In Strange Company: A Story of Chili and the Southern Seas

And so day by day sped by, glorious weather, smooth seas, blue skies, and fair winds accompanying them. It was more like a pleasure trip than a flight for life. Captain Boulger improved upon acquaintance, and even the mate, Crawshaw, rubbed off some of his angles as they grew to know him better.

Three weeks almost to a day after dropping Pitcairn behind them, they were on the fringe of the Society Islands; and at Papeete the captain proposed to touch, to obtain supplies. His passengers, he knew, though grudging the delay, would not be sorry for an opportunity to stretch their legs; for the size of the schooner did not, necessarily, permit much pedestrian exercise.

One morning, coming on deck, Crawshaw called Veneda to his side, and pointed to a low smudge showing faintly on the horizon.

"What is it?" the other asked.

"Tahiti," was the reply, and with the word, like the opening of a mill-sluice, Veneda's old anxieties rushed back upon him. In an hour or two he would know whether or not the Albino was aware of his destination.

By breakfast-time they were closing up on it. The high mountain peaks had risen well above the horizon, and from being a simple blotch upon the clear-cut sea-line, the land had developed a decided personality of its own. An hour later they were close enough to it to be able to plainly distinguish objects on shore, and were prepared to catch the first view of Papeete.

By midday they were abreast of the entrance to Papeete harbour, looking across the reef with its thundering surf to where the quaint little town lay nestling among the trees. As soon as they were sighted the pilot put off, and upon his gaining the deck the work of entering the harbour was proceeded with. Once they were inside and at a standstill, Veneda and Juanita departed ashore in search of luncheon. It was a new sensation for them to wander about together as strangers in a strange place, and Veneda watched to see what effect it would have upon his companion. She had lost something of her vivacity, and was inclined to be more wrapt up in her own thoughts than was usual with her.

Those who know Tahiti will know Charons (or the hostelry disguised under that name), and those who know Charons will remember Alphonse, the most obsequious of garçons, with his accumulated knowledge of traders and their schooners, missionaries, pilots, copra merchants, and all manner of strange beings and things appertaining to those delightful seas. Therefore, when I say that Veneda and Juanita were fortunate enough to secure the corner table in the big room, and the services of that indefatigable person, I am, as you will agree, ensuring them the pleasantest of times. With palates improved by the simple fare of the Island Queen, they investigated every course, enjoyed some excellent wine, trifled with dessert, and when they had drunk their coffee, proceeded to stretch their legs along the beautiful Broom Road.

It was a most luxurious day; a soft breeze played in fitful gusts among the tropic foliage, bearing upon its breast a thousand gentle, and to our travellers unaccustomed, odours. There was only one blot upon it; since his last glass of champagne, Veneda felt strangely sleepy, so much so, that when they had walked but a little way he expressed a wish to be allowed to sit down and admire the view. Nothing loth, Juanita consented, so down they sat awhile, talking, and gazing upon the panorama of sea and islands stretched before them. Her voice sounded wonderfully soothing as he listened, and bit by bit he found this mysterious desire for sleep overcoming him. His head gradually sought a pillow by her side, his eyes closed, and in less than five minutes he was unconscious.

Now Juanita, who had by no means been unmindful of his state (nor am I prepared to authoritatively state that she had not, in some measure, been the occasion of it), was too precipitate for her own safety. Such was her impatience that, without waiting to make certain that he was sound asleep, she must needs commence her search for the mysterious locket round his neck, which contained, she was convinced, the paper she was so desperately anxious to obtain. Perhaps in her hurry her touch was too rough, or Veneda was not so much overpowered with slumber as she imagined; at any rate, just as she had the precious locket in her hand, and was about to broach its contents, his eyes opened, and his hands closed on hers. Awkward as the situation was, her presence of mind never deserted her, and she prepared to laugh it off with the excuse she had prepared beforehand.

"Ah! my Marcos," she said jestingly, "it is well that you woke; for I am going to be furiously jealous. And pray what fair lady's portrait do you wear round your neck?"

For the moment Veneda was too amazed at her coolness to reply; then he replaced the locket, and assuming a pensive air, said —

"You may be as jealous of her as you please. That is my poor mother's miniature; the only remembrance I have of her. I will show it to you this evening, if you would care to see it. Now we must be getting back to the schooner."

