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'-H 


RED  BOB  OF  THE  BISMARCKS 


RED     BOB 

OF    THE 

BISMARCKS 


BY 

BEATRICE    GRIMSHAW 

Author  of  "When  the  Red  Gods  Call." 
'"Hie  Sorcerer's  Stone,"  file. 


SECOND  EDITION 


LONDON 

HURST  AND   BLACKETT  LIMITED 

PATERNOSTER    HOUSE.    E.G. 
1915 


Ax 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 


CHAPTER  I 

AFTER  lunch  as  I  was  passing  through 
the  weaving-sheds  on  my  way  back  to 
the  office,  my  father  came  through  the  swing- 
door.  He  had  some  samples  of  yarn  in  his 
hand. 

"  You  have  to  hurry  and  catch  the  two-thirteen 
to  Lime  Street,"  he  said,  speaking  to  me  through 
the  crash  and  yell  of  the  looms,  with  his  grey 
beard  close  to  my  ear.     "  Come  outside." 

We  crossed  the  sheds,  and  stood  in  an  asphalted 
courtyard,  where  it  was  comparatively  easy  to 
speak. 

"  I  can't  spare  Henry  or  James,"  said  my 
father,  twisting  his  beard  with  one  hand.  "  In 
general,  you  are  a  disappointment  to  me,  Paul, 
but  I  will  allow  you  have  an  eye  for  yarns.  You 
must  do  your  best.     Go  and  look  up  Griffens 


Fionn  I  a 


2-\  : :;;  :;Re4i  :Bob -of  the  Bismarcks 

and  tell  young  Snaith  himself  that  those  seventies 
are  not  up  to  the  last.  Show  him  the  difference  ; 
it  takes  some  showing,  but  you  can  manage  it ; 
anyhow,  you  have  to.  Take  these  hundred- 
and-forties  as  well,  and  tell  him  the  other  is  from 
Fletchers' ;  make  him  see  the  value  they  are 
offering  us  even  at  that  increased  price.  Do  your 
best.  You  have  brains  enough  and  to  spare  for 
nonsense  of  your  own.  .  .  .  Have  you  your 
railway  fare  ?  " 

I  plunged  hurriedly  into  three  or  four  empty 
pockets.  My  father  watched  me  with  a 
disapproving  eye. 

"  As  usual,"  was  his  comment.  "  It  is  one- 
and-four  return,  first-class.  There  is  one-and- 
sixpence,  including  trams.  I'll  debit  it  against 
your  allowance.  Make  haste  and  catch  your 
train." 

I  nodded,  put  the  money  and  samples  into  my 
pocket,  and  crossed  the  yard  to  the  outer  door. 
My  father  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  asphalt, 
his  long  beard  blowing  in  the  September  wind — 
it  was  a  grey  Liverpool  day,  and  like  to  rain — and 
as  I  went  out,  I  heard  him  call : 

"  Don't  go  and  lose  those  yarns." 

They  were  the  last  words  he  ever  said  to  his 
troublesome  youngest  son.  If  I  had  known  that 
the  iron  gate  of  the  Corbet  burying-ground  was 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 


already  turning  on  its  hinges  to  let  him  in. 
But  when  I  knew,  the  world  lay  between. 


When  I  got  to  Griffens',  I  found  that  Griffen 
Senior's  wife  had  died  the  night  before,  and  all 
the  office  was  shut.  I  rolled  up  the  yarn  samples 
small,  and  put  them  in  an  inner  pocket,  till  they 
should  be  wanted  again.  I  have  them  still ; 
my  father's  fear  that  I  should  lose  them  was  quite 
unjustified. 

Of  course,  the  right  thing  to  do  was  to  take  the 
train  straight  back  to  our  works,  and  go  on  with 
my  accounts.  I  did  not  do  it.  I  looked  at  the 
Exchange  clock,  found  it  was  not  yet  three,  and 
walked  down  to  the  B.  I.  &  C.  offices  in  Water 
Street.  The  under-manager  was  a  friend  of 
mine  ;  I  could  always  rely  on  him  for  a  seeing-off 
ticket  when  I  wanted  one. 

I  found  him  in  his  own  small  office,  with  all 
the  windows  shut,  and  a  heavy  smell  of  varnished 
linoleum  in  the  air. 

"  What's  going  out  to-day  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Best  we  have,"  said  the  under-manager, 
smacking  his  lips,  as  if  the  liners  of  the  B.  I.  &  C. 
were  so  many  choice  things  to  eat. 

"  Not  the  Empress  oj  Singapore  F  " 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 


"  That's  she.  Eleven  thousand  register,  twin 
screw.  A  hundred  and  twenty  first  saloons,  one 
hundred  and  eighty-two  second,  seventy-nine 
third.     Cargo " 

"  Bother  the  cargo.     Can  I  have  a  ticket  ?  " 

"  Catch  hold.  .  .  .  We've  got  some  star 
passengers  this  trip.  Carita,  going  to  sing  all 
over  India  ;  General  Dames ;  Professor  Pedley 
Liddiard,  for  Borneo  via  Singapore.  When 
are  we  going  to  see  you  in  the  passage-department 
for  yourself,  Corbet  ?  I  never  saw  a  lad  so  keen 
on  watching  other  people  go  off." 

"  Oh,  God,  Horsley,  let  it  alone  !  I'm  not 
in  the  mood  for  being  guyed  about  that." 

A  side  door  opened,  and  a  small,  nervous  clerk 
looked  in. 

"  I  didn't  call ;  you  can  go,"  said  Horsley. 
Then,  looking  rather  keenly  at  me  :  "  You'll  get 
me  into  trouble  with  the  G.  M.,  if  you  roar  like 
a  bull  in  my  respectable  room.  You  go  for  a 
walk,  lad,  or  go  back  to  your  father's  office,  where 
I  suspect  you  ought  to  be  at  three  o'clock  in  the 
afternoon.  If  the  Empress  of  Singapore  puts  you 
into  such  a  devil  of  a  temper,  I  guess  you'd  better 
let  the  lady  alone." 

"  I'm  as  cool  as  you  are,"  I  said.  "  Anyone 
else  going  ?  " 

"  Vincent    Gore,   for    parts    unknown — after 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismareks 


Singapore.  Lad,  you're  morbid.  Lots  of  us 
get  that  way  in  Liverpool,  and  we  have  to  get 
over  it.     You  will  too." 

"  Fm  damned  if  I  shall,"  I  said,  svnnging  out 
of  the  room.  I  wondered  for  a  minute  or  two  if 
there  really  was  anything  in  the  frequently 
repeated  accusations  of  bad  temper  made  by  my 
father  and  my  step-brothers.  .  .  .  Horsley 
seemed  to  have  some  idea  of  that  kind  in  his 
head  too.  .  .  .  However,  I  dismissed  the  subject, 
writh  the  consideration  that  it  did  not  matter, 
anyhow. 

It  was  chill  for  September  ;  there  was — almost 
— a  threat  of  winter  somewhere  in  the  air.  A 
pinching  wind  blew  off  the  painty-grey  water, 
making  dry  spots  on  the  pavements.  The  sun 
had  gone  in  ;  Liverpool,  down,  by  the  landing- 
stage  and  the  elevated  railway,  looked  like  a  steel 
engraving  of  itself. 

They  hint  a  lie  who  say,  "  if  youth  but  knew." 
It  does,  sometimes ;  above  all — though  this  is 
strange — on  days  like  the  late  September  day  that 
saw  me  drawn  to  the  place  where  the  ships  went 
down  to  sea.  Spring,  for  youth,  is  a  time  of 
dreaming  and  languor ;  the  white  March  days 
that  send  the  man  of  full  years  looking  for  his 
cabin-trunk  and  his  pamphlet  of  steamer  sailings, 
more  likely  draw  the  lad  of  twenty  to  those  quiet 


6  Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

nooks  near  railway-bridges  far  out  in  the  country, 
where  one  may  sheher  from  the  east,  and  dream, 
and  feel  the  new  spring  sun  flow  over  his  face, 
like  the  golden  hair  of  the  girl  he  is  dreaming 
about.  .  .  . 

But  the  earliest  bite  of  autumn,  in  the  latitudes 
of  England,  fills  a  man  in  the  pride  of  youth  with 
a  glory  that  seems  to  have  no  root  or  reason  in 
any  external  circumstance.  Because  the  wind  has 
turned  cold,  and  the  roads  are  growing  heavy — 
because  dead  leaves  blow  up  beneath  an  iron  sky 
— ^you  are  glad.  You  want  to  run  and  sing. 
You  feel  the  round  gold  coin  of  Youth  held  tight 
v^thin  your  hand,  and  know  that  there  is  nothing 
in  the  world  it  may  not  buy.     Youth  knows ! 

At  all  events,  Paul  Corbet,  aged  twenty-two, 
run  away  from  his  work  to  see  the  ships  go  out, 
knew  that  day.  But  what  is  the  use  of  knowing 
when  you  may  not  do  ? 

I  wonder  how  many  lads  there  are,  now,  in 
Liverpool,  not  yet  broken  to  the  bit  and  collar, 
who  feel  a  sickness  of  heart  every  Wednesday  and 
Saturday  afternoon,  when  the  great  liners  put 
forth  with  shouting  to  the  ends  of  all  the  world, 
sending  their  cries  far  up  the  clattering  grey 
streets  ?  How  many  know  the  notes  of  the 
whistles  ?  ("  That's  a  Bibby  for  Burmah  .  .  . 
There's   the  Nestor  singing  out ;    she's  going  to 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 


Australia  .  .  .  That  must  be  the  Benin  ;  Canary 
Island  and  Gold  Coast  .  .  .  There's  the  Maure- 
tania's  big  bellow,  third  time  ;  she's  off  for  New 
York  .  .  .  The  Victorian  should  be  leaving  for 
Montreal  about  now ;  that  must  be  her  .  .  . 
What's  the  Leyland  boat  for  Buenos  Ayres  to- 
day ?  Well,  anyhow,  she's  going  now ;  I  hear 
her.")  .  .  . 

We,  the  world's  sea-rovers,  have  grown  so  rich 
nowadays  through  our  roving  that  we  must  needs 
train  our  youths  to  stay  at  home  and  sit  tight 
upon  its  gains  in  linoleumed  rooms  v^th  all  the 
windows  shut.  But  they  don't  want  to  do  it — 
they  take  a  lot  of  training.  And  some  of  them — 
not  the  worst,  though  I  say  it — can't  be  trained 
at  all. 

Well !  I  went  down  the  Overhead  to  Prince's, 
having  travelled  third  to  Lime  Street  and  saved 
eightpence ;  otherwise  I  should  have  had  to 
tramp  it.  My  head  was  humming  vnth  Vincent 
Gore,  all  the  way  to  the  landing-stage.  A  famous 
traveller,  whose  life  had  been  a  tissue  of  the 
wildest  adventures ;  who  had  added  more  than 
one  bit  of  red  to  the  map  of  the  British  Colonies ; 
who  was  something  of  a  mystery,  something  of  a 
terror — for  he  did  not  write  about  his  doings,  and 
it  was  said  that  everyone  who  knew  him  was  more 
or  less  afraid  of   him — this  man  was   to  be  a 


8  Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

passenger  on  the  Empress  of  Singapore  to-day,  and 
I  with  a  ticket  to  go  on  board  and  see  him  ! 

The  wind  was  getting  up  ;  it  blew  along  the 
great  grey  estuary  in  scuds  and  spirts  of  foam. 
A  Cunarder  was  coming  down  the  river  ;  you 
could  see  her  scarlet,  black-topped  funnel  swing 
a  little  against  the  ugly  sky.  The  Empress  oj 
Singapore  lay  steady  enough  at  her  moorings,  but 
every  now  and  then  the  floating  stage  and  the 
steamer  heaved  just  enough  to  let  you  know  they 
were  not  solid  land.  .  .  .  To-night — oh,  to- 
night !  the  Empress  would  assuredly  be  rolling 
and  storming  down  St.  George's  Channel,  with 
the  wild  Atlantic  breakers  rushing  up  to  meet 
her  from  the  south ;  the  v^nd  would  yell  in  the 
wire  riggings,  and  the  spray  would  smack  on  the 
top  of  the  smoke-stacks,  and  fall  with  a  crash  on 
deck.  .  .  .  And  Vincent  Gore  would  be  going 
out  to  "  parts  unknown,  via  Singapore." 

I  was  walking  through  the  elevated  tunnel  that 
leads  from  the  railway  to  the  boats  when  this 
thought  came  to  me.  And  at  the  moment, 
another  came  :  a  thought  that  exploded  in  my 
brain  with  the  force  of  a  bursting  shell.  To-night 
I  would  go  too  ! 

It  sounded  like  the  sheerest  nonsense ;  for  I 
had  only  fourpence  in  my  pocket ;  my  father 
and  my  step-brothers  were  even  now  looking  out 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks  9 

for  me  to  come  back  to  the  works  with  my 
samples,  and  my  aunt,  who  kept  house  for  us  all, 
no  doubt  was  planning  out  the  dinner  at  Laurel- 
holme  (Gateacre  and  Woolton  suburb)  with 
perfect  confidence  in  the  assumption  that  four 
men  were  to  be  fed  at  that  table,  now  and  for 
ever  more.  Yet,  I  knew  that  I  should  do  it.  I 
was  not  too  young  to  have  experienced  some  of 
those  rare  moments  in  the  history  of  the  mind, 
when  thought  and  desire,  fused  together  by  the 
heat  of  some  outward  shock,  flash  suddenly  into  a 
driving  force  that  nothing  can  resist.  I  do  not 
think  all  men  have  such  moments ;  but  those 
who  have  will  never  miss  what  they  stretch  their 
hands  out  to  take. 

So  I  went  up  the  gangway  of  the  Empress  of 
Singapore,  knovdng  that  the  gates  of  the  world 
were  opening  for  me — at  last. 

The  alleyways  were  full  of  blue-coated  stewards 
carrying  cabin  luggage  ;  passengers  and  passengers' 
friends  jostled  one  another  against  the  enamelled 
bulkheads.  There  were  half  a  dozen  small 
crowds  in  the  marble-panelled  smoking  saloon, 
farewelling  one  another,  with  the  aid  of  drinks 
from  the  bar.  Every  table  in  the  writing-room 
was  occupied  by  people  scribbling  to  catch  the 
last  shore  mail.  Madame  Carita  swept  by  in 
velvet  and  ermine,  vnth  a  train  of  two  maids  and 


10  Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

a  secretary ;  she  was  abusing  the  purser  in 
voluble  Glasgow,  for  having  given  her  the  second- 
best  state  cabin.  The  purser  was,  meantime, 
trying  to  pacify  an  indignant  Indian  general,  who 
thought  that  he  had  been  deprived  of  the  second- 
best  cabin  in  favour  of  Madame  Carita. 

It  was  all  famiHar  to  me — the  whole  scene  of 
departure,  the  gilding  and  looking-glassing  and 
marbling  and  bird's-eye  mapling  and  brocading 
of  the  ship  decorations ;  the  typical  ocean-going 
steamer  smell  of  mattresses,  apples,  rubber 
carpeting  and  paint.  I  had  never  been  on  the 
Empress  of  Singapore  before,  but  I  have. an  eye  for 
ships'  geography,  and  I  found  my  way  without 
any  hesitation  to  the  first  state  cabin,  about 
which  no  one  was  disputing,  and  which,  I  some- 
how guessed,  would  be  the  property  of  the  man 
for  whom  I  was  looking. 

I  found  the  cabin,  a  double  one,  well  amidships 
on  the  promenade  deck,  knocked  at  the  shut  door, 
and  was  answered  in  a  voice  that  left  no  doubt 
whatever  in  my  mind  that  I  had  guessed  right.  It 
was  like  the  bark  of  a  mastiff. 

"  Can't  see  anyone  !  "  it  said. 

I  opened  the  door  and  walked  into  the  cabin. 

The  occupant  swung  round  in  a  ship's  chair 
that  was  fitted  to  a  handsome  writing-table,  and 
asked  me  what  the  hell  I  meant  by  coming  there  ? 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks  11 

"  To  speak  to  you,"  I  said.  I  did  not  feel 
half  as  put  out  as  I  had  often  felt  in  my  father's 
works,  when  James  or  Henry  were  rating  me 
about  something  I  hadn't  done. 

"  And  is  the  youth  of  Liverpool,"  said  the 
barking  voice,  "  so  Liverpudlianly  wrapped  in 
fog  that  it  is  incapable  of  seeing  when  a  man 
is  busy  ?  " 

I  stood  against  the  doorway  with  my  arms 
folded.  He  did  not  frighten  me  a  bit ;  I  felt 
my  spirits  rise  at  the  fact.  For  this  Vincent 
Gore,  with  his  big,  thin  frame,  his  Cecil  Rhodes 
type  of  face,  and  his  blue,  hard  eyes  with  cat- 
pupils  in  them,  was  undoubtedly  formidable. 

I  did  not  answer  his  gibe. 

"  You  look  as  if  you  wanted  a  secretary,"  I 
said.  "  I  should  like  to  offer  myself.  I  could 
make  myself  exceptionally  useful,  if  you  cared 
to  engage  me." 

The  first  sentence  I  spoke  in  French,  the 
second  in  German,  the  third,  half  in  Spanish 
and  half  in  Dutch.  All  these  languages  are 
useful  in  the  cotton  trade,  and  the  work  of  learn- 
ing them  had  been  one  of  the  few  things  about 
my  father's  business  that  really  interested  me. 
James  and  Henry  couldn't  learn  languages 
for  nuts. 

Vincent    Gore's    cat-pupils    fixed    themselves 


12  Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

on  me  steadily,  and  I  saw  that  he  was  counting 
me  up.  I  saw  also  that  he  was  one  of  those  men 
whose  first  impulse  is  always  to  say  "  No,"  who 
find  every  variety  of  "  Yes  "  drag  heavily  on 
the  tongue. 

"  I  don't  want  a  secretary,"  he  said. 

"  I  can  fight,"  I  went  on.  "  I  can  stand 
anything,  and  I'm  not  afraid  of  anything  in 
the  world." 

Vincent  Gore  swung  round  further  in  his 
chair,  and  made  an  impatient  chop  in  the  air 
with  one  finger — a  characteristic  gesture. 

"  Men  don't  say  those  things,"  he  said. 
"  Shed  your  baby  petticoats,  lad ;  they  seem 
to  have  stuck  to  you  a  long  time." 

I  felt  myself  flush  hot  at  the  thought  of  having 
swaggered ;  perhaps  the  smear  of  Liverpool 
clerkdom  had  not  quite  passed  me  by.  .  .  . 

"  Will  you  have  me  ?  "  I  said. 

"  No,"  said  Gore,  turning  back  to  his  table, 
and  taking  up  his  pen. 

I  went  out  of  the  cabin,  cold  and  hot  at  the 
same  time,  but  the  hot  predominated.  I  was 
sure  that  the  gods  would  send  me  something, 
for  I  was  in  the  mood  that  Fate  herself  must 
heed  when  it  comes. 

Before  I  was  out  of  earshot  the  door  opened, 
and  Gore  barked  out  :   "  Sterry  !  " 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks  13 

A  youngish  man,  Hght  and  strong-looking, 
well-clad,  but  not  a  gentleman,  came  running 
down  the  alleyway,  answering,  "  Yes,  sir."  He 
went  into  the  cabin  and  the  door  was  shut. 
I  waited,  in  an  odd,  passionless  kind  of 
calm.  I  was  sure  that  something  would 
happen. 

Nothing  did,  except  the  reappearance  of 
Sterry,  who  came  out,  hat  in  hand,  and  made 
for  the  shore  gangway.  It  was  still  an  hour 
before  sailing  time.  I  saw  him  go  ashore  ; 
followed  him  and  took  the  same  train  on  the 
Elevated.  My  mind  was  beginning  to  purr 
like  a  cat  inside  me.     For  now  I  began  to  see. 

When  he  got  out  I  went  after  him,  and  fol- 
lowed him  again.  He  went  into  an  outfitter's 
in  Bold  Street,  and  began  buying  some  special 
kind  of  socks.     I  stayed  outside. 

Either  I  was  not  clever  at  following  or  else 
Sterry  was  keen  in  suspecting  anything  of  the 
kind,  for  when  he  came  out  again,  he  saw  me,  and 
asked  me  somewhat  impertinently  if  I  wanted 
anything. 

"  Yes,  I  do,"  said  I.  "I  want  you  to  come 
and  have  a  drink." 

"  Oh,  if  that's  all,"  said  the  man,  dropping 
his  gentleman's-gentleman  air  at  once,  "  Pm 
with  you,  though  I'm  blest  if  I  know  who  you 


14  Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

are  from  Adam.  I  thought  you  was  a  bill, 
I  did." 

"  Bill  for  whom  ?  "  I  asked,  falling  into  step 
with  him  along  the  windy  pavement. 

"  Me,  you  can  lay.  The  governor  isn't  the 
sort  to  have  bills  after  him.  Wish  you  could 
say  the  same  of  me — but  there.  Jack  ashore's 
Jack  ashore,  to  the  end  of  his  days." 

"  Come  in  here  ;  you'll  find  it  a  decent  sort 
of  place.  So  you  were  a  sailor  before  you  became 
a  valet  ?  " 

"  Yes ;   Royal  Navy.     Scotch  is  mine,  thanks." 

"  Been  many  voyages  with  Mr.  Gore  ?  " 

"  Many,"  said  the  man,  gaping  at  me  vdth 
his  hard  red  face  over  the  rim  of  his  glass. 
"  Why,  bless  you,  I  only  signed  on  with  him  last 
week.  Hardly  got  time  to  know  the  run  of  his 
clothes." 

"  Would  you  sell  your  place  to  someone  else  ?  " 

"  You  arst  me,  would  I  sell  my  place  to  some- 
one else — meanin'  'oo  ?  " 

"  No  matter." 

"  Well,  it  isn't  any  matter,  for  I  wouldn't. 
Not  for  all  the  girls  that  lives  in  Liverpool." 
He  set  down  his  empty  glass  and  eyed  it.  I 
beckoned  to  the  barman  (who  knew  me,  fortu- 
nately, for  I  had  only  twopence  in  my  pocket) 
and  had  the  glass  refilled.     The  irrelevant  remark 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks  15 

about  girls  made  me  feel  hopeful — remembering 
that  this  was  Liverpool  and  that  the  man  had 
been  a  sailor. 

I  edged  away  from  the  neighbourhood  of  the 
men  about  the  bar,  and  Sterry  followed  me, 
carrying  his  glass.  I  remember  that  I  was 
very  hot  within  and  very  cool  without ;  that 
the  place  smelt  of  cold  beer  and  washed 
marble,  and  that  there  was  a  white-faced  clock 
on  the  wall,  which  I  watched  with  half  an  eye 
as  I  spoke.     The  minutes  were  running  away. 

"  See  here,  Sterry,"  I  said.  "  I  want  that 
place.  No  matter  who  for.  I  happen  to  be 
short  of  cash.  But  look  at  this  watch.  Handle 
it ;  open  the  case.  You  can  see  it's  worth  all 
it  cost,  and  that  was  fifty  pounds." 

"  Being  a  man  that  knows  something  of 
watches'  movements,  I  can.  What's  that  to 
do  with  the  flowers  that  bloom  in  the  spring  ?  " 

"  I'll  tell  you.  My  tie-pin  is  worth  another 
ten.  Take  it  into  any  jeweller's  and  see,  if  you 
like.  You  can  have  the  two,  if  you'll  cut  off  from 
the  ship  this  afternoon,  and  let  Mr.  Gore  suppose 
you've  run  away." 

"  Do  you  want  my  answer  to  that  propo- 
sition ? "  said  the  seaman-valet,  draining  his 
glass  and  setting  it  down.  "  Then  you  can 
have  it.    My  answer  is,  No.    Why  ?     Because 


16  Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

Red  Bob  is  worth  being  valet  to,  or  bootblack 
neither.  Red  Bob's  a  man."  He  added  some 
confirmatory  adjectives.  "  And  I  don't  pree- 
pose  to  go  back  on  him.  By  Red  Bob  I  mean 
my  master,  Mr.  Vincent  Gore,  F.R.G.S., 
F.R.S.,  A.B.C.X.Y.Z.,  etc.  Not  that  I  don't 
want  the  cash,  nor  her.  As  it  'appens,  I 
want  them  both  each  as  much  as  the  other, 
and  she's  agreeable — too  agreeable,  if  any- 
thing ;  I  like  them  a  bit  stand-off,  best  of 
all.  But  go  back  on  Red  Bob  I  won't.  Not 
so  long  as  I  can  stand  on  my  blessed  pins  and 
see  out  of  my  blessed  eyes." 

Something  in  the  style  of  the  last  remark 
struck  me  as  familiar.  I  sized  up  the  valet  with 
an  appraising  glance.  Long  arm,  light  foot, 
broad  shoulder,  twinkling  eyes  beneath  a  pent- 
house brow,  nose  that  had  clearly  been  higher, 
in  the  original  pattern,  than  it  was  at 
present.  .  .  . 

"  Will  you  fight  me  for  the  place  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  I  know  a  quiet  place  down  in "  (for  obvious 

reasons  I  do  not  give  the  name)  "  where  you  can 
be  safe  from  the  police.     I  could " 

"  You  got  one  ear  regulation  pattern  and 
one  cauliflower,"  interrupted  Sterry,  appraising 
me  now  in  his  turn.  "  You  look  young,  but 
you're  set.     Hard  and  fit,  and  a  proper  young 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks  17 

devil,  if  there's  anything  in  what  they  call 
physi-physiography.  Yes,  I'll  fight  you  for  it, 
and  if  I  win,  I  take  the  foolish  baubles,  me  lord, 
with  which  you  tempt  me  virtue  ;  and  if  you 
win,  I  stop  and  marry  the  girl.  Nor  don't  you 
think  I  won't  try  to  knock  your  head  off,  both 
ways,  because  I  will  honestly  endeavour  so  to 
do.  Where's  your  spot  where  the  birds  in  their 
httle  nests  can  chide  and  fight,  without  Robert 
putting  in  his  fairy  foot  to  spoil  a  happy  day  ?  " 

I  think  we  had  been  speaking  louder  than 
either  of  us  had  imagined,  for  at  this  point  three 
officers  of  the  Red  Sun  Line,  and  two  from  the 
Kinnoull  who  had  been  drinking  together  at 
a  small  marble  table,  all  got  to  their  feet 
together  and  came  over  to  us. 

"  Young  Corbet  of  Corbet  Mills  ;  I  knew  the 
cut  of  his  jib,"  cried  the  Kinnoull  man.  "  Boys, 
this  is  going  to  be  fun.  I  saw  Corbet  knock 
out  Pentreath  of  the  Bache  Line  in  three  rounds 
last  Sunday  week  down  at  Joe  Flanagan's. 
Come  on,  all  of  you." 

We  went  out  in  a  cheerful  crowd,  like  a  party 
of  old  friends,  and  made  for  Flanagan's.  It 
is  a  quiet  little  gymnasium  in  a  quiet  street, 
the  name  of  which  I  had  better  not  mention  ; 
although,  for  the  matter  of  that,  I  had  not 
given  the  real  name  of  Flanagan  himself.    He 

a 


18  Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

is  an  excellent  sport,  and  knows  which  side  his 
bread  is  buttered  on ;  fights  with  gloves  or 
without,  for  love  or  for  money,  are  all  the  same 
to  him.  He  has  a  very  thoughtful  little  arrange- 
ment in  connection  v^th  his  cellar-way  and  he 
does  a  bit  of  plumbing  and  gasfitting  work, 
which  is  wonderfully  apt  to  make  loud  slamming 
noises  with  sheets  of  iron  just  at  the  time  when 
such  noises  are  wanted.  .  .  . 

.  .  .  There  is  nothing  less  interesting  than  the 
description  of  a  fight  on  paper,  long  after  it's 
over  and  forgotten,  and  in  any  case  this  one 
did  not  last  very  long.  Sterry  was  a  stone  or 
so  heavier  than  myself  ;  older,  at  a  time  when 
age  means  advantage,  and  somewhat  longer  of 
reach.  He  fought,  too,  with  the  spirit  and 
pluck  of  a  gamecock,  and  'the  absence  of  gloves 
suited  his  rather  rough-and-tumble  sort  of 
style  very  well.  I  think  that  on  another  occasion 
he  would  have  had  the  better  of  me.  But  it 
was  my  day,  and  I  knew,  Hke  a  gambler  who  is 
in  luck,  that  I  could  lose  in  nothing.  I  knocked 
him  out  in  the  fourth  round,  and  the  ship's 
oflficers  cheered  me  till  Flanagan  thought  it 
necessary  to  go  out  and  nail  a  sheet  of  iron  on 
to  his  fowl-house,  with  frightful  clamour. 

Burt  of  the  Kinnoull  Line  took  him  to  hos- 
pital, after  I  had  handed  over  the  watch  and 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks  19 

pin,  which  I  thought  he  had  fairly  earned,  and 
received  Sterry's  ticket — I  was  cool  enough  to 
remember  that  they  would  not  let  me  on  board 
without  it.  The  Red  Sun  fellows  were  very 
decent ;  they  thumped  me  on  the  back,  stood 
me  drinks  which  I  didn't  particularly  want, 
and  fixed  up  my  face  for  me  as  well  as  they  could. 
I  did  not  look  very  presentable  when  all  was 
done,  but  there  was  no  time  to  think  about 
that ;  no  time  to  do  anything  but  bolt  into 
a  shop  where  they  knew  my  father,  get  a  few 
clothes  on  credit,  stick  them  into  a  Gladstone 
bag,  and  run  for  the  tram.  The  Empress  oj 
Singapore  had  already  whistled  twice. 

With  my  bag  in  my  hand,  a  good  deal  of 
plaster  on  my  face,  and  one  penny  in  my  pocket, 
I  reached  Prince's  again,  thoroughly  winded, 
and  made  for  the  big,  black  liner.  The  gang- 
way was  still  down,  but  the  bell  was  ringing 
furiously,  and  the  stewards  had  begun  to  caU 
out :  "  Any  more  for  the  shore  ?  " — the  cry 
that  for  those  who  sail  is  the  swinging  on  its 
hinges  of  the  great  world's  door,  and  for  those 
who  stay  the  first  rattling  of  the  sods  upon  a 
coffin.  .  .  . 

Women  were  streaming  down  the  gangway  as 
I  pressed  up  ;  many  of  them  were  crying  behind 
futile   muffs   and   veils,   and   there   were   men, 

2* 


20  Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

too,  who  passed  down  to  the  shore  with  faces 
grey  as  the  autumn  river,  and  eyes  that  looked 
hard,  yet  saw  nothing.  People  on  the  deck  were 
saying  last  good-byes.  .  .  .  Often  as  I  have  seen 
it  all,  it  never  failed  to  make  me  a  little  choky 
in  the  throat.  I  consoled  myself,  pushing  my 
way  among  the  sobbing,  hand-straining  groups, 
with  the  reflection  that  there  was,  at  all  events, 
nobody  to  cry  over  my  departure  ;  and  then 
an  absurd  vision  came  to  me  of  my  father  and 
James  and  Henry,  all  tall  and  respectable  and  a 
little  fat,  standing  out  there  on  the  landing- 
stage,  and  calling  to  me  to  come  back  imme- 
diately vdth  the  samples  of  yarn,  whilst  Aunt 
Sarah,  pink  and  roundabout,  shook  a  dinner- 
napkin  at  me,  and  told  me  that  my  soup  was 
growing  cold,  and  I  was  a  disgrace  to  the  Corbet 
family.  .  .  . 

"  Hooray !  "  I  said  irrelevantly,  and  dived 
into  the  second-class  companion  way.  A 
steward  looked  at  my  ticket  and  let  me  pass. 
I  got  into  a  quiet  cabin,  shut  the  door,  and 
sat  down  upon  the  blue-quilted  bunk  to  await 
the  sailing  of  the  ship. 

"  Any  more  for  the  sho-ore  ?  "  sounded  out 
again,  and  stewards  passed  by  in  the  alley-way, 
ringing  bells.  Feet  trampled  about ;  I  could 
hear    the    gangway    going    up,    and  by  and  by 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks  21 

came  the  Empresses  last  call,  a  fierce  succession 
of  whistle  blasts. 

"  She's  off  !  "  I  said,  bouncing  on  the  mat- 
tress of  the  bunk.  She  was.  In  another 
moment  or  two  the  bit  of  landing-stage  that 
was  visible  through  the  port  began  to  slip  back 
and  away ;  a  line  of  grey  water  opened  out 
.  .  .  the  Empress  of  Singapore  had  sailed  ;  and 
I,  who  had  never  been  anywhere  except  across 
to  Antwerp  or  Brussels,  was  off  "  to  parts 
unknown,  via  Singapore." 

I  hoped — I  almost  prayed — that  Vincent 
Gore  would  not  want  his  valet  before  we  were 
out  of  the  river  ;  and  fortunately  for  me,  my 
luck  still  held.  We  got  clear  of  the  Mersey 
and  out  to  sea  ;  and  the  September  day  shut 
down  to  dark.  It  was  blowing  up  by  now, 
the  cabin  in  which  I  sat  began  to  swing  and 
curtsy,  and  the  bulkheads  creaked  as  the  great 
ship  leaned  to  the  seas.  By  and  by  she  began 
to  lift  in  earnest,  and  you  could  hear  the  water- 
fall crash  of  big  waves  on  the  upper  deck,  as  she 
drove  her  nose  into  it,  storming  down  the 
Channel.     We  were  in  for  a  dirty  night. 

A  clashing  of  plates  in  the  neighbourhood  of 
the  pantries  reminded  me  that  I  was  hungry, 
and  also  that  the  dinner  hour  could  not  be  very 
far   off.      I    waited    for    the    first    bell   in    some 


*   22  Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

suspense ;  it  seemed  likely  that  my  troubles 
would  begin  with  the  announcement  of  the 
dressing  hour.  .  .  . 

I  did  not  have  to  wait  so  long.  Before  the 
bell  had  rung  a  steward  ran  down  the  alley- 
way past  my  door,  yelling  :  "  Sterry  !  Sterry  1 
Here,  where's  Cabin  Seven's  valet  got  to  ?  " 

I  came  out  into  the  narrow  passage  with  its 
glitter  of  white  paint  and  brass  door  knobs,  and 
sang  out,  **  Here  !  " 

The  man  did  not  give  me  half  a  glance. 

"  Your  governor  wants  you,"  he  threw  over 
one  shoulder,  as  he  hurried  away  into  the  pantries, 
leaning  all  to  one  side,  like  a  navy-blue  flower 
growing  on  a  windy  soil  of  crimson  carpeting. 
I  made  my  way  to  the  first  saloon,  staggering 
about  a  bit — for  though  I  was  a  good  sailor, 
I  had  no  sea-legs  as  yet — and  went  to  Number 
Seven  with  a  dash,  resolving  to  get  it  over. 

Vincent  Gore  was  seated  at  his  table,  writing, 
exactly  as  I  had  left  him  hours  before.  I  do 
not  think  he  had  moved  in  all  that  time. 

"  Get  out  my  clothes,"  he  said,  without 
looking  up. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  I  said,  determined  to  play  the 
part  out.     My  throat  felt  rather  dry. 

Gore  looked  up  at  once,  and  his  glance  went 
through  me  like  a  rifle-bullet. 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks  23 

"  What  is  the  meaning  of  this  comedy  ? — and 
where  is  my  man  Sterry  ?  "  he  said.  Then  he 
shut  his  mouth,  and  waited  for  a  reply,  in  a 
manner  that  I  felt  to  be  peculiarly  disconcerting. 
I  was  resolved,  however,  that  it  should  not 
disconcert  me. 

"  I  fought  your  valet  for  the  place,"  I  ex- 
plained, somewhat  short-windedly.  "  I  tried 
to  bribe  him  and  he  wouldn't.  So  there  was 
nothing  else  left  to  do.  It  was  a  fair  fight ; 
two  of  the  KinnouU  men  and  four  of  the  Red 
Star  were  there " 

"  May  one  ask  where  ?  "  asked  Gore,  with 
deceptive  mildness. 

"  Joe  Flanagan's,"  I  explained.  "  Flanagan's 
a  real  sport,  and  all  the  good  fights " 

"  I  don't  particularly  want  to  hear  about  all 
the  fights,  if  you  don't  mind,"  interrupted 
Gore,  still  with  that  unpleasant  gentleness. 
"  Give  me  the  net  result  of  this  one  only — if 
you  please." 

"  You  asked  me,  and  I  answered,"  I  said, 
with  a  spirit  of  flame.  "  We  had  as  even  a 
fight  as  you'd  wish  to  see  for  four  rounds,  and 
your  man  knocked  me  down  twice " 

"  He  seems  to  have  done  a  little  more  than 
that,"  interrupted  Gore  again,  looking  at  my 
damaged  face. 


24  Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

"  Whatever  he  did,  he's  in  hospital,  and  I 
put  him  there,"  I  answered.  "  But  he'll  be  as 
right  as  rain  in  a  day  or  two.     I  know." 

"  So  it  would  appear,"  said  Vincent  Gore. 

"  I  gave  him  about  sixty  pounds'  worth  of 
jewellery,"  I  explained.  "  I  hadn't  any  cash. 
He  didn't  want  to  go  back  on  you,  he  said. 
He  seemed  a  decent  chap,  and  I  was  sorry  I 
had  to  smash  him  up  so,  but  there  wasn't 
anything  else  to  do.  I'll  make  you  as  good  a 
valet  as  you  like,  since  you  won't  have  me  for 
a   secretary." 

"  You,"  said  Gore,  tilting  back  his  swing- 
chair  and  looking  up  at  me  with  those  hard, 
cat-pupils  of  his,  "  you  appear  to  be  a  nice  young 
devil,  taken  all  round." 

"  That's  what  your  valet  said,"  I  answered 
rather   impatiently. 

"  I  suspect  it's  not  the  first  time  you 
have  heard  the  comparison,"  observed  Gore. 
"  Well " — ^with  sudden  change  of  manner — 
"  perhaps  I'm  better  suited  to  have  the  handling 
of  a  young  devil  than  your  parents  seem  to 
have  been,  and  I've  no  particular  objection 
to  the  breed,  as  such — what's  your  name  ?  " 

"  Paul  Corbet." 

"  Very  well,  Corbet,  take  away  my  boots  and 
clean  them.     Clean  them  properly." 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismareks  25 

I  picked  up  the  boots — they  were  exceedingly 
dirty — and  started  to  leave  the  cabin. 

"  Say,  '  Yes,  sir,'  when  I  speak  to  you,"  barked 
Gore. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  I  said.  I  took  the  boots  away 
and  shut  the  door. 

The  Empress  was  pitching  heavily  as  I  made 
my  staggering  way  down  the  passage.  I 
cannoned  into  a  steward  before  I  had  gone 
far. 

"  Beg  pardon "  he  began,  and  then,  seeing 

the  boots  in  my  hand  :  "  You  silly  owl,  why 
can't  you  keep  out  of  the  way  ?  Where  are 
you  going  with  them  boots  ?  " 

"  Going  to  clean  them  if  I  can  get  some 
blacking,"  I  said. 

"  Who  are  you  with  ?  " 

"Mr.  Vincent  Gore." 

"  Oh— Red  Bob  !  Well ;  Pd  recommend  you 
to  clean  them  proper.  I'll  give  you  a  lick  of 
blacking  after  dinner ;  it  isn't  boot-cleaning 
time  now." 

"  I'm  going  to  do  them,"  I  said.  "  I  wish 
you  could " 

"  Who's  been  knocking  your  face  about  like 
that  ?  "  he  interrupted. 

"  A  hospital  patient." 

"  Hospital  patient  ?  " 


26  Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

"  He  is  now." 

"  Oh — ah — I  take  you  ;  I  comprehend.  Well, 
seeing  it's  Red  Bob  you're  with,  I'll  stretch  a 
point,  and  get  you  the  stuff  now.  Where's 
your  own  ?  " 

"  Don't  know." 

"  New  at  the  job  ?  " 

I  made  no  answer,  but  looked  at  him.  I 
might  have  looked  unpleasant.  He  went  off 
and  got  me  the  blacking,  and  I  found  my  cabin 
and  sat  down  to  clean  the  boots.  The  job 
was  not  so  easy  as  I  had  expected,  but  when  I 
had  got  them  clean  and  shining,  I  took  them  down 
to  Number  Seven  again,  and  knocked  at  the 
door. 

"  Your  boots,  sir,"  I  said. 

The  electric  lights  were  on,  and  the  cabin, 
panelled  in  white  and  gold  and  upholstered  with 
amber  brocade,  looked  very  bright  and  luxu- 
rious. Gore  was  standing  in  the  middle  of 
it,  and  swinging  to  the  motion  of  the  ship  as 
he  tied  his  evening  tie.  He  took  the  boots 
from  me,  and  examined  them.  He  tapped 
the  inside  of  the  heel  with  one  finger. 

"  Clean  that  again,"  he  said,  and  imme- 
diately turned  to  his  tie  once  more,  and  blotted 
me  out  of  existence.  I  went  back  and  cleaned 
the    insides    of    the    heels    with    microscopical 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks  27 

care.  The  second  bell  rang  while  I  was  at 
work  ;  I  hurried  back  to  the  cabin  as  quickly 
as  I  could.  Vincent  Gore  was  still  there.  He 
examined  the  boots  and  set  them  down. 

"  Don't  let  me  have  to  speak  about  that 
again,"  he  said.  "  Unpack  while  Fm  at 
dinner." 

He  left  the  cabin  and  walked  lightly  and 
securely  along  the  pitching  alley-way  towards 
the  saloon  companion.  I  did  my  best  with  his 
things ;  I  had  never  had  a  valet — such  luxuries 
not  being  fashionable  even  among  the  wealthy 
section  of  Liverpool  society — but  I  was  fas- 
tidious enough  about  my  own  clothes  to  guess 
fairly  well  how  things  should  be  done.  Gore 
was  back  before  I  had  quite  finished — I  found 
later  that  he  was  a  phenomenally  small  eater 
and  never  lingered  over  meals.  I  got  found 
fault  with  again  over  two  or  three  matters. 
I  shut  my  teeth  and  took  it  in  silence.  He  dis- 
missed me  soon,  and  I  went  to  the  stewards' 
pantry,  and  found  someone  to  give  me  food ; 
I  was  fairly  ravenous,  and  the  second-class 
cabin  tea  had  long  been  over. 

"  But  I  wonder,"  I  said  to  myself,  as  I  came 
back  to  my  cabin,  "  I  wonder  why  Vincent 
Gore  is  caUed  Red  Bob  ?  " 


CHAPTER  II 

WHY  Vincent  Robinson  Gore,  M.A.,  LL.D., 
F.R.G.S.,  F.R.S.,  was,  by  certain  people, 
called  Red  Bob  did  not  become  clear  to  me  for 
some  time.  There  were  a  good  many  people 
on  the  ship  who  knew  him,  but  his  curious  nick- 
name did  not  seem  to  be  current  among  the  upper 
classes  of  our  little  world  afloat.  It  was  the  ship 
proletariat  and  the  ship  bourgeoisie  who  used 
it — the  deck  hands,  stokers,  pantry  boys,  and 
general  stewardry.  He  was  Red  Bob  to  all  of 
these  ;  I  would  not  ask  them  why,  for  Gore 
kept  me  determinedly  to  my  valet  work  during 
the  first  part  of  the  voyage,  and  it  was  hard 
enough  to  stand  all  that  was  coming  to  me  in 
such  an  anomalous  position,  without  making 
things  worse  by  asking  questions  about  my 
employer.  The  stewards,  knowing  that  I  was 
not  one  of  themselves,  took  it  out  of  me  by  with- 
holding all  the  small  helps  and  hints  they  would 
have  given  to  one  of  their  own  class,  and  the 
passengers,   naturally,   had  nothing  to  do  with 

28 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks  29 

me.  I  had,  in  consequence,  a  fairly  hard  time 
of  it  up  to  Port  Said — harder  than  anything  in 
the  shape  of  snubbings,  scoldings,  loneliness 
and  uncongenial  work  that  had  ever  fallen  to 
my  share  in  Liverpool. 

And — I  was  supremely  happy. 

I  had  inherited  Spain  and  Portugal.  Up  to 
this,  they  had  been  areas  of  paint  on  a  piece  of 
paper.  Now  they  were  purple  headlands  and 
blue,  floating  peaks,  real  peaks  above  a  real  sea 
.  .  .  and  they  were  mine.  I  owned  the  rock 
of  Gibraltar  ;  last  week  it  had  been  an  insurance 
company's  boring  advertisement — now  it  was 
a  wonderful,  ghttering  town,  full  of  palms  and 
castles  and  Othellos  in  white  wool  gaberdines, 
and  Desdemonas  picturesque  in  mantilla  dress 
.  .  .  and  it  belonged  to  me.  I  owned  Mar- 
seilles— partly  ;  I  had  seen  France  before,  and 
that  seemed  to  lessen  my  sense  of  property  in 
the  place ;  still,  the  delicate  remoteness  of 
Notre  Dame  de  la  Garde  touched  my  senses 
like  a  perfume,  and  I  added  it  to  my  gains. 
When  we  came  to  the  Bay  of  Naples  I  found  it 
so  like  a  painting  of  itself  by  somebody  that  it 
disconcerted  me  a  little.  Nevertheless,  through 
it,  and  through  Vesuvius,  cut  sharp  as  a  gem 
against  a  wonderful,  clove-pink  dawn,  I  imme- 
diately    came     into     the     possession     of   ^the 


30  Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

Mediterranean,  which  up  to  that  point  had  some- 
how eluded  me.  And  when  the  Empress  tied  up 
alongside  the  jetty  of  Port  Said,  I,  looking  on 
flat  roofs  and  minarets  painted  in  strange  clear- 
ness against  a  sky  of  hard,  high,  unknown  blue, 
felt  with  a  deep  content  that  my  hands  had 
closed  upon  the  East. 

With  all  that,  was  it  likely  that  I  should  break 
my  heart  over  tricks  played  by  the  "  glory- 
hole,"  or  cold  shoulder  from  young  infantry 
lieutenants  going  second  out  to  Bombay  ? 

Nevertheless,  I  was  well  pleased  when  Gore 
sent  for  me,  just  after  we  had  entered  the  Canal, 
and  told  me,  without  any  preface  or  explana- 
tion, that  the  cabin  steward  would  take  over 
my  valet  duties,  and  that  my  secretary  work 
began  that  day. 

"  You  will  have  a  salary  of  a  hundred  and 
fifty  and  your  expenses,"  he  said.  "  I'll  expect 
you  to  learn  any  languages  I  may  require.  I 
can  get  a  working  knowledge  of  any  language  in 
three  weeks  myself,  and  I  don't  see  why  you 
should  take  much  longer." 

He  opened  a  drawer  and  took  out  a  small 
volume. 

"  This  is  a  Malay  phrase-book,"  he  said, 
handing  it  to  me.  "  It's  time  you  began. 
Malay — the  pigeon  Malay  that's  spoken  all  over 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismareks  31 

the  Far  East — is  ridiculously  easy  ;  you  ought 
to  learn  it  in  a  fortnight.  Talk  to  the  sailors 
for  practice ;  there  are  one  or  two  Malays 
among  them.  .  .  .  How  about  your  German  ?  " 

"  I'm  pretty  useful  at  it,"  I  answered, 
wondering  a  little,  for  I  did  not  see 
what  need  there  would  be  for  German  in 
the  lands  through  which  we  were  likely  to 
travel. 

"  Right,"  said  Gore ;  he  put  his  long  legs 
up  on  the  sofa  and  opened  a  book  of  Seligmann's. 
I  withdrew.  The  steward  met  me  in  the  alley- 
way. It  was  as  hot  as  the  flue  of  a  stove  in  there  ; 
the  ripples  on  the  Canal  outside  had  a  sharp, 
diamond  radiance  that  hit  you  in  the  eye,  and 
the  sands  of  the  Sahara  glittered  hard  white  and 
blue,  through  the  yellow  circles  of  the  ports. 
The  wind-shoots  were  out  all  along  the  ship, 
looking  like  great  coal  shovels  set  in  a  line. 
They  caught  next  to  no  breeze,  for  we  were 
going  with  the  wind. 

"  Lord,  it's  goin'  to  be  like  'ell  in  the  Red 
Sea,"  said  the  steward,  mopping  his  neck.  Then 
he  suddenly  remembered  himself,  and  put  away 
his  handkerchief. 

"  Beg  your  pardon,  sir,  I  forgot,"  he  said, 
pulling  himself  up  straight.  "  Mr.  Gore  says 
you're  to  go  into  cabin  twenty-nine,  sir,  down 


32  Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

the  next  alley- way.  Hope  you'll  be  comfortable, 
sir.     rU  see  after  you  myself." 

I  had  punched  his  head  in  the  stewards' 
"  glory-hole  "  the  night  before,  for  borrowing  my 
shoe-brushes  without  leave  ;  but  his  calm  eye 
and  starched  demeanour  suggested  that  he  had 
never  met  me  except  as  the  benevolent  employer 
of  a  worthy  and  obliging  servant.  ...  I  could 
hear  the  cHnk  of  Vincent  Gore's  gold  in  his 
pocket,  as  plainly  as  if  I  had  seen  it  put  there. 

"Thanks,"  I  said.  "Will  you  kindly  shift 
my  traps  ?  " 

"  I  did  so  already,  sir.  Anything  else  I  can 
do,  sir  ?  " 

"  No,  thanks,"  I  answered,  entering  my  new, 
neat  cabin  with  its  humming  electric  fan,  and 
sitting  down  on  my  cream  brocade  sofa  to  medi- 
tate on  the  fresh  turn  of  affairs.  It  was  clear 
to  me  that  I  had  been  successful  in  passing  some 
test — I  could  not  tell  what — and  that  Gore  had 
finally  decided  to  join  my  fortunes  to  his.  What 
those  fortunes  might  be  I  was  uncertain  ;  but 
I  was  sure  of  one  thing — there  was  a  mystery  and 
a  secret  somewhere.  Vincent  Gore  was  not 
only  an  anthropologist  and  a  geographer.  .  .  . 
What  else  was  he  ? 

The  door  curtain  swung  a  little,  and  a  subdued 
tap  sounded  on  the  woodwork. 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks  33 

"  Mr.  Gore  asking  for  you,  sir,"  came  the 
steward's  voice. 

I  went  back  to  cabin  seven.  Gore  was  still 
on  the  sofa,  under  the  big,  open  port. 

"  Shut  the  door,  please,"  he  said.  "  I  wanted 
to  say  to  you — that  I  have  had  secretaries,  and 
given  them  up,  because  they  talked.  .  .  .  Don't 
you  talk,  young  Paul !  " 

The  last  words  were  shot  out  with  a  dynamitic 
violence  that  almost  made  me  jump,  and  as  he 
spoke  them.  Gore's  cat-pupilled  eyes  flashed 
suddenly  red.  If  you  have  never  seen  light  eyes 
play  this  trick,  you  will  not  believe  me  ;  and 
indeed,  the  small  flash  sometimes  caused  by  a 
sudden  dilating  of  the  pupil  is  not  very  notice- 
able. As  a  rule  Gore's  eyes,  however,  did  not 
dilate,  they  seemed  to  explode,  and  for  one 
astonishing  instant,  they  were  red,  red  as  flame. 
Then  the  light  passed  away,  and  the  steady  cat- 
pupil  was  fixed  on  me  again.  But  now  I  did  not 
need  to  ask  anyone  why  Vincent  Robinson  Gore, 
in  the  steamer  world  that  knew  him  so  well,  went 
by  the  name  of  Red  Bob. 

"  That's  aU,"  he  said. 

When  I  got  back  to  my  cabin,  I  settled  myself 
for  a  comfortable  afternoon  lounge  beneath  the 
fan,  musing  upon  many  things.  Especially  did 
I    muse   upon   the   other   secretaries,   who   had 

3 


34  Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 


talked.  .  .  .  Gore  was  the  sort  of  man  who  would 
maroon  you  penniless  in  a  foreign  port,  without 
a  grain  of  compunction,  if  he  thought  you  had 
given  him  cause.  I  made  a  compact  with  myself 
that  no  cause  should  be  given. 

I  worked  hard  at  Malay  ;  it  is  an  easy  language, 
if  you  do  not  trouble  about  acquiring  the  literary 
form,  and  I  was  able  to  make  myself  useful  with 
porters  and  "  mandoers "  (native  hotel-clerks) 
by  the  time  we  got  to  Java.  .  .  .  This  is  not  the 
story  of  our  travels  through  the  East  and  Farther 
East ;  if  I  once  began  to  tell  those  things,  I 
should  never  come  to  an  end.  I  think  I  was  more 
or  less  drunk  from  Aden  clear  through  to  Batavia 
— drunk  on  the  wonders  and  glories  of  the  wide 
world.  I  should  never  have  remembered  to  write 
to  my  father,  if  Gore  had  not  told  me  to  do  it, 
somewhere  about  Bombay.  When  I  did  write,  I 
found  I  had  nothing  particular  to  say  to  him  ; 
I  only  told  him  that  I  was  not  coming  back,  and 
sent  a  civil  message  to  Aunt  Sarah.  There  was 
no  use  in  filling  up  pages  with  explanations,  even 
if  I  could  have  explained  anything.  East  of  the 
East,  thank  God,  one  simply  does  things,  without 
having  to  chew  and  slaver  them  all  over  with 
explanations,  before  and  after. 

Gore  himself,  as  I  afterwards  heard,  had 
telegraphed    to    my   people    from    Marseilles — 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks  35 


a    characteristic     message,    which     must     have 
astonished  the  recipients : 

"  Tour  young  devil  is  with  me. — Vincent  Gore.^^ 

I  don't  know  how  other  people  feel  about  these 
things,  but  to  me  there  has  always  been  a  fasci- 
nation about  certain  parts  of  physical  geography 
— latitudes,  longitudes.  Tropics,  Arctic  and  Ant- 
arctic circles,  points  of  the  compass,  the  Equator. 
I  should  never  have  any  respect  for  the  man  who 
was  heard  "  to  speak  disrespectfully  of  the 
Equator." 

I  said  as  much  to  Gore  one  night  when  we  were 
running  through  a  sea  of  hot,  black  oil,  down 
towards  the  Java  coast.  I  thought  he  would  have 
laughed — but  he  did  not.  He  only  took  another 
pull  at  the  extraordinary  Burmah  cheroot  he  was 
smoking — a  thing  as  big  as  a  ruler — and  said  : 

"  I  know,  boy.  .  .  .  There  is  something  in 
the  words  that  goes  to  your  head.  You  run  down 
the  Bay  of  Biscay  into  the  thirties  out  of  the 
forties,  and  you  feel  there's  an  adventure  in  that  ; 
and  you  say  to  yourself  that  the  South  is  waiting 
just  round  the  corner  ;  and  the  word  sounds  to 
you  like  the  name  of  a  girl  you  love.  And  you 
see  Africa — it's  just  a  strip  of  sand  and  rocky 
hills — but    it  makes  your    heart    jump,  because 

3* 


36  Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 


Africa  is,  well,  Africa  ;  there  are  no  words  for 
these  things.  But  men  have  shed  their  blood 
for  them,  and  they'll  go  on  shedding  it. 

"  And  you  get  to  the  Line — and  it  seems 
glorious  to  you — just  an  imaginary  division  in  the 
sea — still,  you'd  write  hymns  to  it  if  you  knew 
how.  .  .  .  The  East — everyone  talks  about  the 
fascination  of  the  East ;  you  thought  you  knew  all 
about  that,  but  then  there's  another  East,  further 
away,  and  that  seems  as  delightful  as  finding  a 
sovereign  in  a  pocket  you  thought  was  empty. 
The  forms  of  things  on  the  map  fascinate  you  like 
pictures ;  you  can  read  an  atlas  for  hours.  When 
there's  a  dotted  line  anywhere,  or  a  blank  space, 
you  want  so  much  to  go  there  that  it  makes  your 
mind  ache  just  as  your  stomach  aches  when  you're 
hungry " 


"  I  think  you're  a  wizard,  sir,"  I  said,  staring 
at  him.  For  indeed  he  had  spoken  out  my  very 
inner  mind. 

"  Not  a  wizard,  young  Paul,  only  a  man  who's 
been  there  too,"  said  Gore.  There  was  some- 
thing I  liked  in  his  face.  You  would  never  have 
thought  he  had  it  in  him  to  swear  at  you  violently 
in  four  languages  when  you  let  his  papers  get 
astray. 

"  Ah,  but  you "  I  said. 

"  Same  breed,"  said  Gore,  tucking  the  big  cigar 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks  37 

into  the  corner  of  his  mouth.  "  Celebrity  and  all 
that,  you  mean  ?  Yes.  But  we're  all  one 
family,  young  Paul.  You  and  I  and  Stanley 
and  Burton  and  Sven  Hedin  and  all  of  them. 
Any  one  of  us  would  give  up  our  lives  for  a  river, 
or  make  love  to  a  mountain  range.  Or  we'd 
serve  seven  years,  and  seven  years  after  that,  for 
Rachel  in  the  shape  of  a  tribe  that  nobody'd 
ever  heard  of.  No  sense  in  it,  boy,  so  far  as  we're 
concerned.  Means  a  couple  of  letters  after  your 
name  when  you're  growing  old,  and  a  flock  of 
geese  a-cackling  over  your  little  bit  of  work, 
and  saying  you  never  did  it.  .  .  .  Means  fevers 
and  dirt  and  general  uncomfortableness,  short 
commons  and  that  sort  of  thing.  Spear  or  an 
arrow  into  you  once  in  a  way.  Get  three-quarters 
drowned  now  and  again;  get  wrecked — beastly 
things,  wrecks,  except  in  boys'  books.  No  com- 
fort. No  wife,  no  home.  I'd  tell  you  to  stop 
while  you  can — only  that  was  before  you  bashed 
in  the  head  of  my  valet,  and  came  aboard.  You'll 
never  stop  now.  You're  one  of  us,  God  help 
you  !  " 

"  There's  nothing  in  the  world  I'd  rather  be," 
I  said. 

"  Twenty  years — when  the  century's  beginning 
to  get  middle-aged,"  went  on  Gore,  as  if  he  had 
not     heard     me.      "  Twenty     years.  .  .  .  Your 


88  Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

James  and  your  Henry  will  have  the  mills  then, 
because  of  course  you'll  be  out  of  the  old  man's 
will,  and  they'll  take  care  you  stay  out.  They'll 
be  respected.  Sit  on  committees,  people  ask 
their  opinions,  stand  for  Parliament,  make  the 
nation's  laws.  Mrs.  James  and  Mrs.  Henry. 
Nice,  pinky-faced  young  daughters,  boys  at 
school.  Lamps  in  the  windows  when  they  come 
up  the  avenue  at  night.  Stuffy  comfy  evenings, 
red  curtains — and  cats — and  somebody  making 
crochet.     Home,  young  Paul." 

"  If  there's  anything  on  the  face  of  the  earth  I 
loathe,"  I  said  with  emphasis,  "  it's  home.  And 
as  for  wives  and  kids,  I  can't  for  the  life  of  me  see 
why  any  man's  fool  enough  to  bother  with  them. 
And  as  for  the  rest,  and  red  curtains,  and  stuffy 
evenings — why,  sir,  you'd  have  died  if  you'd  had 
to  live  a  life  like  that." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Gore,  with  that  twinkle  in  his 
eye  again.  "  Undoubtedly  I'd  have  died — some 
of  me.  .  .  .  But  did  you  ever  hear  the  schoolboy 
'  howler  '  about  an  amphibious  animal  ?  " 

"  *  An  animal  that  can't  live  in  the  water, 
and  dies  on  the  land,'  "  I  quoted. 

"  Yes.  That  kid  shot  straighter  than  he  knew. 
There  are  such  animals." 

"  Well,  I  don't  understand,"  I  said. 

"  No,"  answered  Gore,  looking  down  at  me 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks  39 

with  the  curious,  middle-aged  sort  of  wisdom 
that  is  so  irritating  to  you  when  you  are  really 
young — in  my  opinion,  elderly  people  of  forty 
and  upwards  think  they  know  a  great  deal  more 
than  they  actually  do. 

We  fell  to  talking  about  Java  then,  and  the 
subject  dropped.  But  after  that  night  I  think 
we  both  understood  our  fortunes  were  linked  by 
a  stronger  bond  than  that  of  a  salary  and  service. 
As  Gore  had  said,  we  were  one  breed. 

By  this  time  he  had  told  me  where  we  were 
going,  and  I  could  have  danced  a  hornpipe  on 
the  deck  when  I  heard  it.  We  were  bound  for 
New  Guinea — not  the  comparatively  settled 
and  civilized  area  of  British  Papua,  but  the  wild, 
unsettled  northern  coasts,  and  the  archipelagos 
of  Httle-known  islands  that  lay  beyond — Kaiser 
Wilhelms  Land,  the  Bismarcks,  the  Solomons. 
There  was  nothing  in  all  our  baggage  that 
engaged  my  attention  so  much,  after  this,  as  the 
great,  finely-lettered  atlas  with  its  satisfying 
maps  of  every  corner  of  the  earth.  I  studied 
Borneo,  Celebes,  Halmaheira,  Banda,  Amboyna, 
Ceram,  the  Aru  Islands — all  the  outliers  of  New 
Guinea — the  great  island  continent  itself,  British, 
Dutch  and  German  ;  the  lesser  island  groups 
that  huddled  round  it,  like  chickens  round  a 
hen  (indeed,  the  whole  country  is  shaped  not  at 


40  Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 


all  unlike  a  long,  scraggy  fowl).  I  gloated  over 
the  famous  names  that  lay  thick  along  its  coasts — 
Geelvink,  Schouten,  Tasman,  Le  Maire,  D'Entre- 
casteaux,  and  mentally  shook  my  fist  at  the  vandal- 
ism of  the  hideous  titles  along  the  German  section 
— such  names  as  Potsdamhaven,  Stephansort, 
Friedrich  Wilhelmshaven,  Herbertshohe. 

"  It's  like  a  beastly  lot  of  suburban  villas,  with 
monkey-puzzles  in  their  gardens,  along  a  tarred 
motor-road,"  I  complained  to  Gore,  when  he 
found  me  nursing  his  weighty  "  Philip's  "  in  a 
secluded  corner  of  the  deck. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  about  it  ?  "  asked 
Gore  oddly. 

"  Do  about  it  ?  "  I  asked.  In  the  curious 
pause  that  followed,  the  steamer's  screw  beat 
steadily,  and  the  sound  of  the  Java  Sea  rippling 
like  corn  silk  before  our  bows,  came  up  through 
the  quiet  afternoon.  .  .  .  Saucers  and  spoons 
were  tinkling  somewhere  below  ;  it  was  evidently 
four  o'clock. 

In  those  days — and  they  are  not  so  long  ago — 
the  Terrible  Year  threw  no  shadow  upon  the 
sunny  fields  where  mankind  played  like  a  child 
beneath  the  slopes  of  a  slowly-waking  volcano. 
Yet  there  were  some,  here  and  there,  who  sensed 
the  first  dull  tremors,  before  the  smoke  and  flame 
burst    forth.     Gore,    I    think,    was    one.     I    say 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismareks  41 

think,  for  there  were  recesses  in  his  mind  to  which 
I  was  never  admitted.  How  much  he  may  have 
known,  guessed,  found  out,  I  can  never  even 
surmise. 

At  any  rate,  he  passed  the  matter  off,  and  no 
more  was  said.  If  he,  with  his  secret  knowledge, 
whatever  it  may  have  been,  saw  "  MENE, 
MENE,  TEKEL  UPHARSIN  "  written  across 
the  Friedrichs  and  Finschs  of  the  map,  so  did 
not  I. 


And  now  I  have  come  to  a  part  which  is  very 
difficult  to  tell.  If  I  were  one  of  those  poetical 
fellows,  who  make  a  song  about  everything,  in 
prose  or  in  verse,  I  suppose  it  would  be  easy. 
But  it  is  not.  I  read  poetry,  but  I  do  not  write 
it.     And  as  for  speaking  it 

Well,  when  we  came  into  the  harbour  of 
Banda,  the  last  of  the  Moluccas,  that  blue,  early 
morning,  with  the  sun  sending  up  long  rays  hke 
the  crest  of  the  P.  and  O.  Company,  behind  the 
rim  of  the  volcano 

You  see,  Banda  Harbour  is  just  a  volcano.  A 
crater  with  walls  of  green  forest,  quite  steep 
straight  up,  and  a  floor  of  deep  water — very 
deep  and  very  blue-green.  And  there  are 
islands.   Little  ones,  with  palms  .  .  .  palms.  .  .  . 


42  Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

No,  I  can't  describe  the  place.  It  is  hke  some- 
thing that  you  see  in  a  coloured  picture  when  you 
are  a  little  kid  at  school,  and  that  you  don't 
believe  in  when  you  grow  up.  Only  it  is  true. 
Even  the  fortressed  sort  of  stone  town,  and  the 
castle  on  the  height,  that  you  see  in  the  picture, 
are  there  too — there  on  Banda,  last  outlier  of 
Malaysia,  next  to  New  Guinea,  which  is  cer- 
tainly the  end  of  the  world.  I  am  not  going  to 
write  the  history  of  the  castle  and  the  fort  ; 
all  castles  and  forts  have  exactly  the  same  history. 
Somebody  built  them  ;  somebody  else  took  them  ; 
somebody  took  them  again  ;  many  somebodies 
were  killed  defending  them  ;  then  at  last  they 
grew  old-fashioned,  and  the  green  grass  sprang 
up  among  their  stones,  and  tourists  with  guide- 
books wandered  about  among  the  ruins,  giving 
the  excellent  imitation  of  a  hen  drinking  that  I 
have  always  observed  to  be  inseparable  from  the 
tourist  spirit.  .  .  . 

I  have  nothing  to  say  about  the  castle  and 
fort  of  Banda,  because  life  is  short,  and  anyhow 
I  am  not  Cook  or  Dr.  Lunn  of  the  tours.  And 
besides,  it  was  not  at  the  forts  that  things 
happened. 

We  came  in  early,  as  I  have  said,  and  a  German 
author  recited  poetry  at  the  Goonong  Api 
as  we  dropped  under  its  fiery  cone,  and  a  young 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks  48 

doctor  going  to  Kaiser  Wilhelms  Land  said  that 
the  beautiful  harbour  was  filled  with  the  sea 
as  a  round,  deep  cup  is  filled  with  wine.  I  asked 
him  if  they  drank  wine  out  of  cups  in  Berlin, 
and  if  so,  why  ;  but  he  did  not  answer  me. 
Personally,  1  should  have  said  that  the  place 
was  more  like  an  immense  circular  skating  rink, 
with  canoes  for  the  skaters.  At  any  rate,  it 
was  wonderful,  and  the  town  was  wonderful 
too.  Gore  let  me  have  the  morning  off,  and 
I  made  for  the  market  without  waiting  for 
breakfast,  bought  a  leaf  full  of  hot  curry  and 
another  of  rice,  and  ate  them  as  I  went  along 
through  the  sleepy  stone  streets  to  the  nutmeg 
woods  above. 

I  do  not  know  what  took  me  to  the  nutmeg 
woods.  The  town  was  more  interesting ;  it 
was  scattered  with  odd,  sleepy  Chinese,  sitting 
motionless  as  temple  gods  inside  their  little 
shops,  where  no  one  ever  seemed  to  come  to  buy, 
and  Malays  in  silk  jackets  and  cotton  petti- 
coats, dozing  on  their  feet  at  the  street  corners 
— and  there  were  gateway  carvings  that  made 
you  think  you  were  having  a  nightmare  in  broad 
daylight,  and  great  Dutch  planter  houses — 
palaces  almost — built  largely  of  fine  marble, 
but  dropping  to  pieces  for  lack  of  a  soul  to  live 
in  them.     Whereas,  on  the  track  that  led  up 


44  Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

through  the  woods,  there  was  nothing — nothing 
but  trees. 

The  morning  was  hot  with  the  marrow- 
melting  heat  of  Malaysia  ;  even  here  in  the 
woods,  where  the  slim,  light  nutmegs  grew 
beneath  the  shadow  of  lofty  kanaris,  like  delicate 
ladies  sheltering  beneath  a  canopy  of  green  and 
gold,  it  was  undeniably  warm.  Still,  I  went 
on  and  up.  The  sea  was  sparkling  and  cream- 
ing far  away  below,  where  one  could  see  it 
through  the  openings  in  the  forest,  and  the 
nutmeg  flowers,  carved  ivory  blossoms  smelling 
of  all  the  East,  lay  in  drifts  like  faded  snow,  so 
that  I  could  scatter  them  with  my  feet  as  I 
went.  There  were  nutmegs  everywhere,  grow- 
ing at  the  same  time  as  the  flowers.  It  pleased 
me  oddly  to  see  that,  I  remember,  and  to  know 
that  leaf  and  fruit  and  blossom  went  on  for 
ever  and  ever  in  these  far-away,  dreamy  Islands 
of  the  Blest.  And  the  fruit,  like  a  nectarine 
to  look  at,  with  a  jetty  stone  laced  round  in 
scarlet  mace,  was  curiously  fascinating — not  very 
eatable,  and  yet  one  couldn't  help  eating  it.  .  .  . 

"  It  is  first  cousin  to  the  lotus,"  I  thought, 
as  I  set  my  teeth  in  a  second.  "  If  you  ate 
enough  of  it,  you  would  lie  down  here  among 
these  fallen  flowers,  with  the  scent  of  the  spice 
in  your  brain,  and  stay  there — you  would  doze 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks  45 

away,  listening  to  the  sound  of  the  sea,  and 
dreaming — dreaming.  You'd  hear  those  crested 
pigeons  cooing,  and  the  sound  of  the  steamers 
coming  in  and  going  away,  and  you'd  never  mind 
them.     I  can  understand.  .  .  ." 

I  was  touched  by  a  kind  of  fear — not  of  the 
nutmeg,  but  of  what  it  represented — the  per- 
fumed dream,  the  cHnging,  poisonous  peace 
that  wraps  itself  about  the  white  man  in  the 
East  beyond  the  East,  leaving  him,  like  Merlin 
in  the  hollow  oak  : 

"  As  dead, 
And  lost  to  life,  and  name,  and  love,  and  fame." 

I  remembered  things  I  had  seen  on  our  long 
journey — palm  huts  on  coral  beaches,  with 
bare,  white  feet  loafing  and  lolling  about  the 
sand  of  the  floors ;  eyes  of  English  grey  that  had 
grown  empty-happy,  as  no  white  man's  eyes 
should  be,  that  looked  out  all  day  under  eaves 
of  sago-thatch  to  the  far-off  ruffle  of  the  reef 
upon  the  blue.  .  .  . 

