News, as usual, Christian Young
brought--news of the drinking
at Guvutu, where the men boasted
that they drank between drinks;
news of the new rifles adrift
on Ysabel, of the latest murders
on Malaita, of Tom Butler's sickness
on Santa Ana; and last and most
important, news that the Matambo
had gone on a reef in the Shortlands
and would be laid off one run
for repairs.
"That means five weeks more
before you can sail for Sydney," Sheldon
said to Joan.
"And that we are losing precious
time," she added ruefully.
"If you want to go to Sydney,
the Upolu sails from Tulagi to-morrow
afternoon," Young said.
"But I thought she was running
recruits for the Germans in Samoa," she
objected. "At any rate, I could
catch her to Samoa, and change
at Apia to one of the Weir Line
freighters. It's a long way around,
but still it would save time."
"This time the Upolu is going
straight to Sydney," Young explained. "She's
going to dry-dock, you see; and
you can catch her as late as
five to-morrow afternoon--at
least, so her first officer told
me."
"But I've got to go to Guvutu
first." Joan looked at the men
with a whimsical expression. "I've
some shopping to do. I can't
wear these Berande curtains into
Sydney. I must buy cloth at Guvutu
and make myself a dress during
the voyage down. I'll start immediately--in
an hour. Lalaperu, you bring
'm one fella Adamu Adam along
me. Tell 'm that fella Ornfiri
make 'm kai-kai take along whale-boat." She
rose to her feet, looking at
Sheldon. "And you, please, have
the boys carry down the whale-boat--my
boat, you know. I'll be off in
an hour."
Both Sheldon and Tudor looked
at their watches.
"It's an all-night row," Sheldon
said. "You might wait till morning--"
"And miss my
shopping? No, thank you. Besides,
the Upolu
is not a regular passenger steamer,
and she is just as liable to
sail ahead of time as on time.
And from what I hear about those
Guvutu sybarites, the best time
to shop will be in the morning.
And now you'll have to excuse
me, for I've got to pack."
"I'll go over with you," Sheldon
announced.
"Let me run you over in the
Minerva," said Young.
She shook her head laughingly.
"I'm going
in the whale-boat. One would
think, from all your
solicitude, that I'd never been
away from home before. You, Mr.
Sheldon, as my partner, I cannot
permit to desert Berande and
your work out of a mistaken notion
of courtesy. If you won't permit
me to be skipper, I won't permit
your galivanting over the sea
as protector of young women who
don't need protection. And as
for you, Captain Young, you know
very well that you just left
Guvutu this morning, that you
are bound for Marau, and that
you said yourself that in two
hours you are getting under way
again."
"But may I not see you safely
across?" Tudor asked, a pleading
note in his voice that rasped
on Sheldon's nerves.
"No, no, and again no," she
cried. "You've all got your work
to do, and so have I. I came
to the Solomons to work, not
to be escorted about like a doll.
For that matter, here's my escort,
and there are seven more like
him."
Adamu Adam stood beside her,
towering above her, as he towered
above the three white men. The
clinging cotton undershirt he
wore could not hide the bulge
of his tremendous muscles.
"Look at his fist," said Tudor. "I'd
hate to receive a punch from
it."
"I don't blame you." Joan laughed
reminiscently. "I saw him hit
the captain of a Swedish bark
on the beach at Levuka, in the
Fijis. It was the captain's fault.
I saw it all myself, and it was
splendid. Adamu only hit him
once, and he broke the man's
arm. You remember, Adamu?"
The big Tahitian smiled and
nodded, his black eyes, soft
and deer- like, seeming to give
the lie to so belligerent a nature.
"We start in an hour in the
whale-boat for Guvutu, big brother," Joan
said to him. "Tell your brothers,
all of them, so that they can
get ready. We catch the Upolu
for Sydney. You will all come
along, and sail back to the Solomons
in the new schooner. Take your
extra shirts and dungarees along.
Plenty cold weather down there.
Now run along, and tell them
to hurry. Leave the guns behind.