His explanation was so simple and sincere that she was baffled completely. If he were telling the truth her surmises must be all wrong; if not, she had put him on his guard for the future.

But though he allowed no sign to escape him to show that he understood her attempt, he was none the less concerned about it.

"I was more than a fool," he said to himself when he was alone in his cabin, "to imagine that she could be anything but what I had always thought her. However, Madame Juanita, the game is by no means finished yet. There is an old saying that those laugh best who laugh last. We shall see."

Next morning at daylight the Island Queen bade farewell to Tahiti.

As soon as it was open, a stranger, who had arrived in the island from South America the previous week, sought the telegraph office, and placed the following message upon the counter —

    "John Macklin,
    General Post Office,
    Sydney, N. S. W.

"Island Queen sailed this morning. Destination Thursday Island. Both on board."

CHAPTER VII

THE MAN'S DEATH

When, after leaving Papeete, Veneda came to consider the facts connected with his excursion ashore, he could not help seeing two things very clearly. In the first place, he was quite convinced in his own mind that, to obtain the information she wanted, Juanita had drugged the champagne he had drunk at lunch; but in the second, though he was loth to let her treachery pass unpunished, he could not but tell himself that it would be a most foolish proceeding on his part to allow her to suspect that he considered it of sufficient importance to make a fuss about. To confess annoyance would be to admit that the locket contained what she was in search of, and this he was, naturally, most anxious not to do. One thing was very certain, the situation was becoming more and more complicated every day; for each twenty-four hours was bringing them nearer to civilization, and once there the difficulties of his position would be intensified a hundred-fold. If Juanita were really in collusion with the Albino, it was most imperative that she should be outwitted, and that within the next fortnight. But though he racked his brains day and night for a scheme, he could not hit upon one that was in any way likely to prove successful.

Their course now lay almost due west, and though they had land on every side, it was far from likely that they would touch anywhere until they reached Thursday Island, where Captain Boulger's contract ended. It was Veneda's intention to leave the schooner at that place, and to intercept a British India mail-boat homeward bound.

If the voyage had been enjoyable before, it became doubly so now; warm, sunny days, bright blue skies, sapphire seas, and the most exquisite island scenery in the world kept them company continually. The Society group lay far behind them; the Navigators were on the starboard bow; while Hope, Keppel and Tafahi, or Boscawen peered up, surf-girt, away to port. Had it not been for the friction which suddenly occurred between the captain and Veneda, it would have been like a little heaven on shipboard. But if the captain and his chief passenger could not agree, the same could not be said of the two passengers themselves, whose behaviour towards each other grew more and more affectionate as the owner of the schooner's animosity deepened.

All past troubles and doubts seemed as much forgotten as though they had never existed. They arranged their future with untrammelled freedom, and even went so far as to discuss what they should do with the money when they had possession of it. Juanita's suspicions were completely allayed. Though she devoted considerable thought to the matter, she was as far from understanding it as ever. She could only attribute the change to the fact that her companion had at last really fallen under the spell of her fascinations.

But on the evening of the day upon which they sighted Fortuna, or Horne Island, as it is more usually called, an awful and unexpected event occurred, which was destined to bring about as complete a revolution in their plans as even Veneda could wish.

The breeze, which had been very uncertain throughout the afternoon, at night dropped to the faintest zephyr. The peacefulness of the evening was awe-inspiring; the ocean lay smooth as a sheet of glass, rising and falling like the breast of a sleeping child. The sails hung limp and listless, and the man at the wheel, one Schlank, a big, burly, taciturn German, had barely enough work upon his hands to keep him awake. The mate was in charge of the deck, the captain and passengers being below at tea.

According to Crawshaw's account he had gone forward to give an order to the cook, and when he returned it was to discover the German away from the wheel, rolling to and fro upon the deck, retching in a terrible manner, and nearly black in the face. Not knowing what to make of it, he called a couple of hands aft and bade them carry the unfortunate man to his bunk, while he himself hailed the captain through the skylight, and took possession of the wheel.

When Boulger reached the deck he hastened forward to examine, the man himself, but he was too late —Schlank was dead!

What the nature of the disease was, which had carried him off, no one could tell, but that its effects were deadly in the extreme was evidenced by the suddenness with which it worked its purpose; for, according to his shipmates' account, the man was in the best of health when he went aft to the wheel an hour before.

