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

Veneda was silent. After a while he said, as I thought, rather sadly —

"What a rat-trap of a world it is, after all! Ramsay, this is too much of a coincidence; there's fatality in it. Fate must have willed that we should meet!.. And so you were engaged to little Maud! By Jove! how well I remember her – a tiny slip of a thing in a white frock, tied up with blue ribbons. She came into her father's study one day when I was waiting for him, pretended she came for a book, but I believe myself it was just to steal a look at wicked Cousin Marmaduke, whom the women-folk had piously permitted to figure in her mind as a sort of cross between Giant Blunderbore and the devil. Perhaps Cousin Satan was not quite so ugly as she had expected him to be, for when Sir Benjamin entered later, he found us seated side by side on the hearthrug, making paper boats. I can see his face now! And so – she's a grown woman! – and I – well, I'm just a derelict on the ocean of life, useless to myself, and harmful to my fellow-men. But there, I can't complain; I've made my bed, and I suppose I must lie on it. Ramsay, shall I tell you what I was going to do if I had reached home?"

"What?"

"I should have been a rich man, remember. And I had figured it that I would purchase an estate in a county where nobody would know my past, marry some nice quiet English girl, and settle down to bring up my children, if I had any, to be as honest as their father was crooked, to do good to my neighbours, and when I went down to my grave, to have lived so that somebody should be able to say, 'There's an English gentleman gone to his rest!' An English gentleman, mark you, and there's no prouder title under the sun than that. As it is, I shall peg out here, cut off from all who knew me, and – as somebody has it – going into my grave 'unwept, unhonoured, and unsung!' A grand end, isn't it?"

Not knowing how to comfort him, I held my tongue. He continued —

"Somehow I've been an outcast all my life, and I shall certainly die one. After my first slip I was never given a chance, but was badgered from pillar to post, until I was driven out of England, the victim of what we may call uncivilized Christianity. It was rough on me, deuced rough."

After this our conversation dropped off bit by bit, till it ceased altogether. I made him as comfortable as I could, and then sought my own couch on the other side of the fire. Hours passed before sleep came to me, my brain was full of the thoughts his words had conjured up. Strangely enough, it was not of Juanita I had thought within the last few days. She seemed almost to have passed out of my life. It was on another and a purer love I pondered. "Oh, Maud, Maud, my own lost love," I moaned, "if only I could live those fatal days again!" But it was impossible. Like Dryden, I must cry henceforth —

"Not heaven itself upon the past has power;
But what has been, has been, and I have had my hour."

Next morning I discovered that Veneda had not slept at all. It needed but little medical knowledge to tell that his condition was worse than on the previous night. His face was fast losing even the faint colour it had hitherto possessed. His forehead was covered with a clammy sweat, and at times he moaned softly and wandered in his talk. I was more distressed about him than I can say. But what could I do? To carry him elsewhere in search of help would have been useless, had it even been possible; besides, it would only have hastened his death to have moved him. In addition to this, I found the Malay had taken advantage of the opportunity to clear out, and his boat was already a dim speck upon the horizon. There was nothing for it but to make Veneda as comfortable as I could, and to patiently await the end.

In his moments of consciousness I think he must have been aware that he had not much longer to live; indeed, he hinted as much to me when I asked if I could do anything to relieve his pain. His patience was marvellous. He uttered no sign of complaint, but met his fate with a fortitude that was inexpressibly touching.

Towards the middle of the morning I struggled up the hill to scour the offing for a sail. But no sign of a ship was to be seen, only the blue expanse of water, other islands peeping up to right and left of us, and the dim outline of the Sumatra coast away to the westward. Round my head white sea-gulls wheeled with discordant cries, while from the farther side of the island the boom of surf sounded like mimic thunder. What would I not have given for a sail, or anything that could have brought relief to my dying companion! But it was no use wishing, so as soon as I had satisfied myself that no assistance was forthcoming, I descended to the plateau and anxiously approached Veneda.

I found him in an excited condition, his face flushed and his eyes brighter than when I had left him half an hour before. He was talking in the wildest fashion, and at the same time endeavoring to raise himself from the ground.

Hastening to his side, I tried by every means in my power to soothe him, but it was useless. He imagined himself back in Chili, and for some time his utterances were in the Spanish tongue. For nearly two hours he remained in this state, eventually falling into a heavy sleep which lasted until about three o'clock. When he awoke his delirium had left him, but he was much weaker; his voice, when he tried to speak, was hardly louder than a whisper. I could see that the end was only a matter of a short time now.

"Ramsay," he managed to say, "I know all about it; I'm down and done for. It seems like a joke, old man, but Marcos Veneda's played out."

As he mentioned his assumed name a faint but bitter smile flickered across his face. I knelt by his side, and, thinking it might afford him relief, raised his head, but he bade me let it lie.

"I shan't be able to talk much longer," he said, and his voice was even weaker than before. "Feel round my neck; you'll find a locket there – the famous locket – take it off."

I did so, placing it in his hand.

"You've been very good to me, Ramsay, one of the only men in the world who ever was, and in return I want to do something for you. Take this locket, it's all I have to leave you, but, as the others knew, it's the key to my fortune. It will make you a rich man."