I  threw  the  nutmeg  fruit  away,  but  I  laughed 
as  I  threw  it.  For  I  knew  that,  whatever  my 
faults  might  be,  I  was  not  one  of  the  kind  that 
"  goes  black."        ' 

I  went  on  and  up.  It  was  pleasant  to  me  to 
hear  the  tramp  of  my  solid  boots  on  the  track  ; 
it    seemed,    in    that    land    of   ghding,    barefoot 


46  Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 


shadows,  to  mark  me  out  as  one  of  the  master 
race.  Only  those  who  have  Hved  in  tropical 
countries  can  understand  the  significance  of  the 
boot,  I  can  fully  believe.  If  the  ancient  Romans 
hadn't  allowed  themselves  to  slop  about  in 
sandals,  they  would  still  have  been  the  masters 
of  the  world. 

Thinking  after  this  fashion,  I  became  aware 
of  another  boot ;  a  very  light  one,  but  unmis- 
takably no  bare  foot,  sounding  on  the  track 
somewhere  above  me.  The  air  was  so  still 
under  the  great  kanaris  that  one  could  hear 
every  smallest  sound.  This  boot,  or  shoe,  was 
a  long  way  off  ;  but  there  was  something  clean- 
cut  and  delicate  about  its  fall  that  interested 
me. 

"  A  girl,"  I  said,  as  it  drew  nearer,  coming 
down.  "  A  white  girl.  No  half-castery  in  that 
walk.  Young,  I  should  guess.  Pretty,  if  her 
face  matches  the  sort  of  foot  she  seems  to 
have.  .  .  ." 

I  sfood  at  a  turn  of  the  track  and  waited.  A 
crested  pigeon,  deep  in  the  wood,  crooned 
monotonously  to  itself,  like  something  that  has 
been  sounding  for  ever  and  ever,  and  never  means 
to  stop ;  among  the  kanari  tops  a  bustling, 
small  breeze  had  begun  to  stir,  but  down  below 
it  was  windless  as  the  bottom  of  the  sea. 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks  47 


The  step  came  round  the  corner.  It  was  a 
girl.  She  was  walking  rather  quickly  ;  she  wore 
a  pale-green  dress,  like  leaves,  instead  of  the  all 
but  universal  tropical  white.  I  remember  I 
noticed  that  particularly,  also  the  leaves  in  her 
hair,  worn,  I  think,  instead  of  a  hat,  to  protect 
her  from  sunstroke,  but  looking,  nevertheless, 
like  an  Oread's  woodland  crown.  I  saw,  as  she 
came  nearer,  that  her  face,  under  the  leaves, 
was  hke  .  .  .  what  was  it  like  ?  Something 
that  I  had  seen  lately ;  something  that  was 
sweet  and  intoxicating.  .  .  .  Why,  it  was  like 
the  blossoms  of  the  nutmeg  tree,  carved  ivory, 
pale  and  warm  ;  and  the  eyes  were  the  colour 
of  the  nutmeg's  fruit — deep-hidden,  xich  black 
stone.  There  was  no  colour  at  all  in  the  cheeks, 
but  the  lips  were  red — it  may  have  been  my 
fancy,  yet  I  think  not — with  the  very  redness 
of  the  crimson  mace  that  lay  scattered  among 
the  ivory  flowers  on  the  ground. 

Those  dark  eyes  were  eyes  of  the  sun-lands, 
and  the  languor  of  the  tropic  world  showed 
itself  in  the  delicately  poised  head  and  undu- 
lating movements  of  the  girl ;  yet  the  fineness 
of  her  features,  and  especially  the  cameo  cutting 
of  nose  and  upper  lip,  proclaimed  the  blood 
pure  European — especially  to  me.  It  was  not 
for  nothing  that  I  had  been  the  pupil  of  a  famous 


48  Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 


anthropologist  during  many  weeks  of  travel.  I 
did  not  need  to  look  at  the  Oread's  finger-nails 
in  order  to  know  that  there  was  no  dark  drop 
in  her  veins,  despite  the  black  eyes  and  the  ivory- 
pale  skin.  The  half  or  quarter-caste  girl  of 
gentle  breeding,  who  swarms  in  Malaysian  seas, 
charming,  pretty,  well-educated,  yet  cursed  with 
the  curse  of  mixed  blood,  that  is  sure  as  murder 
to  "  out  "  some  day — this  girl  had  not,  and  has 
never  had,  attraction  for  me.  But  the  lady  in 
green  was  a  lady,  one  of  my  own  race  and  blood, 
and  I  was  interested  in  her.  I  judged  her  to 
be  tropic-born,  perhaps  even  of  parents  who 
were  tropic-born  themselves.  We  had  not  met 
with  many  of  her  kind  ;  ethnologically,  I  told 
myself,  she  was  quite  worth  studying.  I  did 
study  her.  She  seemed  entirely  unconscious 
of  me  ;  she  passed  by  me  with  the  light,  quick 
step  that  I  had  noticed  (where  did  the  languor 
come  in  ?  Yet  it  was  undoubtedly  there),  and 
melted  away  among  the  kanaris,  like  : 

"  A  green  thought  in  a  green  shade." 

After  she  had  gone  by,  a  very  slight,  sweet 
perfume  hung  about  in  the  air  for  a  moment  or 
two.  Most  women  in  Eastern  lands  have  an 
unpleasant  liking  for  strong,  -coarse  scent ;  I 
had  noticed  it,  and  come  to  detest  any  odour 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks  49 

that  ever  was  manufactured  and  bottled.  But  I 
did  not  disHke  this ;  it  was  a  fresh,  live  perfume, 
not  dead  nor  made,  and  it  seemed  to  represent 
the  girl,  when  she  was  gone,  as  a  picture  represents 
a  face. 

What  I  did  not  know  then  about  this  scent 
of  hers  I  will  tell  now.  She  had  a  passion  for 
tropic  flowers — mostly  for  those  resembling  her- 
self, though  I  do  not  think  this  was  a  conscious 
selection.  She  loved  frangipani,  stephanotis, 
tuberose,  trumpet-flower,  magnolia,  and  all 
the  rich  white  flowers,  wax-like  and  marble- 
like and  alabaster-like,  that  are  comm.on  in  hot 
countries.  Her  passion  for  them  was  such  that 
she  always  had  them  about  her,  sometimes  in 
her  hair  and  on  her  dress,  more  often  concealed 
beneath  her  muslins  and  laces,  next  her  own  white 
skin,  surrounding  her  with  the  delicate,  mys- 
terious suggestion  of  flower-petals  and  fragrance 
that  I  had  noticed,  and  that  was  so  pecuHarly 
her  own. 

I  stood  by  the  turn  of  the  road  for  a  little 
while  after  she  had  gone  by.  I  smoked  a  cigar- 
ette, and  wondered  who  this  Oread  with  the 
woodland  crown  might  be.  I  wondered  where 
she  lived.  I  wondered  who  was  in  love  with 
her.  I  wondered  why  she  had  gone  up  the  hill, 
and    why    she    had    come    down.     I    wondered 

4 


50  Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

if  she  ever  wore  a  hat.  There  seemed  no  end 
to  the  wonder  that  flowed  up  Hke  an  outbreaking 
spring  in  my  mind. 

I  got  down  to  the  ship  again,  I  don't  quite 
remember  when  or  how.  I  must  have  been 
thinking  a  good  deal  on  the  way,  but  I  could 
not  have  told  then,  and  cannot  tell  now,  what 
I  was  thinking  about.  The  steamer — a  small, 
rather  unsteady  thing  called  the  Afzelia — left 
again  by  sunset.  I  nearly  missed  her,  because 
I  lingered  about  the  gangway  till  the  sailors  were 
pulHng  it  up,  and  had  to  jump  in  the  end.  I 
had  an  idea  I  wanted  to  see  something  or  some- 
body, but  was  not  sure  what. 

Gore  saw  that  I  had  nearly  been  left  behind, 
but  he  made  no  comment.  What  you  had  nearly 
done,  good  or  bad,  never  interested  him.  Clean- 
cut  results  were  the  only  sort  of  thing  that  he 
had  any  use  for. 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  ship,  as  I  have  said,  was  a  German 
one,  a  tidy  little  boat  that  did  the  long 
trip  from  Singapore  to  German  New  Guinea 
and  New  Britain  once  in  three  months  or  so, 
carrying  Government  officers,  planters  and 
traders  to  the  colony.  We  had  only  been  on 
her  a  day  or  two  before  Banda,  and  I  had  not 
taken  any  special  notice  of  the  passengers,  being 
too  much  interested  in  the  strange  Moluccan 
ports  where  we  were  calling  to  trouble  about 
anything  with  a  flavour  of  Europe  in  it.  But 
after  Banda,  our  last  port  of  call  on  the  way  to 
Kaiser  Wilhelms  Land,  the  Afzelia  became  sud- 
denly so  German  that  we  two  Englishmen 
began  to  feel  a  little  "  out  of  it."  The  magis- 
trates and  customs  people  and  postal  officials, 
and  captains  of  native  forces,  and  managers  of 
plantations  and  stores,  began  to  march  up  and 
down  the  narrow  decks  with  their  chests  swelled 
out,  whistling  soldierly  airs ;  the  Kaiser's  health 
was  drunk  after  dinner,  and  free  opinions  were 
freely  bandied  about  the  Dutch  colonies  through 

51  4* 


52  Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

which  we  had  been  passing — not  to  the  advantage 
of  Queen  Wilhelmina's  empire. 

"  As  soon  as  we  get  these  places  we  shall  reform 
them,"  I  heard  a  tall,  smart-looking  fellow 
called  Hahn  say  to  a  stocky  South  German  trader. 
They  were  marching  together  up  and  down  the 
decks  under  the  shadow  of  Ceram,  last  outlier 
of  Malaysia — a  wonderful  world  of  high,  sabre- 
toothed  peaks  and  rolling  tablelands,  Reckitt's 
blue  in  colour,  hung  above  a  sea  of  bluish  silver. 

"  Yes — yes,"  answered  Wolff,  the  trader, 
nodding  his  round,  cropped  head,  "  so  we  shall." 

"  That  Ceram,"  went  on  Hahn,  "  is  worth 
something,  and  when  the  natives  have  been  well 
kicked,  there  will  be  no  more  fool's  play  of  re- 
bellion. Also  we  shall  back  to  life  the  trade  of 
that  dead  island,  Banda,  immediately  bring. 
Also  Amboyna.     Java  we  shall " 

"  Guard  !  "  interrupted  Wolff.  "  That  young 
Englishman  knows  German." 

"  What  does  that  make  ?  "  inquired  Hahn, 
swinging  his  arms  as  he  walked,  and  looking 
proudly  over  the  sea.  "  In  this  part  of  the  world 
it  is  not  the  English  who  are  the  masters." 

"  No,"  I  said,  putting  my  head  out  of  the 
saloon  entrance,  "  only  everywhere  else.  We 
don't  mind  your  having  a  bite  of  our  leavings." 

Hahn    turned    scarlet    from    crown    to    chin ; 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks  53 

the  very  scalp  under  his  golden  bristles  of  hair 
glowed  pink. 

**  If  you  were  a  German,"  he  said,  restraining 
himself  with  some  difficulty,  "  I  should  know 
how  to  answer  that."     He  spoke  in  good  English. 

"  Answer  it  any  way  thou  likest,"  I  replied 
in  German,  using  the  familiar  "  ^«." 

"  Damn  you,  then,  I  will !  "  was  his  (English) 
reply.  He  pulled  a  dogskin  glove  out  of  his 
pocket  (where  I  seriously  believe  he  kept  it  for 
just  such  emergencies)  and  was  about  to  throw 
it  in  my  face,  when  a  head,  bald,  fair,  middle- 
aged,  with  peculiar,  grey-green  eyes,  quietly 
projected  itself  from  a  neighbouring  port-hole, 
and  remarked  :   "  Quiet  !  " 

It  had  an  extraordinary  effect  upon  Hahn.  He 
dropped  his  arm,  looked  at  me  sulkily,  and  was 
about  to  turn  away.  Oddly  enough,  I  felt 
sorry  for  him  ;  I  rather  liked  him  on  the  whole. 
He  wanted  a  row  ;  that  was  all  in  his  favour — 
so  did  I  want  a  row.  And  whoever  the  gentle- 
man with  the  commanding  eye  might  be,  he 
didn't  command  me. 

So  I  straightened  out  the  situation  in  my  own 
way.  The  glove  was  still  in  the  young  German's 
hand.  I  nipped  it  from  between  his  fingers, 
flicked  him  on  the  nose  with  it,  and  handed  it 
back  with  a  bow.     He  turned  pinker  than  ever, 


54  Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 


and  looked  at  the  bodiless  head  with  what  almost 
seemed  an  expression  of  entreaty.  The  head 
was  sternly  shaken. 

As  for  me,  I  had  my  back  turned  to  the  port, 
so  I  quietly  winked  at  Hahn,  and  said,  as  I 
passed  him  by : 

"  The  first  place  we  stop."  Then  I  went  to 
my  cabin,  and  lit  the  biggest  and  blackest  of 
cigars  that  I  had  bought  in  Sumatra.  I  felt  that 
I  owed  it  to  myself. 

"  Going  to  be  fun,"  I  said,  and  swung  my  feet 
joyously  to  and  fro,  over  the  edge  of  my  bunk. 

I  was  not  long  left  to  enjoy  myself.  Gore 
sent  for  me,  and  gave  me  a  lot  of  stuff  to  copy  out 
in  the  saloon — our  only  working-place  for  the 
present.  I  took  the  papers,  and  set  myself  down 
at  a  side  table  with  my  typewriter,  cursing  his 
scientific  zeal.  I  wanted  to  look  at  Ceram  until 
we  were  out  of  sight — a  piratical  island,  of  the 
real  old,  fierce  Malay  type,  where  the  natives  were 
still  actively  engaged  in  hunting  each  other's 
heads,  seemed  to  me  a  good  deal  more  interesting 
than  some  dusty  facts  about  culture  drifts  and 
modification  by  environment. 

We  steamed  on  through  a  quiet  sea,  warm, 
pleasant  winds  pouring  through  the  open  door- 
ways of  the  saloon.  I  could  hear  the  flying-fish 
skittering   about   our   bows ;     we   were   running 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks  55 

through  shoals  of  them.  The  ship's  bells  sounded 
in  the  sleepy  stillness  of  the  morning. 

Wolff  and  Hahn  had  disappeared  ;  I  knew  as 
well  as  if  I  had  seen  them,  that  they  were  sitting 
in  some  private  cabin,  drinking  beer  out  of  large, 
glass-handled  mugs,  and  discussing  the  duel  that 
the  bodiless,  elderly  gentleman  had  seemed  so 
anxious  to  prevent.  A  duel !  Something  about 
my  diaphragm  was  giving  delighted  little  jumps 
as  I  worked.  This  was  worth  coming  abroad 
for.  This  was  better  than  punching  the  heads 
of  second  mates  down  in  Larry's  gymnasium. 

I  finished  the  stuff — it  was  a  typed  extract  from 
a  scientific  paper  that  Vincent  Gore  had  told  me 
to  do — and  carried  it  to  his  cabin.  He  took  it 
from  me,  and  began  reading  it  over.  I  stood 
with  one  knee  on  the  locker-couch,  pulling  the 
curtain-tassels,  and  wondering  how  best  I  could 
keep  the  nature  of  my  proposed  diversions  from 
my  employer — at  least,  until  after  the  "  next 
stopping-place." 

Gore  read  the  whole  extract  through  till  the 
end.  Then  he  opened  a  drawer,  took  out  a  red 
pencil,  neatly  underlined  one  passage,  and 
handed  the  paper  back  to  me  without  a 
word. 

I  looked  at  the  marked  paragraph.  It  ran  as 
follows : 


56  Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 


"  Nevertheless,  considering  the  history  of  these 
islands,  one  is  compelled  to  allow  that  successive 
waves  of  immigration,  arriving  from  India, 
China,  and  the  continent  of  Africa,  have  in  so  far 
modified  the  original  duel  ..." 

It  was  my  turn  to  grow  red  now.  I  felt  myself 
flushing  pinker  than  even  Hahn  had  done. 

"  May  one  ask,"  said  Gore,  in  a  singularly 
gentle  and  agreeable  voice,  "  what  duels  are 
doing  in  this  particular  galley  ?  I  never  heard 
it  was  a  custom  of  the  races  under  question — but 
if  you  have  made  any  new  discovery " 

"  Paying  me  a  salary  doesn't  entitle  you  to 
make  fun  of  me,  sir,"  I  cut  in,  twisting  the 
tassels  till  they  fell  off  in  my  hand.  I  threw 
them  on  the  floor  and  looked  at  them.  I  found 
I  was  breathing  rather  hard. 

"  No,  young  devil,"  said  Gore,  still  in  that 
pleasant  voice,  "  but  it  does  entitle  me  to  notice 
if  you  mean  to  leave." 

"  I  don't  mean  to "  I  began. 

"  Oh,  yes,  you  do,"  said  Gore.  "  By  the 
shortest  route — home.  If  I  beHeved  in  the 
Christian  mythology  (it  really  does  come  in 
handy  at  times)  I  should  say  that  you  hadn't 
far  to  go — home — in  a  cHmate  Hke  this.  .  .  . 
Now   will  you   please   tell   me  what  you  mean 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks  57 

by  cooking  up  duels  when   you   are  engaged  in 
my  service  ?  " 

His  pleasant  manner  had  suddenly  flown  out 
of  window,  and  the  last  sentence  was  spoken 
in  a  tone  that  would — I  suppose — have  scared 
some  people.  It  was  also  decorated — consider- 
ably. Gore  was  a  remarkable  hand  at  decorated 
language  on  occasion. 

I  said  nothing  at  all.     I  looked  at  him. 

"  You  know  I  can  give  information  to  the 
authorities,  and  stop  it,"  said  Gore. 

I  said  nothing. 

"  You  know  I  can  dismiss  you  at  the  first 
port." 

I  thought  it  time  to  speak. 

"  You  can  do  all  those  things,"  I  said.  "  But 
you  won't,  Vincent  Gore,  because  you're  not  the 
sort  of  man,  whatever  you  may  say,  to  stop  a 
fight.  Also  because  I  can  jolly  well  guess  you've 
fought  duels  ^yourself." 

Gore  leaned  back  in  his  seat,  and  gave  vent  to 
one  of  his  appalling  shouts  of  laughter.  A  scared, 
small  steward  peeped  in  at  the  door,  asked  feebly 
if  the  Herr  wanted  anything,  and  scurried  away 
without  waiting  for  an  answer. 

"Well  aimed!"  he  said.  "Sit  down  and 
tell  me  about  it." 

And  I  knew  that  I  had  won.     I  may  mention 


58  Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 


here  that  the  "  Sir  "  was  dropped  from  that  day 
onwards,  between  us. 

I  told  him.  He  made  no  comment  for  a 
moment,  and  then  asked  :  "  They  are  evidently 
trying  to  force  the  challenge  from  you,  so  as  to 
deprive  you  of  the  choice  of  weapons.  .  .  .  How 
are  you  with  a  pistol  ?  " 

"  Don't  worry  about  that,"  I  replied.  "  Since 
I  was  a  kid  I've  handled  a  Webley." 

"  Let  him  do  the  challenging  ;  he  will  if  you 
sit  tight,"  observed  Gore. 

"  That's  all  right ;  the  old  gentleman  with 
the  face  won't  stop  him,"  I  said.  "  We  under- 
stand each  other.  Hahn  is  a  white  man.  I 
wish  I  could  punch  his  head  instead.  I'd  enjoy 
it  more,  somehow." 

I  went  out  again  into  the  warm  wind  and  the 
sun,  pondering  on  many  things.  It  seemed  to 
me  I  had  acquired  a  good  deal  of  food  for  thought 
that  day  already,  although  it  was  not  yet  eleven 
o'clock. 

I  was  to  acquire  more.  Half  an  hour  after- 
wards, I  met  my  employer  coming  round  a 
corner,  with  an  expression  of  abject  terror  on 
his  face. 

Sudden  death  was  the  smallest  thing  I  thought 
of — such  ideas  as  an  outbreak  of  bubonic  plague 
on  the  ship,  a  coming  typhoon  that  was  bound 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks  59 

to  wreck  us,  fire  among  explosives  in  the  hold, 
rushed  through  my  mind,  it  is  true,  but  only 
to  be  discarded  on  the  instant.  Nothing  of  that 
sort  would  have  disturbed  Red  Bob's  equani- 
mity. Then  what,  in  the  name  of  all  calamity 
and  disaster,  had  disturbed  it  ? 

My  heart,  as  he  came  nearer,  began  to  thump 
like  the  screw  of  the  steamer.  Surely  unheard-of 
things  were  happening  to-day !  I  saw  that 
Red  Bob  was  gnawing  the  end  of  his  moustache, 
and  that  his  eyes  looked  Hke  the  eyes  of  a  cat 
that  is  just  going  to  jump  out  of  your  arms 
through  the  window.  I  should  not  have  been 
surprised  to  see  him  make  a  spring  over  the  rail. 

"  What ?  "  I  began,  rather  breathlessly. 

"  God  save  us,  Corbet  ! "  said  the  great 
explorer,  almost  trembling.  "  The  damned  ship 
is  full  of  damned  women  !  " 

"  Come  into  my  cabin,"  was  the  first  thing 
that  occurred  to  me  to  say,  for  I  really  thought 
him  mad.  He  preceded  me  into  the  little  blue- 
and-white  room,  and  sat  down  abruptly,  mopping 
his  forehead,  and  looking  at  me  with  an  expression 
of  abject  dismay.  I  switched  on  the  electric  fan, 
and  under  cover  of  its  steady  buzz,  which  ensured 
us  against  being  overheard  from  the  next  cabin, 
asked   him  : 

"  Has  anything  happened  ?  " 


60  Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

Gore  was  recovering  somewhat.  He  answered 
peevishly. 

"  I  told  you  what  had  happened.  The  ship 
is  crawling  with  them.  At  least,  there  are  three, 
and  that's  as  good,  or  as  bad,  as  thirty." 

"  I  never  knew  you  were — at  least,  on  the 
Empress " 

"  Give  me  a  drink,"  interrupted  Red  Bob. 
I  filled  him  out  a  glass  of  tepid  water  ;  he  drank 
it,  and  went  on  : 

"  On  the  Empress,  and  after,  the  women,  what 
there  were  of  them,  were  married,  if  you'll 
remember." 

I  did.  The  only  lady  pasesngers  from  Liver- 
pool to  Singapore  had  been  a  few  wives  going 
to  join  their  husbands.  And  later,  on  the  way 
to  Batavia  and  Makasser,  there  were  no  women 
at  all,  except  a  few  half-castes. 

"  Don't  you  like  unmarried  women  ?  "  I 
asked,  still  feeling  puzzled. 

Red  Bob  poured  out  and  drank  another  glass. 

"  I  do  not— I  do  not,"  he  said.  "  Two  of 
these  are  married,  I  believe — a  Frau  Baum- 
gartner  and  a  Frau  Schultz — agoing  to  join  their 
husbands  in  Simpsonhafen — but  the  third  .  .  . 
Yoimg  Corbet,  for  God's  and  your  employer's 
sake,  go  and  flirt  with  the  whole  lot  till  we  get 
there.     I  believe  you're  quite  capable  of  it." 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks  61 

"  I  don't  mind,"  I  said,  struggling  with  a 
frantic  desire  to  laugh,  "  but  I  haven't  much 
leisure  time." 

"  You  shall  have  all  you  want,"  declared  Gore, 
leaning  back  in  his  seat,  and  watching  the  blue 
curtains  sway  out  and  in  through  the  yellow  circle 
of  the  port.  "  I  feel  better  now.  ...  It  was  the 
lean  one  did  it.  She  scared  the  seven  senses  out 
of  me,  up  there  on  the  boat-deck  just  now." 

"  Scared    the    seven Would    you    mind 

telling  me  what  she  did  ?  "  I  asked.  I  would 
have  given  the  world  to  be  able  to  explode,  like 
an  overcharged  soda-water  bottle. 

"  She  didn't  do  anything.  She  sat  and 
sniggled  at  me,  and  babbled.  She  saw  a  hole  in 
my  sock  where  I'd  just  torn  it  on  a  nail,  and  she 
put  her  head  on  one  side,  and  said  :  '  Oh,  Mr. 
Vincent  Gore  !  What  a  sad  life  you  must  lead, 
without  a  woman's  hand  to  attend  to  these 
things  for  you  ! '" 

I  was  speechless. 

He  went  on.  "  And  then  she  said  :  *  Is  there 
nothing  I  could  do  for  you  ?  '     *  Madam,'  I  said, 

*  you  could '     But  she  stopped  me,  and  said 

with  another  sniggle :  '  I'm  not  madam,  I'm 
miss — I'm  a  girl ! '  A  girl,  and  she  as  old  as  I 
am  !     *  W^ell,  madam,  or  miss,  as  you  like,'  I  said, 

*  you  could  leave  me  alone  ;    I  want  to  read.'  " 


62  Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

"  You  didn't !  "  I  interrupted. 

"  I  did,"  said  Gore,  with  a  terrified  look. 
"  But  she  simmered  at  me,  and  said " 

"  She  simpered  ?  " 

"  No,  simmered — Hke  a  saucepan  bubbUng — 
and  said :  '  Oh,  Mr.  Gore,  you're  too  much 
alone,  I'm  afraid ;  but  I  can  understand  about 
that,  for  so  am  I.'  '  Excuse  me,'  I  said,  '  I've 
forgotten  something  in  my  cabin,'  and  got  up — 
I  got  up  and  ran  away." 

It  was  too  much.  I  collapsed  on  my  berth, 
and  shrieked,  rolling  over  and  over  in  an  agony 
of  mirth. 

"  Don't,  for  heaven's  sake,"  said  Gore.  "  If 
she  hears  you,  she'll  think  you  have  a  fit,  and 
insist  on  coming  in  to  nurse  you.  She's  so  beastly 
sympathetic." 

"  I  never  thought  you  were  afraid  of  anything," 
I  choked,  wiping  the  tears  out  of  my  eyes. 

"  You  thought  dashed  wrong,"  replied  Gore. 
"  That  sort  of  woman  has  been  the  tragedy  of 
my  life.  Corbet — "  he  sat  straight  up,  and 
his  blue  eyes  dilated  into  the  lakes  of  fire  that  had 
won  him  his  name — "  Corbet,  some  day  a  woman 
like  that'll  get  me,  and  I  won't  even  have  the 
pluck  to  hang  myself." 

"  Oh,  rats !  "  I  said  disrespectfully,  rocking  to 
and  fro  in  the  anguish  of  my  enjoyment,    ^*  A 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks  63 

woman  can't  make  a  man  marry  her.  Anyhow, 
I  never  was  afraid  of  anything  that  wore  a  skirt, 
in  all  my  life." 

"  Honest  Injun  ?  "  asked  Red  Bob,  fixing  his 
eyes  on  me.     They  were  blue  and  quiet  now. 

"  Honest !  "  I  said. 

"  Shake  !  "  remarked  Bob  gravely,  holding  out 
his  hand.     "  You're  a  braver  man  than  I  am." 

"  Well,  I  know  what  your  heel  of  Achilles  is 
now,"  I  said,  getting  up  and  going  to  the  glass. 

"  What  are  you  after  ?  "  asked  Gore. 

I  pulled  down  my  tie,  and  buttoned  up  my  coat 
so  as  to  show  my  figure,  which  is  none  of  the 
worst. 

"  Going  to  talk  to  the  lady  who  suffers  from 
lonehness,"  I  said,  putting  on  my  Panama  with 
a  rakish  cock. 

"  Go  on,  Casabianca,"  said  Gore,  reaching 
for  my  cigarettes,  "  I'll  stay  where  I'm  safe." 

We  were  almost  out  of  sight  of  Ceram  now, 
and  the  Afzelia  was  steaming  steadily  along 
towards  the  wild,  strange  coasts  of  New  Guinea. 
The  wonderful  island-continent  had  not  yet 
hfted  its  head  out  of  the  sea  ;  I  might  have  been 
more  deeply  engaged  in  looking  out  for  it,  had  I 
not  been  interested  in  looking  for  something  still 
stranger  than  itself — the  woman  who  had  scared 
Red  Bob. 


CHAPTER  IV 

1  FOUND  her  on  the  boat-deck.  She  was 
reading,  and  did  not  hear  my  approach, 
so  I  was  able  to  get  a  good  look  at  her  before 
she  saw  me.  I  should  not  have  thought  her  to 
be  so  old  as  Gore  had  said,  but  she  was  certainly 
not  far  off  forty,  and  she  could  never,  at  any 
age,  have  been  pretty.  She  was  smallish,  and  her 
figure — was  there,  or  was  there  not,  anything 
wrong  with  it  ?  I  thought  not,  at  a  second 
glance.  Her  feet  were  small,  but  flat  and  ill- 
shod  ;  her  hands,  roughened  by  exposure  with- 
out gloves,  were  what  the  palmists  call  "  spatu- 
late."  She  looked  up  as  I  came  nearer.  I  saw 
then  that  she  had  a — was  it  a  squint  ?  No, 
after  all,  it  was  not.  Her  smile  was  the  one  thing 
about  which  there  could  be  no  doubt ;  it  was 
undeniably  false.  On  the  whole,  I  did  not  Hke 
her. 

She  spoke  at  once. 

"  Oh,  you  are  Mr.  Corbet — I  saw  your  name  in 
the  purser's  list.  It's  so  nice  to  have  a  couple 
of  Englishmen  on  board,  among  all  these  foreigners 

64 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks  65 


— and  then  such  a  celebrity  as  Mr.  Vincent 
Gore  !  " 

Her  voice  did  not  match  her  person  ;  it  was 
soft  and  pleasant — a  misfit  voice  that  should 
have  belonged  to  a  pretty  woman.  A  pretty 
woman,  however,  would  not  have  had  that 
carneying  manner. 

Her  hair  was  of  no  particular  colour  ;  her 
dress,  as  far  as  I  can  describe  it,  seemed  to  be 
something  squashy,  with  tags  and  bobs  about  it. 
By  force  of  contrast,  it  brought  to  my  mind 
something  very  different — the  green  floating  robe, 
fresh  and  soft  as  a  leaf,  worn  by  the  Oread  of  the 
mountain  woods.  But  the  Oread  had  nothing 
to  do  with  my  present  duty — I  had  to  remind 
myself  of  that.  Who  was  that  irritating  heroine 
of  Dickens's  who  used  to  go  about  jingling  a  basket 
of  keys,  and  saying  to  herself :  "  Duty,  Esther  ! 
Duty,  my  dear  !  ''  I  thought  of  her,  with  a  grin, 
as  I  pulled  myself  together,  and  took  a  seat  near 
the  last  from  Banda.  .  .  .  After  all,  she  had 
come  from  the  island  inhabited  by  the  Oread  ; 
she  might  even  be  able  to  tell  me  something  about 
her.  .  .  .  Duty,  for  the  moment,  seemed  some- 
thing easier. 

The  lady  looked  at  me  over  the  top  of  her 
novel,  with  her  head  a  good  deal  on  one  side. 

5 


66  Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 


(Did  she  really  squint  ?  No,  a  second  time. 
She  only  made  you  think  she  was  going  to.) 
I  saw  her  eyes  fairly  now  ;  they  were  greyish, 
small,  and  very  keen,  and  they  seemed  to  be 
adding  me  up  with  considerable  acuteness. 
There  was  no  familiarity  in  her  address  ;  I  should 
have  wondered  if  Red  Bob  had  not  been  dream- 
ing, if  I  had  not  seen  the  unmistakable  marks 
of  terror  produced  by  the  lady's  attentions  to 
him,  only  half  an  hour  ago. 

As  for  what  she  said,  it  was  simply  the  in- 
evitable British  comment  on  the  weather.  She 
informed  me  that  it  was  a  fine  day.  I,  in  my 
turn,  informed  her  that  the  fine  days  thereabouts 
averaged  some  three  hundred  a  year.  She  smiled 
a  slightly  one-sided  smile,  as  I  have  noticed 
women  do  who  are  uncertain  of  their  charms, 
and  said  gently  that  I  knew  all  about  those 
matters,  no  doubt,  but  she  was  just  a  stupid 
little  thing  who  had  to  ask  everything  she 
wanted  to  know.  It  seemed  to  me  that  the 
remark  was  rather  a  clever  one — supposing  that 
she  had  summed  me  up  as  a  man  with  more 
worldly  keenness  than  Vincent  Gore  was  pos- 
sessed of.  I  knew  then,  and  know  now,  that 
I  had  not  a  tenth  part  of  his.  brains,  but  for 
mere  commonplace  sharpness  I  was  easily  his 
master. 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks  67 

"  You  don't  know  my  name,"  said  the  small 
lady  (I  saw  now  that  she  was  small — oh,  no,  not 
dwarfish ;  nor  had  she  a  squint,  nor  was  she 
crooked — one  had  to  keep  reminding  oneself 
of  all  these  things).  "  I'm  Miss  Siddis — Mabel 
Siddis.  You've  never  heard  of  me — no  one 
ever  has.  I'm  nobody.  I'm  just  a  little  gover- 
ness going  back  to  my  work  in  Herbertshohe ; 
they  wanted  an  English  governess,  and  I  saw  the 
advertisement  in  Sydney.  I  can't  afford  to  take 
holidays  in  Australia  or  Singapore,  so  I  came  down 
as  far  as  Banda,  because  I  have  kind  English 
friends  there.  Or,  rather,  I  had.  It  was  a  Mrs. 
Ravenna,  an  Englishwoman  married  to  an  Italian 
who  settled  there  years  and  years  ago.  And 
she  died  while  I  was  there — poor  dear  Mar- 
garet !     But  this  is  all  a  bore  to  you." 

It  was,  but  I  couldn't  say  so.  I  made  the 
inevitable  contradiction,  lit  a  cigarette,  by  special 
permission,  and  resigned  myself  to  my  duty. 
I  didn't  see  that  it  demanded  attention  on  my 
part,  if  I  could  only  manage  to  look  attentive. 
So  I  let  my  mind  wander  off  towards  Hahn  and 
the  "  next  stopping  place,"  while  Miss  Siddis 
babbled  gently  on  at  my  side. 

I  gathered  that  she  was  giving  me  the  family 
history  of  the  Ravennas — why  the  original  Ra- 
venna had  come  to  Banda  and  settled  there,  why 

5* 


68  Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 


his  wife  had  married  him,  how  he  had  died,  how 
she  had  followed  him.  There  was  somebody 
called  Schultz  in  the  story,  also  Schultz's  wife. 
I  remembered  that  Gore  had  told  me  the 
Schultz  woman  was  on  board.  I  knew  exactly 
what  she  was  like ;  all  middle-class  German 
women  are  the  same  woman,  and  I  rather  thought 
I  had  seen  her  as  I  came  on  deck — a  fat,  grey- 
cotton  back,  below  an  area  of  barren  neck  leading 
to  a  small  plot  of  scraped-up  hair.  She  didn't 
seem  to  be  the  sort  of  person  one  wanted  very 
passionately  to  hear  about.  I  smoked,  and 
looked  blankly  at  Miss  Siddis,  letting  my 
imagination  run  before  me  to  the  mysterious 
land  of  New  Guinea,  now  so  near.  .  .  .  Weren't 
we  up  to  the  islands  and  headlands  of  Dampier 
Strait  ?  If  I  could  just  get  away  forward  for 
a  minute.  .  .  . 

I  woke  to  attention  with  a  jump.  What  was 
Miss  Siddis  saying  ? 

"  As  for  mourning,  of  course,  no  one  in  the 
tropics  is  expected  to  wear  black.  But  I  did 
say,  and  do  say,  that  white,  with  a  black  sash, 
is  only  common  respect.  And  when  I  saw  her 
going  about  everywhere  in  green,  just  usual " 

"  Saw  who  ?  "  I  asked,  with  sudden,  sharp 
interest. 

"  Isola,  of  course — Mrs.  Ravenna's  daughter — 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks  69 

as  I've  been  telling  you,"  said  Miss  Siddis,  with 
that  phantom  squint  almost  visible  again. 

"  Isola  !    What  a  curious  name  !  " 

"  It  was  her  father.  He  called  her  '  Isola 
Bella '  because  he  said  Banda  was  an  '  isola 
bella ' — that's  Italian,  you  know ;  it  means 
'  beautiful  island,'  and  she  was  born  there.  So 
he  called  her  that.     A  very  fanciful  name." 

"  A  beautiful  name,"  I  said,  determining  to 
know  more  about  it,  and  about  its  owner. 

"  Oh,  yes !  "  said  Miss  Siddis,  with  instant 
pliability.  "  Fanciful  and  beautiful — that's  what 
I  meant." 

"  She  should  be  a  beautiful  girl  herself,  if 
she  matches  her  name,"  I  added. 

Miss  Siddis  fingered  her  novel,  and  I  saw  some- 
thing ugly  look  out  of  her  small  eyes.  But  her 
voice  was  gentler  and  pleasanter  than  ever  as 
she  answered  : 

"  Now  that's  so  nice  of  you  !  I  can  see  you 
are  one  of  the  people  who  like  to  think  the  very 
best  of  everyone  right  away.  Yes,  poor  Isola — 
yes,  I  should  certainly  say  she  was  pretty.  Oh, 
yes.     You  might  call  her  that." 

"  Why  do  you  call  her  poor  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Oh,  I've  just  told  you  !  " 

"  Yes,  of  course,"  I  said,  cursing  my  own 
stupidity.     What   had   she   told   me   about   the 


70  Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 


girl  ?  Only  her  parents'  death,  and  something 
about  Frau  Schultz,  who  seemed  to  be  a  worry 
to  someone,  as  far  as  I  could  recollect  the  scraps 
of  Miss  Siddis's  yarn  that  had  penetrated  to  my 
consciousness.  It  seemed,  then,  that  the  Oread 
of  the  mountain  was  an  orphan,  and  that  Frau 
Schultz,  somehow  or  other,  was  an  annoyance 
in  her  life.  ...  I  resolved  that,  employer  or 
no  employer,  I  was  not  going  to  make  myself 
pleasant  to  Frau  Schultz. 

I  was  quite  prepared  to  stick  by  Miss  Siddis 
now,  being  determined  to  get  out  of  her  all  there 
was  to  be  got  about  the  girl  in  green — but  Nature 
and  the  Pacific  Ocean  willed  otherwise.  We 
were  well  out  from  under  the  shelter  of  Ceram 
now,  and  in  the  open  sea.  The  Ajxelia^  which 
had  run  on  an  even  keel  ever  since  we  joined 
her  at  Makasser,  felt  the  coming  swell  of  the 
great  ocean,  though  we  were  not  in  it  yet,  and 
began  to  dip  and  roll — not  very  much,  but  it 
was  enough  for  Miss  Siddis. 

She  gathered  up  her  novel  and  her  workbag, 
murmured  an  apology,  and  fled. 

I  remained  alone  on  the  boat  deck,  sitting 
astride  a  boat  to  watch  the  blue  shadow  on  the 
water  that  was  New  Guinea-^New  Guinea  at 
last ! — and  thinking  about  Miss  Siddis  and  the 
girl  in   i^rccn.     T  had   a  notion  that  the  former 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks  71 

was  more  dangerous  than  she  might  seem  to  be. 
Her  carneying  voice  and  deprecating  manner, 
her  skill  in  flattery,  the  hidden  hardness  of  will 
that  I  sensed  beneath  all  her  chnging  and  purring, 
might  be  dangerous  to  a  man  like  Gore.  I 
knew  her  kind  ;  it  is  a  pathetic  sort  of  creature 
in  a  way — the  woman  who  has  proved  too  un- 
attractive to  secure  an  "  establishment "  in 
England,  and  who,  in  consequence,  roams  the 
world's  waste  places  seeking  whom  she  may 
devour.  But  I  was  not  going  to  let  any  pity 
for  Miss  Siddis  influence  me  in  my  duty  as  the 
watch-dog  of  Vincent  Gore.  I  knew  his  weak 
point  now,  and  meant  to  guard  it. 

Besides  .  .  .  besides  .  .  .  she  was  an  insinua- 
ting, little,  crooked  creature  ;  she  was  curious, 
as  all  inferior  minds  are  curious.  What  was  the 
hidden  object  of  our  journey  ? — what  might 
happen  if  she  found  it  out  ? 

I  came  to  a  resolve  there  and  then.  I  would 
know  the  secret  myself,  before  I  slept  that 
night.  It  was  time,  and  more  than  time,  that 
Gore  should  take  me  into  his  confidence. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  we  came  to  New  Guinea. 

It  was  not  in  the  least  what  I  had  imagined. 
I  had  expected  huge  rivers  with  painted  war- 
canoes     dashing    forth    from      them,    immense 


72  Red  Bob  of  the  Bismareks 


peaky  mountains  overhanging  the  sea,  stilt- 
legged  villages  with  wonderful  temples,  black 
marshes  full  of  crocodiles  and  crabs.  .  .  . 

Instead,  I  saw  only  a  group  of  islands  of 
moderate  size  and  height,  cut  through  by  calm, 
dark  straits.  There  were  no  villages,  no  houses, 
no  rivers,  no  canoes,  just  that  smear  of  dusky, 
lonely  islands  lying  on  a  darkening  sea.  The 
mainland  was  not  yet  in  sight.  All  the  land  we 
saw  was  hidden  under  a  blanket  of  black  forest, 
that  swept  from  the  summits  of  the  hills  down 
to  the  lip  of  the  water.  In  all  the  Malaysian 
islands,  there  had  been  lights  that  moved  and 
shone  at  dusk,  and  canoes  flitting  among  the 
shallows  like  water-flies ;  one  had  heard  the 
merry  tom-tomming  of  the  drums  from  the  little 
villages,  and  always,  from  Sumatra  right  to 
Ceram,  one  smelt  the  universal,  unforgettable 
smell  of  Indonesia — sandalwood,  dust,  gum 
damar  and  dried  fish. 

Here,  running  through  Dampier  Strait  in  the 
sinister  sunset  dusk,  here  at  the  very  end  of  the 
world  (for  it  felt  like  that)  you  heard  no  sound 
but  the  beating  of  the  ship's  steel  heart,  echoed 
back  by  the  walls  of  the  strait  as  she  ran  through. 
You  saw  no  lights  on  the  black,  furry  blanket 
of  forest,  untouched,  unbroken. 

If    there    was    any    living    thing    upon    those 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks  73 

islands,  it  hid  itself  well.  You  listened  to  the 
silence  of  New  Guinea,  you  smelled  its  mystery. 
For  there  was  a  new  smell  on  the  sea  air,  and  it 
stirred — it  called  like  a  voice.  It  was  subtle, 
cold  and  sweet ;  I  cannot  describe  it,  but  you 
who  have  been  by  Geelvink  Bay,  who  have 
panted  in  a  launch  up  the  Fly,  who  have  seen  the 
war-canoes  slip  out  from  the  black  beaches  of 
cruel  Mambare  and  heard  the  alligator  belling 
under  the  shadows  of  Mont  Yule — you  will 
remember  it — the  sunset  smell  of  Papua. 

It  grew  dark  then  all  in  a  minute,  for  we  were 
close  on  the  equator,  up  there  by  the  long,  north- 
ward trending  beak  of  New  Guinea — and  the 
ship  ran  on  towards  the  Pacific  under  invisible, 
impending  mountains ;  still  in  the  silence,  still 
in  the  dark.  Gore  had  once  told  me  that  New 
Guinea  sunsets  were  like  the  Judgment  Day. 
It  seemed  to  me  that  New  Guinea  itself,  in  the 
dusk,  was  like  a  man's  awakening  after  death 
in  the  twilight  of  lost  souls. 

Gore  came  up  to  me  where  I  was  standing  in 
the  ship's  head,  away  from  passengers  and  sailors, 
and  sat  himself  down  upon  the  opposite  side  of 
the  bulwark,  holding  on  by  a  stay. 

"  New  Guinea,"  he  said.  "  Feel  her  stretch- 
ing out  to  you.  .  .  .  She's  your  love.     Her  lips 


74  Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

have  blood  on  them,  but  you'll  kiss  her.  You'll 
leave  her,  and  come  back  to  her.  We  all  do. 
New  Guinea  calls." 

"  I  can  believe  it,"  I  said.  They  had  begun 
to  play  the  piano  in  the  saloon  ;  one  of  Richard 
Strauss's  waltzes  was  sounding  over  Dampier 
Strait,  and  our  lights  shone  yellow  on  the  curdled 
ink  of  waters  where  the  old,  old  ships  of  dis- 
covery, manned  by  sturdy  Dutchmen  seeking 
fortune  in  the  unknown,  had  passed  by  in  the 
seventeenth  and  eighteenth  centuries.  Not  a 
feature  of  the  place  was  changed  since  then. 
As  New  Guinea  had  been  in  the  days  of  Eliza- 
beth, so — here  at  the  end  of  the  world — it  had 
remained.  Down  southward,  there  were  five 
white  settlements — Merauke,  Port  Moresby, 
Samarai,  Friedrich  Wilhelmshaven  and  Simpson- 
hafen — all  mere  villages,  scattered  about  the 
coasts  of  a  country  four  times  the  size  of  England 
— but  up  about  Geelvink,  Dampier  Strait,  and 
the  (Papua)  Cape  of  Good  Hope,  there  was  the 
black  blanket  of  forest,  the  mountains  and  the 
sea.     No  more. 

We  ran  on  through  the  strait,  and  now,  coming 
out  into  the  open,  the  great  Pacific  made  itself 
felt,  and  the  Ajzelia^  like  the  bergs  in  the  song, 
"  began  to  bow  her  head,  and  plunge,  and  sail 
in  the  sea."    At  the  same  time  a  breath  of  air 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks  75 

crept  across  the  bows,  so  cold,  so  penetrating, 
that  it  made  me  shudder  in  my  thin,  heat- 
soaked  drill. 

"  Get  your  coat,"  said  Gore.  "  You'll  be  down 
with  fever  if  you  don't.  We're  passing  the  great 
snow  mountains  of  Dutch  Guinea — you  couldn't 
see  them  in  broad  daylight,  but  they  can  make 
themselves  felt,  though  they're  right  in  the, 
interior.     Get  your  coat — and  we'll  talk." 

"  Shall  we  ?  "  I  asked,  pausing  with  my 
foot  on  the  deck. 

"  I  promise  you,"  said  Gore.  "  I  always  meant 
to,  when  we  sighted  New  Guinea." 

I  brought  his  own  as  well,  but  he  would  not 
take  it. 

"  An  old  dog  for  a  hard  road,"  he  said.  "  No- 
thing can  kill  me.  There's  the  second  bell ; 
they'll  all  have  gone  in  to  dinner  in  a  few 
minutes,  and  we  can  talk  quietly." 

I  might  have  mentioned  that  it  was  one  of 
his  peculiarities  to  leave  out  any  meal  that 
happened  to  interfere  with  what  he  might  be 
doing  at  the  moment.  I  saw  myself  deprived 
of  dinner  for  that  evening ;  but  the  occasion 
was  worth  it — more  so  than  many  others  had 
been.  Several  times  on  the  voyage  a  visit  to  some 
ruin  that  didn't  particularly  interest  me,  or  an 
endless  conversation  in  Malay  with  some  tiresome 


76  Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

chief,  had  forced  my  youthful  stomach  to  do 
penance  that  (I  suspected)  was  no  penance  at 
all  to  the  hardened  frame  of  Red  Bob.  One 
of  his  huge  Burmese  cheroots  always  seemed 
dinner  or  lunch  enough  for  him.  He  had  lit 
one  now,  and  it  was  glowing  in  a  sharp  point  of 
scarlet  against  the  mysterious  outlines  of  New 
Guinea,  the  unknown  land.  The  ship  slid  on 
in  the  dark.  They  had  put  out  the  lights  on  the 
boat  deck  to  assist  the  steersman  and  drawn  the 
curtains  in  the  saloon  ;  we  could  not  see  ourselves, 
or  the  water,  or  anything  of  the  land  but  that 
faint,  looming  shadow,  blackness  against  the  black. 

Red  Bob  said  nothing  at  all  for  what  seemed 
to  me  quite  a  long  while.  I  lit  a  cigarette  to 
keep  him  company,  and  waited  as  patiently  as 
I  could,  which  was  more  patiently  than  usual, 
for  so  many  things  had  happened  that  day  that 
my  mind  had  been  beaten  into  weariness.  The 
first  night  of  New  Guinea — the  duel — Red  Bob's 
amazing  cowardice  concerning  Miss  Siddis — 
the  news  I  had  managed  to  pick  up  about  Isola 
Ravenna,  all  these  things  had  moved  and  excited 
me.  Now  there  was  something  more.  I  felt 
that  I  needed  my  cigarette ;  I  puffed  at  it 
gratefully.  ... 

By  and  by  Red  Bob  spoke,  jumping  home  to 
the  heart  of  his  subject,  as  always  was  his  way. 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks  77 


"  Pm  out — and  you're  out — after  the  pearls 
of  Willem  CorneHszoon  Schouten." 

"  The  what !  "  I  said. 

"  The  pearls,"  he  repeated,  "  of  Willem 
CorneHszoon  Schouten.  I  should  feel  more 
certain  I  was  going  to  get  them,  if  you  could 
avoid  the  habit  of  jumping  and  exclaiming  when 
anything  astonishes  you." 

"  I  will,"  I  said,  swallowing  my  annoyance. 

"You've  got  to,"  replied  Red  Bob.  "This 
is  no  sort  of  a  picnic  for  babes ;  and  there  are 
likely  to  be  times  when  your  life  and  mine — 
if  either  of  them's  worth  anything — will  hang 
on  your  keeping  your  head.  Well — I  suppose 
you  remember  who  Schouten  was ;  you  ought 
to." 

We  had  been  working  on  the  population  ques- 
tion for  a  few  days,  and  the  observations  of  all 
the  old  Dutch  navigators  had  been  tabulated 
by  me  for  Vincent  Gore's  reference. 

"  Schouten  and  Le  Maire,"  I  said,  "  sailed 
from  the  Texel  in  1615,  to  look  for  a  passage  to 
the  South  Seas  south  of  Magellan's  Strait.  They 
discovered  Cape  Horn,  and  then  they  went 
wandering  about  the  Pacific — and  I  think  they 
discovered  New  Britain — and  they  came  up 
round  this  way,  and  got  to  Batavia,  and  one  of 
their  ships  was  seized." 


78  Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

"  It  was,"  said  Gore,  "  because — as  you  don't 
remember — they  were  trying  to  evade  the  law 
which  gave  the  monopoly  of  all  trading  voyages 
made  through  the  Straits  of  Magellan,  or  round 
the  Cape,  to  the  Dutch  East  India  Company. 
The  Hoorn,  Schouten's  ship,  had  been  burned 
before  they  got  to  Jilolo.  It  was  the  other  ship, 
the  Eendracht,  that  was  seized,  by  Governor 
Jans  Pieterszoon  Coen.  Spilbergen  took 
Schouten  and  Le  Maire  home  vAth.  him,  and 
Le  Maire  died  of  vexation  before  they  got  to 
Holland.  Schouten  didn't ;  he  was  made  of 
harder  stuff." 

There  was  a  pause  here  ;  Gore  puffed  at  his 
cheroot,  which  seemed  to  draw  a  little  hard, 
as  some  of  these  native  Burmese  cigars  will  do. 
It  had  grown  darker  :  you  could  tell  by  the 
echoing  beat  of  the  screw  that  we  were  some- 
where near  land,  but  the  shadow  on  a  shadow 
was  swallowed  up  in  one  all-covering  blackness, 
that  lay  on  unseen  land  and  sea  like  the  cover  of 
a  coffin  pressed  down  upon  the  dead. 

"  H'm !  something  coming,  I  think,"  said 
Gore.  He  shifted  his  seat  upon  the  bulwark,  and 
went  on,  in  a  quiet  voice  that  scarcely  rose  above 
the  hissing  of  the  Afzelia's  stem  through  the 
unseen  water. 

"  I  was  here  before — more  than  once — tracing 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks  79 

the  incidence  of  the  different  waves  of  immigra- 
tion— well,  you  know  the  result." 

I  did.  Before  ever  I  boarded  the  Empress  of 
Singapore,  and  sent  Sterry  the  valet  to  hospital, 
for  his  good  and  mine,  I  had  heard  of  Vincent 
Gore's  Line  of  Culture  Drifts.  It  stands  with 
Wallace's  Line,  in  scientific  importance — 
higher,  indeed,  because  Wallace's  Line,  nowadays 
— but  I  am  not  writing  for  the  scientific  press, 
I  am  telling  of  the  hunt  for  the  pearls  of  Willem 
Corneliszoon  Schouten. 

"  I  spent  most  of  my  time  about  the  north 
and  north-east  coasts,"  he  went  on.  "  Kaiser 
Wilhelms  Land  and  the  Bismarcks.  Especially 
the  Bismarcks — New  Britain,  New  Ireland,  and 
so  on.  You'll  find  people  there — and  nearer — 
who  will  tell  you  that  I  had  a  double  game  on. 
Secret  mission — Government — and  so  on." 

I  could  not  turn  my  tongue  to  ask  him  if  it 
was  true,  although  I  wanted  most  passionately 
to  know.  Where  is  the  man  in  his  early  twenties 
who  will  not  rise  to  the  word  "  secret  mission  " 
as  a  trout  to  a  fly  ? 

"  Reason  why  they  thought  it,"  went  on  Gore, 
"  was  because  that  is  their  own  game.  German 
wants  to  know  something  he  hasn't  any  business 
to  know  about  us  or  our  places — first  thing  he 
does  is  to  go  in  the  character  of  a  man  of  science. 


80  Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 


'Cause  we  know  so  dashed  Httle  about  science, 
we'll  believe  anything  anyone  tells  us  about  it, 
and  we — speaking  of  the  public  in  general — have 
a  sort  of  idea  that  a  Professor — as  we  call  them — 
is  a  woolly-brained  old  boy  who  spends  his  time 
measuring  skulls,  and  wouldn't  know  a  concealed 
battery  from  a  currant  bun,  or  recognize  a  private 
signal-book  if  somebody  dropped  it  in  his 
soup.  .  .  .  Well,  you  may  take  it — you  may  safely 
take  it — that  German  scientific  research  is  a 
dashed  sight  more  researching  than  it  seems  to 
be,  sometimes." 

He  stopped  again.  From  the  saloon  below 
ascended  sounds  of  plates  and  cutlery,  also  certain 
pleasant  smells  that  made  me  puff  hard  at  my 
cigarette.  They  were  having  stuffed  veal  to- 
night. If  there  was  anything  on  earth  I  loved,  it 
was  stuffed  veal — browned — with  cherries.  .  .  . 

"  Well,"  went  on  Gore,  dismissing  the  subject, 
"  that's  neither  here  nor  there.  Only  they 
hampered  me  a  bit  once  or  twice.  So  I  went 
out  to  places  at  the  end  of  everywhere — places 
they  didn't  know  they'd  got  and  don't  know 
yet.  And  I  ran  across  something  that  made  me 
think — not  about  culture  drifts.  '  Something 
else." 

We  were  running  very  quietly  now,  with  a 
slight,  steady  roll.     The  night  was  too  black  for 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks  81 

one  to  see  beyond  the  gaping  hawse-pipes  and  the 
V-shaped  end  of  the  bow,  but  I  could  smell  the 
land — a  new  smell  now,  with  a  mangrovy  and 
marshy  flavour  in  it.  Something  sounded  away 
on  the  starboard  beam — a  distant  bellow,  with 
a  sort  of  upturned  snarl  in  it,  and  a  long  moaning 
tone  like  a  fog-siren. 

"  Alligator — though  properly  speaking,  it's  a 
crocodile.  Always  called  alligators  in  New 
Guinea.  It's  no  use  making  oneself  peculiar. 
Nasty  beggars  by  any  name  you  like  to  call 
them,  and  these  northern  rivers  are  hopping  with 
them.  Well — I  ran  across  something,  as  I've 
said.  I'll  tell  you  what  it  was  another  time.  And 
it  made  me  think.  You  know,  young  Paul, 
I've  warned  you  about  what  this  sort  of  life  means 
— danger  and  hardship  and  accident  and  all 
that — but  there's  one  thing  perhaps  I  didn't  rub 
in  enough.  Want  of  cash,  my  son.  Being  hard 
up.  Money  enough  to  rub  along  with  while 
you're  fit — because  any  man  who  can  knock 
around  the  backstairs  of  the  world  and  not  find 
little  things  lying  about  that  nobody's  thought 
of  picking  up,  must  be  a  bigger  fool  than  me — or 
you.  But  when  age  comes,  or  break-down,  the 
tame  beasts  of  burden  have  the  best  of  it." 

"  I    daresay,"    I    said.     "  But    when   one   has 

only  oneself  to  think  of " 

6 


82  Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

"  I  haven't,"  said  Gore.  "  I  have  my 
daughter." 

After  the  previous  lesson,  I  did  save  myself 
from  answering  :  "  Your  w^hat  ?  "  But  I  only 
did  it  by  biting  my  cigarette  clean  through. 

Gore  seemed  pleased  by  my  silence — or  so  the 
tone  of  his  voice  suggested,  as  he  went  on. 

"  I  have  to  think  of  her.  I  shan't  be  always 
here — and  it  worries.     Eats  in." 

"  I  didn't  know  you  were  ever  married,"  I 
ventured,  wondering  how  many  more  revelations 
I  was  to  hear  that  day. 

Gore  pushed  his  cheroot  into  the  corner  of  his 
mouth,  as  he  answered  : 

"  I  never  was." 

"  Oh  !  "  I  said  feebly. 

He  went  on,  in  a  tone  completely  devoid  of 
expression. 

"  She  is  nineteen.  Very  pretty — very  pretty 
indeed — like.  .  .  .  She  is  deHcate.  Crippled. 
Doesn't  walk.  Bath  chair  and  all  that  sort  of 
thing." 

There  was  a  silence  ;  I  felt  it  incumbent  on  me 
to  say  something,  but  could  think  of  nothing  save 
the  banal  question  : 

"  Was  it  an  accident  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Gore,  still  quite  inexpressively. 
He    did    not    even    stop    smoking.     "  Done    on 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 


purpose.  Her  mother  was  thrown  downstairs 
the  night  the  child  was  born." 

This  time  I  forgot  my  lesson,  and  said,  "  Good 
Lord  !  "  adding  :    "  Who  did  it  ?  " 

"  Her  husband,"  repHed  Gore  calmly.  "  You 
might  give  me  a  match  ;  this  dashed  thing  has 
gone  out  at  last." 

I  gave  it,  mentally  ejaculating  "  Good  Lord  !  " 
again. 

"  She  died,"  went  on  Gore  conversationally, 
unsnapping  his  cigar-case  and  scraping  a  match 
on  the  bulwark.  I  could  see  his  hard,  lean  face, 
with  the  brilliant  eyes — "  the  brow  of  an  angel, 
and  the  jaw  of  a  devil,"  as  someone  said  of  Sir 
Richard  Burton — lit  up  by  the  small  red  flame 
as  he  shielded  it  with  his  hands,  and  set  it  to  the 
cigar. 

"  So  did  he,"  went  on  Red  Bob,  when  the  great 
roll  of  tobacco  had  caught. 

"  Died  ?  "  I  asked.     "  How  ?  " 

Red  Bob  burst  out  into  a  great  fit  of 
laughter,  as  he  had  done  in  my  cabin,  earlier 
on  that  day. 

"  Ostend,"  he  said.  "  Thirty  paces.  Smaller 
intestine  shot  through,  one  lumbar  vertebra 
smashed.  Lived  a  week,  howling  except  when 
they  had  him  under  morphia.  I  used  to  call, 
to    listen  to  him.     Have   a  cheroot,  youngster  ; 

6* 


84  Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

those  cigarettes  of  yours  are  filthy  things  to  ruin 
your  nerve." 

I  took  it,  feeling — there  is  no  elegant  word  for 
the  condition — flabbergasted. 

"  So,"  said  Gore,  with  the  air  of  one  taking  up 
a  conversation  at  the  exact  point  where  it  had 
been  abandoned,  "  it  happens  that  Pm  greedier 
after  money  than  most  people  might  suppose — 
for  reasons.  Always  on  the  smell  after  it,  even 
when  Pm  busy  with  something  else.  And  this 
last  time  the  scent  was  hot.  So  hot,  Pd  have 
run  it  down,  only  I  wanted  someone  to  work 
with  me,  and — as  I  told  you — the  fellow  I  had 
talked.  Sterry  didn't.  He  was  a  good  sort ; 
he'd  have  done  just  as  well  as  yourself." 

Whoever  looked  for  smooth  sayings  from  Red 
Bob  was  fishing  in  Dead  Sea  waters.  I  held  my 
tongue,  though  I  thought — no  matter. 

"  Willem  Corneliszoon  Schouten,"  repeated 
Gore  dreamily.  "  Good  old  boy.  I  always 
had  a  liking  for  him^him  and  Dampier — you'd 
be  astonished  if  you  knew  how  many  hundreds 
of  men  would  rather  have  been  WiUiam 
Dampier,  and  had  his  chances,  than  go  to 
heaven  for  evermore.  .  .  .  But  I  never 
thought  old  Willem  Corneliszoon  would  leave 
me  a  legacy." 

They  were  through  with  the  soup  and  meat 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismareks  85 

now,  and  I  thought — unless  my  nose  mistook  me, 
and  I  did  not  think  it  did — there  was  a  smell 
of  pancakes  on  the  air.  Also  something  suety 
and  plummy.  I  put  my  hands  inside  my  coat, 
and  hauled  in  my  belt.  It  did  not  do  as  much 
good  as  I  had  expected. 

"  I  needn't  give  you  the  whole  history,  or, 
rather,  I  won't,  just  now,"  went  on  Gore.  **  It 
came  about  through  my  spending  a  summer  in 
Holland,  poking  about  museums  and  libraries. 
And  picture  galleries.  In  that  fine  one  at  the 
Hague,  there's  a  picture  of  Helga  Maria  Van 
Oosterdyck — the  girl  old  Schouten  wanted  to 
marry  and  didn't ;  I  read  all  about  it  in  Hall's 
*  History  of  the  Low  Countries  in  the  Sixteenth 
and  Seventeenth  Centuries.'  She  has  a  magni- 
ficent pearl  necklace,  with  a  sort  of  pearl  cypher 
hanging  on  to  the  end  of  it — a  monogram,  but  a 
very  complicated  one,  and  not  made  any  easier 
by  the  age  of  the  picture.  I  got  it  photographed, 
and  took  the  photo  away  with  me,  because  I 
fancied  the  face — it  was  pretty — very  pretty — 
like  someone  I  used  to  know — anyhow,  I  hked 
it.  It's  nearly  as  celebrated  as  that  Httle 
Duchess  Christina  of  Holbein's — and  not  so 
unlike  her." 

I  was  getting  more  and  more  interested,  though 
the  sensations  aroused  by  the  passage  of  an  officer's 


86  Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 


dinner  on  a  tray,  towards  the  quarters  at  the  end 
of  the  deck,  were  passionate  enough  to  induce 
me  to  take  up  another  hole  in  my  belt.  What  was 
he  having  ?  Stewed  beef,  I  thought — hot  and 
full  of  gravy — and  surely  that  was  pineapple 
fritters  that  accompanied  it.  .  .  .  What  was  it 
Gore  was  saying  ?  I  did  not  want  to  miss  a 
word — even  for  the  officer's  dinner,  which  indeed 
I  rather  wished  to  neglect  altogether. 

"  Well,"  went  on  the  deep  voice  at  my  side, 
"  before  I  went  to  Holland,  it  happened  that  Vd 
come  across  the  tracks  of  old  Willem  Corneliszoon, 
about  German  Guinea — no  matter  where,  just 
yet.  Now  you  know — or  you  don't — that  pearls, 
in  the  sixteenth  and  seventeenth  centuries,  were 
nearly  all  obtained  from  what  they  called  the 
'  Indies ' — a  pretty  big  term,  but  it  didn't 
include  the  Pacific,  except  a  bit  about  Panama. 
Of  course  the  islands  were  chock  full  of  pearls, 
every  here  and  there,  as  they  are  now,  but  those 
old  explorers  never  seem  to  have  suspected  it — 
went  hunting  about  for  mythical  islands  called 
*  Rica  de  Plata  '  and  '  Rica  de  Oro,'  when  there 
were  hundreds  of  '  Ricas  de  Perlas  '  everywhere, 
if  they'd  only  known  it.  Well,  Willem  Cornelis- 
zoon Schouten — I  love  his  name.;  it  sounds  like 
the  name  of  a  man  who  could  do  things ;  you 
might  expect  a  Jacob  Ic  Maire  to  curl  up  and  die 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks  87 

when  a  Governor  turned  nasty — Willem  went  to 
some  places  where  most  people  don't  know  he 
went.  And  he  found  things  they  didn't  know  he 
found.  But  I'd  never  have  got  on  the  scent, 
from  now  till  the  crack  of  doom — by  the  way, 
what  is  doom,  and  why  should  it  crack  ?  If  it 
means  the  Christian  idea  of  Judgment  Day,  why 
don't  they  say  trump  ? — well,  anyhow,  I'd  never 
have  picked  up  the  scent  but  for  Helga  Maria 
Van  Oosterdyck — whom  he  certainly  ought  to 
have  married,  if  suitability  in  names  had  anything 
to  say  to  such  matters." 

Gore  stopped,  and  glanced  about  him  in  the 
dark.  There  was  no  one  near  ;  I  think  he  would 
have  managed  somehow  or  other  to  see  anyone 
there  had  been — he  always  seemed  to  me  to  have 
sharper  senses  than  anybody  else. 

"  Well,  one  day,  when  I  was  puzzling  about 
what  I  had  seen,  I  happened  to  come  on  the 
picture  of  Helga  Maria  in  one  of  my  boxes.  I 
was  looking  at  it — carelessly — but  sometimes, 
when  half  your  mind  is  at  work  on  a  thing,  to 
your  knowledge,  in  the  ordinary  way,  the  other 
half  is  at  work  without  your  knowledge,  in  some 
way  that  isn't  ordinary.  It  was  so  in  that  case. 
As  I  was  looking  at  the  picture,  the  reading  of  the 
monogram  jumped  straight  at  my  eyes,  and  I 
saw — without  the  shadows   that  had  perplexed 


88  Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

me,  mind  you  ;  that  was  what  had  been  doing 
the  mischief — that  it  was  *  W.  C.  S.' 

"  Well,  it  told  me  the  whole  thing,  for  a  reason 
m  explain  later.  It  cleared — the  matter  I  had 
been  puzzHng  over.  Schouten  did  find  pearls 
in  the  Pacific,  and  he  left  a  record  of  it.  No 
matter  where — now.  And  he  brought  some  of 
them  home,  and  gave  them  to  Helga  Maria.  She 
took  them — no  woman  could  have  helped  taking 
them — but  she  didn't  marry  him,  for  all  that. 
And  as  for  Schouten,  I've  no  doubt  he  meant  to 
come  back  again,  but  he  never  did  ;  if  one  could 
see  through  the  fogs  of  that  three  hundred 
years — but  one  can't.  At  any  rate,  till  the  latter 
nineteenth  century,  no  one  went  looking  for  pearls 
in  the  Western  Pacific  again.  And  no  one  ever 
found  the  remains  of  Willem  Corneliszoon 
Schouten's  pearls — but  me.  And  I  haven't  found 
them  yet.  That's  all,  youngster — for  the 
present.  Stop  pinching  in  your  diaphragm  with 
that  smart  belt  you  bought  to  impress  the  ladies 
of  Batavia — whom  it  didn't  impress,  because  they 
have  no  waists  themselves — and  go  and  get  your 
dinner." 

"  What  about  you  ?  "  I  asked,  springing  down 
from  my  seat. 

"  Not  worth  the  bother,"  said  Gore,  sliding 
down  to  the  deck,  and  setting  his  back  comfort- 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks  89 

ably  against  the  iron  plates  of  the  bow.  "  Tell 
the  steward  to  bring  me  two  handfuls  of  raisins. 
Raisins,  dates  and  olives  are " 

I  did  not  wait  to  hear  what  they  were.  I  was 
convinced  that  the  plummy  pudding  would  be 
finished.  .  .  . 

It  was  not,  and  there  was  still  some  beef  stew 
— tepid,  but  satisfying.  As  for  the  roast  veal, 
only  the  cherries  remained.  I  ate  them,  and  was 
thankful.  When  the  silently  protesting  steward 
had  cleared  my  table,  I  went  out  on  deck,  feeling 
at  peace  with  the  world,  and  found  a  long  chair 
where  I  could  lie  and  think. 

"  Going  to  be  fun  !  "  was  the  result  of  my 
thinking.  "  Going  to  be  jolly  fun.  How  glad 
— how  very  glad  I  am  that  I  punched  Sterry,  and 
that  he  didn't  punch  me. 

"  Now  I  should  not  be  surprised,"  I  meditated 
further,  "  if  Red  Bob  never  said  another  word 
about  his  daughter  again.  It  would  be  like 
him." 

It  seemed  I  was  right,  for  he  never  did. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  "  something  coming "  that  Red  Bob 
had  predicted  came  in  the  night. 
North  New  Guinea  is  out  of  the  hurricane  zone, 
but  nevertheless  the  Pacific,  that  ill-named 
ocean,  welcomed  us  to  the  neighbourhood  of  the 
Schoutens  with  a  blow  that  would  have  given 
the  average  steamship  passenger  something  to 
talk  about  for  the  rest  of  his  life.  However,  we 
were  not  average  passengers  on  the  Afzelia.  I 
was  by  a  long  way  the  least  experienced  ;  the 
Germans  had  almost  all  been  in  the  German- 
African  colonies,  to  China,  and  to  Australia,  and 
even  Miss  Siddis  (who  turned  up  smiling  as  soon 
as  the  worst  was  over)  could  tell  me  tales  of  stormy 
days  off  the  Golden  Gate  and  the  Farallones,  and 
hurricanes  in  Honolulu.  .  .  . 

I  said  as  much  to  Gore  when  I  met  him  on  the 
lower  deck  (he  had  seen  Miss  Siddis's  green  veil 
flying  afar  off  on  the  boat  deck,  and  hurriedly 
retreated,  panic  in  his  eye).  Gore,  wedged  into 
a  comfortable  space  where  there  was  safe  purchase 
for  his  chair,  turned  over  the  leaves  of  his  volume 
of  Pliny  and  remarked  that  in  all  his  experience 

90 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks  91 

of  travel  he  had  never  met  anyone  who  had  been 
to  Honolulu  who  was  not  a  bore. 

"  I  don't  know  whether  it's  Honolulu  that 
makes  people  bores,  or  whether  all  the  natural 
bores  are  mystically  attracted  to  the  place,  by 
some  strange  provision  of  Nature  that  we  can't 
fathom,"  he  said.  "  But  you'll  find  that  what  I 
say's  a  fact.  The  pious  Mahommedan  isn't 
more  intimately  connected  with  pilgrimages  to 
Mecca  than  the  bore  is  with  pilgrimages  to 
Honolulu.  I  don't  say  a  man  can't  be  a  bore — 
a  travel  bore — without  going  as  far  as  the 
Hawaiian  Islands.  Spain  produces  a  fine  crop 
of  the  smaller  varieties.  So  does  Japan,  rather 
bigger  ones.  And  the  man  who's  been  to  the 
Balkans,  and  talks  about  it  in  his  sleep — and  in 
yours — is  pretty  bad.  But  on  the  whole,  the 
Honolulu  bore  is  the  pick  of  the  bunch.  Every- 
one who's  been  to  Honolulu  is  a  bore." 