This sad occurrence, as might be expected, threw a gloom over the entire ship, and both Juanita and Veneda felt little touches of nervousness when they allowed their minds to dwell upon it. Lest any infection should be caught from the body, the captain gave orders that it should be committed to the deep as soon as a hammock and the necessary preparations could be made.

Next morning, to every one's consternation, news came aft that Jacob Norris, another hand, had been struck down by the same mysterious complaint. The symptoms were identical with Schlank's case, and it appeared as if no remedy could be found in the ship's meagre medicine-chest to either alleviate the pain or to avert the disastrous consequences. Within an hour of being taken ill the second man was dead and overboard!

Then an awful terror took possession of everybody, and ominous mutterings of "Cholera" and "Yellow Jack" passed from mouth to mouth. Hitherto the disease seemed to have confined itself to the forecastle, but it was not to remain there long, for in the middle of his afternoon watch Crawshaw the mate was attacked. Veneda, who happened to be on deck at the time, saw him drop and ran to his assistance. Picking him up he carried him forrard and laid him on the hatch, at the same time sending a hand to rouse the captain. The poor fellow's agony was heart-rending, and in spite of all the remedies tried he too succumbed within the hour.

After this the consternation aboard the Island Queen may be better imagined than described. Every one went in fear and trembling, for no one knew who might not be the next attacked.

About nine o'clock that evening Juanita and Veneda were on deck. As on the preceding night, a wonderful stillness reigned. In the east the stars were beginning to pale, preparatory to the rising of the moon. The bo'sun, who had succeeded to poor Crawshaw's watch, was pacing to and fro near the binnacle, casting an eye ever and anon aloft and around him, as if in anticipation of a breath of wind.

Veneda and Juanita promenaded for awhile, and then crossed to the taffrail, against which they leant, conversing in low tones. In spite of the terrors of the day Veneda was in unusually good spirits. He rallied Juanita upon her quietness, and once more broached the subject of their future. Speaking softly so that the man at the wheel should not overhear them, he said —

"Juanita, my darling, our voyage is nearly ended; are you satisfied?"

She was quick to reply, and her voice had almost a tremor in it.

"More than satisfied, Marcos, if you love me as you say."

"Are you sure, Juanita? Think before you answer. Would you be content to take me for what I am? – to risk poverty with me if that fortune should be gone when we get to London?"

She hardly knew how to reply. Was this a trap? she asked herself. Slipping her hand over his with a gentle pressure, she said —

"Quite content, if you love me as I must be loved. But why do you speak as if our money should be gone?"

"Because nothing is safe. I think it is – you think it is; but if you found out my secret, why shouldn't the Albino have boxed it out and anticipated us, eh?"

In reality he was not thinking anything of the kind; he was telling himself that the peculiar note in her voice when she referred to the money was not quite what it should have been at the moment of his declaration of love. In spite of her cleverness, it evidenced what lay uppermost in her mind. But he was not going to betray that he had noticed anything.

While they talked the moon rose, and lent a wondrous beauty to the night, sweeping the stars from the sky as if by magic, and turning the sombre water into the likeness of a silver sea. The white and idle canvas threw strange shadows upon the decks, and with the moon's coming a light breeze stole across the surface of the deep, so that the schooner began to draw a little faster through the water. The bo'sun turned on his heel, and came aft to where the other two were standing.

"Nice evenin'," he said, by way of introduction; "the moon there makes it real pleasant on deck, don't it? You'll excuse me, sir, but maybe you don't happen to have a chaw of tobacco about you?"

Veneda gave him a piece, at the same time asking if there was any further sign of sickness forrard. The bos'un did not think so, and casting an eye aloft at the canvas now beginning to fill, and then at the compass card, prepared to air his theory of the malady.

"It's my belief," he said, expectorating vigorously over the side, "that it's no more nor less than pison, – fish-pisoning, I reckon it. Don't you tell me that cholera or Yellow Jack's a-goin' to come aboard this while out o' port – not it! Now, I mind a case once, where a schooner's crew mutinied ten days out from Sydney, their tucker not bein' good enough for 'em forrard. What must they do, when they'd got rid of the old man and the mate overboard, but break open the lazarette, and set to work on all the tinned fish they could lay their hands on!"