native chaps here on the look-out; they can see through a stone
wall."

In less than an hour the brig was between the heads, and then Rawlings
told Barry to make more sail, and gave the helmsman his course, E.N.E.

As the mate called out to the hands to loose the topgallant sails, and
half a dozen men sprang aloft, the captain turned to Barry.

"Oh, I had quite forgotten those gaol-birds.  Bos'un, bring a light.
Come with me, Mr. Barry, and," he added, "bring one of these with you,"
as he took a belaying-pin out of the rail.

Wondering what was now afoot, Barry followed the skipper to the
deck-house, the after part of which was used as a sail locker.  The
door was locked.

"Hold that light up, bos'un," said Rawlings quietly, as he took a key
from his pocket, and opened the door.  "Now then, men, come out, and
look smart about it."

One by one the four rough fellows whom Barry had seen on the wharf in
the afternoon came out.  The tallest of them, with a sullen look at the
captain, muttered something under his breath.

"None of that, now," said Rawlings, and quick as lightning he dealt the
man a smashing blow on the head with the iron belaying-pin.  He fell
full length upon the deck and lay there motionless.  Rawlings looked at
him with calm unconcern.  "Take him for'ard," he said in drawling tones
to the other three, "and take warning too.  Let me see one of you but
look sideways at me or any of my officers, and you'll get a surprise.
Off you go."

Shortly after four bells had struck, as the chief mate was seated on
the skylight smoking his pipe, and thinking of the unnecessary violence
of Captain Rawlings, Barradas, who had the watch, stopped in front of
him.

"Don't you care about turning in?" he asked civilly.

"No, I don't feel a bit sleepy; in fact, I'll be glad when it's eight
bells."

The second mate nodded, took a couple of turns up and down the deck,
and then stopped again.  "What do you think of the _Mahina_?  She can
sail, eh?"

"She does seem very fast."

"Fastest vessel in the Pacific for her size, but a bit overmasted.
Think I can give her the royals now--the wind is taking off, and sea
going down fast."  Then, after he had given the necessary orders, he
began again.

"Heard you were mate of the _Tawera_, mister."

Barry nodded.

"Then you're used to kanakas and their ways"--this half questioningly,
half affirmingly.  "These chaps here--most of them, anyway--are
kanakas.  Good sailor men too.  Better than those ---- swabs we had to
shove in the sail locker until we got to sea.  But I daresay we'll
knock some work out of them."

"Did they try to run away, then?"

Barradas grinned.  "We didn't give 'em the chance.  We're short-handed
as it is."

"I heard that half a dozen of your men had bolted," said Barry.

"Did you?  Why, who told you?  Oh, the wharf policeman.  Yes, that's
right enough; we did lose six men.  They were six of our best men,
too--Penrhyn Islanders," and then he quickly moved away, and thrusting
his hands in his pockets seemed deeply interested in the man who was
loosing the fore-royal.

Presently Rawlings came on deck, and said to Barradas--

"Poor Tracey is dead.  He breathed his last a few minutes ago."  And
then he addressed Barry.

"My poor mate is dead, Mr. Barry."

Barry jumped up in astonishment.  "I'm sorry to hear that, sir.  And I
had no idea he was on board."

"Yes, poor fellow," replied Rawlings quietly, "he refused to go ashore,
in fact pleaded so hard with me, that I could not resist his wishes.
He hated the idea of dying in an hospital, so I gave way to him."

"What was his illness?"

Rawlings hesitated a moment, and then answered, "I might as well tell
you, though only Mr. Barradas and myself are aware of the cause of his
death.  Two days ago he shot himself in a fit of depression.  I had two
doctors off at once to see him, but they both told me that he could not
possibly live, and that even to move him ashore would hasten the end.
Now, will you come below?"

With a curious, but yet undefined feeling of dissatisfaction Barry went
below with the captain, who, taking off his cap, opened the door of one
of the state-rooms, and motioned to his chief officer to follow.

Lying in the bunk of the state-room, which was well lit up, was the
figure of a man, who, when Rawlings lifted the sheet which covered his
face, was handsome even in death and appeared to Barry to have been
about thirty years of age.  Round the forehead and upper part of the
head was a bandage.  This Rawlings lifted and showed Barry a bullet
hole in the left temple.  Then covering up the dead man's face again,
he stepped out into the main cabin, and motioned Barry to a seat.

"Sit down, Mr. Barry.  You must listen to me for a few minutes, and I
shall now quickly explain to you one or two things that may have
appeared somewhat strange to you since you joined the ship.  I have had
a very great deal of trouble, trouble that my officers have shared with
me.  But I must tell you the story in detail, painful as it is for me
to relate it; indeed, neither Barradas, myself, nor the boatswain, the
only three remaining out of the ship's original company, care to speak
of it, for death and disaster have followed us throughout.

"When that poor fellow Tracey joined me in Honolulu as mate he was
accompanied by his wife, a young Australian lady, to whom he was deeply
attached.  He was anxious to pay for her accommodation during the
cruise, but to this I would not consent.  And I saw he was simply
overjoyed at her being allowed to sail with him.

"I bought this vessel intending to run her among the Marshall and
Caroline Islands in the usual trade--you know: coconut oil, turtle
shell, and sharks' fins.  After leaving Honolulu we cruised among the
eastward islands and did well--so well that we nearly filled the ship.
Then we stood away for the Carolines, and on our way ran into Port Lêle
on Strong's Island, to wood and water.  It was after we left there that
Tracey lost his wife.  Poor girl, her end was a terrible one."

He sighed, and then resumed.  "A very terrible end--she was lost
overboard.  But let me tell the whole story.

"Whilst we were lying at anchor at Lêle we met an old trader there,
with whom Tracey and myself frequently spent an evening.  One night,
when we were talking together over various matters, the old man, who
was very ill at the time, told us that he had a secret to reveal, if we
made it worth his while.  Knowing him as I had for many years as an
honest old fellow, I listened with interest to what he had to say, and
in a few minutes he had satisfied Tracey and myself that he knew of the
existence of one of the richest pearling grounds in the Pacific; and
provided he could find partners who would deal squarely with him, he
would disclose the exact locality.  His poverty had prevented him from
buying a vessel and returning to the island, which was only a week's
sail from Lêle; but as the years went by, and his prospect of buying a
vessel seemed as far off as ever, he determined to seek the aid of
others.  As a proof of his statements, he not only showed us a dozen or
so of splendid pearl shells, but also a score or two of magnificent
pearls.  Some of these he entrusted to me to sell for him in Sydney.  I
have, at his request, kept a few for myself.  Let me show them to you."

Going into his cabin, he presently returned with six or eight pearls,
all of which were certainly splendid specimens.  Placing them on the
scarlet table-cloth he pushed them over to Barry to examine.

"They certainly are beauties.  I've seen larger and better in the
Paumotus when I was in the _Tawera_," said Barry, "but anyway, that lot
is worth 400 pounds or 500 pounds."

Rawlings nodded.  "Well, to cut a long story short, we came to an
agreement with the old man, whereby I was to find divers, and provide
all working expenses, boats, and the necessary gear, and to receive
one-half of all the shell and pearls found.  Tracey was to stand in
with us, too--old Gurden and myself were each to give him one-tenth.

"Taking the old man on board--the poor old fellow was not only in
feeble health, but was childishly anxious to, as he said, 'smell the
smell of a big town again'--we left Strong's Island for Sydney.  From
the very first Gurden became weaker, and on the fourth or fifth day out
he told us that he did not believe he would live through the night.  We
tried to cheer him up, but he only shook his head, and requested us to
commit to paper the exact bearings of the patches of the pearl-shell
beds on the lagoon he was doomed never to see again.  This was done,
and he then requested that as Tracey's wife had nursed him during the
time he was on board, that what would have been his share of the
profits of our coming venture should be given to her, as he had not a
relative or connection in the world.  Early in the morning he had
breathed his last.

"We buried the old fellow that afternoon, and almost immediately
afterward dirty weather came up from the northward, and by nine o'clock
we were driving along under an ugly sky at a great rate.  Tracey was
below, turned in, and I was on deck with Barradas, who had taken the
wheel for a few minutes to allow the man who was steering to lend a
hand at some job on the main deck.  Just then, poor Alice Tracey came
up from below, walked aft, and stood at the stern with her hand on the
rail, looking at the brig's boiling wake; this was a frequent habit of
hers.  Neither of us took any further notice of her after she had
remarked that the cabin was very stuffy--we were running before the
wind at the time.  About five minutes later I went for'ard, and just as
Barradas was giving up the wheel again, he noticed that Mrs. Tracey bad
disappeared.  He gave the alarm in an instant, for he knew she had not
gone below again, and must have fallen overboard without a cry.

"In bringing to, to lower a boat, our decks were twice filled, and this
caused much delay.  Poor Tracey nearly went mad, and both he and the
boatswain searched for her all night in two boats, while we burnt every
blue light on board, and then kept a flare going till daylight--all
without avail.  We were then about five miles west of Pleasant Island,
and Tracey had a wild hope that his wife, who was a splendid swimmer,
might have kept herself afloat and succeeded in reaching the land,
which is densely populated.  To please him I sent the boats ashore, and
made inquiries from the natives, but of course there was not the
slightest hope.  She must have hurt herself when she fell, and sunk at
once, or else she could not have failed to have been seen or heard by
one of the two boats.