"  Have  you  been  there  ?  "  I  asked,  balancing 
on  my  rubber-soled  shoes  to  the  steady  roll  of 
the  boat,  and  looking  down  at  the  hard,  strong, 
handsome  face,  worn  with  the  winds  and  seas 
of  all  the  world.  It  came  to  me  just  then, 
as  I  looked,  that  a  woman  who  loved  such  a 
man  would  love  him  through  life  and  to  death — 
as  one  woman  had  done.  Nor  was  I  thinking 
of  Miss  Siddis,  in  that  moment. 


92  Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 


Gore,  in  reply  to  my  question,  laughed  some- 
what dryly. 

"  I  don't  tell  it,"  he  said.  "  The  curse  might 
come  upon  me,  like  the  Lady  of  Shalott,  if  I 
did.  What  a  title  for  a  poem,  by  the  way ! 
*  Our  Lady  of  Onions '  would  be  as  poetical. 
It's  part  of  the  blasting  influence  of  Tennyson 
on  the  Victorian  age,  that  he  had  no  sense  of 
humour  whatever,  and  discouraged  it  in  everyone 
else.  In  Tennyson's  reign,  it  was  vulgar  to  see 
the  joyousness  of  the  world.  Consequence  was, 
inevitably,  he  and  his  school  were  dull  and  vulgar 
both.  Smugly  vulgar.  Vicarage  -  and  -  croquet- 
lawn-vulgar.     Oh,   Lord  !  " 

He  saw  by  my  face  that  I  did  not  agree  with 
him — as  indeed  I  did  not — and,  with  his 
diabolical  power  of  reading  thoughts,  went  on  : 

"  But  when  a  young  man's  fancy  lightly  turns 
to  thoughts  of  *  Maud  ' — confess,  young  Paul ; 
isn't  *  Maud '  your  favourite  poem  ?  " 

Now,  as  it  happened,  certain  lines  of  "  Maud  " 
— which  I  thought,  and  still  think,  one  of  the 
noblest  poems  in  the  English  language — had 
been  running  through  my  brain  all  night, 
mingling  with  the  roar  and  wash  of  the  great 
Pacific  combers,  as  we  swept  through  the 
Schoutens  in  the  dark ;  weaving  themselves 
with  the  faint  cry  of  sea-birds,  when  the  stormy 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks  93 

dawn  began  to  break  over  Papua,  and  I  stood 
clinging  to  the  rail,  all  wet  with  spray,  to  see  the 
black  hills  of  the  Unknown  Land  spread  out  their 
beckoning  hands.  .  .  . 

Those  lines  had  nothing  to  do  with  me — 
nothing  to  do  with  New  Guinea — but  the  wild 
orchestra  of  the  storm,  and  the  sight  of  the 
strange  dark  land  that  we  had  reached  at  last, 
worked  upon  my  mind  as  the  sound  of  distant 
music  works  on  one  who  scarcely  hears  or  listens 
to  it,  and  the  brain-waves  that  came  rolling  in 
cast  strange  flotsam  upon  the  shores  of  sense. 

"  There  is  none  like  her,  none, 
Nor  will  be  when  our  summers  have  deceased.  .  .  ." 

Then  again  : 

"  Were  it  ever  so  airy  a  tread 
My  heart  would  hear  it  and  beat 
Had  it  lain  a  century  dead." 

No  definite  vision  went  with  the  haunting 
lines ;  if  there  was  any  vision  at  all,  it  was  only 
the  inappropriate  one  of  Miss  Mabel  Siddis, 
giggling  a  grisly,  elderly  giggle  in  her  deck-chair, 
and  talking  about  the  nutmeg  islands.  I  did  not 
pause  to  think  why  she  had  insinuated  herself 
into  that  galley  ;  I  wasn't  thinking  at  all.  I  was 
merely  feeling.  And  Gore's  barbed  arrow,  in 
consequence,  went  far  and  stuck  fast. 

**  I  don't  know  why  it  should  be,"  I  parried. 


94  Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

"  Because,"  said  Gore,  letting  Pliny  slide  to 
the  deck,  and  looking  up  at  me  with  a  twinkle 
in  his  blue  cat-eyes,  "  because  you  are  twenty- 
two  and  read  a  good  deal.  And  because  you're 
over  the  Shelley  stage,  and  not  into  the  Browning 
stage.  Also,  if  you  want  another  reason,  because 
you  whistle, '  Come  into  the  Garden,'  while  you're 
shaving — out  of  tune. 

"  Tennyson  !  "  he  went  on.  "  Pap  !  he  never 
in  his  life  wrote  anything  that  bites  home  to 
human  nature  like  those  seven  lines  of  Whit- 
man's : 

"  Shine  !  shine  I  shine  !  pour  down  your  warmth,  great  sun  ! 
While  we  bask,  we  two  together, 
Two  together  ! 

Day  come  white,  or  night  come  black, 
Home,  or  rivers  or  mountains  from  home, 
Singing  all  time,  minding  no  time. 
If  we  two  but  keep  together." 

I  do  not  think  I  have  mentioned  it,  but  Vincent 
Gore  had  a  voice  that  was  as  uncommon  as  every- 
thing else  connected  with  him — low-pitched  as 
a  rule,  but  strong  and  what  instrumentalists 
call  "  full  of  reed."  When  he  recited  poetry 
— a  thing  I  had  never  heard  him  do  before — he 
made  the  lines  live  and  sing.  I  beHeve,  from 
what  I  heard  about  him  afterwards,  that  he  had 
a  wonderful  singing  voice,  but  had  always  dechned 
to  have  it  trained,  or  even  use  it,  on  the  ground 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks  95 

that  a  man  who  could  sing  well  was  never  any  good 
at  anything  else.  And,  thinking  over  the  charac- 
ter of  the  few  really  good  singers  I  have  known, 
I  cannot  help  seeing  that  there  was  reason  in 
what  he  said. 

At  any  rate,  be  that  as  it  may,  there  was  some- 
thing in  Red  Bob's  rendering  of  the  few  rugged 
lines  that  affected  me  strangely.  Since  the 
coming  of  Marconi  and  his  miracles,  we  have 
become  much  more  liberal-minded  than  we 
used  to  be  about  the  effect  of  thought  on  thought 
— the  wireless  messages  that  pass  between  human 
minds.  Things  are  thought  possible,  even 
commonplace,  now,  that  would  have  been  laughed 
at  in  our  parents'  days  as  fanciful  and  absurd.  .  .  . 

I  am  trying  hard  to  say  it,  but  I  find  no  words. 
I  am  compelled  to  state,  plainly  and  baldly,  what 
happened,  without  telling,  as  I  would  like,  about 
the  small,  fine,  wordless  intimations  and  warnings 
that  went  before. 

For  that  I  knew  before,  I  am  convinced.  That 
subliminal  consciousness  of  which  we  hear  so 
much  nowadays  had  been  at  work,  and  was  fully 
informed,  long  before  my  ordinary,  physical 
eyes  looked  up  from  the  white  decks  of  the 
Afzelia  pin-striped  with  caulking  of  pitch,  and 
saw,  just  at  the  moment  when  Red  Bob  finished 
speaking,    Isola     of    the    nutmeg    island — Isola 


96  Red  Bob  of  the  Bismareks 


Ravenna — Isola  Bella — coming  round  the  corner 
of  the  dining  saloon. 

Red  Bob  could  not  see  her  where  he  lay  in  his 
chair,  but  he  saw  my  hand  fly  instinctively  to 
my  tie — as  it  does,  you  know,  when  you  see  a 
girl  who — a  girl  that  is — well,  everyone  knows 
what  I  mean.  ...  He  did  not  even  get  up. 
He  looked  at  my  face,  read  something  there,  I 
suppose,  and  burst  into  one  of  his  great  bellows 
of  laughter. 

"  Go  on,  Maud,"  he  said,  "  I  shan't  want  you 
till  lunch.  So  there  was  another  lady  on  board 
after  all !  " 

"  Why  didn't  Miss  Siddis  tell  me  ?  "  I  won- 
dered, as  I  got  out  of  Red  Bob's  neighbourhood, 
and  found  a  place  where  I  could  watch  the  girl, 
myself  comparatively  unnoticed.  "  She  was  free 
enough  with  her  yarns  about  Frau  Baumgartner 
and  Frau  Schultz,  but  never  a  word  about  Miss 
Ravenna.  ...  I  wonder  where  the  Schultz 
woman  is — sick,  I  suppose." 

For  I  had  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  fat,  fair- 
haired  Frau  Baumgartner  already  that  morning, 
and  had  indeed  accounted  for  all  the  passengers, 
with  the  exception  of  the  Schultz  woman.  She 
seemed  to  be  something  of  a  mystery  :  I  had  not 
seen  her,  or  even  heard  of  her,  since  we  left  Banda. 

"  Well,"  I  thought,  "  the  fewer  the  better ; 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks  97 

the  more  chance  of  having  her  to  myself."  And 
by  "  her,"  I  did  not  mean  Frau  Schultz. 

Isola  Ravenna,  it  was  evident,  was  no  bad  sailor. 
Miss  Siddis  was  sitting  in  a  long  chair  on  the  deck 
above,  well  secured  and  well  cushioned,  and  with 
no  idea  at  all  of  tempting  Providence  by  un- 
necessary movement.  But  the  Oread  of  Banda 
mountain,  sure-footed  as  an  Oread  should  be,  was 
pacing  up  and  down  the  narrow  deck,  balancing 
to  the  roll  of  the  ship  as  lightly  as  a  flower  in  the 
wind.  She  was  not  dressed  in  green  to-day. 
She  wore  a  suit  of  very  thin  white  wool,  girdled 
with  a  green  ribbon  ;  there  was  another  green 
ribbon  tied  about  the  wide-leafed  hat  she  wore. 
As  she  passed  me  on  the  deck,  I  noticed  the 
faintest  possible  perfume  of  fresh  flower-petals. 

We  were  running  far  out  now,  and  there  was 
nothing  to  be  seen  of  New  Guinea  but  a  long, 
blue  serrated  line  to  starboard.  The  sky  was  the 
thin  hot  blue  of  the  tropics ;  the  sea  pale  blue, 
with  intolerable  diamond  sparklings  in  every 
wave.  Blue  and  diamond  was  the  whole  morning, 
hard,  relentless,  and,  with  the  following  wind, 
distressingly  hot.  Unseasoned  as  I  was,  I  felt 
it  somewhat,  but  Isola  Ravenna,  true  flower  of 
the  tropics,  seemed  to  enjoy  the  heat.  At  all 
events,  she  paced  lightly  up  and  down  the  decks, 
from  shade   to   sun,   and   back   again,   and   her 

7 


98  Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

ivory-pale,  small  face,  the  exact  shade  and  texture 
of  a  magnolia  petal,  did  not  seem  to  be  affected 
in  any  way  by  the  fierce  glare  from  the  sea.  I 
remembered  the  redness  of  poor  Miss  Siddis's 
nose,  and  the  roughness  of  her  ungloved  hands, 
and  wondered  if  all  white  women  born  in  the 
tropics,  and  only  they,  were  armed  like  Isola, 
against  the  arrows  of  the  sun. 

Inside  the  smoking-room,  watching  her  through 
the  windows,  I  sat  and  enjoyed  myself  unobserved. 
What  luck  it  was  that  she  should  be  travelling  on 
the  Afzelia  I  What  stupendous  luck  !  I  never 
asked  myself  why  it  should  be  so  lucky  ;  nor  did 
I  even  pause  to  wonder  why  she,  a  young  girl, 
without  relations  or  friends,  should  be  journey- 
ing along  this  wild  north  coast  of  New  Guinea 
towards  a  German  settlement  where  (I  knew) 
no  foreigner  was  especially  welcome.  I  cannot 
account  for  such  stupidity  ;  God  knows  it  cost 
me  dear  enough  in  the  end. 

While  I  was  pleasing  my  eyes  with  the  sight  of 
Isola  walking  up  and  down,  who  should  come 
forth  from  the  saloon  but  the  elderly  man  with 
the  grey-green  eyes,  the  owner  of  the  bodiless 
head  that  had  protested  so  strongly  against  my 
duel.  I  had  not  seen  him  before,  and  judged 
that  the  heavy  rolling  of  the  steamer  during  the 
first  day  and  night  had  kept  him  in  his  cabin. 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks  99 

At  all  events,  there  he  was,  spruce,  shaved,  and 
fresh,  with  a  grizzly  head  cropped  so  close  that 
the  skin  shone  through,  a  thick  figure  barely 
restrained  by  his  loose  shirt  and  belt,  and,  in 
unexpected  contradiction  to  his  short,  weighty 
build,  a  light  walk  that  was  singularly  well-drilled 
and  smart,  even  for  a  German. 

"  Good  morning  !  "  he  said,  with  a  pleasant 
smile.  I  noticed  another  contradiction  as  he 
spoke  ;  the  pleasantness  of  his  address  did  not 
agree  with  the  cold  watchfulness  of  his  unsmiling, 
grey-green  eyes,  deep  and  chill  as  the  Baltic  of 
his  Prussian  home. 

"  Good  morning  !  "  I  replied.  I  wondered 
how  much  he  knew.  I  had  ascertained  already 
that  the  "  next  stopping  place "  would  befall 
on  the  day  after  to-morrow. 

"  So  you  will  visit  Kaiser  Wilhelms  Land  ?  " 
he  said  agreeably,  seating  himself  at  one  of  the 
small  leather-covered  tables,  and  offering  me  his 
cigar-case. 

I  helped  myself  to  a  cigar  of  uncommon  quality 
and  fragrance. 

"  The  old  gentleman  does  himself  well,"  I 
thought,  as  I  Ht  it.  I  had  already  noticed  that 
his  shirt  was  of  thick  Assam  silk,  and  that  he  wore 
a  tie-pin  of  one  perfect  sapphire,  about  the  size 
of  a  pea. 

7* 


100         Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

"  Yes,"  I  said.  "  Fm  secretary  to  Mr.  Vincent 
Gore." 

"  So  !  "  he  said,  as  if  the  statement  were  news 
to  him — which  I  was  assured  it  was  not.  "  Then 
you  are  also  a  man  of  science  ?  " 

"  By  no  means,"  I  assured  him.  "  I  don't 
care  a  rap  about  it." 

"  Ah,"  he  said,  holding  his  own  cigar  in  a  hand 
that  was  delicately  white  and  smooth,  and 
adorned  with  a  heavy  diamond-set  ring.  "  Youth 
loves  adventure  above  all  things.  In  company 
with  Mr.  Vincent  Gore,  adventure  will  run  to 
meet  you  ;   is  it  not  true  ?  " 

His  manner  was  careless,  but  those  greenish 
eyes,  hard  with  the  hardness  of  eyes  that  have 
seen  cruel  things,  watchful  as  eyes  that  have  had 
to  guard  their  owner's  life,  betrayed  him.  And  I 
thought  he  listened  too  carefully  for  my  reply. 

It  is  a  good  rule  (I  thought  to  myself)  when  one 
asks  you  a  question  that  you  do  not  choose  to 
answer,  to  put  the  very  same  question  in  reply. 

"Oh,  do  teU  me,"  I  begged.  "Are  there 
adventures  in  New  Guinea,  and  does  Mr.  Gore 
have  them  ?  It's  been  pretty  dull  up  to  the 
present,  I  can  tell  you.  What  does  he  do  when 
he  goes  there  besides  hunting  after  mouldy  old 
skulls  and  writing  up  tribal  customs  ?  " 

"  What  does  he  do  ?  "  repeated  Herr  Richter 


Red  Bob  of  the  Biswarclirs^         ifOl^ 

(as  I  afterwards  knew  him  to  be  called  ;  I  say 
called,  because — but  that  must  come  later). 
"  What  does  Mr.  Vincent  Gore  do  in  the  Bis- 
marcks  and  Kaiser  Wilhelms  Land  ?  "  He  looked 
carefully  at  the  diamond  in  his  ring,  and  polished 
it  on  his  silk  sleeve.  ''  There  is  nothing  for  any 
man  to  do  there  but  to  study  science,  as  you  say. 
We  Germans,  we  do  not  want  English  settlers 
or  traders.  You  have  many  colonies  of  your 
own.  ...  As  for  adventures,  you  must  not 
believe  everything  you  shall  hear.  You  cannot 
expect  adventure.  We  do  not  encourage  men  to 
outwander  in  the  bush,  and  make  trouble  for  the 
Government.  No,  I  fear  that  German  New 
Guinea  will  disappoint  you.'' 

He  seemed  glad  of  it,  on  the  whole.  I  liked 
his  cigars,  but  I  did  not  like  himself  ;  besides,  I 
was  anxious  to  get  to  the  doorway  again,  and  see 
where  Isola  Ravenna  had  gone  to.  She  had 
stopped  walking  up  and  down,  and  she  was  not 
sitting  on  the  seats  outside.  So  I  excused  myself 
as  soon  as  I  could,  and  went  off  hunting  after  the 
Oread  of  Banda.  She  was,  I  told  myself,  quite 
the  most  interesting  girl  I  had  ever  seen.  .  .  . 

I  did  not  find  her.  It  grew  dusk  ;  it  turned  to 
dark,  and  she  had  not  reappeared.  Someone 
told  me  that  Miss  Siddis  had  succurtibed  to  the 
roll  of  the  ship,  and  gone  back  to  her  cabin  ;    I 


^^^^^^rf^^ 


rij92-/:{*';I?^d:B[Qli  )of  the  Bismarcks 

guessed  that  Miss  Ravenna  was  keeping  her 
company.  The  evening  passed  away  stupidly. 
The  Germans  were  playing  cards  in  the  saloon  ; 
Vincent  Gore  was  reading  ;  Richter  was  padding 
up  and  down  the  decks — it  seemed  to  me,  looking 
out  for  something.  I  could  not  settle  to  cards, 
to  a  book,  even  to  the  endless  tramping  up  and 
down  on  deck  that  is  the  solace  of  most  sea 
voyagers.  Like  Richter,  I  was  looking  for  some- 
thing. .  .  . 

I  did  not  find  it.  Richter  disappeared,  the 
card  party  broke  up  in  the  saloon.  It  grew  to- 
wards the  hour  when  the  electric  light  was  turned 
off.  I  wandered  into  the  bows,  and  stood  with 
my  hands  in  my  pockets,  staring  at  the  thick 
darkness  that  we  were  ploughing  through,  and 
wondering  what  lay  beyond  it.  It  struck  me 
with  a  sensation  of  incredible  strangeness  that 
in  two  days  more  I  might  not  be  there — might 
not  be  anywhere — I,  Paul  Corbet,  who  stood  here 
in  the  bows  of  the  Afzelia,  with  the  wind  from 
the  wide  Pacific  blowing  in  his  face.  It  struck 
me  with  still  greater  strangeness  that  the 
Afzelia  undoubtedly  would  be  there  ;  she  would 
finish  her  voyage  along  the  New  Guinea  coast, 
get  to  Simpsonshafen,  and  turn  back  again.  That 
curve  of  iron  in  front  of  me,  those  two  round- 
lipped     hawse-pipes,     with     the     anchor-chains 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks         103 

running  through,  would  still  be  in  the  world,  two 
days  hence,  ten  days  hence.  And  I  who  looked 
at  them  now,  perhaps,  would  not. 

It  was  the  first  time  I  had  thought  of  death ; 
the  first  time  that  the  feeling  and  realization 
of  man  as  a  passing  shadow  struck  right  home  to 
my  heart.  When  the  Romans — which  of  them 
was  it  ? — no  matter — cried  out  in  bitterness : 
"  We  are  dust  and  shadows !  "  this  was  the 
feeling  that  had  possession  of  their  minds.  Why, 
they  were  right !  we  were  shadows,  nothing 
more.  This  iron  ship,  the  rocks  by  which  we 
ran  in  the  soundless  dark,  the  sea  that  carried 
us,  were  real  things.  But  we,  the  masters  of 
them  all,  were  not  real.  They  stayed,  we 
passed — we  passed  ! 

The  winds  of  eternity  blew  and  in  a  moment 
the  dust  that  was  I  was  whirled  away,  and  in 
the  place  where  my  feet  had  rested  the  sun  shone 
again,  and  the  salt- jewels  sparkled  .  .  .  the 
shadow  had  gone. 

"  It  is  true,"  I  thought,  "  all  true,  what  the 
old  Jews  and  the  Romans  and  the  rest  of  them 
said.  I  am  a  shadow,  and  I  shall  pass  like  one, 
perhaps  the  day  after  to-morrow,  perhaps  in 
fifty  years.  It  doesn't  seem  to  make  much  differ- 
ence. But  whichever  it  is,  I'm  not  afraid. 
Glory  be  to "     I  did  not  want  to  say  God, 


104         Red  Bob  of  the  Bismareks 

for  some  odd,  shamefaced  reason ;  I  think 
perhaps  it  was  the  idea  of  the  bloodthirsty- 
business  toward  between  myself  and  Hahn  that 
held  me  back ;  yet  the  word  would  come — 
"  Glory-  be  to  God,  I'm  not  afraid  of  anything  !  " 

A  small,  sweet,  pointed  face,  magnolia-white, 
seemed  to  rise  before  me  in  the  darkness.  I 
shut  my  hands  on  the  steel  of  the  bulwark,  cold 
with  night  and  dew. 

"  Not  even  for  that,"  I  thought.  "  I  am  not 
afraid — for  anything.  The  splendour  of  life — why, 
it  is  death.   I  wonder  why  I  never  saw  that  before." 

Now  in  another  minute  the  words  seemed 
meaningless  to  me  ;  yet  they  had  had,  for  the 
moment,  all  the  force  of  a  revelation. 

The  window  shut.  It  seemed  to  me  that  I 
had  been  thinking  things  without '  significance 
or  sense.  Man  was  dust  and  shadow ;  yes, 
everyone  said  it ;  there  was  nothing  in  that. 
I  was  going  to  fight  a  duel  in  two  days — in  one 
day  and  two  nights,  rather.  Well,  that  was 
good  fun,  and  I  hoped  I'd  come  out  on  top. 
Was  there  any  supper  going  in  the  saloon  ? 

I  never  found  out  if  there  was.  I  had  come 
back  from  the  bows,  and  was  strolling  toward  the 
companion,  when  a  voice  said  very  near  to  me  in 
the  darkness  :    "  May  I — may  I  speak  to  you  ?  " 

I  don't  think  the  lessons  of  Red  Bob — about 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks         105 

being  surprised  and  so  on — ^had  been  altogether 
wasted  on  me.     I  answered  at  once,  and  quietly  : 

"  Certainly,  Miss  Ravenna.  What  can  I  do 
for  you  ?  " — although  it  seemed  as  if  all  the 
blood  in  my  body  had  suddenly  flung  itself  in 
one  wave  towards  my  head,  and  as  if  the  sleeve 
that  brushed  accidentally  at  that  moment 
against  something  soft  and  near  were  charged 
with  a  strong  electric  current. 

"  You  can't  do  anything  for  me,"  said  the  voice 
rather  breathlessly,  "  but  I  can  do  something  for 
you — if  I  can  speak  where  nobody  hears." 

She  was  not  whispering ;  she  spoke  in  a  soft 
but  rather  high-pitched  tone  that  somehow 
made  one  think  of  winds  and  waters  ...  as 
different  from  the  carneying  tones  of  Miss 
Siddis  as  morning  dew  from  treacle.  .  .  .  Isola  ! 
Isola  Bella  !    that  voice  of  yours  : 

"  My  heart  would  hear  it  and  beat 
Had  it  lain  a  century  dead."  .  .  . 

"  You  are  most  kind,"  I  answered.  We  had 
both  forgotten — or  had  not  troubled  to  re- 
member— that  we  had  never  been  introduced. 
"  If  there  is  anything  you  want  to  say,  we  had 
better  go  a  little  way  back  into  the  bows — or, 
indeed,  no  one  can  hear  us  here." 

"  Oh,  but  they  could,"  said  the  girl,  still 
rather  breathlessly.     "  You've  no  idea  how  people 


106         Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

can  overhear  on  a  ship — I  hadn't,  till  to-night 

— that's    what    I    want    to Please,  in  the 

bow.     I  won't  be  a  minute,  but  you  must  hear  ; 
it's  important." 

There  was  not  a  shade  of  self-consciousness 
in  her  manner  ;  not  the  veriest  coxcomb  who 
ever  hinted  at  a  hundred  conquests  could  have 
seen  anything  flattering  to  himself  or  coquettish 
in  her,  at  the  back  of  the  strange  request. 

I  took  it  as  it  was  spoken. 

"  Certainly,"  I  said.  "  It  is  dark ;  let  me 
lead  you." 

She  gave  me  her  hand  with  perfect  confidence 
— it  was  a  cool,  firm  hand,  as  smooth  as  silk, 
but  not  soft — and  I  helped  her  past  the  covered- 
up  donkey-engine,  and  the  coiling  chains,  to  the 
quiet  place  I  had  just  left. 

"  No  one  can  see  or  hear  us,"  I  said.  I  took 
off  my  coat  and  threw  it  lightly  round  her 
shoulders.  "  The  night  air  is  sometimes  chilly," 
I  told  her ;  and  indeed,  it  was  not  so  warm 
as  it  had  been.  Then,  standing  by  the  bul- 
wark— for  I  would  not  sit  when  she  did  not — 
I  waited.  I  thought  she  would  begin  with : 
"  You  must  think  me  very  forward,"  or,  "  I 
hope  you  won't  be  shocked,"  or  some  cliche 
of  the  kind.  But  I  did  not  know  my  lady  of  the 
mountain. 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks         107 

"  Vm  afraid,"  she  said,  with  simple  directness, 
"  that  there  are  people  on  board  who  mean  you 
some  mischief." 

"  Oh,  is  that  the  case  ?  "  I  said,  laughing  a 
little.  "  Perhaps  I  mean  them  some  mischief, 
too." 

"  You  don't  understand,"  she  said,  consider- 
ing. "  I  will  tell  you  just  what  it  was.  I  was 
lying  on  the  deck,  with  a  cushion  under  my 
head,  because  I  could  not  keep  my  chair  from 
slipping  about,  and  it  was  dark.  And  my  head 
was  a  Httle  over  the  side  of  the  ship,  under  the 
rail,  to  catch  the  breeze.  And  there  was  a 
porthole  just  beneath,  and  people  inside,  smoking 
and  talking.  I  heard  what  they  said.  It  was 
German " 

"  Do  you  speak  German,  then  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Why,  of  course,"  she  answered,  "  though  I 
wasn't  born  a  German — perhaps  you  know " 

She  paused  for  a  moment,  and  I,  thinking 
I  did  know,  answered : 

"  Yes,  Miss  Siddis  told  me." 

Isola  Ravenna  did  not  go  on  with  her  story 
immediately.  Her  tall,  slim  figure,  just  visible 
in  its  white  dress  against  the  crape-like  black- 
ness of  the  sky,  swung  lightly  to  and  fro  with 
the  rolling  of  the  steamer — once,  twice,  three 
times.  .  .  .  The    foam    about    the    bows    made 


108         Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

such  a  hissing  that  I  could  not  tell  if  she  sighed  ; 
yet  somehow  I  thought  she  did. 

"  Well !  "  she  said  presently.  "  I  was  going 
to  tell  you.  They  were  talking  about  you. 
It  was  Richter,  I  think — he  smokes  those  very 
nice-smelling  cigars,   doesn't  he  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  I  said,  remembering  the  sample  I  had 
enjoyed  that  afternoon. 

"  And  the  tall,  fair  young  Prussian,  Hahn,  I 
know  his  voice.  And  several  others.  They 
were  in  a  private  cabin — one  that  hasn't  any 
deck  outside  it.  Richter  said — I  must  try  to 
remember,  '  I  have  talked  to  him,  and  he  is 
no  sheep's  head,  that  young  Englander.  Thou 
wast  right,  Hahn ' — that  was  what  he  said — 
*  he  is  clever  enough  to  play  the  stupid  game, 
and  see  thou,  when  a  man  plays  even  so,  he  has 
something  to  hide.  Also  he  is  not  at  all  stupid.' 
And  then  they  said  things  I  could  not  catch — 
and  then  I  heard  Hahn,  and  he  said,  '  Truly, 
sir,  I  did  not  do  it  on  that  account,  but  because 
he  had  insulted  Germany.'  And  Richter  said — 
oh,  he  said — I  can't  remember  the  words,  but 
it  was  about  Hahn  having  done  right,  although 
he  had  been  hasty.  '  Perhaps  I  should  not  have 
wanted  it  if  the  youngster  had  been  the  common 
English  fool,'  he  said.  *  But  I  find  him  quite 
other,    and    what     Vincent     Gore    knows,    be 


:.^ 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks         109 

assured  he  knows.  We  cannot  catch  that  bird 
with  salt  on  the  nose,  as  the  English  say,  but  the 
young  chick  we  can.'  And  then  he  said, '  Thou, 
Hahn,  when  we  get  to  Kronprinzhaven,  fight 
then,  like  a  right  Prussian,  and  avenge  the  honour 
of  Germany.'  And  they  laughed,  and  talked 
together,  so  that  I  could  not  hear.  But  by  and 
by  I  heard  Hahn,  and  he  said,  *  No  matter  about 
the  choice  of  weapons,  to  me  it  is  all  the  same. 
Thou,  wilt  thou  take  the  challenge  to-night  ?  ' 
And  someone  else  said  he  would." 

She  stopped  a  moment ;  she  seemed  out  of 
breath.  In  the  silence  I  heard  the  far-off 
tumbling  of  unseen  waves  on  unknown  shores ; 
near  at  hand,  the  clattering  of  plates  in  some 
steward's  "  glory-hole  "  under  the  forward  deck. 
The  sound  made  me  think  of  my  strange  experi- 
ences on  the  Empress  of  Singapore,  coming  out  from 
England.  Since  then,  I  thought,  the  world  had 
widened  marvellously.  Off  the  shores  of  New 
Guinea — agoing  to  fight  a  duel — bound  on  a 
mysterious  treasure-seeking  quest — listening  at 
dead  of  night  (it  was  a  quarter  to  eleven  only, 
but  that  was  dead  enough  for  purposes  of 
romance)  to  a  beautiful  girl,  who  was  warning  me 
of  a  plot  against  my  life. 

"  Well !  "  I  said  to  myself,  ramming  my  hands 
deep  down  into  my  pockets.   "  This  is  plummy  !  " 


110         Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

To  Miss  Ravenna  I  spoke  with  more  for- 
mality. I  told  her  that  she  was  very  kind  indeed, 
and  that  I  could  not  be  sufficiently  grateful  to 
her.  That  I  would  tell  Mr.  Gore  what  she  had 
told  me,  and  act  by  his  advice,  and  that  I  hoped 
she  would  not  trouble  herself  in  any  way  about 
the  matter,  but  rest  assured  that  everything  would 
be  all  right. 

She  answered  nothing  at  all  to  this,  but 
gathered  her  thin  skirts  round  her  and  slipped 
past  the  donkey-engine  again,  supported  by 
my  hand.  I  don't  think  the  support  was  in- 
dispensable, but  Isola  Ravenna  did  not  seem  to 
find  it  disagreeable.  For  all  that,  I  rather  liked 
the  manner  in  which  she  drew  away  that  silken, 
firm,  small  hand  of  hers,  as  soon  as  we  were  on  the 
open  deck  again,  and  the  quick,  silent  fashion 
of  her  bow  and  instant  disappearance.  She 
would  not  have  me  think  she  had  sought  the 
interview  for  the  reasons  of  a  vulgar  flirt. 

"  Nevertheless,"  I  said  to  myself,  making 
my  way  to  Gore's  cabin,  "  if  you  had  thought  me 
a  perfect  beast,  you  pretty  dear,  you  wouldn't 
have  taken  so  much  trouble.  Or  wouldn't  have 
taken  it  in  that  way.  You  certainly  are  a  dear, 
and  I'll  tell  you  so,  before  many  days." 

Red  Bob  had  turned  in,  but  he  answered 
instantly  to  my  knock,   and   I   entered,   feeling 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks         111 

none  too  comfortable  in  face  of  the  interview 
that  I  foresaw.  It  was  clear  that  I  had  been 
"  made  a  hare  of  "  in  the  completest  manner. 
I  had  answered  readily  to  provocation  that  was 
meant  to  get  me  into  trouble,  I  had  allowed 
Richter — who  was  assuredly  someone  of  im- 
portance in  the  secret  service — to  suspect  some 
hidden  motive  underlying  the  apparent  object 
of  our  journey.  There  was  only  one  course  to 
pursue,  and  it  was  bitter  in  my  mouth.  I  had 
to  tell  Gore  everything,  and  act  by  his  advice. 

I  did  tell  him,  first  turning  on  the  noisy 
electric  fan  to  make  sure  that  no  one  would  hear 
me.  I  repeated  every  word  that  Richter  and 
I  had  said  to  each  other  on  the  deck,  every  word 
that  Miss  Ravenna  had  reported  to  me.  Then 
I  stopped,  and  stood  staring  at  the  big  man  in  the 
pink-and-white  pyjamas,  waiting  for  his  reply. 
I  was  sure  he  would  swear  my  head  off. 

Gore,  sitting  up  in  his  berth,  with  his  long 
legs  in  their  gay  covering,  and  his  thin,  arched 
bare  feet  dangling  out  into  empty  air,  looked 
at  me  for  a  moment  without  any  expression  at 
all.  Then,  loosening  the  neck  of  his  pyjama 
coat — for  the  night  was  hot — ^he  remarked  : 

"  We  might  as  well  have  two  beers." 

I  pressed  the  bell  and  a  steward  popped  up 
like  a  pantomime  demon.     While  we  waited  for 


112         Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

the  beer,  neither  of  us  spoke.  As  soon  as  the  tall 
glass  mugs,  cloudy  with  coolness,  had  been  handed 
in,  Red  Bob  remarked,  "  Shut  the  door,"  and 
buried  his  face  in  his  mug.  I  did  the  same,  feel- 
ing that  what  was  to  be,  was  to  be ;  hoping,  any- 
how, that  my  fun  was  not  going  to  be  curtailed. 

Red  Bob  finished  his  beer  in  one  slow  draught, 
reached  for  a  handkerchief,  deliberately  wiped  his 
moustache,  and  then  said  : 

"  I  suppose  you  understand  just  what  kind  of  a 
fool  you  are  ?  " 

"  Does  that  matter  ?  "  I  said. 

"Devil  a  bit,"  said  Red  Bob.  "The  thing 
is,  what  are  we  going  to  do  ?  They  have  caught 
you  in  a  trap  that  they  knew  was  too  plain  for 
this  old  fox.  It  may  stop  our  job.  If  the  thing's 
put  up,  as  it  seems,  they  mightn't  even  play  fair. 
They  know  " — he  tilted  the  glass  mug  upside 
down,  to  get  the  froth  that  had  gone  back  to 
hquid  while  he  was  talking — "  they  know  I  need 
a  companion,  or  I  wouldn't  have  brought  one. 
Yes,  they  can  hang  me  up  nicely.  Especially  as 
you  played  a  game  with  Richter  that  he  knows 
better  than  you  do.  Don't  act  the  fool,  Paul 
Corbet.  Just  be  content  to  be  what  Nature 
made  you,  and  you'll  come  quite  near  enough  to 
a  natural  dashed  fool  for  all  practical  purposes." 

I  said  nothing  to  this,  feeling  that,  all  things 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks         113 

concerned,  I  had  come  off  easily.  Gore  looked 
into  the  bottom  of  his  mug  again,  set  it  down 
regretfully  and  remarked  : 

"  When  the  European  Armageddon  comes — 
and  mind  you,  it's  overdue — we  may  smash  a 
few  dozen  castles  on  the  Rhine,  and  things  of 
that  kind,  but  I  hope  to  goodness  the  brutal  and 
licentious  soldiery  will  spare  the  German  brew- 
eries. Well!  These  are  my  orders,  young  Paul,  and 
you've  got  to  mind  them.     You'll  have  to  fight." 

"  I  hope  so,"  I  cut  in. 

"  But  you're  not  on  any  account,  or  for  any 
dashed  piece  of  conceit,  to  kill,  wound,  or  touch 
young  Hahn.  Do  you  understand  ?  If  he 
kills  or  wings  you — well,  that  can't  be  helped ; 
you've  brought  it  on  yourself.  But  if  you  even 
damage  him,  you  can  rely  on  it  you  will  see  the 
inside  of  the  jail  at  Frederick  Wilhelmshaven , 
and  won't  get  out  in  a  hurry.  And  I  shall  have 
to  hang  about  and  bother  over  you.  And  the 
fat  will  be  in  the  fire,  generally.  Now,  you  have 
your  orders  ;    off  to  bed  with  you." 

He  snapped  off  the  light  and  lay  down  I 
heard  him  breathing  long  and  quietly,  before  I 
was  out  of  the  cabin.  Red  Bob  could  go  to  sleep 
as  quick  as  another  man  could  wake,  and  wake  as 
quick  as  any  man  could  fire  off  a  gun.  I  used  to 
think  his  nerves  must  be  like  telegraph  wires. 

8 


CHAPTER  VI 

KRONPRINZHAVEN  (which  you  wiU  not 
find  under  that  name  upon  the  map) 
lies  some  way  beyond  the  German-Dutch  boun- 
dary of  New  Guinea.  We  came  up  to  it  in  the 
very  early  morning,  before  the  sun  had  gathered 
warmth,  and  while  the  shadows  on  the  deck  of 
the  AJzelia  were  still  powdered  with  dew  as 
fine  and  sparkling  as  ground  glass. 

Wolff  had  made  a  formal  call  on  me  the  evening 
before,  on  behalf  of  Hahn,  and  had  arranged 
with  Gore  the  details  of  the  fight  (who,  of  course, 
acted  as  my  second).  We  were  to  use  pistols 
at  twenty  paces.  Hahn  was  rather  anxious  for 
rapiers,  and  I  would  not  have  been  sorry  to 
oblige  him  ;  but  Gore  had  put  me  through  ten 
minutes'  fencing  earlier  in  the  evening,  and  de- 
livered it  as  his  opinion  that  I  was  safer  with  the 
pistol,  provided  what  I  said  as  to  my  feats  with 
that  weapon  was  mostly  true,  and  provided  I 
didn't  lose  my  head.  It  has  no  place  in  the 
story,    but    I    cannot  help  observing   here   that 

114 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks         115 

Red  Bob's  fencing  was  like  everything  else  he 
did — perfect.  I  do  not  think  that  Hahn,  or 
any  other  man  in  German  Guinea,  would  have 
cared  to  stand  up  before  him  vidth  the  buttons 
off.  Which,  perhaps,  may  have  to  do  with  the 
story,  after  all ;  at  least,  so  far  as  the  "challenge 
to  me  is  concerned. 

Well — we  went  ashore  in  the  ship's  boat,  Red 
Bob,  Hahn,  Wolff  and  myself,  and  the  mysterious 
Richter,  who  declared  himself  to  be  qualified  as  a 
doctor,  in  case  we  should  need  the  services  of 
one.  The  duelling  pistols — Richter  lent  them 
— were  hidden  in  the  folds  of  a  mackintosh.  The 
captain,  who  usually  took  the  ship  into  port  him- 
self, was  late  asleep  this  morning,  and  never 
showed  out  of  his  cabin.  The  chief  officer, 
shining  in  white  and  gold  upon  the  bridge, 
leaned  down  and  called  out  to  us  that  he  hoped 
we  would  have  a  pleasant  walk,  recommending 
us,  in  particular,  to  take  photographs  of  the 
native  village.  All  the  passengers  were  sound 
asleep,  and  the  stewards  and  deck-hands,  to  a 
man,  were  busy  on  the  seaward  side  of  the  ship. 
Perfect  unconsciousness  of  our  mission,  innocent 
industry  concerned  only  with  itself,  seemed 
fairly  to  stick  out  all  over  the  ship.  And  I 
have  not  the  slightest  doubt  that,  the  moment  the 
boat  left  the  AJzelia^s  side,  every  man  on  her 

8* 


116         Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

began  making  bets  as  to  who  was  going  to  kill 
whom. 

So  I  landed  on  New  Guinea.  I  have  since 
been  to  Kronprinzhaven  more  than  once,  and  I 
am  therefore  able  to  say  that  it  is  a  magnificently 
beautiful  spot,  a  harbour  of  horse-shoe  shape, 
edged  with  tall  cocoa-palms  leaning  over  a  beach 
as  white  as  paper,  and  backed  by  mountains  that 
rise  leap  on  leap,  wave  upon  violet  wave,  to  an 
unimaginable  glory  of  remote,  pale  silver-blue. 
The  sun-beaten  splendour,  the  cruel,  feverish 
beauty  of  the  spot,  may  have  touched  my  senses 
at  the  moment — I  do  not  know.  I  have  only  the 
recollection  of  landing  on  a  beach  that  was  white 
and  heavy,  and  walking  across  it  into  a  windy 
coolness  of  palms ;  of  a  dark  forest  after,  where 
huge  buttressed  roots  ran  out  above  our  heads, 
and  a  bird  with  a  fiery-gold  tail  flashed  out  from 
tree  to  tree  as  we  entered — I  remember  its  quick, 
harsh  scream,  and  the  rustle  of  its  wondrous  train, 
like  a  sound  of  a  woman's  silk  dress.  Then  there 
was  a  river,  roughly  bridged  with  logs,  and  we 
couldn't  hear  each  other  speak  because  of  the  noise 
it  made  tumbling  over  the  rocks.  And  then  the 
track  opened  out,  and  there  was  a  space  of  empty 
meadow-land,  and  Wolff  was  chattering  joyously 
about  a  duel  he  had  seen  in  Pomerania  where 
"  the  Kapitan  his  brains,  all  outrushing,  upon  the 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks         117 

green  grass  spilled ; "  and  Red  Bob,  walking 
alongside  of  Richter,  was  smoking  a  foot  of 
Burmese  tobacco,  and  jerking  out  indifferent 
remarks  about  the  loading  of  the  Afzelia.  .  .  . 

I  knew  we  had  come  to  the  place  when  I  saw 
this  open,  sunny  bit  of  land,  walled  in  by  the 
immense  forest  standing  round  about.  I  threw 
a  look  at  Hahn,  and  decided,  not  without  dis- 
appointment, that  he  was  perfectly  cool.  In 
fact,  everybody  was,  except  Wolff,  and  he  was 
simply  bubbling  over  with  delight.  The  whole 
thing  felt  extraordinarily  like  a  surgical  operation. 
I  had  been  through  one  once,  and  remembered 
it  as  very  much  akin  to  this — the  cool,  business- 
like hospital  people  ;  the  new  young  student  who 
was  so  delighted  to  be  there  and  see  me  cut  up  ; 
even  the  assistant  doctor  who  was  busy  laying 
out  glittering  things  in  a  metal  tray.  .  .  .  For 
that  was  how  Richter  occupied  himself,  what 
time  the  seconds  were  measuring  off  the  ground, 
and  inspecting  the  pistols.  I  really  do  not  know 
whether  he  did  it  with  the  view  of  shaking  my 
nerve  or  not,  but  if  he  did,  he  missed  his  mark, 
since  the  sight  only  increased  that  odd  reminis- 
cence of  the  operation  and  made  me  feel,  somehow 
or  other,  that  these  were  specialists  concerned 
together  in  a  job  that  they  all  knew,  though  I 
didn't ;  that  I  was  the  job,  and  that  my  business 


118         Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

was  to  do  just  what  I  was  told  to  do,  and  keep  on 
feehng  cooL  .  .  . 

Gore  and  Wolff  tossed  for  position,  and  Hahn 
won.  I  had  the  sun  in  my  eyes,  but  that  didn't 
matter  much,  because  it  was  still  low,  and  the 
forest  shut  off  most  of  it.  They  placed  us,  and 
Richter  held  the  handkerchief.  I  saw  Wolff's 
face,  mouth  greedily  open,  eyes  staring,  full  of 
delight ;  and  Gore's,  hard  and  inexpressive, 
looking  at  me.  Then  I  fixed  my  eyes  on  Hahn's 
pink  face,  with  the  golden  moustache,  and  out- 
standing, heavy  ears,  like  handles  to  his  head.  I 
knew  what  I  was  going  to  do,  and  knew  I  should 
do  it. 

The  handkerchief  fell,  and  a  harsh  German 
voice  cried  :    "  Feuer  !  " 

In  the  very  same  moment,  something  hit  me 
hard  on  the  forehead,  and  I  staggered. 

"  Did  I  do  it  ?  "  I  shouted  out,  straightening 
up,  and  trying  hard  to  see — one  eye  was  oddly 
obscured.  ...  I  was  afraid  I  might  be  badly 
hit,  and  going  to  die.  And  if  I  died,  I  shouldn't 
know  if  I  had  done  what  I  wanted  to  do. 

"  Confound  you  all !  "  I  cried,  losing  my 
temper,  as  the  blood — I  knew  it  was  blood  now 
— poured  down,  and  I  began  to  get  sick  and 
giddy — can't  any  of  you  tell  me,  did  I  clip  his 
right  ear  \  " 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks         119 

"  Sit  down,"  said  Richter's  voice,  and  I  sat 
on  the  grass. 

"  I'm  not  hurt,"  I  said.  "  Let  me  have  another 
go.  I  tell  you  I  can  clip  his  ear  like  a  sheep,  and 
I  want  to  do  it." 

"  Sit  still,  thou  young  fire-eater,  while  I  sew 
up  that  iron  head  of  thine,"  said  Richter,  with  the 
suspicion  of  a  laugh  in  his  hard  voice.  "  Yes, 
truly,  thou  hast  clipped  his  ear.  A  moment 
now " 

He  lifted  the  piece  of  scalp  that  had  been  shot 
loose,  and  was  hanging  over  my  eye,  and  I  saw 
Hahn  a  few  yards  away,  holding  a  handkerchief 
to  his  ear. 

"  Hooray  !  "  I  cried.  "  Just  the  tip,  wasn't 
it?" 

"  Even  so,"  answered  Hahn,  looking  at  me  with 
an  odd  mixture  of  expressions. 

"  What  about  another  go  ?  "  I  asked  anxiously, 
as  soon  as  Richter's  stitchery  was  finished.  "  I 
want  to  clip  the  other." 

"  Yes,"  said  Hahn,  taking  away  the  handker- 
chief, and  putting  it  back  again.  "  I  would  like 
to  give  him  the  chance."  He  showed  his  teeth 
unpleasantly  as  he  spoke,  and  I  reflected  that, 
whereas  the  seam  in  my  scalp  would  not  show,  as 
soon  as  my  hair  grew  over  it,  he  was  marked  for 
life  by  the  events  of  the  last  few  minutes. 


120         Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

"  I  object,"  said  Red  Bob,  coming  forward. 
"  Herr  Wolff,  do  you  consider  that  honour  is 
satisfied  ?  " 

Wolff  did  not  look  as  if  he  did,  but  a  glance 
from  Richter  tamed  him. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  he  said  discontentedly.  "  The 
insult  to  Germany  and  to  her  colonies  without 
doubt  now  out  is  wiped." 

I  got  up  from  my  seat  and  went  over  to  Hahn, 
who  was  standing  in  the  full  sunlight  (for  the 
rising  rays  were  just  now  over  the  forest)  looking, 
with  his  golden  hair  and  martial  bearing,  like  a 
splendid,  sulky,  young  war-god. 

"  Shake !  "  I  said.  He  put  his  hand  into 
mine,  and  I  saw,  as  he  let  his  handkerchief  fall, 
that  the  tip  of  the  right  ear  was  indeed  shot 
neatly  off. 

"  I  could  have  done  the  other,"  I  said,  with 
some  regret ;  and  to  my  surprise,  they  all  burst 
out  laughing. 

"  Come,"  said  Richter,  quite  good-humouredly, 
"  it  is  time  for  the  coffee  for  one.  Mr.  Corbet, 
you  shoot  straight — for  an  Englishman." 

"  Sorry  I  can't  say  the  same  for  you,"  I  said, 
looking  him  fair  in  the  eyes.  I  think  he  under- 
stood, but  it  took  more  than  the  discovery  of 
one  small  plot  to  unnerve  Justus  Richter. 

"  Ah,"  he  said  pleasantly,  "  you  mean  Hahn." 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks         121 

(I  didn't.)  "  But  I  think  he  has  shot  quite  near 
enough  for  you.  Do  you  Hke  to  see  the  native 
village  before  we  will  return  to  the  ship  ?  I  know 
all  this  coast,  and  I  can  conduct  you  with  safety." 

I  said  I  would  like  it,  and  we  left  the  field  of 
battle,  all  in  a  body,  and  all  very  cheerful,  as  I 
suppose  people  generally  are  after  a  duel  where 
no  one  has  been  killed,  and  there  has  been  a  little 
bloodshed,  just  to  give  the  event  a  flavour. 
Gore,  I  recollect,  was  swinging  along  in  front, 
just  about  to  enter  the  forest,  his  hat  tossed  back 
on  his  head,  his  big  frame  just  slightly  bent  down 
to  hear  what  Richter  was  saying  about  a  Papuo- 
Melanesian  tribal  custom,  when  all  of  a  sudden — 
he  straightened  himself  up,  cast  a  glance  at  the 
path  ahead,  and  bolted  back  with  such  suddenness 
that  he  cannoned  violently  against  Wolff,  and 
knocked  Hahn  into  a  lemon-tree  full  of  thorns, 
and  threw  me  into  the  arms — or,  to  speak  more 
accurately,  on  to  the  well-cushioned  stomach  of 
Richter.     It  was  as  if  a  bullock  had  broken  loose. 

For  a  moment,  we  were  all  too  fully  occupied 
with  ourselves  to  notice  the  cause  of  the  disaster. 
Hahn  came  out  of  the  lemon-tree  with  a  scratched 
face,  spitting  thorns  on  the  ground  and  cursing. 
Richter  swore  violently  at  me  in  German,  before 
he  realized  that  I  was  not  the  moving  force  in 
the  attack  ;   then  he  broke  off  gasping,  and  asked 


122         Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

what  was  the  matter  with  the  verfluchter 
Engldnder. 

Wolff,  who  alone  had  escaped  without  actual 
damage,  went  back  a  little  way,  and  stared  at  the 
vanishing  form  of  Gore,  which  had  crossed  the 
open  grass  with  wonderful  speed,  and  was  now 
all  but  lost  in  the  forest  at  the  other  side. 

I  alone  of  the  party  guessed  what  had  happened. 
I  had  heard  a  woman's  voice  in  the  distance 
asking  the  way  of  a  native  who  evidently  did  not 
understand  her,  and  my  foreseeing  soul  cried 
out :    "  Miss  Siddis  !  " 

To  save  my  employer's  face,  however,  I  made 
haste  to  explain  that  he  was  taken  suddenly  ill ; 
that  I  had  seen  these  odd  fits  before,  and  that  he 
would  without  doubt  be  all  right  in  half  an  hour  ; 
also,  that  he  liked  to  be  left  alone  when  thus 
affected.  Wolff  and  Hahn  accepted  the  explana- 
tion. Richter  did  not.  He  looked  me  through 
with  those  chill  Baltic  eyes,  and  asked  himself, 
apparently,  why  I  was  taking  the  trouble  to  lie. 

In  another  minute  a  woman's  figure  burst  out 
of  the  forest  running  as  hard  as  it  could — which 
was  not  very  hard — on  small,  flat  feet.  It  was 
dressed  in  an  untidy  medley  of  muslins,  with  a 
hat  over  one  eye,  and  its  face  was  redder  than  I 
should  have  thought  the  face  of  any  mortal 
being,    not    stricken    with    apoplexy,   could    be. 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks         123 

And  as  it  went,  bobbing  its  head  with  every  call, 
like  a  cuckoo  in  a  cuckoo-clock  : 

"  Mr.  Gore  !     Mr.  Corbet !     Stop  !  " 

Hahn,  with  the  reddened  handkerchief  twisted 
about  his  ear,  Wolff  carrying  the  case  of  pistols, 
stood  still  in  their  tracks  and  stared,  a  wide  grin 
spreading  itself  over  their  countenances,  as  ripples 
spread  in  a  pool  when  stones  are  thrown  in.  But 
Richter  acted  otherwise.  He  made  a  quick, 
light  step  over  to  Miss  Siddis,  caught  her  by  the 
arm,  stopped  her,  and  almost  shook  her. 

"  Have  you  brought  Frau  Schultz  on  this  fool's 
errand — ^you,  who  are  supposed  to  look  after 
her  ?  "  he  said. 

The  mysterious  Frau  Schultz  again !  I 
thought  that  nothing  could  have  added  to  my 
astonishment  at  her  name  being  brought  into 
the  business  of  the  duel ;  but  Richter's  next  words 
did  it. 

"  This  is  your  doing  !  "  he  said  to  me,  his  usual 
icy  caution  melting  away  in  the  heat  of  some  in- 
comprehensible anger.  "  It  is  you  who  have 
told  Frau  Schultz,  and  she  and  this  ass-head 
have " 

He  broke  oflF  short,  and  looked  about  him.  It 
was  plain  now  that  Miss  Siddis  was  alone. 

She,  not  minded  to  be  left  out  of  the  conver- 
sation, began  her  cuckoo-clock  exclaiming  again  : 


124         Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

"  Stop  the  duel — I   insist  upon  it.     Stop  it. 
The  Hfe  of  Mr.  Vincent  Gore  must  not  be 


Stop  the  duel — Mr.  Corbet,  how  can  you  stand 
by  and Stop  the  duel !  " 

She  really  seemed  to  be  out  of  her  mind  for 
the  moment.  I  had  no  doubt  that  she  had  run 
the  whole  way  from  the  shore,  repeating  her 
clock-work  cry  all  the  time.  Someone  on  board 
must  have  let  it  out  to  her  after  we  had  gone  ; 
and  she  had  very  nearly  been  in  time  to  run 
screaming  into  the  glade  at  the  worst  possible 
minute.  ... 

"  See,  you  foolish  woman  !  "  said  Richter. 
"  There  is  nothing  to  make  a  fuss  about.  See  ! 
There  is  no  one  hurt ;  Mr.  Gore  was  not  fight- 
ing ;  it  was  this  youngling.  He  has  a  scratch 
and  so  has  the  other  ;   that  is  all." 

At  this  she  seemed  to  come  to  herself. 

"  But  where  is  Mr.  Gore  ?  "  she  asked,  looking 
up  with  something  that  was,  and  wasn't,  a  squint 
from  under  the  crooked  brim  of  her  hat. 

"  He  is  gone  a  walk.  Where  is  Frau 
Schultz  ?  "  asked  Richter  sternly.'  I  began  to 
wonder  if  Frau  Schultz  were  a  criminal,  being 
taken  back  to  German  Guinea  for  trial  and  im- 
prisonment. Certainly  I  had  never  set  eyes  on 
her  yet,  though  we  were  several  days  out  from 
Banda.     Miss  Siddis,  Miss  Ravenna,  I  had  seen  ; 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks         125 

also  Frau  Baumgartner — the  lad^  whose  fat,  grey 
back  and  scraped-up  hair  I  had  noticed  on  the 
day  of  saiHng  ;  she  had  been  more  or  less  sick 
ever  since.  But  of  the  mysterious  Frau  Schultz 
I  had  not  had  a  glimpse.  Miss  Siddis's  answer 
only  added  to  my  perplexity. 

"  Where  should  she  be  but  on  the  deck,  where 
she  always  is  ?  "  was  her  reply. 

"  She  is  there  even  too  much,"  said  Richter. 
"  She  walks  about  too  much  at  night.  See,  then, 
Schultz  is  my  very  good  friend,  and  I  warn  you 
that  I  will  look  after  his  interests." 

"  Oh,    but,    Herr   Richter "    began    Miss 

Siddis,  in  her  most  carneying  tone. 

Richter  did  not  wait  to  hear  her  ;  conscious, 
no  doubt,  of  having  betrayed  himself  in  some  way, 
he  walked  on  ahead,  and  rapidly  left  the  party 
behind.  We  strolled  to  the  shore  together, 
Hahn,  Wolff,  the  still  panting  Miss  Siddis,  and  I. 
Not  much  was  said  till  the  beach  shone  out  before 
us,  white  and  glaring  in  the  seven  o'clock  sun,  and 
the  AJzelia^s  boat  appeared,  drawn  up  below  a 
big  Barringtonia  tree,  that  overhung  the  water 
with  a  cool  canopy  of  green.  Then  Hahn,  who 
had  been  nursing  his  sulks  all  the  way,  turned  to 
me  and  held  out  his  hand. 

"  You  shoot  well,  and  you  are  a  brave 
youngster,"  he  said.     "  I  am  your  friend.     No, 


126         Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

Wolff,  you  need  not  look  at  me.  From  this  day, 
I  am  the  friend  of  Paul  Corbet,  and  any  man 
may  know  it  who  likes." 

He  pronounced  my  Christian  name  to  make  it 
rhyme  with  "  howl,"  but,  nevertheless,  I  felt 
gratified. 

Richter  was  waiting  in  the  boat,  and  we  all 
went  over  to  the  ship  together.  As  the  oars 
ground  in  the  rowlocks,  taking  me  farther  and 
farther  from  the  fascinating  shores  of  the  land 
I  had  so  longed  to  reach,  I  could  scarcely  console 
myself  with  the  knowledge  that  we  were  going 
to  call  at  other  places.  I  had  landed  on  New 
Guinea  ;  I  had  seen  a  beach  and  a  jungle  and  a 
couple  of  brilliant  birds,  no  more.  Round  the 
corner  were  hosts  of  wonders,  and  I  had  not  seen 
any  of  them.  ...  It  was  really  very  hard. 

Miss  Siddis  had  found  her  tongue  again  by 
this  time,  and  her  prattle  nearly  maddened  me. 
She  wanted  to  know  if  we  were  sure  Mr.  Vincent 
Gore  was  not  hurt ;  she  had  seen  him  go  out 
of  his  cabin  in  the  early  morning,  as  she  was  on 
her  way  to  the  bath,  and  he  was  carrying  a  case 
of  pistols,  and  before  she  could  get  dressed 
the  ship's  boat  was  away,  and  there  wasn't 
another  to  be  had  till  it  came  back  again  from 
the  beach,  and  dear,  dear  !  she  was  frightened, 
for  she  had  heard  what  a  reckless  man  he  was, 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks  127 

and  she  was  sure But  after  all,  it  was  not 

Mr.  Gore — we  were  certain  ?  And  he  was 
coming  back  to  the  ship  all  right  ?  That  was 
right ;  but  what  a  pity  that  Mr.  Corbet  should 
have  been  hurt — and  Mr.  Hahn — now  she  was 
only  a  poor  little  woman,  but  if  we  would  let 
her  just  tell  us  how  wrong  and  foolish 

At  this  point  Richter  looked  up  from  the 
bottom  boards  of  the  boat,  and  remarked  : 

"  Fraulein  Siddis,  these  affairs  of  honour  have 
nothing  to  do  with  women.  Hold  your  tongue. 
You  understand  me  ?  " 

Miss  Siddis,  taken  in  full  flow,  stopped,  blinked 
and  swallowed. 

"  You  are  so  natural  and  simple,  you  Prussians 
— so  strong  !  "  she  murmured,  honey  in  her  tones 
and  something  very  like  hate  in  her  small  grey 
eyes.  "  Yes,  Herr  Richter,  if  you  wish  it,  I 
will  keep  silence.  A  simple  little  woman  like 
me — what  does  she  know,  after  all,  when  there 
are  men  older  and  wiser  than  herself  to  decide  ?  " 

"  Exactly,"  said  Richter. 

Nothing  more  was  said  till  we  reached  the 
ship.  An  accommodation  ladder  was  set  slant- 
ing down  her  side  ;  we  landed  on  the  grating 
one  by  one,  and  ascended,  Richter  leading. 

To  the  smart,  starched  officer  who  stood  at 
the  head  of  the  steps,  he  remarked  : 


128         Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

"  We  have  met  with  a  Httle  accident  ashore. 
A  tree  fell  in  the  forest  ;  it  has  injured  Herr 
Hahn's  ear  and  the  forehead  of  Herr  Corbet. 
I  myself  have  given  first  aid  ;  there  will  be  no 
need  of  the  doctor." 

"  So,"  said  the  officer  with  an  inexpressive 
face.  We  filed  through  the  companion-way 
just  as  the  first  breakfast  bell  began  to  ring, 
and  I  went  to  my  cabin  with  my  head  feeling 
like  a  turbine  that  is  just  beginning  to  go  round 
and  round  under  the  pressure  of  the  steam. 
Doubtless  the  injury  I  had  received  had  some- 
thing to  say  to  this ;  but  still  more  had  a  sight 
that  flashed  upon  my  eyes  just  as  we  were 
ascending  the  ship's  tall  side — Isola  Ravenna's 
face,  framed  in  a  porthole,  white  as  the  paint 
of  the  ship,  wide-eyed,  and  with  the  under-lip 
dropped  down  as  lips  only  drop  in  terror  or 
dismay.  Her  hands,  clutching  the  brazen  rim 
of  the  port,  were  blanched  with  the  closeness 
of  the  grip.  When  she  saw  me  pass,  walking 
easily  up  the  ladder  and  chatting  with  Hahn, 
a  cigarette  in  my  mouth,  the  terror  on  her  face 
dissolved  as  snow  dissolves  beneath  a  thawing 
wind.  Her  clutching  hands  let  go,  and  she 
slipped  back  into  the  dusk  of  her  cabin,  thinking, 
no  doubt,  that  nobodythad  seen  her. 

I  fancied  Richter  had,  for  he  cast  a  curious 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismareks         129 

glance  at  me  as  we  reached  the  grating,  and  then 
threw  a  rapid  look  down  the  ship's  side.  When 
we  got  on  board,  he  went  off  at  once  down  the 
alley-way ;  he  had  his  back  to  me,  but  I  could 
see  that  he  was  twisting  his  moustache  violently 
with  both  hands,  and  I  fancied,  somehow,  that 
something  had  occurred  to  put  him  out. 

I  don't  know  when  Red  Bob  came  on  board. 
We  sailed  very  shortly  ;  he  did  not  appear  till 
we  were  well  out  at  sea,  and  the  ship  was  be- 
ginning her  long,  steady  roll  once  more.  Miss 
Siddis  had  succumbed  again,  and  tottered  down 
to  her  cabin  before  we  were  well  clear  of  the 
land ;  she  certainly  was  a  wretched  sailor. 
Whether  Isola  Ravenna  was  with  her  or  not  I 
do  not  know  ;  but  the  girl  did  not  appear  all 
morning,  nor  yet  at  lunch  time.  I  wanted  her 
to  appear  ;  I  wanted  to  show  my  bandaged 
head,  and  pose  as  the  hero  of  a  deadly  light — 
being  in  truth  very  proud  indeed  of  my  part  in 
the  business  of  the  morning — but  no  green- 
girdled  dress  fluttered  upon  the  boat-deck,  no 
quick,  light  foot  paced  up  and  down  the  plank- 
ing. There  was  nobody  more  interesting  than 
Justus  Richter  to  be  seen,  and  he  read  per- 
sistently in  his  long  chair  from  eight  o'clock  till 
one,  never,  so  far  as  I  could  see,  lifting  his  eyes 
off  the  heavy  German  print  of  the  page. 

9 


130         Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

Red  Bob  and  I,  sitting  in  our  old  retreat  right 
up  in  the  nose  of  the  ship,  had  a  short  talk  over 
the  events  of  the  morning  as  we  steamed  along 
past  the  curious  blue  -  and  -  black  mountain 
scenery  and  the  silent  estuaries  of  unpopulated 
rivers  and  the  mighty  mangrove  walls  that  were 
New  Guinea. 

"  You  did  the  best  thing,  under  the  circum- 
stances," he  allowed  somewhat  grudgingly,  look- 
ing not  at  me,  but  at  the  illimitable,  sailless  sea 
that  stretched  out  on  our  port  beam — a  sea 
scarce  altered  in  its  primitive  loneliness  since 
the  days  when  Willem  Corneliszoon  Schouten 
and  Jacob  Le  Maire  sailed  over  it.  "  It  was  a 
put-up  job  from  beginning  to  end,  and  not  a 
nice  one.  They  couldn't  have  known  you  were 
handy  with  weapons  that  a  young  Englishman 
generally  knows   nothing   about.     If  you   could 

fence   as   well   as   you   can   shoot By   the 

way,  where  did  you  learn  that  ?  " 

"  No  mystery  about  it,"  I  told  him.  "  When 
you  find  out  that  you've  a  natural  gift  for  doing 
something  better  than  other  people,  nothing  can 
keep  you  from  it.  I  learned  it  from  myself. 
'Tisn't  like  boxing  ;  other  people  must  teach 
you  that,  even  when  you've  got  the  ability — 
but  shooting  at  a  mark — well,  you  know,  you 
must  get  to  love  it." 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks         131 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  said  Red  Bob  reminiscently. 
"  Curious  thing,  too,  in  Livonia  about  ninety- 
two,  I  did Well,  that's  nothing  to  do  with 

the  case." 

"Do  teU,"  I  begged.  "Did  you  shoot  off 
the  tip  of  anyone's  ear  ?  " 

"No,"  said  Red  Bob  calmly.  "I  did  not. 
It's  an  ugly  story,  and  best  forgotten.  .  .  . 
About  this  duel.  I  don't  quite  get  the  whole 
reason,  somehow.  It's  true  that  your  loss 
would  have  embarrassed  me — but  that  could 
have  been  worked  otherwise;  .  .  .  Almost  seems 
like  a  grudge  against  you.  But  that's  not 
Hkely." 

"  No,"  I  agreed.  Then,  remembering  the 
incomprehensible  things  that  Richter  had  said 
to  me  when  Miss  Siddis  invaded  the  scene  of 
the  duel,  I  repeated  his  words  as  near  as  I  could 
remember  them. 

"  I  can't  make  head  or  tail  of  him  and  his 
Frau  Schultz,"  I  said. 

Gore  said  nothing ;  you  would  have  thought 
he  was  looking  on  the  far  horizon  for  the  ships 
that  never  were  there. 

"  I'm  glad  you  told  me,"  he  said  by  and  by. 
"  It'll  straighten  out.     Things  do." 

"  I — I  said  you  were  ill,"  I  ventured,  "  when 
you  ran  off  like  that.    Was  I  right  ?  " 

9* 


132         Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 


Red  Bob's  hard  face  broke  up  into  a  mass  of 
leathery  creases. 

"  Right,  right  !  "  he  said,  his  eyes  twinkhng. 
"  I  was.  I  was  Hke  those  fellows  in  the  Bible 
who  describe  themselves  as  feeling  their  bones 

turn  to  water,  and  their By  the  way,  what 

an  expressive  book  it  is  ;  you  can  find  a  phrase 
to  fit  any  possible  frame  of  body  or  mind  in  it. 
I've  no  doubt  you  would  get  something  that 
would  exactly  describe  your  sensations  in  an 
aeroplane,  if  you  only  looked  long  enough.  Or 
the  way  a  man  loses  his  temper  over  a  long- 
distance telephone.  Well,  young  Paul,  to  tell 
you  the  truth  about  that  dashed  Siddis  woman, 
I  ran  because  I  was  morally  and  physically  certain 
she'd  have  her  arms  round  my  neck  in  two 
seconds  if  I  hadn't.  It's  the  way  they  try  to 
save  your  life — God  knows  why — especially  in 
shipwrecks  or  fires,  or  at  any  time  when  you  want 
your  hands  free  and  your  head  cool.  And  she 
was  out  to  save  mine.  You  couldn't  have 
stopped  her  with  a  club.  So — I  ran,  as  many  a 
braver  man  than  myself  has  done.  Give  me  a 
match." 

He  ducked  down  beneath  the  bulwark  to  light 
his  cigar — for  the  wind  was  blowing  strong  from 
those  seas  where  no  man  sailed — and  came  up 
again,  puffing. 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks         133 

"  Pick  no  more  quarrels,  and  let  no  more  be 
fastened  on  you,"  he  said  in  a  tone  of  authority. 
"  And  don't  flirt  too  much  with  that  pretty  girl 
from  Banda  ;  I  smell  trouble  there,  and  we've 
had  enough  already.  In  short,  if  it's  in  the 
nature  of  a  young  rip  like  yourself  to  keep  out 
of  mischief  generally,  do  it." 

He  swung  off  the  bulwark. 

"  Do  it !  "  he  said,  with  the  red  flash  showing 
up  for  an  instant  in  his  eye  ;   and  was  gone. 

As  for  me,  I  stayed  in  the  bows  till  lunch, 
alternately  watching  Justus  Richter  turn  over 
the  leaves  of  his  learned  book,  and  looking  at 
the  grim,  goblin  peaks  of  New  Guinea.  And  I 
wondered  which  of  the  two,  after  all,  concealed 
the  more,  and  the  darker  secrets. 


CHAPTER  VII 

IT  was,  of  course,  hardly  to  be  expected  that 
I  should  take  Vincent  Gore's  counsels 
about  Isola  too  literally.  When  a  girl  goes  out 
of  her  way  to  give  you  a  warning  of  a  plot  against 
you — when  she  almost  faints  because  she  sees  you 
in  a  boat  with  your  head  tied  up — when  she 
revives  because  you  do  not  appear  to  be  very 
badly  hurt  after  all,  and  comes  up  on  deck 
in  the  quiet  hour  of  the  afternoon  with  the 
obvious  intention  of  hearing  all  about  every- 
thing— ^you  would  be  an  insensible  brute  if  you 
did  not  instantly  find  a  chair,  place  it  as  near 
as  possible  to  the  darling's  own,  and  proceed 
at  once  to  offer  up  your  thanks,  your  excuses 
(for  having  fought  at  all)  and  your  earnest 
assurances  that  no  harm  has  come  or  is  coming 
of  the  whole  affair,  for  her  acceptance  and 
consideration. 

I  was  not  an  insensible  brute.     I  did  all  these 
things,  and  found  that  they  were  not  ill  received. 

134 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks         135 

It  was  almost  the  first  time  I  had  really  had  the 
chance  of  a  satisfactory  talk  with  the  lady  of  the 
island,  and  I  was  resolved  not  to  waste  my  oppor- 
tunity. After  all,  the  voyage  was  a  short  one  ; 
in  four  or  five  days  we  should  have  reached 
Simpsonhaven,  and  then  who  knew  that  I  should 
ever  see  this  English  flower  of  the  East  again  ? 

English  she  undoubtedly  was ;  her  accent  was 
that  of  the  cultured  classes  at  home,  her  simple, 
frank  demeanour  was  the  demeanour  of  the 
young  English  girl  of  good  family  and  upbring- 
ing— and  yet  she  was  tropic  of  the  tropics,  too  ; 
to  nothing  reared  among  the  fogs  and  snows  of 
Britain  could  that  starry  sweetness,  that  white 
magnolia  bloom  have  belonged. 

