Читать книгу His Native Wife - Becke Louis - Страница 5

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In a few minutes the boat ranged alongside, the five new Maori hands, preceded by Captain Bennett and the other white man, clambered up on deck, and the boat was about to be passed astern, when the skipper called to the mate.

“Mr. Herrera, I reckon yew kin’ keep the boat alongside. Thar’s goin’ ter be some changes aboard this ship in a few minutes, and thet boat’s goin’ ashore agin.”

The mate, a dark-browed, black-whiskered man of thirty-five or so, whose regular features and olive complexion shewed him to be either a Spaniard or a Portuguese, answered the rasping accents of the Yankee skipper with a soft, modulated “Aye, aye, sir,” and nodding a “Good-day, sir” to the stranger, whom he could see, was, by his dress and demeanour, no common seaman, turned away to execute his captain’s orders.

“Come below, mister,” said Bennett leading the way into the cabin.

There was no one in the cabin but the mulatto steward, who was laying the table, and the captain, talking a seat, motioned his visitor to another.

“Yew was sayin’ Mr.—; I disremember naow ef yew told me your name?”

“Barrington — John Barrington,” said the other, looking directly into Bennett’s eyes and stroking his well-trimmed and pointed beard.

“Waal, Mr. Barrington, I ain’t agoin’ ter go jaw long over this business. I want men, that’s what I came in here to this rotten hole fur. Waal, I’ve got five Maoris, and I reckon that’s all I will get. But I want a second mate.” Barrington nodded, and still stroking his beard, waited for more.

“Waal, look here. I rather think you’ll suit me, although,” and here the skipper scratched a bony cheek meditatively and squinted atrociously, “although yew air a Britisher, and—”

“And you’re a Down East Yank, used to Down East mates, and Dago second mates, and mangy greasers of all sorts. I’m a Britisher, as you say; but if you don’t want me, why the blazes did you bring me aboard? This rotten old crate of yours isn’t the only whale-ship in the Pacific!” and Barrington took up his hat.

“Sit daown, mister, sit daown, and don’t yew use sich vi’lent language,” and Bennett indicated by a backward jerk of his dirty thumb and another villianous squint, a half-opened cabin door at his back, “thar’s females in thar, mister, — females from Bosting,” and he grinned.

Barrington muttered an apology, not to the captain, but to the soft murmur of women’s voices that he now heard for the first time.

The hatchet-faced skipper pondered a moment, and then said briskly, “Look here, naow, it’s no use either you or me backin’ and fillin’ in this ridiklous kinder way. My second mate wants to leave, an’ I ain’t too dreadful anxious to stop him—he don’t suit me by no means. Naow, yew want a ship an’ I want an officer. I ain’t got but two boat-headers in the ship worth a cuss; so ef yew are willin’, waal, I’m willin’.”

“I don’t want to make the cruise with you. I only want to get up to the Carolines. If you like to put me ashore anywhere near Ponapé, or Truk, or a little island called Lŏsap, I’m willing to do second mate’s duty aboard. I don’t want a ‘cut in’ if we kill any whales between here and there—all I want is a passage to any one of the places I’ve named.”

“Young man, ef yew want a free passage in this ship, I recken yew hev got to pay for it.”

“Just as you like; I’m able and willing to pay; but then, mind, I don’t do a hand’s turn aboard this ship if I pay my passage.”

“What might be your objek, mister, in going daown thar at all, ef yew don’t mind my askin’?”

An angry reply was on the young man’s lips; but he stopped it.

“I don’t see what the devil it concerns you—if I go as a passenger, but I will tell you. I was trading down on Ponapé a little over two years ago, and got tired of it. I ran out of trade goods, and had no money to buy any. So I shipped again in the Wanderer, and the skipper landed my native wife at Lŏsap, where her mother’s people belong. She’s to wait there till I return. Then I’m going back to Ponapé, or Yap, or any other place where there’s money to be made. I’ve got no trade, but have money enough to buy some from the first ship that comes along.”

Bennett considered a moment or two and then said, “Waal, young fellow, I recken we can make a deal—whar do yew say yew want to go ashore.”

“Lŏsap, if you happen to hit it. That’s where my native wife is living; if not, Truk, or one of the islands thereabouts will do me. I’m bound to get a passage to Lŏsap from Truk in one of the big canoes that go there once a year.”

“It’s a deal, mister, I’ll send my second mate ashore here, and be darned to him, and yew can take his place. Ef we don’t get set too fur to the eastward by the current— there’s nothin’ but ragin’ calms and blarsted hurricanes up about there this time of the year—I’ll land yew on Lŏsap.”