"The rest of the voyage was sad enough in all conscience, for Tracey
was never the same man again.  The crew, too, began to get the idea
that we were to be an unlucky ship, and eventually became gloomy,
discontented, and finally almost mutinous.  I dropped a good many of
them at various islands as we came along, but picked up others in their
places--just the sort of men I wanted for divers and boat work.  At
Levuka I shipped six Penrhyn Islanders--the best divers in the
Pacific--but the other fellows contaminated them, and they too bolted
from me in Sydney.  Poor Tracey took all our misfortunes very much to
heart, for, in addition to his grief at the loss of his wife, he
imagined that we should find ourselves forestalled when we reached
Providence Lagoon.  He had been very quiet and depressed for some days,
but I never imagined that his mind would become unhinged.  However, one
night he locked himself in his cabin and shot himself."

"Poor fellow!" said Barry, with genuine sympathy.

"I feel his loss most keenly, I can assure you," resumed Rawlings,
laying down his cigar, and sighing as he stroked his pointed beard.
"Well, all that could be done for him was done, but, as I have just
said, the doctors gave no hope from the first.  When he became
conscious--which was early on the following day--and was told that he
had no chance of life, he took it very quietly, but begged me to let
him remain on the ship and not send him ashore.  He had an absolute
horror of dying in an hospital, he said.  Both of the doctors said it
was just as well, so I yielded to his wishes.  And then, besides being
my chief officer, he was a personal friend, and was largely interested
with me in this pearl-shelling venture, though he had no share in the
brig."

Barry nodded.  "Hard lines."

"Hard lines, indeed.  And now you will see how I was situated.  Poor
Tracey urging me almost with his dying breath to put to sea, my solemn
promise to him that I would do so the moment I could get men to replace
those who had run away, and my own anxiety--all these things tended to
irritate and upset me.  To get men at the Government shipping office
meant a delay of perhaps three or four days, to obtain a suitable man
as mate might have meant a week.  During this time poor Tracey's death
would have still further complicated matters and hindered the _Mahina_
from putting to sea.  I had picked up those four loafing scoundrels you
saw me bring aboard only an hour or two before I met you; and, just
before I did meet you, I had decided to give Tracey's berth to
Barradas, and promote the boatswain to second mate.  However, I did
meet you, and very glad I am of it, for I am sure we shall pull
together."

"I am sure of it," answered Barry, who now felt a sympathy for the man.

"I must tell you," added Rawlings presently, with a smile, "that I am
not much of a navigator, and as Barradas is no better I shall rely on
you, as I did on Tracey."

"Certainly, sir."

After a few minutes' more conversation, in which Rawlings outlined his
plans for the trading and pearling operations, and showed Barry a large
scale chart of Arrecifos Lagoon in the Caroline Islands, which was the
brig's destination, the two men parted for the night.

Immediately after breakfast on the following morning the brig was laid
to, the crew ranged upon the deck, and the body of her former chief
officer was carried up from the cabin by two native seamen and
committed to the deep.




CHAPTER IV.

MR. BILLY WARNER, OF PONAPÉ.

Ten days after leaving Sydney the _Mahina_ had rounded the
south-eastern end of New Caledonia, and was steering a northerly course
between the New Hebrides Group and the great archipelago of the Solomon
Islands for Arrecifos Lagoon.  During these ten days Barry had had time
to study Captain Rawlings and the rest of the ship's company, and had
come to the conclusion that there was some mystery attached to both
ship and crew.  The latter, with the exception of the boatswain, who
was a dark-faced, ear-ringed Greek, and the four new hands brought on
board by the captain, were all natives of various islands of the
Equatorial Pacific.  Seven of the twelve, with two of the white men,
were in Barry's watch; Barradas had the rest.  Among Barry's men was a
stalwart young native, much lighter in colour than the others, very
quiet in his demeanour, but willing and cheerful.  His name, so he told
Barry, was Velo, and he was a native of Manono, in the Samoan Group.
For the past four or five years he had been wandering to and fro among
the islands of the Pacific, his last voyage being made in a luckless
Hobart Town whaleship, which he had left at Sydney in disgust and
without a penny in his pocket.  Like Barry, he had been attracted to
the _Mahina_ by the fact of her being engaged in the island trade, and
indeed had only joined her two days before Barry himself.  His
cheerful, ingenuous manner, combined with his smart seamanship, made
the chief officer take a great liking to him, and even Barradas, gruff
and surly and ever ready to deal out a blow, admitted that Velo was,
next to the boatswain, the best sailorman of all the crew.

On the second day out the strong westerly had failed, and was succeeded
by light and variable airs, much to Rawlings' anger.  Walking the poop
one day with Barry, he gave vent to such a sudden outburst of rage and
blasphemy at the little progress made by the brig that the chief
officer gazed at him in astonishment.  However, on the morning of the
fourth day, a steady breeze set in, and Rawlings' equanimity was
restored.  His anxiety to make a quick passage was very evident, and
when the vicinity of the Northern Solomons was reached, and continuous
and furious squalls were experienced almost every night, he would
refuse to take in sail till the very last moment, although both his
mates respectfully pointed out the risk of carrying on under such
circumstances, for, besides the danger to the spars, the islands of the
Solomon Group were but badly charted, and the currents continually
changing in their set.  But to these remonstrances he turned an
impatient ear.

"We must push her along through the Solomons," he had said one dark
night to Barry as the _Mahina_ was tearing through the water under the
hum of a heavy squall, quivering in every timber, and deluging her
decks with clouds of spray which, from there being a head sea, leapt up
from her weather bow as high as the foretopsail.  "I want to get into
Arrecifos Lagoon as quickly as I can, even if we do lose a light spar
or two.  I'm no navigator, as you know, but I know the Solomons as well
as any man, for I've been trading and nigger-catching there for six
years at a stretch--a long time ago; and out here, where we are, we're
safe; there's a clear run of six hundred miles, free of any danger.  So
the old skipper of the _Black Dog_ used to tell me--and he knew these
parts like a book."

Presently, as he leant back on his elbows against the weather rail, he
added in an indifferent tone of voice, "At the same time, I believe
there is no cause for hurry.  But perhaps Tracey has imbued me with
some of his fears that some one else might get there before us, and
either get the pick of the shell, or perhaps skin the whole lagoon out
altogether."

Northward from the lofty, verdure-clad Solomons the brig sped steadily
onward, leaving behind her the fierce, sweeping rain squalls, and the
swirling currents, and mighty ocean tide-rips, whose lines of bubbling
foam, seen far away, often caused even the native look-outs to call out
"Breakers ahead?" and then she sailed into the region of the gentle,
north-east trade wind, till the blue mountain-peaks of Ponapé the
beautiful showed upon the sunlit sea far to windward.  And here the
scarcely won trade failed, and by nightfall the Mahina lay floating
upon a sea of glass, and Rawlings paced the deck the best part of the
night, savagely chewing at his cigar and cursing at the delay.

Both Barry and Velo knew from the appearance of the sky that the calm
was certain to last three days at least, and possibly ten days or a
fortnight; so on the following morning, when at breakfast, the former
suggested to Rawlings that the hands might give the ship a coat of
paint outside.

"Hardly worth beginning it," said the captain.  "We're bound to get a
breeze some time this morning."

Barry shook his head.  "I'm afraid not, sir.  I know of calms about
these parts lasting three solid weeks, and judging from the look of the
sky and the thick haze hanging over Ponapé I think we can safely count
on this one lasting for three days at the very least.  But even if it
runs into a week or ten days there is one good thing about calms
here--the current sets north-east at a great rate, two knots an hour at
least."

Rawlings cursed under his breath, and then moodily assented to Barry's
suggestion.

"Very well, Mr.  Barry, just as you please.  But I hope you are
mistaken about the calm continuing.  It's too hot to last long, I
imagine."

Soon after breakfast the hands set to to paint ship, and worked
steadily on until a little before seven bells, when Barry heard one of
the crew, a Gilbert Islander named Billy Onotoa, call out excitedly--

"_Te bakwa!  Te bakwa!  Roria te bakwa bubura!_" ("A shark! a shark!
look at the big shark!")

The native (who was one of the smartest men on board), without asking
permission from his officer--permission which he knew would be readily
granted--jumped on deck and dived below into the fo'c'sle for the
shark-fishing tackle which every Gilbert Islander carries with him when
at sea.  Rawlings and Barry, who were both on the after-deck, went to
the rail and looked over and saw that there was a very large grey shark
swimming leisurely to and fro under the staging on the port side where
the men were painting.  Just then Barradas came on deck and joined them.

"Holy mother!" he exclaimed.  "What a devil!  He's half a fathom broad
across his shoulders.  And he's hungry, too; look how the pilot fish
are running round the ship.  That's a sure sign he has an empty belly.
If he wasn't hungry they would cruise alongside him, quite close."

As he spoke Billy Onotoa emerged from the forescuttle and was met by
the Greek boatswain, who angrily bade him get back to his work again,
and tearing the heavy shark hook and its tackle from his hand, flung it
overboard.

The dark, expressive eyes of the native, usually so pleasant and
smiling, flashed resentfully, and he bent his head in sullen silence as
he moved slowly towards the bulwarks.

"Mova quicka, you dam blacka dog!" said the Greek savagely, and raising
his foot he gave the man a heavy kick.