It  was  fascinating  to  an  eye  trained  as  mine 
had  been  of  late  in  shades  of  descent  and  strange 
comminglings  of  race,  to  see  how  the  two  in- 
fluences of  England  and  of  Italy,  working  together 
in  the  languorous  world  of  the  Spice  Islands, 
had  shaped  the  person  and  the  mind  of  this 
girl.  She  was  her  mother  in  soul,  her  father  and 
her  home  in  body.  ...  I  guessed  (and  I  may 
say  that  time  proved  me  to  be  right)  that  Isola's 
mother  had  been  by  far  the  stronger  character 
of  the  two ;  that  her  Neapohtan  father  had 
brought  little  more  to  the  match  than  his  facile 
Italian  beautv.     She  had  known  how  to  love. 


136  Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

it  seemed — Margaret  Ravenna,  dead  and  gone. 
Did  Isola  Ravenna,  alive,  know,  too  ? 

She  was  wearing  her  mother's  wedding  ring, 
I  saw,  on  the  third  finger  of  her  right  hand,  a 
fancy  that  I  never  cared  about,  in  girls ;  still, 
it  showed  a  pretty  feeling.  .  .  . 

Well !  I  suppose  everyone  who  has  ever 
loved — which  is  to  say,  everyone  who  has  passed 
through  life  alive  and  not  dead — must  have 
experienced  the  embarrassment,  the  difficulty 
that  comes  from  talking  with  someone  whose 
personality  so  obsesses  you  that  you  cannot 
hear  her  words  for  thinking  of  her.  I  missed 
quite  a  good  deal  of  what  Isola  Bella  said  in 
answer  to  my  tale  of  the  duel ;  but  I  picked  up 
the  threads  just  in  time  at  the  last. 

..."  And  I  was  almost  sure  he  would  guess 
who  told  you,  because — you  must  have  noticed 
it — he  watches  me  all  the  time." 

It  became  absolutely  necessary  to  ask  questions 
here. 

"Watches   you!     Who?     What   cheek!" 

"  Herr  Richter  ;  I  was  telling  you  about  him," 
said  the  girl.  I  felt  as  one  feels  who  steps  at 
night  upon  a  top  stair  that  is  not  there.  Some- 
thing that  was  missing  jarred  me — jarred  me 
badly.  Why  did  she  not  laugh  as  a  girl  should 
laugh  when  a  man  forgets  her  words  for  her  ? 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks         137 

Why  did  she  not  coquet — ever  so  Httle  ?  If 
I  knew  a  girl  from  a  green  goose — and  I  thought 
I  did,  on  the  whole — it  was  not  because  she  could 
not  .  .  .  with  those  eyelashes  ! 

But  she  spoke  very  quietly,  as  a  woman  thrice 
her  age  might  have  spoken,  and  she  looked  at 
the  slight,  firm  hands  in  her  lap,  and  at  the 
memorial  wedding-ring  on  her  right  hand,  rather 
than  at  me. 

"  I  don't  think  you  heard.  He  is  a  friend  of 
Mr.  Schultz's." 

"  Oh,"  I  said,  without  much  interest.  When 
Isola  Bella  was  within  twenty  inches  of  me,  I 
was  not  inclined  to  trouble  about  fat  German 
Fraus  and  their  husbands,  and  the  problems 
affecting  either. 

"  He  is  a  relation,  I  believe,"  went  on  Isola. 
"  He  is  even  rather  like  him — much  fatter,  and 
rather  younger,  but  one  sees  it.  .  .  .  Well,  he 
watches  me  ;  it  is  almost  insulting.  I  believe  " 
— she  looked  nervously  about  her — "  if  you  could 
see  everywhere,  you  would  find  he  was  watching 
me  now." 

"  Oh,  nonsense  !  "  I  assured  her,  getting  up 
nevertheless  to  take  a  walk  round  the  deck- 
house and  come  back.  "  There's  not  a  soul. 
We  are  on  the  sunny  side  of  the  ship  and  it's 
three    o'clock — nothing    but    you    or    I    or    a 


138         Red  Bob  of  the  Bismareks 

salamander  could  stick  the  heat.  They're  all 
in  their  cabins  with  their  coats  off,  snoozing." 

Isola's  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  pale-blue  curtain 
of  an  open  port  in  the  deckhouse  some  distance 
away. 

"  I  thought  I  saw  it  move,"  she  said. 

I  looked,  but  could  see  no  movement. 

"  Anyhow,"  I  said,  "  we  can't  be  heard.  I 
want  to  talk  to  you  about  yourself.  Miss  Siddis 
told  me  what  a  lovely  name  you  have.  Isola  ! 
Isola  BeUa  !  " 

She  made  no  answer.  She  was  looking  out  to 
sea.  There  was  a  volcano  island  coming  nearer 
and  nearer  as  we  steamed  ;  a  tall,  wicked  horn 
that  pricked  up  out  of  the  blue  water  all  alone, 
smoking  ominously. 

"  That  must  be  Vulcan  Island,"  she  said 
presently.     "  I  have  heard  of  it." 

"  Isola  Bella,"  I  repeated  again,  very  softly. 
"  A  beautiful  name — Isola." 

Now  she  looked  at  me ;  she  looked  as  straight 
and  as  coldly  as  young  Diana  might  have  looked 
at  a  venturesome  huntsman,  trespassing  on  her 
forest  grounds.  And  yet  there  was  something 
behind  the  look — a  shadow  of  pain — for  me  ? 
For  herself  ? 

"  You  must  not  call  me  by  that  name,"  she 
said. 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks         139 

"  Very  well,"  I  said.  "  But  I  won't  call  you 
by  any  name,  in  that  case,  until  you  are  less 
cruel." 

She  did  not  seem  to  hear  me  ;  and  yet  I  knew 
she  was  thinking  of  me.  In  another  moment 
she  had  risen  from  her  seat,  and  flitted  down  the 
deck  companion.  There  was  nothing  left  of 
her  but  the  faintest  scent  of  sandalwood. 

"  Well,"  I  said,  looking  after  her,  with  a  feeling 
of  depression  I  could  not  account  for,  "  I've 
met   some   girls — but — but — but   that " 

I  did  not  want  to  finish  the  thought ;  in  fact, 
I  did  not  want  to  think  at  all,  so  I  went  to  look 
for  some  work.  There  was  small  difficulty  about 
that,  when  Red  Bob  was  aboard.  One  had  only 
to  show  oneself,  in  order  to  be  pinned  down  at 
once  upon  a  task  likely  to  last  on  till  the  next 
meal.  Gore  accommodated  me  at  once  with  a 
mass  of  unverified  facts  and  figures  urgently 
needing  legitimation,  and  I  grubbed  among  the 
ruins  of  departed  empires  till  the  dressing-bell 
rang. 

I  remember  that  I  changed  and  went  in  to 
dinner  feeling  unusually  light-hearted.  The 
nameless  depression  caused  by  Miss  Ravenna's 
manner  had  altogether  passed  away.  What  did 
her  manner,  or  even  her  words  signify,  when  her 
actions  were  what  they  were  ?     Perhaps  I  was 


140         Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

absurdly  vain,  perhaps  not — but  either  way,  I 
was  sure  that  my  safety,  my  welfare,  were  matters 
of  concern  to  her,  and  that  she  had  risked  con- 
siderable annoyance  to  secure  them.  Things 
being  so,  it  was  a  good  world,  and  the  weather 
was  improving,  and  iced  sweet  soup,  with  fruit 
in  it,  though  German,  was  not  to  be  despised. 

How  I  remember  all  about  that  dinner — even 
what  the  menu  was !  I  could  tell  you  just  what 
sort  of  a  pale,  garnished  roast  the  military-looking 
steward  handed  over  my  shoulder,  and  just  what 
extraordinary  pieces  of  pigs  and  giblets  and 
sausages  closed  the  meal.  There  was  a  gap  among 
the  diners  that  night — someone  was  ill,  or  on 
extra  duty — I  don't  know  what — but  the  result 
was  that  Wolff  and  I,  usually  separate,  were  side 
by  side,  with  only  an  empty  chair  between,  and 
that  we  were  talking — a  thing  we  had  never  done 
before.  We  were  talking  about  girls,  I  remember, 
and  Wolff  was  setting  forth,  in  flat  South  German, 
the  superior  beauty  of  the  ladies  of  Munich,  first, 
over  Germany  in  particular,  and  then  over  the 
world  in  general.  Next  to  them,  he  was  pleased 
to  say,  the  Danes  were  the  handsomest  girls ; 
and  he  had  rather  a  weakness — acquired  in  Argen- 
tina— for  a  pretty  Spanish  girl  of  sixteen  or  so. 

"  Hear  the  married  man,  the  fast  and  securely 
married  man  !  "  mocked  Hahn  from  the  other 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks  141 

side  of  the  table.  "  Now,  Wolff,  shall  I  the 
charming  little  Frau,  when  we  in  Friedrich 
Wilhelmshaven  arrive,  tell  ?  " 

"  The  charming  little  Frau,  she  is  the  most 
charming  of  them  all !  "  declared  Wolff,  blushing, 
but  maintaining  his  ground  stoutly. 

I  was  a  little  surprised,  for  he  was  not  appar- 
ently older  than  myself,  if  so  old,  and  I  had  not 
been  regarding  him  in  the  light  of  a  married  man. 

"  What,  you  have  already  a  wife  ?  "  I  asked 
him. 

"  Yes — yes,"  he  said,  with  a  pleasant  grin. 
"  See  now,  if  you  doubt,  there  is  my  ring.  We 
Germans  wear  a  marriage  ring,  men  and  women 
too ;  we  are  not  like  you  English,  who  are 
ashamed  of  that  honourable  state." 

"  But "  I  said.     I  had  a  glass  of  wine  on 

my  right ;  for  some  reason  that  I  could  not  have 
defined,  I  lifted  it,  and  drank  it  down.  .  .  . 

"  But — ^you  wear  it  on  the  wrong  hand.  Or 
perhaps,"  I  went  on,  in  a  strange  hurry,  "  German 
men  wear  wedding-rings  on  the  right  hand,  and 
women  on  the  left,  like  ours." 

"  No,  no,  no,"  said  Wolff,  shaking  his  head 
slowly  from  side  to  side.  "  German  women  and 
German  men  wear  the  wedding-ring  on  the  right 
hand.  The  left  hand  is  for  the  betrothal  ring 
only." 


142         Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 


I  was  calm  now — as  calm  as  I  had  been  at 
Kronprinzhaven  in  the  dawn  of  yesterday  morn- 
ing, when  I  had  stood  up  against  Hahn  with  a 
pistol  in  my  hand,  knowing  that  the  next  five 
seconds  would  decide  whether  I  was  to  die  or  live. 

"  An  Englishwoman,"  I  said,  turning  to  Wolff 
as  he  sat  contemplating  the  shining  ring  on  his 
plump  third  finger — "  an  Englishwoman,  married 
to  a  German — would  she  wear  the  ring  on  the 
right  hand  or  the  left  ?  " 

His  reply  was  indifferent,  and  yet  it  came — to 
my  senses — quick  as  the  shot  of  Hahn's  pistol,  in 
the  dawn  beneath  the  forests  of  Kronprinzhaven, 
the  day  before. 

"  Naturally,  she  would  wear  it  on  the  right, 
since  that  is  the  custom  of  the  country  of  her 
man." 

Hahn  had  missed  me,  or  touched  me  only,  in 
that  deadly  minute  at  Kronprinzhaven.  Here, 
at  the  dining-table  of  the  AJzelia,  Wolff  shot 
home.     I  was  hit. 

When  one  is  shot,  one  does  not  scream.  One 
bears  the  pain.  That  was  all  I  could  think  of 
for  a  moment — that,  and  the  pain  itself.  I  did 
not  even  know  what  it  was  that  I  had  learned  in 
those  few  moments ;  I  simply  took  it  in  with 
every  pore  of  my  mind,  and  felt  it,  as  I  had  never 
felt  any  agony  in  the  course  of  my  existence. 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks         143 

I  could  have  thanked  God  aloud  that  the  captain 
rose  at  this  minute,  and  set  most  of  us  moving 
out  of  the  hot  saloon  on  to  the  cooler  deck,  so 
that  I  was  able  to  swing  round  out  of  my  seat 
without  unnecessary  hurry,  and  get  away. 

There  was  only  one  thought  in  my  mind,  and 
it  drove  me  like  a  leaf  in  the  wind  down  the 
alleyway  leading  from  the  saloon  to  the  deck 
cabins,  after  the  white,  green-belted  dress  of 
I  sola.  I  caught  her  up  just  as  she  was  entering 
her  cabin.  I  remember  how  hot  it  was  in  that 
narrow  passage,  and  how  the  inevitable  ship 
smell  of  mattresses,  apples  and  fresh  paint  seemed 
in  the  confined  space  to  catch  and  wring  me  by  the 
nose.  I  remember  how  the  overhead  electric 
hght  in  its  cut-crystal  bell  shone  down  upon  the 
waves  of  Isola's  black  hair,  and  edged  them  with 
a  mockery  of  white.  .  .  . 

"  You  told  me,"  I  said,  without  preface,  "  that 
I  must  not  call  you  Isola — Isola  Bella.  What 
name  am  I  to  address  you  by  ?  " 

I  am  not  sure  that  she  understood — fully — 
but  she  looked  at  me  with  an  expression  in  her 
eyes  that  was  like  the  look  of  a  mother  over  a 
child  that  is  hurt — she,  nineteen  years  of  age, 
scarce  out  of  pinafores  and  school.  .  .  . 

"You  must  call  me  Frau  Schultz,"  she  said, 
and  went  into  her  cabin  and  closed  the  door. 


144         Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

As  I  was  coming  up  the  main  companion,  Red 
Bob  met  me. 

"  Come  out  and  see  Vulcan  Island,"  he  said. 
"  She's  playing  up  finely  to-night." 

I  saw  my  face  in  a  mirror  as  we  passed.  It 
looked  quiet,  and — somehow — not  like  mine. 
"  That  is  Paul  Corbet,"  I  said  to  myself,  as  the 
hawky  young  face  flitted  by  in  the  bright  light 
of  the  stairway,  beside  the  handsome  elder  head 
of  Gore.  "  Something  has  happened  to  him," 
I  said.  .  .  . 

I  saw  that  Gore  was  looking  at  me. 

"  You  weU  ?  "  he  asked. 

"Yes,"  I  answered.  "Perfectly."  He  said 
nothing  more,  but  looked  at  me  again,  and  I 
knew  he  knew  that  something  had  happened. 

That  is  the  advantage  of  being  with  a  man. 
A  woman  would  have  sympathized  ;  would  have 
talked,  at  least.  Gore  did  neither.  He  went 
out  on  deck  with  me,  and  pointed  to  Vulcan 
Island,  glowing  red  and  evil  against  a  splendid 
starry  sky. 

"  She's  at  it,"  he  said.  She  was ;  a  growl  of 
thunder  that  seemed  to  shake  one's  vitals  sounded 
across  the  water  as  he  spoke,  and  a  leaping  burst 
of  fire,  unbearably  golden,  opened  out  like  a 
flower  from  the  garden  of  Death  upon  the  summit 
of  the  terrible  island. 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks         145 

"  How  far  off  is  it  ?  "  I  asked.  My  voice 
didn't  sound  quite  right ;  it  was  a  tone  or  two 
higher  than  usual,  but  Gore  took  no  notice. 

**  About  eleven  miles,"  he  said.  "  She  throws 
pretty  straight  up  and  down  as  a  rule  ;  not  so 
dangerous  as  she  looks.  Do  you  know  who 
named  her  ?  " 

"  No,"  I  said.  (Isola— Isola  Bella  !  What  was 
it  the  song  said  that  kept  running  through  my 
head  : 

"  And  it's  never,  never,  never,  Douglas  Gordon, 
Never,  never,  never  on  earth  I'll  come  to  thee  I  ") 

Douglas  Gordon's  girl  was  engaged  to  someone 
else,  and  they  ran  away  together,  and  were 
drowned  in  each  other's  arms.  But  what  would 
Douglas  Gordon  have  done  if  she  had  been 
married  ? 

The  story  of  Vincent  Gore  came  up  before  me 
in  a  red  flash  like  the  flash  of  Vulcan  Island,  and 
died  down  as  the  volcano  fire  sank  into  its  cone. 
Not  Isola.  Never  the  Diana  of  the  mountain. 
Married  or  single,  she  was  not  that  kind.  .  .  . 

"  It  was  a  Dutchman  found  it,  and  gave  it  its 
name,  some  good  few  years  ago,"  said  Gore. 
**  Willem  Corneliszoon  Schouten.     Look  at  it." 

I  looked,  with  all  the  interest  I  could  bring 
to  bear.  The  flame  rose  and  sank ;  small 
rivers  of  fire  began  to  trickle  down  towards  the 

10 


146         Red  Bob  of  the  Bismareks 

sea.  Every  few  minutes  came  that  heart-shaking 
thunder  of  the  mountain's  inner  voice.  Here, 
on  that  lonely,  untravelled  sea,  beside  the  dark 
coasts  where  no  one  ever  landed,  it  was  strangely 
moving ;  and  more  than  ever,  it  gave  one  the 
feeling  that  I  had  already  experienced  of  being 
at  the  very  ends  of  the  earth. 

"  Does  anyone  live  there  ?  "  I  asked,  trying 
to  speak  and  act  as  usual,  and — I  think — succeed- 
ing well  enough. 

"  Not  on  the  island  itself,"  said  Gore.  "  There 
are  two  others  in  the  group ;  a  few  natives 
live  on  those.  Dangerous  beggars,  of  course. 
There's  scarcely  a  spot  where  you  could  be  ship- 
wrecked, from  Geelvink  Bay  right  along,  without 
being  eaten  aHve  if  you  got  ashore." 

"  Why,"  I  said,  waking  to  momentary  interest, 
"  the  Germans  have  had  this  place  since  1885  !  " 

"  Right,"  he  answered,  "  but  they  haven't 
done  more  than  sit  on  the  edge  of  it  anywhere. 
If  we'd  been  making  the  usual  trip,  we  should 
have  called  at  two  or  three  ports  with  big  names, 
already,  and  we've  got  a  lot  of  them  to  call  at 
yet — sounds  well,  but  they're  nothing  on  earth 
but  a  jetty  and  a  copra-shed,  with  perhaps  a 
mission  house  somewhere  or  other  close  by.  I 
tell  you,  the  Germans  are  only  holding  this 
country  by  the  tip  of  its  tail." 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks         147 

"  Are  they  ?  "  I  said,  and  then,  as  it  struck  me 
I  must  talk — must  seem  quite  as  usual :  "Is  it 
worth  holding  ?  " 

Red  Bob  laughed  a  little. 

"  It  is  worth  it,"  he  said,  his  lean,  sharp 
profile — the  very  type  of  a  true  sea-rover's  face 
— showing  still  and  black  against  the  glare  of 
Schouten's  burning  mountain.  "  I  wish  our 
slice  was  as  good.  They're  pretty  near  the  same 
size,  if  you  take  in  the  Bismarcks  and  the 
Louisiades — each  share  is  about  twice  as  big  as 
England.  But  the  Germans  have  got  the  best 
ports,  and  the  best  navigable  rivers.  The  Fly's 
a  showy  river  with  a  gigantic  estuary,  but  it 
doesn't  begin  to  compare  with  the  Kaiserin 
Augusta  for  use.  You  remember — that  big 
mouth  we  passed,  when  the  water  was 
yellow  for  miles.  That's  it.  Smallish  steamers 
can  go  up  for  two  hundred  miles,  big  ocean 
liners  for  forty.  Fine  plantation  country  all 
the  way." 

"  Who  lives  there  ?  "  I  asked,  picturing  brown 
plantation  houses  and  orderly  groves  of  palms. 

"  A  rather  bad  lot  of  man-eaters.  Nearly  got 
me  and  Warburton  once.  You've  heard  of 
Warburton  ;  he  was  knocked  on  the  head  by  a 
stone  club  in  Rubiana." 

"  What's  in  the  country  besides  rivers  ?  "    I 

10* 


148         Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

asked.     I  did  not  care  in  the  least  what  was  in 
the  country ;   but  it  seemed  well  to  talk. 

"  Anything  you  like  to  name,"  answered  Red 
Bob.  "  Gold.  Lots  of  it — but  they  can't  find 
it.  We  could,  but  we  won't.  Other  metals — 
sticking  with  'em.  Gems  I  suspect,  and  so  do 
other  people.  Woods  that  will  make  your  for- 
tune in  six  months,  if  you  get  a  fair  chance  at 
them — which  in  a  German  colony  you  won't. 
Birds  of  Paradise,  worth  three  pounds  apiece  in 
Simpsonhaven  ;  worth  anything  you  like  at  home. 
Gums  that  no  one's  investigated  yet ;  probably 
valuable.  Sandalwood — ours  is  cut  out,  but 
theirs  isn't,  and  the  Chinese  are  giving  big 
money  for  it.  Land — land,  my  boy,  that  will 
grow  cocoanuts  a  year  quicker  than  the  Federated 
Malay  States,  that  they  make  such  a  song  about, 
and  rubber  a  year  and  a  half  quicker.  Labour, 
plenty  of  it,  and  on  the  spot.  A  bit  of  country 
twice  as  big  as  England,  that's  four-fifths  un- 
known, but  the  bit  that  is  known  is  quite  enough 
to  make  you  want  more.  Oh,  yes,  worth  having. 
I  think  old  Jan  Corneliszoon  Schouten  must  have 
thought  so,  in  the  days  when  he  spent  so  long 
exploring  and  coasting  about — but,  after  all,  it 
was  only  the  western  half  of  the  country  that 
Holland  took.  Till  eighty-five,  nobody  seemed 
to  want  this  place.     Then  they  began  the  game 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks         149 

of  grab — but  you  know  how  we  took  it  up  and 
dropped  it,  and  how  Germany  cut  in  and  left  us 
with  only  the  inferior  slice  to  take,  in  the  end." 

I  did  not  speak.  None  of  these  things  appeared 
to  me  to  matter  in*  the  least.  Who  cared  that 
German  New  Guinea  had  better  natural  advan- 
tages than  British,  and  didn't  use  them  ? 
Cleopatra's  cry  over  Antony  was  ringing  through 
my  head :  "  Married.  He's  married."  I  had 
seen  Lily  Brunton  act  it.  The  dead  despair  of 
her  voice  was  in  my  ears,  the  black  despair  of 
her  eyes,  as  she  stood  with  her  back  to  the  lights 
of  her  palace  room,  and  said  to  the  empty  air  : 
"  Married.  .  .  .  Married.  .  .  ." 

That  was  how  one  felt.     Lily  Brunton  knew. 

I  don't  know  when  we  passed  the  volcano. 
I  don't  know  how  long  Red  Bob  stood  watching 
on  the  deck,  or  whether  he  knew  when  I  left 
him.  I  said  nothing,  but  slipped  away  in  the 
dusk  and  went  to  my  cabin,  where  I  snapped  out 
the  light,  and  lay  with  my  face  turned  up  towards 
the  boards  of  the  higher  berth,  trying  to  hold 
on  to  myself,  and  to  think. 

I  had  only  known  this  girl  for  a  few  days,  argued 
one  side  of  my  mind. 

It  was  unreasonable  to  suppose  that  she  should 
have  taken  any  serious  hold  on  my  life — im- 
possible,   rather.     One    did    not    suffer    agonies 


150         Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

because  a  girl  one  had  only  met  last  week  turned 
out  to  be  married  to  someone  else.  .  .  . 

Answered  Nature,  with  a  throb  of  anguish  : 
"  One  did  !— one  did  !  " 

Well,  allowing  that — allowing  anything  you 
liked  about  the  present  state  of  affairs — it 
would  not  last.  There  had  been  others.  What 
about ,  and ,  and  little ? 

Answered  Paul  Corbet,  under  the  torture: 
"  Nothing  about  them.     They  were  different." 

But  surely,  one  had  said  that  before  ? 

One  had,  because  one  thought  it.  This  time 
one  didn't  think  it.     One  knew. 

"  Very  well,"  said  Common  Sense,  getting 
angry,  "  have  it  your  own  way.  If  things  are 
so,  what  are  you  going  to  do  about  it  ?  " 

"  Going  to  have  the  devil  of  a  life,  said  Paul 
Corbet  to  Paul  Corbet's  Common  Sense. 
Going  to  hate  music,  because  she's  in  it,  and 
flowers,  because  they  are  she,  and  the  sea  because 
she  lived  on  it,  and  mountains,  because  she  was 
born  among  them.  Going  to  hate  most  things, 
including  everything  pleasant,  because  they  will 
prick  one  at  every  turn  with  :  *  Do  you  re- 
member ?  '  Never  going  to  have  a  wife.  Never 
going  to  have  a  home.  Going  to  travel  for 
ever,  like  the  Wandering  Jew,  or  Red  Bob." 

"  Why,  bless  my  soul !  "  said  Common  Sense, 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks         151 

losing  its  temper  altogether,  "  how  long  is  it 
since  I  heard  you  say  that  if  there  was  anything 
on  earth  you  hated  it  was  home,  and  that  the 
thought  of  wives  and  children  made  you  sick  ?  " 

"  About  a  hundred  years,"  answered  Paul 
Corbet,  grown  old  in  a  week. 

And  in  any  case,  it  was  other  men's  wives  and 
children  I  was  thinking  of.  As  for  that,  their 
homes    and    wives    and    children    make    me  sick 

still.     My  wife,  my  home,  my  children I 

had  to  stop  here ;  thought  seemed  fused  in 
pain. 

My  home,  I  went  on,  would  be — ^with  her 

There  was  no  following  that  thought.  None 
— if  sanity  were  to  be  kept. 

"  You  have  the  whole  world,"  puled  Common 
Sense,  growing  weaker.  "  You  have  everything 
—else." 

"  The  world  and  everything  else  are  not  worth 
her,"  I  answered.  And  Common  Sense  fled 
away. 

I  lay  long  awake,  thinking,  and  the  sum  of  my 
thoughts  was  that  my  life  was  not  going  to  be 
happy.  I  did  not  know  anyone  whose  life  was 
happy,  now  I  came  to  think  of  it,  but  I  had 
always  fancied  that  I  was  to  be  an  exception. 
One  does  fancy  so  at  twenty-three.  And  all 
my  wishes,  of  late,  had  met  with  such  fairy-tale 


152         Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

fulfilment,   as   soon   as   uttered,   that   this   fierce 
check  seemed  incredibly  unjust  and  cruel. 

They  say  that  men  under  torture  have  been 
known  to  sleep  through  sheer  exhaustion.  I 
slept  at  last. 


Nothing  in  my  life  has  ever  seemed  to  me  less 
like  life  and  more  like  a  dream,  than  that  slow 
progress  down  the  long,  long  shores  of  New 
Guinea  after  leaving  Vulcan  Island.  Gradually, 
as  the  coast  turned  southwards,  we  turned  south- 
wards too,  till  we  were  no  longer  off  North,  but 
off  East  New  Guinea,  creeping  down  the  tail  of 
the  country  in  the  direction  of  the  British 
end.  Ports  with  grand  German  names,  and 
fine  jetties  where  nobody  (to  all  appearance) 
lived  or  even  intended  to  live ;  where  palm 
trees,  swinging  outwards  to  the  deep  blue,  gem- 
like water,  seemed  to  bear  their  fruit,  dry  it  and 
cut  it,  and  leave  it  piled  for  the  steamer,  without 
other  aid  than  that  of  one  small,  black  savage 
in  a  scarlet  loin-cloth,  peeping  alarmedly  from 
behind  the  trunk  of  a  tree.  Ports  where  white 
nuns  in  white  dresses  came  down  to  meet  the 
boat,  from  mission  convents  perched  on  little 
guarded  islands  ;  where  gorgeous  seas  of  moun- 
tain, coloured  in  those  wonderful  New  Guinea 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks         153 

blues  that  no  one  can  venture  to  describe,  tossed 
defiant  waves  about,  above,  behind  the  little 
strips  of  planted  country,  flaunting  menace  and 
defiance  from  every  crest  of  the  wicked,  unknown 
peaks  where  never  yet  a  white  man's  foot  had 
trod.  Ports  where  the  steamer,  on  coming  to  a 
halt,  was  instantly  surrounded  by  curious  carved 
canoes,  loaded  deep  with  green  and  yellow 
bananas,  and  paddled  by  wild  brown  creatures 
lowering  from  under  a  mop  of  woolly  hair,  beads 
and  a  strip  of  bark  their  only  dress.  One  port 
where  there  were  houses  with  red  roofs,  and 
offices,  and  a  melancholy  attempt  at  civilization 
which  didn't  seem  to  have  penetrated  more  than 
a  half-hour's  ride  back  from  the  shore.  All  these 
things  came  and  went,  and  passed,  like  the 
visions  of  a  fevered  night.  I  saw  them,  these 
places  at  the  end  of  nowhere,  which  had  been  my 
dream  for  as  many  years  as  I  could  recall — and 
they  impressed  me,  and  interested  me,  not  so 
much  as  the  sailing  of  one  liner  from  the  Mersey 
used  to  do  in  Liverpool  long  ago.  I  called  it 
long  ago,  because,  indeed,  it  seemed  so  to  be. 

I  saw  Isola  every  day  of  these  days,  which  were, 
after  all,  few  in  actual  number,  and  I  never  spoke 
to  her.  For  a  man  of  my  age,  or  youth,  I  think 
this  showed  some  self-restraint ;  perhaps  a  little 
more     self-restraint     than     others     in    similar 


154         Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

condition  would  have  displayed.  I  thought  her 
changed  and  quiet ;  she  looked  at  me  some- 
times, when  I  passed  her  on  deck,  but  she  did 
not  speak  to  me.  I  think  she  stayed  a  great  deal 
in  her  cabin,  and  was  seldom  out ;  but  as  I  said, 
this  period  is  not  very  clear  in  my  mind.  There 
is  no  use  writing  about  what  I  felt  and  went  on 
feeling.  It  was  clear  to  me  that  that  had  to  be 
borne,  and  it  was  borne. 

If  I  could  have  been  amused  by  anything,  the 
sufferings  undergone  by  Red  Bob  on  account  of, 
and  by  means  of.  Miss  Siddis  would  assuredly 
have  done  it.  That  small  person,  with  her 
(doubtfully)  crooked  person,  her  (possibly) 
oblique  eye,  and  her  certainly  matrimonial 
intentions,  was  never,  from  our  leaving  the 
stormier  seas  and  coming  into  the  sheltered 
part  of  the  coast,  off  guard.  She  did  not  alarm 
her  victim  with  the  frankness  of  advance  she  had 
at  first  displayed,  but  none  the  less — rather  the 
more — did  she  haunt  his  footsteps,  morning, 
lunch-time,  dinner-time  and  evening-walk-time, 
with  the  meekness  of  a  mouse  and  the  deadly 
persistence  of  a  cat.  I  have  seen  Red  Bob 
come  down  to  his  cabin,  literally  sweating  with 
dismay,  after  a  stern  chase  round  and  round 
the  deck,  in  which  Miss  Siddis,  by  dint  of  un- 
sportsmanlike dodging  through  deck  cabins  and 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismareks         155 

under  bridge  ladders,  had  succeeded  in  over- 
hauling him  and  riddling  him  with  shot.  I 
have  seen  him,  when  he  wanted  to  get  to  the 
bath  of  a  morning,  waiting  for  half  an  hour  just 
inside  his  cabin  door,  breathing  hard  with  fear, 
and  finall)^  going  out  with  a  dash  that  would 
have  done  credit  to  a  forlorn  hope  charging  a 
glacis  under  fire — because  Miss  Siddis's  cabin 
was  near  the  bath,  and  because  she  always  hap- 
pened to  be  "  simmering  and  bubbling  about," 
as  he  put  it,  when  he  went  for  his  shower.  I 
have  been  under  considerable  apprehension  that 
he  would  really  take  the  chance  of  sharks  and 
alligators  by  jumping  overboard  when  I  caught 
the  wild-cat-seized-in-your-arms  look  in  his  eye, 
on  the  occasion  (not  a  solitary  one)  of  his  being 
pinned  in  by  Miss  Siddis  right  up  at  the  nose  of 
the  ship,  where  there  was  no  escape  or  retreat. 
She  never,  so  far  as  I  could  make  out,  said  any- 
thing calculated  to  alarm ;  but  she  soothed, 
and  simmered,  and  stuck  to  him  till  she  had  him 
almost  in  a  state  of  nervous  prostration. 

I  mention  this,  because,  absurd  as  it  all  was, 
it  had  a  serious  effect  upon  our  fortunes,  es- 
pecially upon  mine.  If  either  of  us — Red  Bob 
in  particular — ^had  endured,  instead  of  escaping 
from,  the  attentions  and  the  talk  of  Miss  Siddis, 
things  would  have  been  known  to  us  that  were 


156         Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

not  known,  and  troubles  that  followed  on  our 
ignorance — on  mine  especially — never  would  have 
happened.  For  myself,  I  shrank  from  her  con- 
versation now  as  I  might  have  shrunk  from  acid 
laid  on  a  wound.  I  knew  she  would  talk  to  me 
about  Isola,  and  Isola's  husband ;  I  judged 
her  likely  to  give  me  a  full  account  of  the 
wedding,  if  she  got  the  least  encouragement, 
down  to  the  last  orange  flower  and  last  bit  of 
cake.  And  there  was  nothing  from  which  I 
would  more  readily  have  fled  to  the  very  ends 
of  the  earth  (if,  indeed,  German  Guinea  itself 
was  not  the  end)  than  any  mention  of  the  man 
who  had  been  before  me.  She  was  married. 
That  was  all,  and  more  than  all,  I  wanted  to 
know. 

So  the  voyage  wore  itself  out  and  we  came  to 
Simpsonshaven,  later  known  to  the  world  as 
Rabaul,  the  capital  of  all  Kaiser  Wilhelms  Land, 
situated  on  the  great  island  which  had  once  been 
New  Ireland,  hard  by  New  Britain,  and  was 
now  Neu  Pommern,  next  to  Neu  Mecklenburg. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

I  KNOW  now  what  I  did  not  know  when 
we  entered  the  harbour  of  Rabaul,  that 
I  was  sickening,  on  that  day,  for  an  attack  of 
fever.  New  Guinea  does  not  belie  its  looks. 
Its  hard,  gaudy  loveliness  is  the  loveliness  of 
the  tiger,  and  like  the  tiger,  it  hides  talons 
beneath  its  velvet  and  gold. 

Through  a  sunset  of  blood-red  and  liver- 
purple — a  slaughter-house  sunset  that  stained 
the  sky  from  west  to  east — we  steamed  into 
Simpsonshafen,  and  up  to  the  town  of  Rabaul. 
I  say  again  that  I  had  fever  coming  on,  but  even 
so — even  making  allowance  for  the  cloud  of  wild, 
dark  thoughts  that  settle  on  the  mind  of  the 
fever-stricken  as  vultures  settle  on  a  corpse — 
I  see  Rabaul  as  a  place  of  evil  beauty.  I  have 
never  been  there  again,  but  I  know  that  the 
picture  stamped  on  my  mind,  that  evening  of 
sinister  sunset,  will  last  as  long  as  I  shall. 

Rabaul  has  been  heard  of  often  since  then, 
after  a  fashion  that  none  of  us  dreamed   about 

157  i 


158         Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

in  those  days,  unless,  indeed.  Red  Bob  .  .  .  but 
of  that  I  cannot  speak,  since  I  do  not  know. 
It  is  always  described  as  a  spot  of  surpassing 
loveliness.  There  may  be  times  when  it  deserves 
such  praise,  but  on  the  evening  when  the  AJzelia 
steamed  in,  it  struck  me  as  the  wickedest-looking 
spot  between  Capricorn  and  Cancer. 

The  town  lies  in  the  hollow  of  an  old  volcano 
crater,  walled  with  heavy  forests.  It  is  held 
tight  in  the  elbow-curve  of  the  bay,  so  that  not 
a  breath  of  Heaven's  fresh  outer  air  from  the 
sea  can  visit  it. 

From  the  great  black  finger  of  the  jetty  that 
runs  pointing  out  to  sea,  as  if  in  silent  warning 
of  unseen  dangers  on  the  land,  the  streets  run 
straight  and  narrow,  thickly  overhung  with 
boulevarding  of  tropic  trees — flamboyant,  with. 
its  drips  of  blood-coloured  flowers  ;  mango, 
hanging  heavy-scented  fruit  beneath  a  gloomy 
cave  of  leafage  ;  casuarina,  the  grave-tree  of  the 
Pacific,  that  mourns  with  every  faintest  stir  of 
breeze,  like  an  ^olian  harp  set  on  a  tomb.  .  .  . 
There  are  rows  of  handsome  ofiices  and  houses, 
and  stores,  and  Government  buildings,  standing 
on  forests  of  white  or  black  legs,  Hke  creeping 
things.  There  is  a  heavy  scent  in  the  air,  of 
gums  and  woods  and  foliage,  and  wet,  raw 
earth,  and  rain  ...  it  is  almost  always  raining 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks         159 

in  Rabaul,  and  the  rain  is  always  warm,  and  the 
ground  steams  under  the  sun  when  the  rain  is 
over.  Outside  the  town,  in  the  oily  waters  of 
the  bay — that  bay  that  is  never  moved  by  any 
storm,  for  the  harbourage  of  Rabaul  is  the  pride 
of  the  Bismarcks — stand  up  two  dagger-shaped 
islands,  like  some  strange  form  of  beacon.  Do 
you  wish  to  read  their  warning  ?  Glance  to 
the  right  of  them,  and  you  will  see  an  ugly  sight  : 
a  low,  mischievous-looking  crater,  with  its  lip 
broken  down  towards  the  sea  ;  a  crater  that  lies 
Hke  an  ulcer  on  the  face  of  the  land,  crusted  with 
Hvid  yellow  and  death-grey  among  the  springing 
green.  Within  the  memory  of  men  no  older 
than  Red  Bob  that  crater  had  spat  out  a  low 
island  or  two  and  altered  all  the  harbour  levels ; 
in  that  year  the  sea  turned  hot  and  the  fish  died, 
and  were  thrown  up  on  the  land.  There  was  no 
settlement  in  Simpsonshafen  then,  nor  in  the 
days  further  back  when  the  great  beacon  islands 
were  cast  out.  But  there  are  those  who  say  that 
no  settlement  should  ever  have  been  put  there, 
and  prophesy  the  fate  of  Pompeii  and  St.  Pierre 
for  Rabaul — one  of  these  days. 

In  the  gloom  of  a  pouring  dusk  we  disembarked, 
and  went  to  look  for  shelter.  I  sola  was  in  the 
saloon  as  we  passed  through,  and  so  was  Mabel 
Siddis.     The    malign     imp    who    had    already 


160         Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

mingled  so  much  of  comedy  with  the  small 
tragedy  of  my  sorrows,  was  on  hand  again,  to 
block  Red  Bob's  pathway  with  the  one  thing 
on  earth  he  feared,  and  to  spoil  my  last  vision 
of  Isola  with  a  ludicrous  picture  of  the  undaunted 
Mabel  craning  her  head  back  to  look  up  at  Gore's 
mighty  height,  and  squinting  quite  perceptibly 
at  him,  as  she  held  on  to  his  hand,  and  assuring 
him  they  were  quite  certain  to  meet  again,  in 
that  misfit  pretty-woman's  voice  of  hers.  As 
for  me,  I  took  three  steps  across  the  saloon  to 
where  the  girl  who  was  not  for  me  was  sitting 
under  a  window,  her  ivory  face  strangely  pale 
in  the  gloom  of  the  falling  rain.  I  took  her  hand 
for  a  moment — it  was  only  a  moment,  indeed, 
yet  our  fingers  trailed  and  slipped  from  one 
another  ;   they  did  not  fall — and  I  said  boldly  : 

"  Good-bye,  Isola  Bella.  I'd  have  loved  you 
if  I  could  ;  and  if  ever  you  want  a  friend,  I'll 
come,  dead  or  alive." 

"  Good-bye,"  she  said.  "  It  has — been — a 
pleasant  voyage." 

I  left  her,  with  the  dusk  settling  down  about 
her  motionless  head.  The  stewards  were  coming 
to  turn  on  the  lights ;  they  had  not  yet  reached 
the  saloon  ;  on  the  deck,  white  star  after  white 
star  sprang  up.  I  saw  nothing  of  what  I  had 
dreaded  ;    no  husband  waiting  for  Isola, 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks         161 

With  the  strangeness  of  coming  fever  on  me, 
I  walked  out  into  the  town.  We  looked  for 
lodging  everywhere ;  for  hotels,  boarding- 
houses,  apartments ;  for  anywhere,  at  last,  where 
two  wet,  houseless  travellers  could  find  shelter. 
There  was  no  such  place.  The  capital  of  Kaiser 
Wilhelms  Land  had  no  accommodation  for 
strangers ;  did  not  like  them ;  did  not  want 
them  ;  abandoned  them  to  sleep  under  houses 
among  the  piles,  and  feed  out  of  rubbish-bins, 
if  they  so  chose.  It  would  not  put  them  up. 
It  would  not  even  feed  them.  We  could  buy 
not  so  much  as  a  piece  of  bread,  or  a  glass  of 
beer  in  all  the  inhospitable  town. 

"  Just  the  same,"  said  Red  Bob.  "  I  rather 
anticipated  this,  but  I  thought  I'd  a  friend  I 
could  put  up  with.  It  seems  he  has  been  cleared 
out ;  I  suppose  for  harbouring  just  such  objection- 
able characters  as  me.  .  .  .  We  must  try  back  for 
Herbertshohe ;  it's  ten  miles  down  the  coast,  but 
they  will  give  you  a  bed  and  a  bite  there." 

I  burst  out  laughing,  for  the  fever  was  growing 
in  me,  and  I  saw  the  darkening  town  of  Rabaul 
circled  with  haloes  of  molten  red. 

"  It's  the  devil's  town,"  I  said.  "  See  the  two 
horns  sticking  up  as  we  came  in  ?  "  I  laughed 
again  ;  it  seemed  to  me  I  had  said  a  thing  very 
clever. 

II 


162         Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

"  Oh,  that's  it,  is  it  ?  "  said  Red  Bob,  and  put 
his  hand  on  my  forehead.  "  Nice  kettle  of 
fish  ;  you  ought  to  be  in  bed." 

The  town  was  dancing  round  me  by  now,  and  I 
became  conscious  of  a  red-hot  spine,  also  of 
the  fact  that  my  legs — not  my  feet,  they  were  all 
right — my  legs  were  double-jointed,  and  did  not 
work  properly.  This,  for  some  curious  reason, 
made  me  extremely  cold.  It  did  not  matter 
— nothing  mattered — but  I  could  hardly  speak 
without  biting  my  tongue,  my  teeth  chattered 
so.  I  assured  Red  Bob  that  I  was  all  right,  and 
that  he  had  the  loveliest  dark  eyes  I  had  ever  seen 
in  a  human  face,  only  that  I  feared  that  ivory 
tint  of  skin  meant  deHcacy  of  some  kind.  ...  I 
remember  still  how  he  stopped  under  a  dripping 
mango  tree  to  shout  with  laughter,  and  how  he 
bundled  me  at  once  into  something  that  was 
standing  there — a  sort  of  little  truck  on  a  tram- 
Hne — ran  it  down  to  the  wharf  at  a  smart  trot, 
and  carted  me,  in  a  second  or  two  (or  so  I  thought) 
on  to  the  deck  of  a  small  schooner,  that  gHttered 
very  wet  under  the  lights.  Somebody  was  put 
in  a  cabin  after  that — myself,  I  thought — and 
some  other  people  began  fighting  in  German 
outside.  There  was  a  talk  about  marks  by  and 
by,  and  someone  called  someone  else  a  robber, 
and  then — immediately  it  seemed — there  was  a 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks         163 

fresh  sea-breeze  blowing  on  my  face,  and  blocks 
creaking,  and  a  boom  swinging  across  the  deck. 
After   which,   I    dreamed    bad   dreams   for   a 
week. 


"  Harrh  !  "  came  a  bloodthirsty  shout,  over 
my  shoulder. 

I  sat  up  suddenly.  A  kitchen-stove-coloured 
savage,  with  huge  nostrils,  and  glaring  black- 
glass  eyes,  was  standing  at  the  head  of  my  long 
chair,  scratching  his  head  with  one  hand,  and 
holding  out  a  cup  of  soup  with  the  other. 

"  Harrh !  "  he  yelled  again,  as  if  I  were  a 
prisoner  taken  in  battle,  and  about  to  be  slain. 
"  You  have  one-fellow  soof  ?  " 

He  shook  the  cup  of  soup  at  me  with  such 
vigour  that  some  of  it  splashed  out  over  my 
pyjamas. 

"  Oh,  it's  you.  Bo,"  I  said,  reaching  for  the  cup. 
The  savage  of  New  Britain  is  scarcely  a  restful 
type  of  attendant  for  a  sick-room  ;  but  Gore  and 
I  were  not  out  to  find  fault  with  any  conditions 
that  gave  us  a  roof  over  our  heads,  and  a  "  boy  " 
to  work  for  us,  just  then.  I  had  been  fairly  ill 
for  a  few  days,  and  was  recovering.  To-day  I 
had  so  far  returned  to  myself  that  I  was  able, 
lying    out    on    the    verandah,   to   take    note    of 

II* 


164  Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

where  I  was,  and  wonder  at  the  oddity  of  the 
place 

Herbertshohe,  one  of  the  many  futile  aban- 
doned capitals  of  Kaiser  Wilhelms  Land,  lies 
some  ten  miles  from  Rabaul,  along  the  New 
Britain  coast.  I  do  not  know  how  Gore  had 
obtained  leave  for  himself  and  me  to  camp  in  a 
forgotten  wreck  of  an  hotel  there  ;  probably  he 
had  more  friends  than  I  knew  of,  or  than  it  was 
judicious  to  speak  about,  in  the  country.  At 
all  events,  he  had  carried  me  there,  on  the  night 
of  our  arrival,  and  here  we  still  remained,  in  a 
structure  that  looked  like  somebody's  cardboard 
model  of  a  hotel  he  had  intended  to  build, 
and  didn't — a  crazy,  two-story  contrivance  of 
carved,  flimsy  woodwork,  deformed  with  odd 
gables  and  bows,  all  placed  at  the  front.  I  had 
a  queer  fancy  that  it  had  been  constructed  solely 
for  the  purpose  of  being  photographed,  in  order 
to  make  somebody  beheve  something — no  matter 
what — about  the  prosperity  of  German  rule  in 
Kaiser  Wilhelms  Land.  At  all  events,  it  could 
never,  even  in  the  days  when  Herbertshohe  was 
the  place  of  the  Governor's  residence,  have  been 
a  paying  proposition  ;  and  now,  when  the  capital 
had  escaped  yet  again,  and  gone  to  hide  itself 
round  the  corner  of  Gazelle  Peninsula  (its  fifth 
attempt  at  finding  a   quiet  home)   not  even  a 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks         165 

Government  official  drawing  up  a  report  to  send 
to  Berlin  could  have  mentioned  the  Hotel 
Friedrichsruhe  as  an  asset  of  the  place. 

Nobody  lived  there.  There  was  a  sort  of 
hotel,  carefully  described  as  a  private  club,  in 
order  to  discourage  the  passing  traveller,  a  little 
way  further  on,  and  if  you  were  a  German,  you 
stayed  there.  But  the  "  Friedrichsruhe "  was 
left  to  rats,  centipedes,  cockroaches  and  travel- 
ling English.  You  could  camp  among  its  decay- 
ing furniture,  in  its  paintless,  dropping-to-pieces 
rooms,  for  a  sum  that  would  have  given  you 
lodging  in  the  "  Savoy  "  at  home  ;  you  could  find 
your  own  boy,  and  send  across  to  the  "  club  " 
for  a  stray  meal,  which  might  be  accorded  you 
and  might  not,  and  you  could  pay  for  it  at  double 
the  prices  of  Berlin.  So  much  the  Kaiser's 
Government  allowed  you,  in  the  Bismarck 
Archipelago.  You  could  not  travel  about ;  when 
you  had  polluted  the  country  with  your  presence 
for  two  or  three  weeks,  you  would  get  notice  to 
the  effect  that  strangers  were  not  permitted 
to  take  up  residence  there,  and  you  would  then 
— if  you  were  not  Red  Bob,  or  Red  Bob's  com- 
panion in  adventure — hasten  obediently  on  to 
the  Prinz  Sigismund,  when  she  came  in  from 
Singapore,  and  steam  away  to  Australia. 

But  if  you  were  Red  Bob,  or  Paul  Corbet,  you 


166         Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

would  not  contemplate  doing  anything  of  the 
kind. 

Bo,  having  given  me  the  soup,  left  the  verandah 
in  two  bounds  that  shook  its  crazy  structure 
from  end  to  end.  Outside,  he  let  loose  a  hideous 
war-whoop,  and  then  went  off  to  wash  dishes. 
I  lay  on  my  long  chair,  congratulating  myself  on 
the  return  of  a  normal  temperature,  and  looking 
out  across  the  roadway  to  the  sea  beyond  the  belt 
of  palms — a  hot-weather  sea  of  curiously  trans- 
parent blues  and  greens,  like  inlay  of  Venice  glass. 
There  was  grass  on  both  sides  of  the  road  ;  there 
were  low  bushes  here  and  there  ;  there  were 
palms  everywhere.  Grass,  palms  and  under- 
growth alike,  forced  by  the  hot  rains  of  a  German 
New  Guinea  December,  were  verdigris-green 
in  colour,  and  so  sappy  and  wet  and  juicy  that 
they  looked  like  one  enormous  salad. 

I  saw  bullock-carts  crawling  down  the  road  as 
I  lay  and  drank  my  soup — box-like  vehicles 
drawn  by  grey,  long-horned  buffaloes  with  rings 
in  their  noses.  I  saw  a  plump  German  or  two, 
in  neat  white  suits,  passing  by  from  the  sleepy 
stores,  or  the  sleepy,  small  post-office,  or  the 
sleepy  Government  offices  that  had  been  built 
for  a  capital,  and  were  obviously  misfits  for  the 
dead  little  town  of  Herbertshohe.  I  saw  New 
Britain  natives  going  by  in  gangs,  from  the  great 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks         167 

cocoanut  plantations.  They  were  mostly  like 
Bo — blacklead  in  colour,  instead  of  the  brown  that 
one  saw  on  the  neighbouring  mainland,  and 
attired,  like  Bo,  in  the  Governmentally  regulated 
dress  of  a  loin  cloth  and  a  singlet.  They  were 
singularly  ill-looking  savages,  sulky  and  heavy- 
faced,  and  with  a  certain  black  fierceness  latent 
somewhere,  that  I  had  not  noticed  among  the 
tribes  of  New  Guinea  itself.  Indeed,  the 
Papuan  of  the  mainland,  man-eater,  prisoner- 
torturer,  and  general  all-round  villain  though  he 
may  be,  has  certain  endearing  qualities — a  sense 
of  humour,  a  liking  for  pleasure  and  fun,  a  sort 
of  rough  hospitality,  that  lead  you  into  easy 
friendship  with  him,  if  you  are  much  in  his 
society.  But  the  man  who  could  be  friendly 
with  a  New  Britain  savage  has  yet  to  be  born. 
As  the  mainland  Papuan  is  the  tiger  of  the 
human  race  —  treacherous,  bloodthirsty,  yet 
fascinating  in  his  own  way — so  the  New  Britainer 
is  the  bison  ;  ugly  as  a  bison,  black-faced  and 
fire-eyed  as  a  bison,  and  as  a  bison  intractable  and 
untamable.  The  mailed  fist  of  Germany  drove 
him  to  plantation  work  by  a-  system  of  merciless 
taxes,  and  kept  him  to  it  by  physical  force — there 
was  never  anything  of  the  man-and-brother 
method  in  the  deaUngs  of  Germany  with  its 
colonies — but  through  all,  he  remained  what  he 


168         Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

is :    the  last,  worst  savage  on  the  face  of  the 
earth. 


I  had  finished  my  invalid's  ration,  and  was 
wondering  where  Gore  could  have  disappeared 
to  all  afternoon,  and  how  soon  he  meant  to  come 
back,  when  I  heard  the  tramp,  tramp  of  bare  feet 
— military  bare  feet — on  the  verandah.  I  sat  up. 
It  was  Hahn,  my  old  acquaintance  of  the  duel, 
with  his  police,  marching  somewhere  or  other 
(he  was  a  Government  officer  of  fairly  high 
standing)  and  calling  in  on  the  way  to  see  me. 

"  Well,  my  nut,  how  are  you  this  afternoon  ?  " 
he  shouted  cheerily.  Hahn  prided  himself  on 
the  accuracy  of  his  English  slang.  "  I  have  to 
march  these  beggars  up  to  Toma,  and  I  have 
at  the  club  for  some  beers  to  give  me  heart  just 
now  called  in.     When  will  you  be  fit  again  ?  " 

He  seated  himself  astride  the  remnant  of  a 
chair,  and  roared  an  order,  in  the  true  Prussian 
bellow,  at  his  police,  who  were  standing  at 
"  Attention."  They  dismissed,  and  squatted 
down  outside. 

"  Why  do  you  speak  to  them  in  English  ?  " 
I  asked  somewhat  wickedly,  for  I  knew. 

"  I  speak  to  them  in  pigeon-English,"  replied 
Hahn,  "  because  it  is  the  nearest  to  their  own 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks         169 

savage  speech.  Right  German  it  is  impossible 
to  teach  them.  We  have  tried  since  1885. 
When  our  Governor  a  good  many  years  ago  came 
here,  he  said  in  his  opening  speech  that  if  he  could 
that  pigeon-English  from  Kaiser  Wilhelms  Land 
and  the  Bismarcks  chuck  out,  he  would  think  he 
had  done  a  good  deed  for  Germany,  if  he  did 
nothing  more  in  his  stay.  But  the  mind  of  the 
savage  can't  grasp  a  language  so  far  removed  from 
his  habit  of  thought  as  the  cultured  German. 
So  we  have  allowed  him  to  retain  the  tongue  that 
had  spread  over  the  archipelago  already,  through 
its  eminent  suitabiHty  to  the  ignorance  of  the 
savage  mind." 

"  I  see,"  was  all  my  reply.  I  did  see.  Al- 
ready, during  the  trip  down  the  coast  of  Kaiser 
Wilhelms  Land,  I  had  had  full  opportunity  of 
understanding  the  danger — to  Germany — of  the 
system  that  forced  every  newly  imported  officer 
to  learn  pigeon-English  immediately  on  his 
arrival,  and  talk  to  his  soldier-police  in  the 
language  of  a  neighbouring,  rival  European 
power.  For  myself,  however — since  I  did  not 
pretend  to  Vincent  Gore's  linguistic  abilities — 
it  promised  well.  Gore  was  not  likely  to  require 
me  to  learn  a  new  savage  dialect  every  week, 
when  pigeon-English  was  spoken  everywhere 
along  the  coast. 


170         Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

Where  was  Gore,  by  the  way,  and  what  was  he 
doing  ?  Now  that  I  recollected,  I  had  not  seen 
him  since  breakfast.  .  .  . 

To  my  surprise,  Hahn  spoke  my  own  thoughts. 

"  Where  is  that  chief  of  yours  ?  I  thought  I 
saw  him  going  down  to  the  Company's  launch." 

"  Perhaps,"  I  said,  leaning  back  on  my  pillow 
to  shade  my  eyes  from  the  light  of  the  westering 
sun  on  the  sea.  "  I  don't  know  where  he  has 
gone." 

"  So,"  said  Hahn,  obviously  not  believing  me. 
He  stopped  talking  for  a  minute,  and  began  to 
roll  a  cigarette.  Somehow,  I  recalled  a  fragment 
of  counsel  once  thrown  to  me  by  Red  Bob  : 

"  Better  make  your  own  cigarettes.  They 
take  the  place  of  a  snuff-box,  on  occasion.  You 
remember  how  all  the  old  diplomats  used  to  take 
snuff — because  it  gave  them  time  to  think  when 
talking.  .  .  ." 

"  Have  you  seen  Herr  Richter  since  you 
came  ?  "  asked  the  young  officer  presently.  I 
have  often  noticed  the  naivete  of  the  German 
stare.  They  will  ask  you  a  diplomatic  question, 
and  then  spoil  its  effect  by  a  stare  of  such 
curiosity  and  keenness  that  it  would  put  a  baby 
on  its  guard.  Hahn  gave  me  just  such  a  look 
as  he  spoke.  Therefore,  I  picked  my  way  in 
replying : 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismareks         171 

"  Why,  no.  I've  been  pretty  ill,  off  and  on. 
Is  he  here  ?  " 

"  Certainly  not.  His  residence  is  in  Rabaul," 
replied  Hahn.  I  don't  know  why,  but  the  answer 
convinced  me  that  Richter  had  been — as  the 
Americans  say — "  snooping  around "  in  the 
neighbourhood  of  our  residence,  and  did  not 
want  anyone  to  know  it. 

"  If  he  should  take  the  trouble  to  give  you 
advice  about  your  movements,  you  had  better 
accept  it,  you  can  bet,"  declared  Hahn.  "  Herr 
Richter  himself  is  a  very  learned  man,  and  has 
much  knowledge  about  the  aboriginals  of  Neu 
Pommern.     Yes,  my  boy." 

He  grinned  under  his  gold  moustache,  and 
offered  me  a  cigarette.  ...  I  guessed  then,  and 
know  now,  that  Hahn  was  told  off  to  hamper  our 
movements,  and  find  out  our  plans ;  but  somehow 
or  other  I  never  could  help  liking  him.  He 
didn't  do  it  well,  in  the  first  place.  And  then  he 
was  always  jolly  about  it.  And  then  I  had  shot  off 
the  tip  of  his  ear,  which  endears  a  man  to  you.  .  .  . 

"  Look  here,"  I  said,  "  I  don't  know  the  first 
thing  about  Gore  and  his  plans.  I  do  what  I'm 
told,  no  more.  I'm  his  secretary.  You  go  and 
ask  him  anything  you  want  to  know,  my  son,  and 
take  what  you  can  get ;  you  can  keep  it  all,  with 
my  compliments." 


172         Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

"  The  Httle  English  bull-terrier  again,"  said 
Hahn,  folding  his  arms  on  the  back  of  his  chair, 
and  grinning  more.  "  Fowl,  thou  canst  bite, 
but  thou  art  no  diplomatist." 

"  In  the  first  place,  I'm  five  feet  nine,"  I  said, 
"  though  I  don't  carry  as  much  beef  as  you — and 
in  the  second,  the  people  who  picked  you  for 
fighting  got  a  very  poor  brand  of  diplomacy  in 
with  the  packet." 

"  Fowl,"  said  the  young  officer,  looking  at 
me  over  his  folded  arms,  "  you  know  too  much. 
I  fear  myself.  Fowl,  thou  wilt  have  to  a  first-class 
saloon,  outside  cabin  berth  by  the  Prinz  Sigis- 
mund  to  Sydney  buy.     A  single  ticket,  my  boy." 

"  Get  out,"  I  said.  "  The  British  Association 
and  the  Royal  Society  would  excommunicate 
you  like  the  cardinal  and  the  jackdaw  of  Rheims, 
if  you  stopped  a  man  like  Vincent  Gore  at  his 
work." 

"  Did  you  hear  about  the  wife  of  Herr 
Richter  ?  "  asked  Hahn,  suddenly  changing  the 
subject. 

"  Your  boss  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Boss  ?  "  queried  the  expert  in  slang,  inno- 
cently.    "  What  is  that  ?  " 

"  What  Justus  Richter  is,"  I  countered. 
"  WeU  ?     Didn't  know  he  had  a  wife." 

"  Nor  did  we,"  declared  Hahn,  with  a  romantic 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks         173 

tone  in  his  voice,  which  I  beHeve  to  have  been 
perfectly  genuine.  Before  191 4,  we  had  occa- 
sional chances  of  seeing  the  romantic  side  of  the 
German  character — the  side  that  produced 
"  Werther  "  and  the  bread-and-butter.  .  .  . 

"  None  of  us  here  in  Kaiser  Wilhelms  Land 
knew,"  he  went  on.  "  Richter  had  been  married, 
oh  many  years  ago,  and  a  widower  for  many 
years  had  been.  And  two  years  ago,  when  he 
was  going  to  Singapore  by  Java,  the  ship  stopped 
at  Ceram.  And  in  Ceram  there  was  cholera. 
Herr  Richter  got  this  cholera,  and  they  put  him 
ashore  in  Banda,  thinking  that  he  very  shortly 
should  die.  Now  in  Banda  there  was  no  one 
should  take  him  in,  for  they  were  all  much 
afraid  of  a  cholera  patient,  and  I  think  he  would 
have  died  at  once,  but  that  a  lady — the  wife  of  a 
Spanish  settler — Herr  Gott,  Powl,  you  are 
ill " 

"  Pm  a  little — weak — from  this  dashed  fever," 
I  said.  "  I  only  want  to  put  my  head  down  ; 
it's  dizzy.     Go  on." 

"  Now  !  This  lady  was  not  young,  but  she 
was  good-hearted  and  so  was  her  husband,  though 
he  was  a  man  very  rude  in  temper  at  times. 
And  when  she  heard  of  Richter,  she  and  her 
husband  said  :  *  This  is  a  good  work  to  do,  so  we 
shall  take  the  stranger  in.'     And  him  they  took." 


174         Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

"  Yes  ?  "  I  said.  The  sun  was  creeping  down 
the  white-hot  sky  ;  green  parrots  were  awaking 
from  the  lethargy  of  the  afternoon,  and  begin- 
ning to  wrangle  feebly  under  the  domes  of  the 
mango  trees.  Hahn's  soldier-police  were  grunt- 
ing pigeon-English  to  each  other  on  the  steps  of 
the  verandah.  I  noticed  these  things ;  I  noticed 
that  a  sulky  grey  buffalo,  with  horns  like  levelled 
spears,  was  trying  to  steal  bananas  over  a  fence 
some  yards  away  .  .  .  and  yet  I  knew  what  was 
coming. 

"  She  nursed  him  through  that  terrible  illness," 
went  on  Hahn,  the  intense  light  from  the  sea 
contracting  the  pupils  of  his  blue  eyes  to  little 
pin-points  of  black,  and  making  his  very  eyebrows 
glitter.  "  And  at  the  last,  he  was  in  collapse. 
Now  out  of  collapse  recovers  hardly  ever  any 
man.  So  Richter,  who  is  of  just  and  noble 
instincts,  said  to  her  :  ^  I  am  dying  ;  before  I 
die  I  would  a  will  make,  and  leave  my  plantation 
in  German  New  Guinea,  and  the  money  I  there 
have  invested,  to  you,  because  you  alone  have 
runned  this  so  fearful  risk  on  my  account,  and 
have  saved  me  that  I  do  not  die  like  a  dog  on  the 
jetty.'  And  the  lady  said :  '  Right ! '  But 
see  then,  Fowl,  I  am  blowed  if  they  could  find 
a  notary  who  would  come  into  that  house,  for 
there  is  very  few  in  the  place  and  they  had  wives 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks         175 

and  children,  and  they  would  not  run  such  a 
risk.  Then  Richter  he  was  dying  further,  and 
he  could  speak,  but  he  said  :  '  A  pastor  must  not 
have  fear  of  death.  Send  for  a  pastor,  and  you  bet,' 
he  said,  '  I  will  manage  that  thing.'  Also,  the 
lady  sent  for  the  pastor,  and  Richter  said  :  *  Give 
me    some    more    cognac,'    and    they   gave   him. 

*  Now,'  says  he,  *  bring  down  your  daughter  who 
has  come  home  from  school  this  week,  and  I  will 
marry  her  before  I  die,  and  the  plantation 
shall  be  hers  and  yours,  but  be  quick,'  he  says 
to  her,  *  for  I  go.'  But  the  lady  was  very  quick 
indeed,  for  she  was  most  poor,  and  she  desired 
the  plantation,  and  after  a  little  she  brings  the 
daughter  down,  who  is  crying  very  much  for 
fright  of  the  death,  and  the  pastor  her  to  him 
fast    and    well    marries.     Then    Richter    says  : 

*  That  is  well  done,  and  now  read  me  some  of 
the  Bible,  for  it's  many  years  I  haven't  been  at 
a  church,  and  one  doesn't  know  how  far  these 
things  may  or  may  not  be  true.'  And  the 
pastor  he  reads  to  him,  and  he  prays — Herr 
Gott,  he  prays  so  strong  that  Richter  falls  in  a 
good  sleep,  and  the  next  day  he  is  better." 

I  knew  it  all  now. 

"  But,  Powl,  it's  the  most  romantic  story — 
for  then  the  girl  is  sent  back  to  school,  and 
Richter  said  :   *  I  am  glad  that  I  am  not  to  die, 


176         Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

since  that  is  a  most  beautiful  bride,  but  since 
she  was  never  by  me  courted,  she  shall  courted 
be.'  And  back  to  German  New  Guinea  he  goes, 
but  he  never  told  Donna  Ravenna  his  name  was 
not  Schultz  only,  it  was  Justus  Schultz  Richter." 

Hahn  suddenly  pulled  himself  up  here,  and 
appeared  to  consider,  looking  at  me  thought- 
fully, and  pulling  his  moustache. 

"  You  needn't  worry,"  I  told  him.  "  If  you 
think  I  can't  guess  why  your  Lecoq-Sherlock- 
Holmes-Schultz-Richter  was  masquerading  about 
the  Dutch  Islands  under  a  false  name " 

"  It  was  his  own  name  !  " 

"  Well,  the  wrong  end  of  his  own  name,  then — 
you're  jolly  well  wrong.  F  can  imagine  quite 
easily.     Drive  on." 

"  You  want  some  more  quinine,"  commented 
Hahn,  looking  curiously  at  me.  "  You  are 
yellow — aren't  thou  yellow  just,  old  churl !  " 

"  Go  on  while  I'm  taking  it,"  I  said,  reaching 
for  the  bottle. 

"  Now  see  then,  in  the  marriage  service,  of 
course  the  surname  isn't  used,  but  when  Donna 
Ravenna  and  her  daughter  heard  the  bridegroom 
who  was  at  the  point  of  dying  say  *  Justus 
Schultz '  they  took  no  notice,  and  the  bride 
after  him  said,  '  Justus  Schultz.'  So  that  was 
the  Christian  names,  all  right.     And  when  he 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks         177 


was  better,  and  ready  to  go,  he  had  thought  that 
he  would  tell  Donna  Ravenna,  at  the  point  of 
leaving,  '  I  am  not  Schultz  only,  I  am  Justus 
Schultz  Richter  of  New  Guinea,  and  a  man  of 
much  more  importance  than  you  have  supposed, 
though  in  the  interests  of '  " 

"  Secret  service,"  I  cut  in. 

"  Of  diplomacy,"  corrected  Hahn,  "  in  those 
interests  he  had  travelled  under  another  name. 
But  Donna  Ravenna,  not  long  after,  paid  with 
her  life  for  that  noble  hospitality.  She,  also  her 
husband,  died  of  the  cholera.  Then  Richter 
went  away,  most  deeply  annoyed  and  to  the 
bottom  of  his  heart  grieved." 

"  He  had  some  reason,"  I  commented.  The 
quinine  I  had  swallowed  was  not  more  bitter  in 
my  mouth  than  the  whole  of  Hahn's  story  to 
my  mind,  but  I  did  not  choose  that  he  should 
see  me  grimace,  over  the  one  more  than  over 
the  other. 

"  Also,"  continued  Hahn,  '*  again,  in  six 
months,  he  returned  to  Banda,  where  now  the 
girl  had  come  back  for  a  little  while,  and  with  a 
governess  friend  was  living,  to  wait  for  him. 
But  he  told  her  that  she  should  meet  Schultz 
in  New  Guinea,  and  she,  who  had  no  re- 
membrance of  him — since  a  man  in  collapse  of 
cholera  is  no  more  like  the  same  one  in  health 

Z3 


178         Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

than  I  am  like  a  dead  fish  on  the  shore — she  said 
she  to  New  Guinea  with  Miss  Siddis  would  go. 
For  you  understand,  there  was  now  no  money 
left  for  her,  and  she  had  not  one  thing  that  she 
could  do.  '  If  he  is  a  good  man,  as  I  think,' 
said  she,  '  I  will  try  and  like  him,  because,  after 
all,  I  am  his  wife  in  law,'  and  she  embarked." 

Hahn  laughed  a  little,  sent  a  surprisingly 
vivid  curse  at  one  of  his  men  who  had  dared  to 
fall  asleep,  and  went  on  : 

"  Then  Richter  went  with  her  all  the  voyage, 
and  not  anyone  knew  he  was  the  Schultz  she  had 
married.  So  right  romantic  is  this  man,  who  has 
indeed  some  grey  hair,  but  the  heart  of  a 
child " 

I  thought  of  the  gory  affair  at  Kronprinz- 
haven,  undoubtedly  got  up  by  this  same  child- 
hearted  creature  of  romance,  and  if  I  had  felt 
like  grinning,  would  certainly  have  grinned. 

"  And  not  till  they  came  to  Rabaul,  and  were 
in  the  house  of  the  lady  to  whom  Miss  Siddis 
is  governess,  didn't  he  speak.  So  now  we  all 
look  for  a  merry  wedding  in  the  church,  because 
the  bride  will  have  it,  though  she  is  indeed 
married  before,  and  then  a  happy  home  on  the 
plantation  for  Richter,  with  his  so-beautiful 
young  wife." 

"  They  aren't  married  again  yet  ?  "  I  asked, 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks         179 

with  great  leaps  of  the  heart  that  turned  me 
sick. 

"  No,  but  to-morrow  I  think  they  will  be. 
This  pretty  girl  is  a  little  sad  at  leaving  all  her 
home  ;  still,  by  and  by  she  will  be  more  heartful. 
Also,  Powl,  I  have  talked  to  you  too  long,  my 
nut ;  you  are  looking  worse.  If  I  do  not  take 
those  poHce  of  mine  on  to  Toma,  I  shall  not  be 
there  before  the  evening  rain.  So  long,  ta-ta, 
see  you  soon." 

He  tilted  his  white  helmet  forward  on  his 
brow,  bellowed  to  his  police,  kicked  one  or  two 
of  them  to  encourage  the  rest,  and  marched  off 
down  the  muddy  road  between  the  ranks  of 
palms. 

We  were  nearly  at  the  longest  day,  it  being 
December ;  still,  the  swift  dusk  of  equatorial 
lands  had  fairly  pounced  upon  the  town  before 
Gore  came  home,  a  Httle  after  seven.  He 
struck  a  match  and  lit  the  verandah  lamp. 

**  Oh,"  he  said,  looking  at  me,  with  the  in- 
evitable cigar  drooping  from  one  corner  of  his 
mouth.  Then,  "  Indeed  !  "  Then  he  sat  down 
on  the  rickety  Austrian  chair,  and  bellowed  for 
tea. 

Bo  answered  with  a  howl  that  would  have 
done  credit  to  a  warrior  in  the  act  of  decapitating 
an  enemy,  and  bounded  on  to  the  verandah. 