Turn them over to Mr. Sheldon.
We won't need them."
"If you are really bent upon
going--" Sheldon began.
"That's settled long ago," she
answered shortly. "I'm going
to pack now. But I'll tell you
what you can do for me--issue
some tobacco and other stuff
they want to my men."
An hour later the three men
had shaken hands with Joan down
on the beach. She gave the signal,
and the boat shoved off, six
men at the oars, the seventh
man for'ard, and Adamu Adam at
the steering- sweep. Joan was
standing up in the stern-sheets,
reiterating her good-byes--a
slim figure of a woman in the
tight-fitting jacket she had
worn ashore from the wreck, the
long-barrelled Colt's revolver
hanging from the loose belt around
her waist, her clear-cut face
like a boy's under the Stetson
hat that failed to conceal the
heavy masses of hair beneath.
"You'd better get into shelter," she
called to them. "There's a big
squall coming. And I hope you've
got plenty of chain out, Captain
Young. Good-bye! Good-bye, everybody!"
Her last words came out of
the darkness, which wrapped itself
solidly about the boat. Yet they
continued to stare into the blackness
in the direction in which the
boat had disappeared, listening
to the steady click of the oars
in the rowlocks until it faded
away and ceased.
"She is only a girl," Christian
Young said with slow solemnity.
The discovery seemed to have
been made on the spur of the
moment. "She is only a girl," he
repeated with greater solemnity.
"A dashed pretty one, and a
good traveller," Tudor laughed. "She
certainly has spunk, eh, Sheldon?"
"Yes, she is brave," was
the reluctant answer for Sheldon
did not feel disposed to talk
about her.
"That's the American of it," Tudor
went on. "Push, and go, and energy,
and independence. What do you
think, skipper?"
"I think she is young, very
young, only a girl," replied
the captain of the Minerva, continuing
to stare into the blackness that
hid the sea.
The blackness seemed suddenly
to increase in density, and they
stumbled up the beach, feeling
their way to the gate.
"Watch out for nuts," Sheldon
warned, as the first blast of
the squall shrieked through the
palms. They joined hands and
staggered up the path, with the
ripe cocoanuts thudding in a
monstrous rain all around them.
They gained the veranda, where
they sat in silence over their
whisky, each man staring straight
out to sea, where the wildly
swinging riding-light of the
Minerva could be seen in the
lulls of the driving rain.
Somewhere out there, Sheldon
reflected, was Joan Lackland,
the girl who had not grown up,
the woman good to look upon,
with only a boy's mind and a
boy's desires, leaving Berande
amid storm and conflict in much
the same manner that she had
first arrived, in the stern-sheets
of her whale-boat, Adamu Adam
steering, her savage crew bending
to the oars. And she was taking
her Stetson hat with her, along
with the cartridge-belt and the
long-barrelled revolver. He suddenly
discovered an immense affection
for those fripperies of hers
at which he had secretly laughed
when first he saw them. He became
aware of the sentimental direction
in which his fancy was leading
him, and felt inclined to laugh.
But he did not laugh. The next
moment he was busy visioning
the hat, and belt, and revolver.
Undoubtedly this was love, he
thought, and he felt a tiny glow
of pride in him in that the Solomons
had not succeeded in killing
all his sentiment.
An hour later, Christian Young
stood up, knocked out his pipe,
and prepared to go aboard and
get under way.
"She's all right," he said,
apropos of nothing spoken, and
yet distinctly relevant to what
was in each of their minds. "She's
got a good boat's-crew, and she's
a sailor herself. Good-night,
Mr. Sheldon. Anything I can do
for you down Marau-way?" He turned
and pointed to a widening space
of starry sky. "It's going to
be a fine night after all. With
this favouring bit of breeze
she has sail on already, and
she'll make Guvutu by daylight.
Good-night."
"I guess I'll turn in, old
man," Tudor said, rising and
placing his glass on the table. "I'll
start the first thing in the
morning. It's been disgraceful
the way I've been hanging on
here. Good- night."
