Kitabı oku: «The Trader's Wife», sayfa 5
The Chileno looked at him with blazing eyes, and half raised his hand as if to strike. Then, without a word, he turned away and went on deck.
Brabant was seated on the skylight with an outspread chart before him.
“Keep her S.S.W., Pedro. We are steering for Hunter’s Island. Set the squaresail.”
For five days the Loelia steered steadily before the trade wind, till one morning there lay before her a huge, treeless cone, whose barren, rugged sides rose blackly from the sea.
Not a vestige of vegetation was visible anywhere from the cutter, and from the summit of the cone, and from long, gaping fissures in the sides, ascended thin, wavering clouds of dull, sulphurous smoke. Here and there were small bays, whose shores showed narrow beaches of black sand, upon which the surf thundered and clamoured unceasingly. Not even a wandering sea-bird was to be seen, and the only sound that disturbed the dread silence of the place was the roar of the breakers mingling with the muffled groanings and heavings of the still struggling and mighty forces of Nature in the heart of the island—forces which, ninety-five years before, had found a vent and destroyed every living thing, man and beast, in one dreadful outburst of flame, whose awful reflection was seen a hundred leagues away.
It was a place of horror and desolation, set in a lonely sea, appalling in appearance to the human eye.
But at one point on the western side, as the Loelia crept in under the lee, there opened out a small bay less than fifty fathoms in width from head to head, where, instead of the roaring surf which beat so fiercely against the rest of the island, as if it sought to burst in its rocky walls and extinguish for ever the raging fires hidden deep down in its heart, there was but a gentle swell which broke softly upon a beach less dismal to the eye than the others. For instead of the black volcanic sand the shore was strewn with rough boulders of rock, whose sides were covered in places with a thick, green creeper. Above, the sides of the mountain showed here and there a scanty foliage, low, stunted, and dull tinted; and in the centre of the beach a tiny stream of fresh water trickled through sand and rock and mingled itself with the sea.
Abreast of this spot the cutter’s jib-sheet was hauled to windward. Then the boat was lowered and filled with provisions in cases and casks, and Diaz, with four hands, went ashore and carried everything up beyond high water-mark. Brabant watched them unconcernedly from the ship.
The boat returned and Diaz came on deck, and looked at the captain expectantly. Brabant made a gesture towards the main hatch, then stepped forward. Diaz, with two seamen, descended the hold. In two minutes they reappeared with Danvers, who, the moment he came on deck, looked wildly about him.
“For God’s sake, listen to me!” he said hoarsely to the Chileno. “Are you, too, and these men, as mad as your captain, or am I mad myself? Where is he? Let me see him. What are you doing with me?”
No answer was made. The native sailors seized him by the arms and dragged him to the side. Then he was lowered into the boat, which at once pushed off and was headed towards the land. He looked, with horror in his eyes, at the dreadful aspect before him, then turned his face towards the cutter. Brabant was leaning on the rail watching him.
The five grim, silent men landed him on the beach, and Diaz pointed without a word to the pile of stores, and then, grasping his steer-oar, motioned to his crew to push off.
“You devils! You fiends incarnate! Are you going to leave me here to die alone in this awful place?” cried Danvers, as with clenched and uplifted hands he saw Diaz swing the boat’s head seaward.
The Chileno turned his face slowly towards him.
“You shall not die alone, Señor Danvers. You shall have company—good company.”
CHAPTER IV
One evening Captain Lester of the Maritana, then lying in Sydney harbour “awaiting orders,” called on Mrs. Brabant at the Royal Hotel.
“I have just received this from Captain Brabant, madam,” he said with studied, but cold politeness, as he handed her a letter.
She took it with an impatient gesture. “A letter to you and none to me! Surely he must have written, and the letter has miscarried.”
“No doubt, madam,” replied the captain of the Maritana in the same stiff tones.
Mrs. Brabant motioned him to a seat as she read the letter, first telling Minea, the Samoan maid, who was present, to leave the room. The girl obeyed, and as she passed Lester she gave him such a curious but friendly glance, that now for the first time he began to have a suspicion that she was not false to her master. Then, too, it suddenly flashed across his mind that according to Samoan custom, unknown to her mistress, Minea was a “sister” to Brabant, who had exchanged names with her father, a minor chief of a good family, on whose land Brabant had settled when he first came to Samoa. That alone, he knew, would ensure the girl’s unswerving loyalty and devotion to her “brother”—she could not conceal from him anything that affected his honour or reputation.