Like lightning Billy Onotoa spun round, his sheath knife flashing in
his right hand, and the lust of blood in his eyes; in an instant the
two were struggling madly together.

Barry, Barradas, and one of the white seamen sprang forward and
endeavoured to separate them, but the rest of the Gilbert Islanders
leapt to the aid of their countryman, and in less than a minute the
deck was filled with a group of struggling men.  The Greek, who was a
man of enormous strength, had been quicker than his assailant in the
use of the knife, and had already stabbed the Islander twice in the
shoulder, whilst Billy, who was a much smaller man, had driven his own
weapon through the Greek's right arm, his countrymen meanwhile trying
their best to use their knives upon the boatswain without hurting
either the two mates or the white sailor, who were striking out all
round with their clenched fists, shouting to the natives to desist.

At last, however, the two principals in the combat were separated by
Velo the Samoan, who, seizing the now maddened Billy Onotoa by both
feet, dragged him out of the _mêlée_, and lifting him in his arms threw
him down the forescuttle, whilst Barry quietened the Greek by a blow on
the jaw, which sent him reeling across the deck with his blood-stained
knife still clutched tightly in his hand.

Barradas, who, like Barry, had kept his temper throughout, had yet
managed to receive a terrible knife slash--intended for the
Greek--across his temple, and, blinded by the flow of blood, staggered
across the deck towards the open gangway, missed his hold of the
stanchions, and pitched headlong overboard.

Velo leapt after him with a cry of alarm.  "Quick, Mr. Barry!  Stand
by!  The shark!"

Barry and several of the men rushed to the side to assist Velo in
rescuing the second mate.  They were not a moment too soon, for as the
Samoan, who had grasped Barradas by the hair and was holding his head
out of water, was swimming toward the staging under the main chains,
the shark suddenly appeared under the counter, swimming high up on the
surface.  Barry saw in an instant that one of the two men in the water
was doomed unless swift measures were taken.  Jumping on the rail, he
leapt overboard, feet foremost, and landed on the monster's back.

There was a swirl and rush of foam, and then a cheer from the crew as
the shark darted off in terror, and Barry quietly swam alongside again
and clambered on deck, together with Velo and his brother officer.

Then, before dinner, he went forward, examined and dressed Billy
Onotoa's wounds, Rawlings standing beside him and eyeing the native in
an unsympathetic and forbidding manner.

"The boatswain is badly hurt, Mr. Barry," he said suavely, "and as you
are such a good surgeon, perhaps you will leave this damned kanaka and
attend to him."

Barry turned on him with a subdued fierceness.  "I'll attend to the
scoundrel presently, Captain Rawlings, though he doesn't deserve it.
He is a downright sweep--like all his ear-ringed kidney.  He had no
right to kick this man, who is one of the best and smartest men aboard.
I gave him a clip on the jaw, and when I've dressed his arm and he is
able to turn to again I'll give him another if he tries to start any of
these tricks again."

Rawlings smiled pleasantly.  "My dear Barry, don't excite yourself.
The boatswain is, no doubt, a bit of a bully, and does not understand
these natives as you do.  But, at the same time, he is a good sailor
man, and erred, as Marryat says in one of his novels, 'through excess
of zeal.'  So do not be too harsh."

"I have no inclination to be 'harsh' with any man, Captain Rawlings.
You are the master of this ship, and I am only your chief officer.  I
take my orders from you, and I look to you to support me in maintaining
the necessary discipline.  But I tell you plainly that the native crew
on this ship are a different class of natives to which you have been
accustomed in the Solomon Group and the New Hebrides.  They will not
take a blow from any man--white or black.  And whilst I know my duty to
you as master of this brig, I warn you that there will be bloody doings
if the boatswain ever again lays his hands upon one of the Gilbert
Islanders.  They are ripe for mutiny now."

Rawlings flicked the ash off his cigar.

"We don't want any trouble like that, Mr. Barry, do we?  And I shall
give Paul a good dressing down, and tell him to be careful in future.
I have the utmost faith in your judgment, Mr. Barry, and I want
everything to go on pleasantly."

Barry nodded, and then went aft and attended to the Greek's wounded
arm.  This occupied him for nearly half an hour, and then as he was
entering his cabin to change his clothes, which were torn and
blood-stained, Barradas stopped him and held out his hand.

"Mr. Barry, you are a brave man.  You saved my life, for if you had not
jumped on to the shark I should have been taken.  Velo told me so just
now.  He said that he might have been safe, but that I was on the
outside and that the shark would have had me in his jaws if you had not
jumped overboard."

Barry took the Spaniard's hand, "That's all right, Barradas.  There was
nothing much in what I did; I've seen natives do the same thing for
amusement--it's the best way out of scaring a shark if you haven't a
rifle handy.  Come in and have a smoke before dinner."

All that day the brig continued to drift steadily to the north and
east, and at sunset she was within eight or ten miles of the land.  The
native crew, although they had continued their work quietly after the
fight, were evidently much dissatisfied, and when at six o'clock they
all marched aft and demanded to speak with the captain, Barry was not
at all surprised.  Rawlings, however, was furious when the steward
asked him to come on deck and see the men.  Seizing his revolver, and
calling to Barradas to follow him, he sprang up the companion; Barry
met him half way.

"Don't come on deck, sir, with a pistol in your hand, I implore you.
The men are certainly angry and discontented, but a few quiet words
from you will settle the matter; they simply want you to promise them
that the boatswain will not attempt to 'haze' any one of them again.
If you appear before them with a weapon in your hand they will take
charge of the ship.  These Gilbert Islanders are as good men as you
will find anywhere in the South Seas, but they are quick-tempered and
hot-blooded.  I know them--you don't."

With a muttered curse the captain threw his revolver back on to the
cabin table, and then followed his chief officer on deck.  The native
crew were awaiting him.  Velo stepped forward as spokesman, and doffing
his cap asked that Billy Onotoa, whom Barradas had put in irons, should
be set free.

"This man Billy," said the Samoan quietly, but with determination,
"mus' not be kep' in irons.  The bos'un kicked him and made him get
mad.  Why is Billy put in irons, and the bos'un who stab him twice no
put in irons?"

A murmur of approval came from his dark-skinned companions, who were
watching Rawlings' face with intense interest.

"Tell them that you'll have his irons taken off," muttered Barry, in
low tones; "if you refuse them there'll be the devil to pay."

The captain appeared to consider for a minute or so, as he walked to
and fro; then he turned and faced Velo.

"Well, men, I don't like to have any disturbance on my ship.  Billy
Onotoa is a good man, but he's no sailor not to take a kick or a lift
under the jaw in good part.  The bos'un himself told me he was very
sorry that he lost his temper, but you must remember that Billy drew
his knife on him."

"Yes, sir," answered Velo pointedly, "but that was because the bos'un
kicked him--American fashion; if the bos'un had hit him in the eye,
English fashion, Billy would not pull out knife."

"Well, that'll do, Velo.  I don't want any jaw from you.  Mr. Barradas,
please set the man free.  Go for'ard, men."

The natives obeyed him silently, much to Barry's relief, for he read
and understood the danger that lay under their apparently quiet manner.
Barradas went for'ard and liberated Billy, who, badly wounded as he
was, at once turned to again as if nothing of any importance had
occurred.

All that night the calm continued, and when at midnight Barry came on
deck, he found the ship had drifted in so close to the land that the
breaking surf on the reef was plainly to be heard--not more than three
miles away, and too close to be regarded with indifference with such a
strong current, and in a dead calm.

He had almost decided to lower and man one of the whale-boats and begin
towing the brig to the eastward so as to clear the southern horn of the
projecting reef, when he heard the sound of oars through the darkness,
and then came a loud hail.

"Ship ahoy, there!"

"Hallo, who are you?" he cried.

"White trader from Ponapé."

"All right, come alongside."  Hastily calling the captain, Barry showed
a light in the waist to the advancing boat, and in a few minutes she
came alongside.  She was manned by a crew of semi-nude, woolly-haired
Solomon Islands natives, and was steered by a big, rough-looking white
man with a flowing red beard.

Jumping on board he shook hands with Rawlings and Barry and introduced
himself.

"I'm Bill Warner; these chaps here are my Pleasant Island boys.  I've
had a ---- row and fight with the Ponapé natives, and had to clear out
to save my ---- skin.  Where are you bound to, captain?  Give me and my
boys a passage.  I don't care where the hell you're going to, so long
as I git somewhere away.  And, say, mister, give me suthin' to drink."

Rawlings smiled pleasantly.  "Certainly, Mr. Warner.  Come below, and
let your men come on deck.  They are not dangerous, I hope."

The moment the new arrival heard Rawlings' voice he stared, and then
gave a hoarse, snorting laugh as he again grasped the captain's hand.

"God strike me dead, Jim Rawlings!  I wouldn't have reckernised yer
only for yer voice.  Why, what the hell----"

Rawlings laughed boisterously.  "Delighted to meet you again, old
comrade.  Mr. Barry, this is Mr. Bill Warner, an old Solomon Island
shipmate and friend of mine.  Come below, Warner, and tell me what has
gone wrong."

The big man saw a warning glance in Rawlings' dark eyes, which he took
in quickly, and the two descended below.