He paused to regain his strength.

"As soon as you get away from here work your way home to London. And when you have been there a month —swear you will not do so before, I have the best of reasons for asking it – open it."

I swore that I would respect his wishes, and he continued —

"You will find in the locket a small slip of paper on which is written a name and address. Go to the address, show the paper just as you have it there, and demand from the man Two Hundred Thousand Pounds. When he sees that slip of paper in your possession he will pay it without demur. And may you be as happy with the money as I intended to be. Above all things steer clear of John Macklin, for if he dreams that you have the locket he'll stick at nothing to get it from you."

"But is there nothing I can do for you?" I asked, thinking he might like to send some message to the old land he appeared to love so well.

He only shook his head sadly, intimating that there was no one there who would be either glad or sorry for his death.

After this for a long while he remained silent, till I began to think that perhaps the end had come. At last, without opening his eyes, he said slowly —

"Little Maud – she was the only one of that set who ever trusted me. Somehow I'd like her to have a share of that money. Ramsay, I know you love her still; you must marry her after all."

"It's too late," I groaned; "too late."

"No, no, I have a conviction that you will win her yet. Try. Swear you will!"

I swore!

For a minute or two only the sighing of the wind through the trees and the crackling of the fire was to be heard. Then that weary voice began again —

"Ramsay, it's a strange request for a man like me to make, but d'you know, if you could manage to scramble out some sort of a prayer I believe I should die easier."

Like a flash my memory flew back across the waste of years, and once more I was a tiny chap worshipping at my mother's knee. With a great awe upon me I knelt and commenced the Lord's Prayer. When I had finished he slowly repeated the last few words, "For ever and ever, Amen."

Then a wonderful thing happened. He raised his head, and, as he did so, his eyes, which had hitherto been shut, opened wide, and his voice came from him quite clear and strong. It was a grander and a nobler voice than I had ever expected to hear. He said —

"My Lord, I urge nothing in my own defence; I simply throw myself upon the mercy of the Court."

Then with a little sigh his head fell back again. Marcos Veneda was dead!

CHAPTER IV

RESCUED

Long after Veneda's speech I remained kneeling by his side in earnest prayer, but when his laboured breathing ceased altogether, and I looked up to find his jaw dropped and his great eyes fixed in a horrible stare, I knew that all was over, and prepared to perform the last sad offices.

These accomplished, his expression changed completely. Up to the moment of his death a haggard, weary look had possessed his features, but now his face was like that of a little child for innocence and peace. I stood looking down on him for some minutes, my mind surging with a variety of thoughts. Then, picking up my cap, I strode hastily from the plateau towards the interior of the island, in the hope of diverting my thoughts from the scene I had just witnessed, and from the contemplation of my own awful loneliness.

Swiftly I marched along; the bright sunshine straggled amid the trees and lit up the glades through which I passed, but beyond being aware of these things I had little attention for them. I could not divest myself of the horror of my position. Here was I, I told myself, the sole living being upon this island; my companion a dead and unburied man; my prospect of rescue as remote as ever, and my food supply limited to a few more meals. Indeed, so horrible was my condition that consideration of it inclined me even to wish myself back in prison in Batavia.

In this state I passed out from the woods on to the shore. The tide was far out, and an expanse of sand stretched before me. Thinking brisk exercise might raise my spirits I set off to walk as quickly as I could round the island. But it was only putting off the unpleasant work, for I could not allow day to depart and leave me with the body still unburied.

My prison, I discovered, was not as large as I had thought it, being considerably less than a mile long. My first view had evidently been a deceptive one, and I must have allowed more for the fall of the hill than was justifiable, considering that I had not seen the end of it.

In the hope that I might discover some sort of shell-fish with which to sustain life when my meagre supply of rice should be exhausted, I walked close to the water's edge, but not a trace of anything fit to eat could I find. This knowledge added considerably to my uneasiness.

While engaged in my search, I espied, bobbing up and down in the water not far from the shore, something that looked suspiciously like a bottle with the cork in. My curiosity was instantly aroused. Who knew but that it might contain the last message of a shipwrecked crew, thrown overboard in the hope of carrying to the world information of their unhappy fate. If this were so, into what weak hands had it fallen!

My mind made up to gain possession of it, it was the work of a moment to wade towards it. I found it to be a Bass' beer-bottle, and on holding it up to the light, I could see that it contained a sheet of paper. The mouth was firmly corked, and to render it additionally secure, the latter was not only tied down but carefully sealed. Bearing it ashore, I threw myself on the warm sands and prepared to broach its contents.

I discovered the cork to be fastened with copper wire, while the wax used was of a quality more generally employed by ladies on their billets-doux than by men before the mast. Cracking the bottle with a stone I extracted the paper and spread it carefully out.

It was a full sheet of cream-laid, folded longways into a narrow strip to go through the bottle's neck. Owing to this precaution it was quite dry. The following is an exact transcript of what I read —

    S.S. Cambermine,
    "Three days' steam from Nagasaki.

"To all whom it may concern,