by Louis Becke
CHAPTER VII
"Twenty dollars is not much of a stand-by in a town like Apia orLevuka," I said gravely, as I looked at her now animated features."Living there is very expensive--as I know to my sorrow--and unless youhave friends at either place, you would have to go to an hotel in thefirst place."
"I am not afraid, Mr. Sherry. And I am not jesting about the hat-making.All of my mother's family were very expert at it, and quite often I haveseen as much as twenty-five or thirty Mexican dollars paid for one ofour hats. We could have sold ten times the number had we been able tohave made more."
"Where was this?" I asked, with interest.
"At Agana, in the Marianas. My father lived there for many years. He wasa very poor man, and had a hard struggle to get along with such alarge family. So we all had to help him as much as we could. He wasan Englishman named Arundel, and was in some Government employmentin Rangoon. I do not remember exactly what it was, but think he wasconnected with maritime matters, for I remember that he had manynautical books, and used to go away frequently in the Governmentsteamers to Perak and Singapore. I can scarcely remember my mother, forshe died when I, who was the youngest of the family, was about six yearsold. But I think she was of Dutch-Javanese parentage, for sometimes shewould speak to us children in both languages, and I remember her beingvery dark. Soon after she died, my father--who was always of a restlessdisposition I suppose--either gave up, or lost his employment inRangoon, and taking us with him, settled on Tinian, in the Marianas,where he had something to do with cattle. But we did not remainthere permanently; we were always moving about from one island toanother--sometimes we would be living at Saipan, sometimes at Rota, andsometimes at Agana, in Guam. At this last place--which I love dearly--wewere very happy, although we were so poor."
She stopped somewhat abruptly, and added that it was at this place shehad met Krause, who came to the Marianas from Manila, on behalf of hisfirm, who had a large establishment at the latter city.
"I should like to see the Marianas--or the Ladrones, as we traders callthem," I said. "There is a very dear friend of mine now living at SanAnlaccio in Guam----"
"What is his name?" she asked quickly.
"Jose Otano. He was mate of a New Bedford whaler."
"I know him, I know him," she cried excitedly, "he and his mother, andhis two sisters--Nicolacoa and Maria. Oh, how I should love to see themagain! I remember going to San Anlaccio with my father and an eldersister, and staying there for two or three months. My father was buyingcattle for _tasajo_, and we lived with the Otano family. They were verykind to as, and we three little girls used to ride together on the waterbuffaloes, and one day their brother Jose, who I remember was a sailor,had to come and search for us, for we were lost in a great swamp betweenPunta de los Amantes and the stone cross of Padre Sanvitores."
"Those are the people," I said, feeling pleasurably excited myself thatwe should have mutual friends. "I have often heard him speak of hismother and two sisters. And often, very often he has urged me to payhim a visit, and settle down with him. He says that I should not want toleave the Marianas once I could see what a beautiful country it is."
"No, indeed! Ah, Mr. Sherry, 'tis indeed a beautiful country. I wonderif I shall ever see it again! My father, two brothers, and three of mysisters died of fever just before I married Krause, and there are buttwo of us left now--myself and another sister who is married to theSpanish doctor at San Ignacio de Agana. Oh, shall I ever see her faceagain?"
Her eyes sparkled, and her pale face flushed as she bent towards me withclasped hands: "Oh, the mere thought of it makes me feel a young girlagain."
"Why should you not?" I began, then I ceased speaking, and walked up anddown the room thinking, and I felt my cheeks flush as a project, daringenough, came to my mind.
"Have you a big sheet chart of the Pacific--the large blue-backed one?"I asked.
"Yes, there it is in the corner beside you, with some others. But it isold."
"It will do."
I spread it out on the table, and weighted down each of the four ends bymeans of books, so as to get a good view.
I spread the chart out on the table 092]
"Come here, Mrs. Krause, and look."
She came over to me, and then her thin little hand followed myforefinger as I made a pencilled mark on the chart to the south-east.
"Here is Tarawa; here is Apia in Samoa, nearly fifteen hundred milesdistant. Here is the island of Ovalau in Fiji, about the same distance.Do you see?"
"Yes, I see."
"And here, north-west from Tarawa, is your home on Guam--more than twothousand miles away. 'Tis a long, long way--but it could be done."
"A long, long way indeed." She lifted her eyes to me--and then sheplaced her hand on mine. "Why do you smile, Mr. Sherry; and yet why say'it could be done'?"
"Let us sit down and talk the matter over quietly;" and I led her to aseat.
"Why should we go to Fiji or Samoa?" I said quickly, my blood afire withmy new project. "There is nothing to draw you thither, is there?"
"Nothing. I know no one at either place. But you----"
"I! It matters but little to me where I go. But I am sick to death ofthis island, and long to be doing something. I am a man without a home,without ties, a wandering South Sea deadbeat--no friends."
"You must not say that," she said softly. "I am sure you have manyfriends. Just now you spoke of one--Jose Otano."
"Aye, I did; but I meant friends in Europe, in the outer and greaterworld--people who care for, who even give me a passing thought."
"That is sad, indeed. Oh, it must be sad to be alone, quite, quite alonein the world. And I am very, very sorry for you, Mr. Sherry."
The deep ring of sympathy in her voice warmed my heart to the littlewoman.
"Mrs. Krause," I said--and I spoke quietly, "you are a brave woman, elseyou would not dare to come with me in a small boat to so distant a placeas Fiji or Samoa. But will you be braver still, and risk your life in astill more dangerous enterprise?"
"I will, indeed, Mr. Sherry. I have no sense of the fear of death--none,absolutely none," she replied.
"Then let us give up the idea of Fiji," I cried, catching her hand, "letus go to the north-west--to Guam, to your own home."
"Oh," and she gave a low gasp of pleasure. "Oh, yes, indeed, it will bea wonderful voyage."
"Yes, if we ever get there," I said. "But we can try."
"You will not fail. Of that I am as sure as I am of my own existence."
Again we turned to the chart, and were poring over it together when themessenger returned to say that the natives had arrived with the boat. Ihurried down to the beach, and saw the native owners, and then the boatitself, which, after very little trouble, I bought for ten muskets, acouple of tierces of tobacco, and a hundred fathoms of red turkey twill.Then, after giving them some instructions, I went back to the house.
I hurried down to the beach 096]
"Well, Mr. Sherry, what do you think of the boat?"
"Fairly well, Mrs. Krause. Anyway, I've bought her, and if you look outof the window, you'll see the crew getting her under way again to sailher over to Utiroa. Now I must get home, for there will be much to do.The first thing that I must get done is to alter my own boat's mainsailand jib, and make them large enough for my new ship, whose sails arequite rotten. Then I shall make an extra new suit as well. I'll setNiabon to work to-night."
"Ah, let me help! _Do_. It would give me such real pleasure."
"Indeed, I shall be very glad of your assistance. I can cut out the newsuit, and you and Niabon sew them. It will only be very light material,but, for all that, may make your fingers suffer."
"I don't mind if it does--neither of your sail-makers will grumble," shesaid brightly. "When shall I come?"
"To-morrow. I'll send the whale-boat for you. You will find mine anuntidy house, and Tepi a great cook--as far as size goes. He stands sixfeet."
And so with a laugh, and lighter hearts than had been our
s for many along day, we said goodbye till the morrow.