They remained talking together for nearly two hours, and then at four
bells Mr. Warner staggered up on deck, and with a vast amount of
hilarious profanity and blasphemy called his boat's crew together and
addressed them in their own tongue.

"The captain of this ship is my friend.  We are going with him to a new
land.  We must stand by him when the time comes, for there may be
throats to cut."  Then he added in English, "And now you can all go to
hell until the morning.  I'm going to sleep."

So saying, he flung himself upon the skylight, and in a few minutes was
snoring in a drunken slumber.

Rawlings sauntered up on deck a few minutes later, and stood watching
the progress of the brig through the calm and glassy water, for Barry
had lowered one of the boats, and the crew were towing her clear of the
outlying horn of the reef.  The wild, half-naked savages who had just
come on board were sitting or lying on the main-deck, smoking or
chewing betel-nut, while their boat was towing astern.

"How are we getting along, Mr. Barry?" said the captain pleasantly.

"Pretty well, sir.  Once we are clear of that long stretch of reef we
need no more towing.  But it is just as well to be on the safe side,
for there's no bottom here at ninety fathoms."

Rawlings nodded.  "Just so.  We don't want to get piled up on Ponapé,
Mr. Barry."  He took a turn or two along the deck, and then with his
hands in his pockets inclined his head towards the sprawling figure of
Mr. Bill Warner.

"Not at all a bad fellow, Mr. Barry; but rather too fond of the wine
when it is red, or gamboge, or green, or any other damned colour.  He
and I were shipmates some years ago in the Solomon Island labour trade.
He has, it seems, had a quarrel with the natives of Ponapé, who
attacked him, and he and his crowd had to clear out to save their
lives.  I've told him that I'll give him a passage to Providence Lagoon
with us.  His natives, he tells me, are good men, and I daresay they'll
prove useful to us."

The mate gave a curt assent.  "I daresay his natives will prove useful,
sir.  As for the man himself, I don't think he will be much of an
acquisition, if he is to be judged by first impressions.  He's as drunk
as a pig, and I don't wonder at the Ponapé natives wanting to get rid
of him, for in my opinion he's nothing better than a drunken,
swaggering bully.  Why, the fellow carries a brace of pistols in his
belt.  No decent trader does that."

Rawlings held up his hand deprecatingly.  "Don't be too hard on poor
Warner, my dear Barry.  He's not as bad as he looks.  I'm sure you'll
get to like each other by-and-by.  Good-night."

"Good-night, sir," replied Barry courteously.  "I think we had better
keep on towing until daylight."




CHAPTER V.

VELO, THE SAMOAN, PROPHESIES.

The advent of Mr. Billy Warner of Ponapé with his entourage of sixteen
truculent, evil-faced Solomon Islanders was not regarded with
enthusiasm by the chief officer and the native crew of the _Mahina_.

Warner himself was an insolent, overbearing ruffian of the first water,
and yet strangely enough his retinue, whom he at times treated with the
most savage brutality, were intensely devoted to him, and every one of
them would have cheerfully given up his life to protect the drunken,
foul-mouthed, and unmitigated scoundrel who knocked them about one day
and fraternised with them the next.

Velo, who, though a Samoan, was the acknowledged leader and mentor of
the native crew--men who mostly came from the Equatorial Islands of the
South and North Pacific--was quick to convey his impressions of the
newcomers to Barry, and expressed his fears for the future.

"Trouble will come to us through these black men, these woolly-haired
eaters of men's flesh," he said to the mate in Samoan, on the following
evening.  "One of them--he with the hare-lip--can speak Fijian, and
this evening he was boasting to me of all that his master hath done, of
the men he hath killed, not only in the islands to the south, but here
in Ponapé."

"They're a bad lot, I believe, Velo," answered the mate in English,
"but you and the rest of the men must try and avoid quarrelling with
them."

Velo nodded.  "Aye, but they are rude of speech, and will scarce move
out of our way; and our men from the Gilbert Islands are quick to
anger.  Trouble will come."

Trouble did come, and much sooner than even Velo had anticipated.

At ten o'clock on the morning of the fifth day the calm still
continued, but there was a faint, fleecy wall of cloud to the
north-east which Barry knew meant wind in a few hours.  Ponapé was
still in sight about forty miles distant.

The ship was very quiet, for the heat was so intense that beyond
washing down decks the crew had done nothing since sunrise, and the
watch were lying down under the topgallant foc's'le, smoking and
mending clothes.  On the main-hatch was Warner's whaleboat, and sitting
around her were the savage crew, chewing betel-nut and expectorating
the scarlet juice in every direction.  Mr. Warner himself was aft,
showing Rawlings the mechanism of a Vetterli rifle.  Early as was the
hour he was already half-drunk, and every now and then would stagger
against the rail or knock against the wheel or skylight flaps.

Presently he stumbled along the deck towards Barry, and holding the
rifle in his left hand clapped the officer on the shoulder with his
right.

"You're a mighty solemn-faced cuss, young feller," he said, with
drunken hilarity; "have a drink with me, and don't be so ---- high and
mighty.  I'm a damned good sort when you know me--ain't that so, Jim
Rawlings?"

"A very good sort indeed," answered the captain suavely; "but a bit too
convivial too early in the day."

"You be damned and let me be; don't try to put on frills, Jimmy, my
boy," and still clutching Barry's shoulder he grinned insolently at
Rawlings, whose dark, handsome face paled with sudden passion as he
turned away with an exclamation of anger.

By a sudden movement he freed himself from Warner's grasp, just as the
latter repeated his invitation to him to come below and have a drink.

"I don't want to drink with you or any one else when it is my watch on
deck," he said shortly.

Warner's coarse face grew purple with rage.  "You don't say so!  Why,
who the blazes are you any way?  Don't you try to put on airs with me,
young feller, or you'll get hurt."

Boiling with anger as he was, the mate made no answer, and Warner, with
a snort of contempt at him, went below.  In a minute or two he
reappeared with his pipe and a large plug of tobacco in his hand.

"Here, Tagaro, you rabbit-faced swine," he called, "come aft here and
cut me up a pipe of tobacco."

Tagaro, the huge savage with a hare-lip, jumped up from the main-hatch
where he was squatting and came aft, his hideous red lips twisting and
squirming like the tentacles of an octopus as he masticated a mouthful
of betel-nut.  Taking the pipe and tobacco from his master he sat down
cross-legged beside the companion.  Barry eyed him for an instant with
anger and disgust.  He returned the look with an impertinent grin, and
then coolly spat out a stream of the acrid scarlet juice half-way
across the clean, white deck.

This was too much for the officer.  His face whitened with rage, and
striding up to Warner he pointed to the befouled whiteness of the deck.
"Tell that nigger of yours to get a swab and clean up that mess in
double quick time," he said, trying to steady his voice.

"Swab it up yourself," was the insulting reply; "reckon it's about all
you're fit for."

A second later Mr. Billy Warner went down on his back with a crash as
Barry caught him a terrific blow on the chin, and then spinning round
on his heel he dealt the hare-lipped nigger a kick in the side that
cracked two of his ribs like pipe-stems and doubled him up in agony.

In less than half a minute pandemonium seemed to have broken loose, for
Warner's natives made a rush aft crying out that Barry had killed their
white man and Tagaro.  They were met by the officer, two of the white
seamen, men named "Joe" and "Sam Button," and several of the Gilbert
Islanders, who beat them back with belaying-pins.  Joe, who was an
immensely powerful man, knocked three of them senseless with successive
blows on their woolly pates, and his comrades did equally as well.
Then Rawlings darted on deck, followed by Barradas, and threatening the
Solomon Islanders with their revolvers, succeeded in relieving Barry
and his men, and driving their assailants up for'ard, where they were
met by the watch below, who at once attacked them, and again the two
parties began another struggle, using their knives freely.

Then it was that Barry's influence over the native crew was made
manifest to the captain.  Followed by Velo and big Joe he sprang into
the midst of the half-maddened crew, and by blows, threats, and
entreaties to his own men, managed to effect a separation before murder
was done, Rawlings and Barradas aiding him by striking out right and
left with belaying-pins, for the chief officer kept calling out to them
not to fire.

The whole affair did not last more than ten minutes, and as soon as the
ship was quiet, Barry urged the captain to send Warner's men below into
the main hold.  This was done, though the savages at first refused to
go until they were satisfied that their master was not dead.  They were
allowed to go aft and see him.  He was sitting up and barely able to
speak, for in falling he had struck his head heavily.  Rawlings gave
him some brandy, which he drank, and then, supported by two seamen, he
was taken below to recover.

Barry then explained the cause of the disturbance to the captain and
Barradas, both of whom said that he could have acted in no other way.

"We shall want a couple of doctors soon if we have any more of this
cursed business," said Rawlings.  "Here's the boatswain badly hurt;
Billy Onotoa, who you say is a good man, with a couple of knife holes
in his hide; Warner's head man with two stove-in ribs, and Warner
himself with a bad head; and now there's three or four more of these
black and brown devils cut about.  Curse the whole thing!"

"I'm not at all sorry about that blackguard's head," said the mate,
with some degree of irritation; "he deserved all he got from me--much
more than that poor devil of a nigger of his."

"Come below, Mr. Barry," said the captain, seeing that his officer
resented his tone; "I don't think a drop of good brandy and water would
do any of us any harm."

"Certainly, sir," he answered, his good temper at once asserting
itself; "and, look over there--there's the breeze coming at last."