“Right,” said Barrington, “when you send the boat ashore here with your second mate, let your men get my chest from the store. It’s all ready packed, and nothing to pay on it.”

“Naow, thet’s business. I kin see that yew an’ me’ll git along bully. Here, steward, bring us suthin’ to drink, an’ then tell Mr. Duggan I want him.”

Having secured a man whom he was sure would prove a good officer, Captain Amos Bennett was now in a good temper, and in a few minutes after he had settled with Barrington he had told him all about the voyage of the Kellet Passmore since she had left New Bedford, and the shortcomings of his crew. Then his natural inborn curiosity asserted itself again, and he began to question Barrington as to his reasons for leaving the Wanderer, “which, fer a colonial whaler was most extror’nary lucky.”

Drinking off his grog, the young man put his hand inside his coat, drew out some papers and laid them on the table. There was an angry light in his eye, which the inqusitive American was not slow to perceive, and he began—

“Waal, I don’t want to pester yew onnesscessarily like, but I thought—”

Barrington interrupted him,— “That’s all right. I left the Wanderer in Sydney two months ago, and came over here to look out for another ship. Why I left her doesn’t concern you. I was not asked to leave her, as that will show you, Captain Bennett,” and he handed him a letter, “do you know Captain Codrington? He’s a countryman of yours.”

“Rather think I did. He’s from daown my way—Martha’s Vineyard — an’ a real smart man, although he did take to whalin’ under the British flag,” and Captain Bennett gave an amicable snort, and took the paper offered to him.

It contained but a few lines, saying that the writer, William Codrington, regretted that Barrington had decided to leave the Wanderer, and urging him to reconsider the matter.

Just then the steward came in, and Bennett, handing the letter back, said “Wher’s Mr. Duggan, steward?”

“On deck, sir,” answered Herrera, the mate, who just then came in the cabin.

“Send him down, then,” and an unpleasant look came over Bennett’s face.

The mate, as he turned to go, passed the half-opened cabin door on the starboard side. He pulled it to gently, and, with something like a smile on his face, went on deck and called out — “Mr. Duggan, come below, please.”

In a few seconds a short, stout man tramped down the companion-way and stood in front of the captain.

“Mr. Duggan, yew don’t suit me, and I’m quite willin’ fur yew ter go ashore—”

“And I’m d—d glad to get clear of you, and this rotten old hooker of a barque. You’re a lying bully, and this ship ain’t fit for a white man to sail in.”

“Not fur white-livered sort like yew, Duggan,” snarled back Bennett. “Why, yew ain’t fit fur anything better’n codfishin’.”

“He is too good and honest a man to remain on board this ship, Captain Bennett,” said a soft voice and a young woman opened the cabin door that the mate had closed, and stepped into the main cabin. Bennett dropped his eyes and made no answer.

“And so you are going, Mr. Duggan,” she said, “my sister and I will miss you very much. Good-bye,” and she put her white hand into Duggan’s huge paw.

“Good-bye, Miss Trenton, and God bless you, miss, and bring you safe home again.”

Almost ere Barrington could get more than a glance at the girl’s pale face and deep hazel eyes, she had entered her cabin again and closed the door, and the second mate was addressing his farewell remarks to the captain, the which, once he was assured that the young lady was out of hearing, he concluded by consigning Bennett to flames and perdition in a vigorous but lucid manner. Then he tramped off on deck again, where the mate was awaiting him.

“Good-bye, Duggan,” said Herrera, holding out his hand, “I am sorry you and the old man can’t agree; but you and I part friends, don’t we?”

“Oh yes—yes. I’ve got nothing against you. You only knock the men about from force of habit; Bennett does it from pure natural cussedness. Well, anyway, I wish the ship luck.”

“Thanks. I don’t like Bennett much myself, but I like the old Passmore.”

“Especially when there’s a passenger like Nellie Trenton aboard. Look here, Herrera, just you mind your bearings. You ain’t a fit man for a girl like that.”

The dark, handsome face flushed, and with a curt “good-bye,” the mate walked away, and Duggan went down the side into the boat and was pulled ashore.

By sunset the Kellet Passmore was underweigh again, heading for Tongatabu, in the Friendly Islands, where Bennett intended cruising for a few weeks before going to the northward.

* * * * * *

Just before supper that evening, Barrington went below to get a pipe of tobacco. The lamp had not yet been lit, and the spacious cabin of the old barque was in semi-darkness. He was turning to go on deck again, when Captain Bennett, who was standing talking to some one, called him over and introduced him to the Reverend Hosea Parker.