12* 


180         Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 


"  You  catchum  one-fellow  tea,  quick  !  "  or- 
dered Red  Bob.  "  You  catchum  bulimacow 
(meat),  bread.  ...  As  usual,"  he  said.  (Bo 
had  taken  the  verandah  in  three  leaps,  and  was 
gone  to  make  up  the  fire  in  an  outhouse.)  "  As 
usual,  not  a  bite  to  be  had  since  six  this  morning." 

"  You've  been  in  Rabaul,"  I  stated,  being 
familiar  with  the  inhospitable  ways  of  the 
German  capital. 

"  I  have,"  said  Red  Bob,  leaning  back  in  the 
chair  with  his  long  legs  stretching  across  half 
the  verandah.  He  looked  at  me  under  his 
eyebrows,  but  never  a  question  did  he  ask. 

So  of  course  I  had  to  burst  out. 

"  I  suppose  you're  surprised  to  see  me  dressed 
again  ?  "  (Which  I  was,  down  to  the  pin  in 
my  tie.) 

"  No,"  said  Red  Bob.  "  I'm  not  much  in 
the  way  of  being  surprised  at  things." 

"  Well,"  I  rushed  on,  "  I've  dressed  because 
I'm  going  to  Rabaul  to-night." 

"  Who  lent  you  the  aeroplane,  and  can  you 
run  it  yourself  ?  "  asked  Gore,  with  every  appear- 
ance of  interest. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Only  that  the  launch  has  come  back,  and 
doesn't  run  again  till  she's  wanted  to." 

"  I  don't  care,"   I  said.     "  I'll  hire  a  cutter 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks         181 


or  a  schooner.  I'm  going  to  get  to  Rabaul 
to-night." 

"  They  won't  hire  us  any  boats.  That's 
what  I've  been  looking  up  to-day." 

"  What !  " 

"  Won't     hire     us     anything    that    floats    or 


"  What  for,  in  the  name  of  common  sense  ?  " 

"  Name  of  Wilhelm  II.,  more  likely.  We've 
bumped  up  against  him  somehow." 

"  Then  I'll  walk." 

"  By  land,"  said  Gore  indifferently,  "  I  take 
it  to  be  thirty  miles." 

"  Then,"  I  said,  breathing  hard,  "  I'll  go  down 
to  the  jetty  to-morrow,  at  daylight,  and  if  the 
launch  isn't  running,  I'll  make  it  run,  if  I  have 
to  shoot  the  engineer." 

"  I  see  your  point,"  said  Gore,  smoking  lazily, 
"  but  it's  an  unnecessary  trip.  She's  dis- 
appeared." 

"  Good     God  1        Where  ? — and       how      do 

you ?  " 

"  Oh,  the  yarn's  all  over  Rabaul.  Wedding 
was  fixed  for  the  day  after  to-morrow — formal 
wedding,  that  is — lady  was  staying  with  the 
Hirschmanns,  who  employ  Miss  Siddi^  lady 
disappears  and  can't  be  found.  No  one  seen  her 
since  yesterday  afternoon." 


182         Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

"  Then,"  I  said,  getting  to  my  feet  and  hold- 
ing on  by  the  back  of  the  couch — for  I  felt  a 
little  unsteady — "  there's  all  the  more  reason 
why  I  should  go  and  find  her,  dead  or  alive." 

"  And  give  her  over  to  her  husband.  Just 
so,"  said  Gore,  puffing  pleasantly.  "  Where's 
that  cannibal  with  the  tea  ?  " 

I  said  something  strong  in  contradiction. 

"  Yes,  but  you  see,"  said  Red  Bob,  "  to  find 
her  in  this  country  would  mean  just  that,  no- 
thing else.  The  whole  community's  against 
her — what  right  has  a  silly  Httle  foreign  girl 
to  take  a  dishke  to  one  of  the  most  prominent 
citizens  in  the  colony,  especially  when  she's 
tied  to  him  by  a  legal  ceremony  already  ?  That's 
the  way  they  look  at  it.  Nobody  would  give 
her  a  hand." 

"  Where  do  you  think — what  do  you  think  ? 
Do  you  think  she's ?  " 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  Gore,  answering  my  question 
as  if  I  had  put  it  in  words.  "  I  don't  think  she 
has.  I  don't  like  thinking,  anyhow.  I  prefer 
to  know.  Can't  say  I  know  in  this  case,  but  I've 
an  idea  or  two." 

"  For  God's  sake,  tell  me  if  you  have,"  I 
said,  sitting  down  on  the  couch  again.  The 
great  white  stars  among  the  palm  trees  seemed 
to  be  dancing  about ;    the  floor  was  heaving  like 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks         183 

a  steamer  deck  in  a  heavy  sea.  I  was  not  so 
strong  as  I  had  thought,  it  seemed. 

Gore  looked  at  me. 

"  It's  a  bad  business,  and  a  tangle,"  he  said  ; 
«  but " 

"  It  is  not  a  bad  business,"  I  interrupted. 
"  If  you  think  it's  a  parallel  case  to— to  any- 
thing you " 

"  We'll  leave  it  at  that,  if  you  please,"  inter- 
rupted Red  Bob,  with  something  slightly  dan- 
gerous in  his  voice.  "  I  was  going  to  say  I  think 
the  young  woman's  made  back  to  Friedrich 
Wilhelmshaven  way.  You  see,  the  Afzelia*s 
still  lying  at  the  jetty — going  to  sail  on  the  home 
voyage  to-morrow  morning  ;  and  if  she  could 
stow  away  on  board,  she'd  be  all  right.  I  don't 
see  what  else  she  can  have  done.  Every  house 
about  Rabaul  has  been  searched,  and  as  to 
getting  off  into  the  bush,  she  must  know  she'd 
be  eaten  if  she  got  away  five  miles  behind  the 
town.     Besides " 

**  It  looks  as  if  you  might  be  right,"  I  said 
doubtfully. 

"  Well,  you'll  have  every  opportunity  of  find- 
ing out.  We  have  to  board  the  Afzelia  when 
she  calls  here  to-morrow  morning.  I'm  trying 
back  to  Friedrich  Wilhelmshaven  myself." 

"  What  on  earth  for  ?  " 


184         Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

"  You  hurry  up  with  that  tray,  Bo.  Put  him 
there.  Catch  me  two-fellow  teaspoon,  you  black 
villain — why  do  you  always  forget  the  spoons  ? 
.  .  .  I'll  tell  you  what  for  when  I've  fed.  My 
lunch  and  dinner  to-day  have  been  the  smell  of 
the  meals  in  those  dashed  '  clubs '  in  Rabaul. 
Some  of  these  days " 

He  stopped  to  fill  his  mouth  with  meat. 

"  Some  of  these  days,"  he  went  on,  "  there'll 
be  restaurants  in  Rabaul  where  a  stranger  can 
actually  buy  a  bite  of  food.  And  bars,  where  he 
can  get  an  iced  beer.  And  in  those  days  the  fat 
inhabitants  won't  set  their  tables  where  you  can 
watch  them  eating,  and  then  snigger  at  you 
as  you  pass.     No,  my  son." 

"  Why  not  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  At  all  events,"  said  Red  Bob,  "  their  beef 
is  worthy  of  a  noble  race — when  you  get  it. 
You're  well  enough  to  eat  a  meal  to-night ; 
come  on  and  feed  before  we  talk.  I'm  going  to 
tell  you  about  the  Schouten  pearls." 

I  found  I  was  well  enough,  and  that  I  felt 
another  man  when  the  food  was  down.  Bo 
cleared  the  table  in  a  series  of  jerks  and  jumps 
while  we  settled  ourselves  on  the  upper  verandah 
of  the  house.  It  was  none  too  secure,  but  you 
could  not  be  overheard  on  it. 

"  Well,"  said  Red  Bob,  stretching  his  legs  out 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks         185 

comfortably  before  him,  "  this  is  how  it  stands 
in  a  nutshell.  Our  friend,  Willem  Corneliszoon 
Schouten,  sailed  from  New  Hanover  to  Vulcan 
Island,  on  the  mainland.  He  didn't  make  a 
bee-line,  though ;  at  one  time  he  ran  pretty 
close  in  to  New  Britain.  And  he  stayed  a  devil 
of  a  time  about  there — all  things  considered. 
And  he  used  to  stop  at  the  islands  now  and 
then — the  ship's  log  tells  about  it.  He  would 
go  away  from  his  men,  and  trade  with  the  natives 
all  by  himself ;  wonder  was  he  didn't  get  killed 
and  cooked  half  a  dozen  times  over.  Now  the 
last  time  I  was  here,  a  year  or  two  ago,  I  was 
following  up  Schouten's  tracks  a  bit,  for  no  par- 
ticular reason — you  see,  at  that  time  I'd  never 
been  to  Holland  or  heard  of  Helga  Maria  ;  wish 
I  had ;  it  would  have  saved  me  a  trip  across 
the  world  and  back.  I  was  just  taking  ethno- 
logical notes,  and  followed  his  route.  Well, 
on  one  of  the  islands — a  good-sized  place,  marked 
on  the  map  and  named — I  found  a  rock  carving. 
Of  course,  I  thought  I'd  struck  something  lucky 
about  native  history,  and  I  cleared  it  out — it 
was  in  wonderfully  good  condition,  being  under- 
neath an  overhang.     What  do  you  guess  it  was  ?  " 

"  Something  about  Schouten  ?  "  I  hazarded. 

"  You  can  judge.     It  was  an  arrow  ;    and  a 
row  of  little  roundish  things  that  might    have 


186         Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

been  commas,  or  drops  of  rain,  or  almost  any- 
thing you  might  choose  to  say.  And  a  bit  of 
ornamental   carving   that   looked   Celtic " 

"  Celtic ! "  I  exclaimed.  No  matter  what 
his  private  troubles  were,  any  man  who  had  spent 
some  months  in  the  company  of  Vincent  Gore 
was  bound  to  rise  to  that  as  a  trout  to  a  fly. 
Celtic  !     In  a  Papuo-Melanesian  island  ! 

"  I  didn't  say  it  was,  I  said  it  looked  Celtic," 
went  on  Gore  imperturbably.  "As  it  turned 
out,  the  thing  was  Dutch,  and  seventeenth- 
century  at  that.  Of  course,  I  took  a  rubbing  of 
the  stone  before  I  went.  And  then  I  sailed  for 
a  little  bit  of  an  island,  further  out  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  Admiralties,  where  Schouten's  log 
mentions  that  they  called.  He  says  there  were 
no  natives  there,  but  that  they  got  some  cocoa- 
nuts  and  oysters.  It  was  an  uninteresting  place — 
I  didn't  stay. 

"  After  that  I  went  home.  And,  as  I  told  you, 
I  went  for  a  trip  to  Holland  and  amused  myself 
looking  up  the  history  of  the  old  Dutch  navi- 
gators, Schouten  in  particular.  That  was  the 
time  when  I  ran  across  the  history  of  Helga 
Maria  Van  Oosterdyck,  and  saw  her  portrait. 
Now  let  me  show  you  something." 

Out  of  a  small  oilskin  case  he  produced  the 
photograph  of  the  Dutch  lady  which  I  had  already 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks         187 

seen,  also  a  neat  Indian-ink  copy  of  a  "  rubbing  " 
taken  from  an  inscription. 

"  Do  you  see  anything  ?  "  he  asked. 

At  first  I  did  not ;  then  .  .  . 

"  By  Jove  !  "  I  exclaimed. 

"  See  it  ?  " 

"  Yes,  rather — they're  identical.'' 

"  What  ?  " 

"  Why,  the  carving  and  that  monogram  of 
pearls  at  the  end  of  Helga  Maria's  necklace." 

Gore  looked  at  me  and  smoked.  Presently 
he  reached  out  a  long  arm  for  the  carving,  opened 
out  a  chart  of  New  Britain,  and  set  the  paper  on 
it. 

"  I  took  the  bearings  of  the  arrow,"  he  said. 
"  See  where  it  points." 

It  pointed  to  a  blank  on  the  map,  so  far  as  I 
could  see. 

**  That's  not  as  blank  as  it  looks,"  said  Gore. 
**  This  region  is  worse  charted  than  any  other 
place  in  the  world.  There's  an  islet  right  in 
the  line  of  the  arrow.  The  islet  where  the 
cocoanuts  and  oysters  were  got." 

"  Lord  !  "  I  said,  getting  to  my  feet,  "  why,  it's 
as  clear  as  daylight."  I  felt  more  excited  than 
I  would  have  believed,  ten  minutes  ago,  I  could 
ever  feel  over  anything  that  was  not  connected 
with  I  sola. 


188         Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

"  Of  course,"  went  on  Red  Bob,  "  the  best 
way  to  make  for  Aroko  Island,  where  the  inscrip- 
tion is,  would  have  been  by  Rabaul,  getting  a 
schooner  there,  and  sailing  round  the  head  of 
New  Britain,  and  a  bit  back.  But  .  .  .  they 
aren't  by  way  of  wanting  strangers  in  Rabaul 
at  any  time,  and  just  now  they  want  them  less 
than  usual.  Every  schooner,  every  cutter,  every 
launch — everything  with  a  keel  on  it — was  en- 
gaged otherwise.  Or  it  had  to  go  on  the  slip 
for  repairs.  Or  the  owner  was  away,  and  no 
one  could  hire  it  in  his  absence,  and  nobody 
knew  when  he  would  return.  Result — nothing 
doing." 

"  What's  the  meaning  of  it  all  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  That's  a  big  question,  young  Paul.  Bigger 
than  I  can  answer — at  present.  Rr  haul's  the 
capital,  and  a  naval  station.  .  .  .  Well,  I  was 
given  to  understand  that  I  might  be  tolerated 
over  at  Friedrich  Wilhelmshaven — what  a  dashed 
sort  of  name  to  give  a  town — on  the  mainland 
of  New  Guinea  ;  that  is,  old  Richter  came  to 
me,  and  explained  that  it  was  twice  as  good  for 
ethnological  study  of  any  kind,  and  he'd  be 
delighted  to  help  me,  in  the  interests  of  science, 
to  settle  there  for  my  stay.  And  the  Governor 
said  so,  too.  Therefore,  knowing  when  I  was 
beaten,  I  cleared.     It's  not  as  good  a  way  to  get 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks         189 


to  Schouten's  little  preserve,  but  it  will  have  to 
do." 

"  And  about  Miss  Ravenna  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  About  Frau  Richter  ?  Nothing  about  her 
till  we  find  her,  and  then — time  enough  when 
we  do.  Don't  cross  bridges  before  we  come  to 
them.  You'd  better  turn  in,  if  you're  going  to 
be  fit  to  travel  to-morrow." 

"  I  have  come  to  it,"  I  said,  getting  to  my  feet, 
though  I  was  shaking  a  little  with  the  effects  of 
the  fever,  and  with  something  else  too.  "  Do 
you  think  I'm  going  to  leave  Rabaul  just  on  a 
chance — with  her — Gore.  Those  black  brutes 
would  have  her  if  she  went  just  a  few  miles  back 
— in  her  terror.  ...  If  I  can't  do  something, 
I— I " 

To  the  present  hour  I  cannot  say  whether  I 
meant  it  or  not.  I  was  "  seeing  red,"  I  had  lost 
self-control  through  the  fever  .  .  .  but  still, 
it  was  an  irrational  and  a  useless  thing  to  catch 
up  a  chair,  and  throw  it  through  the  glass  door 
of  the  adjoining  bedroom.  I  can  only  hope  I 
may  have  supposed  that  the  door  was  open. 

At  any  rate,  the  sound  of  the  smashing  glass, 
and  the  fall  of  the  chair  on  the  floor,  seemed  to 
do  me  good,  and  I  felt  calmer. 

Gore  did  not  turn  a  hair.  He  remained  where 
he  was,  with  his  legs  stretched  out,  smoking. 


190         Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

"  As  you  were  observing  .  .  .  ?  "  he  remarked. 

"  I  said — I  said  that  I  must  do  something.  I 
can't  leave  it  to  chance." 

"You  needn't,"  said  Red  Bob.  "She's  all 
right.  Has  that  automatic  of  yours  been  cleaned 
since  you  took  ill  ?  " 

"  Yes.  I  made  Bo  do  it.  What  makes  you 
think  she  is  ?  " 

"I  never  think,"  said  Red  Bob.  "Go  to 
bed."  And  not  another  word  could  I  get  out 
of  him. 

But  I  knew  him  well  enough,  and  trusted  him 
enough,  to  get  on  board  the  AJzelia  next  morning 
with  a  comparatively  quiet  mind.  And  the 
blue,  blue  heights  of  New  Britain,  above  the  long 
levels  of  the  glassy  sea,  faded  away  behind  us. 
How  soon  they  were  to  be  seen  again  and  under 
what  strange  circumstances  I  did  not  guess,  nor 
indeed  would  I  have  believed,  had  anybody  told 
me. 


CHAPTER  IX 

AT  Friedrich  Wilhelmshaven,  with  its  red- 
and-white  \aLlas  a-tiptoe  on  concrete 
piles,  its  miles  of  noble  cocoanuts  spreading  away 
in  star-shaped  avenues  far  behind  the  town,  its 
exquisite  harbour,  where  blue  lanes  of  water 
wound  in  and  out  among  green  palmy  points,  and 
gay  country  cottages  stood  up  alone  on  islands 
like  a  poet's  dream — things  looked  brighter  than 
at  Rabaul.  The  paralysis  that  had  mysteriously 
affected  the  shipping  of  German  New  Guinea 
mysteriously  disappeared  when  we  passed  from 
under  the  lee  of  Gazelle  Peninsula.  They  would 
hire  boats  at  Friedrich  Wilhelmshaven,  for  a 
consideration.  They  would  help  one  to  recruit 
a  crew,  for  a  consideration.  In  Friedrich  Wil- 
helmshaven (place  cursed  of  ships'  pursers  and 
others  who  had  frequently  to  write  its  name) 
they  did  not,  like  Rabaul,  and  the  "  rude  Carin- 
thian  boor  "  : 

"  Against  the  houseless  stranger  shut  the  door." 

On  the  contrary,  they  invited  you  to  stay  in  a 
neat  little  bungalow  hotel,  and  were  glad  to  get 

191 


192  Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

your  money.  They  were  ready  to  do  business 
with  you  ;  to  ask  you  into  their  houses  (with 
discretion,  and  provided  the  Government 
officials  at  Rabaul  did  not  object) ;  to  show  you 
round,  and  let  you  admire  the  road,  and  the 
wharf,  and  the  plantations,  fruit  of  their  country's 
occupation  since  1885.  No  grey  warships  ran  in 
and  out  of  Friedrich  Wilhelmshaven,  on  mysteri- 
ous errands,  as  they  ran  in  and  out  of  Herberts- 
hohe  and  Rabaul.  No  air  of  secrecy,  of  something 
to  be  hidden — something  from  which  inquiring 
strangers  must  be  loudly  "  shoo'ed  "  away — 
hung  about  the  mainland  town.  ...  I  suppose 
my  mind  was  too  full  of  Isola  to  take  any  special 
notice  of  these  things  at  the  time,  but  afterwards, 
in  the  days  of  Armageddon,  they  came  back  to 
me.  As  for  Red  Bob,  I  fancy — now — that  what 
he  did  not  know  or  guess  about  the  matter  was 
not  worth  knowing.  The  peaceful  folk  away 
south  of  us,  in  the  British  division  of  New  Guinea, 
might  have  slept  less  soundly  in  their  beds  had 
they  shared  his  knowledge. 

All  these  things,  however,  have  nothing  to 
do  with  my  story,  except  as  they  affected  our  stay 
in  German  Guinea.  We  found,  as  I  have  said, 
that  Friedrich  Wilhelmshaven  was  somewhat 
more  hospitable  than  Rabaul,  and  we  were  able 
to  make  immediate  arrangements  for  our  voyage 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks         193 

to  the  islands  lying  north  of  New  Britain.  Ethno- 
logical research  was  supposed  to  be  the  object 
of  our  trip.  In  reality,  and  at  long  last,  it  was 
to  be  the  wildest,  most  dangerous  and  delightful 
pirate  picnic  that  ever  gladdened  the  heart  of 
an  adventurous  youth. 

This  seemed  to  me  the  kind  of  thing  I  had  come 
out  to  see.  I  had  honestly  done  my  work  for 
Gore  through  all  our  journeying  ;  nevertheless, 
the  secretary  business  had  been  against  the  grain. 
I  did  not  really  care  a  stone  celt  about  the  history 
of  races  ;  shapes  of  skulls,  and  deductions  to  be 
made  therefrom,  never  kept  me  from  a  moment's 
sleep  ;  nor  did  I  find  any  joy  in  the  fact  that  a 
couple  of  root  words  used  in  Madagascar  cropped 
up  again  in  Geelvink  Bay.  I  saw  what  these 
things  indicated,  but  I  did  not  care.  It  seemed 
to  me  that  all  that  sort  of  thing  had  happened  too 
long  ago  to  possess  any  vital  interest,  in  a  world 
that  was  full  of  new,  untried  adventures  and 
delights. 

In  my  secret  heart,  I  thought  it  an  amazing 
thing  that  a  jolly,  splendid  fellow  like  Red  Bob 
should  care  for  such  musty  stuff,  while  there  was 
a  gun  left  in  the  world  to  shoot  with,  or  an  island 
to  explore.  ...  I  am  older  now.  I  understand 
that  the  study  of  ethnology  was  simply  Red  Bob's 
spiritual   tobacco.     Every   man     it   seems,   must 

13 


194         Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

have  spiritual  tobacco  of  some  kind,  when  he  is 
past  the  age  that  needs  no  narcotic.  Things 
happen  to  people  as  life  goes  on — horrible  things 
mostly — and  though  the  things  pass  over,  the 
memory  does  not.  That  is  where  the  tobacco 
comes  in — the  interest  or  pursuit  that  keeps  a 
man  from  thinking.  With  some  people  it's  prize 
pigs.  With  lots  and  lots  it  is  gardens.  A  great 
many  seem  to  find  mysterious  solace  and  soothing 
in  committee-meetings — which  seems  to  me  as  if 
one  should  eat  dry  biscuits  to  allay  thirst,  like 
Lewis  Carroll's  "  Alice."  Red  Bob  turned  his 
love  of  adventure  and  travel  to  scientific  uses ; 
to  other  uses  too,  I  fancy ;  but  that  I  shall  never 
know  now.  At  all  events,  comparative  ethnology 
was  his  narcotic.  I  suppose  there  are  worse 
ones. 

Only  one  thing  troubled  me  in  those  delightful 
hours  of  preparing  for  our  adventure — the  fact 
that  I  had  heard  nothing  more  of  Isola.  If  she 
had  stowed  away  on  the  AJz.elia,  she  kept  herself 
invisible  and  no  one  suspected  it.  If  she  was  still 
in  Rabaul,  she  was  in  good  hiding.  German 
New  Guinea  was  of  opinion,  on  the  whole,  that 
she  had  either  drowned  herself,  or  run  away  into 
the  bush — ^which  would  come  to  the  same  in  the 
end.  A  launch  had  come  through  from  Rabaul 
on  the  day  of  our  arrival,  bringing  no  news  of  the 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks         195 

bride,  but  reporting  the  bridegroom  as  half 
distracted,  and  searching  every  gully  and  old 
volcano  cup  about  the  capital,  with  teams  of 
plantation  boys  spurred  on  by  the  promise  of 
big  rewards.  ...  If  I  had  not  trusted  Red  Bob 
as  I  trusted  no  one  else  on  earth,  I  should  have 
gone  out  of  my  mind  with  anxiety.  But  that 
trust,  backed  up  as  it  was  by  the  "  radiograms  " 
that  inevitably  pass  between  two  people  living  in 
intimate  association,  assured  me  of  what  I  wanted 
to  know.  I  was  as  certain  that  Red  Bob  could 
put  his  finger  on  the  missing  bride  when  he  liked 
as  I  was  sure  of  the  sun  rising  in  the  morning. 


Next  day  we  sailed  out  of  Friedrich  Wilhelms- 
haven  harbour,  and  I  could  have  sung  for  delight. 

"  It's  beginning  at  last,"  I  kept  saying  to 
myself,  as  our  little  schooner  flew  through  the 
water  under  a  heavy  breeze,  heading  out  from 
under  the  Ottilien  and  Bismarck  Ranges,  towards 
Long  and  Lotten  and  Umboi,  and  all  the  smaller 
unnamed  islands  that  tangle  themselves  about  the 
end  of  New  Britain. 

What  "  it  "  might  be,  I  did  not  specify.  I 
did  not  need  to.  I  don't  know  that  Robinson 
Crusoe  could  have  told  you — or  Sir  John  Mande- 
ville — or  Ulysses — or  any  sailor  lad  who  ever  loved 

13* 


196         Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

the  taste  of  blown  spindrift  on  his  mouth,  and 
the  leap  of  a  deck  beneath  his  foot — yet  they  all 
knew  it,  and  wanted  it,  even  as  I. 

Everything  on  board  the  schooner  was  "  it." 
The  Winchester  rifles  slung  on  the  bulkheads 
of  the  tiny  cabin  ;  the  outfit  of  long  bush  knife, 
cartridge-belt,  and  .48  Colt  revolver,  in  a  leather 
holster,  worn  by  Gore  and  myself ;  the  crew, 
naked  New  Britainers  with  fierce  bison  eyes 
glowing  under  bison-like  shocks  of  hair ;  the 
wild,  wonderful  ranges  of  New  Guinea  that 
opened  out  behind  us  as  we  sailed ;  the  scarcely- 
charted  ocean,  and  coast-lines  but  tentatively 
marked,  of  the  regions  to  which  we  had  set  our 
dancing  bow.  Even  the  narrowness  and  in- 
convenience of  the  little  Cecilie,  after  all  those 
months  of  luxurious  travel  on  great  steamers, 
where  not  the  most  imaginative  youth  in  the 
world  could  have  felt  adventurous  or  brave.  For 
adventure  does  not  consort  with  seven-course 
dinners  and  electric-lighted  state-rooms ;  nor 
does  the  proximity  of  the  most  dangerous  coasts 
and  worst  cannibal  savages  in  the  world  suggest 
any  kind  of  daring,  when  comfortably  viewed  at 
a  distance  of  some  miles,  from  the  deck  of  a 
regular  liner. 

But  now.  Red  Bob  was  captain,  and  I  was  mate, 
of  a  little  cockle-shell  manned  by  black  savages 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks  197 

who  had  eaten  human  flesh,  and  were  doubtless 
ready  to  do  so  again  if  the  chance  presented 
itself.  We  were  tossing  about  on  an  ocean  of 
which  no  good  charts  were  to  be  had.  We  were 
going  to  unknown  islands,  which  we  had  to  find 
for  ourselves.  Our  food  was  tinned  and  bagged 
stuff  from  Friedrich  Wilhelmshaven,  to  be  cooked 
in  a  galley  like  a  sentry-box  by  Bo,  whose  attain- 
ments did  not  soar  much  above  the  point  he  had 
mentioned  that  day  at  breakfast — namely,  that 
he  "  no  savvy  this  blooming  hegg  !  he  savvy 
plenty  cook  'em  tin  meat,  cookem  one-fellow 
man  !  " 

Yes,  undoubtedly  "  it  "  had  begun. 

Our  native  crew,  though  the  roughest  of 
savages,  had  had  some  teaching  from  white  men 
and  could  handle  a  boat  well  enough.  We  let 
them  run  the  Cecilie  that  morning,  Red  Bob  and 
I  steering  by  turns.  While  one  held  the  wheel 
the  other  stood  alongside,  and,  safe  from  all 
possible  overhearing,  we  revelled — at  least,  I 
can  answer  for  myself — in  being  able  to  speak 
loudly  and  freely  of  our  plans.  It  was  true  that 
most  of  the  crew  knew  pigeon-English,  but  the 
following  of  a  connected  conversation  in  ordinary 
language  is  not  within  the  New  Britain  native's 
powers. 

"  First,"  said   Red   Bob,  standing  with  bare 


198         Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

feet  apart  on  the  deck,  and  leaning  to  the  Cecilie^s 
heavy  Hst,  as  he  turned  the  wheel  in  his  hands, 
"  we  go  to  the  island  where  the  inscription  is. 
I've  got  the  bearings  of  the  arrow,  but  I  must  see 
it  again,  to  avoid  any  possibility  of  mistake. 
That's  down  fairly  near  the  north  coast  of  New 
Britain.  Best  way  would  have  been  round 
Gazelle  Peninsula,  if  we  hadn't  been  blocked — 
however,  this  is  quite  feasible.  After  that,  we 
make  for  Schouten's  pearl  island  as  quick  as  we 
can  go.     Then — we  shall  see." 

"  How  are  you  going  to  get  the  pearls  ?  "  I 
asked.  The  huge  coastline  of  New  Guinea 
was  fading  behind  us  into  the  pale,  thin  blue 
of  distance ;  ahead,  bright  islands,  purple  as 
vdstaria  flowers,  were  pricking  up  out  of  the  sea. 
A  December  squall  of  fierce,  hot  rain  had  just 
swept  over  us ;  the  decks  were  wet  and  shining, 
and  over  to  windward  the  sea  was  silver  with 
new  sun. 

Red  Bob  laughed. 

"  You  may  well  ask,"  he  said  "  You  don't 
suppose  one  could  bring  diving  gear  through 
the  customs  at  Friedrich  Wilhelmshaven  or 
Rabaul  without  questions  being  asked  that  would 
be  pretty  hard  to  answer." 

"  No,"  I  said,  "  and,  by  the  way,  suppose 
we  get  it  all  right,  aren't  we  pearl-poaching  ?  " 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks         199 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Gore,  laughing  till  his  eyes 
were  nothing  but  two  blue  slits  in  a  mass  of 
wrinkles.  "  You  may  certainly  call  it  that. 
Pearl-poaching  and  smuggling  are  about  the 
two  forms  of  dishonesty  that  you  may  commit 
without  being  dishonest.  It's  up  to  you  not  to 
get  caught,  that's  all.  Koppi,  you  black  villain, 
if  you  make  that  sheet  fast  I'll  throw  you  over- 
board. .  .  .  Well,  about  the  diving  gear  ;  it's 
down  in  the  hold,  labelled,  *  Trade  goods.'  A 
friend  of  mine  managed  that  for  me  at  Friedrich 
Wilhelmshaven.  Same  friend  who  got  me  the 
boys." 

"  Are  they  safe  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Reasonably  so,"  said  Gore.  "  I've  done  what 
I  can.  Couldn't  get  quite  all  of  them  from 
separate  districts,  but  three  out  of  the  five  are 
strangers  to  each  other.  All  the  same,  sleep  with 
your  belt  on,  and  overhaul  your  pistol  now  and 
then.  This  chmate's  the  deuce  on  gunnery.  I 
don't  know  that  I  admire  that  automatic  of 
yours.  They're  a  little  too  fine  for  these 
equatorial  countries.     Have  known  'em  jam." 

"  Not  mine,"  I  said.  "  It's  looked  after,  and 
I  can  shoot  to  a  hair  with  it.  I  can't  do  with 
that  beastly  kicking  old  navy  pattern." 

"  It  has  its  points,"  said  Gore.  We  talked 
no  more  for  a  while. 


200         Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

The  Cecilie,  Hke  Gore's  revolver,  had  her 
points,  but  she  was  not  the  nicest  of  sailers  on 
a  foUov^ring  wind.  I  grew  restless  as  the  day 
went  on  over  the  slowness  of  our  progress. 
It  seemed  to  me,  with  such  a  breeze,  we  should 
have  been  out  of  sight  of  New  Guinea  before 
dark.  But  the  afternoon  wore  on  ;  the  purple 
islands  turned  to  palm-fringed  green,  and  then 
faded  to  blue  behind  us ;  the  wide,  open  sea 
grew  wider,  and  glowed  like  a  golden  shield 
with  the  unbearable  glory  of  the  westering  sun — 
and  still  the  coasts  of  Kaiser  Wilhelms  Land,  high 
and  far  and  blue,  stood  up  in  the  sky  behind. 

"  I  think  the  dashed  place  is  tied  to  us,"  let 
out  Red  Bob,  looking  over  his  shoulder  yet  again, 
as  we  made  another  tack. 

"  Pity  we  haven't  an  engine,"  I  said,  leaning 
on  the  rail  to  keep  my  footing,  as  we  lay  over. 
"  Of  course,  the  objection  about  an  engineer 
coming  along —  Talking  of  things  coming 
along,  there's  a  launch  behind." 

"  Take  the  wheel,"  was  Gore's  reply.  He 
dived  below,  brought  up  a  glass,  and  fixed  the 
oncoming  boat  with  his  eye. 

"  Not  a  Government  launch,"  was  his  verdict. 
"  Whatever  she  is,  she's  signalling.  We  may 
as  well  heave  to." 

With    slatting    sails    and    heaving    deck,    we 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks         201 

waited.  I  will  confess  that  I  did  not  feel  alto- 
gether comfortable  in  view  of  the  errand  we 
were  on.  The  pearls  of  Willem  Corneliszoon 
Schouten  seemed  likely  to  weigh  as  heavy  upon 
our  enterprise  as  a  belt  of  gold  upon  a  swdmming 
sailor.     What  if — supposing 

The  launch,  which  seemed  to  be  a  swift  one, 
overhauled  us  rapidly,  jumping  through  the  seas 
with  tremendous  smother  and  foam.  We  could 
not  see  who  was  on  board,  beyond  her  steersman. 

She  ran  under  our  lee  and  stopped  her  engine. 
Out  of  the  little  engine-room  came  a  lean,  yellow- 
ish man  in  a  worn  khaki  suit — a  man  I  had  seen 
in  Friedrich  Wilhelmshaven  at  work  in  a  boat- 
shed. 

"  I've  got  your  Malay  fellow  on  board,"  he 
shouted  in  German.  "  He  was  very  anxious  not 
to  miss  you,  but  there's  not  another  launch  in 
the  country  would  have  caught  you,  after  such 
a  start.     Hallo,  you  Hendrik,  come  on  out !  " 

Of  course  I  knew  that  we  had  no  Malay  in 
our  service,  and  didn't  intend  having  any.  Of 
course  Gore  knew  it  too.  But  we  had  both 
been  accustomed  to  walk  warily  of  late,  and 
neither  of  us  contradicted  the  launch-driver. 

"  My  Malay,  have  you  ?  "  said  Gore.  "  Well, 
bring  him  out." 

"  You  don't  seem  glad  to  see  him,  after  all 


202  Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 


the  trouble  he  took  to  get  here  in  time,"  ob- 
served the  engineer.  "  He  paid  me  not  so  much 
either."  All  this  time  the  launch  was  plunging 
and  dipping  fearfully  alongside  the  Cecilie,  and 
the  Cecilie,  wallowing  in  the  trough  of  the  sea, 
threatened  every  now  and  then  to  slew  round 
and  cut  the  other  down  with  her  shining  copper 
keel.  The  wind  was  getting  up,  too.  I  noticed 
that  the  engineer  could  scarcely  keep  his  footing 
on  the  deck  of  the  launch. 

"  He  had  no  business  to  be  late,"  was  Gore's 
reply.  "  Corbet,  have  you  any  silver  ?  I  sup- 
pose Hendrik  has  run  through  all  his  cash." 

"  I  suppose  the  beggar  has,"  was  my  diplo- 
matic reply,  the  while  I  wondered  who  in  the 
wide  world  Hendrik  could  possibly  be.  "  Yes, 
IVe  a  few  marks." 

"  Thirty  marks  more,  that's  my  fair  due  ;  I 
wouldn't  have  set  the  engine  going,  only  he 
promised  his  master  would  pay,"  declared  the 
man. 

I  threw  him  the  money  and  he  stepped  from 
in  front  of  the  cabin  door. 

"  Now,  come  out,  thou  !  "  he  shouted.  "  He 
has  paid,  but  if  he  had  not,  I  would  have  taken 
thee  back  ;  thou  art  a  rascal  who  has  got  into 
trouble,  so  I  believe." 

Out  of  the  little  cabin  of  the  launch  stepped — 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks         203 

not  indeed  a  Malay,  but  a  Malay  half-caste  ; 
a  handsome,  slender,  nervous-looking  lad,  with 
sleek  black  hair,  and  an  olive  brown  skin.  He 
had  a  wide  felt  hat  on,  that  shaded  his  face.  I 
rather  thought,  in  spite  of  the  hat,  that  I  had  met 
him  somewhere  before — probably  among  the 
islands  of  Dutch  Malaysia,  where  half-castes 
are  as  common  as  flies  in  summer. 

The  Jacob's  ladder  was  swaying  about  dan- 
gerously, but  he  came  up  it  lightly  enough,  and 
sprang  down  from  the  bulwark  to  the  deck. 
His  bundle — a  wad  of  clothing  tied  up  in  a  sack — 
was  slung  after  him  by  the  launch-driver. 

"  Good  evening,  gentlemen,"  called  the  latter, 
evidently  mollified  by  the  thirty  marks.  "  A 
pleasant  voyage  !  " 

"  Good  evening,"  I  replied,  feeling  as  if,  for 
the  first  time  in  my  Hfe,  the  motion  of  a  vessel 
were  making  me  sick,  or  at  least  giddy.  What 
did  it  all  mean  ? 

The  half-caste  had  disappeared,  and  Gore  did 
not  seem  minded  to  explain  his  presence. 

"  Get  her  under  way  at  once,"  he  ordered. 
"  The  sooner  we're  clear  of  all  these  reefs  the 
better,  at  this  hour  of  the  evening." 

Indeed,  the  water  about  the  Cecilie  was  marbled 
in  many  places  with  the  beautiful  patches  of 
malachite  green  that  all  South  Sea  men  dread. 


204         Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

We  got  her  on  her  course  again,  not  without 
much  howHng  and  stamping  about  on  the  part 
of  the  crew,  and  a  httle  hard  language  on  ours. 
When  the  pretty  Httle  ship  was  flying  once  more 
close  up  into  the  wind,  with  New  Guinea  fading 
away  on  her  starboard  quarter.  Red  Bob  drew 
me  to  him  with  the  lift  of  a  finger. 

"  This  is  a  nice  business,  upon  my  soul,"  he 
said,  with  a  graver  countenance  than  I  had  ever 
seen  him  adopt  before. 

"  Who  is  he  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Don't  you  know  ?  " 

"  I've  seen  him  before,  I  think,  but — no,  I 
don't " 

"  You  monumental  young  ass,  it's  Frau 
Richter  !  " 

"  Lord  Almighty  !  "  I  said.  There  seemed  to 
be  nothing  else  to  say.  Isola — ^here — in  that  dis- 
guise.    The  skies  seemed  crumbling  above  me. 

"  Why,  I  thought,"  somehow  I  found  breath 
to  say,  "  I  thought  you  knew  where  she  was !  " 

"  I  did,"  said  Gore.  "  I  didn't  want  to  tell 
you  till  we  were  well  away,  because  I  was  dead 
certain  you  couldn't  be  kept  from  going  to  see 
her,  and  giving  her  away  to  the  amiable  people 
who  knew  what  was  good  for  her  better  than 
she  did  herself — or  thought  they  did.  She  came 
up  to  Friedrich  Wilhelmshaven  on  the  Ajzelia 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks         205 


with  us.  The  stewardess  knew  her  well — used 
to  call  at  Banda — and  she  hid  her  in  her  own 
cabin.  She  meant  to  get  back  to  Banda,  and  ask 
some  of  her  mother's  old  friends  to  take  her 
in.  Seems  she  couldn't  stand  Richter  at  any 
price,  not  so  much  because  she  thought  him 
unpleasant — he's  a  man  who  has  some  good 
points,  if  you  know  him — but  because  of  a  young 
idiot  who  had  turned  her  head.  You.  Told 
me — she  did — that  she  never  meant  to  have 
anything  to  do  with  Richter,  or  with  any  man  ; 
means  to  go  into  a  convent,  and  spend  the  rest 
of  her  life  expiating  her  sin " 

"  Her  what  ?  " 

"  Sin.  Sin  of  having  taken  a  fancy  to  a  young 
ass  like  you,  when  she'd  vowed  to  love  and  obey 
someone  else,  who  did  not  prove  lovable  or 
obeyable.  There,  we've  talked  enough,  with  the 
girl  down  in  the  cabin  wondering  what's  going 
to  become  of  her.  Go  on  and  see  what's  hap- 
pened, while  I  take  the  wheel.  There  are  too 
many  horse-heads  about  these  waters  to  leave 
it  to  the  boys." 

I  did  not  wait  to  be  told  twice.  Three  steps 
took  me  down  into  the  cabin,  a  small,  blue- 
painted  place  with  a  narrow  table  and  two 
lockers,  a  swinging  tray  and  swinging  lamp,  and 
a  strongly  pervading  smell  of  cockroach. 


206  Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 


Isola  sat  at  the  table.  She  was  in  a  loose 
cotton  gown  ;  her  sack  of  clothing  lay  open  on 
the  locker  top,  and  the  khaki  coat  and  trousers 
in  which  she  had  come  aboard  were  invisible, 
whatever  she  had  done  with  them.  I  suspected 
that  she  had  simply  flung  her  dress  over  them, 
the  moment  she  found  herself  alone. 

Her  hair — her  lovely  hair  ! — was  cut  short 
round  her  neck.  Her  face  and  hands  seemed 
to  have  been  stained  with  some  brown  dye. 
It  had  been  very  well  done  ;  I  never  should  have 
suspected  the  ruse,  had  I  not  seen  her  in  her 
natural  ivory  fairness.  Deprived  of  the  fairness, 
with  her  fine,  falcon-like  cast  of  feature  and  her 
black  Italian  hair  and  eyes,  she  made  the  most 
convincing  half-caste  one  could  imagine.  Her 
slight,  active  figure,  helped  by  the  loose  coat 
she  wore,  had  been  (I  remembered)  perfectly 
boyish  in  appearance  when  we  saw  her  in  the 
launch  ;  and  the  slender  hands  and  feet  were 
not  too  conspicuous  in  a  youth  supposed  to  be 
of  Malayan  blood.  On  the  whole  the  disguise 
was  excellent.  Sitting  there  at  the  cabin  table, 
in  her  loose  dress,  v^th  her  big  eyes  shining  out 
from  under  the  short,  heavy  hair,  she  simply 
looked  a  half-caste  island  girl,  of  unusual 
beauty  and  refinement — to  anyone  untrained 
in  the  true  signs  of  race. 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks         207 

In  the  unsteady,  ill-smelling  little  cabin,  with 
the  wide  seas  of  New  Guinea  swinging  beneath 
our  keel,  I  stood  at  the  other  side  of  the  table 
and  looked  at  her — the  girl  I  loved  who  was  not 
for  me  ;  yet  who — thank  God  ! — was  not  for 
anyone  else  either,  so  it  seemed.  I  could  think 
of  nothing  else  but  that  for  a  moment.  Then 
suddenly  it  occurred  to  me — selfish  brute  ! — 
that  she  must  be  wearied,  perhaps  hungry  and 
thirsty,  that  she  was  certainly  in  some  grave 
trouble,  and  that  I  had  not  yet  done  anything 
but  stare  like  the  idiot  Red  Bob  had  just  called 
me. 

"  Isola  !  "  I  said,  taking  her  hands  in  mine — 
they  were  chilly  for  all  the  warmth  of  the  even- 
ing— "  you  must  be  tired  and  famished — and 

What  has  happened  ?  Gore  told  me — Bo  !  get 
some  tea,  along  galley  plenty-plenty  quick. 
What's  the  matter  ?  Why  didn't  you  get  away 
on  the  AJzelia  ?  Do  you  know  where  we  are 
going  ?     It's  a  terrible  place,  not  fit  for " 

"  You  said,"  she  answered,  looking  at  me  with 
a  light  of  perfect  confidence  in  her  beautiful 
eyes,  "  you  said,  *  If  you  want  me,  I'll  come  to 
you,  alive  or  dead.'  And  I  did  want  you  terribly. 
But  I  heard  that  you  were  dying — and  I  was 
afraid  to  let  you  know,  because  you  would  have 
tried  to  come " 


208         Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

"What  awful  rot!"  I  exclaimed.  "I  had 
only  a  touch  of  fever." 

"  They  said  you  were  very  ill,"  she  replied. 
'*  So  I  had  to  do  what  I  could.  .  .  .  When  I 
found  out  that  Herr  Richter  was  not  Schultz's 
friend,  but  Schultz  himself — if  you  had  ever  seen 
a  man  in  that  awful  cholera  collapse,  you  would 
understand  how  easily " 

"  I  have,"  I  interrupted — for  Gore  had 
chanced  on  an  adventure  or  two  in  Singapore 
that  I  have  said  nothing  about.  "  I  have,  and  I 
can  understand  his  own  mother  wouldn't  know 
him,  if  she  only  saw  him  then." 

"  It  came — it  came — as  a  dreadful  shock," 
she  said.  "  For  you  see,  I  did  not  like  him,  and 
I  knew,  or  guessed,  at  any  rate,  he  had  been  a 
cruel  enemy  to  you.  He  can  be  cruel !  People 
who  knew  him  on  his  plantation  have  told  me 
things.  .  .  .  And  I  realized  that  I  simply 
couldn't,  after  all.  But  I  had  no  money,  or 
hardly  any,  and  no  one  in  Rabaul  was  on  my  side  ; 
he  is  very  popular  there  ;  they  say  '  he  has  such 
fine  qualities.'  Perhaps  he  has ;  it  was  a  fine 
thing  enough  to  do  as  he  did,  when  he  thought 
he  was  dying,  just  in  order  to  repay  my  parents 
— oh,  my  poor  dear  mammie  and  dad  !  .  .  . 
But  it  wasn't  a  fine  thing  to  hold  nie  to  it  whether 
I  hked  it  or  not — when  I  said  I  had  changed 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks         209 

my  mind — told  him  I  did  not  care — said  I  would 
rather  wash  clothes  or  scrub  floors  for  a  living. 
He  just  laughed  and  said  that  no  one  in  that 
country  would  give  me  clothes  to  wash,  and 
nobody  would  give  me  money  to  get  away ; 
and  that  girls  were  always  silly  about  marrying 
older  men,  but  the  older  men  made  the  best 
husbands,  and  for  my  own  sake — Oh,  I'm  too 
tired  to  tell  it  all." 

Her  little  dark  head  was  drooping  back  against 
the  bulkhead  ;   she  looked  worn  out. 

"  You  shan't  speak  another  word,"  I  said. 
"  You  shall  have  some  tea  "  (the  war-whoop 
of  Bo  announced  that  it  was  on  its  way  from  the 
galley),  "  and  you  shall  go  right  off  to  sleep 
in  that  little  cabin — it's  lucky  we  have  one — 
and  to-morrow,  when  you  are  quite  rested,  you 
can  tell  me  anything  you  like." 

Red  Bob  was  still  steering  when  I  came  up,  his 
eyes  set  on  a  distant  island. 

"  Well  ?  "  he  said,  shifting  a  spoke  in  his  lean, 
brown  hands. 

I  told  him  all  that  Isola  had  said. 

"  H'm  I  "  was  his  comment.  "  More  behind, 
of  course.  Richter  must  have  found  out  and 
come  after  her.  You  remember  they  said  there 
was  a  launch  just  in  from  Rabaul.  .  .  .  Clever 
little   hussy    that    she    is ;     never    saw   a    better 

14 


210         Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

disguise  in  my  life,  and  I've  seen  some.     Yes  .  .  . 
some." 

He  stood  with  the  spokes  in  his  hands,  looking 
a  long  way  out  across  the  sea — further,  I  thought, 
than  eye  could  carry  him  ;  back  into  strange 
happenings  and  places  of  which  I  had  never 
known  anything. 

"  Well,"  he  said  presently,  "  it's  an  awkward 
position." 

"  Not  a  bit,"  I  contradicted.  "  There's  that 
small  cabin — ^we  can  shift  our  things  out  of  it 
in  two  minutes,  and  sleep  on  the  lockers." 

"  That  wasn't  what  I  meant.  You  can  surely 
understand  that  the  trip  we've  started  on  isn't 
likely  to  be  a  picnic  for  ladies." 

"  If  you  send  her  back,"  I  said,  "  you  send  me 
too.  I — I  won't  desert  her — if  I  were  to  be 
hanged  for  it." 

"  No  one  wants  you  to  desert  her,  young 
fire-eater,"  answered  Gore.  "  The  only  question 
is,  whether  we  shouldn't  give  up  our  own  trip 
and  run  her  down  to  Brisbane,  or  back  to  Banda, 
or  something  of  that  kind.  There  are  objections 
to  that,  however.  .  .  . 

"  Let  her  have  her  night's  rest,  and  then  we'll 
hold  a  council  of  war." 

So  it  was  settled.  I  found  Isola  asleep  on  the 
locker  cushions  when  I  went  back  to  the  cabin  ; 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks         211 

she  was  evidently  worn  out  with  trouble  and 
fatigue.  I  took  care  not  to  wake  her  in  shifting 
my  things  and  Gore's  out  of  the  small  inner 
cabin.  When  it  was  ready — a  poor  little  place 
it  was,  with  a  narrow  bunk,  and  a  washstand,  and 
just  space  besides,  to  stand  on  the  floor — I  placed 
her  bundle  on  the  rack,  went  back  into  the  cabin, 
and  lifted  her  up  very  gently  indeed  from  the 
locker.  She  was  so  tired  that  she  never  waked 
as  I  carried  her  into  the  cabin  and  placed  her  on 
the  bed.  There  I  left  her  sleeping  the  naive, 
innocent  sleep  of  a  child.  After  all,  she  was  but 
nineteen,  and  young  for  that — too  young,  by 
far,  for  all  the  trouble  that  had  fallen  on  her 
dehcate  head. 

Isola,  even  as  a  runaway  in  desperate  straits, 
was  Isola  of  the  island  still.  There  are  many 
sweet  white  tropic  flowers  at  Friedrich  Wil- 
helmshaven ;  some  of  them  must  have  been 
concealed  about  her  dress,  for  the  perfume  of 
fresh  petals  met  my  senses  as  I  laid  her  on  her 
bed.  And  the  loose  white  robe  that  she  had  flung 
over  her  boyish  disguise  was  fastened  with  a 
ribbon  of  forest  green. 

Next  morning  she  was  up  and  about  as  early  as 
we  were,  and  when  Bo  brought  in  the  breakfast, 
with  his  usual  shout,  she  was  ready  to  pour  out 
the   tea,   and   help   the   tinned   meat,  hot   and 

14* 


212         Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 


glutinous  on  its  iron  plate.  She  looked  very 
bright  and  fresh,  and  as  happy  as  a  child  on  a 
picnic.  We  were  clear  of  reefs  for  the  present, 
so  one  of  the  boys  took  the  wheel  while  Gore 
and  I  came  down  to  breakfast.  Nothing  was 
talked  of  but  the  weather  and  the  ship  while 
we  were  eating,  but  when  the  table  had  been 
cleared,  Red  Bob,  with  the  courtly  manner  that 
he  used  towards  all  women,  handed  Isola  to 
the  most  comfortable  seat,  and  asked  her  per- 
mission to  smoke. 

"  We'll  have  some  talking  to  do,"  he  said, 
"  and  I  can  talk  better  with  a  cigar.  But  if  you 
mind " 

"  Oh  no,  I  smoke  a  little  myself  sometimes," 
she  said.  "  Father  never  used  to  mind  ladies 
smoking  ;   it's  so  common  in  his  country." 

I  oifered  her  a  cigarette  ;  she  took  it,  and 
smoked  away  in  the  daintiest  manner  possible, 
curled  up  on  the  locker  seat,  while  Gore  and  I 
lighted  our  cigars. 

"  Well,"  said  Red  Bob,  puffing  away  with  deep 
satisfaction,  "  we  want  to  know  just  what's 
happened.  When  I  last  heard  of  you,  the 
stewardess  had  you  pretty  close.  What  let  the 
cat  out  of  the  bag  ?  " 

"  Just  an  accident,"  said  Isola  regretfully. 
'^  But  for  that,  I'd  have  been  into  Dutch  terri- 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks         213 

tory  by  this  time.  The  AJzelia  lay  at  the  wharf 
all  day  and  the  heat  in  that  small  cabin  was 
fearful.  I  couldn't  stand  it  when  the  night  came, 
so  I  got  into  some  clothes  belonging  to  a  Malay 
steward,  and  darkened  my  face  and  hands,  and 
went  for  a  walk  ashore." 

"  Where  did  you  go  ?  "  asked  Gore,  narrowing 
his  eyes  as  he  looked  at  her. 

Isola,  for  no  reason  that  I  could  see,  turned 
slowly  pink. 

"  Not  very  far,"  she  said. 

"  As  far  as  the  hotel  ?  " 

"  Not  much  farther." 

"  Oh,"  said  Red  Bob,  watching  the  pinkness 
spread.     "  Well,  go  on." 

"  When  I  was  coming  back,"  she  said,  "  I 
saw  him." 

"  Richter  ?  " 

"  Yes.  I  saw  him  walking  about,  in  the 
shadow,  up  and  down,  looking  at  the  boat  and  the 
wharf.  I  was  so  frightened  that  I  didn't  dare  to 
go  near  her.  You  see,  they  were  taking  on  cargo, 
and  there  were  big  lamps,  acetylene  or  something 
very  bright,  and  no  one  could  come  or  go  without 
being  seen.  He  must  have  found  out  or  guessed 
somehow,  and  followed  in  that  big  launch  that 
came  in  two  days  after  us ;  and  he  was  looking 
for  me.     And  the  look  of  his  face  terrified  me  so 


214         Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

that  I  ran  away  in  among  the  palms,  and  stayed 
there  all  night.  But  in  the  morning,  when  I 
came  back,  the  ship  was  gone.  So  there  I  was, 
left,  and  I  had  hardly  any  money,  and  I  didn't 
dare  let  myself  be  seen — but  I  meant  to  wait, 
and  come  to  you  for  help.  Then  I  heard  people 
talking,  and  oh  ! — they  said  you  had  sailed  that 
afternoon.  And  then  a  file  of  native  police 
came  down  the  road.  Something — I  don't  know 
what — made  me  hide  from  them  in  a  clump  of 
bushes.  They  passed  quite  near,  and  I  heard 
them  saying  to  each  other  in  pigeon-English  that 
they  would  soon  find  the  '  one-fellow  Mary 
belong  Master,'  and  they  would  *  catchem  fast 
for  Master.'  When  I  heard  that,  I  felt  sick. 
I  waited  till  they  were  gone,  and  then  took  all 
the  money  I  had  left,  and  ran  to  the  place  where 
I  knew  that  launch  was,  and  bargained  with  the 
man.  I  had  only  twenty  marks  left,  and  he 
wanted  fifty,  so  I  told  him  my  master  would 
pay  him  the  rest.     And — and  that's  all." 

"  About  enough,"  said  Red  Bob,  taking  his 
cigar  out  of  his  mouth,  and  looking  at  it  as  if  it 
were  somehow  at  fault.  "  You  did  the  right 
thing.     We'll  stand  by  you,  never  fear." 

"  If  you  will  let  me  be  your  cook,"  said  Isola 
timidly.  "  I  can  cook  quite  well-^and  wash  and 
mend  your  clothes.  ...  I  only  want  to  keep  out 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismareks         215 

of  his  way  till  I  find  some  way  of  living.  It's 
having  none  that  makes  me  so  helpless." 

"  Cook  !  "  I  said  indignantly.  "  Cook  and 
wash  !  I  should  like  to  see  you  doing  it — or  my 
letting  you  !  " 

"  Keep  your  hair  on,  young  Corbet,"  said 
Gore.  "  If  Frau  Richter,  as  I  suppose  we  must 
call  her,  wants  to  cook,  and  mend  and  so  on, 
by  all  means  let  her.  People  are  happier 
employed." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Isola,  with  a  glance  that 
made  me  angry  v^th  Gore  for  having  earned  it. 
Of  course  he  was  in  the  right.  I  saw  that  as  soon 
as  I  took  time  to  think.  She  would  be  a  hundred 
times  more  contented,  if  she  were  allowed  to  do 
something — or  fancy  she  was  doing  something — 
for  us. 

"  Well,"  said  Gore,  fixing  his  passionless,  blue 
cat-eyes  on  Isola  and  on  me.  "  It  seems  that  the 
best  thing  we  can  do  is  to  go  on — for  the  present, 
at  any  rate.  No  one  is  looking  for  a  Malay  lad  ; 
they're  looking  for  a  white  girl.  By  and  by 
they'll  give  her  up,  and  then  we  can  come  back 
with  you,  and  get  you  aboard  the  Banda  boat." 

"  Thank  you,  more  than  I  can  say,"  said  the 
girl,  in  a  low  voice.  "  Both  of  you  .  .  .  you 
are  very  good.  I — I  am  going  into  a  convent 
when  I  get  to  any  place  where  I  can.     Pm  not 


216         Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 


a  Catholic — mother  was  Church  of  England — 
but  there  are  Protestant  convents  too." 

"  I  hope  you'll  never  do  anything  so  horrible  !  " 
I  cried  indignantly  ;  but  I  do  not  think  she  heard 
me,  for  she  had  left  the  cabin. 

"  There  are  worse  things,"  said  Gore,  inspecting 
the  ash  on  the  end  of  his  cigar  as  closely  as  if  he 
were  estimating  its  ratio  to  the  volume  of  smoke. 

"  I  can't  imagine  anything  worse  than  mewing 
yourself  up  for  life  like  that." 

"  Have  you  ever,"  said  Gore,  "  heard  of  that 
part  of  the  Pacific  where  they  all  have  the 
D.S.O.  ?  " 

"  Distinguished  Service  Order  ?     No." 

"  That  sort  of  D.S.O.  isn't  the  Distinguished 
Service  Order.  It's  the  Done-Something-or- 
Other.  There  are  groups  of  islands  where  every 
white  man  has  it.  I've  seen  'em.  Places  where 
all  the  whites  are  sort  of  runaways.  Men — and 
women.  They  don't — on  the  whole — seem  to 
find  it  an  enjoyable  life." 

I  wanted  to  speak,  but  my  lips  found  no  words. 
With  his  uncanny  power  of  divination,  he  had 
seen  the  vision  of  the  coral  island  in  the  far  South 
Seas  that  had  flashed  across  my  brain — the 
beautiful  girl,  tied  only  by  a  fiction  of  the  law 
to  another  man,  who  was  to  be  the  angel  of  the 
dream.  .  .  . 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks         217 

Well,  since  we  had  been  running  all  the  previous 
day  through  islands  that  were  like  a  foretaste 
of  Paradise  on  earth — islands  steeped  to  the 
shores  in  romance  and  loneliness — the  guess 
was  not  such  a  very  difficult  one. 

"  Another  thing,"  went  on  the  cold  voice 
beside  me.  "  If  you  are  going  to  carry  off  any 
one's  wdfe — even  your  own — to  the  ends  of  the 
earth,  you  can't  do  it  for  nothing.  Elopements 
are  not  a  cheap  form  of  amusement.  They 
cost  about  one-and-a-half  times  as  much  as 
getting  married,  if  you  do  it  economically.  If 
you  do  the  thing  in  any  sort  of  style,  it's  more 
than  three  times  as  expensive.  And  the  income, 
afterwards,  doesn't  go  near  as  far  as  a  married 
man's  income.  You  need  much  more  to  live 
at  the  same  rate.  Somehow  the  lady  you  elope 
with  never  is  what  they  used  to  call  a  '  notable ' 
woman  about  a  house." 

"  I  never  heard  such  beastly  cold-blooded " 

I  began. 

Gore  looked  at  me  with  half  a  smile. 

"  Facts  are  cold-blooded  things,"  he  said. 
"  What  about  taking  your  trick  at  the 
wheel  ?  " 

I  took  it,  and  while  I  was  steering  the  little 
schooner — an  easy  job  enough  this  morning — 
my  thoughts  had    leisure    to  roam  beyond  the 


218  Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

deck  and  the  wheel-spokes.  Where  were  we 
sailing  ?  What  was  to  be  the  end  ?  I  thought 
and  thought,  till  I  let  the  Cecilie  come  up  so  far 
into  the  wind  that  I  nearly  put  her  into  irons — 
but  I  saw  no  clear  path  ahead. 


CHAPTER  X 

"  npHINGS  wiU  diy  straight  if  you  only 
1  let  'em  alone."  That  was  one  of 
Gore's  pet  proverbs,  and  it  kept  repeating  itself 
to  me,  over  and  over  again,  in  the  next  few  days. 
Things  did  seem  to  be  drying  straight.  Isola 
had  slipped  into  her  own  place  on  board  the  ship 
with  wonderful  quickness  and  adaptability  ;  that 
element  of  gay  boyishness,  which  I  had  somehow 
divined  to  exist  in  her  character,  came  out  in  the 
sunshine  of  safety  and  friendship,  and  she 
became  the  very  life  of  the  ship.  I  was  angry 
at  first  that  Gore  allowed  her  to  work  so  much 
as  she  did — cooking  little  messes  in  the  galley, 
sewing  and  mending,  even  washing  clothes.  I 
would  have  treated  her,  had  I  had  my  way,  like 
the  lady  in  the  nursery-rhyme,  who  was  invited 
by  her  lover  to  : 

Sit  on  a  cushion,  and  sew  a  fine  team, 

And  feed  upon  itrawbcrrics,  sugar  and  cream. 

But  Gore,  wiser  in  knowledge  of  the  world, 
let  her  use  her  hands  as  much  as  she  liked,  thus 

219 


220  Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

keeping  her  from  over-use  of  her  mind.  You 
cannot  brood  on  your  misfortunes  when  you 
are  beating  up  "  puff  taloons,"  that  stand-by  of 
the  eggless  kitchen,  or  putting  patches  on  some- 
body's old  trousers.  And  Isola  loved  to  work  for 
us.  I  think  she  had  an  idea  that  she  was  in  some 
way  repaying  us  for  her  rescue.  As  if  her  pre- 
sence had  not  been  sufficient  repayment  for  all 
the  service  that  a  man  could  give — for  all  a  man's 
life,  and  everything  that  was  his ! 

Red  Bob  allowed  coolly  that  my  lady  of  the 
nutmeg  island  was  quite  useful  to  us,  after  all. 
Our  crew  was  small  for  the  size  of  the  ship,  and 
so  stupid  that  not  one  of  them  could  be  trusted 
to  shorten  a  sail  under  the  orders  of  another,  or  to 
steer  unless  Gore  or  myself  was  on  deck.  We 
had  arranged  to  keep  watch  and  watch  through- 
out ;  but  the  coming  of  Isola  made  it  possible 
for  us  to  get  a  good  spell  of  unbroken  sleep  now 
and  again,  since  she  could  steer  as  well  as  I  could. 
Girls  brought  up  on  small  islands  learn  these 
things  early  ;  when  I  heard  how  much  travel  by 
cutter  and  schooner  had  to  be  done  in  the  Banda 
group,  I  wondered  less  at  Isola  Bella's  handiness 
on  board  ship.  As  for  the  cooking,  I  did  not  care 
what  I  ate,  but  Gore,  who  perhaps  thought  more 
about  the  dish  than  I  did,  as  he  thought  less  about 
the  maker  of  it,  declared  that  since  Isola  took 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks         221 

command  of  the  galley,  the  meals  were  really  fit 
for  human  beings. 

So,  over  warm,  blue,  windy  seas,  through  days 
of  sun  on  the  white,  salt-sparkling  decks,  through 
afternoons  of  flying  scud  and  squall,  when  we  all 
ran  barefoot  about  the  ship,  shouting  to  each 
other,  and  helping  our  useless  boys  to  make  or 
shorten  sail,  nights  of  diamond  starshine,  when 
the  Cecilie  went  through  the  water  softly  as  a 
swimming  seal,  and  Isola  and  Red  Bob  and  I 
lay  shoeless  and  hatless  on  the  planks,  watching 
the  sway  of  the  topmast  up  in  the  velvet  blue, 
and  telling  and  hearing  strange  yarns  of  adventure 
from  one  another,  we  sailed  to  Schouten's  island 
through  the  unknown  seas.  We  met  no  ships 
upon  the  way ;  this  part  of  the  Bismarck  Archi- 
pelago is  almost  as  lonely,  and  very  near  as  badly 
marked  and  charted,  as  it  was  in  the  days  when 
old  Willem  CorneHszoon  Schouten,  of  Hoorn 
in  Holland,  bravely  took  his  castle-bowed  ship 
where  no  man  else  had  been.  The  strange 
detachment  from  all  things  on  the  land  that 
comes  to  those  who  go  down  to  the  sea  in  sailing 
ships  came  upon  us  three.  Our  voyage  was  near 
five  hundred  miles  in  a  straight  line,  and  the 
amount  of  beating  we  had  to  do  made  it  infinitely 
longer,  not  to  speak  of  the  days  when  there  was 
no  wind   at   all,  and  the  Cecilie  lay  slamming 


222         Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

about  in  the  trough  of  great  glassy  Pacific  swells, 
spilling  everything  spillable,  and  casting  loose 
everything  that  was  not  fast  tied  up.  But  we 
felt  no  impatience.  The  spirit  of  the  sailing 
ship  had  touched  us  one  and  all ;  the  things  of 
the  land  were  not ;  time  was  wiped  out,  and  the 
hour  in  which  we  lived  was  all  of  life  we  knew. 

I  am  well  aware  that  there  may  be  people 
ready  to  blame  Red  Bob  and  myself  for  taking 
Isola  on  such  a  trip  ;  and  certainly,  as  Gore 
himself  had  said,  it  was  like  to  be  no  picnic  for 
ladies.  But  those  who  live  in  safe,  settled 
countries  can  scarcely  realize  the  difference  made 
in  many  points  of  view  by  travel  in  places  where 
life  is  cheaply  held,  and  adventure  is  so  common 
that  it  almost  ceases  to  be  adventure  at  all. 
Certainly,  apart  from  questions  of  propriety, 
neither  Gore  nor  myself  would  have  thought  of 
inviting  Isola  to  come  with  us,  and  share  in  the 
risks  we  knew  we  should  have  to  run,  in  hunting 
for  Schouten's  island  and  his  pearls.  But  when 
circumstances  drove  her,  as  they  had,  to  take 
refuge  with  us,  we  accepted  the  circumstances. 
Undoubtedly,  the  best  thing  to  do  was  to  keep 
her  out  of  sight  for  a  while  ;  and  there  could  be 
no  surer  way  of  doing  it  than  by  taking  her  with 
us  to  the  unknown  seas.  Later  on,  when  we  had 
all  had  time  to  look  round  us  and  think  what  was 


5# 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks         223 

best  to  be  done,  the  matter  of  her  future  could  be 
discussed.     Now  was  not  the  time. 

As  for  scandal,  Mrs.  Grundy  has  small  sway  at 
the  ends  of  the  earth,  where  white  women  are 
so  few  that  the  woman  who  objected  to  un- 
chaperoned  travel  would  very  seldom  be  able  to 
travel  at  all.  No  one  was  likely  to  "  say  things  " 
about  Isola's  voyage  in  company  with  a  middle- 
aged  man  like  Gore,  and  myself,  in  a  quarter  of 
the  world  where  solitary  white  women  may  at 
any  time  have  to  take  passage  on  small,  slow- 
sailing  vessels  run  only  by  the  owner  and  his 
native  crew.  I  did  not  suppose  that  Richter 
would  be  pleased  to  hear — if  he  ever  did  hear — 
that  his  missing  bride  had  run  off  in  a  ship  with 
two  men  ;  but  I  knew  the  Pacific  world  by  this 
time  far  too  well  to  suppose  that  he  or  anyone 
else  would  think  ill  of  her  on  that  account. 

There  is  no  use  telling  how  long  our  voyage 
lasted,  or  just  where  it  took  us,  when  it  was  done. 
It  is  enough  to  say  that  one  warm,  windy  after- 
noon we  sighted  a  row  of  palm-tree  tops  pricking 
up  out  of  the  sea  like  pins,  and  knew,  from  the 
distance  and  the  bearings  of  the  place,  that  we 
had  come  upon  Schouten's  island. 

The  palms  grew  higher  and  higher  out  of  the 
water  as  we  sailed  in,  and  soon  we  could  see  a 
dazzling  line  of  sand  below  them,   and  a  reef 


224         Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

covered  with  foam,  and  within  the  reef  a  wide, 
pale-green  lagoon.  It  was  a  staring,  solitary 
place,  that  looked  as  if  no  one  had  ever  been  there 
since  the  beginning  of  time.  You  could  see  right 
across  it  from  side  to  side,  for  the  tall  cocoa- 
palms  were  the  only  things  that  grew  there,  save 
for  a  little  underbrush.  Sand,  and  white  palm- 
trunks,  and  thin,  blue,  dancing  shadows,  and  sun 
and  sun — this  was  Schouten's  island. 

"  Well  chosen,  wasn't  it  ?  "  said  Gore,  with 
the  glass  at  his  eye.  '*  Not  the  sort  of  place 
anyone  would  ever  settle  on,  or  land  on  either, 
if  they  could  help  it." 

"  How  did  you  happen  to  land  yourself  ?  "  I 
asked.  Isola  was  beside  us,  listening  with 
interest ;  I  remember  how  gay  and  boyish  she 
looked  with  her  short,  curling  hair  and  sailor 
blouse,  worn  over  a  brief  skirt  of  some  kind  of 
coarse  cotton  stuff.  She  had  shoes  on  to-day  ; 
we  had  all  put  them  on,  regretfully,  in  antici- 
pation of  having  to  land. 

"  Something  in  Schouten's  log.  Had  a  fancy 
to  stand  where  that  fine  old  boy  stood,  three 
hundred  years  ago,  and  look  out  at  the  sea  as 
he  looked  at  it — wondering,  I  suppose,  what 
might  lie  beyond  the  skyline  where  he  had  never 
been — or  anyone  else.  Ah  !  it  was  a  fine  thing 
to  live  in  those  days." 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks         225 

"They  didn't  think  of  it  as  we  do,"  I  said. 
"  Schouten  was  a  lot  more  interested  in  cutting 
out  the  big  Company's  monopoly  of  the  trade 
routes  than  in  geographical  problems.  Those 
just  came  in." 

"  I  suppose,"  said  Isola,  "  in  another  hundred 
years  they'll  be  envying  us  for  having  any  out- 
of-the-way,  strange,  unknown  places  to  go  to, 
and  saying  that  we  didn't  appreciate  what  we 
had." 

"  Bo  !  Kaipa  !  Lalik  !  Lower  away  one- 
fellow  boat  1  Hurry  up,  now,  or  by-'n-by  I 
been  break  you  blooming  cocoanut,"  ordered  Red 
Bob.     "  Ready  to  go  ashore,  Mrs.  Ravenna  ?  " 

For  by  common  consent  we  had  fallen  into  this 
compromise  of  a  title.  I  could  not  bear  to  hear 
her  addressed  by  Richter's  name,  and  Gore 
steadily  set  his  face  against  allowing  her  to  be 
called  Miss. 

"  Ay,  ay.  Captain,"  answered  Isola,  saluting 
merrily,  "  we're  all  ready  for  the  fun." 