Before eight bells struck the vessel was slipping through the water
before a fresh, cool breeze; the Solomon Islanders were allowed to come
on deck, and Barry paid a round of visits to the wounded men, including
Mr. Billy Warner, who freely cursed him and frankly assured him of his
intention to "take it out" at the first opportunity that offered after
the ship reached Arrecifos.

"Right you are," was the reply, "but it will pay you better to leave me
alone, I think."

That night, however, the captain and Warner had a conversation, which
resulted in the red-bearded scoundrel coming up to the mate and
professing sorrow for what had occurred--his excuse of course being
that he was drunk at the time, and did not remember what he was saying.
Barry accepted his apologies coldly, but avoided the man as much as
possible without being actually uncivil to him.

The Greek was soon fit for duty again, and although the crew went about
their work willingly, it was evident that they had a deep distrust of
all the officers except the chief.  Warner and Rawlings daily grew more
intimate, and it was very evident to Barry that they knew a great deal
about each other, for at times, especially when he had taken too much
to drink, the former would address the captain in such an insolently
familiar manner that his dark, handsome features would pale with
suppressed passion, though he appeared not to notice the man's manner.

As the days went by the chief officer spoke less and less to those
living aft, though Barradas made several renewed efforts to break
through his reserve; but finding that he met with no response he gave
up all further attempts, and attached himself when off duty to
Rawlings, the Greek, and Warner.




CHAPTER VI.

IN ARRECIFOS LAGOON.

Just after midnight, three days later, Velo, the Samoan, who was on the
look-out, came aft to Barry and said,--

"_E manogi mai le fanua_" ("The smell of the land has come").

"Good boy, Velo," replied the mate; "keep a sharp look-out, for on such
a night as this, when the sea is smooth, and the land lies low, we
shall not hear the sound of the surf till we are right on top of it."

An hour or two later Barry called Rawlings, for right ahead of the brig
there was a low, dark streak showing upon the sea-rim, which they knew
was the outline of one of the palm-clad islets on the south side of
Arrecifos Lagoon.  At daylight the _Mahina_ ran through the south-east
passage, and dropped her anchor in thirteen fathoms, close to the snowy
white beach of a palm-clad islet, on which was a village of ten or a
dozen native houses.  There was, however, no sign of life visible--not
even a canoe was to be seen.

Immediately after breakfast the boats were lowered, and a brief
inspection made, not only of some of the nearest of the chain of
thirteen islands, which enclosed the spacious lagoon, but of the lagoon
itself.  The islands were densely covered with coco palms, interspersed
here and there with lofty _puka_ trees, the nesting-places of countless
thousands of a small species of sooty petrel, whose discordant notes
filled the air with their clamour as Rawlings and Barry passed beneath,
walking along a disused native path, while the two boats pulled along
the shore.  The village was found to be abandoned.

After examining the nearest islands, and deciding upon a spot whereon
to build a station, the two white men returned to the boats, which
pulled out towards the centre of the lagoon.  Half a mile due west from
the centre of the south-east islet the deep blue water began to lighten
in colour, till it became a pale green, and the coral bottom lay dearly
revealed at a depth of five fathoms.

"This is one of the patches mentioned by Gurden," said Barry, after
carefully taking bearings, and studying a rough plan of the lagoon
which had been given him by Rawlings; "let us try here first.  Billy
Onotoa, and you, Tom Arorai, go down and see."

Billy and a countryman--a short square-built native of the Line
Islands--let go their oars, picked up their diving sticks, and were
over the side in an instant; but even before they were half-way down
the other natives in the boat, who were intently scanning the bottom,
cried out that they could see "plenty pearl shell."  The truth of their
assertions was soon proved by the two divers returning to the surface,
each carrying two pairs of splendid shells as large as dinner plates.

Rawlings' dark eyes sparkled.  "What do you think of that, Mr. Barry?"

"If the rest of the patches in the lagoon have shell like that, there
is a huge fortune in it--shell such as that is worth 250 pounds a ton.
A fortune indeed--even if not a single pearl was found."

Rawlings breathed excitedly.  "But there are plenty, plenty.  We can be
certain of that.  Let us get back to the ship as quickly as possible,
and get ready to start work," and seizing the steer oar, he bade the
men give way, not with an encouraging word, but a savage oath.

Barry looked at him in astonishment and disgust combined.  The man's
usual smiling, self-complacent manner had disappeared, and he now
seemed a prey to emotion, his face alternately paling and flushing with
excitement, and Barry saw that his whole frame was trembling.  By the
time the boats came alongside the brig, however, he was restored to his
usual self.

Barradas, Warner, and Paul, the truculent-looking Greek boatswain, were
on the main-deck as Rawlings ascended.

"Well?" said Barradas inquiringly.

"It's all right," answered Rawlings in a low voice, as if he feared to
speak aloud; "we shall be well repaid for all----"

"Sh!" said the Greek warningly as Barry's head appeared above the rail,
and both he and the second mate turned away and busied themselves with
their duties.

Telling the steward to see that the hands had dinner a little earlier
than usual, Rawlings called Barry, the second mate, and the boatswain
below to discuss their future operations.  In the hold were two large
boats which had been bought in Sydney, with pumping gear and diving
suits, and it was decided to at once hoist the former out, though as
the water appeared to be so shallow it was not thought likely that the
latter would be used, the natives asserting that they could get more
shell by diving in their own fashion.  Barry, from his previous
experience of pearl-shelling in the Paumotus, was to have practically
the entire control of the natives and charge of the boats, and the
choice of a permanent anchorage was also to be left to him, and also
the selection of a site for the shore station, where houses were to be
built by the native crew, so that they might live on shore when bad
weather prevented them from diving.  A quarter of a mile from where the
brig lay anchored was a sandbank covered with a low, dense scrub about
three feet high.  The beach was the haunt and laying-place of huge
green turtle, and the scrub the nesting-ground of countless myriads of
sea birds.  The spot at once suggested itself to Barry as being a
suitable place for "rotting out," _i.e._, allowing the pearl oysters to
be exposed to the sun till they opened and could be cleaned.  Here
Rawlings, Barradas, or the Greek could receive the shell from the
boats, spread it out to "rot," search for the pearls within, and then
send it off to the ship to be further cleansed, weighed, and packed in
boxes, timber for making which had been brought from Sydney for the
purpose.

But Barry, being of the opinion that a better anchorage could be found
off the largest island on the western side, which was also well
timbered, and would be best suitable for a shore station, suggested
that he should make an examination of the place.

"It is twenty miles away, and will take you two days," said Rawlings;
"why cannot we stay where we are?  Besides that, the big island is
inhabited, so Gurden said, and the natives are a lot of savages.  Why
can't we make our station here on the south-east islet?"

"For several reasons, sir," replied Barry.  "In the first place we
shall have to study our native divers.  They will not be satisfied to
live on this little islet here just ahead of us, for although there are
plenty of coconut trees on it, it is little better than a sandbank, and
when bad weather comes on they will get dissatisfied and sulky, and
when they become sulky they won't dive.  Now that big island, so Gurden
told you, is much higher than any of the rest; it has not only plenty
of coconuts, but groves of breadfruit as well, and there are several
native wells there.  If we remained here, I am afraid that our men
would be continually grumbling.  Every now and then some of them would
be running away--a breadfruit grove and plenty of fresh water would be
attractions no kanaka ever born could resist.  And then there is
another thing to be considered.  These natives of ours won't live
together with Mr. Warner's Solomon Island niggers; the place is so
small that they would be bound to begin quarrelling again."

"My boys won't interfere with them," said Warner sullenly; "and besides
that I've arranged with the captain.  I'll pick on a place for my
crowd."

"Very well, Mr. Barry," broke in the captain, "whatever you suggest I
will do; only let us get to work as quickly as possible."

"I think, sir, that after dinner I had better take one of the
whaleboats with four or five hands and two days' provisions, run down
to the big island, and see what it is like."

All these matters being arranged, Rawlings invited his officers to
drink success to the future.

Immediately after dinner Barry picked five men to accompany him.  Each
man took with him a Snider rifle and a dozen cartridges, in case of
their being attacked by the natives.  At two o'clock they left the
ship, hoisted the sail, and stood away for the island, which was just
visible from the deck.

      *      *      *      *      *      *

Soon after Barry had left Captain Rawlings and Warner entered the main
cabin with Barradas, and told the steward to send the boatswain down.

For nearly half an hour they spoke together, now in low, now in excited
and angry voices, and Mr. Edward Barry would have been deeply
interested in their conversation could he have but heard it, inasmuch
as he was the chief subject.

"I tell you," said Rawlings, in a cold, sneering tone, as he leant over
the table with his chin resting on his hands, and looking at
Barradas--"I tell you that it will have to be done before we can take
this ship into port again."

"Mother of God!" said Barradas passionately, "he is a good fellow, and
I won't do it.  No more such bloody work for me, Rawlings."

Rawlings picked up his half-smoked cigar from the table, and puffed at
it in silence for a few seconds.  Then he laid it down again, and his
black eyes gleamed with suppressed fury as he looked at the Spaniard.
But he spoke calmly.

"And I tell you again that no one of us will ever be safe.  If he
lives, something will come out some day--it always does, my brave and
tender-hearted Manuel.  You and I have been lucky so far in smaller
matters, but this is a big thing, and we have to look to ourselves."