Sheldon, sitting
on alone, wondered if the other
man would
have decided to pull out in the
morning had Joan not sailed away.
Well, there was one bit of consolation
in it: Joan had certainly lingered
at Berande for no man, not even
Tudor. "I start in an hour"--her
words rang in his brain, and
under his eyelids he could see
her as she stood up and uttered
them. He smiled. The instant
she heard the news she had made
up her mind to go. It was not
very flattering to man, but what
could any man count in her eyes
when a schooner waiting to be
bought in Sydney was in the wind?
What a creature! What a creature!
Berande was a lonely place
to Sheldon in the days that followed.
In the morning after Joan's departure,
he had seen Tudor's expedition
off on its way up the Balesuna;
in the late afternoon, through
his telescope, he had seen the
smoke of the Upolu that was bearing
Joan away to Sydney; and in the
evening he sat down to dinner
in solitary state, devoting more
of his time to looking at her
empty chair than to his food.
He never came out on the veranda
without glancing first of all
at her grass house in the corner
of the compound; and one evening,
idly knocking the balls about
on the billiard table, he came
to himself to find himself standing
staring at the nail upon which
from the first she had hung her
Stetson hat and her revolver-belt.
Why should he care for her?
he demanded of himself angrily.
She was certainly the last woman
in the world he would have thought
of choosing for himself. Never
had he encountered one who had
so thoroughly irritated him,
rasped his feelings, smashed
his conventions, and violated
nearly every attribute of what
had been his ideal of woman.
Had he been too long away from
the world? Had he forgotten what
the race of women was like? Was
it merely a case of propinquity?
And she wasn't really a woman.
She was a masquerader. Under
all her seeming of woman, she
was a boy, playing a boy's pranks,
diving for fish amongst sharks,
sporting a revolver, longing
for adventure, and, what was
more, going out in search of
it in her whale-boat, along with
her savage islanders and her
bag of sovereigns. But he loved
her--that was the point of it
all, and he did not try to evade
it. He was not sorry that it
was so. He loved her--that was
the overwhelming, astounding
fact.
Once again he discovered a
big enthusiasm for Berande. All
the bubble-illusions concerning
the life of the tropical planter
had been pricked by the stern
facts of the Solomons. Following
the death of Hughie, he had resolved
to muddle along somehow with
the plantation; but this resolve
had not been based upon desire.
Instead, it was based upon the
inherent stubbornness of his
nature and his dislike to give
over an attempted task.
But now it was different. Berande
meant everything. It must succeed--not
merely because Joan was a partner
in it, but because he wanted
to make that partnership permanently
binding. Three more years and
the plantation would be a splendid-paying
investment. They could then take
yearly trips to Australia, and
oftener; and an occasional run
home to England--or Hawaii, would
come as a matter of course.
He spent his evenings poring
over accounts, or making endless
calculations based on cheaper
freights for copra and on the
possible maximum and minimum
market prices for that staple
of commerce. His days were spent
out on the plantation. He undertook
more clearing of bush; and clearing
and planting went on, under his
personal supervision, at a faster
pace than ever before. He experimented
with premiums for extra work
performed by the black boys,
and yearned continually for more
of them to put to work. Not until
Joan could return on the schooner
would this be possible, for the
professional recruiters were
all under long contracts to the
Fulcrum Brothers, Morgan and
Raff, and the Fires, Philp Company;
while the Flibberty-Gibbet was
wholly occupied in running about
among his widely scattered trading
stations, which extended from
the coast of New Georgia in one
direction to Ulava and Sikiana
in the other. Blacks he must
have, and, if Joan were fortunate
in getting a schooner, three
months at least must elapse before
the first recruits could be landed
on Berande.
A week after the Upolu's departure,
the Malakula dropped anchor and
her skipper came ashore for a
game of billiards and to gossip
until the land breeze sprang
up. Besides, as he told his super-cargo,
he simply had to come ashore,
not merely to deliver the large
package of seeds with full instructions
for planting from Joan, but to
shock Sheldon with the little
surprise born of information
he was bringing with him.
