Officer And Man, George Lewis Becke [the rosie project TXT] 📗

marriage. And, your Excellency, this carrying away the young woman against her father's wishes was very detrimental to the progress of the Mission work. As I have said, she was beginning to evince a certain concern for her soul----"

"Confound it, man! why will you so persistently harp upon irrevelant matters that do not, as far as I can see, possibly concern what you really want to tell me? Have you a brief to speak for the missionaries? I am acquainted with the principal _gentlemen_ (again he emphasised the word) who conduct mission work in the South Seas, but I'll be hanged if I ever heard your name before--not even as a house-builder, or whatever your vocation is." And then, with a quick glance at the cunning visage of Howlman, he added, "I suppose you knew this young woman very well--perhaps were a particular friend of hers?"

Mr. Obadiah Howlman coughed. "Hm--er. Well, your Excellency, my dear wife, who has now departed to her rest--an indeed well-earned rest--when alive, took much interest in this young girl, and, before she was called away, besought me to cherish and protect her. And, as time went on, there _was_ formed, I may say, an attachment between this young creature and myself--that is, of course, such an attachment as could exist between a young woman of this kind, yearning for instruction, and her spiritual adviser and guide."

"Yes, yes; I quite understand, Mr. Howlman. Mr. Hayling has notes of your statement, and the photograph. Now, if you will kindly keep your own counsel on the matter, you will hear in due course that we have arrested this man, and then, I think, you will be satisfied."

Then turning to his secretary, the Admiral said, "The _Spitfire_ is due at Levuka about the 8th. Write a letter to Commander Arness, and tell him to call at Anuda and arrest a deserter from the marines, calling himself George Barcom, and who can be identified by this photograph. He is the only white man on the island, so this Mr. Howlman says, and there should be no difficulty in finding him. That will satisfy you, I presume, Mr. Howlman?"

"Quite, sir, I assure you. I have done my duty and----"

"Good-day, sir. You will just have time to get into your boat and get ashore while we are in smooth water, and before we start the engines."

The Admiral did not seem to notice the little fat man's outstretched hand. The secretary bowed him out of the cabin, holding the photograph in one hand and his notebook in the other. Neither of them liked his look well enough to shake hands with him.

The Admiral, however, did not give the order to start the engines immediately, for the sentry, in accordance with orders received from the secretary, waited till Mr. Obadiah Howlman was at the foot of the accommodation-ladder, and then called out, "Hold on that boat a minute or two; the Admiral wants to send a letter ashore."

For twenty minutes Mr. Howlman waited impatiently in the boat, and then a big, official-looking letter was handed down the ladder to the boatman, addressed: "O.H.M.S.--Commander Arness, H.M.S. _Spitfire_ care of H.B.M. Consul, Levuka, Fiji."

Mr. Howlman smiled to himself with the satisfied air of a man who has done his duty. He knew the contents of the letter, and recognised through its envelope the hard cardboard of the photograph of George Barcom enclosed therein. There was also a smaller note, addressed to Commander Arness by name, and marked, "Private letter."

Five minutes later the _Hannibal_ steamed through the passage, and shaped a course for Sydney.

*****


The _Spitfire_ was steaming full speed E.S.E. from Levuka. On the bridge was Commander Arness talking to the navigating lieutenant, a young and almost effeminate-looking officer.

The land had just been sighted, and lay right ahead.

"Will there be daylight enough left for us to get there and have this wretched thing over, Carteret?" asked Commander Arness.

"Plenty, sir, if this weather keeps up and you don't want to stay there more than a couple of hours."

"No. Two hours should be ample time. This letter from Hayling explains the whole business," and he handed, the lieutenant the despatch from the Admiral's secretary, which duly set forth that the _Spitfire_ was to take on board a certain white trader living on Anuda--otherwise, Cherry Island--and bring him prisoner to Sydney. His wife was to be returned to her father at Niuafou. The last paragraph in the letter was to this effect--

"Be careful to identify beyond doubt this alleged deserter. The Rear-Admiral has received this information at the instant of sailing, and he is by no means certain that the statements of his informant can be depended upon. A photograph of the reputed deserter is enclosed herewith. The Admiral thinks that Mr. Carteret may know the man, as he was serving in the _Flycatcher_ five years ago."

"This rascal Howlman has informed upon the poor devil for spite," said the Commander; "here's a private note from Hayling to myself about the fellow."

The lieutenant took the note and read--

"My dear Arness,--Just a line on my own account. Be careful
what you are doing in this business. The fellow who informed
is a sort of hanger-on to the missionaries here. They don't
think much of him, but seem to put up with the swab as a
necessary evil. He confessed that jealousy had something to
do with the matter, and I could see the Admiral wanted to
kick him out of the cabin. Make sure that this man Barcom
_is_ a deserter, or there will be the devil to pay if he
should prove to be an American citizen, or anything of that
kind.--Yours, CHARLES Hayling."