“By God,” muttered Barrington under his breath, “it’s that meddlesome Yankee Baptist parson that was always worrying Nādee about her soul;” but he put out his hand.

“How are you, Mr. Barrington? Is it well with you?” said the missionary, who always affected a Scriptural style of address. “ ’Tis indeed strange we meet again.”

“I’m all right, thank you. said Barrington quietly, and then he added “I did not imagine it was you and Mrs. Parker who were on board; I trust she is well.”

“Well, I thank the Lord, Mr. Barrington, she will be here presently. And how comes it, Mr. Barrington, that we meet you here?”

“Oh, I’m getting back again. And may I ask the same question of you, Mr. Parker. How comes it that you are so far away from Ponapé?”

“It pleased Providence that the Morning Star, our missionary ship, should be cast away on Strong’s Island, a year back. My wife and I, who were then in America, thus had no means of returning to our post, save by a whale-ship.”

“Ah! I see,” and Barrington, who had no wish to hear any more, went on deck.

“Says it was Providence ez wrecked that thar brig, does he,” said Captain Bennett to his new second mate, as he followed him on deck, “waal, ef that ain’t rich! Providence, hey? It was just because the darned wooden-headed galoot of a captin’ hed’n’t got sense enough ter try and tow her off when the current swep’ her again’ the rocks; instead of doin’ which he let go his anchor in ’bout a mile deep of water, and trusted to Providence. Consikently when she swung round she bashed her starn inter pulp on the reef. I hain’t got no patience with creatures that get inter a hell of a mess and then start yowlin’ ’bout the will of Providence and sich. It’s jes’ sickenin’.”

* * * * * *

Half an hour afterwards, when Barrington came down to supper, Helen Parker rose to meet him with extended hand. Her face was deadly pale, but the quick eye of José Herrera saw that her hand trembled and a deep rose colour momentarily flooded her face from brow to chin.

Some mere common-place escaped her as Barrington took her hand, and she said, “This is my sister, Mr. Barrington. I have just been telling her that you and I were not strangers.”

The hazel-eyed, curly-haired girl who sat by her rose and shook hands with the new officer, and said, with a straight look at the tan-hided countenance of Amos Bennett,

“How do you do, Mr. Barrington. I am sorry Mr. Duggan has gone; but hope I will like you as much as I did him.” The new second mate laughed, and even Bennett gave his cachinnatory snuffle; but Mrs. Parker kept her pale face bent over her plate, and never raised it again till supper was over.

* * * * * *

“I suppose,” said Barrington that night to Herrera, as the two sat smoking in the latter’s cabin for a few minutes, “that that pretty girl is going down to the Carolines to marry some pasty-faced Yankee missionary like the Reverend Hosea Parker?”

Herrera, who lay out at full length in his bunk smoking a Manilla, raised himself on one elbow and looked searchingly at his fellow-officer, his black eyes shining and sparkling in the darkness.

“Not if I can help it, Mr. Barrington,” he said.

Barrington was startled, but said nothing; and then, Herrera, still leaning his black bearded chin upon his hand, spoke again in his soft, finely modulated voice. “Which, Mr. Barrington, think you is the most beautiful of the two.

“I don’t know, I’m sure,” replied Barrington carelessly; “both are good-looking.”

“Good-looking! Mother of God! Both are lovely—and, Senor Barrington, the wife of that ugly devil of a padre looked at you in a way that I would give five years of my life for her sister to so look at me. My friend, that woman is in love with you!”

“You are mistaken, Mr. Herrera,” said Barrington coldly, “and I may as well tell you that I’ve got a wife—as good a girl as ever I want; and it’s not in my nature to run after any one else’s wife; and I’m going back to her now, poor little devil.”

The dark-faced mate laid back again and smiled softly to himself.

Presently he resumed, “I do not want to ask impertinent questions of you, but is your wife young and beautiful?”

Barrington nodded.

“Ah! Then you have no eyes for another woman. But, tell me: Is it not a very wonderful thing that such a beautiful woman as the padre’s—parson as you call him—this padre’s wife, should marry such a man? Dios! he is as ugly as a sunfish—and with no more brains.”

“I daresay he’s a good enough man in his way,” replied Barrington; “but, as you say, he’s got no brains.”

The mate laughed—“And she cares no more for him than she does for black Manuel, the ship’s cook! Truly, it is wonderful that so sweet a woman should marry a miserable little priest.”