“She’ll tell him,” he thought, as he watched Mrs. Brabant read the letter; “thank God I shall be spared the task.”
Brabant’s letter to Lester was very short. It was dated from Vavau, Friendly Islands, and was as follows:—
“Dear Lester,—I send you this hurried note by the Tongan Government schooner Taufaahau. I am here in the Loelia, inspecting my stations in connection with their transference to Captain Danvers’s company. He is very anxious to realise his ideal, and I do not wish to keep him waiting. If Mrs. Brabant is not in Sydney when this reaches you, please communicate with her as quickly as possible. No doubt she will be quite anxious to return to Fiji now, and I shall be here awaiting the Maritana. I hope to see you within three weeks after you receive this. Make the Maritana sail for all she is worth.
“Yours sincerely,
“John Brabant.”
She handed him the letter. “Thank you, Captain Lester. When do you propose sailing?”
“I am ready for sea now, madam. I only await your pleasure.”
He did not look at her as he spoke, for he feared that the hatred and contempt with which he regarded her would show itself in his face.
“I can come on board to-morrow. Will that do?” she asked.
“Certainly, madam, if it will not hurry you too much.”
“Not at all, Captain; I am sick of Sydney, and am only too glad to come on board the Maritana again.” She spoke with a friendly warmth, but Lester’s distantly polite manner gave her no encouragement.
“Will you not stay and dine with me?” she asked, with a smile; “do say yes. I feel quite angry that my husband has not written to me. I am really a deserted wife. Don’t you think so, Captain Lester?”
Her forced pleasantry was thrown away.
“I am very sorry, Mrs. Brabant, but as we are to sail to-morrow, I must hasten on board at once. There are many matters to which I must attend.”
He rose and bowed stiffly, and Nell Brabant extended her hand. He touched it, and in another moment was gone. She sank back in her chair with a white face and terror in her eyes. What did he mean by his cold and distant manner? Did he suspect anything? Did he know anything? How could he? Minea alone knew that she had left Sydney for a month with Danvers, and Minea would not betray her! What need to fear anything?
Then, satisfied with her own powers of intrigue, she smiled to herself, and dismissed Lester’s cold face and unresponsive manner from her mind.
When Lester went on board again he took from his pocket a second letter from Brabant, which was marked “Private and Confidential,” and with a puzzled brow read it over again. “I want you, Lester, to attend carefully to my instructions. You are to consider my other letter as cancelled. I wish you, instead of coming to Tonga, to make all possible haste to 22 10’ S. and 170 25’ E. I shall meet you there or thereabouts in the Loelia.—Yours sincerely. J. B.”
“What does all this mystery mean, I wonder?” he muttered, as he looked at an outspread chart on the table; “why should he pick upon the vicinity of such a God-forsaken spot as Hunter’s Island for a rendezvous? But it’s none of my business.” Then he turned in and slept.
Sunset in the South Seas.
The Loelia was lazily head-reaching towards Hunter’s Island, about six miles distant, its grim and rugged outlines showing out clearly under the yellow streaks of the sinking sun, Pedro Diaz was on deck, drinking his coffee, when the native seaman who was on the lookout cried—
“Sail ho, sir! Away there on the weather beam.”
Diaz stepped below to Brabant, who was lying in his bunk reading a book.
“Here she is, sir.”
“Ah! three days sooner than I expected her, Pedro. You know what to do, don’t you? Here is the letter for Lester. Get away as quickly as you can. The night will be fine and clear, and there will be no need to hoist a light for you.”
He handed the officer a letter addressed to “Captain James Lester, schooner Maritana,” and then rose and began to dress himself.
In a few minutes the cutter’s boat, with Pedro Diaz and four hands, was pulling towards the Maritana which was coming along under a six-knot breeze. The moment the boat left the side Brabant set the gaff topsail and square-sail, and headed the Loelia towards the north end of the island. Just as she disappeared from the view of those on board the approaching vessel, Pedro Diaz came within hailing distance. He stood up.
“Maritana ahoy!”
Lester’s voice replied to his hail, the schooner was brought to the wind, the boat ranged alongside, and Diaz ascended.
“How are you, Lester?” he said, shaking hands with his friend. “I have no time to talk. Read this letter at once, and let me get away with all speed.”