Captain Auckland played the
billiards first, and it was not
until he was comfortably seated
in a steamer-chair, his second
whisky securely in his hand,
that he let off his bomb.
"A great piece, that Miss Lackland
of yours," he chuckled. "Claims
to be a part-owner of Berande.
Says she's your partner. Is that
straight?"
Sheldon nodded coldly.
"You don't say? That is a surprise!
Well, she hasn't convinced Guvutu
or Tulagi of it. They're pretty
used to irregular things over
there, but--ha! ha!- " he stopped
to have his laugh out and to
mop his bald head with a trade
handkerchief. "But that partnership
yarn of hers was too big to swallow,
though it gave them the excuse
for a few more drinks."
"There is nothing irregular
about it. It is an ordinary business
transaction." Sheldon strove
to act as though such transactions
were quite the commonplace thing
on plantations in the Solomons. "She
invested something like fifteen
hundred pounds in Berande--"
"So she said."
"And she has
gone to Sydney on business
for the plantation."
"Oh, no, she
hasn't."
"I beg pardon?" Sheldon
queried.
"I said she
hasn't, that's all."
"But didn't
the Upolu sail? I could have
sworn I saw her
smoke last Tuesday afternoon,
late, as she passed Savo."
"The Upolu sailed all right." Captain
Auckland sipped his whisky with
provoking slowness. "Only Miss
Lackland wasn't a passenger."
"Then where
is she?"
"At Guvutu,
last I saw of her. She was
going to Sydney to buy
a schooner, wasn't she?"
"Yes, yes."
"That's what
she said. Well, she's bought
one, though I wouldn't
give her ten shillings for it
if a nor'wester blows up, and
it's about time we had one. This
has been too long a spell of
good weather to last."
"If you came here to excite
my curiosity, old man," Sheldon
said, "you've certainly succeeded.
Now go ahead and tell me in a
straightforward way what has
happened. What schooner? Where
is it? How did she happen to
buy it?"
"First, the schooner Martha," the
skipper answered, checking his
replies off on his fingers. "Second,
the Martha is on the outside
reef at Poonga-Poonga, looted
clean of everything portable,
and ready to go to pieces with
the first bit of lively sea.
And third, Miss Lackland bought
her at auction. She was knocked
down to her for fifty-five quid
by the third-assistant-resident-commissioner.
I ought to know. I bid fifty
myself, for Morgan and Raff.
My word, weren't they hot! I
told them to go to the devil,
and that it was their fault for
limiting me to fifty quid when
they thought the chance to salve
the Martha was worth more. You
see, they weren't expecting competition.
Fulcrum Brothers had no representative
present, neither had Fires, Philp
Company, and the only man to
be afraid of was Nielsen's agent,
Squires, and him they got drunk
and sound asleep over in Guvutu.
"'Twenty,'
says I, for my bid. 'Twenty-five,'
says the little
girl. 'Thirty,' says I. 'Forty,'
says she. 'Fifty,' says I. 'Fifty-five,'
says she. And there I was stuck.
'Hold on,' says I; 'wait till
I see my owners.' 'No, you don't,'
says she. 'It's customary,' says
I. 'Not anywhere in the world,'
says she. 'Then it's courtesy
in the Solomons,' says I.
"And d'ye know,
on my faith I think Burnett'd
have done it,
only she pipes up, sweet and
pert as you please: 'Mr. Auctioneer,
will you kindly proceed with
the sale in the customary manner?
I've other business to attend
to, and I can't afford to wait
all night on men who don't know
their own minds.' And then she
smiles at Burnett, as well--you
know, one of those fetching smiles,
and damme if Burnett doesn't
begin singing out: 'Goin', goin',
goin'--last bid--goin', goin'
for fifty-five sovereigns--goin',
goin', gone--to you, Miss--er--what
name, please?'