"Yes," said the Greek, with savage emphasis.  "Mus' we all tree be hung
like dogga, because you, Manuel, have no pluck?  Bah! you coward!"

"Don't you call me a coward, you dirty, ear-ringed Levantine thief!"
and Barradas sprang to his feet.  "Take it back, you mongrel-bred
swine, or I'll ram my fist down your greasy throat!"

"You fools--you cursed fools!" said Rawlings with a mocking laugh, as,
rising to his feet, he pushed Barradas back into his seat, and then
turned furiously upon the Greek.  "What the do you mean by insulting
Manuel like that? you must take it back," and, unperceived by the
Spaniard, he gave the man a deep, meaning glance.

The Greek, who had drawn his sheath knife, dashed it down upon the
cabin floor and extended his hand to the second mate.

"I take it back, Barradas.  You are no coward, you are brave man.  We
are all good comrada.  I never mean to insult you."

Barradas took his hand sullenly.  "Well, there you are, Paul.  But I
say again, I want no more of this bloody work;" and then looking first
at Rawlings, then at the Greek, and then at Warner, his dark; lowering
face quivered, "come, let us understand each other.  I swear to you
both, by the Holy Virgin, that I will be true to you, but this man must
not be hurt.  Sometimes in the night I see the face of that girl, and I
see the face of Tracey, and I see and feel myself in hell----"

Warner laughed hoarsely, but Rawlings' foot pressed that of the Greek.

"There, that will do, Manuel; let us say no more about it.  I yield to
you.  We must take our chances."

Barradas sighed with relief, and held out his hand to Rawlings.

"You won't play me false?" he inquired.

"I swear it," said Rawlings, first pressing the Greek's foot again, and
then standing up and grasping his officer's hand.

"And I too," said the Greek, extending his own dirty, ring-covered paw;
"as you say, he is a good man, and perhaps he can do us no harm.  And
we mus' all be good comrada--eh?  Come, Mr. Warner, let us all joina
the hand."

Then, after drinking together in amity, they separated.

    *    *    *    *    *    *

But whilst Barradas was for'ard, and Rawlings was pacing the poop, the
ear-ringed Greek came along with some of the hands to spread the after
awning.  As the seamen carried the heavy canvas up the starboard poop
ladder the Greek walked up near to Captain Rawlings, who was on the
port side, and said quickly, as he pretended to busy himself with the
port boat falls--

"Both of them will have to go--eh?"

"Yes," answered Rawlings savagely, "both of them.  But Barradas must go
first.  We will want the other to take us to Singapore.  If I could
navigate we could get rid of them both before we leave here.  As for
that drunken, red-bearded pig, we'll keep him with us.  Those niggers
of his will be useful to us later on--they will wipe out these cursed
Gilbert Islanders for us when the time comes.  And wiped out they must
be, especially that fellow Velo and the four white men as well.  They
are altogether too fond of my intelligent ass of a chief officer, and
must be got rid of."

The Greek grinned.  "And I shall be the first to put my knife into the
throat of that kanaka dog, Billy Onotoa."




CHAPTER VII.

ALICE TRACEY.

The whaleboat, with Barry and five hands, skimmed fleetly over the
smooth waters of the lagoon before the lusty breeze, and three hours
after leaving the brig she was within a quarter of a mile of the shore
of a narrow little bay, embowered amidst a luxuriant grove of coco and
pandanus palms.  Presently Velo, the Samoan, who was standing up in the
bows keeping a lookout, called out that he could see the houses of a
native village showing through the trees, about two or three miles away
to the right.

"And I can see three people coming along the beach, sir," he added
presently, pointing to a spot midway between the village and the little
bay for which the boat was heading.

"Well, three people can't do us any harm, Velo, so we will run into the
beach and wait for them," said Barry.  "Is it clear water ahead?"

"All clear, sir--not a bit of coral to be seen anywhere, deep water
right into the beach.  Fine place, sir.  And look at all those
breadfruit trees--just in back a little from the coconuts."

In another five minutes the boat ploughed her stem into the hard white
sand, and the men jumped out.

"Three of you stay in the boat and keep her afloat," said Barry.  "You,
Velo, and you, Joe, come with me.  We'll have a look around here and
then walk along the beach and meet those three natives."

Taking their rifles with them, the mate, with Velo and the white sailor
Joe following him closely, walked up the beach and entered the forest
of coco-palms.  Every tree was laden with fruit in all stages of
growth, and at Barry's request Velo at once climbed one and threw down
a score or so of young drinking-nuts.

Throwing some to the men in the boat, Barry and his companions drank
one each, and then set out to look about them.  Although the island was
of great length, it was in no part more than a mile in width from the
lagoon shore to the outer ocean beach, and the thunder of the surf on
the reef could be heard every now and then amid the rustle and soughing
of the palm-trees.

"It's nice to smell this 'ere hearthy smell, sir, ain't it?" said Joe
to the officer.  "It seems to fill yer up inside with its flavorance."

Barry smiled.  "It does indeed, Joe.  I love the smell of these
low-lying coral islands."

Apparently encouraged by his officer's polite reply to his remark, Joe
(who was in the second mate's watch) began afresh.

"I hope; sir, you won't mind my loosenin' my jaw tackle a bit; but I'd
be mighty glad, sir, if you could let me come with you in the boats
when we begins the divin'."

"I'll mention it to the captain, Joe.  I'm quite agreeable."

"Thank you, sir," said the sailor respectfully.

This Joe was the man whom Rawlings had felled with the belaying-pin,
and although when he first came on board Barry had conceived an
unfavourable impression of him and his three companions, subsequent
observation of the four had made him feel that he had done Joe at least
an injustice, for the man, despite his sullenness and a rather
quarrelsome disposition, was a good sailor and no shirker of work.
During the voyage from Sydney, Barry had scarcely had occasion to speak
to this man more than half a dozen times, but whenever he had done so
Joe had answered him with a cheerful "Aye, aye, sir," and obeyed his
orders promptly, whereas a command from Rawlings, Barradas, or the
Greek was received in sullen silence and carried out with a muttered
curse.  The reason for this was not far to seek.  Barry was a rigid
disciplinarian, but never laid his hand on a man unless provoked beyond
endurance, whilst the captain, Barradas, and the Greek boatswain were
chary of neither abuse nor blows--too often without the slightest
reason.  Consequently Joe and his three shipmates--who recognised him
as their leader--had developed a silent though bitter hatred of all the
officers except Barry--a hatred that only awaited an opportunity to
take vengeance for past brutalities.  All four of them, so Velo told
Barry one night, had served a sentence of three months' imprisonment in
Sydney for broaching cargo, and had been picked up in a low boozing den
by Rawlings just after their release, and brought on board the _Mahina_
without the knowledge of the shipping authorities.  To Barry, who had
had a long experience of deep-sea ships, this type of men was familiar.
He knew their good points as well as the bad, and knew how to manage
them without resorting to either threats or force, and consequently the
four "gaol birds," as Rawlings persistently called them, had conceived
a strong liking for the quiet-mannered, yet determined chief officer--a
liking that was not confined to themselves alone, but was shared by the
native crew as well.

For some little time the three men pursued their way in silence, and
then Joe again spoke.

"I don't want to shove myself into other people's business, sir; but
I'd like to tell you something now I has the chance to do it."

"Go ahead, Joe," replied his officer good-naturedly.  "What is it?"

"Well, sir, it mightn't mean nothin' at all, and it might mean a good
deal; but it's struck me and my mates that there's something wrong
about the skipper, and from what we has seen and heard we believe they
means some sort of mischief to you."

Barry stopped.  "What makes you think that, Joe?"

"Lots o' things, sir.  Why, lots o' times Sam Button and Sharkey has
seen him talkin' quietly with the Greek when you were below asleep, and
I've seen him confaberlatin on the quiet with the second mate and the
bo'sun--all three together--and if you chanced to come up they'd either
quit talkin' or pretend to just be having a yarn about nothin' in
partikler.  I believe, sir--and so does my mates and Velo--that they
means mischief o' some sort to you."

Barry mused.  "I can't make things out at all, Joe.  To tell you the
truth there is something mysterious about this ship--something that
does not satisfy me; but what it is I cannot tell."

"Aye, aye, sir; that's it.  _There is_ something fishy goin' on, I'm
certain.  And now here's somethin' else you ought to know--somethin'
about this red-bearded, nigger-drivin' swab of a Warner.  I know the
cove, though he doesn't know me."

"Ah!" said Barry with quickened interest, "what do you know of him,
Joe?"

Taking his pipe out of his mouth and speaking very slowly the seaman
repeated his last words.

"I know him, sir, now, though I didn't when he first came aboard with
his crowd o' bloody cannibals.  But when you give him that knock-out
lift under the jaw the other day, me and Sam Button, you will remember,
helped him down into the cabin and laid him in his bunk, hopin' the
swab was dead.  The skipper told us to open his shirt at the neck, as
he was a-breathin' so bad, and when we opens his shirt I sees a ship
tattooed across his chest--then I knew where I'd seen that there chap
with the red beard and that partikler tattooing before.  It was the
picture of a Yankee man-o'-war with her name over it--_The Franklin_,
and I reckerlected when I'd seen it last--about nine year ago in Fiji."