"  You  can't  all  go,"  said  Gore.  "  No  leaving 
the  schooner  alone  with  these  beggars.  They 
are  behaving  well  enough,  but  it's  ingrained  in 
the  nature  of  the  New  Britain  native  to  cut  off 
his  employer  whenever  he  can,  if  you  take  him 
sailoring.  Not  a  month  since  a  crew  of  them  did 
it  close  up  to  Rabaul.  .  .  .  Mrs.  Ravenna,  I'll 

15 


226         Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

take  you  first,  and  then  you  can  wait  at  the  rock, 
and  show  it  to  Corbet  here,  while  I  stay  aboard. 
Corbet  " — he  spoke  a  Httle  apart — "  keep  your 
eyes  skinned.  These  beggars  are  always  nasty 
near  land." 

"  Right,"  I  said.  I  saw  them  pull  off  in  the 
boat  with  a  couple  of  the  boys,  and  resigned  my- 
self to  wait  for  Gore's  return.  The  crew,  how- 
ever, seemed  to  me  to  be  nothing  worse  than  a 
little  lazy  and  stupid,  and  that  they  always  were. 
I  did  not  think  they  would  have  made  any  attempt 
to  run  off,  even  if  they  had  been  left  alone. 

The  island  was  small,  as  I  have  said,  and  so 
flat  that  one  could  easily  see  all  over  it.  I  saw 
Isola  and  Gore  walk  together  to  a  spot  some 
few  hundred  yards  away,  stop,  and  bend  over 
something,  examining  it.  Then  Gore  returned 
alone. 

"  All  right,"  he  hailed,  as  he  came  down  to 
the  beach.  "  You  can  go  as  soon  as  I'm  on 
board." 

I  thought  all  these  precautions  rather  super- 
fluous, considering  the  way  our  rough  black  crew 
had  behaved  up  to  the  present,  but  I  explained 
things,  to  my  own  satisfaction  at  all  events,  by 
reflecting  that  Red  Bob  wasn't  as  young  as  he 
used  to  be,  and  that  middle-aged  men  are  apt 
to  become — well,  not  nervous ;    one  could  not 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks         227 

apply  such  an  adjective  to  Gore — but  what  one 
might  call,  if  one  chose  to  coin  a  word,  somewhat 
"  precautious." 

The  dingy  ferried  me  across  the  lagoon,  and 
left  me  on  the  beach.  I  suppose,  if  Gore  and  I 
had  come  alone,  I  should  have  been  thinking, 
as  I  set  foot  on  that  lonely  shore,  of  the  brave 
old  explorer  who  had  been  there  three  hundred 
years  before  me — who,  like  the  Ancient  Mariner  : 

Was  the  first  who  ever  burst 
Into  that  silent  sea. 

But  as  things  had  turned  out,  Willem  Cornelis- 
zoon  Schouten  was  occupying  my  mind  scarce 
at  all.  Isola  Bella — Isola  Richter — Ravenna,  or 
whatever  her  name  might  be — for  I  was  resolved 
not  to  think  of  her  by  that  of  the  man  who  had 
married  her — left  little  room  in  my  thoughts 
for  anything  else. 

She  was  standing  by  a  sort  of  rockery  of  coral 
— a  pile  of  white  boulders  that  looked  like  huge 
Turkish  sponges  suddenly  turned  to  stone. 
There  were  green  vines  twining  about  the 
boulders,  with  pink  flowers  on  them,  and  of  course 
she  had  got  some  of  the  flowers  by  this  time, 
and  was  trying  to  place  them  in  her  hair. 

"  It's  so  short,"  she  said  piteously.  "  I  wish 
I  hadn't  had  to  cut  it.  It  makes  me  look  so 
hideous." 

I5' 


228         Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

"  It's  rather  more  becoming  than  the  long 
hair  was,  if  you  want  to  know,"  I  said  con- 
soHngly.  "  Long  hair  can't  curl  like  that,  and 
your  curls  are  lovely." 

"  Are  they  ?  "  said  Isola,  pulling  them  out 
about  her  face.     "  I'm  glad  you  think  so." 

"  Oh,  Isola  !  "  I  burst  out,  "  we  never  can 
have  a  talk  on  that  schooner  ;  let's  have  a  minute 
to  talk  now.  Isola — if  you  could  get  rid  of  that 
brute.  .  .  ." 

I  broke  off  for  a  minute.  All  had  indeed  been 
said  between  us — without  words — but  it  was 
nevertheless  hard  to  speak  out  in  plain  prose 
what  both  of  us  understood. 

Isola  paused,  with  the  pink  convolvulus  flowers 
falling  from  her  dark  curls,  and  her  hand  half 
raised  to  adjust  them.  ...  I  have  only  to  close 
my  eyes  and  I  see  the  picture  before  me,  clear 
as  some  exquisite  painting  limned  on  crystal — 
for  no  colours  that  were  ever  put  on  dingy 
canvas  or  paper  could  reproduce  the  hues  of  that 
coral  island  and  its  surroundings.  Isola  with 
her  little  boyish  figure,  cheeks  kissed  to  red  by 
the  salt  sea-winds,  and  black  curls  edged  with 
gold — the  coral  sea,  blue  as  blue  fire,  for  back- 
ground to  her  small,  dark  head,  and  above  it 
the  swaying  leaves  of  cocoa-palms,  flashing  back 
flame  to  the  flaming  sun  from  their  varnished 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks         229 

fronds  of  enamel-green.  .  .  .  One  might  have 
painted  it  on  stained  glass,  with  the  sun  shining 
through  ;  not  on  anything  more  dull  and  earthly. 

*'  I  can't,"  she  said,  in  answer  to  my  words. 
"  I  don't  see  any  way.  Yes,  I  understand,  but 
it  isn't  any  good.  As  for  him,  he'll  live  for  ever, 
just  because — because —  Oh,  I  don't  want  to 
say  wicked  things  !  " 

"  He  won't  live  for  ever,"  was  all  the  consola- 
tion I  could  find. 

"  He  must  be  fifty — people  die  when  they  get 
near  sixty  as  often  as  not,  so  perhaps,  perhaps 

after  all "  ;   and  somehow,  when  I  looked  at 

the  sea  and  sky,  their  glory  seemed  to  have 
faded  ever  so  little.  I  thought  the  evening 
must  be  coming  on. 

Isola  was  silent ;  the  wind  blew  up  strong  from 
the  sea,  and  whistled  in  the  swinging  leaves  of 
the  palms.  I  ripped  a  strand  from  one  of  them — 
I  was  in  the  mood  when  one  feels  like  tearing  and 
destroying — and  twisted  it  in  my  hands  as  I 
sought  to  find  words.  But  I,  too,  was  struck 
with  silence. 

In  that  moment  a  hail  came  across  the  water 
from  Red  Bob,  who,  as  I  have  told  before,  had 
a  voice  that  would  carry  the  better  part  of  a 
mile. 

"  Hurry  up  1  "  it  said.     "  Getting  late." 


230         Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

We  had  both  forgotten  about  Willem  Cor- 
neliszoon  Schouten  and  his  stone ! 

"  Oh !  "  cried  Isola,  suddenly  waking  up, 
"  how  stupid  and  selfish  I  am  !  Look,  this  is 
it ;    it's  really  wonderful." 

She  stooped  down  a  little,  and  showed  me  the 
slanting  under  face  of  one  of  the  boulders. 
Coral  rock  is  easy  to  carve  and  shape.  This  had 
been  tooled  off  smooth  in  a  place  where  neither 
sun  nor  rain  fell  directly  on  it,  and  there,  cut  so 
deep  into  the  white  mass  of  "  brainstone  "  that 
all  three  hundred  years  had  not  effaced  it,  was 
the  curious,  twisted  monogram  of  Schouten, 
also  a  row  of  dots  that — to  my  mind — might  have 
been  anything  at  all — and  an  arrow. 

I  did  wake  to  interest  at  that ;  I  should  have 
been  a  stone  myself  if  I  had  not.  While  I  was 
examining  the  inscription  and  feeling  it  with  my 
finger-tips,  Isola  fell  a-dreaming  over  it,  her 
eyes  full  of  something  sweet,  yet  very  sad. 

"  And  she  never  married  him,"  I  heard  her  say 
to  herself.  "  I  wonder — did  she  marry  anyone 
else  ?     Do  you  know  if  she  did  ?  " 

"  Gore  never  told  me,"  I  said.  Nor  had  he  ; 
nor  do  I  know  to  this  day  whether  the  Helga 
Maria  of  Schouten's  young  dreams  died  a  maiden 
or  a  wife. 

"  Why  can't  people  be  allowed  to  be  happy  ?  " 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks         231 

said  Isola,  leaning  on  to  the  coral  boulder  and 
looking  out  to  the  hyacinth-coloured  sea.  (I 
had  been  right  about  the  time  ;  the  afternoon 
was  indeed  beginning  to  darken  ever  so  little.) 

"  If  we're  going  to  discuss  the  origin  of  evil, 
we'd  better  go  back  to  the  ship  to  do  it  at  leisure," 
I  said  somewhat  hardly  ;  for  I  was  suffering  too 
much  not  to  be  cruel.  And  as  Gore  had  already 
hailed  us  a  second  time,  we  went. 

The  sun  had  not  yet  sunk  when  we  got  clear 
of  the  lagoon.  Red  Bob  set  a  new  course,  gave 
me  the  wheel,  and  went  below  for  a  while.  When 
he  came  back  he  joined  Isola,  who  was  seated 
on  the  cover  of  the  main  hatch,  and  began  to 
talk  to  her.  I  have  spoken  before  of  the  delicate 
courtesy  always  shown  to  women  by  Vincent 
Gore — even  to  such  gadfly  creatures  as  Mabel 
Siddis — but  I  have  said  nothing  as  yet  of  the 
curious  new  side  of  his  character  revealed  to  me 
by  this  voyage  in  the  company  of  Isola  Ravenna. 
Unconsciously,  I  had  been  classing  him  as  hard 
all  through  ;  a  man  with  nothing  warm  about 
him  but  his  temper,  and  nothing  soft  about  him 
at  all.  .  .  .  Since  the  girl  had  joined  our  com- 
pany, however,  I  had  seen  a  new  Vincent  Gore — 
the  father. 

The  story  of  the  crippled  daughter,  told  while 
we  voyaged  down  the  coast  in  the  Jfzelia,  had 


232         Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

interested  me  as  a  dramatic  tale,  and  as  nothing 
more.  I  did  not  visuaHze  it  in  any  way.  But 
now — now  that  I  had  daily  and  hourly  oppor- 
tunity of  seeing  Red  Bob  in  company  with  a 
young  and  friendless  girl,  I  understood  what 
girlhood  and  young  womanhood  meant  to  him, 
and  that  was  something  quite  other  than  what 
they  meant  to  me.  I  loved  Isola  ;  I  would  have 
died  for  her  instantly  and  gladly  in  any  dis- 
agreeable way  that  might  have  presented  itself. 
But  I  loved  her  for  what  she,  as  one  beautiful 
girl  out  of  the  millions  in  the  world,  meant  to 
me,  Paul  Corbet.  Vincent  Gore  hked  her  and 
cared  for  her  for  the  sake  of  all  young  girlhood  ; 
and  this  because  he  was  the  father  of  a  girl.  I 
don't  know  how  I  understood  all  this,  but  I  did 
understand  it,  and  it  helped  me,  moreover,  to 
see  his  quest  of  Schouten's  pearls  in  a  newer  and 
wider  light — as  a  determined  effort  to  lift  one 
girl,  unusually  helpless,  out  of  the  path  of  the 
dragons  of  wretchedness,  want  and  worse,  that 
harry  and  tear  all  moneyless  women.  .  .  .  Were 
not  all  Isola's  troubles,  from  first  to  last,  due  to 
these  same  dragons  of  moneylessness  ?  Had 
not  they  chased  her  into  a  marriage  that  she 
feared  ;  driven  her  to  a  bridegroom  for  whom 
she  had  no  love  ;  blocked  her  pathway  when  she 
had  striven  to  escape  from  him  ?     Did  they  not 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks         233 


stand  across  her  hfe,  even  yet,  barring  her  from 
all  free  choice  and  action  ?  What  was  she  going 
to  do — what  were  we  going  to  do  for  her — when 
this  voyage  of  flight  should  be  over  ? 

From  where  I  stood  at  the  wheel  I  could  see 
her  clearly,  sitting  on  the  hatch  beside  Red  Bob 
and  looking  up  at  him  with  a  bright  confidence 
and  quiet  repose  of  manner  that  she  seemed  to 
keep  for  him  alone.  Did  I  envy  it  to  him  ?  .  .  . 
Well,  on  second  thoughts,  I  did  not.  That 
Isola  was  never  quite  at  ease  with  me  was  perhaps 
no  matter  for  regret.  When  one  is  two  and 
twenty,  one  does  not  envy  the  special  privileges 
of  five-and-forty.     They  come  too  high. 

Red  Bob,  at  that  moment,  was  doing  what  she 
certainly  would  never  have  allowed  me  to  do — 
buckling  a  neat  red  leather  belt  about  her  waist 
and  adjusting  something  on  the  left-hand  side. 
I  remembered  seeing  a  few  of  those  same  belts 
among  our  "  trade  goods,"  but  I  could  not  make 
out  what  the  addition  was,  until  Gore  got  up 
and  walked  away,  with  some  light,  half-jesting 
remark.  Isola  sat  still,  looking  at  her  new  adorn- 
ment. My  eyes  followed  hers,  and  saw,  with 
something  of  a  shock,  that  it  was  a  revolver 
holster,  made  like  ours,  and  doubtless  filled  like 
ours.  But  I  reminded  myself  that  that  was  a 
precaution  which  should  have  been  taken  long 


234         Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

ago^more  as  a  formality  than  anything  else ; 
most  people  in  the  Bismarcks  wear  revolvers, 
away  from  the  settlements — and  dismissed  it 
from  my  mind. 

Dark  came  down  before  long,  and  we  anchored 
for  the  night,  as  was  the  custom  of  Schouten  and 
of  Cook,  and  as  was  also  ours.  In  these  far, 
little-known,  ill-charted  seas,  men  travel  even 
now  as  they  did  three  hundred  years  ago,  and 
take  no  risks  in  the  darkness. 

Gore  told  me  that  we  were  very  near  the  pearl 
island  indicated  by  the  arrow  on  Schouten's 
rock,  and  that  we  had  better  get  the  diving-gear 
in  order.  When  he  had  been  to  the  island 
before,  he  said,  he  had  at  the  time  been  vaguely 
struck  by  its  resemblance  to  some  of  the  cele- 
brated pearl-bearing  atolls  of  the  Eastern  Pacific. 
He  knew  that  no  one  in  German  New  Guinea 
or  the  Bismarcks  was  even  aware  of  its  exist- 
ence— small  wonder,  for  it  was  in  the  loneliest 
and  least  travelled  region  of  all  these  seas,  off 
every  possible  steamer  or  sailing-vessel  route. 
That  it  was  the  island  mentioned  in  certain  of 
Schouten's  diaries  as  "  Rica  de  Perlas  "  (named, 
doubtless,  from  some  old  Spanish  tradition,  as 
the  elusive  Rica  de  Plata  and  Rica  de  Oro  Islands 
were)  he  did  not  doubt.  The  arrow,  cut  with 
infinite  care  to  a  certain  point  of  the  compass? 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks         235 

showed  its  direction  clearly,  and  there  was  no 
other  land  between. 

"  Why  do  you  think  he  made  a  memorandum 
in  such  a  curious  way  ?  "  asked  Isola,  as  we  were 
busy  overhauling  the  diving  gear  on  deck,  after 
tea. 

"  Because,"  said  Gore,  heaving  up  a  great 
Muntz  metal  helmet,  to  look  at  the  valve,  "  he 
was  afraid  that  something  might  happen  which, 
as  a  matter  of  fact,  did  happen." 

"  What  ?  " 

"  Loss  of  his  ship  there.  He  lost  them  both — 
one  burned  on  the  way  to  Batavia,  and  one 
confiscated  with  everything  on  board.  You  see, 
Schouten  was  an  old  sailor  ;  he'd  probably  been 
shipwrecked  in  his  time,  and  knew  how  difficult 
it  was  for  a  sailor,  especially  in  those  days  of  end- 
less voyages,  to  keep  any  of  his  goods  together. 
He  insured  himself  against  loss  or  forgetting  by 
his  plan.  And  yet  he  never  came  back  to  get 
the  rest  of  the  pearls." 

"  Perhaps  he  took  them  all,"  I  suggested. 

"  No,"  said  Isola  instantly,  "  there  would  have 
been  no  reason  for  leaving  guide-marks  behind 
him,  if  he  had." 

"  Right,"  said  Red  Bob,  setting  down  the 
helmet  and  turning  his  attention  to  an  enormous 
pair  of  boots,  soled  with  sheet-lead.     "  Lucky 


236  Red  Bob  of  the  Bismareks 

these  weren't  made  for  the  Jap  trade,  Corbet, 
they'd  never  have  fitted  you.  I  suppose  you're 
jumping  for  the  first  turn  ;  just  as  well ;  you'll 
need  proper  *  tending.'  " 

"  I  can  tend,"  observed  Isola  modestly. 

"  You  can  ?  But  of  course,  Banda's  one  of 
the  best  pearling-grounds  in  Malaysia,"  com- 
mented Gore.     "  How  did  you  learn  ?  " 

"  Father  had  a  lugger  for  two  years,  when  I 
was  only  fourteen  to  sixteen  ;  he  had  it  more 
for  fun  than  for  anything  else,"  she  confessed, 
"  but  he  used  to  go  down  lots  of  times,  and  I 
always  tended  for  him,  after  the  first.  Either  of 
you  will  be  quite  safe  if  you  leave  me  on  top, 
Mr.  Gore." 

"  That's  good  ;  it  will  almost  double  the  work 
we  can  do,  because  a  diver  must  have  rest,"  said 
Gore.  "  Talking  of  rest,  suppose  you  all  turn  in  ; 
it's  turn  out  at  sunrise  to-morrow." 

It  was.  We  were  all  up  and  about  before  the 
side-lights  of  the  schooner  were  out  next  morn- 
ing. The  east  was  just  turning  to  raspberry  pink 
as  we  sat  down  to  breakfast  in  the  small  saloon, 
and  the  dawn-wind  was  blowing  the  blue  curtains 
of  the  ports  straight  in.  We  had  the  Cecilie 
under  way  as  soon  as  it  was  clear  enough  to  see 
the  coral  reefs.  The  wind  was  in  our  favour, 
and  the  journey  was  a  short  one.     Before    ten 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks         237 

o'clock  we  were  in  sight  of  the  nameless  atoll 
island  that  Gore  had  pencilled  upon  our  chart ; 
and  the  secret  of  Schouten's  pearls  lay  almost 
in  our  grasp. 

I  suppose,  when  I  come  to  think  it  out,  that 
very  few  people  among  the  millions  of  the  world 
have  ever  seen  an  atoll,  or  know  what  it  is  like; 
but  it  really  seems  strange  to  me — since  those 
days — that  anyone  should  need  a  description. 
So  much  have  atolls  and  reefs  and  islands,  barriers, 
horse-heads  and  vigias,  entered  into  my  everyday 
life  since  then,  that  I  can  scarce  conceive  of  any- 
one who  does  not  know  all  about  them. 

Still.  ...  An  atoll  is  a  circular,  or  partly 
circular,  coral  reef,  enclosing  an  inner  space  of 
shallow  water.  It  may  take  the  form  of  a  mere 
ring  of  foam  in  the  sea  ;  it  may  again  be  a  per- 
ceptible belt  of  white  rocks ;  or  it  may — hke 
Schouten's  atoll — be  an  actual  coral  island  shaped 
like  a  ring  :  a  garland  of  beautiful  foliage  edged 
with  whitest  sand,  encircling  a  clear  green  lake, 
all  set  in  the  blue  of  the  deep  surrounding  sea, 
like  a  device  in  emeralds  and  ivory  set  in  a  turquoise 
shield. 

I  could  not  help  exclaiming  when  I  saw  it ;  it 
seemed  to  me  the  eighth  wonder  of  the  world 
.  .  .  but  Red  Bob  and  Isola  both  took  it  very 
coolly  ;  nothing  in  the  shape  of  coral  was  a  novelty 


238  Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

to  either.  The  black  crew,  however,  seemed 
pleased  at  the  sight ;  one  of  them  pointed  to  the 
cocoanuts  swinging  aloft  among  the  palms,  and 
explained  in  pigeon-English  that  this  was  a  good 
place,  and  that  they  wanted  to  stay  there  a  long 
time,  and  eat  cocoanuts  and  fish. 

"  They're  right  about  it's  being  a  good  place. 
I  never  saw  a  likelier  spot,"  said  Gore. 

"  Nor  I,"  agreed  Isola  practically.  "  Two  to 
twenty  fathoms,  I  should  think — sheltered  water, 
small  passage  through  the  reef,  low  island.  .  .  , 
Yes,  it  does  look  well." 

We  had  the  dingy  out  in  no  time,  and  brought 
all  the  boys  ashore  with  us,  since  there  was  safe 
anchorage  for  the  schooner,  and  we  needed  their 
help  with  the  gear.  First  of  all.  Gore  produced 
his  water-glass — a  kerosene-tin  v^dth  the  ends 
cut  out,  and  a  piece  of  window-glass  substituted 
— and  we  rowed  into  the  middle  of  the  lagoon  in 
the  dingy,  to  make  an  inspection.  Both  Isola 
and  myself,  by  this  time,  were  a  good  deal  excited  ; 
I  think  we  shouted  to  each  other  and  to  Gore, 
and  moved  about  in  the  boat  more  than  was 
absolutely  necessary,  hanging  suicidally  over  the 
gunwale,  and  trying  to  see  where  the  shell  was, 
if  any.  Gore,  meantime,  with  a  countenance  of 
stone,  was  looking  through  the  glass,  lowering  it 
every  now  and  then  into  the  water,  and  inspect- 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks         239 


ing  the  bottom  through  the  bit  of  window-pane 
which  gave  him  a  clear  view,  unobstructed  by 
ripples.  The  light  in  the  lagoon  was  blinding  ; 
the  sand  blazed  like  white-hot  metal  in  a  furnace, 
the  leaves  of  the  palm-trees  glittered  as  they 
sv^oing,  far  up  in  the  hard  hot  blue  ;  in  the  shallow 
water  where  we  were  cruising  about,  the  dancing 
diamond-nets  of  sun  and  ripple  were  really  too 
bright  to  look  at,  and  the  water  itself  was  warmer 
than  the  air. 

.  .  .  Gore  drew  himself  up  from  the  gunwale, 
and  handed  the  glass  to  Isola.  His  face  had 
turned  a  little  pale — or  perhaps  it  was  only  the 
green  reflection  from  the  sea. 

"  Look  !  "  he  said.  Isola  seized  the  glass — 
she  was  trembling  with  excitement  by  this  time 
— and  buried  her  face  in  it.  She  came  up  again 
in  a  moment,  all  pink. 

"Paul,  Paul,  look!"  she  cried.  "Oh,  look 
at  the  sheU  !  " 

Even  at  that  moment  I  was  not  too  much 
excited  to  notice  that  she  had  called  me  by  my 
Christian  name. 

I  took  my  turn,  and  there,  on  the  sandy  bottom 
of  the  lagoon  were  the  beds  of  pearl-shell — masses 
of  them,  acres  of  them,  it  seemed.  They  glowed 
in  entrancing  colours  through  the  water — lilac 
gnd  purple  and  emerald-green — but  I  knew  well 


240         Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

enough  that  they  would  be  plain  grey  when  lifted 
out  of  that  deceiving  medium.  There  they  were, 
set  tight  as  dinner-plates,  piled  over  and  over  on 
each  other,  to  I  do  not  know  what  thickness — 
an  accumulation  such  as  few  pearl-seekers  indeed 
have  seen,  in  these  days  of  universal  exploration. 

We  drifted  slowly  into  shallower  water,  and 
now  no  glass  was  needed.  Undoubtedly,  "  Rica 
de  Perlas  "  if  this  were  indeed  the  place,  deserved 
its  name. 

"  It's  a  fortune,"  said  Gore.  "  Half  a  dozen 
fortunes.  .  .  .  Corbet,  have  you  a  cigar  about 
you  ?  " 

"  Only  some  cigarettes,"  I  said,  handing  them 
over.  We  all  lit  up,  and  smoked,  drifting  to  and 
fro  about  the  still  waters  of  the  pearl  lagoon 
which  were  only  moved  by  the  slight  current 
setting  out  through  the  opening  in  the  reef. 

"  There  will  be  pearls,"  stated  Gore,  and  I 
thought,  for  a  moment,  I  saw  the  famous  red  light 
gleam  in  his  eye. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  agreed  Isola,  with  the  prettiest 
air  of  professional  knowledge.  "  Just  the  place 
for  big  ones.  Some  of  those  shells  look  as  if  they 
had  been  there  for  hundreds  of  years.  Did  you 
see  them,  all  crusty  and  worm-eaten  and  grown 
over  ?  " 

"  I  did,"  said  Gore,  drawing  at  my  cigarette 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks         241 


rather  as  if  he  felt  it  insufficient.  Suddenly  he 
turned  to  me. 

"  Paul  Corbet,"  he  said,  "  that  mill-owning 
father  of  yours  was  right  when  he  said  you  had 
no  head  for  business.  You  haven't  enough  for 
a  third-grade  clerk  in  a  fourth-rate  bucket- 
shop." 

"  Why  not  ?  "  I  asked.    Isola  looked  rather  hurt. 

"  Because,"  said  Red  Bob,  taking  the  oars,  and 
beginning  to  pull  back  to  shore  with  long,  power- 
ful strokes,  "  you've  never  yet  had  the  sense  to 
ask  me  where  you  come  in." 

"  I  didn't  know  that  I  came  in  at  all,"  was  my 
answer  ;  but  all  the  same,  I  felt  my  heart  begin- 
ning to  throb  in  quick,  sharp  beats.  ...  I  could 
see  in  a  moment  all  that  "  coming  in  "  might 
mean  to  me — and  to  someone  else — if  only  the 
lions  in  the  path  could  be  scared  away. 

"  You  thought,"  stated  Gore,  "  that  I  was 
going  to  trust  you  absolutely,  let  you  take  your 
share  of  risk  and  work,  and  give  you  just  your 
salary  for  it  ?  " 

"  I  did,"  was  my  answer. 

"  I'm  sorry,  then,  that  you  should  have  had 
such  a  dashed  poor  opinion  of  me,"  was  his  reply. 
Characteristically,  he  dropped  the  subject  there, 
and  we  rowed  back  to  land,  carried  the  dingy 
across  the  strip  of  beach,  and  rejoined  the  waiting 

i6 


242         Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

boys  on  the  far  side,  without  any  further  refer- 
ence to  the  matter.  But  all  the  same,  I  knew  Red 
Bob,  and  I  knew  that  my  days  of  dependence  on 
another  were  all  but  done. 

We  sailed  the  schooner  into  the  lagoon,  and 
Gore  got  the  diving  gear  and  the  pumping 
machinery  out.  Shallow  though  the  place  was, 
we  needed  the  dress  to  work  it ;  and  this  set  me 
wondering  how  pearls  and  pearl-shells  had  been 
obtained  in  the  days  before  the  diver's  dress. 
Gore  was  of  the  opinion  that  Schouten  had 
Eastern  Pacific  sailors  with  him  when  he  visited 
the  place.  They  were  good  for  anything  up  to 
fifteen  fathom,  sometimes  more,  he  said  ;  but 
you  had  to  pick  New  Britain  boys  very  carefully 
before  you  found  any  that  were  of  real  use. 

Our  two  native  divers,  therefore,  were  not 
wanted  ;  and  they  were  sent  back  to  the  beach 
while  we  got  to  work  with  the  gear.  The  crew 
and  Bo  seemed  to  enjoy  their  idle  afternoon  ; 
they  sat  beneath  the  palm-trees,  fishing,  singing, 
talking,  and  drinking  green  cocoanuts  till  dark. 
If  we  had  had  an  idea  what  their  talk  was 
about.  .  .  . 

But  I  think  we  were  all  a  little  mad  on  pearls 
that  day,  and  nothing  else  found  room  in  our 
minds.  I  begged  to  be  allowed  to  go  down  first, 
and  Isola  promised  to  tend  me  herself. 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismareks         243 


"  She  may,  while  I  watch  her,''  said  Gore 
bluntly.  "  I'll  not  risk  anyone's  life  on  hear- 
say." 

I  got  myself  into  the  diver's  heavy  woollens — 
always  necessary  for  under-water  work  in  the 
hottest  climates — and  Isola  and  Gore  between 
them  pushed  and  pulled  and  shoved  me  into  the 
dress,  which  is  not  so  easy  to  get  into  as  it  seems. 
Then  Gore,  taking  a  wrench  for  buttonhook, 
buttoned  me  up  with  engine-nuts.  After  that 
he  put  the  huge  metal  helmet  and  corselet  on, 
and  screwed  these  also  into  place.  I  began  to 
wonder  if,  and  how,  I  should  ever  get  out  of  the 
dress  again.  Followed  a  pair  of  boots  with 
twenty  pounds  of  lead  on  the  soles ;  followed  a 
double  locket  round  my  neck,  of  eighty. 

They  had  tied  a  rope  round  my  waist  some 
time  ago.  ("  Always  put  on  the  rope  as  soon 
as  your  diver  is  into  the  dress,"  warned  Gore, 
and  Isola  said  with  dignity,  "  I  know  that !  ") 
Now  they  slung  the  ladder  over  the  side,  and  Gore 
asked  me  :    "  Can  you  walk  ?  " 

I  could,  just — but  I  felt  like  a  fly  that  has 
fallen  into  a  treacle-pot,  and  can  scarcely  drag 
its  weighted  limbs  and  wings  along. 

Gore  told  me  what  to  do  with  the  signal  cord, 
and  how  to  manage  the  valve  ;  also  how  to  land 
on  my  feet,  instead  of  on  my  head — a  thing  most 

i6* 


244         Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

beginners  do.  Then  he  helped  me  over  the  bul- 
wark, and  told  Isola,  "  Screw  him  down  !  " 

It  sounded  like  directions  to  an  undertaker, 
and — I  must  say — the  screwing  down,  even 
though  Isola  did  it,  felt  as  one  would  imagine 
the  same  process  would  feel  to  a  corpse,  if  the 
latter  retained  any  power  of  sensation.  Red 
Bob  was  taking  no  chances ;  he  watched  the 
girl  narrowly  as  she  screwed  on  the  glass  of  my 
helmet,  shutting  out  the  fresh  sea-air,  and  closing 
away  all  sound.  I  could  see  her  and  Gore  now, 
but  I  could  not  hear  them  ;  their  good-byes 
were  given  in  pantomime.  .  .  ."  In  with  the 
coffin  !  "  I  said  to  myself,  and  signalled  to  let 

go- 

With  all  that  weight  of  lead,  I  landed  on  the 

bottom  like  a  bird  coming  home  to  a  bough. 
The  makers  of  diving  dresses  know  what  they  are 
about. 

It  was  dim  and  green  down  there,  but  there 
was  plenty  of  light  enough  to  see  the  shell — to 
see  the  schooner  too,  a  dark  hull  hanging  above 
my  head,  with  her  cable  stretching  down  from 
the  bows.  It  was  not  at  all  agreeable — this 
diving.  I  felt  swelled  and  asthmatic  ;  I  could 
not  manage  the  valve  easily,  and  my  ears  were 
painful.  However,  these  were  trifles.  I  lifted 
all  the  shell  I  could,  put  it  in  the  sack  I  had 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismareks         245 


brought,  and  signalled  "  Pull  up !  "  It  was 
pulled  up,  emptied  and  lowered,  and  I  filled  it 
again.  I  worked  for  twenty  minutes  or  so,  and 
then  found  I  was  being  hauled  to  the  surface 

"  Long  enough  for  the  first  time,"  said  Gore, 
and  I  found  it  was.  I  was  glad  to  take  off  the 
heavy  gear  and  let  him  have  his  turn. 

"  Now  you  see  the  advantage  of  letting  you 
go  down  first,"  said  Gore.  "  I've  made  sure  that 
I  can  trust  Mrs.  Ravenna  with  the  tending,  so 
we  can  work  in  turn." 

He  went  down  next,  and  Isola,  at  the  pump, 
kept  sharp  look-out  for  signals,  supplying  the 
air  with  the  style  of  a  practised  hand.  I  spoke 
to  her  once,  but  she  answered  gravely,  "  You 
must  not  talk  to  a  tender,"  and  I  was  mute. 

We  worked  for  a  good  part  of  the  day,  with  a 
brief  halt  for  lunch,  and  by  the  time  the  sun  began 
to  climb  down  the  sky,  we  had  collected  a  splendid 
heap  of  shell. 

"  Time  to  stop  now,"  said  Gore.  "  We've 
both  done  all  that  amateurs  could — or  should — 
do  in  a  day." 

He  might  have  said  that  he  had,  for  he  had 
been  down  three  times  to  my  one,  using  his  great 
strength  to  the  utmost  in  gathering  and  sending 
up  the  shell,  at  a  rate  that  I  could  not  hope  to 
rival.     Strong  as  he  was,  I  think  he  was  weary. 


246         Red  Bob  of  the  Bismareks 

But  for  all  that  he  did  not  rest.  Nothing  would 
do  him  but  we  must  open  our  shell  at  once  ;  and 
I  was  not  inclined  to  balk  him. 

Pearl  oysters  are  not  like  the  oyster  of 
commerce  ;  they  open  almost  at  a  touch,  and 
when  you  have  slit  the  muscle  the  two  halves 
fall  apart.  With  tin  tubs  and  knives,  we  laboured 
furiously  till  dusk,  and  our  labour  went  not  un- 
rewarded. I  cannot  describe  the  excitement  of 
feeling  for  pearls  in  the  slimy  mantle  of  the  fish 
— of  eagerly  examining  the  shell  for  adherent 
buttons  or  baroques — of  closing  the  finger-tips 
round  something  that  felt  like  a  gem,  pulling  it 
out  into  the  light,  and  finding — perhaps  a  dull 
blob  of  chalky  stuff,  perhaps  a  bit  of  coral  that 
had  got  into  the  shell,  perhaps  a  fair,  round, 
shining  pearl,  fit  for  the  hand  of  a  queen.  It 
was  the  bravest  sort  of  hunting  ! 

Towards  dusk,  we  put  the  unexamined  shell 
away  in  a  heap  by  itself,  threw  the  debris  over- 
board, and  counted  our  gains.  There  were  seven 
large  pearls  of  splendid  lustre,  each  as  big  as  a 
marrowrfat  pea  ;  there  were  thirty  of  medium 
size,  but  good  ;  forty  or  fifty  small  ones,  well 
worth  setting,  and  about  a  cupful  of  seed  pearl. 

I  was  just  a  shade  disappointed  with  the  after- 
noon's work,  for  I  had  expected  to  find  a  pearl  in 
every  shell,  and  a  big  one  in  every  six  or  seven  ; 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks         247 

but  Red  Bob  said  it  was  incredible  luck,  and  that 
the  place  must  be  exceptionally  rich. 

"  Never  touched,  either,"  he  said,  "  that  is, 
not  since  Willem  Corneliszoon  got  the  pearls 
for  Helga  Maria,  who  didn't  marry  him,  here." 

He  put  away  the  pearls  in  a  Httle  case  of  soft 
leather,  underneath  his  shirt,  and  went  to  the 
bulwarks  to  shout  at  the  crew. 

"  Time  they  came  over,"  he  said.  "  We  may 
as  well  get  these  decks  washed  up  and 
have  tea." 

The  crew  had  the  dingy  with  them,  and  I  saw 
them  shove  her  down  the  sand,  and  get  into  her. 
They  rowed  her  carelessly,  splashing  about  and 
shouting.  It  struck  me  that  they  were  what 
one  would  call  "  a  bit  above  their  boots,"  and  I 
wondered  for  a  moment  if  it  was  possible  they  had 
smuggled  any  drink  away  with  them.  But, 
remembering  that  the  New  Britain  native  is 
seldom  civilized  enough  to  care  for  spirits,  I 
ascribed  their  gaiety  to  the  effects  of  an  after- 
noon's liberty  on  shore. 

I  was  just  going  below  after  Isola,  when  I  was 
startled  by  a  burst  of  swearing  from  Red  Bob. 
I  jumped  back  on  deck,  and  saw  the  dingy 
reared  up  on  a  coral  "  horse-head,"  and  the  crew, 
with  loud  cries,  swimming  to  the  ship. 

"  They've   stove   her    bottom    in    with    their 


248         Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 


dashed  fooHng !  "  shouted  Gore,  rapping  out 
"  language  "  as  a  Maxim  raps  out  bullets. 

They  had ;  and  we  were  now  reduced  to  the 
yawl,  a  heavy,  unhandy  boat  not  well  suited  for 
light  ferrying  about  the  lagoon. 

"  Keep  that  girl  below  while  I  talk  to  them," 
ordered  Red  Bob,  once  more  showing  the  danger- 
signal  in  his  eye.  "  There's  more  in  this 
than " 

I  heard  no  more,  for  I  was  anxious  to  spare 
Isola  the  scene  that  I  knew  would  follow.  In  a 
moment  I  was  down  the  companion,  and  rapping 
at  the  door  of  her  tiny  cabin.  She  came  out  at 
once. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Mr.  Gore  is  talking  to  the  boys ;  don't  be 
alarmed,"  I  said. 

"  I   did  not  hear "  she  began,  and  then 

broke  off,  for  such  a  tornado  of  sound  arose  on 
deck  as  drowned  both  our  voices.  Gore's  great 
voice,  bellowing  the  language  of  the  sea — wild, 
cannibal  yells  from  five  terrified  savages — stamp- 
ing, scurrying  and  thumping  all  round  and  round 
the  decks — the  sound  of  heavy  blows  from  a 
rope,  coupled  with  requests  to  "  take  that !  "  and 
assurances  that  the  operator  meant  to  "  teach  " 
several  persons  unnamed  to  lose  good  boats — an 
offer   that,    under  the  circumstances,  seemed  at 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks         249 

least  superfluous — all  this,  breaking  at  once  like 
a  thunderstorm  over  our  heads,  was  enough  to 
bewilder  and  terrify  any  girl,  even  one  brought 
up  in  the  wild,  equatorial  lands.  .  .  . 

"  Come  into  the  cabin,"  I  shouted  in  her  ear, 
trying  to  engage  her  attention — for  Red  Bob 
was  talking  very  freely.  "  They've  lost  the 
dingy,  and  Mr.  Gore  is  a  good  deal  annoyed 
about  it.  Come  and  tell  me  what  you  think 
about  the  pearls  we've  got."  I  drew  her  into 
the  cabin,  and  closed  the  door,  to  shut  out  the 
noise  from  above.  The  storm,  however,  proved 
a  brief  one.  In  a  very  few  minutes,  Gore  came 
down,  rather  out  of  breath,  and  looking 
satisfied. 

"  I've  put  the  fear  of  God  into  them,"  he 
remarked.  "  They  needed  it."  He  took  the 
"  Travels  of  Sir  John  Mandeville  "  from  the  box 
that  represented  our  library,  and  coiled  his  long 
legs  up  on  the  locker  tops,  to  read. 

Next  morning,  to  my  astonishment,  he  did  not 
get  out  the  diving  gear  again.  Instead,  he  went 
off  in  the  yawl — the  only  boat  we  had  besides 
the  dingy — to  see  what  damage  had  been 
done  to  the  latter.  He  came  back  whistling 
"  La  Donna  e  mobile "  and  looking  notably 
cheerful.  This  made  me  feel  a  trifle  uneasy, 
since  I  judged  it  to  be  an  effect  got  up  for  the 


250         Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

benefit  of  Isola,  and  I  took  the  first  opportunity 
that  presented  itself  of  finding  him  alone.  He 
was  still  whistling  "  La  Donna  e  mobile  " — 
very  well,  with  variations. 

"  What's  wrong  ?  "  I  asked,  without  preface. 

Gore,  sitting  astride  the  old-fashioned  wooden 
bulwark,  made  no  answer  for  a  moment.  He 
went  on  whistling.  Something  seemed  to  have 
put  him  in  spirits.  And  yet  it  was  not  exactly 
spirits  either. 

I  saw  that  he  had  taken  his  revolver  out  of  its 
holster,  was  unloading  it,  and  replacing  the 
cartridges  with  fresh  ones. 

"  Oh,"  I  said.     "  So  that's  it." 

"  That's  it,"  said  Gore,  continuing  to  whistle. 
He  threw  the  chambers  of  the  revolver  open 
and  shut  two  or  three  times,  with  a  loose 
movement  of  the  wrist,  and  dropped  a  little 
oil  on  the  lock. 

"  How  did  you  find  out  ?  "  I  asked.  It  is  a 
curious  fact  that  nothing  whatever  had  been  said, 
and  yet  I  knew  mutiny  was  in  the  air  as  well  as 
I  knew  that  the  water  of  the  sea  was  beneath  the 
deck  on  which  I  stood. 

"  Dingy  looked  like  it,"  he  said,  dropping 
the  cartridges  one  by  one  into  their  chambers, 
and  snapping  the  breech  shut.  "  It  was  a  bit 
too  careless.     She's  useless,  keel  ripped  off  her 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks         251 

on  the  coral.  And  then,  when  I  took  the  boat 
over  this  morning — you  might  have  observed 
that  I  took  all  the  crew  v^ith  me — I  saw  she  had 
been  tampered  with.  Not  much ;  fellow  who 
did  it  must  have  been  interrupted  before  he  had 
time  to  do  any  harm,  and  he  wasn't  clever  on  his 
job,  anyway.     But  there's  been  an  attempt." 

He  had  put  the  revolver  into  its  holster  now, 
and  was  swinging  one  leg  out  over  the  water, 
looking  at  the  toe  of  his  worn  canvas  shoe  as  he 
did  so. 

"  Why  !  "  I  exclaimed,  remembering  the  after- 
noon when  he  had  fastened  the  revolver  belt 
round  Isola's  waist,  "  you  must  have  been 
expecting  something  of  the  kind  all  along  ?  " 

«  Who— me  ?  Not  exactly,"  said  Gore.  "  Or 
rather — perhaps.  I  think  I  did  it  on  general 
principles.     No  trusting  these  beggars." 

"  They  seemed  all  right  up  to  this,"  I  said. 

"  That's  when  you  want  to  watch  'em,"  said 
Gore.  "  I've  been  thinking  they  were  a  bit  too 
biddable.  Take  my  word  for  it,  a  New  Britainer's 
best  when  he's  his  natural  self,  and  that's  a 
cheeky  bounder." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence  ;  the  outgoing 
tide  rippled  gurghngly  against  the  schooner's 
keel. 

I  stuck  my  hands  deep  down  into  my  pockets. 


252         Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

"  I  wish  to  God  she  wasn't  here,"  I  said, 
staring  at  the  deck. 

"  Wishing  to  God  or  the  devil  either  won't 
make  any  difference  now.  We  did  what  we 
thought  was  the  best  thing.  Also,  the  case  isn't 
particularly  black.  They  have  no  firearms ; 
we've  warning  that  they  mean  to  seize  the 
schooner  and  scrag  us,  and  it's  up  to  us  not  to 
let  them." 

"  What  about  the  pearls  ?  " 

"  There,"  said  Gore,  inspecting  the  worn  toes 
of  his  shoe  again  and  lifting  it  up  to  feel  whether 
his  sock  was  really  coming  through,  "  there  you 
have  the  difficulty.  The  longer  we  stay  in  this 
place,  where  either  you  or  I  must  always  be 
awake  and  on  watch,  the  more  risk  we  run  of  a 
surprise.     And  the  more  risk  she  runs." 

"  It's  not  to  be  thought  of,"  I  said,  with  my 
blood  running  cold  for  all  the  heat  of  the  morning. 

"  I  judge  not.  Yet  it  does  go  against  the  grain 
to  turn  and  run  for  Friedrich-et  cetera,  just 
because  these  black  brutes  have  taken  a  turn  that 
I  could  belt  out  of  them.     If  only " 

"  The  risk's  too  great,  for  her." 

"  It  is.  .  .  .  Well,  the  lagoon  won't  run  away. 
And  to  carry  on  with  a  job  that  keeps  either  you 
or  me  out  of  the  fighting  line  half  the  time, 
with  the  one  who's  in  the  fighting  line  bound  to 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks         253 

look  after  the  one  who  isn't,  or  drown  him — 
that  can't  be  done.     Not — as  things  are." 

Neither  of  us  expressed  regret  at  having  Isola 
with  us — we  should  have  been  brutes  if  we  had  ; 
but  I  think  in  the  mind  of  Red  Bob  and  myself 
alike  there  was  a  bitter,  unspoken  longing  to  see 
the  thiilg  out,  "  belt  "  the  plotting  crew  into 
another  frame  of  mind,  and  work  the  lagoon,  if 
necessary,  pistol  in  hand.  .  .  .  Well,  that  could 
not  be.  What  we  had  to  do  was  to  get  back 
to  civilization,  and  return — when  circumstances 
allowed — with  a  better  crew. 

Armed  as  we  were,  we  knew  that  we  could  keep 
the  brutes  in  hand  through  the  ordinary  work 
of  a  voyage — it  was  the  pearling  that  had  become 
impossible. 

*'  How  are  we  going  to  explain  things  to 
Isola  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  When  in  doubt,  tell  the  truth,"  quoted 
Red  Bob.      "  She's  no  ninnyhammer  of  a  girl." 

"  Curse  the  black  beasts,"  I  said,  looking  at 
the  group  of  sulky,  bison-like  savages  squatted 
on  the  small  forecastle-head,  smoking  in  turn  from 
a  bamboo  pipe,  "  I  hate  being  done  by  them." 

"  So  do  I,  my  boy,  but  there's  nothing  else 
for  it.  Tell  Mrs.  Ravenna  to  keep  her  revolver 
on  all  the  time  ;  but  explain  to  her  that  there's 
no   real  need   for   alarm.     We'll   take   the   ship 


254         Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 


out  inside  of  an  hour,  make  for  Rabaul — it's  a 
good  bit  nearer  than  Frederickdashithaven — 
and  keep  the  crew  too  busy  to  hatch  mischief. 
If  we  can  ship  a  decenter  lot,  we  might  finish 
the  job  yet." 

"  But  what  about  Isola  ?  You  can't  take  her 
back  into  Rabaul,  where  that  Richter  is." 

"  No,"  said  Red  Bob,  "  several  times  no. 
Because,  you  see,  if  he  can  bring  any  evidence  of 
any  residence  together  that  may  show  something 
like  consent — why,  then,  an  attempt  to  break 
the  marriage  would  not  have  much  to  stand  on." 

"  I  understand,"  I  answered.  "  But — do  you 
think — can  there  be  any  way  of  breaking  it  ?  " 

"  Never  said  there  was,"  replied  Red  Bob. 
"  Also,  I  never  said  there  was  not.  But  if  there 
is,  why  the  further  off  she  is  kept  from  Richter 
the  better.  No,  no  taking  her  .  .  .  visibly  .  .  . 
to  Rabaul." 

"  Then  what  would  you  do  ?  " 

"  Easy  as  pie.  Keep  her  dark  till  we  ship  a 
crew,  and  then  run  her  to  an  Australian  port,  and 
board  her  out  with  someone  reliable." 

"  I  wish  I  had  your  head,"  I  said. 

"  You  haven't  much  of  your  own,  it's  true  ; 
still,  I've  met  with  young  idiots  I  liked  less. 
Don't  let  the  crew  know  you  suspect  anything  ; 
call  them  up  and  get  the  ship  under  way  ;    we 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks         255 

want  to  be  well  clear  of  these  reefs  before 
dark." 

I  was  going  forward  to  do  his  bidding  when 
I  was  suddenly  struck  by  something  curious  about 
the  aspect  of  the  sky,  as  seen  through  the  long 
gap  in  the  palms  that  was  made  by  the  entrance 
to  the  atoll.  Not  all  atolls  have  a  break  in  the 
ring,  but  one  might  say  that  most  have,  and 
this  was  one  of  the  majority. 

"  Look  at  that,"  I  said,  turning  round. 

Gore  looked  at  it,  and  said  something  between 
his  teeth  in  Spanish. 

"  Is  that  a  '  gooba  '  ?  "  I  asked.  I  had  heard 
something  of  these  New  Guinea  blows — too  big 
for  a  squall,  too  small  for  a  hurricane — but  I  had 
not  yet  seen  one. 

"  It  is,"  said  Gore,  looking  at  the  dark,  parasol- 
shaped  cloud  that  was  spreading  upwards  from  the 
horizon  like  some  strange  black  dawn.  "  It  is, 
and  we  shan't  get  out  to-night." 

"  What  about  the  ship  ?  " 

"  Safe  enough  in  here,  unless  she  drags  her 
moorings,  and  she  won't  do  that."  He  threw 
a  glance  aloft  to  see  that  everything  was  safely 
stowed.  "  We  must  make  the  best  of  it,"  he 
said.  "  Keep  a  look-out  while  I  go  and  search 
the  forecastle  for  knives  and  clubs.  I  took  their 
ordinary  knives  away  this  afternoon,   but  they 


256         Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

probably  have  a  second  lot  hidden  away  some- 
where." 


The  thing  happened  so  quickly  that  I  cannot 
tell  it  without  becoming  bewildered.  I  cannot 
even  now  realize  that  the  whole  ghastly  affair 
did  not  occupy  ten  minutes  from  start  to  finish 
— the  first  part  of  it  scarcely  one.  At  something 
like  five  o'clock  I  was  sitting  quietly  on  the 
coaming  of  the  main  hatch  ;  Isola  had  just  come 
up  from  the  saloon  and  was  looking  with  interest 
at  the  "  gooba  "  as  it  climbed  the  sky,  Gore  was 
stooping  to  get  in  through  the  low,  narrow  hatch- 
way of  the  forecastle  where  the  crew  slept  and 
kept  their  goods.  The  crew  were  smoking  on 
the  forecastle-head.  We  had  a  sound  ship  under 
us,  full  of  goods  and  provisions,  we  were  well 
armed,  and  thought  we  were  going  to  make  a 
safe  and  comfortable  voyage  down  to  Rabaul, 
just  keeping  a  little  extra  watch  over  our  New 
Britain  savages.  ...  At  ten  minutes  past  five 
we  were  homeless,  wrecked,  and  cast  away ; 
Gore  was  wounded,  I  was  defenceless,  and 
Isola 

But  let  me  tell  the  story  as  well  as  I  can. 

Gore,  as  I  said,  stooped  down  to  enter  the 
forecastle.     There  were  no  men  inside  it,  and 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismareks         257 


the  crew,  sitting  up  on  the  forecastle-head, 
were  some  distance  away  and  apparently  busy 
in  the  most  peaceful  fashion  with  their  big 
bamboo  pipe.  They  took  no  notice  of  him  or 
of  anything  else,  until  he  had  finished  his  search 
and  was  bending  to  come  out  again,  with  his  face 
turned  towards  the  deck.  Then,  with  a  leap  so 
quick  that  it  seemed  as  if  he  had  suddenly  doubled 
himself,  and  appeared  in  two  places  at  once,  one 
of  them  reached  the  break  of  the  forecastle,  and 
struck  at  the  back  of  Gore's  skull  with  an  iron 
belaying-pin. 

Quick  as  he  was,  I  was  a  shade  quicker.  I  had 
my  automatic  pistol  out  of  my  belt  before  the 
blow  fell,  and  I  aimed  on  the  rise  of  the  barrel. 
...  It  missed  fire. 

One  thinks  quickly  in  such  moments.  I  had 
time  to  remember  Red  Bob's  warning  against 
the  use  of  these  pistols  in  equatorial  countries 
while  I  was  tearing  at  the  magazine  and  striking 
the  breech  in  one  frantic  effort  to  knock  out  the 
jammed  cartridge.  Then  I  felt  a  revolver  pushed 
into  my  hand,  and  seized  it  without  waiting  to 
look  where  it  came  from.  I  took  the  length 
of  the  deck  in  three  jumps,  saw  Red  Bob  lying 
insensible  on  the  planking,  and  shot  the  nigger 
who  did  it  clean  through  the  head.  Then  I 
seized  Gore  by  the  legs,  and  began  dragging  him 

17 


258         Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

■  ■  '  '  '  ,     .,  , 

to  the  side  of  the  ship,  where  the  boat  was.  I 
had  one  arm  round  him  and  Isola — I  don't 
know  how  she  came  there — and  I  pushed  her 
half  behind  me,  as  I  backed  to  the  side  of  the 
ship. 

''  Get  over  !  "  I  yelled.  I  had  to  yell,  for  the 
six  savages — Bo,  our  own  man,  among  them — 
were  howling  like  devils  let  loose  from  hell. 
Four  of  them  had  got  tomahawks,  which  they 
must  have  looted  from  the  trade  goods  in  the 
hold,  and  kept  hidden  ;  the  others  were  armed 
with  iron  belaying-pins  from  the  rail.  While 
Isola  was  climbing  down  into  the  boat,  I  kept 
the  savages  at  bay  with  the  revolver  she  had 
handed  me  ;  but  it  had  only  five  shots  left,  and 
there  were  six  men.  .  .  . 

I  was  conscious  that  something  was  happening 
besides  the  mutiny  ;  it  did  not,  however,  make 
much  impression  on  me,  even  though  I  felt  a 
sudden,  fierce  clap  of  wind  and  rain  strike  the 
schooner  and  heel  her  half  over,  and  though  I 
was  drenched  through  in  an  instant,  as  if  I  had 
been  dipped  in  the  sea.  I  was  too  much  engaged 
with  my  six  New  Britainers,  who,  wise  fighters 
that  they  were,  were  rapidly  spreading  them- 
selves out  into  a  fan  with  the  intention  of 
scattering  my  fire,  and,  no  doubt,  of  surrounding 
me.     I  got  two  of  them  in  two  shots,  and  missed 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks         259 

the  third,  because  the  schooner  at  the  moment 
of  my  pulling  the  trigger  gave  a  fearful  leap 
like  a  wounded  horse.  The  fourth  shot  was 
never  fired.  I  had  not  had  time  to  aim  before 
we  were  all  flung  to  the  deck  by  a  crash  that 
shook  every  timber  in  the  Cecilte,  and  that  was 
instantly  followed  by  a  torrent  of  sea-water 
washing  from  end  to  end.  The  ship  recovered 
a  little,  after  the  shock,  rose  slightly,  and  seemed 
to  shake  the  water  off  her  decks  as  a  dog  might 
shake  itself ;  but  again  she  staggered,  beat  herself 
on  the  cruel  reef  that  we  had  struck,  and 
smothered  the  waist  and  forecastle  in  foam. 

"  We've  struck — she's   dragged "    I   cried, 

I  do  not  know  to  whom,  for  Isola  was  in  the  boat 
below,  and  Red  Bob  was  still  lying  without  life 
on  the  deck,  rolling  to  and  fro  like  a  corpse. 
The  lash  of  the  "  gooba  "  almost  knocked  me 
down  again  as  I  rose  ;  rain  was  coming  straight 
along  through  the  air  like  a  river  lifted  off  the 
ground  ;  the  calm  lagoon  was  a  mass  of  beaten 
foam,  and  the  palm-trees  bent  to  the  gale  like 
fishing-rods  when  a  fish  pulls  from  below.  The 
four  New  Britain  natives,  terrified  by  the  disaster 
that  they  had  brought  on  themselves  (we  learned 
afterwards  that  they  had  been  preparing  a  rapid 
get-away  by  severing  almost  through  the  moor- 
ings) began  jumping  up  and  down  on  the  deck 

i7« 


260         Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

and  crying  out  pitifully.  They  even  attempted 
to  rush  the  boat,  while  I  dragged  Red  Bob 
over  the  bulwarks,  but  I  dropped  the  first  with 
one  of  my  two  remaining  cartridges,  and  the 
rest,  warned  by  his  fate,  kept  off.  The  mutineer 
spirit  was  all  out  of  them  now  ;  they  saw  they 
were  wrecked,  and  knew  no  swimmer  could  live 
in  the  sea  that  was  getting  up.  .  .  . 

I  never  knew  till  weeks  afterwards  how  much 
thinking  I  did  in  the  few  seconds  occupied  in 
getting  Gore  up  to  the  gunwale  of  the  boat,  and 
heaving  him  in.  It  was  not  plain  to  me  then 
why  I  beckoned  to  one  of  the  mutineers  to 
accompany  me  ;  but  I  did — it  was  the  recreant 
Bo,  as  things  happened — and  he  seized  the 
chance  eagerly.  Over  into  the  boat  he  went, 
lowered  her  down  with  me,  and  launched  her 
into  the  white,  boiling,  battering  sea  below 
the   ship. 

We  were  barely  able  to  fend  her  off  from  the 
hull,  for  the  doomed  Cecilie  was  rolling  terribly, 
but  we  got  safely  away  and  pushed  off  into  the 
storm. 

It  was  already  abating  ;  these  "  goobas  "  of 
New  Guinea  are  short  and  sharp.  The  rain  was 
passing  over,  the  palm-trees  lifting  up  their 
battered  heads  a  little,  as  we  pulled  over  towards 
the  shore.     By  the  time  we  reached  it,  the  worst 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks         261 

of  the  "  gooba  "  was  fairly  spent,  and  the  waves 
that  ran  up  the  strand  were  slackening  in  their 
fierceness,  so  that  we  could  beach  the  boat 
without  much  trouble.  But  where  was  the 
Cecilie  P 

Sunk,  in  the  deepest  part  of  the  lagoon  ;  gone 
to  the  bottom,  with  the  five  mutineers  in  her. 
There  was  nothing  to  be  seen,  where  the  schooner 
had  lain  ten  minutes  before,  but  a  raffle  of  foam 
breaking  on  a  reef,  and  one  small  black  head 
fighting  the  waves.     It  did  not  fight  long. 

"  Sark  he  catchum,"  yelled  Bo,  through  the 
wind,  as  the  black  point  disappeared.  I  watched, 
but  there  were  no  more. 

When  I  turned  round.  Red  Bob  was  sitting  up 
on  the  beach,  very  wet  and  sandy,  feeling  his 
head.  His  fingers  were  red  when  they  came 
away. 

"  Did  they  get  the  ship  ?  "  he  inquired,  with 
perfect  coolness,  taking  a  dripping  handkerchief 
out  of  his  pocket,  and  tying  it  round  his  head. 
"  I  don't  remember  after  someone  knocked  mc 
over." 

"  She  dragged,  went  on  the  reef  and  sank,"  I 
said.  "  They  must  have  meddled  with  the 
cable.'' 

"  You  all  right  ?  "  inquired  Red  Bob  of  Isola, 
who  was  sitting  on  the  sand  beside  him. 


262         Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

"  Yes,"  said  Isola.  "  I've  got  no  clothes,"  she 
added,  "  except  these." 

"  Tie  that  knot  for  me,  will  you  ?  "  said  Gore. 
"  Crew  all  gone  ?  " 

"  All  except  Bo,  I  brought  him  along,"  I  said. 

"  Right.  We'll  want  him  before  we're 
through.  I  hope  the  boat  wasn't  lowered  stern 
foremost,  and  the  stores  spilled." 

"  Stores  ?  "  I  asked.  "  She  was  got  down  all 
right." 

"  I  don't,"  said  Gore,  "  allow  boats  to  be  kept 
unprovisioned  in  any  ship  that  I  command. 
That's  common  sense.  We  have  two  beakers  of 
water,  a  keg  of  beef,  a  ten-pound  tin  of  biscuit, 
a  pound  of  tobacco,  pound  of  tea,  packet  of 
matches,  sealed  in  tin,  compass  and  box  of 
quinine." 

"  Then  we  can  make  for  the  nearest  settle- 
ment ?  "  I  said. 

"  We  can.     The  *  gooba  '  seems  to  be  over." 

Here  Isola,  to  my  astonishment,  burst  out 
laughing. 

"  I  can't — can't — help  it,"  she  said,  half 
giggling,  half  sobbing.  "  It  seems  too  absurd. 
We've  been  shipwrecked — and  all  sorts  of  awful 
things  have  happened — and  here  we  are  sitting 
under  the  palm-trees  talking  like  a  tea-party." 

"  What  way  do  you  think  we  ought  to  talk  ?  " 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks         263 

asked  Red  Bob.  "  I've  been  shipwrecked  before, 
and  it  was  pretty  much  the  same  as  this.  Do 
you  expect  people  to  say  *  Gadzooks '  and  '  By 
my  halidom,'  because  they've  been  spilled  out 
of  a  ship  ?  " 

"  Me  want  my  kai-kai,"  observed  Bo,  by  way  of 
diversion.  The  rain  was  quite  over  now,  and  the 
ruffled  lagoon  was  sobbing  itself  to  sleep  like  a 
naughty  child. 

"  Do  you  realize,  my  friend,  that  you  did  your 
best  to  commit  piracy  and  murder  half  an  hour 
ago  ?  "  demanded  Gore.  "  Do  you  under- 
stand that  you  ought  to  be  hung,  if  there  was  a 
tree  on  the  island  that  one  could  hang  you  to — 
cocoanuts  having  no  hangable  branches  ?  " 

"  Me  wantum  kai-kai,"  repeated  Bo,  unmoved. 

Only  people  who  have  been  through  like  ad- 
ventures will  believe  me,  I  suppose,  when  I  say 
that  all  three  of  us  burst  out  laughing  at  the  New 
Britainer's  cool  demand. 

"  He's  quite  right,  it's  near  tea-time,"  com- 
mented Gore,  "  You  go  catchum  cocoanut, 
plenty  quick  !  " 

"  Never,"  he  advised,  "  let  anything  interfere 
with  your  regular  meals  if  you  can  help  it ;  not 
even  a  shipwreck.  Bo,  you  go  and  catch  plenty 
crab  when  you  finish.  We'll  make  you  earn  your 
living — ^you  scurvy  brute." 


264         Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

"  Me  no  brooss,"  complained  Bo,  as  he  moved 
away,  his  amour  propre  being  apparently  wounded 
by  the  epithet.  The  New  Britainer  is  curiously 
touchy  on  the  question  of  personal  abuse,  what- 
ever he  may  have  done  to  earn  it. 

Everything  we  had  on  was  wet  through,  and 
there  was  no  possibility  of  sun-drying  for  to-day, 
but  Gore,  with  the  matches  out  of  the  boat, 
and  wood  from  underneath  a  fallen  palm,  had  a 
fire  going  before  long,  and  we  dried  ourselves 
at  that  as  well  as  we  could.  He  declared  his 
wound  was  nothing,  and  Isola,  when  she  had 
examined  and  washed  it  carefully  for  him,  gave 
it  as  her  verdict  that  the  bone  was  not  in  any 
way  damaged.  By  the  light  of  the  fire  we  sat 
down  to  feed,  looking,  I  suppose,  very  like  an 
ordinary  picnic-party,  and  afterwards  Bo  was 
made  to  dig  a  big  hole  in  the  sand  for  shelter 
from  the  wind. 

"  There'll  be  no  more  rain  to-night,"  said 
Gore  ;  and  he  proved  right.  It  was  a  fine  night 
of  stars ;  the  lagoon  was  as  still  as  a  marble  tank 
in  a  palace  ;  as  we  lay  in  the  shelter  of  the  pit, 
protected  by  the  sails  of  the  boat,  we  could  hear 
the  fish  leap  in  the  water,  and  the  ripples  talking 
strangely  on  the  sand.  Isola,  at  her  end  of  the 
shelter,  seemed  to  rest  quietly,  but  once  in  the 
night  she  sat  suddenly  up,  made  as  if  to  throw 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks         265 

back  the  long  hair  that  she  had  shorn  away,  and 
cried  out :  "  Paul,  why  did  you  kill  them  ? 
There's  blood  on  your  hands !  " 

I  watched  her,  but  did  not  answer,  for  I  saw 
that  she  still  slept.  She  sank  back  on  the  sand  in 
another  moment,  and  her  eyes  closed  again. 
There  was  some  night-bird  hidden  among  the 
palms ;  it  waked  up  and  cried  for  a  little  while 
in  a  complaining,  bitter  tone.  Then  it  was 
silent ;  and  the  ripples  whispered  strange  wicked 
secrets  to  each  other  on  the  beach,  and  the  sea 
breathed  deep,  outside  the  barrier  reef.  I 
thought  the  morning  would  never  come  ;  but 
it  came  at  last,  low  and  red  among  the  palm 
trunks,  and  our  castaway  life  had  begun. 


CHAPTER  XI 

"  IVfEU  KONIGSBERGSHAFEN  is  the 
^  ^  place,"  said  Red  Bob,  as  we  sailed 
out  of  Schouten's  ill-starred  lagoon,  leaving 
the  bones  of  the  Cecilie  and  the  bones  of  her 
destroyers  lying  side  by  side  at  the  bottom  of  the 
sea.  "  With  a  fair  wind,  we  aren't  three  days 
from  the  coast  of  New  Britain — wrong  coast,  of 
course,  not  the  settled  side,  but  it'll  do  at  a  pinch. 
Neu  Konigsbergshafen  is  a  settlement,  or  rather  a 
plantation,  where  we  can  refit  and  get  provisions  ; 
after  that,  if  there  is  no  ship  likely  to  call,  we  could 
go  on  to  Rabaul  round  the  head  of  the  island, 
and  if  we  wanted  to  get  Mrs.  Ravenna  away 
without  any  bother,  why,  she'd  only  have  to  get 
herself  up  a  la  Malay  again  for  a  couple  of  days." 
"  Who  lives  at  Neu  Konigsbergshafen  ?  " 
asked  Isola. 

"  Beyer,  rather  a  good  friend  of  mine.  He 
grows  rubber  and  copra,  and  a  bit  of  coffee. 
Very  lonely  place,  no  other  white  man  for  fifty 
or  sixty  miles — but  as  pretty  a  spot  as  you'd  like 

266 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks         267 

to  see.  Beyer  has  a  wife  ;  half-caste  woman, 
but  a  decent  sort.  She'll  look  after  Mrs.  Ravenna. 
You'll  be  a  little  cramped  running  down  to  the 
coast,"  he  said,  turning  to  Isola  with  a  kindly 
smile,  "  but  we'll  do  our  best  for  you  ;  there's 
no  man  alive  who  wouldn't  do  his  best,  and  a  bit 
more,  for  such  a  plucky  girl  as  you." 

"  She  is  brave,"  I  said  proudly — somehow, 
since  Gore's  talk  about  possibilities  of  breaking 
the  marriage,  I  had  felt  more  than  ever  that  I 
had  an  actual  right  to  be  proud  of  her.  "  She's 
as  good  as  another  man  in  the  boat."  And 
indeed  it  was  useful  to  have  a  third  hand  to  steer, 
or  help  with  the  sails  when  necessary.  Bo,  a 
house-boy  pure  and  simple,  proved  very  little 
use.  With  the  amazingly  brief  memory  of  the 
savage  he  had  quite  forgotten  the  part  he  had 
taken  in  the  mutiny,  and  though  our  memories 
were  longer,  we  chose  to  forget  it  too,  since  we 
thought  he  might  be  valuable  to  us  in  many  ways 
while  coasting  along  New  Britain. 

We  rigged  up  a  little  shelter  for  Isola,  and  did 
our  best  to  make  her  as  comfortable  as  circum- 
stances permitted  during  the  voyage.  I  do  not 
really  think  she  felt  the  boat  journey  to  be  a 
serious  hardship.  In  the  first  place,  it  was  not 
long — we  were  extraordinarily  lucky  in  the  matter 
of  wind,  and  the  yawl  proving  a  good  sailer,  we 


268         Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

sighted  the  coast  of  New  Britain  in  two  days 
and  a  half.  Further,  she  had  been  accustomed 
for  many  weeks  to  roughing  it  in  our  company, 
and  at  the  best,  though  a  thoroughly  refined  girl, 
was  no  fine  lady.  Gore  and  I  ran  the  boat  in 
turns,  gave  out  the  rations  and  kept  a  look-out 
for  sails,  of  which  we  saw  and  expected  to  see 
none.  As  for  Bo,  he  spent  his  time  between 
sleeping  at  the  bottom  of  the  boat,  and  begging 
for  tobacco — of  which  we  gave  him  little,  not 
knowing  how  long  it  might  be  before  we  could 
get  any  more  ourselves. 

About  the  middle  of  the  third  day,  a  long  blue 
cloud  arose  in  the  horizon,  and  for  the  second 
time — but  under  what  altered  circumstances  ! 
— ^we  approached  the  coast  of  the  great  island  of 
New  Britain.  Coming  on  it  from  this  side 
and  in  such  a  way,  one  realized  its  size  better  than 
one  did  from  the  steamer  approach  to  Rabaul. 

"  Four  hundred  miles  or  so  in  length,  isn't 
it  ?  "  I  said,  looking  at  the  long  panorama  of 
peaks  and  ranges  unfolding  as  we  sailed  in.  "  Is 
it  fertile  country  ?  " 

"  Plant  an  old  shoe  in  it,  and  it'll  come  up  a 
crop  of  Wellington  boots  inside  of  six  weeks," 
was  Gore's  reply.  "  Healthy  ?  Very  fair,  for 
the  tropics.  Good  rainfall,  magnificent  forests, 
hill     country,    plain     country,    rivers,    ranges, 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks         269 

minerals.  Harbours  by  the  dozen.  Fine  place 
for  road-making ;  New  Guinea's  a  bit  of  a 
problem  in  that  way,  but  the  Germans  have 
motor-roads  along  quite  a  lot  of  the  New  Britain 
coast,  and  here  and  there  inland. 

"  Is  it  settled  pretty  well  ?  Bless  you,  no, 
nor  explored.  Nothing  known  about  the  natives 
in  the  far  interior  except  that  they  are  brutes. 
Why  ?  Ask  the  Kaiser.  They've  only  had  a 
quarter  of  a  century  at  it,  you  know.  In  another 
two  hundred  years,  they'll  be  getting  quite  a 
move  on,  I  dare  say." 

We  ran  in  and  on  towards  the  great  island,  the 
boat  flying  under  all  sail  as  if  she  were  as  hungry 
for  ihe  land  as  we  undoubtedly  were  ;  and  soon  I 
began  to  see  that  Gore's  description  of  Neu 
Konigsbergshafen  was  not  unjustified.  It  was 
a  beautiful,  a  sweet  and  gentle-looking  spot. 
The  cruel  loveliness  of  New  Guinea  was  not 
here,  nor  the  dark,  wet  picturesqueness  of  vol- 
canic Rabaul.  This  coast  was  vivid  blue  and 
green,  with  sloping  peaks,  not  too  high,  and 
pleasant  grassy  lawns  running  down  from  the 
mountain  spurs  to  the  sea.  It  had  not  the 
frowning  massiveness  of  the  German  Guinea  coast 
— the  tier  on  tier  of  the  black,  high  ranges,  leaping 
behind  one  another  into  the  very  vault  of  heaven, 
and  barring  off  the  interior  with  a  Titan  wall  of 


270         Red  Bob  of  the  Bismareks 

rock  and  precipice  and  densely  tangled  forest. 
No,  here  one  could  almost  sense  the  narrowness 
of  the  long,  indented  island,  feel  its  accessibility, 
and  understand,  with  its  deep,  fine  harbours  and 
rich  coast-lands,  that  it  might  mean  much  to 
commerce  some  day. 