"'Joan Lackland,'
says she, with a smile to me;
and that's
how she bought the Martha."
Sheldon experienced a sudden
thrill. The Martha!--a finer
schooner than the Malakula, and,
for that matter, the finest in
the Solomons. She was just the
thing for recruits, and she was
right on the spot. Then he realized
that for such a craft to sell
at auction for fifty-five pounds
meant that there was small chance
for saving her.
"But how did it happen?" he
asked. "Weren't they rather quick
in selling the Martha?"
"Had to. You
know the reef at Poonga-Poonga.
She's not worth
tuppence on it if any kind of
a sea kicks up, and it's ripe
for a nor'wester any moment now.
The crowd abandoned her completely.
Didn't even dream of auctioning
her. Morgan and Raff persuaded
them to put her up. They're a
co-operative crowd, you know,
an organized business corporation,
fore and aft, all hands and the
cook. They held a meeting and
voted to sell."
"But why didn't
they stand by and try to save
her?"
"Stand by!
You know Malaita. And you know
Poonga-Poonga. That's
where they cut off the Scottish
Chiefs and killed all hands.
There was nothing to do but take
to the boats. The Martha missed
stays going in, and inside five
minutes she was on the reef and
in possession. The niggers swarmed
over her, and they just threw
the crew into the boats. I talked
with some of the men. They swear
there were two hundred war canoes
around her inside half an hour,
and five thousand bushmen on
the beach. Said you couldn't
see Malaita for the smoke of
the signal fires. Anyway, they
cleared out for Tulagi."
"But why didn't they fight?" Sheldon
asked.
"It was funny
they didn't, but they got separated.
You see,
two- thirds of them were in the
boats, without weapons, running
anchors and never dreaming the
natives would attack. They found
out their mistake too late. The
natives had charge. That's the
trouble of new chums on the coast.
It would never have happened
with you or me or any old-timer."
"But what is Miss Lackland
intending to do?" Captain Auckland
grinned.
"She's going
to try to get the Martha off,
I should say.
Or else why did she pay fifty-five
quid for her? And if she fails,
she'll try to get her money back
by saving the gear--spars, you
know, and patent steering-gear,
and winches, and such things.
At least that's what I'd do if
I was in her place. When I sailed,
the little girl had chartered
the Emily--'I'm going recruiting,'
says Munster--he's the skipper
and owner now. 'And how much
will you net on the cruise?'
asks she. 'Oh, fifty quid,' says
he. 'Good,' says she; 'you bring
your Emily along with me and
you'll get seventy-five.' You
know that big ship's anchor and
chain piled up behind the coal-sheds?
She was just buying that when
I left. She's certainly a hustler,
that little girl of yours."
"She is my partner," Sheldon
corrected.
"Well, she's
a good one, that's all, and
a cool one. My word!
a white woman on Malaita, and
at Poonga-Poonga of all places!
Oh, I forgot to tell you--she
palavered Burnett into lending
her eight rifles for her men,
and three cases of dynamite.
You'd laugh to see the way she
makes that Guvutu gang stand
around. And to see them being
polite and trying to give advice!
Lord, Lord, man, that little
girl's a wonder, a marvel, a--a--a
catastrophe. That's what she
is, a catastrophe. She's gone
through Guvutu and Tulagi like
a hurricane; every last swine
of them in love with her--except
Raff. He's sore over the auction,
and he sprang his recruiting
contract with Munster on her.
And what does she do but thank
him, and read it over, and point
out that while Munster was pledged
to deliver all recruits to Morgan
and Raff, there was no clause
in the document forbidding him
from chartering the Emily.
"'There's your
contract,' says she, passing
it back. 'And a
very good contract it is. The
next time you draw one up, insert
a clause that will fit emergencies
like the present one.' And, Lord,
Lord, she had him, too.
"But there's
the breeze, and I'm off. Good-bye,
old man. Hope
the little girl succeeds. The
Martha's a whacking fine boat,
and she'd take the place of the
Jessie."
|