"Go on, Joe," said the officer, as the man hesitated.

"Right, sir; but now I might as well tell you how I did come to see it.
I was bummin' around in Levuka lookin' for a ship, havin' just done
four months' hard, when I meets a petty officer belonging to a gunboat,
who asked me if I wanted a week's job.  He was scourin' all round the
place to pick up sailor men, so me and about half a dozen more chaps
was taken off on board the gunboat.  She had been cruising in the
Solomon Islands, and a lot of her men died from fever.  Then when she
was coming back to Fiji she got caught in a hurricane and dismasted,
and sailed into Levuka under jury-masts, and us chaps were set to work
to help refit her for the voyage to Sydney.  And the first thing I saw
when I got aboard was this here chap Warner, who was washing himself up
for'ard with a sentry standing over him and his leg irons lying on the
deck ready to be shackled on again as soon as he had finished washing.
I noticed his big beard, and partikler noticed the ship on his breast.
I asked one of the bluejackets who the chap was.  'Bloomin' slaver and
cut-throat,' says he.  'We collared him off Bougainville in his cutter.
He's the chap that shot over thirty niggers on San Christoval in cold
blood two year ago, and we're taking him to Sydney to try and sheet it
home to him.'  So that's what _I_ knows about Mr. Warner, sir.  And
he's hand and glove with the other chaps."

"Thank you very much for your confidence, Joe," said Barry.  "I believe
the man is an out-and-out villain, but I shall be on my guard now, more
than ever."

Then once more they turned their attention to their quest.

      *      *      *      *      *      *

A very brief inspection of the land in the vicinity of the little bay
satisfied Barry that it would answer admirably for a station.  All
around were thousands upon thousands of coco-palms, and further back
were some hundreds of huge jack fruit trees--a species of breadfruit
bearing fruit of irregular shape, and containing large seeds.  The brig
could be moored within fifty yards of the beach so deep was the water,
and fresh water for the ship's use could easily be had, Velo assured
him, by sinking in the rich soil among the bread-fruit grove.

Just as they emerged out into the open again, and came in sight of the
boat, one of the men in her called out to Velo that the three natives
they had seen were women, and that one was dressed like a white woman!

"A white woman!" cried Barry, and running down to the boat he looked
along the beach at the three advancing figures.  One of them certainly
was dressed in European clothing.

"That is very queer," said Barry to Joe.  "Hallo, they've stopped."

The women had ceased walking, and were now standing close together,
evidently talking.  Then the two brown-skinned, half-nude figures sat
down on the sand, and the third came on alone towards the boat; she was
walking slowly, and apparently with difficulty.

"Let us go and meet them," said Barry.

Putting their rifles into the boat, he, Velo, and Joe at once started,
and the moment the woman saw them coming she waved her hand to them;
then toiling wearily up to the top of the beach, she sat down and
leaned her back against the bole of a coconut tree, but still continued
to beckon with her hand.

"She's done up, sir," cried Joe, as they broke into a run.

In less than ten minutes the three men were close up to her, Barry
leading.  Then she rose to her feet again, and with outstretched hands
came to meet him, and Barry saw that she was a young woman of about
five-and-twenty, and her features, though tanned by a tropic sun,
undoubtedly those of an European.

"I am so tired," she panted excitedly, as Barry took her hand, "and I
have hurt my foot running to meet you.  I was afraid you----"

She ceased, and would have fallen had not Barry caught her.  Then,
overcome by excitement and physical pain, she began to sob.

Barry lifted her up in his arms and carried her back to the tree again.
"There, sit down again, and don't try to talk now," he said kindly;
"why, what is this--your foot is covered with blood."  Kneeling beside
her he lifted her bare left foot, and saw that the blood was welling
from a fearful gaping cut, right under the arch.

"I trod upon the edge of a _foli_ which was buried in the sand," she
managed to say, and then almost fainted with pain.

Hastily binding his handkerchief around the wounded foot, to stay
further loss of blood, Barry again lifted her in his arms, and carried
her down to the boat, which had pulled up, and was now abreast of them.

"I must get your foot washed and bound up," he said, as he laid her
down in the stern, and made a pillow of his coat.

Unable to speak from the intense pain she was enduring, the woman only
moaned in reply, as Barry and Velo washed her foot with fresh water,
and cleansed the cut carefully--making sure by probing it with a pocket
knife that no piece of foli[1] shell or stone was left in the wound.
Satisfied that all was right, Barry bound up the foot again with Velo's
cotton shirt, which he tore into strips.

The woman thanked him feebly, but as she again seemed inclined to
faint, he gave her some strong brandy and water.  She drank it eagerly,
and then laid her head on the pillowed coat again, but quickly raised
it when she heard Velo calling to her two companions, who, overcoming
their fear, had now approached nearer to the boat, and presently they
both came up, trembling in every limb.

"They want to know if she is dead, sir," said Velo, who could
understand a few words of what they said.

Barry made a kindly gesture to the strange, wild-looking creatures, who
were young and handsome, to come and look.  They did so, and the moment
they saw their mistress they jumped into the boat and crouched beside
her, patting her hands and smiling at her affectionately.

It was now nearly sunset, and time to decide upon quarters for the
night, and as there was an abandoned native house within a few hundred
yards of where the boat lay, it was at once taken possession of.

"I cannot take you on board the ship to-night," said Barry to the
women, "and I don't want you to talk too much when you are so weak, but
tell me this--will there be any danger if we sleep on shore here in
that old house?"

"None whatever; there are but two hundred natives here, and you need
have no fear of them--all the rest were carried away by an Hawaiian
labour ship two months ago," she replied faintly.

"Then we shall try and make you comfortable for to-night.  We have
plenty of sleeping mats in the boat.  Now I must lift you out again."

By this time fires had been lit by the men, and supper was being
prepared by Joe; the two native women and Velo had made a comfortable
bed for the injured woman, a quantity of young coconuts husked by
another sailor lay on the ground, and when Barry laid his charge down
upon her bed of mats the scene was quite cheerful as the blazing fires
sent out streams of light across the waters of the sleeping lagoon.

"Now you must try and sit up and eat something and drink some coffee,"
said Barry as he placed some biscuit and meat and a tin mug of coffee
beside the woman.  "There, lean your back against the water-breaker.
Are you in much pain now?"

"Not so much, thank you," and as she tried to smile Barry could not but
observe that she was a remarkably handsome woman, with clearly cut,
refined features.  Her speech, too, showed that she was a person of
education.

Barry seated himself near her, and began to eat; the two wild-looking
native women sat near by munching the biscuits given them by Joe; and
Joe himself, with the rest of the crew, were grouped together at the
other end of the hut.

"Will you have some more coffee?" said Barry presently.

"No, thank you, but I feel much better now.  You have been very good to
me."

Seeing that she was much recovered, although her face was still drawn
and pale, Barry put his first question to her.

"You are in great distress, and are not yet strong enough to talk very
much; but will you tell me how you came to be living here, and how I
can help you?"

She clasped her hands together tightly, and tried to speak calmly.  "My
story is a very strange one indeed.  I was landed here by an American
whaleship five months ago.  She brought me from Ocean Island.  I came
here in the hope that my husband--if he is alive--would come here.  But
I fear he is dead--murdered;" and the tears began to steal down her
cheeks.

"Murdered!  Is he a trader in this group?"

"No; he was captain and owner of a trading vessel, a small brig.  I was
with him.  One night, when I was on deck, I overheard two of the
officers and a man who was a passenger plotting to seize the ship and
get rid of us both.  They discovered me, and one of them threw me
overboard to drown."

"Good Heavens!  What was the ship's name?"

"The _Mahina_."

Barry's heart thumped so violently that for a moment or two he could
not speak; then he said hoarsely--

"My God!  Who are you?  What was your husband's name?"

"John Tracey!  And you, who are you?  Why do you look like that?  Ah,
you know something.  Quick, tell me.  Is he dead?"

There was a pause before Barry could bring himself to reply.  The
woman, with pale face and quivering lips, waited for his answer.

"Yes.  He is dead."

Mrs. Tracey bent her head and covered her face with her hands.

"I knew it," she said, after one sob.  "I knew I should never see him
again--that they would murder him as they tried to murder me.  Will you
tell me how you knew it?"

"I saw him lying dead in Sydney.  I was told that he shot himself in a
fit of melancholy.  He was lying on board the _Mahina_--and the
_Mahina_ is here at anchor in this lagoon.  I am the chief officer."

"And the captain?"

"His name is Rawlings."

"Ah!--he is one of them, he was the passenger; and who are the other
officers?"

"Barradas, a Spaniard, and a Greek."

"Paul, the boatswain!  He it was who threw me overboard.  Now tell me
all you know about my husband.  See, I am not crying.  My grief is
done.  I will live now to take vengeance on these cruel murderers."

Barry was about to send his boat's crew out of hearing, but Mrs. Tracey
begged him not to do so.

"Let them stay.  It can do no harm; and if they are men, they will help
me."

"I think you are right, Mrs. Tracey.  And here is my hand and solemn
promise to do all in my power to retake the _Mahina_, for now I begin
to suspect that your husband did indeed meet with foul play."



[1] A _foli_ is a huge mussel, with an edge as keen as that of a razor.




CHAPTER VIII.

MRS. TRACEY TELLS HER STRANGE STORY.