"  What  a  parrot-coloured  place  !  "  was  Isola's 
comment  as  we  ran  towards  Neu  Konigsbergs- 
hafen  bay.  She  was  right.  The  wondrous  blue 
of  those  rounded  hills  was  parrot  blue,  the  green 
of  the  lawns  and  the  forests  and  the  springing 
palms  was  just  that  vivid  powdery  green  that  one 
sees  on  a  parrot's  wings.  The  bay  itself  was 
paved  with  still  water  in  colour  like  a  huge 
emerald,  and  the  coral-sand  shore  curved  about 
it,  white  as  a  crescent  moon. 

"  It  is  very,  very  pretty,  but  not  so  pretty  as 
my  '  Banda  Neira,'  "  said  the  girl,  looking  with 
wide,  dark  eyes  at  the  scimitar-shaped  beach,  and 
the  tall,  leaning  palms  that  hung  over  it. 

"  Master,  be  good  place  this,  but  plenty  bad 
boy  he  stop  along  here,"  declared  Bo,  raising 
himself  from  the  bottom  of  the  boat  to  look  about 
him.  "  I  no  savvy  that  fellow  bushman  stop 
here.     I  too  much  fright  along  him." 

"  By  and  by  you  too  much  fright  along  me  ; 
you  hold  your  tongue,"  was  Gore's  reply.  I 
could  see  he  did  not  want  to  alarm  Isola  unneces- 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismareks         271 

sarily.  Bo  squatted  on  the  gunwale,  holding 
on  with  his  black  toes  like  a  monkey,  and  stared 
hard  at  the  place,  as  we  came  up.  He  was  chew- 
ing tobacco,  and  he  spat  and  spat  continually  in 
the  water,  with  a  vigour  that  seemed  to  be  the 
expression  of  some  unspoken  feeling. 

Who  does  not  know  the  New  Britain  and  New 
Guinea  natives  does  not  know  or  guess  how 
much  can  be  expressed  after  this  simple  and 
disgusting  fashion.  Bo's  spitting,  it  seemed  to 
me,  was  of  a  kind  entirely  unfavourable  to  Neu 
Konigsbergshafen. 

There  was  a  little  pier  of  piled  white  coral 
rock  built  out  into  the  deepest  part  of  the  bay. 
We  ran  the  boat  up  to  this,  tied  up,  and  most 
thankfully  disembarked.  Even  two  days  in  an 
open  boat  is  enough  to  stiffen  the  limbs,  and  weary 
the  mind  with  a  feehng  of  confinement.  Isola's 
first  action  on  getting  to  shore  was  characteristic. 
She  went  straight  to  a  frangipani  tree,  buried 
her  face  in  its  clusters  of  creamy,  perfumed  stars, 
and  said,  "  The  darlings  !  how  I  have  missed 
them  !  "  Her  hands  were  full  of  blossoms  in 
another  minute ;  she  was  sticking  them  in  her 
hair,  dropping  them  down  her  dress,  smelling 
them,  all  but  eating  them. 

"  Missus  he  plenty  like  along  'em  frowers," 
observed  Bo,  looking  at  her  in  some  astonishment 


272         Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

"  That  one  he  no  good  for  kai-kai,  Missus,  one- 
fellow  waster  (oyster)  he  more  better.  Plenty 
stop." 

Indeed,  the  rocks  up  to  high  water  were  covered 
with  fine  edible  oysters.  Bo  was  anxious  to  stop 
and  sample  them  at  once,  and  we  told  him  he 
might  do  so,  as  we  wanted  someone  to  stay  with 
the  boat  while  we  went  up  to  the  plantation. 
New  Britain  natives  are  very  thievish,  and  it  was 
ten  to  one  we  might  find  all  movables  taken  out 
of  the  yawl  if  we  left  her  without  any  guard. 
So  we  gave  Bo  a  tomahawk  for  protection,  and 
charged  him  not  to  let  any  of  the  plantation  boys 
approach  the  boat. 

"  Of  course,  they're  tamed  and  civilized  boys 
on  a  plantation,  more  or  less,"  said  Gore  ;  "  but 
I  wouldn't  trust  them  near  my  stores." 

We  left  the  pier  behind,  passed  through  the 
belt  of  cocoanuts  that  circled  the  bay,  and  came 
out  on  a  most  lovely  avenue  of  shorn  grass, 
bordered  by  magnificent  flowering  trees.  There 
were  coral  trees,  like  bouquets  of  scarlet  geranium, 
forty  feet  high  and  fifty  feet  across  ;  kapok  trees, 
with  flowers  like  golden  stars,  and  hard  brown 
pods  upon  their  branches,  bursting  open  to  show 
the  silky- white  cotton  within.  There  were 
frangipanis,  mangoes,  green  as  nothing  but  a 
mango  tree  can  be  ;    trees  like  an  acacia,  with 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks         273 

drooping  flowers  of  pink  and  white  ;  trees  that 
I  could  not  and  cannot  tell  the  name  of,  but 
that  were  as  tall  as  an  English  lime,  and  had 
bunches  of  blossom  like  heliotrope  in  appearance, 
smelling  like  new-mown  hay.  All  these  had  been 
planted  about  the  same  time,  perhaps  eight  years 
before,  and  set  in  two  orderly  ranks  along  the 
cleared  ground  leading  to  the  house.  In  the 
New  Britain  climate,  five  years  will  make  you  a 
glorious  avenue  at  any  time.  This  was  more 
than  glorious.  We  all  exclaimed  with  ad- 
miration when  we  saw  it. 

The  walk  up  to  the  house  was  a  pretty  long  one, 
and  we  had  time  to  notice,  as  we  went,  that  the 
place  seemed  to  be  holidaying,  for  not  a  boy  was 
at  work  on  any  part  of  the  plantation.  The 
shining  rows  of  coffee  bushes  looked  rather  ill- 
weeded  ;  somebody  had  carelessly  abandoned 
hoes  and  clearing-knives  here  and  there  among 
them,  and  the  iron  was  red  with  rust.  Among 
the  star-shaped  avenues  of  rubber,  radiating  out 
towards  the  horizon  every  way  one  looked, 
there  was  no  one  busy  tapping  the  trees ;  no 
small  white-metal  cans  were  hung  against  the 
trunks,  filling  up  with  milky  latex.  The  door 
of  the  copra  house  was  shut ;  a  great  heap  of 
unopened  cocoanuts  was  piled  up  against  it. 
And  still  there  were  no  boys. 

i8 


274         Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

I  began  to  feel  that  there  was  something  about 
this  I  did  not  altogether  like. 

We  walked  on  up  to  the  house,  which  was  a 
neat  little  wooden  bungalow  with  an  iron  roof 
hidden  away  in  a  cluster  of  mango  trees.  Here, 
at  least,  it  seemed  there  was  someone,  for  the 
door  was  open,  and  fowls  were  clucking  and 
strutting  about  in  a  pleasant,  homely  way.  Gore 
took  a  step  aside,  and  cast  a  look  at  their  feed- 
dish.  It  was  empty  and  scraped,  and  the  water 
trough  had  not  a  drop  in  it. 

"  Wait  a  bit,"  he  said,  and  carried  the  trough 
to  a  tank.  The  fowls  collected  about  him, 
clucking  wildly.  He  filled  the  trough,  and  they 
fought  with  one  another  to  get  at  it.  He  stood 
watching  them  narrowly. 

"  How  kind  you  are  to  animals,"  said  Isola, 
looking  at  him  with  simple  admiration. 

"  Do  you  think,"  she  went  on,  putting  her 
hand  up  to  her  head,  which  was  covered  only  by 
a  hat  of  rudely. plaited  palm  leaves,  and  looking 
down  at  her  stained  and  tattered  dress,  "  do  you 
think  Mr.  Beyer's  wife  will  be  able  to  spare  me 
some  clothes  ?  I  feel  such  a  disgraceful  object 
that  I'm  almost  ashamed  to  go  in  and  ask 
her  !  " 

"  Suppose  you  don't,"  said  Gore,  catching 
quickly  at  the  suggestion      ''  Suppose  you  stop 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks         275 

here  for  a  minute  with  Corbet,  while  I  go  up 
to  the  house  and  tell  the  Beyers  we're  coming. 
Then,  if  you  feel  very  badly  about  being  seen  by 
strangers  in  such  a  state,  I'll  bring  you  down 
a  dress." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Isola.  "  How  kind  you 
always  are  !  " 

"  Stay  here  with  her,"  said  Gore,  throwing 
me  a  glance.  I  stayed.  We  sat  down  on  the 
edge  of  the  trough — for  our  legs  felt  shaky 
after  the  days  in  the  boat — and  I  tried  hard  not 
to  remain  silent.  I  tried  to  talk  about  every- 
thing— about  the  avenue,  the  pretty  situation 
of  the  house,  the  range  of  bright  blue  hills 
behind,  the  fowls,  the  rubber  trees.  .  .  .  Isola 
kept  breaking  in  with  remarks  about  Beyer  and 
his  wife,  what  they  could  give  us  in  the  way  of 
clothes  and  food,  whether  there  would  be  a 
schooner  along  presently  or  not,  but  I  talked 
fast  and  answered  nothing.  I  think  she  must 
have  felt  me  rather  rude. 

Presently  Gore  came  out  of  the  verandah,  and 
walked  down  the  steps.  He  seemed  out  of  breath, 
as  if  he  had  been  doing  hard  work. 

"  Lord,  I  am  hot,"  he  said,  and  made  straight 
or  the  tank,  where  he  stayed,  running  the  water 
over  his  hands  and  arms  for  quite  a  little  while. 
Then  he  came  up  to  us. 

i8* 


276         Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

"  I'm  sorry  to  say,"  he  said,  "  the  Beyers 
aren't  here.     They  seem  to  have  gone  away." 

"  Gone  ?  Where  to  ?  "  asked  Isola  dis- 
appointedly. 

"  I  can't  say.  Gone  for  good,  I  should 
think." 

"  Gone  home,  you  mean  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  so,"  said  Gore,  without  looking 
at  her.  "  Yes,  I  should  think  they  have.  The 
place  will  no  doubt  be  taken  over  by  someone 
else.  It's  disappointing,  but  people  are  apt  to 
come  and  go  suddenly  in  these  places.  It  isn't 
as  civilized  as  your  Banda  Neira." 

"  What  are  we  going  to  do  ?  "  asked  Isola. 
Her  pretty,  pale  face  was  a  shade  paler  with  dis- 
appointment ;  I  could  see  how  she  had  counted 
on  this  little  oasis  of  civilization,  though  she  was 
too  plucky  to  complain  when  it  was  snatched 
from  her. 

"  Borrow  a  few  things,  and  get  back  to  the 
boat,"  answered  Gore.  "  You  can  come  in, 
if  you  like.  The  house  is  almost  all  locked 
up." 

I  thought  I  had  heard  his  feet  tramping 
through  more  rooms  than  one  while  we  were 
waiting  outside,  but  I  made  no  comment.  I 
knew  by  some  unnamed  sense  that  Red  Bob 
was  anxious  to  have  a  word  apart  with  me,  and 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks         277 

all  my  wits  were  engaged  in  getting  it.  Isola 
was  walking  up  the  path  to  the  house,  pausing 
now  and  then  to  admire  the  bushes  of  flowering 
plants  that  had  been  set  on  each  side  of  the 
path.  I  stayed  aside  for  a  minute,  and  asked  : 
"  What  is  it  ?  " 

Gore,  with  his  eyes  narrowed  till  they  looked 
more  than  ever  like  a  cat's,  told  me  in  a  word  ; 
and  the  sunlight  of  the  glorious  day  seemed  to 
die  out  in  horror  as  he  spoke. 

"  Beyer  and  his  wife  and  child  are  murdered. 
.  .  .  Must  have  been  done  about  a  week.  I 
got  the  bodies  into  a  back  room,  and  locked  the 
door.  She  needn't  suspect  anything.  Take 
some  clothes  and  food,  and  come  as  fast  as  you 
can  lick  down  to  the  beach.  I'm  going  to  see 
if  the  boat's  all  right.  We  oughtn't  to  have 
left  her,  but  one  couldn't  guess.  .  .  .  Keep 
Isola  out  of  sight  of  the  avenue.  If  the  boat's 
all  right,  she  need  know  nothing.  Don't  delay  ; 
there's  no  knowing  where  they  may  be." 

With  the  last  words  on  his  lips  he  was  away 
down  the  avenue  again,  running  as  few  men  of 
his  height  could  have  run.  I  followed  Isola 
on  to  the  verandah,  full  of  uneasiness  as  to  what 
she  might  see  or  suspect.  But  there  was  nothing. 
The  living-room  into  which  we  entered  was 
tidy ;    the  furniture  undisturbed.     This  did  not 


278         Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

surprise  me,  as  I  knew  that  the  natives  would 
steal  nothing  but  food  and  weapons ;  but  I 
feared  to  enter  any  of  the  bedrooms  or  pantries. 
And  yet  food  was  absolutely  necessary  if  we 
were  to  continue  our  boat  voyage  round  into  the 
settled  districts,  perhaps  weeks  away. 

Isola,  knowing  nothing,  ran  in  and  out  every- 
where, trying  the  locked  doors,  exploring  the 
verandahs,  and  even,  to  my  horror,  peeping  in 
through  the  closed  windows  here  and  there. 

"  They've  shut  nearly  everything  up,"  she  said, 
"  but  they  are  careless  people  ;  they've  left  the 
sitting-room  and  pantry  open.  Or  perhaps  some 
of  the  boys  got  at  the  locks." 

"  Take  what  you  want  in  the  way  of  clothes, 
and  come  on,"  I  said.  "  Gore  told  us  not  to 
— ^not  to — miss  the  tide." 

There  was  a  heap  of  woman's  apparel  thrown 
down  roughly  in  the  sitting-room ;  Gore,  I 
judged,  had  put  it  there.  While  Isola  was 
turning  over  the  things,  filling  the  deadly  silence 
of  the  house  with  her  gay  chatter  as  she  did  so, 
I  busied  myself  among  the  few  things  that  were 
left  in  the  pantry,  and  flung  what  I  could  get 
into  an  empty  flour-bag.  There  was  not  much ; 
I  could  see  the  place  had  been  looted,  but  the 
looting  had  been  very  hurriedly  done,  and  there 
were^tins  of  one  thing  and  another  fallen  behind 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks         279 


parcels,  or  lying  on  the  floor.  I  took  them  all, 
and  stood  a  moment  listening.  The  heat  of 
the  little  iron  room  was  terrible  ;  I  had  to  mop 
the  streams  of  perspiration  that  ran  down  my 
forehead  as  I  stood.  Isola  had  stopped  talking  ; 
I  guessed  she  was  trying  on  clothes.  The  fowls 
clucked  and  scratched  in  the  yard  ;  a  low-lying 
mango  branch  swept  back  and  forwards  upon 
the  iron  roof  of  the  house  with  a  sleepy,  soothing 
noise.  There  was  not  a  sound.  I  gathered 
up  my  sack  and  prepared  to  start. 

At  that  moment  I  heard  a  fierce,  indignant 
shriek  from  a  big  sweet-chestnut  tree  near  the 
house — the  cry  of  the  white  cockatoo  that  is 
common  in  all  these  islands.  I  remembered 
that  these  wild  cockatoos  always  cry  out  at  the 
approach  of  strangers.  Were  strangers  approach- 
ing, and  who  ? 

"  Come  on,"  I  said  to  Isola.  "  I  can't  wait 
another  minute.  Gather  up  your  things ;  we'll 
have  to  trot."  I  was  in  agony  to  get  her  out 
of  the  place. 

"  What  a  nuisance  you  and  your  tides  are  !  " 
she  answered  playfully.  "  Well,  I'm  not  sorry 
to  get  out  of  the  place,  for  it's  the  stuffiest  house 
I  ever  was  in.  I  don't  think  your  Germans  can 
have  kept  it  very  clean.  Pooh  !  "  She  wrinkled 
up  her  nose. 


280         Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

"  Come  on,  come  on,"  I  said.  "  We'll  take 
hands  and  run." 

We  did,  carrying  our  loot  in  each  disengaged 
hand ;  Isola,  strange  to  say,  suspected  nothing. 
She  told  me  afterwards  that  she  thought  there 
might  be  another  "  gooba  "  coming,  and  that 
we  were  anxious  to  get  off  without  alarming  her. 
At  all  events,  she  half  ran,  half  walked  with  me 
all  the  way  down  to  the  beach,  and  asked  no 
questions. 

We  were  met  by  Gore.  His  face  was  so 
impenetrable  that  I  knew  disaster  had  struck  us 
yet  again. 

"  Where's  the  boat  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Gone,"  he  replied.  "  No  trace  of  Bo 
either.  Clear  case  of  New  Britain  natives  on 
the  job." 

"  What  are  we  going  to  do  ?  "  I  asked,  feeling 
that  we  were  indeed  in  a  very  tight  place.  Isola 
looked  inquiringly  from  one  to  the  other. 

"  We  have  the  choice  of  two  things,"  said 
Gore.  "  Stay  here  till  the  inquiry  comes  along, 
which  may  be  to-morrow,  and  may  be  in  six 
months ;  or  start  and  walk  to  the  nearest  settle- 
ment." 

Isola  still  watched  our  faces.  She  saw  by  this 
time  that  something  had  happened ;  but  she 
had  been  through  too  much  in  the  last  few  weeks 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks         281 

to  make  the  woman's  common  mistake  of  asking 
premature  questions. 

"  How  far  would  that  be  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  I  think  about  a  hundred  and  twenty  miles." 

"  Is  there  any  road  ?  " 

"  No.  Couldn't  keep  on  the  shore  all  the 
way  ;  we'd  have  to  branch  inland  every  now  and 
then.  There's  a  third  way,  but  ...  It  would 
be  a  big  job." 

"  If  you  are  thinking  of  me,"  said  Isola,  speak- 
ing for  the  first  time  ;  "  you  needn't  be  uneasy. 
I  can  walk  splendidly,  and  I  will  do  anything 
you  tell  me." 

"  Well,  then  !  "  said  Red  Bob,  glancing  at  her 
approvingly,  "  we'll  chance  it.  If  we  can  do 
something  between  thirty  and  forty  miles  of 
bush,  mostly  unknown,  in  the  few  days  before  our 
provisions  give  out,  we  can  come  down  on  one  of 
the  settled  districts  at  the  other  side  of  the  island. 
It  takes  one  through  country  that  has  a  pretty 
bad  reputation,  but " 

"  If  Mr.  Corbet  is  with  me — and  you,  of 
course,"  broke  in  Isola,  "  I'm  not  afraid  of  any- 
thing. Paul  is  so  brave.  And,  of  course,  so 
are  you." 

Even  in  the  straits  we  were  in  Red  Bob's  eyes 
twinkled  a  little  over  her  "  of  course." 

"  We'll  do  our  little  best,"  he  said.     He  took 


282         Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

out  his  compass,  and  looked  long  and  thought- 
fully at  the  blue  range  lifting  above  us. 

"  I  see  the  pass,"  he  pronounced.  "  Lucky 
for  me  I  have  New  Britain  in  my  head.  .  .  • 
Well,  little  lady,  you're  going  to  be  an  explorer, 
it  seems.     Few  women  have  so  much  luck." 

"  When  shall  we  start  ?  "  she  asked.  "  Do 
you  mean  to  go  right  off  to-morrow  ?  " 

"  I  mean  to  look  for  the  boat,  and  if  we  don't 
find  it,  go  now,"  answered  Bob.  "  I  have  an 
idea  that  this  is  not  exactly  a  healthy  place  to 
stop  in." 

He  forgot,  I  think,  the  quickness  of  the  mind 
he  was  dealing  with.  Isola  turned  pale,  and 
looked  at  him. 

"  Mr.  Gore,  did  you  tell  me  the  truth  about 
those  Beyers  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  I  did." 

"  That  they  had  gone  home  ?  " 

"  Yes.     Don't  you  worry  about  them." 

"  What — home  did  you  mean  ?  " 

"  The  one  you  do,"  said  Gore,  giving  in  to 
the  inevitable.  "  Now,  now  !  who's  going  to 
cry  ?  Where's  our  brave  explorer  who  is  afraid 
of  nothing  ?  We  can't  help  them  ;  their  troubles 
are  over.     We've  ourselves  to  look  after." 

"  I  didn't  mean  to,"  said  the  girl,  struggling 
against  the  horror  of  the  situation,  "  but  you 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks         283 

don't  know — there  was  a  baby's  little  shoe  among 
the  things.     Did  they " 

"  Yes,"  said  Gore  plainly.  "  That's  enough. 
Think  no  more  about  it.  Come  here  and  help 
Corbet  and  me  to  sort  out  our  provisions." 

She  choked  a  little  in  her  handkerchief,  and 
then  pulled  herself  together  bravely,  and  began 
to  lay  out  the  stores  on  the  flat  sand  of  the  beach. 
We  looked  at  them  critically.  There  was  enough 
and  to  spare,  as  far  as  loading  went ;  whether 
enough  for  our  journey,  time  alone  could  tell. 

Gore  divided  the  tent  caHco,  the  axes,  the 
meat  and  biscuits  carefully,  loading  himself 
with  forty  pounds  of  food  and  me  with  twenty- 
five.  I  had  found  a  few  boxes  of  cartridges 
among  the  things  abandoned  in  the  pantry,  and 
these  we  divided  between  us.  Isola,  at  her  earnest 
request,  was  given  the  three  blankets  to  carry. 

"  I  could  carry  twice  that  load,  and  not  feel 
it,"  I  told  Red  Bob. 

"  Could  you  ?  "  he  said  dryly.  "  You  don't 
know  much  about  conditions  for  travel  in  this 
part  of  the  world.  That  delusion  of  being  able 
to  do  one's  own  carrying  has  made  a  good  few 
graves  in  the  bush,  over  Papuasia.  You  take  my 
word  for  it,  you've  got  all  you'll  want  there." 

We  had  worked  as  rapidly  as  we  could,  while 
we  were  talking,  and  our  packs  were  ready  in  a 


284         Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

few  minutes.  Our  arms  consisted  of  two  re- 
volvers— Gore's  and  Isola's,  which  I  carried 
now  ;  a  tomahawk  apiece,  and  a  knife  in  each  of 
our  belts.  We  had  each  a  husked  cocoanut 
for  drinking  and  for  carrying  water  in  later  on. 
Our  venture  was  in  truth  a  desperate  one,  but 
all  that  forethought  could  do,  under  the  circum- 
stances, had  been  done.  It  only  remained  to 
search  for  the  boat — a  forlorn  hope  indeed. 
While  Gore  went  off  to  look,  I  stayed  with  Isola. 
I  think  none  of  us  were  surprised  when  he 
returned  an  hour  later  with  a  sinister  piece  of 
news.  The  yawl  was  beached  half  a  mile  down, 
and  burned  to  ashes. 

We  were  standing  on  the  beach  when  the 
preparations  were  completed ;  the  sun  was 
climbing  down  the  western  sky,  and  the  waters 
of  the  bay,  cool  green  in  the  morning,  were  now 
one  sheet  of  blazing  brass.  There  was  not  a 
breath  of  wind  to  stir  the  drooping  plumes  of 
the  palm  trees ;  in  the  shallow  water  near  the 
shore  you  could  see  them  reflected  as  in  a  glass. 
It  was  astonishingly  quiet ;  even  the  birds  in 
the  forest  seemed  to  have  ceased  their  chuckling 
and  calling,  and  the  frogs  in  the  marshy  ground 
below  the  palms,  that  had  been  bleating  to  each 
other  like  goats  when  we  came  in,  were  now 
still  as  death. 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks         285 

We  stood  and  listened,  and  then  from  far  off 
came  a  sound  that  made  my  blood  crisp  in  my 
veins.  It  was  only  the  call  of  a  cockatoo — an 
angry,  frightened  scream — but  I  knew,  or  thought 
I  did,  what  it  portended.  So  did  Red  Bob  ; 
he  swung  round  and  led  the  way  into  the  forest 
without  another  word. 


"  Paul  1  "  said  a  soft  voice,  almost  in  my  ear. 

I  turned  and  saw  Isola,  like  a  dim  ghost  in  the 
dawn,  wrapped  in  her  blanket,  and  standing  close 
behind  me.  It  was  my  watch,  the  last  of  the 
night.  Day  was  coming  quickly.  The  fire  of 
the  evening  before,  dead  out,  looked  like  a  snow- 
drift of  ash  beneath  its  sheltering  log  ;  the  pale 
bamboo  trunks  showed  like  frosted  silver.  It 
was  a  grey,  ghostly  hour,  up  here  in  the  heart 
of  the  unknown  New  Britain  ranges,  with  the 
memory  of  hardships  and  dangers  scarcely  passed 
behind  us,  and  the  thought  of  new  perils  to 
confront  us  with  the  coming  day. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  I  answered,  laying  my  hand 
instinctively  on  the  butt  of  the  revolver  I  wore 
night  and  day. 

"  I  am  almost  sure,"  she  said,  "  that  there's 
someone  hidden  back  in  the  bamboos.  I  heard 
a  creeping  sound — didn't  you  ?  " 


286         Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

"  I  thought  so,  but  1  couldn't  be  sure,"  I 
answered.  In  these  last  few  nights,  when  Gore 
and  I  took  turns  to  keep  watch  and  watch  over 
our  camp,  I  had  learned  what  all  night  sentries 
know — that  you  are  apt  occasionally  to  hear 
sounds  that  do  not  exist.  I  had  been  listening 
to  the  sound  mentioned  by  Isola  for  some  time, 
and  really  could  not  make  up  my  mind  whether  it 
was  fancy  or  not.  But  her  words  solved  the  doubt. 

"  Wake  up  Gore  quietly,"  I  said,  covering 
the  clump  of  bamboo  with  my  pistol.  I  heard 
her  steal  behind  me  ;  no  other  sound  reached 
my  ear,  but  in  two  seconds  Red  Bob  was  standing 
beside  me,  awake  and  ready. 

"  Natives  ?  "  he  said,  in  an  almost  soundless 
whisper. 

"  I  think  so,"  I  answered.  We  both  remained 
motionless  for  a  minute  or  two,  and  then  the 
creeping  sound  began  again.  It  seemed  decidedly 
nearer. 

"  Don't  fire,"  whispered  Gore.  "  Stop  where 
you  are." 

He  Hstened  again,  bent  forward  like  a  wild 
cat  about  to  spring,  and  then  made  one  tre- 
mendous leap  right  into  the  brushwood. 

The  young  bamboos  cracked  under  his  weight 
like  pencils ;  the  feathery  foliage  parted  like 
a  wave  when  a  diver  springs  into   it  head   fore- 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks         287 

most.  A  fearful  yell  followed  his  leap,  and  a 
struggle  instantly  began  among  the  leaves,  shaking 
the  bamboo  clump  to  the  very  top  of  its  limber, 
hundred-foot-high  stems.  I  could  see  black 
legs  waving  among  the  green,  but  I  did  not 
dare  to  fire,  for  fear  I  might  hit  Gore  himself  ; 
the  white  and  black  seemed  inextricably  tied  up 
together.  .  .  .  Backwards,  like  a  tarantula  drag- 
ging a  hornet  to  its  den,  came  Red  Bob  out  of 
the  bush,  hauling  at  something — something 
black  and  very  much  agitated — something  that 
fought  hard  and  howled  loudly,  first  in  native 
and  then  in  pigeon-English  : 

"  Master  !  master  !  you  lettem  me  go  !  Master, 
I  no  stealem  you  boat !     You  no  killem  me  !  " 

It  was  Bo ! 

Gore  let  go  his  legs,  and  he  tumbled  on  the 
ground,  a  heap  of  misery  and  fright.  I  suppose 
we  must  have  been  a  hard-hearted  lot,  for  we  all 
three  burst  out  laughing.  It  was  the  first  laugh 
we  had  enjoyed  for  many  a  day,  and  I  think  it 
did  us  good.  It  seemed  to  do  Bo  some  good,  too, 
for  he  sat  up,  dashed  his  bison-like  shock  of  hair 
out  of  his  eyes,  and  said  : 

"  You  givem  kai-kai,  you  givem  kobacco.  Me 
want." 

"  You  talk  first,"  said  Gore,  standing  over  him. 
**  What  for  you  steal  my  boat  ?  " 


288         Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

"  Fore  God,  master,  I  no  stealem  one-fellow 
boat  belong  you.  That  black  swine  he  stealem. 
I  no  savvy  fight  that  fellow,  I  see  him  come,  very 
quick  I  go  another-fellow  place.  I  think,  more 
better  for  me." 

"  Where  he  take  my  boat  ?  " 

"  He  puttem  fire  along  him,  burn  him  alto- 
gether. By-n-by  he  want  to  come  back,  kai- 
kai  altogether  master,  but  master  he  been  go  away 
too  quick.  Me  come  behind  master  all  a  way. 
Me  too  much  hungry,  no  catchem  plenty  thing 
along  booss." 

It  was  getting  light  by  now ;  one  could  see 
the  shining  of  the  dew  on  the  bamboo  stems, 
fine  as  hoar-frost  on  a  pane  ;  and  the  great  flags 
of  the  wild  bananas  glittered  like  a  green  velvet 
robe  a-sprinkle  with  diamonds.  We  had  camped 
for  the  night  in  a  small  bit  of  clearing  on  the  top 
of  a  ridge  ;  and  now  that  the  sun  was  up,  we  could 
see,  through  gaps  in  the  netted  foliage,  a  wonder- 
ful ocean  of  softly-swelling  ranges,  blue  and 
purple  and  warm  green,  thickly  forested,  like 
those  through  which  we  had  been  cutting  and 
crawling  our  painful  way  for  a  whole  toilsome 
week ;  furrowed  deeply  with  river  gorges  and 
here  and  there  showing  park-like  spaces  dotted 
with  solitary,  stately  trees,  and  clothed  with 
richest   grass.     One   could   hardlv   believe   that 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks         289 

some  of  these  lovely  lawns  were  not  the  work  of 
men — white  men — and  that  one  would  not  see, 
by  and  by,  some  castled  wall  peeping  up  among 
the  swelling  trees,  or  hear  the  sound  of  a  hunting- 
horn  winding  among  the  glades  where  the  rivers 
ran. 

And  yet  ...  no  white  man's  eyes  had  looked 
upon  these  hills  and  valleys  until  this  day  ;  and 
it  was  above  all  things  likely  that  no  others  would 
look  upon  them  for  many  a  year  to  come.  We 
knew  what  the  barriers  were  through  which  we 
had  passed  so  far  ;  how  that  hard  week's  journey- 
ing, on  carefully  doled-out  food,  had  carried  us 
scarce  twenty  miles  of  the  five-and-thirty  we  had 
to  cover  ;  how  we  had  climbed  slowly  up  and 
down  endless  heights,  cutting  our  way  step  by 
step  with  the  knives  carried  by  Gore  and  myself  ; 
how  we  had  tried  for  an  easy  road  up  river-beds, 
and  been  turned  back  ;  how  we  had  been  bogged 
in  sago  swamps  full  of  leeches  and  alligators,  and 
crossed  river  after  river,  dangerously,  on  single 
logs  thrown  from  bank  to  bank.  These  were 
obstacles  indeed  ;  and  yet  the  worst  was  still 
before  us.  The  country  ahead  was  the  district 
of  the  most  danger,  though  easier  to  traverse 
than  that  through  which  we  had  passed,  was  the 
district  of  the  most  dangerous  natives  in  New 
Britain — natives  who  had  massacred  and  killed 

«9 


290  Red  Bob  of  the  Bismareks 

more  than  one  party  of  missionaries  and  recruit- 
ers— and  we  could  scarcely  hope  to  avoid  coming 
into  collision  with  them.  So  far,  through  Gore's 
wonderful  knowledge  of  New  Britain  (scanty  as 
it  was,  it  was  more  than  any  other  white  man  at 
that  time  possessed),  we  had  been  able  to  pick  out 
a  route  that  took  us  through  thinly  inhabited 
places,  and  the  few  natives  we  had  seen  had  not 
been  hostile — indeed,  they  had  been  willing  to 
trade  a  little,  and  had  sold  us  certain  invaluable 
bundles  of  yams  for  a  little  of  our  tobacco. 
But  now  we  were  approaching  the  districts  that 
were  specially  fertile  and  desirable,  according 
to  native  ideas,  and  we  knew  well  that  there  would 
in  all  probability  be  trouble  before  we  got  across 
to  the  white  men's  settlements. 

Under  the  circumstances.  Bo  was  really  a 
godsend.  He  was  not  to  be  trusted  for  guard 
duty,  but  he  could  carry,  get  water,  build  fires, 
and  in  other  ways  save  Gore  and  myself  from 
unnecessary  work  ;  a  matter  of  much  import- 
ance, when  each  one  of  us  was  going  simply 
"  on  his  pluck,"  as  they  used  to  say — how  long 
ago  it  seemed  ! — in  Flanagan's  gymnasium  where 
the  fights  came  off. 

If  I  said  that  Isola  had  kept  her  beauty  through 
this  terrible  march  I  should  be  telling  a  lie. 
She  had  not ;    she  was  thin,  worn,  and  yellow. 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks         291 

No  woman  can  keep  her  looks  when  she  is  worked 
to  the  uttermost  point,  and  poorly  fed  to  boot. 
For  the  sake  of  the  whole  party,  Gore  had  asked 
from  her  the  uttermost  she  could  do,  since  her 
pace  must  necessarily  be  the  pace  of  all,  and  she 
had  nobly  responded.  Not  a  word  of  complaint 
had  left  her  lips  since  we  started,  even  though 
I  knew  her  to  be  so  weary  every  night  that  she 
moaned  and  sighed  in  her  sleep. 

I  should  never  have  had  the  heart  to  drive  her 
on  as  Red  Bob  did — to  see  her  stumble  with 
weariness  when  we  came  near  camping-time, 
and  to  take  her  by  the  hand  and  simply  help  her 
on,  instead  of  letting  her  lie  down  and  rest,  as 
her  tired,  dark  eyes  so  eloquently  begged  she  might 
do— to  wake  her  in  the  morning  if  she  slept  long, 
through  fatigue,  and  tell  her  that  she  must  be  up 
and  going.  .  .  .  Yet  I  knew  it  to  be  necessary. 
If  our  small  stock  of  food  ran  out,  we  should  be 
compelled  to  seek  the  native  villages,  and  trade 
with  them  ;  and  that  was  a  resort  so  desperate 
that  any  alternative  was  safer. 

A  week  ago  I  should  have  said  that  I  would 
carry  Isola  if  necessary — carry  her  from  one  side 
of  New  Britain  to  the  other.  Was  I  not  young 
and  strong,  and  could  I  not  have  run  round  the 
whole  of  Schouten's  island  with  her  small,  light 
figure  in  my  arms,  if  I  had  wished  ? 


292  Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

But  I  had  learned  what  Red  Bob  meant  when 
he  spoke  of  the  difficulty  of  doing  your  own 
carrying  in  Papuasia.  In  those  steaming 
thickets  and  swamps,  where  sweat  poured  down 
your  back,  and  into  your  eyes,  all  day  long,  and 
your  clothes  were  soaked  through  from  dawn 
to  dusk — up  those  terrible  precipices,  where  you 
hung  on  by  trailing  vines,  and  crept  slowly  from 
peak  to  peak  of  stone — through  the  river-beds, 
jumping  from  stone  to  stone  till  every  muscle 
cried  out  in  weariness,  even  a  twenty-five  pound 
load,  made  up  to  thirty  by  weapons  and  car- 
tridges, was  hatefully,  miserably  heavy.  Our 
loads  lessened  as  we  went  on,  since  we  ate  our 
meat  and  biscuits  day  by  day  ;  but  the  canvas 
that  we  stretched  for  a  tent  at  night  to  keep  off 
the  furious  mountain  rains,  and  the  knives  for 
trade,  and  our  few  clothes  and  belongings  re- 
mained. .  .  .  Long  before  we  had  crossed  the 
first  of  the  many  ranges  that  rose  behind  the 
coast  I  had  come  to  the  conclusion  that  carrying 
in  tropic  climates  was  a  job  for  niggers,  and  for 
no  one  else.  We  had  taken  even  the  blankets 
from  Isola  after  the  first  hour's  walk — taken  her 
small  parcel  of  clothing,  which  she  declared 
weighed  nothing  at  all.  She  was  anxious  to  be 
allowed  to  help,  if  ever  so  little,  but  we  knew 
better  than  to  let  her. 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismareks         293 

And  now  here  was  Bo,  good  for  a  fifty-pound 
load,  if  needs  were,  not  affected  by  the  cHmate, 
not  particularly  Hable  to  fever  (Gore  had  dosed 
us  with  five  grains  of  quinine  regularly  every 
day,  and  it  had  so  far  kept  off  malaria,  but  there 
was  no  knowing  how  long  that  would  last,  for  we 
were  terribly  tormented  by  mosquitoes  at  night), 
and  exceedingly  anxious  to  join  himself  to  our 
party  again. 

We  accepted  him  readily,  gave  him  a  portion 
of  our  small  stock  of  food,  and  the  tobacco  he 
begged  for,  and  asked  him  questions  about  the 
natives  who  had  taken  our  boat.  But  he  had 
little  to  tell,  having  bolted  into  the  bush  at  the 
first  sign  of  danger.  It  seemed  clear,  however, 
that  the  band  who  burned  the  boat  were  the  same 
lot  who  had  murdered  Beyer  and  his  wife  and 
child  a  few  days  before  ;  and  so  far  as  we  could 
make  out,  they  were  the  plantation  boys  them- 
selves— Beyer  having  made  the  mistake  of  recruit- 
ing his  labour  in  his  own  neighbourhood.  It  is 
a  cheap  and  easy  plan,  but  one  that  many  planters 
have  found  only  too  dear  in  the  end. 

Bo  did  not  know  the  country  we  were  passing 
through,  but  he  informed  us  that  the  "  boy  who 
stop  out  there,"  pointing  to  the  ranges  ahead, 
was  "  countryman  belong  him,"  and  that  he  could 
get  us  safely  through,  supposing  his  tribe  were  not 


294         Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

"  making  dance."  If  they  were,  he  thought 
there  might  be  some  difficulty. 

We  were  too  glad  to  have  a  guide  and  inter- 
preter, however,  to  trouble  much  over  details, 
and  that  day's  walk  was  begun  with  better  spirits 
than  any  of  us  had  known  since  starting.  .  .  . 
If  we  could  have  seen  the  end  !  .  .  . 

Bo,  laden  with  most  of  our  goods,  and  carrying 
them  with  an  ease  that  I  felt  to  be  almost  a  per- 
sonal insult,  marched  first,  down  the  thickly 
forested  slope  that  led  to  the  first  river  valley, 
slashing  the  way  open  as  he  went  with  his  big 
clearing-knife.  Isola  came  after,  very  pale  and 
thin,  but  with  the  same  brave  light  always  in  her 
eyes  and  a  step  that  had  grown  more  active  than 
ever  in  this  last  week  of  hard  climbing.  Her 
dress,  kilted  up  above  the  kne^,  was  a  mass  of  rags ; 
her  head  was  protected  by  a  sort  of  mat  of 
plaited  palm,  and  her  hair,  beginning  to  grow 
again,  was  tied  up  in  a  tight  bunch  of  curls  at  the 
back  of  her  head,  so  that  the  lawyer  vines  and 
thorny-edged  palm  leaves  should  not  catch  and 
tear  it  as  she  went.  I  followed  her,  and  Red 
Bob  came  last ;  in  places  like  the  interior  of 
New  Britain,  you  put  your  best  man  in  the 
rear,  and  Red  Bob  never  made  any  bones  about 
classifying  himself  as  the  best  of  the  party. 

I  don't  know  whether  we  were  all  "  fey,"  or 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks         295 

not,  but  the  fact  remains  that  we  were  amaz- 
ingly cheerful  through  that  day  and  on  the  next 
one  too.  Bo  seemed,  in  spite  of  his  disclaimer, 
to  know  or  guess  something  about  the  country 
for  on  the  second  morning  he  led  us  to  a  place 
that  none  of  us  would  have  found  without  his 
help — a  narrow,  rocky  ravine  that  seemed  to 
promise  nothing,  but  that  widened  out  by 
degrees  into  a  deep  canon,  trending  towards  the 
point  of  the  compass  where  we  wanted  to  go, 
and  in  that  pathless  land  making  the  best  path 
we  had  enjoyed  since  we  started.  Of  course 
there  was  a  river  at  the  bottom  of  the  canon,  and 
of  course  we  had  to  jump  and  wade,  and  go  round 
spits  of  land ;  but  we  got  on.  By  the  time  it  was 
late  enough  to  begin  looking  about  for  a  camping- 
place,  we  had  covered  about  seven  miles,  accord- 
ing to  Red  Bob — far  and  away  the  best  day's 
work  we  had  done — and  the  settled  districts,  so 
we  calculated,  were  no  more  than  two  days' 
march  away — perhaps  even  less ;  it  all  depended 
on  the  sort  of  road  we  got. 

Making  camp  in  the  wilderness,  one  does  not 
wait  for  dark,  or  even  dusk.  While  the  sun  is 
yet  well  above  the  horizon,  one  must  begin  to 
look  about ;  to  find  some  spot  where  there  is 
water  within  reasonable  distance,  where  there  is 
ground  suitable  for  pitching  a  tent,  and  where 


296         Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

you  can  find  shelter  from  a  possible  storm, 
without  closing  yourself  in  so  much  as  to  be 
easily  taken  by  a  rush  of  enemies. 

We  began  looking  early,  but  no  suitable  spot 
appeared  at  once.  As  the  sun  slipped  down  the 
sky,  with  the  dismaying  speed  it  always  shows 
when  you  are  counting  every  minute  of  light, 
we  looked  more  and  more  eagerly,  but  still  the 
forested  slopes  that  had  followed  on  the  canon 
continued,  and  still  there  was  not  a  place  where 
one  could  have  pitched  a  tent.  But  all  of  a 
sudden,  just  as  Red  Bob  was  making  up  his  mind, 
I  think,  to  camp  on  a  slope  rather  than  to  go  on 
any  further,  we  came  upon  a  tableland  of  open 
grass,  scattered  with  just  a  few  large  trees,  and 
sloping  a  little  down  to  a  central  stream. 

"  Might  have  been  made  for  us,"  said  Gore, 
shading  his  eyes  from  the  dropping  sun  with  one 
hand,  while  he  looked  at  the  little  plain. 
"  Camp  in  the  middle  of  those  trees  nicely. 
No  chance  of  a  sudden  surprise.  Stir  yourselves 
and  come  on  ;   it's  farther  than  it  looks." 

We  stirred  ourselves  to  some  purpose,  and 
reached  the  clump  of  big  trees  in  a  few  minutes. 
Beyond  it,  only  a  little  way  off  across  the  grass, 
came  the  forest  again  ;  on  one  side,  not  the  side 
we  were  approaching,  was  a  bright  green,  marshy 
patch  of  land,  on  which,  as  we  came  up,  the 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks         297 

declining  sun  seemed  to  cast  strange  shadows. 
.  .  .  Were  they  queer  plants  that  were  growing 
there,  among  the  mud  and  water  ?  Were  they 
the  remains  of  buried  or  cut-down  trees,  with 
long  stiff  branches  still  remaining  ?  Were 
they 

"  Run !  "  said  Gore  suddenly,  picking  up 
Isola  like  a  Sabine  wife  or  a  sack  of  potatoes,  and 
slinging  her  across  his  shoulder.  He  began  to 
run  as  he  spoke,  rapidly  covering  the  ground  in 
the  direction  of  the  forest,  and  glancing  over  his 
shoulder  now  and  then  as  he  ran.  I  saw  he  had 
got  his  revolver  in  his  hand.  .  .  . 

I  looked  behind  me — it  was  time — and  I  saw 
that  the  strange  things  in  the  marsh  had  risen  up 
with  one  accord,  and  were  charging  towards  us, 
and  that  they  were  neither  plants  nor  trees,  but 
buffaloes — big  grey  buffaloes  with  spear-like 
horns  a  good  two  yards  across. 

*'  They  are  escapes,"  I  thought,  as  I  took  to 
my  heels.  Bo  running  and  yelling  behind  me. 
''  Escapes  from  the  settlements — wild  for  years. 
.  .  .  You  cannot  stop  a  charging  buffalo.  .  .  . 
They  will  follow  you  till  they  kill. 

"  But  all  the  same,"  my  thoughts  ran,  "  one 
must  have  a  shot.  Ah  !  "  Gore  had  fired  as  he 
ran,  I  don't  know  how.  His  shot  hit  a  big  bull, 
and  it  roared  like  the  Last  Trump,  fell  on  one 


298         Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

knee,  got  up  again,  and  came  thundering  on, 
snorting  "  Och  !  och  !  "  as  it  went,  and  fully 
determined  to  exact  vengeance. 

I  am  a  good  shot — perhaps  I  have  said  so  before 
— but  I  am  not  at  my  best  running  hard,  with  or 
without  a  girl  over  my  shoulder.  I  will  freely 
allow  I  could  not  have  hit  that  bull  as  Gore  hit 
it.  But  I  knew  I  could  "  dead  him,"  as  Toddie 
would  have  said,  if  I  stopped ;  so  I  did  stop,  and 
put  a  .45  bullet  through  his  eye.  You  should 
have  heard  the  crash  he  made  as  he  dropped  ; 
he  almost  turned  a  somersault.  I  had  to  run 
faster  now — I  couldn't ;  yet  I  did — and  reach 
cover  before  the  others  came  along  ;  they  were 
coming  fast.  I  couldn't  see  where  Red  Bob 
and  his  burden  had  gone  to,  and  the  light  was 
failing,  but  I  caught  sight  of  a  narrow  opening  in 
the  forest,  and  made  for  it.  .  .  .  It  was  a  track  ; 
at  any  other  moment  I  should  have  thought  of 
what  the  track  meant  and  avoided  it,  or  at  least 
followed  it  cautiously.  But  you  cannot  be 
cautious  with  a  herd  of  furious  buffalo  galloping 
at  your  heels.  I  made  along  the  track  as  fast  as 
I  could,  through  the  growing  gloom  of  the 
sunset ;  saw  a  rocky  cliff  rise  up  in  front  of  me  ; 
noticed  that  it  had  steps  hewn  in  the  rock, 
scrambled  up  the  steps  like  a  monkey  (they  were 
not  exactly  on  the  pattern  of  a  villa  staircase), 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismareks         299 

and  found  myself,  with  Bo  behind  me,  on  the  top 
of  the  rocky  plateau,  and  right  in  the  heart  of  the 
one  thing  we  had  been  trying  to  avoid  all  along — 
a  New  Britain  native  village. 

At  first  the  buffaloes  continued  to  occupy 
my  thoughts.  I  looked  down  and  saw  that  the 
herd  had  gone  "  Och  "-ing  and  trampling  by, 
and  also  that  there  was  no  possible  means  by 
which  they  could  get  up  the  rock,  which  seemed 
to  me  a  natural  fortress  of  a  very  high  order. 
Then  I  looked  about  me,  and  realized,  with  a 
jump  of  the  heart,  that  we  were  "  in  for  it." 

Crowds  of  savages  were  collecting  from  every 
side.  Gore  and  Isola — who  was  on  her  feet 
again — ^were  surrounded  by  a  crowd  of  creatures 
more  like  wild  beasts  than  human  beings — things 
with  fiery  eyes  and  huge  monkey  lips ;  things 
dressed  in  mere  fringes  of  bark  and  leaves,  and 
wearing  necklaces  of  dogs'  teeth  and  human 
teeth  about  their  necks.  Another  crowd  had 
collected  about  myself,  and  six  or  seven  were 
hanging  round  Bo,  pinching  his  arms  and  legs. 
I  do  not  think  it  was  the  trifling  pain  caused  by 
this  operation  that  induced  our  solitary  carrier 
to  howl  as  he  did ;  probably  he  knew  that  the 
pinching  betokened  more  interest  in  his  physical 
condition  than  a  kindly  hospitality  could 
account  for. 


'  •  •  • 


CHAPTER  XII 

SINCE  they  did  not  seem  to  be  doing  any 
harm  to  our  carrier,  beyond  pinching  him 
to  see  how  much  fat  he  had  on  him,  I  left 
him  to  himself  for  the  present,  and  joined  Red 
Bob  and  Isola,  who  were  standing  together 
in  the  middle  of  the  village.  A  crowd  of  chatter- 
ing natives  had  collected  about  them,  and  were 
shoving  and  fingering  them  more  than  can  have 
been  pleasant — the  women  were  especially  annoy- 
ing in  their  attempts  to  snatch  away  various 
pieces  of  clothing  from  Isola — but  so  far  no 
attack  had  been  made,  and  none  seemed  in 
contemplation. 

"  Can  we  get  quietly  away,  do  you  think  ?  " 
I  asked  Red  Bob. 

"  We'll  try,"  he  said,  with  a  cheerful 
countenance. 

I  looked  round  the  open  space,  dotted  with 
huts,  that  seemed  to  constitute  the  village ; 
it  was  small  enough  in  all  conscience — I  do  not 
think  there  were  twenty  houses  scattered  about 

300 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks         301 

the  clearing — but  I  saw,  at  a  rough  guess,  that 
there  must  be  near  two  hundred  men  present, 
with  thirty  or  forty  women.  Plainly,  we  had 
intruded  on  some  sort  of  a  gathering  ;  a  savage 
"  at  home,"  including  all  the  "  people  who 
belonged "  in  the  immediate  neighbourhood. 
The  village  was  in  every  way  inferior  to  the 
wonderful  native  towns  of  New  Guinea,  of 
which  I  had  seen  one  or  two  at  Geelvink  Bay. 
Here  were  no  stately  assembly-houses,  eighty 
feet  from  floor  to  ridge-pole,  built  with  curious 
towers  and  spires  and  deep  verandahs,  and  all 
made  out  of  forest  material,  without  so  much  as 
one  European  nail  used  from  start  to  finish. 
Here  were  no  long  streets  as  wide  as  Piccadilly, 
with  fine,  verandahed  houses  set  at  regular 
intervals,  and  beautiful,  red-foliaged  trees  planted 
in  between.  Before  us,  in  this  typical  New 
Britain  town,  was  simply  a  huddle  of  brown 
roofs  set  almost  on  the  ground,  rubbish  scattered 
everywhere,  dogs  and  pigs  scampering  freely 
about. 

Ugly  black  women,  shockingly  dirty  and 
clothed  only  in  a  ragged  fringe  of  leaves,  were 
walking  about  with  babies  like  monkeys  held 
in  their  arms,  or  slung  on  their  backs  in  a  net. 
Men,  short,  hairy,  and  sturdy,  with  eyes  sunk 
under  deep  eaves  of  heavy  brow,  and  a  strange, 


302  Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

half-startled,  half-fierce  expression,  which  I  was 
to  know  hereafter  as  the  typical  look  of  the  canni- 
bal, stood  in  herded  groups  like  wild  animals, 
and  stared  ceaselessly.  A  few  in  the  crowd 
about  us  fingered  their  long  ironwood  spears 
and  kept  their  hands  set  tight  on  their  great 
bows — weapons  such  as  those  the  English  fought 
with  at  Crecy  and  Agincourt,  and  to  the  full  as 
deadly. 

"  Don't  you  mind  them,"  I  said  to  Isola, 
taking  my  place  at  her  side,  and — I  fear — almost 
pushing  Gore  away — for  I  could  not  bear  to 
think  that  any  other  man  than  myself  was  pro- 
tecting her.  "  You  need  never  be  uneasy  about 
natives  as  long  as  their  women  are  kept  in  sight. 
That's  so,  isn't  it  ?  " 

"  It  is,"  said  Red  Bob.  "  Is  that  black  donkey 
of  yours  able  to  talk  to  them  .?  " 

"  Bo,  can  you  talk  along  this  fellow  }  "  I  asked, 
pulling  him  away  from  what  looked  like  rather 
rough  usage  on  the  part  of  the  natives. 

"  Fore  God,  master,  I  no  savvy  him  talk," 
declared  Bo,  the  whites  of  his  eyes  rolling  with 
fear.  "  Altogether  I  no  savvy  him  ;  he  no  my 
people.  This  fellow  man  he  plenty  bad  man. 
Me  too  much  fright  along  him." 

It  had  grown  quite  dark  by  now,  but  the 
cooking-fires   which   had    been   lit    ail   over    the 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks  303 

village  showed  the  place  clearly  enough.  The 
women  were  busy  burying  yams  and  sweet 
potatoes  among  hot  stones ;  there  were  great 
piles  of  bananas  heaped  together  here  and  there, 
and  some  kind  of  mess  was  being  concocted  in 
wooden  bowls.  The  amount  of  food  that  had 
been  collected,  the  coloured  leaves,  flowers  and 
feathers  worn  in  the  heads  of  the  men,  and 
especially  the  number  of  people  all  collected 
together,  seemed  to  point  to  a  public  feast. 
In  the  glare  of  the  cooking-fires  the  wild  black 
figures  went  constantly  to  and  fro,  and  I  could 
see  that  they  were  getting  a  good  deal  excited — 
whether  in  prospect  of  the  food  or  in  prospect 
of  something  else  I  could  not  tell.  Red  Bob 
and  Isola  and  I  stood  bunched  together,  with 
that  unlucky  craven  Bo  sniffling  on  the  ground 
at  our  feet ;  he  had  made  up  his  mind  at  once 
that  it  was  all  up  with  the  party,  and  was  evidently 
prepared  for  the  worst. 

"  Can  we  get  away  ?  "  asked  Isola  of  Gore. 
She  kept  her  head  and  her  courage  wonderfully, 
but  I  felt  her  hand — her  poor  little  roughened, 
sunburned  hand — steal  into  mine  and  stay  there. 

Red  Bob,  as  calm  as  if  he  had  been  on  the  deck 
of  the  Empress  of  Singapore  in  Liverpool  docks, 
stood  rolling  a  cigarette  and  looking  about  him. 

''If  they  don't  seem  likely  to  show  fight,  I 


304         Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

think  we  can,"  he  said.  "  Corbet,  have  you  a 
match  left  ?  Thanks.  .  .  .  We  can't  attempt 
to  fight  our  way  out.  Two  guns  against  two 
hundred  bows  and  spears  is  not  impossible  odds 
in  daylight  with  a  clear  get-away.  In  the  dark, 
surrounded  by  bush  you  don't  know,  it's  in- 
sanity. No,  our  game  for  the  present  is  peace. 
Keep  edging  towards  the  entrance,  talking  as 
we  go." 

We  did  as  he  directed.  We  were  standing  some 
fifty  yards  from  the  rock  staircase  that  led  up 
into  the  town.  Step  by  step  we  strolled  towards 
it,  stopping  altogether  now  and  then,  talking  as 
we  went,  and  looking  at  the  preparations  for  the 
feast  and  the  dance  with  an  interest  that  I, 
at  any  rate,  certainly  did  not  feel.  But  before 
we  had  covered  half  the  distance  a  party  of 
young  fighting  men,  armed  with  bows  taller 
than  themselves,  had  strolled  between  us  and 
the  opening. 

"  May  be  chance ;  keep  going,"  said  Gore. 
We  edged  along  till  we  were  close  to  the  band 
of  warriors,  who  looked  very  ugly  when  you  came 
near  them,  and — I  must  say  it — smelt,  like 
KipHng's  camel,  "  most  awful  vile."  The  fire- 
light, leaping  high,  flickered  on  their  plumy 
headdresses,  and  shone  from  the  white  necklaces 
of  teeth  they  wore.     I  could  not  help  wondering 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks         305 

where  the  teeth  came  from,  and  whose  would 
form  the  next  row  in  those  ghastly  adornments. 

Quietly  and  politely,  we  tried  to  press  through 
their  ranks ;  at  least,  Gore  and  I  did,  keeping 
Isola  behind  us.  I  could  feel  her  trembhng, 
but  she  did  not  say  a  word. 

The  warriors  did  not  move.  At  first  they 
seemed  unaware  that  we  were  trying  to  get 
through ;  they  shifted  and  shuffled  about  in 
such  a  way  as  to  block  us,  and  yet  it  seemed  all 
done  by  accident.  Then  Gore  took  one  Hghtly 
by  the  arm,  and  tried  to  press  him  aside.  In- 
stantly, as  if  that  had  been  a  signal,  the  whole 
body  of  them — some  forty  or  fifty — massed 
themselves  in  front  of  the  opening,  thumped 
the  ends  of  their  great  bows  on  the  ground,  and 
set  forth  one  loud  shout. 

We  were  prisoners. 

Quietly,  without  any  appearance  of  hurry, 
Red  Bob  drew  us  back  towards  the  centre  of  the 
square.  I  kept  tight  hold  of  Isola.  She  put 
her  head  close  to  mine  for  a  moment,  and 
whispered  to  me  : 

"  Paul,  will  you  shoot  me  before  you  die  your- 
self ?     Will  you  promise  ?  " 

"  I  promise,"  I  answered.  "  But  it  won't  be 
necessary  ;  none  of  us  are  going  to  die." 

She  was  silent. 

20 


306         Red  Bob  of  the  Bismareks 

"  Bluff  it  out  till  daylight ;  that's  our  best 
plan,"  said  Gore  cheerily.  "  See  me  get  some 
supper  out  of  those  fellows.  Now,  don't  you 
worry,  little  girl ;  I  know  the  brutes,  and  they've 
no  mischief  in  their  heads  at  this  minute.  Look 
at  the  women  and  children.  They're  keeping 
us  for  some  reason  of  their  own — blessed  if  I  know 
what  it  is  at  this  minute,  but  I'll  find  out.  I 
know  enough  sign  language  to  do  that.  Here, 
you,  Paul,  kick  that  beggar  till  he  stops  howling  ; 
it  isn't  healthy  for  any  of  us — and  look  after  your 
girl  till  I  see  the  chief.  That's  the  fellow  over 
there,  I  reckon." 

He  strode  across  the  square  and  walked  in 
among  the  biggest  group  of  savages,  a  crowd  of 
men  more  highly  painted  and  decorated  than  the 
rest,  who  had  massed  themselves  about  one 
tallish,  elderly  man.  His  air  of  confidence  seemed 
to  impress  them,  and  they  drew  aside  to  let  him 
pass.  I  saw  him  take  the  handkerchief  from  his 
neck — a  dirty  rag  enough,  but  red  in  colour, 
and  colour  goes  a  long  way  with  niggers — and 
present  it  to  the  chief  with  the  air  of  one  offer- 
ing a  noble  gift.  The  elderly  man  took  it,  smelt 
it,  touched  it  with  his  tongue,  and  then  twisted 
it  about  his  head.  The  other  natives  closed  in 
round  them  after  this,  and  I  could  see  little,  but 
I  thought  that  Gore  was  gesticulating  with  his 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks         307 

hands,  and  making  signs,  and  that  there  was  a 
good  deal  of  general  chattering  among  the  group. 

By  and  by  he  came  back,  walking  across  the 
square  with  the  easy,  care-free  step  of  a  man  who 
has  not  a  trouble  in  the  world. 

"  I  made  out  something,"  he  reported.  "  I 
know  a  few  words  of  several  of  these  confounded 
dialects  of  theirs.  Sign  business  helped  it  along, 
too.  It's  pretty  mysterious ;  dashed  if  I  can 
make  it  all  out.  They  told  me  there  was  very 
big  fighting  in  the  places  where  the  white  men 
were,  and  that  everybody  was  going  to  be  killed 
with  guns.  That  was  easy  to  make  out — even 
you  could  have  done  it  " — Red  Bob  never  forgot 
to  keep  down  what  he  was  pleased  to  call  my 
"  fine  natural  sense  of  self-appreciation  " — "  but 
the  next  bit  was  a  teaser.  He  made  the  sign 
for  innocence  again  and  again,  and  I  believe  he 
meant  it.  Unless  the  Germans  have  gone  mad, 
and  are  killing  the  natives  for  fun — which  isn't 
likely,  considering  that  they  are  the  biggest 
asset  of  the  country — I  can't  make  it  out." 

"  Make  Bo  have  a  try,"  I  suggested.  "  His 
language  must  be  fairly  near  theirs  as  he  isn't 
twenty  miles  from  his  own  place." 

We  had  some  trouble  in  kicking  him  up  off 
the  ground  and  setting  him  to  work ;  in  fact, 
it  took  the  muzzle  of  my  revolver  to  persuade 

20* 


308  Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

him — but  in  the  end  he  gave  in  and,  trembhng 
all  over,  tried  his  linguistic  acquirements  on 
the  chief.  His  report  wsls  that  all  the  white 
men  were  killing  everybody,  and  the  chief  of 
the  town  thought  we  had  been  sent  to  kill  him. 
It  was  apparently  his  intention  to  keep  us  under 
observation  for  a  little  while  and  if  no  reinforce- 
ments followed  us,  Bo  thought  he  would  probably 
give  orders  to  have  the  party  eaten. 

"  Good  hearing,"  said  Red  Bob.  "  I  don't 
know  what  the  row  can  be  down  on  the  coast — 
sounds  as  if  all  New  Britain  had  risen  together — 
but  whatever  it  is,  there  seems  to  be  so  much 
shooting  going  on  that  this  beast  of  a  chief  is 
afraid  to  attack  us  right  away.  Isola,  my  dear, 
we'll  get  out  of  this  all  right ;  there's  twice  the 
chance  I  thought  there  was  five  minutes  ago. 
Now  for  supper.  Corbet,  I'll  do  the  looking- 
out  while  you  go  among  those  women  and 
take  what  you  think  is  a  fair  share  of  yams  and 
potatoes ;    don't  ask,  just  lift  what  you  need." 

I  put  the  boldest  face  on  that  I  could,  walked 
in  among  the  women — ^what  hideous  old  hags 
they  were,  one  and  all ! — and  loaded  myself 
with  food.  No  objection  was  made,  but  the  old 
beldames  sat  back  on  their  haunches  and  stared 
at  me  with  a  kind  of  cruel  curiosity  that  I  did 
not   altogether   care   for.     It   seemed   almost   as 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks         309 

if  they  knew  a  lot  of  unpleasant  things  about 
me  and  about  my  party  that  they  didn't  choose 
to  say. 

We  sat  down  on  the  ground  and  ate,  leaving 
our  own  stores  unopened,  by  Red  Bob's  advice. 

"  Trouble  among  natives,  eight  cases  out  of 
ten,"  he  said,  "  begins  by  looting.  We  won't 
tempt  them." 

For  many  a  night  after,  if  I  opened  my  eyes 
in  the  dark,  I  used  to  see  that  scene  ;  the  v^dld, 
cannibal  village,  with  the  black  figures  coming 
and  going  in  the  red  glare  of  the  fires ;  walls 
of  dark  foliage  almost  meeting  overhead ; 
columns  of  smoke  curling  up  among  the  branches 
as  one  and  another  of  the  natives  threw  on  more 
fuel,  working  the  blaze  up  ever  higher  and  higher 
— for  what  .?  .  .  . 

I  remember  even  the  smell  of  the  place — the 
odour  of  damp  grass  thatch  and  trampled  dust, 
of  spicy  leaves  and  gums  in  the  forest ;  of  sweet 
potatoes  crumbling  in  hot  ashes,  mingling  with 
the  horrible  insanitary  odours  that  haunt  all 
native  villages.  I  remember  the  yelps  that  the 
savages  began  to  give  as  they  worked  themselves 
up  for  the  dance ;  the  drugging,  benumbing 
beat  of  the  drums,  the  sudden  bursts  of  wolf- 
like howling  that  began  among  the  dogs  hidden 
under    the    houses.  .  .  .  Were    they    expecting 


310         Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

to  be  fed  ?  I  remember,  best  of  all,  beside  me 
in  the  dusk,  the  small,  white  face  of  Isola,  and 
the  clasped  hands  that  told  me  she  was  praying  ; 
and  above  all  the  fire  and  the  fury  down  below, 
the  far,  high  stillness  of  the  stars. 

Not  that  I  felt  for  a  moment  we  had  come  to 
praying  and  resigning.  Like  Dame  Quickly, 
I  thought  there  was  no  need  to  trouble  ourselves 
about  such  things — yet. 

We  were  hardly  through  our  meal  when  a  man 
advanced  towards  us,  holding  a  green  branch 
in  his  hand — the  sign  of  peace.  He  motioned 
us  to  get  up  and  follow  him.  I  saw  Gore 
calculating  the  chances  of  making  a  rush,  but  the 
square  was  hemmed  in  two  deep  with  fighting 
men,  and  what  we  might  have  attempted  as 
a  forlorn  hope,  had  we  been  alone,  could  not 
be  thought  of  when  Isola  was  there  too.  We 
followed  the  man  to  a  house  near  one  end  of 
the  village,  a  low,  thatched  building  with  walls 
of  sago  palm,  and  pointed  grass  roof.  It  had 
a  door  but  no  windows,  after  the  fashion  of  their 
houses.  Into  this  retreat  he  led  us,  showing 
the  way  with  a  torch,  and  when  he  had  seen  all 
four  safely  inside,  he  went  away,  shutting  the 
door  behind  him. 

It  was,  of  course,  contemptible,  viewed  in  the 
light   of   a   prison.     Anyone   could   have   cut   a 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks         311 

way  out  in  five  minutes  with  a  penknife.  But 
I  judged  that  our  guards  were  to  be  the  village 
itself,  and  it  was  not  likely  that  they  would  permit 
us  to  escape. 

Bo,  lying  on  the  ground,  gave  way  to  tears 
again,  and  expressed  his  opinion  that  we  were  all 
going  to  be  eaten,  just  like  pigs.  Gore  and  I 
discussed  the  situation,  but  we  could  only  arrive 
at  one  conclusion — that  we  were  being  held  in 
some  way  as  hostages,  and  that  if  the  trouble 
which  had  evidently  occurred  on  a  large  scale 
further  on  turned  against  our  hosts,  we  might, 
as  Gore  put  it,  look  out  for  squalls. 

"  I  don't  like  their  dancing,"  he  said.  "  Nasty 
beggars  when  they  dance.  Get  all  worked  up. 
Is  there  any  more  tobacco  ?  " 

"  One  small  piece,"  I  said. 

"  I  need  it,"  said  Gore.  "  I  want  to  think. 
Don't  you  chatter  for  a  bit,  Paul,  or  you,  Isola. 
All  you  flappers  are  terrible  chatterboxes.  Don't 
flap  ;   go  to  sleep.     You  may  want  it." 

He  leaned  up  comfortably  against  the  sago 
wall ;  smoked,  and  fixed  his  eyes  on  the  low 
ceiling. 

Meantime,  in  the  square  outside  something 
new  was  preparing,  and  it  sounded,  to  my  in- 
experienced ears,  as  if  half  a  dozen  liners  with 
syrens  in  good  order,  and  fifty  strong  donkeys 


812         Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

in  fine  voice,  had  entered  the  village  and  begun 
a  competition  against  one  another.  The  most 
extraordinary  bellows  and  brays  w^ere  arising  from 
outside.  "  Oom,  oom,  oom  !  "  came  something 
like  the  whistle  of  the  Oceanic ;  then,  "  Ai-ai, 
ai-ai !  "  in  a  higher  note,  then  a  wild  burst  of 
"  Oomty-ai,  oomty-ai !  "  leaping  from  the 
lowest  note  to  the  highest,  while  all  the  time  the 
spectral  donkeys  kept  up  a  steady  "  Honk-ee, 
honk-ee  !  "  and  something  sharp  and  thin  as  the 
note  of  a  policeman's  whistle  kept  shrilling  far 
above  the  rest. 

"  Lord,  I  must  have  a  look  at  this  !  "  I  ex- 
claimed. "  Gore,  you  must  be  made  of  wood  if 
you  don't  want  to  know  what  that  is." 

"  I  knew  you  couldn't  keep  from  chattering 
for  five  minutes  if  you  tried,"  was  his  reply. 
"  Think  I've  never  seen  a  New  Britain  dance 
before,  or  heard  one  ?     That's  bamboos." 

I  really  thought  he  was  making  fun  of  me, 
even  in  our  serious  straits,  until  I  got  my  eye  to 
a  crack  in  the  flimsy  sago  sheath  door,  and  saw 
that  nearly  every  man  in  the  place  had  got  either 
a  set  of  pan-pipes  made  of  different  lengths  of 
bamboo,  or  a  single  long  pipe,  or  else  a  section  of 
bamboo  trunk  as  big  round  as  a  main  drain-pipe 
— these  last  furnishing  the  extraordinary  booming 
noises  that  dominated  all  the  rest.     The  savages 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks         313 


were  dancing  as  they  played — dancing  in  a  solid 
circle,  that  went  round  and  round  on  itself 
like  cattle  "  milling  "  when  they  swim  across  a 
stream.  They  held  their  heads  low  to  play  on 
their  pipes,  they  lifted  their  legs  till  knee  almost 
struck  on  chin ;  they  looked  less  like  human 
beings,  and  more  like  prancing,  bellowing  bisons, 
than  I  had  ever  seen  them  look  yet.  I  would 
not  give  Isola  a  place  at  the  hole,  for  I  thought  by 
their  appearance  that  they  were  "  working  up,"^ 
as  Red  Bob  had  said,  and  I  began  to  see  we  were 
in  a  tighter  place  than  any  of  us  had  supposed. 
If  they  got  themselves  up  to  the  proper  point 
of  bloodthirsty  excitement  before  morning,  no 
questions  of  prudence  were  likely  to  restrain  them 
from  knocking  us  on  the  head. 

I  told  Isola  that  the  men  were  playing  on 
bamboos,  and  that  it  wasn't  particularly  inter- 
esting. Whether  she  beheved  me  or  not  I 
cannot  say ;  but  she  did  not  try  to  look  out. 
Silence  fell  for  a  Httle  while  inside  the  dark 
brown  house  ;  we  saw  each  other  only  as  shadows 
stirring  faintly  in  the  dark ;  we  heard  nothing 
but  the  inhuman  honking  and  hooting  of  the 
savage  music  in  the  square. 

Presently  I  heard  Red  Bob  strike  a  match,  and 
saw  him  standing  up  inspecting  our  prison 
closely.     I  watched  him  with  an   interest  that 


314         Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

was  almost  feverish,  and  I  think  Isola,  and  even 
Bo,  watched  him  too.  We  all  three  felt  that  he 
was  the  greatest  man  of  the  party  ;  we  felt  that 
if  he  could  not  save  us,  nothing  and  no  one  could. 
It  had  come  to  that  by  now  ;  each  one  of  us  felt 
that  we  were  in  serious  danger,  and  that  the  sun 
that  had  sunk  two  hours  ago  behind  the  unknown 
forest  ranges  might  never  rise  for  us — unless 
Red  Bob  could  help. 