"You see why they have left the matter to us, Carteret. You were on the _Flycatcher_ five years ago, and the Admiral thinks you may be able to identify this fellow. Of course Barcom is not his name."

Mr. Carteret at this moment was very busy with the chart, over which he bent his head a moment, and then turned sharply to the man at the wheel, who was not out of earshot.

"Keep your course," he said sharply; "why don't you attend to your steering!" Then he turned to the commander: "I beg your pardon, sir; you were saying?----"

"I was saying that you ought to remember such an incident as a sergeant of marines deserting from the _Flycatcher_ when she was down here five years ago."

"I do remember it. The man's name was Charles Parker."

"Is that the man?" And Arness handed him a photograph of a man dressed in white ducks and a straw hat, evidently taken by an amateur.

Carteret looked at the photograph for fully a couple of minutes before he answered slowly--

"No, I don't think that this is the man."

A few hours later the _Spitfire_ had steamed in close to the land, and a boat was lowered. In this boat were Lieutenant Carteret, a sergeant of marines, with three privates and half a dozen bluejackets.

"I have force enough to take a boat-load of deserters," remarked the lieutenant to his commander, as he descended the poop ladder on his way to the boat.

Commander Arness laughed. "Oh, well, you know the natives might take it into their heads to resist his arrest. But be careful what you are doing: make perfectly sure that he _is_ the man. You don't know what complications might arise if we carried off the wrong person."

* * * * *


The moment the boat touched the shore, she was surrounded by a crowd of friendly, brown-skinned islanders, who seemed delighted to see the strangers.

"Any one of you fellows speak English?" asked Mr. Carteret

"Yes, sir," and a big, burly fellow with a fine open countenance advanced to the officer. "Me speak English, and plenty more men here speak it, too. What you want, sir?"

"Any white men living here?" asked Carteret quietly.

"Oh, yes--one, a very good man; his name is Joajai" [George].

"Take me to his house," said the officer. "I want to see him."

In a few minutes Mr. Carteret and his marines were being conducted up a steep and rugged path towards the white trader's house, which was situated quite apart from the native village, while the bluejackets were left in the boat, remarking to each other that this white man was a most cursed unfriendly sort of a chap not to come down to the beach when he saw a man-of-war's boat ashore.

"Don't you be such a fool, Tom," said the coxswain to one of the men. "You're always a-jumpin' at conclusions too rapid. Just you wait a bit and see. It's my belief that this chap has been up to something, and the marines have gone with Carteret to scruff him and bring him aboard. I saw the sergeant had a pair of darbies, and what do you suppose that Carteret's come ashore with a regular escort for?"

A ten minutes' walk and Lieutenant Carteret and his men, guided by a number of natives, reached the white man's thatched dwelling, which stood amid a grove of banana and bread-fruit trees. When within a few yards, the lieutenant saw a tall, graceful young native girl, clad in semi-European style, advance to the open door, and then with a terrified exclamation withdraw again.

"That is Tui,{*} Joajai's wife," said one of the natives, pointing to the girl, who now again appeared, and, with her full dark eyes dilated with alarm, timidly held out her hand to the officer and murmured something in the native tongue.


* The diminutive of Tuilagi.


"She speaks English, but she is afraid of the men with the guns," explained the native guide.

"Where is your husband?" said Lieutenant Carteret, motioning to the girl to seat herself, and the marines to stand back.

She only shook her head, and turned inquiringly to the natives who accompanied the officer.

"The white man is away on the other side of the island, sir. He be here in 'bout one half-hour," said the English-speaking native. "Suppose you like, sir, I send some one go tell him come quick?"

Carteret hesitated a moment, then answered "No." Then turning to the sergeant of marines, he said, "Let your men fall still further back, sergeant This is a delicate matter, and I don't want this confounded crowd of natives, many of whom understand English, to hear what I have to say to this woman. Send a man down to the boat, and tell the coxswain that I shall have to wait for some time. If the ship makes a signal, the boat can go off and tell the captain that I shall have to wait; then she can come back for me."

All this time the trader's young wife sat trembling upon a rude couch that stretched across one side of the room; and her eyes never left the officer's face for an instant, save when for a moment she gave a terrified glance at the rifles and bayonets of the marine escort.

The moment that the marines had fallen back the lieutenant stepped forward and took the young woman by the hand.

"Tui," he said hurriedly, drawing her to the further end of the room with firm but gentle hand, and speaking so low and without motion of his lips that none but she knew that he