Mrs. Tracey listened with the most intense interest to Barry's account
of his first meeting with Captain Rawlings, of the strange, mysterious
midnight sailing of the _Mahina_ from Sydney Harbour, and of the story
of her husband's suicide as related by the captain to his newly-engaged
chief mate on the following day, when he came on deck and said that
Tracey was dead.

"It may be that my poor husband did indeed take his own life," she
said, "but I do not believe it."

"Yet why should they--Rawlings and the others--have spared him so
long?" inquired Barry.

"Neither Barradas nor Rawlings were navigators," replied Mrs. Tracey
quickly.

"Ah, I see," and the chief officer stroked his beard thoughtfully; "but
yet, you see, Rawlings would have sailed without a navigator on board
had he not met me on the wharf that night."

"Perhaps so--yet I do not think it.  He has the cunning of Satan
himself."

"Indeed he has, ma'am," broke in Joe.  "Why, sir," turning to Barry,
"the night we sailed he drugged the Custom House officer and flung him
into the dinghy.  Then when you was for'ard heavin' up anchor the Greek
and two of the native chaps took him ashore, and chucked him down on
the wharf."

"The scoundrel!" exclaimed Barry, thinking of the letter he had written
to Rose Maynard that night.  "But how do you know this?"

"I been tell Joe jus' now," said one of the native seamen; "de captain
give me an' Billy Onotoa ten shilling to take that man ashore with the
bos'un.  An' he say if we tell any one he kill us by an' by."

"The ruffian!" muttered Barry.

"Now that you have told me your own story, Mr. Barry," said Mrs. Tracey
excitedly, "let me tell you mine from the beginning, and show you how
this heartless wretch has imposed upon you from the very first.  The
tale he has given you is a tissue of lies, interwoven with a thread of
truth."

"I can well believe it now.  Many things which have hitherto puzzled me
are now clear enough."

"Nearly two years ago," began Mrs. Tracey, "my husband owned and sailed
a small cutter of thirty tons, trading among the Marshall and Caroline
Islands.  His headquarters were at Jaluit, in the Marshall Islands,
where he had a store, and where I lived whilst he was away on his
cruises.  During the seven years we spent among these islands I would
often accompany him, for it was very lonely on Jaluit--only natives to
talk to--and he would sometimes be away many months at a time.

"On our last voyage in the cutter we called in at Port Lêle on Strong's
Island.  Old Gurden, the trader there, and my husband had had business
dealings with each other for many years.  He was a good-hearted but
very intemperate man, and several times we had taken him away with us
in the cutter, when he was in a deplorable condition from the effects
of drink, and nursed him back to health and reason again.  On this
occasion we were pleased to find him well, though rather despondent,
for he had, he said, an idea that his last carouse had 'done for' him,
and that he would not live much longer.

"That evening the old man told us the story of his life.  It was a
truly strange and chequered one.  When quite a young man he had been
flogged, and then deserted from H.M.S. _Blossom_, Captain Beechy, in
1825, and ever since then had remained in the South Seas, living
sometimes the idle and dissolute life of the beach-comber, sometimes
that of the industrious and adventurous trader.  My husband was
interested, for he liked the old fellow, who, in spite of his drunken
habits, had many excellent qualities.  For myself he always professed
the greatest regard, and that evening he proved it.

"After he had finished his story he turned to my husband, and said--

"'You and your wife have always been true friends to drunken old Jack
Gurden.  Now, tell me, did you ever know me to tell a lie except when I
wanted to get a drink and hadn't any excuse?'

"We both laughed, and said we knew he was a truthful man.

"'Did you ever hear me talking about a lagoon full of pearl shell--when
I was mad with drink?' he inquired.

"We laughed again, and said that he had done so very often.

"'Ah,' he said, 'but it is true.  There is such a place, and now that
my time is coming near, I'll tell you where it is, and you, Mrs.
Tracey, who have nursed the old drunken, blackguard beachcomber, and
asked him to seek strength from God to keep off the cursed grog, will
be one of the richest women in the world.  I wrote it all down four or
five months ago, in case when you came back here you found I was dead.'

"Thereupon he handed my husband a number of sheets of paper, on one of
which was drawn a rough plan of Arrecifos Island, or, as he called it,
Ujilong.  The rest contained clear and perfectly written details of the
position of the pearl-shell beds."

Barry nodded.  "He had lived there, I suppose."

"For quite a number of years--from 1840 to 1846.  He married one of the
native women there.  There were then over seven hundred natives living
on these thirteen islands, and Gurden said he could quite understand
why the richness of the pearl beds were never discovered by white men,
for no ship had ever entered the lagoon within the memory of any living
native of the place, and not once in ten years did the people even see
a passing ship send a boat ashore."

(That this was true, Barry knew, for he had often heard trading
captains speak of Arrecifos and Eniwetok as great chains of palm-clad
islets, enclosing lagoons through which there was no passage for ships.)

"The natives themselves had no idea of the value to white men of the
beds of pearl shell, and as a matter of fact Gurden himself at that
time did not think them of much value.  Later on, after he left the
Island and visited China, he spoke to several merchants and traders
there, and tried to induce them to send him back to the lagoon with a
crew of divers, but as he was usually drunk when he called on them, no
one would listen to him.  His story was merely regarded as the fiction
of a drunken sailor.

"My husband did not so regard it.  He had never been to Arrecifos, but
knew something of it by its native name of Ujilong and its chart name
of Providence as a place of very few inhabitants--the group takes its
name from the island off which you are anchored--living on a number of
low islands covered with coconuts.

"'Let us go there and you can pilot me in,' he said to Gurden.

"The old man agreed with alacrity.  Taking him on board, we sailed the
following morning, and reached this place five days later.  He took us
in safely through the south-east passage, and the moment we landed he
was recognised and welcomed by the people as one returned from the dead.

"We remained in the lagoon for three months, and during that time
Gurden and my husband, aided by the willing natives, obtained ten tons
of magnificent shell, and more than a thousand pounds' worth of pearls.
Those which Rawlings showed you were some of them; I suppose he found
them in my husband's cabin after he was murdered.  He had often shown
them to both Rawlings and Barradas on board the _Mahina_, for he was,
as I will show you later on, the most unsuspicious and confiding of men.

"Convinced that there was indeed at least some hundreds of thousands of
pounds' worth of pearl shell to be obtained if he could secure
experienced native divers from the equatorial islands--for these people
here are not good divers--my husband decided to go to Honolulu, sell
the cutter and the pearl shell we had obtained, and then with the money
he had in hand, which amounted to about 1,100 pounds, buy a larger
vessel, secure a number of good divers, and return to the lagoon, on
one of the islands of which he intended to make his home for perhaps
many years.  Arrecifos, he knew, did not belong to any nation, and both
he and old Gurden thought that the British Consul at Honolulu would
give us what is, I think, called a 'letter of protection,' whereby a
British subject hoisting the English flag upon one of the Pacific
Islands can, with the approval of a naval officer, and the concurrence
of the native inhabitants, purchase it, and get protection from the
English Government.

"He wished Gurden to remain until we returned, but the old man said it
would be too lonely for him, but that if we took him back to Strong's
Island he would be content to await our return there.  The long voyage
to Honolulu, he thought, would be too much for him, and beside that he
wished to return to Strong's Island, if only to say farewell to its
people with whom he had lived for so many years.  After that he would
be content to end his days with us on Arrecifos.

"Returning to Strong's Island, we landed Gurden, and after a long and
wearisome voyage reached Honolulu; my husband sold the pearl shell for
a thousand pounds--about half its value--and the cutter and the rest of
the cargo for 600 pounds, bought the _Mahina_, and at once began to fit
her out and ship an entirely new crew, for the nine men we had with us
on the cutter wanted to remain in Honolulu and spend their wages.
Undoubtedly some of these men talked about the lagoon and discovery of
the pearl shell, and were the primary cause of the misfortunes which
were to befall us.

"One morning Manuel Barradas came on board, and asked my husband if he
was in want of a chief mate.  He was, and being satisfied with the
man's appearance and qualifications, at once engaged him, and then
Barradas said he knew of a very good man as second mate.  This was
Paul, the Greek.

"A few days before we sailed, Barradas told my husband that he had met
a former acquaintance of his, who would like to take passage in the
brig for the entire cruise, merely for the pleasure of visiting these
little-known islands, and that he was prepared to pay liberally.  In
the evening Barradas brought his friend on board, and introduced him as
Mr. Rawlings.  My husband and he had quite a long talk.  Rawlings was
himself a sailor, and had made, he said, a good deal of money as
recruiter in the kanaka labour trade between Fiji and the Solomon
Islands; but was tired of idling away his time in Honolulu, and thought
that among the Caroline or Marshall Group he might find an island
whereon he could settle as a trader.

"My poor husband fell into the trap devised for him by these three men;
Rawlings came on board as passenger, and we sailed direct for Strong's
Island to pick up Gurden.  To our great sorrow we found that the old
man was dead and buried--had died a week previously.  He had made a
will leaving all of his share and interest in the venture to me.

"To a certain extent Barradas had my husband's confidence, but neither
he nor Rawlings knew either the name or position of this
place--whatever other information they had gained from our former crew.
They had, however, thoroughly ingratiated themselves with him, and
though he had not actually revealed to them the name or position of
Arrecifos, they knew pretty w