I  don't  really  know  what  I  expected  him  to  say 
or  do,  but  I  was  horribly  disappointed — dis- 
gusted too— -when  I  saw  that  he  was  turning  over 
a  heap  of  old  native  dancing-dresses  in  the  corner, 
and  examining  them  with  all  the  ardour  of  the 
ethnologist,  just  as  if  (I  thought  to  myself)  there 
had  been  no  horde  of  blood-lusting  brutes  work- 
ing themselves  to  frenzy  outside,  and  no  Isola  to 
save  from  their  fury. 

"  What  selfish  brutes  men  of  science  are  after 
all !  "  I  thought.  "  All  for  themselves  and  their 
wretched  discoveries — as  if  it  really  mattered  to 
anyone  on  earth  except  a  few  musty  German 
professors  whether  one  brand  of  nigger  dances 
and  dresses — or  undresses — in  the  same  way  as 
another  !  Oh,  I  know  your  arguments  " — my 
thoughts  rambled  on — "  '  History  of  Races '  and 
all  that ;  but  what  does  history  of  races  really 
mean  to  any  live  human  being  in  the  world  to- 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks         315 

day  ?  If  ever  I  get  out  of  this  alive,  I'll  have 
done " 

"  Look,  look  !  "  said  Isola,  "  what  is  he  doing  ?  " 

Gore  had  put  a  match  to  a  burned  brand  out  of 
some  old  fire,  and  had  stuck  it  in  the  ground.  It 
gave  light  enough  for  us  to  see  that  he  was 
curiously  busy  with  the  dancing  dresses — select- 
ing out  of  the  heap  a  few  that  looked  like  large, 
old-fashioned  beehives,  or  coachman's  capes 
made  of  straw,  examining  them  with  anxious 
care — yes,  actually  trying  them  on.  .  .  . 

It  was  then  that  I  began  to  understand  that 
Red  Bob  might  have  resources  and  reserves 
beyond  what  I  could  guess. 

"  Corbet,"  he  said  presently,  his  head  half 
muffled  in  a  mass  of  something  like  hay,  "  look 
out  and  see  if  there  are  any  dresses  like  this  in 
the    dance." 

"  There  is  one,"  I  said,  peering  through  the 
hole. 

"  A  thing  hke  a  beehive  on  two  feet — you 
can't  see  anything  but  the  dress  itself,  and  an 
ugly  mask  stuck  on  top  ?  " 

"  Yes,  that's  it.  The  mask  looks  like  a  clown's 
face  and  a  gargoyle  off  Notre  Dame  mixed  up 
together." 

"  What's  the  dancer  doing  ?  Hopping  round 
and  round  ?  " 


316         Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

"  Yes." 

"  Let  Isola  take  her  turn,  and  watch  the  dancer. 
Watch  him,  both  of  you,  as  if  your  Hves  depended 
on  it.     See  what  he  does ;  what  steps  he  takes." 

We  did  as  he  told  us.  I  cut  the  hole  a  little 
larger,  so  that  all  three  might  peep  cautiously 
out  together,  and  Gore  came  and  joined  us. 

"  Yes,"  he  said  with  a  glance,  "  it's  the  Duk- 
Duk  dance.     You  may  be  glad  it  is." 

The  Duk-Duk  was  performing  a  solemn  chassee 
down  the  middle  of  the  village,  looking,  I  must 
say,  like  the  maddest  and  most  horrible  figure 
that  ever  escaped  from  a  nightmare  dream.  Its 
formlessness,  and  the  blank,  inhuman  mask  that 
topped  the  shuffling  figure,  took  from  it  all 
semblance  to  a  human  being,  and,  strangely 
enough,  seemed  to  terrify  or  overawe  the  natives 
almost  as  if  they  had  never  seen  it  before.  The 
Duk-Duk  is  the  goblin  of  New  Britain  life  ;  its 
appearances  in  the  village  dance  are  always 
cleverly  calculated  by  the  sorcerers  for  some  un- 
expected moment ;  no  one  knows  who  is  hidden 
beneath  the  shuffling  beehive  with  the  grisly 
face  on  top,  and  murder  often  follows  on  its 
pointing  out  of  a  victim.  .  .  . 

In  and  out,  in  and  out  of  the  hopping  pan-pipe 
players  it  went,  a  thing  of  horror,  speechless, 
limbless,  apparently  deaf  and  blind — ^yet  we  knew 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks         317 

well  that  a  clever  sorcerer  must  be  concealed 
beneath  the  sinister  disguise  watching  his  oppor- 
tunity to  mark  down  a  victim.  I  saw  that  the 
women  had  hidden  their  faces  on  the  ground — 
it  is  death  to  them  to  look  upon  a  Duk-Duk — 
and  that  they  trembled  and  burrowed  lower  into 
the  earth  every  time  the  wind  of  its  going  passed 
them.  The  men  v^th  the  pipes  made  a  shift  to 
pretend  they  did  not  notice  the  hideous  thing, 
but  wherever  it  went  by  the  ranks  of  the  dancers 
shrank  and  winced  away,  as  from  the  swaying 
scythe  of  Death  itself. 

I  watched  it,  fascinated  beyond  words.  Few 
people  have  seen  the  Duk-Duk  dance  of  New 
Britain,  and  of  these  some  have  not  lived  to  tell 
about  it.  Yet  I  felt  as  if  we  should.  I  believed 
in  Red  Bob. 

When  I  looked  round  again,  he  was  busy  with 
one  of  the  dresses,  putting  it  on. 

"  Listen  to  what  I  say,"  he  said,  "  and  be 
careful.  When  the  next  Duk-Duk  comes  out — 
there  will  be  another  by  and  by,  perhaps  more — 
I  am  going  to  cut  through  the  wall  at  the  back  of 
the  hut  and  join  it.  You  must  keep  your  eye  on 
me,  and  when  I  have  been  dancing  for  a  little, 
get  into  the  three  of  the  dresses  that  are  left, 
blacken  your  feet  well  with  ashes  (you'll  have  to 
carry  your  boots  under  your  dress)  and  come  after 


318         Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

me.  Do  exactly  as  the  other  Duk-Duks  are 
doing,  and  then  dance  to  the  rock  stairway  and 
go  down  it.  You  see  the  first  Duk-Duk  did  that, 
and  came  back  again,  more  than  once.  We  can't 
take  any  baggage,  but  tie  a  Httle  food  about  you 
— so — quickly.  Now  if  this  heathen  doesn't  queer 
our  pitch — Bo,  do  you  understand  what  we  are 
doing  ?  " 

"  My  God,  master,  me  savvy  plenty,"  answered 
Bo  unexpectedly.  "  Long  my  village,  one  time 
I  makem  Duk-Duk,  I  makem  kill  plenty  men." 

"  Then  we  can  trust  him  to  play  his  part. 
Good  business.  I  thought  he  would  be  a  diffi- 
culty. Now,  do  you  understand,  and  can  Isola 
manage  it  .?  Yes  ?  Then  I'll  make  a  start. 
Isola  can  come  next,  and  you  two  after.  And 
Paul,  remember,  if  things  go  wrong,  shoot,  but 
don't  shoot  till  you  have  to,  for  it's  a  last  chance." 

"  I  understand,"  I  said.  Gore  took  my  hand 
in  his  and  shook  it.  I  understood  that,  too  ; 
he  was  saying  good-bye,  in  case  "  things  went 
wrong." 

We  cut  a  slab  or  two  of  the  pith-like  sago 
stems  out  in  a  couple  of  minutes,  and  reconnoitred 
carefully.  On  this  side  there  was  no  guard ; 
the  projection  of  stone  that  appeared  here  and 
there  among  the  trees  explained  why — clearly 
it  was  inaccessible.     Only  a  few   women  were 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismareks         319 

visible,  lying  with  their  faces  on  the  ground,  and 
their  arms  over  their  heads. 

"  Let's  hope  they  don't  peep,"  laughed  Gore. 
He  seemed  in  excellent  spirits.  I  do  not  think 
the  man  ever  knew  what  fear  meant. 

In  a  moment  he  had  slipped  through  the  open- 
ing, and  was  advancing  down  the  square.  We 
rushed  to  the  other  side  to  watch  him.  He 
danced  as  the  other  Duk-Duks  danced — there 
were  two  of  them  now — and  before  him,  as  before 
the  others,  the  ranks  of  the  pipers  shrank  and 
quivered,  as  he  passed,  and  the  women  moaned 
when  they  heard  his  feet  shuffling  by.  .  .  . 

It  was  time  to  make  our  move. 

How  well  I  remember  the  stuffy,  dirty  smell  of 
the  dress  when  I  put  it  over  my  head,  after  seeing 
Isola  and  Bo  into  theirs  !  It  was  wonderfully 
light,  in  spite  of  its  size  ;  and  the  hideous  mask 
on  the  top,  as  I  had  anticipated,  had  two  small 
holes  through  which  one  could  see  quite  well. 
I  wondered  what  insanitary  beast  had  worn  the 
dress  before  I  did,  and  hoped  that  none  of  us  would 
get  leprosy  or  anything  else  that  was  unpleasant 
from  the  manner  of  our  disguise.  Then  I  had 
not  time  to  think  any  more,  for  Isola  was  out,  and 
making  the  perilous  pass  of  the  square.  God,  how 
my  heart  beat  as  I  watched  her  !  How  loose  I 
kept  my  finger  on  the  trigger  of  my  revolver ! 


320         Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 


Her  coolness  was  wonderful.  On  her  little 
blackened  feet,  she  shuffled  and  chasseed  along, 
exactly  as  the  other  Duk-Duks  had  done,  even 
pausing  once  or  twice  to  make  the  hideous 
"  point  "  from  which  the  savage  shrank  back  so 
nervously  (I  judged  that  any  man  thus  "  pointed  " 
stood  in  imminent  danger  of  the  cooking-oven). 
I  saw  her  near  the  rock  staircase,  saw  the  ranks  of 
warriors  part  as  the  sea  parts  before  the  stem  of 
a  ship,  to  let  her  through  ;  saw  that  Red  Bob 
followed  her  closely — or  was  it  one  of  the  other 
Duk-Duks  }     For  the  life  of  me  I  could  not  tell. 

"  Now,  Bo  !  "  I  whispered,  and  together  we 
danced  out  from  behind  the  hut,  shuffling  along 
without  haste,  and  weaving  in  and  out  among 
the  dancers  as  we  had  seen  the  other  Duk-Duks 
do.  The  fires  leaped  and  glowed ;  the  black 
figures  of  the  piping  men  "  milled  "  continually, 
round  and  round  in  a  circle.  "  Oom-oom," 
went  the  pipes,  "  Oom-ty,  oom-ty,  ai-ai,  ai-ai !  " 
The  air  was  full  of  dust ;  everything  was  seen  as 
in  a  cloud  ;  the  smell  of  the  dust  was  like  snuff 
in  one's  nostrils.  I  could  hardly  keep  from 
sneezing.  ...  Bo  and  I  danced  on.  The  stone 
stairs  were  close  to  us ;  we  were  hopping  and 
skipping  down  them.  .  .  . 

We  had  reached  the  foot,  and  stood  in  the 
dark,  leafy  wet-smelling  track  below ;    I   could 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks         321 

just  see  two  Duk-Duk  dresses  in  front  of  me.  I 
stretched  out  my  hand,  and  feh  for  the  hand  of 
the  nearest.  It  snatched  at  me  fiercely,  and  then 
seized  my  arm.     I  had  got  one  of  the  real  ones ! 

One  thinks  quickly  in  such  moments,  and  luckily 
I  remembered  Red  Bob's  counsel :  "  Fire  only 
as  a  last  resort."  I  drew  the  long  bush-knife 
from  my  belt  with  my  free  arm,  thrust  aside 
the  grass  of  the  Duk-Duk  dress,  and  drove  the 
blade  through  the  dancer's  ribs.  He  stopped  in 
the  very  beginning  of  a  cry,  coughed,  "  Och  !  " 
once,  like  the  buffaloes,  and  fell  down  at  my  feet. 
Gore  had  him  by  the  legs  in  an  instant  and  slung 
him  quietly  among  the  trees.  I  thought  by  the 
movement  of  his  arm  as  it  came  up  from  the  cape 
that  he  made  assurance  surer,  with  his  own  good 
knife ;    but  it  was  too  dark  to  see. 

We  made  off  down  the  track,  very  slowly  at 
first,  and  dancing  as  we  went,  in  case  we  should 
meet  any  more  of  this  infernal  corps  de  ha  let ; 
but  soon  we  threw  aside  our  hampering  disguises, 
put  on  our  boots,  and  taking  Isola  between  us 
(for  the  track  was  a  good  one,  and  unusually 
wide),  ran  as  hard  as  we  could.  When  we  had  put 
a  mile  or  two  between  ourselves  and  the  village 
Gore  called  a  halt.  We  listened,  standing  in  the 
drip  of  dew  from  enormous  cottonwoods  over- 
head, and  hearing  the  great  green  frogs  of  New 

21 


322         Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

Britain  bleat  like  goats  in  the  under-brush,  and 
once,  a  long  way  off,  an  alligator  belling  in  a 
swamp.     But  of  the  savages  we  heard  nothing. 

After  a  little  rest,  we  went  on,  guided  hy  Bo, 
who  seemed  to  know  where  he  was,  or  at  least  to 
guess,  as  a  native  sometimes  can.  Isola's  endur- 
ance was  wonderful.  She  leaned  upon  my  arm, 
and  sometimes  took  Red  Bob's  also  for  a  while, 
but  she  never  once  faltered  or  complained.  We 
went  on  till  near  daylight,  and  then,  finding  a 
safe  nook  among  some  rocks,  slept  for  a  while. 
Gore  and  I  taking  turns  to  watch.  The  sun  came 
up,  red  and  rainy-looking,  over  the  outline  of  a 
dark  blue  ridge,  not  many  miles  away.  Gore 
looked  at  it,  laughed  and  clapped  me  on  the  back. 

"  My  boy,  we've  done  it,"  said  he,  "  for  that's 
the  range  above  the  Gore  plantation  country, 
and  we'll  be  into  the  settlement  to-night." 

I  do  not  think  we  should  have  been,  however, 
had  we  not  chanced  upon  a  buffalo  wallowing  in 
a  marsh — a  tame  one  this  time,  obviously  not  long 
escaped  from  the  nearest  settlement,  and  with  a 
fresh  hole  in  its  nostril — and  pressed  it  into  our 
service,  to  carry  Isola.  Being  a  tame  beast  of 
burden,  it  submitted,  after  some  trials,  and  for 
the  rest  of  our  march — which  we  kept  up  till 
dusk,  with  the  exception  of  a  couple  of  hours' 
spell  in  the  middle  of  the  day — our  brave  little 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismareks         323 


lady  went  as  Evangeline  rode  in  the  "  beautiful 
meadows  of  Grand-Pre."  I  think  we  must  have 
made  an  odd-looking  procession — Gore  striding 
along  in  front,  chewing  a  bit  of  stick  for  want  of 
his  usual  smoke,  Bo  trotting  along  behind  him, 
and  last,  I  sola,  on  the  great  grey  buffalo,  with 
myself  walking  beside  her — a  ragged,  dirty  party, 
sunburned  almost  as  black  as  Bo,  muddy,  torn  and 
sadly  in  need  of  a  wash.  It  began  to  rain  in 
waterspouts  before  we  got  to  the  settlement,  and 
when  we  came  out  at  last  on  a  range  that  over- 
looked green,  orderly  ranks  of  palms,  and  shining 
woods  of  rubber  trees,  we  saw  the  welcome  sight 
through  a  veil  of  streaming  wet.  As  for  our- 
selves, nothing  could  have  made  us  look  more 
draggled  than  we  were. 

Red  Bob  paused  on  the  crest  of  the  hill  and 
drew  a  sigh  of  relief. 

"  Well  through,"  he  said.  "  And  now  to  invade 
Sachs's  bungalow,  get  cleaned  and  fed,  and  hear 
how  the  world  has  been  going  without  us  all 
these  weeks." 


21' 


CHAPTER  XIII 

SACHS'S  plantation  was  the  furthest  back 
of  all  the  settled  districts.  It  was  a 
place  where  very  few  white  men  came,  and  no 
white  women ;  Sachs  himself  lived  a  lonely 
life  with  his  boys  and  one  overseer,  riding  a 
long  day  down  to  Kori,  the  nearest  place  to 
his  own,  when  he  wished  for  a  little  society. 

We  were  therefore  somewhat  astonished  to 
see,  as  we  went  down  the  zig-zag  pathway 
leading  to  the  bungalow,  that  there  were  white 
dresses  visible  on  the  sheltered  side  of  the 
verandah,  and  that  temporary  cots  had  been 
put  up  here  and  there,  evidently  for  the 
accommodation  of  an  unusual  number  of  male 
visitors. 

"  Seems  to  be  rather  a  run  on  Sachs's  place," 
said  Red  Bob,  twisting  his  moustache  and  looking 
down  at  the  house  with  a  thoughtful  expression. 
"  Seems  to  have  some  sport  going  on,  too." 

I  had  already  seen  what  he  pointed  out  to 
me  with  one  finger.  Sentries.  White  men 
with  rifles  in  their  hands  pacing  up  and  down  in 
front  of  the  house. 

324 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks         325 

"  But  look  here  !  "  I  said,  pausing  to  stare. 
"  They're  all  mad.  It's  at  the  back  the  sentries 
should  be.  Down  to  the  front  there's  nothing 
but  plantations  and  motor  roads  between  us 
and   Herbertshohe  !  " 

Red  Bob  twisted  his  moustache  some  more, 
and  said  nothing.  He  walked  a  little  faster.  I 
hit  the  buffalo  with  a  bit  of  lawyer-cane,  and 
urged  it  on.  I  was  getting  very  curious.  What 
were  all  those  white  people  doing  down  there  ? 

"  Well,  at  any  rate,"  whispered  Vanity,  "  there 
would  be  all  the  bigger  audience  for  the  sensa- 
tional tale  we  had  to  tell — all  the  more  to  admire 
and  wonder  at  what  we  had  done — ^we,  two 
white  men  and  a  woman,  who  had  walked  across 
New  Britain,  done  no  small  amount  of  exploring 
and  discovery  (for  Gore,  though  I  have  not 
mentioned  it,  had  been  mapping  and  estimating 
all  the  way,  and  cursing  his  ill  luck  in  having 
no  scientific  instruments)  and  met  with  hair- 
breadth adventures  enough  to  stir  the  pulse  even 
of  New  Britain  residents.  Already  I  savoured 
our  triumph.     We  were  going  to  be  heroes ! 

It  rained  and  rained  as  we  went  down  the  in- 
terminable zig-zags  of  the  path  ;  red  waterfalls 
poured  from  every  bank  and  boulder,  the  ground 
sent  up  a  spray  of  rainy  spume.  The  people 
on  the  verandah  sat  in  their  chairs  and  watched 


326         Red  Bob  of  the  Bismareks 

us.  In  front  of  the  house  the  armed  sentries 
walked  back  and  forwards ;  we  could  see  them 
at  each  end  as  we  went  down. 

"  Sachs  !  HoUo,  Sachs  !  "  beUowed  Red  Bob, 
in  his  great  bull  voice,  as  we  came  on  to  the  last 
turn.  "  Here's  a  lost  party  for  you.  Have  you 
any  room  ?  " 

Sachs  came  out  on  to  the  verandah — a  tall, 
stout  Prussian  with  a  grizzly  beard — and  eyed 
us  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets. 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  said  in  German. 

I  began  to  realize  that  something  had  hap- 
pened, but  I  could  not  for  the  life  of  me  think 
what. 

Gore  did  not  seem  entirely  surprised.  He 
told  me  afterwards  that  he  had  guessed  at  the 
state  of  the  case  as  far  back  as  the  cannibal 
village. 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  think  you  have,"  he  said  cheerily. 
"  We've  got  a  lady  with  us,  and  she  is  very 
badly  done  up.  Can  you  let  her  go  right  off 
to  bed  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  I  can,"  answered  Sachs,  melting 
a  little.  "  There  are  four  women  here  ;  they 
can  take  care  of  her,  no  doubt." 

"  Oh,  but  of  course  I  can  !  "  cried  a  well- 
known — too  well-known — voice  from  a  corner 
of   the  verandah,   and   a   serge  skirt   and   white 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks         327 

blouse,  inhabited  by  a  lady  with  her  head  held 
sentimentally  on  one  side,  became  clearly  visible 
close  to  the  lattice.  Then  it  was  that  I  saw 
what  I  had  not  seen  through  all  the  perils  of  our 
journeying — ^fear  on  the  face  of  Red  Bob.  He 
turned  actually  pale. 

"  I  always  knew  it,"  he  said  to  himself. 

"  What  did  you  know  ?  "  I  asked.  But  he 
made  no  answer  ;  he  only  looked  at  the  face  and 
figure  of  Mabel  Siddis,  and  then  once  at  the 
forests  behind  him,  and  then  he  walked  on. 

We  reached  the  house  and  walked  up  on  to 
the  verandah — three  muddy,  wretched-looking 
objects,  with  Bo,  outside  in  the  rain,  very  much 
at  an  advantage  over  us  owing  to  his  want  of 
clothes.  Sachs  still  remained  in  the  same  place, 
his  hands  in  his  pockets.  He  said  nothing  at 
all.  The  women,  plump,  tight-haired  Germans, 
exclaimed  loudly  when  they  saw  Isola. 

"  Why,  it  is  Frau  Richter !  "  they  cried. 
"  Ach !  see  you  there  !  "  screamed  the  fattest 
and  tightest-haired,  "  see  then,  she  is  dying  !  " 

Isola  was  not  dying,  but  she  had  sunk  into 
the  nearest  chair  and  quietly  fainted  away. 

In  spite  of  Miss  Siddis's  loudly-expressed 
anxiety  to  take  care  of  Isola,  it  was  the  fat  German 
women  who  lifted  her  into  a  bedroom,  shut  the 
door,  and  ministered  to  her.     Mabel  Siddis  was 


328  Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

far  too  busy  clasping  her  hands  and  looking 
sideways  (no,  it  was  not  quite  a  squint)  at  Red 
Bob,  who,  for  his  part,  had  backed  up  against 
the  verandah  rail  and  was  talking  with  furious 
energy  to  a  German  trader. 

I  don't  think  he  quite  knew  what  he  was  saying, 
for  he  actually  began  to  describe  our  journey 
and  mention  our  adventures — a  thing  he  would 
never  have  done  unasked,  except  under  the  dis- 
turbing influence  that  now  held  possession  of 
him.  The  other  men  on  the  verandah  listened, 
but  with  a  curious  lack  of  interest.  Gore  saw 
it,  and  cut  the  tale  short. 

"  What's  going  on  here  ?  "  I  broke  in,  for  I 
was  getting  extremely  curious.  That  something 
big  had  happened  somewhere  I  could  not  doubt. 
Why,  it  even  seemed  to  prevent  people  from 
being  interested  in  our  affairs ! 

The  answer  came  from  an  unexpected  source. 
Round  the  corner  of  the  verandah  walked  a  tall 
figure  in  military  uniform,  clinking  spurs  as  it 
moved.    It  paused,  looked,  and  greeted  me  with  : 

"  Fowl !  " 

"  Why,  Hahn,  is  it  you  ?  "  I  said,  glad  to  see 
him — I  always  had  an  odd  sort  of  liking  for  the 
man  who  had  so  nearly  succeeded  in  shooting 
me  that  morning  in  Kronprinzhaven.  "  What's 
going  on  about  here  ?  " 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks         329 

"  War,  my  nut,"  said  Hahn. 

"  War !  I  did  hear  something  about  a  lot 
of  fighting — but  it  was  so  confused — which  of 
the  tribes  are  out  ?  " 

"  The  tribes  that  are  out,  my  nut,"  said  Hahn 
— and  in  spite  of  his  slang,  I  recognized  a  new 
gravity  in  his  bearing,  a  seriousness  in  the  once 
gay  and  debonair  young  face — "  the  tribes  that 
are  out  are  the  Germans,  the  Austrians,  the 
French,  the  Belgians,  the  Russians,  the  Servians 
and  the  Turks." 

"  Good  Lord ! "  I  said.  "  Are  we  at  war 
with  you  ?  " 

"  You  are.  Fowl,"  said  Hahn. 

"  Then  I  suppose  Gore  and  I  are  your 
prisoners  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Sachs,  taking  his  hands  out  of  his 
pockets  at  last,  and  coming  forward,  "  we  are 
yours."  I  do  not  write  all  he  said  in  addition  ; 
it  may  well  be  forgiven  and  forgotten. 

Facts  began  to  rain  like  branches  in  a  hurri- 
cane. We  heard  the  history  of  those  two  months 
that  we  had  spent  in  the  wilds — the  greatest 
two  months  that  the  world  has  ever  seen.  We 
were  told — vsdth  a  certain  amount  of  personal 
colouring — the  story  of  the  march  to  Paris,  of 
Liege,  of  Mons  and  the  Marne  and  the  Aisne. 
It  was  later,  from  other  lips,  that  we  heard  of 


330         Red  Bob  of  the  Bismareks 

Rheims  and  Louvain.  We  knew  before  long  that 
German  New  Guinea  was  German  New  Guinea 
no  longer. 

Miss  Siddis,  between  her  prudent  devotion 
to  her  employers'  interest  (for  she  was  still  a 
governess  in  a  German  family,  and  had  come  up 
with  them  to  Sachs's,  to  be  safe  from  bom- 
bardment in  the  towns)  and  her  desire  to  stand 
well  with  us,  was  a  sight  worth  seeing.  She  did 
all  that  clasped  hands  and  expressive  looks  could 
do  to  show  her  delight  at  the  success  of  British 
arms ;  her  words,  addressed  to  her  patrons  in 
the  German  language  (which  she  seemed  to 
think  Gore  and  myself  did  not  understand) 
contained  the  heartfelt  wishes  of  an  earnest 
soul  for  a  speedy  readjustment  of  things  as  they 
had  been.  ...  I  was  disgusted  by  her,  and 
withdrew. 

Sachs,  I  must  say,  behaved  decently  enough, 
all  things  considered.  He  agreed  to  give  us 
room  for  the  night,  and  to  sell  us  some  clothes 
against  a  cheque  on  the  bank  of  New  South 
Wales.  Next  day,  if  Isola  was  well  enough, 
we  intended  to  journey  on  down  to  Rabaul 
with  her  (since  persecution  from  the  man  she 
had  married  was  one  of  the  least  likely  things 
in  the  world  to  happen  now)  and  report  our- 
selves to  the  troops  in  possession.     Things  had 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks         331 

changed  considerably  for  us,  and  all  to  the  good, 
during  those  months  of  absence  from  telegrams 
and  news. 

"  We  weren't  pearl-poaching  after  all,  if  we'd 
only  known  it,"  said  Gore  to  me  that  night, 
when  we  had  put  up  our  cots  side  by  side  in  a 
quiet  corner  of  the  verandah.  "  And,  by  the 
way,  you've  never  asked  me  yet,  you  unbusiness- 
like young  beggar,  what  your  share  in  the  venture 
was  to  be.  Of  course  we'll  go  back  and  rake  the 
place  out  as  soon  as  possible ;  there's  a  big 
fortune  in  it." 

"  If  I  am  entitled  to  anything,"  I  said,  "  it 
can  be  what  you  please  ;  but  I  don't  want  to  be 
paid  for — for " 

"  For  backing  me  out  in  a  row  or  two — ^no, 
naturally.  You  will  be  paid  for  taking  your 
part  in  an  illegal,  dangerous,  discreditable 
poaching  adventure,  which  fortunately  turned 
up  trumps.  I  propose  to  give  you  twenty  per 
cent,  of  the  takings,  and  if  I'm  any  judge  of  an 
atoll,  it  ought  to  be  a  pretty  decent  little  inde- 
pendence for  you — in  case  you  want  such  a 
thing,  for  yourself  or  anyone  else." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  I  said  excitedly, 
sitting  up  in  my  cot.  It  was  late  at  night ;  the 
moon  had  climbed  far  down  the  sky  and  shone 
in    streaks    and    patches    through    the   grapeless 


332         Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

vine  that  Sachs  had  trained  about  the  enclosing 
lattice  in  memory  of  his  Rhineland  home.  The 
other  men  were  sleeping  on  the  side  that  looked 
down  towards  the  Herbertshohe  road  ;  I  don't 
know  what  they  expected  in  the  way  of  attack 
or  surprise,  but  it  was  well  for  our  quiet  con- 
versation that  they  had  left  us  alone. 

"  I  can't  quite  say  what  I  mean  myself  ;  time 
must  show  that,"  said  Gore.  "  But  I  got  a 
curious  admission  out  of  Isola  not  very  long  ago. 
.  .  .  She  referred,  quite  innocently,  to  the  fact 
that  her  impulsive  ItaHan  papa  had  overcome  her 
objections  to  a  marriage  with  a  dying  cholera 
patient  by  violent  means.  In  fact,  when  he 
found  she  was  disinclined  to  do  his  bidding,  and 
secure  the  New  Guinea  plantation  for  her  de- 
serving family,  he  took  her  by  the  hair,  shook 
her,  and  boxed  her  ears,  and  threatened  to  shut 
her  up  without  food." 

"The  brute!"  I  said  indignantly.  "Wish 
I  had  had  the  chance  of  boxing  his  ears — once." 

"  Is  that  all  you  have  to  say  ?  "  asked  Gore, 
turning  on  his  pillow  and  looking  at  me  with  the 
moon  full  on  his  strange,  brilliant  eyes. 

"  Well,  that's  about  all  you  could  have  done  to 
a  man  who  happened  to  be  her  father." 

"  I  don't  mean  that.  Do  you  not  see — why, 
man,    a    marriage   under   compulsion,    especially 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks         333 

if  the  parties  don't  live  together  afterwards,  is 
breakable." 

I  sprang  out  of  my  cot,  and  plumped  myself 
down  on  the  foot  of  Gore's. 

"  Say  that  again  !  "  I  exclaimed,  drumming 
on  his  chest  with  my  fists  in  my  excitement. 
"  Say  it  again — she  isn't  married — Oh,  Lord  !  " 

"  Stop  acting  the  goat  or  you'll  have  the 
sentries  up  here.  I  never  said  anything  of  the 
kind.  She's  married  all  right  at  this  moment. 
You'd  have  to  bring  a  suit  in  the  Dutch  courts." 

"  I'll  bring  twenty,"  I  said  joyously. 

"  I  don't  think  Richter  will  appeal  to  quite 
that  extent ;  if  you  bring  one  or  two  it'll  probably 
meet  the  case,"  said  Gore  dryly.  "  Whether 
it'll  all  be  plain  sailing  or  not  I  can't  say ;  Miss 
Siddis — dash  her  ! — seems  to  be  the  only  witness, 
and  that  won't  make  things  any  easier." 

"  I'U  go  and  make  love  to  her  before  break- 
fast to-morrow  morning,"  I  declared. 

"  For  God's  sake,  do,"  said  Gore.  And  so, 
being  very  weary,  we  fell  asleep. 

Next  morning  there  was  no  question  of  Isola 
going  on.  She  was  in  bed,  and  according  to 
the  good  German  women,  bound  in  common 
prudence  to  remain  there  at  least  another  day. 
She  sent  me  a  pitiful  little  note  begging  us  not 
to  abandon  her,  and  we  decided  to  wait,  though 


334         Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

both  of  us  were  wild  to  be  down  in  Herberts- 
hohe,  seeing  the  meaning  of  war — perhaps  even 
joining  in  it.  .  .  . 

"  It  makes  no  difference,"  said  Sachs  gloomily, 
when  we  told  him  of  our  intentions.  "  We 
must  all  go  down  soon  ;  they  will  order  that  we 
go  into  camp  at  Rabaul,  and  after  that  we  leave 
the  country." 

"  No,  they  say  that  they  will  respect  pro- 
perty," argued  one  of  the  men.  "  I  do  not  think 
that  our  people  need  have  ordered  us  to  go  up 
here  and  guard  the  plantations ;  we  should  have 
been  much  better  fighting  down  below." 

"  Orders,  old  churl,"  said  Hahn,  who  had 
come  in  from  the  front  of  the  house.  "  Here  is 
my  Powl.  Powl,  how  are  you  ?  It  is  a  sad 
thing  that  you  are  again  my  enemy,  Powl. 
Shall  we  fight  another  duel,  that  thou  may  take 
off  the  tip  of  my  other  ear  ?  " 

"  I  don't  mind  if  I  do,"  I  said  cheerfully. 

"  Nonsense,"  said  Gore.  "  We'll  have  no 
private  editions  of  the  European  war  on  this 
plantation.  ..." 

Whether  we  should  have  had  or  not  I  do  not 
know,  but  circumstances  prevented  any  chance 
of  Hahn's  losing  another  ear-tip. 

During  the  morning  some  mysterious  message 
arrived,  in  obedience  to  which  he  collected  his 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks         335 

few  remaining  police,  mustered  them  on  the  grass 
outside  the  house,  and  marched  away  down  the 
hill  with  a  laugh  and  a  wave  of  the  hand,  as  he 
turned  the  corner  of  the  road.  So,  smiling,  he 
marched  out  of  my  life.  He  was  killed  that 
very  afternoon,  in  a  sniping  skirmish  near  Rabaul. 
I  shall  always  think,  enemies  though  we  were, 
that  there  was  something  about  Hahn  I  could 
have  liked,  and  liked  well.  .  .  . 

But  Lord  1  (as  Pepys  would  have  said)  to 
see  the  airs  that  Mabel  Siddis  took  on,  imme- 
diately it  became  plain  that  the  whole  of  the 
Richter  marriage  case  was  hanging  on  her  willing- 
ness and  ability  to  give  evidence  !  Gore  and  I 
questioned  her,  and  we  elicited,  with  some 
trouble  (for  she  became  very  choice  and  difficult 
as  she  went  on),  the  fact  that  no  one  but  herself 
had  seen  any  ill-usage,  or  heard  any  threats. 
She  would  not  say  definitely  that  she  had  seen  or 
heard  such  things,  either ;  but  she  left  us  in  no 
uncertainty  as  to  the  fact,  all  the  same,  revelling 
in  the  importance  of  her  position.  She  gave  us 
to  understand  that  if  she  was  to  do  as  we  asked 
her,  and  set  Isola  Bella  free  from  the  chains 
wound  round  her  by  that  unlucky  hour  in  Banda 
Neira,  she  must,  in  some  way,  profit  by  it.  Of 
course  she  did  not  say  this  openly,  but : 

"  Oh  no,  Mr.  Gore !  "  she  would  giggle,  shyly 


836  Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

biting  the  end  of  her  Httle  finger  (she  had  very- 
small  but  very  ugly  hands).  "  I  couldn't  say  I 
remember  that  definitely,  but  one  never  knows — 
one's  memory  may  return — it  depends  so  much  on 
circumstances.  I  would  do  anything  I  could 
for  a  friend — I  would  indeed — and  the  nearer  the 
friend,  the  more  I  would  do — indeed  I  would. 
That  is,  if  I  happened  to  remember  at  the 
right  time,  but  I  have  such  a  silly  little  memory 
— just  like  silly  little  me." 

Gore  got  away  from  her  at  last,  and  told  me, 
in  the  course  of  a  quiet  walk  among  the  palms 
of  the  plantation,  that  he  had  no  doubt  whatever 
as  to  her  being  able  to  prove  the  case,  if  only  she 
chose  to  do  so. 

"  It's  clear,  however,  that  she  must  be  bought," 
he  said.  "  Paul,  you'll  have  to  tackle  her  your- 
self about  that ;  she — she  makes  my  blood  run 
cold.  .  .  .  See  here,  youngster,  don't  go  too  shy 
on  the  money  part  of  it.  I'll  stand  by  you. 
You're  a  perfect  young  idiot,  but,  somehow,  you're 
the  kind  of  idiot  I  like — and — I  shall  never  have 
a  son.  .  .  .  What  the  deuce  do  you  suppose 
Sachs  has  done  to  these  rubber  trees  to  make 
them  seed  so  young  ?  By  the  look  of  the  trunks, 
they  shouldn't  have  been  ready  till  .  .  .  Well, 
go  on  and  face  the  dragon,  St.  George  ;  I'll  skulk 
here  till  it's  all  over." 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks         337 

Miss  Siddis  was  sitting  out  of  doors  when  I 
found  her,  under  the  shade  of  a  wall  of  young 
rubber  trees.  The  crimson  buds  hung  down 
above  her  head  as  she  sat  poking  a  crochet-needle 
in  and  out  of  some  totally  useless  object  meant 
for  somebody's  troops ;  the  broad  glory  of  the 
leaves  made  a  background  that  would  have  better 
suited  a  fairer  woman  than  Mabel.  I  approached 
her  cautiously  ;  I  was  bent  on  getting  the  matter 
settled  there  and  then,  but  I  did  not  like  the 
job.  Suppose  she  had  fallen  in  love  with  me  ? 
That  might  be  the  reason  of  her  reluctance  to 
sever  the  tie  between  Isola  and  Richter.  Suppose 
she  was  simply  spiteful  ?  Suppose  she  didn't 
really  remember,  and  was  only  pretending  she 
did,  to  make  herself  important  ?  I  trembled  as 
I  thought  how  much  depended  upon  all  these 
suppositions,  and  upon  the  fantasy  of  a  vain,  not 
dependable  woman  hke  Mabel  Siddis. 

She  made  way  for  me  on  her  bench,  with  the 
mechanical  smile  that  had  done  duty  for  so  many 
years,  on  so  many  occasions.  I  found  myself, 
oddly  enough,  feehng  a  Httle  sorry  for  her.  To 
fail  in  the  object  of  your  whole  life,  utterly  and 
humiliatingly,  as  she  had  failed — to  stake  your 
success,  your  comfort,  and  your  self-respect,  upon 
the  winning  of  a  game,  and  lose  it,  was  surely  a 
wretched  fate.     It  seemed  to  me  that  the  place 

22 


338         Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

of  the  humblest  lay  sister  in  a  quiet  convent, 
where  every  nun  had  her  own  fitted  niche  in  life, 
or  the  simplest  work  of  teacher,  nurse,  or  even 
servant,  done  for  itself,  and  not  for  ulterior  aims, 
must  be  a  life  more  worthy  of  respect. 

I  need  not  have  wasted  my  pity.  Mabel  Siddis 
was  well  able  to  take  care  of  herself. 

In  ten  minutes,  glancing  shyly  and  modestly 
down  at  her  work,  with  a  horrible  parody  of  the 
girlhood  that  she  should  have  forgotten  about 
long  ago — speaking  softly,  in  that  misfit  pretty 
voice  of  hers,  as  one  who  would  not  hurt  the  wing 
of  a  fly,  if  the  fly  only  behaved  itself  and  did  not 
get  in  her  way — Mabel  Siddis  had  made  me  under- 
stand what  she  demanded  for  the  setting  free  of 
Isola,  and  the  making  of  my  happiness.  She 
demanded  Red  Bob. 

Not  that  she  said  so  right  out — she  was  far  too 
modest  and  feminine  for  that.  But  she  made  her 
meaning  very  clear  ;  clear  as  still  waters  that  run 
deep,  and  only  half  hide  the  ugly  things  that  lurk 
within  their  silken  depths.  I  was  to  have  Isola  ;  she 
was  to  have  Vincent  Gore.    That  was  the  bargain. 

The  horrid  shrewdness  of  the  woman  peeped 
out  in  the  whole  affair.  Another  would  have 
thought  that  Red  Bob  was  not  attainable  by  such 
means ;  that  no  man  would  marry  a  woman 
he  had  been  systematically  running  away  from, 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks         339 

just  because  the  happiness  of  two  people  could 
be  secured  by  his  doing  so. 

And  I  must  confess  that  for  the  moment  I 
did  not  think  so  either.  Women  know  men 
better  than  men  know  each  other. 

I  could  not  keep  my  face  from  telling  my 
dismay,  when  I  went  back  to  Gore,  a  miserable 
and  perplexed  ambassador,  if  ever  there  was  one. 
He  laughed  when  he  saw  me. 

"  You  needn't  pull  such  a  face,"  he  said.  "  I 
know  what  she  said." 

"  You  can't !  "  I  cried. 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  do,"  said  Red  Bob.  "  I  know  all 
right.  Always  did  know,  from  the  moment  I 
first  met  her.     Felt  it  coming,  somehow." 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say  you  care  for "  I 

began,  my  eyes  widening. 

"  I  don't.  I  mean  to  say  she's  done  it,  and 
that  I'll  have  to  do  as  many  a  better  man  has 
done.  Don't  look  so  upset ;  it  isn't  you  have  got 
to  marry  Mabel." 

"  But  you  don't  mean " 

"  I  tell  you  what  I  don't  mean,"  said  Gore, 
looking  at  me  with  narrowed  pupils.  "  I  don't 
mean  to  see  you  and  Isola  go  down  the  road 
I  went.  Not  if  I  can  help  it  by  marrying  Mabel 
Siddis.  There's  not  much  of  my  life  left,  and 
there's  all  of  yours  and  hers." 


340         Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

"  But — ^you  told  me — wouldn't  it  make  some 
difference  to  anyone  ?  "  I  said  lamely.  I  was 
circling  round  the  strange  confidence  he  had  made 
on  board  the  Afzelia — the  tale  of  the  crippled, 
beautiful  young  daughter,  "  being  taken  care  of  " 
somewhere. 

Gore  answered  without  answering. 

"  She'd  lose  her  worst  qualities  if  she  were 
married,"  he  said.  I  saw  him  wince  over  the 
word,  but  he  went  on  bravely.  "  She  seems  to 
have  been  a  pretty  good  governess  all  her  life. 
She  was  decent  to  Isola." 

"  Looks  like  it  now,"  I  burst  out. 

"  She's  playing  for  her  own  hand.  I  can  see 
her  point  of  view,"  said  Gore  ;  and  I  felt  almost 
frightened  to  note  how  mildly  he  spoke.  It 
seemed  as  if  there  were  something  broken  in  his 
character — some  spring  that  had  given  way.  .  .  . 
I  remembered  the  day  he  had  fled  from  the  upper 
deck  and  taken  refuge  in  my  cabin,  declaring  that 
"  some  day  a  woman  like  that  would  run  him  in, 
and  he  wouldn't  have  pluck  enough  to  hang 
himself."  Well,  she  had  run  him  in.  And  I 
did  not  anticipate  that  he  would  lay  violent  hands 
upon  himself  in  consequence.  Instead,  I  had  a 
horrid  vision  of  a  wedding — cake,  favours,  orange 
flowers,  bridesmaids,  speeches,  champagne — I 
was  sure  that  the  victorious  Mabel  would  spare 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks         341 

him  no  detail — with  Gore  in  the  middle  of  it 
all,  running  for  his  life. 

"  Hang  it  all,"  I  said,  "  I  don't  know  how  you 
think  I  can  accept  such  a  thing." 

"  You've  got  her  to  think  of,"  said  Gore,  and  he 
did  not  mean  Miss  Siddis  this  time. 

"  I  offered  her  money,"  I  said,  after  a  silence. 
"  I  went  high.  .  .  .  But  she  isn't  out  for  that,  or 
not  that  only.  She  wants  to  write  Mrs.  on  her 
visiting-cards.  She  wants  a  celebration — oh, 
damn  her  !  " 

"  Damning  won't  help  the  case,"  said  Gore. 
"  When  a  thing's  done  it's  done.  We'll  see  Isola 
safe  into  Herbertshohe  first,  and  then  I'll  come 
back  and  fix  things  with  Miss  Siddis.  You  can 
let  her  know  as  much — judiciously." 

"  You  can  trust  me  not  to  put  the  rope  round 
your  neck  before  the  sentence  is  passed,"  I  said. 
"  If  I  saw  any  other  way  I'd  have  you  shut  up  in 
a  lunatic  asylum  sooner." 

"  Don't  fluff,"  said  Gore.  "  I  always  did  say 
you  talked  too  much."  And  not  another  word 
would  he  say. 

I  carried  out  my  mission  to  Mabel  Siddis  judi- 
ciously, as  I  had  been  asked.  I  was  not  the  man, 
in  any  case,  to  have  Red  Bob  let  in  for  a  breach  of 
promise  case,  if  ...  I  sincerely  hoped  it  would 
be  "  if,"  and  yet  I  did  not  believe  it.     For  all 


342         Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

I  could  see,  Bob  was  doomed.  There  are  no 
words  to  say  what  a  selfish  beast  I  felt. 

Miss  Siddis  minced  and  "  simmered,"  as  Gore 
used  to  say,  a  good  deal,  but  pretended  not  to 
understand  my  meaning.  Still,  I  saw  by  the  way 
she  preened  herself  that  she  did.  She  saw  us  off 
when  we  all  three  set  out  next  day,  and  if  anything 
could  have  made  my  heart  heavier  than  it  was,  the 
way  Red  Bob  kept  close  to  me,  to  avoid  a  personal 
farewell  from  Mabel,  would  have  done  it. 

We  had  borrowed  a  horse  and  buggy,  and  set 
off  down  the  long  road  leading  to  Herbertshohe, 
with  spirits  excited  by  the  prospect  of  seeing  real 
war,  or  at  least  its  aftermath.  An  hour  or  two 
after  leaving,  we  met  a  body  of  khaki-clad  young 
Australians,  marching  up  to  the  plantation 
country,  and  singing  gaily  as  they  went.  We 
stopped  to  greet  them,  and  to  hear  the  news. 
There  had  been  another  skirmish  that  day ;  not 
much  harm  done  to  anyone.  The  soldiers 
thought  it  would  be  the  last :  German  New 
Guinea  was  settling  down  peaceably  enough  to 
the  new  occupation. 

"  Is  there  anything  to  avoid  on  the  way  ?  '* 
I  asked  of  one  young  fellow,  aside.  He  looked  at 
Isola. 

"  No,"  he  said.  "  They're  burying  some  dead 
men,  but  it's  nothing.  .  .  .  The  casualties  have 


Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks  343 

been  very  small — very  small  indeed.  You 
needn't  be  uneasy  about  the  young  lady." 

We  drove  on.  The  afternoon  sun  shot  low 
among  the  ranks  of  palms,  and  laid  long  golden 
spears  across  the  dusty  road.  Green  parrots 
chattered  in  the  leaves  and  huge,  slow,  red  and 
blue  butterflies  sailed  past,  as  peacefully  as  though 
no  war-storm  had  struck  the  isolated,  far,  strange 
island  of  New  Britain.  A  few  miles  on  we  came 
to  a  turn  in  the  road,  where  some  Germans 
engaged  in  carrying  cofhns  to  the  graveyard 
of  Herbertshohe  had  stopped  to  rest. 

"  There  are  three  coffins,"  said  Isola,  her  dark 
eyes  wide  with  horror.  "  It  may  be  people  that 
I  know,  Paul ;    will  you  stop  and  let  me  ask  ?  " 

The  men  were  strangers  to  all  of  us,  and  they 
looked  sullenly  at  the  three  EngHsh  people  who 
were  driving  freely  about  the  land,  gloating, 
no  doubt,  over  the  triumph  of  their  countrymen. 
They  answered  shortly  when  Isola  spoke. 

"  Right  Germans,  all  three,"  was  their  answer. 
"  What  can  it  matter  to  you  ?  " 

"  Tell  her,"  said  Red  Bob,  leaning  down  with 
the  reins  in  his  hands.  And  because  he  was  a 
man  whom  most  people  obeyed,  they  obeyed  also. 

"  It  is  Friederichs,  Reuss  and  Richter,"  said 
one  of  the  bearers,  "  and  may  the  everlasting 
curse " 


844         Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

I  need  not  add  what  he  said. 

Isola  sat  still  and  white  till  he  had  done,  and 
then  asked  :   *'  Justus  Schultz  Richter  ?  " 

"  Did  you  know  him  ?  "  asked  the  man,  looking 
up  at  her. 

"  I  was  married  to  him,"  she  said ;  "  drive  on  !  " 

Red  Bob  whipped  up  the  horse  and  we  drove 
fast. 

"  I  can't  feel  sorry,"  said  Isola,  looking  at 
me  piteously.  She  drew  out  her  pocket-hand- 
kerchief and  began  to  cry  as  she  spoke. 

"  You've  no  reason  to,"  said  Red  Bob,  whose 
face  had  suddenly  taken  on  an  astonishingly 
bright  expression.  "  No  one  has  any  reason  to. 
It  cuts  the  knot — for  us  all." 

Red  Bob  was  sitting  on  the  front  seat  of  the 
buggy,  while  Isola  and  I  occupied  the  back.  I 
put  my  arm  round  her  waist,  and  consoled  her 
as  I  liked  best ;   and  now  she  did  not  repulse  me. 

"  It's  like  dancing  on  a  grave,"  she  said,  but 
she  crept  up  closer  as  she  said  it. 

And  the  sun  sank  low  and  golden  on  the  sea, 
where  before  the  port  of  Herbertshohe,  an 
Australian  Hner  lay  waiting. 

THE   END 


Printed  at  The  Chapel  River  Press.  Kingston,  Surrey.  , 


Paternoster  House, 

Paternoster  Row, 

London,  E.G. 

July  igis. 

Messrs.  HORST  8  BLACRETT'S 

NEW    BOOKS 

For  the  AUTUMN  of  1915. 


A  NEWLY   REVISED  EDITION  BROUGHT  UP-TO-DATE. 

of 

CAPTAIN  M.  HORACE  HAYES' 

Standard  Work 

VETERINARY  NOTES 

FOR   HORSE   OWNERS 

An   Illustrated  Manual   of   Horse    Medicine   and 
Surgery  written  in  Simple  Language 

THIS  NEW  (THE  EIGHTH)  EDITION  HAS  BEEN 
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In  one  volume^  demy  Svo,  cloik  ^It,  868  ip.,   ISs,  net. 
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First  published  in  1877,  this  notable  work  has  for  37  years 
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universally  recognised  as  the  most  competent  authority  on 
matters  relating  to  horses,  but  it  is  owin^  to  the  fact  that  his 
"Veterinary  Notes"  has  from  time  to  time  been  thoroughly 
revised  and  brought  up-to-date,  as  edition  has  succeeded  edition, 
that  the  work  has  never  lost  its  proud  position.  Now  that  a 
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A  Directory  of  Qentlemen  of  Coat-Armour 

Comprising  marly  2,000  double  column  pages,  with  over  3,000 

text  engravings  and  a  very  large  number  of  Coats  of  Arms 

in  full  heraldic  colours,  gold  and  silver. 

Compiled  and  Edited  by 
ARTHUR    CHARLES    FOX-DAVIE8 

"  Armorial  Families  "  is  a  Directory  of  those  genuine 
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A  Second    Volume   {1775 '1 782)    of  the 

Memoirs  of  William  Hickey 

Edited   by  ALFRED    SPENCER 

/h  tUmy  Svo,  cloth  gilt  and  gilt  top,  i  as.  6d.  «<?/, 

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period  he  had  many  new  experiences.  He  describes  his 
voyage  to  Jamaica  and  the  life  and  sights  of  the  Island.  After 
returning  to  England  he  again  leaves  for  India,  where  he 
practises  as  an  Attorney  in  Bengal.  Here  he  comes  in  contact 
with  many  notable  people,  including  Madame  Grand,  who 
afterwards  became  the  wife  of  Talleyrand.  Leaving  India 
for  home  to  present  a  petition  to  Government,  he  makes  but 
slow  progress,  and  is  finally  detained  at  the  Cape  for  some 
time  through  the  presence  of  French  frigates.  A  Dutch 
vessel,  in  the  end,  carries  him  to  Holland,  and  he  ultimately 
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to  do,  he  once  more  indulges  in  a  round  of  pleasure. 

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Enghsh  hterature  can  possibly  fail  to  enjoy  to  the  utmost  the 
virile,  jolly  picture  which  it  presents.  Tlus  is  London  of  the 
middle  of  the  Eighteenth  Century — London  of  the  night 
houses  and  the  Mohawks,  of  the  Wilke's  riots  and  the  Covent 
Garden  hells  .  .  .  through  the  whole  of  this  gay  and  splendid 
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time. 

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An  Important  Work  by  a  Popular  Author* 

Zalim  Singh  the  Great 

By    DOUGLAS    SLADEN 

Author   of 
"  Oriental   Cairo,"    "  Egypt  and  the  English,"    etc. 

In  demy  8r^,  doth  gilt  and  gilt  top  2  IS.  net. 
With  numerous  Illustrations. 

One  of  the  greatest  men  identified  with  the  estabUsh- 
ment  of  the  British  power  in  Rajputana  was  undoubtedly 
Zalim  Singh.  When  Britain  was  in  the  throes  of  the  Waterloo 
campaign,  and  had  naturally  to  keep  India  short  of  troops, 
some  powerful  native  chiefs  had  combined  with  the  intention 
of  overthrowing  British  rule  in  India.  The  efforts  of  the 
combination  failed,  mainly  owing  to  the  action  of  the  remark- 
able Rajput  leader,  Zalim  Singh  the  Great,  who  foresaw  that 
the  English  were  destined  to  be  the  rulers  of  all  India,  and 
who  threw  the  whole  weight  of  the  Rajput  princes  into  the 
v:ale  on  their  side.  For  the  purpose  of  writing  this  book, 
Mr.  Douglas  Sladen,  who  was  formerly  Professor  of  Modern 
History  in  the  University  of  Sydney,  has  had  access  to 
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STANDARD    BOOKS    ON    THE    HORSE* 

By   Capt.  M.   HORACE    HAYES,  F.R.C.V.S. 

RIDING    AND    HUNTING 

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riders  cf  all  des^Tiptious." — Dailt/  Telrgravh. 

STABLE   MANAGEMENT   AND   EXERCISE:  a 

Book  for  Horse  Owners  and  Students 

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Badminton  Magazine. 

POINTS    OF    THE    HORSE 

A  Treatise  on  the  Conformation,  Movements,  Breeds  and  Evolution  of  the  Horse, 
with  658  illustrations.  Tliird  edition.  revise<l  and  enlarged,  and  279  illustrations  added. 
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ILLUSTRATED    HORSEBREAKING 

Thini  Edition,  Revised  and  Enlarged,  with  130  Elustrations  from  Drawings  by  J.  H. 
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FRIEDBERGER    &    FROHNER'S 
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By    MRS.     HAYES 

THE    HORSEWOMAN:  a  Practical  Cviae  to  Side-SaddU  Ridias. 

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the  saddle.    Ladies  who  ride,  or  who  have  any  intention  of  doing  so,  could  not  have  a 
better  adrlaer." 

By   JAMES    FILLIS 

Ecuyer  en  chef  to  the  Cent  ml  Cavalry  School  at  St.  Petersburg. 
BREAKING      AND      RIDING.     Whh  Military  Co.»eatarie». 

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Capt.    E.    D.    MILLER'S   Standard    Work 
MODERN    POLO 

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writing  of  \i."— Daily  Telegraph. 

5 


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GO     DOWN  24lh  Tho«u..a 

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k>yal  Joe  Lathoni.  It  is  a  triumph  to  liave  nnite<l  the  qualities  of  strengtJi  and  charm 
in  a  heroine.    Joe's  love  story  is  hke  henself,  tine  and  inspiring."— Oftwrrf/*. 

THE  GREAT  SPLENDOUR  ...^  ^^,,^^ 

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life  and  youth." — Morning  Post. 

THE  RHODESIAN 

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of  open  spaces  and  ancient  ruins." — Gloibe. 

WINDING  PATHS  .,..T.o.„.a 

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LOVE  IN  THE  WILDERNESS  „,kE.i.io. 

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THE  EDGE  O'  BEYOND 


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PADDY  THE  NEXT  BEST  THING  „.a  e,;.!.. 

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TWO  LOVERS  AND  A  LIGHTHOUSE 

3rd  Editioa 
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6 


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By    AMELIE     RIVES 

(Princess  Troubetzkoy) 

Shadows   of   Flames 

By  the  Author  of  the  very  successful  novel,   "World's  End," 
now  in  its  loth  Edition. 

This  important  novel  contains  about  592  full  pages. 

The  enormous  success  of  the  author's  last  novel,  "World's 
End,"  makes  it  certain  that  many  thousands  of  readers  will  be 
awaiting  the  announcement  of  this  new  book.  It  will  not 
disappoint  them.  From  first  to  last  the  interest  never  flags, 
for  it  is  full  of  humanity.  As  in  "World's  End,"  a 
Virginian  beauty  is  the  heroine.  Sophy  is  most  unhappily 
married,  but  is  loved  nobly  by  a  man  separated  from  an  un- 
faithful wife.  The  husband  of  Sophy  dies,  but  her  lover  is  not 
free,  and  ultimately  Sophy  marries  again  ;  but  it  is  to  once  more 
meet  with  disappointment,  her  husband  finding  greater  attraction 
in  another  woman.  At  last,  when  she  has  freed  herself,  it  is 
left  to  be  understood  that  happiness  will  come  to  her  with  the 
lover  who  has  waited  so  long.  The  scenes  are  laid  in  Italy 
England  and  America. 

7 


NEW   6/-  NOVELS 

By    JUSTIN     HUNTLY    MCCARTHY 

Pretty  Maids  all  in  a  Row 

By  the  Author  of 
"Needles  and  Pins,"  "The  Grorgeous  Borgia,"  &c. 

In  **  Pretty  Maids  all  in  a  Row,"  Mr.  Justin  Huntly 
McCarthy  has  returned  to  the  adventures  of  his  favorite 
hero,  Francois  Villon,  the  great  poet  and  petty  thief 
of  fifteenth  century  Paris,  whom  he  first  dealt  with  in 
*'  If  I  were  King."  Mr.  McCarthy's  second  Villon  novel, 
"  Needles  and  Pins,"  a  most  successful  book,  was  a 
sequel  to  "  If  I  were  King,"  and  showed  the  varied 
fortunes  of  the  poet  after  his  marriage  to  "  the  loveliest 
lady  this  side  of  Heaven."  In  contrast  to  this  romance, 
"  Pretty  Maids  All  in  a  Row  "  plays  the  part  of  a  pro- 
logue and  tells  the  story  of  the  tragic  and  fantastic  youth 
of  Francois  Villon.  In  its  compass  is  contained  the 
tale  of  a  high  and  unhappy  passion,  and  of  the  sinister 
influence  which  lured  or  forced  a  high-spirited,  good- 
hearted  and  romantic  youth  from  the  highway  leading 
to  the  "Garden  of  the  Rose"  into  the  byeways  that 
carried  their  traveller  to  the  "  Court  of  Miracles." 


NEW    6/-    NOVELS 

By    MARGARET    PETERSON 

To  Love 

By  the  Author  of  *'  The  Lure  of  the  Little  Drum," 
"Tony  Bellew,"  etc. 

Joan  wants  to  see  life:  she  breaks  away  from  her 
home  in  the  country  and  goes  to  London.  She  meets  a 
man  who  arouses  her  passion,  and  takes  her  into  his 
keeping :  then]  Joan  returns  to  her  home  and  horrifies 
her  relations :  she  is  about  to  become  a  mother  when  a 
merciful  accident  happens.  Joan  in  London  again  works 
for  her  living.  A  young  doctor,  who  had  seen  her  at  her 
home  and  knew  of  her  experience,  had  been  attracted  by 
her ;  he  meets  her  again,  falls  in  love  with  her  and 
makes  her  his  wife.  The  story  deals  with  facts  as 
girls  find  them;  glamour  is  brushed  aside.  There  is 
common-sense  in  the  novel  and  a  wholesome  spirit. 
Joan  finds  the  way  of  wilful  flesh  hard  indeed  and 
that  a  good  man's  love  is  a   haven. 

The  author  has  already  earned  for  herself  a 
reputation  for  good  work,  and,  it  will  be  easily  under- 
stood how,  with  such  a  study,  she  has  made  an 
absorbingly  interesting  book. 


NEW    6/-    NOVELS 

By  BEATRICE    E.    GRIMSHAW 

Red  Bob  of  the  Bismarcks 

By  the  Author  of  '*  When  the  Red  Gods  Call," 
"  The  Sorcerer's  Stone,"  etc. 

The  story  is  told  by  the  dare-devil  son  of  a  Liverpool 
business  man.  He  finds  the  Wander-Lust  get  the  upper  hand 
and  goes  to  sea.  He  enters  the  service  of  Vincent  Gore  (Red 
Bob)  a  traveller  and  remarkable  man,  and  with  him  sails  to 
German  New  Guinea  to  search  for  pearls.  Here  they  have 
adventures  and  help  in  the  escape  of  a  girl  (nominally 
married  to  a  German)  with  whom  the  lad  has  fallen  in  love. 
At  the  time  of  the  story  the  country  has  just  been  annexed  by 
us  after  the  outbreak  of  the  war.  Miss  Grimshaw  writes  well  and 
has  made  a  most  pleasant  and  readable  volume.  It  is  story 
and  travel  combined ;  it  has  the  real  atmosphere,  the  author 
knowing  the  coasts  and  the  seas  so  well,  and  it  carries  the 
reader  convincingly  into  little  known  regions  away  from  the 
world  of  strife  in  Europe. 


NEW  e/-  NOVELS 

By   ARABELLA   KENEALY 

The  Thing  wc  have 
Prayed  for 

By  the  Author  of  "Dr.  Janet  of   Harley  Street," 
"The  Way  of  the  Lover,"  etc.,  etc. 

Pretty  Betty  Cooling  was  exploited  by  her  ambitious, 
scheming  mother  to  secure  the  agency  of  young  Lord 
Repton's  estate  for  her  father — and  the  young  peer  for 
herself. 

Great  expectations  arose  from  Betty's  visit  to  Swindon 
Castle,  the  home  of  her  school-friend,  Lady  Sally.  Her 
experiences  there  among  a  notoriously  rapid  set ;  her 
trip,  unchaperoned,  on  Repton's  yacht  ;  what  happened 
there  ;  how  Pamela,  her  cousin,  charming  and  unworldly, 
became  involved  in  Betty's  escapade,  and  was  discovered 
under  anomalous  circumstances  by  Meyrick,  the  man 
who  loved  her  ;  and  how  Betty  learned  that  young  noble- 
men who  amuse  themselves  are  dangerous  fire  to  play 
with,  make  an  interesting  study  in  modern  mothers  and 
daughters  and  manners,  and  an  arresting  story.  Lady 
Sally  is  a  striking  example  of  the  decadent,  rather  lurid, 
end-of-the-century  girl,  now  fast  going  out,  while  Pamela 
is  the  delightful  Girl-to-come. 


NEW   e/-    NOVELS 

By    E.     HARDINGHAM    QUINN 

The  Zandsee 

By  the  Author  of  "Sands  of  the  Desert." 

This  novel  is  brimful  of  colour  and  sentiment. 
Its  setting  is  Java,  with  a  picturesque  background  of 
native  huts  and  the  white  villas  of  a  European  settle- 
ment. A  young  and  beautiful  woman  is  something 
of  a  mystery.  The  other  women  make  the  worst  of  it, 
but  the  men  like  her.  The  son  of  a  very  friendly 
neighbour  returns — he  had  been  the  Judge  when  the 
woman's  husband  had  applied  for  a  divorce,  but  he  did 
not  know  that  there  had  been  a  subsequent  trial  before 
another  Judge.  He  hesitates  to  denounce  her,  though 
finding  her  in  close  intimacy  with  his  mother :  indeed 
he  loves  her.  Then  another  man  arrives  who  is  ill 
and  is  nursed  by  the  woman,  but  she  will  not  explain. 
The  mystery  is  afterwards  cleared  up,  and  the  Judge, 
with  eyes  opened,  is  humbled  that  she  should  still 
consent  to  marry  him. 


NEW   e/-  NOVELS 

By   E.   W.   SAVI 

Sinners  All 

By  the  Author  of  "The  Daughter-in-Law,"  "  Baba  and 
the  Black  Sheep,"  etc. 

••Forbear  to  judge  for  we  are  sinners  all." 

It  is  to  Shakespeare  that  the  author  has  gone  for  her 
title.  It  is  a  human  story  of  1914,  placed  in  India  and 
England.  As  it  proceeds,  the  fortunes  of  the  characters 
oscillate  between  the  two  countries  with  a  charm  that 
makes  the  tale  life  itself.  There  is  the  problem  of  the 
sinner  who  loves  most  whom  he  has  wronged  most; 
another  who  sets  out  to  please  his  human  inclinations,  but 
to  whom,  eventually,  virtue  becomes  attractive  by  its 
novelty ;  and  again  there  are  those  who  reap  where  they 
have  sown.  There  are  individuals  both  Indian  and 
Enghsh,  who  seem  to  exist  by  their  vitality  and  their 
idiosyncrasies.  A  type  of  Indian  servant  is  a  striking 
figure,  familiar  to  all  who  know  life  in  the  East,  and  the 
story  becomes  touching  and  unforgettable  because  of  the 
reality  of  the  emotions  it  awakens. 

13 


NEW    61-    NOVELS 

By    BRUNO    LESSING 

With  the  Best  Intention 

With  illustrations  by  M.  L.  BRACKER 

Bruno  Lessing  has  been  called  "  the  Kipling  of  the 
Ghetto."  He  has  created  a  set  of  characters  familiar 
to  a  million  readers,  among  whom  Lapidowitz  takes 
first  place,  and  in  this  book  we  have  the  complete 
story  of  Lapidowitz  the  "  schnorrer,"  who,  it  may  be 
explained,  is  a  member  of  a  Jewish  community  who 
lives  by  his  wits.  The  Hfe  of  the  Ghetto  is  laid  bare 
with  pungent  but  kindly  humour,  and  with  the  humour 
there  is  more  than  a  measure  of  pathos.  To  begin  to 
read  will  bring  laughter  which  will  continue  until  the 
end  is  reached.  A  more  delightful  rogue  than  Lapidowitz 
has  rarely  found  his  way  into  the  pages  of  a  book. 
Everyone  will  feel  for  him  a  sneaking  affection,  although 
strangely  enough,  he  has  scarcely  one  redeeming  quality. 
It  is  a  classic  of  modern  fiction. 

14 


NEW  6/.  NOVELS 


By   F.  C.   PHILLIPS 

Author  of  **  As  in  a  Looking  Glass,"  "  A  Question  of  Colour,"  etc. 

and 

ROWLAND    STRONG 

Author  of  "The  Marquis  of  Catilini,"  etc. 

The  White  Sin 

This  story  is  altogether  fresh  and  full  of  in- 
terest. It  is  quite  modern  but  quite  clean.  A  Jewish 
financier  of  good  family  and  good  character  assists 
an  aristocratic  family,  and  falls  in  love  with  their  only 
daughter.  The  family  despise  him,  but  assent  to  the 
marriage,  and  then  do  not  hesitate  to  be  kept  by  him. 
There  is  an  old  lover  who  comes  on  the  scene  after 
the  marriage,  and  the  wife,  influenced  by  her  parents, 
neglects  her  husband  and  child.  Her  lover  compromises 
her,  and  her  husband,  to  enable  her  to  marry  him,  divorces 
her,  but  she  has  been  faithful,  as  her  husband  discovers, 
and  they  are  reunited.  Mr.  F.  C.  Phillips  is  a  practical 
novelist,  and  this  new  novel  holds  the  reader  from  first 
to  last. 


NEW  61-  NOVELS 


By    RICHARD    R.    STARR 

Married  to  a  Spy 

This  up-to-date  novel  is  full  of  incident,  and 
makes  absorbing  reading.  The  wife  tells  her  own 
story,  which  opens  with  her  marriage  to  an  English- 
man with  whom  she  is  deeply  in  love,  and  whom  she 
trusts  completely.  Then  comes  the  knowledge  that 
he  is  a  spy  and,  as  she  believes,  a  traitor.  There  is 
a  beautiful  German  woman  head  of  a  spy  system  in 
London  who  is  in  constant  touch  with  the  husband, 
and  desperately  in  love  with  him.  An  old  lover  of 
the  wife  appears,  and,  through  her  suspicions  of  her 
husband,  she  herself  becomes  involved  in  a  great 
tangle  of  events  which  leads  her  into  many  dangers, 
from  which  she  ultimately  escapes  to  be  reconciled 
to  her  husband,   who  has  proved  his  worth. 

i6 


NEW  e/-  NOVELS 
By    EFFIE    ADELAIDE    ROWLANDS 

The  Woman's  Fault 


By  the  Author  of 
Hester  Trefusis,"   "The  Man  with  the  Money,"  etc. 


The  story  of  a  rash  marriage  between  a  man  supposed 
to  be  a  life-long  invalid  and  a  girl  who  loses  her  father 
and  her  faith  in  the  sweetness  of  human  happiness  at  one 
and  the  same  time.  Gifted  with  a  musical  temperament 
and  a  beautiful  voice,  the  heroine  adopts  the  operatic  stage  as 
a  career,  and  the  man  who  had  married  her  simply  to  protect 
her  gives  her  her  freedom,  although  he  loves  her  devotedly. 
Her  story  is  made  dramatic  by  the  return  into  her  life  of 
the  man  who  had  won  her  love  when  she  was  a  mere  girl, 
and  thereafter  complications  ensue  which  the  story  unfolds. 
It  is  one  of  the  best  books  this  popular  author  has  yet 
written. 

17 


NEW    6/-    NOVEL. 

By   VIOLET  TWEEDALE. 

Love  or  War 

By  the  Author  of 
*'The  Honeycomb  of  Life,"  "The  Portals  of  Love,"  &c. 

The  story  commences  in  19 14  when  talk  of  war  is  in 
the  air.  Lord  Cressingham,  who  fought  in  the  Boer  War, 
has  vowed  that  never  again  will  he  take  part  in  a  war 
and  shed  the  blood  of  a  brother  man.  Quixotic  and 
sincere,  he  is  deeply  conscious  of  nobhsse  oblige.  For  the 
first  time  he  falls  in  love,  and  with  a  beautiful  girl  of 
rare  character  belonging  to  his  class.  Elizabeth,  when 
she  goes  to  his  home  as  a  guest  to  see  more  of  him,  all 
but  loves  him.  When  war  comes,  Cressingham  does  not 
go  to  the  front,  to  the  disgust  of  his  friends.  His  bright 
attractive  brother  comes  home  wounded,  and  he  and 
Elizabeth  fall  in  love.  Cressingham  never  lets  them  know 
he  has  discovered  the  truth.  He  enlists  as  a  private, 
dropping  his  title,  and  sacrifices  himself.  A  group  of  our 
English  nobility  in  the  present  stress  is  convincingly 
presented,  and  the  novel  will  be  found  not  only  timely 
but  exceptionally  interesting. 

18 


JUST   PUBLISHED 

AN    IMPORTANT    NEW    NOVEL 
By  GERTRUDE    PAGE 

Author  of 

"The  Edge  o'  Beyond,"  "Where  the  Strange  Roads  Go  Down,' 

etc. 

Follow  After 

A  Rhodesian   Story 
THREE  LARGE  EDITIONS  have  been  immediately  called  for. 


EARLY    REVIEWS, 

"Full  of  stirring  incident.  Miss  Page  has  the  rare  gift  of  story- 
telling and  a  capacity  of  contagious  emotion," — Morning  Post. 

"The  adventures  are  remarkably  up-to-date  and  striking." — 
Observer. 

"  Another  Rhodesian  novel  such  as  this  author  loves  to  write  and 
her  readers  still  more  to  read.  It  is  full  of  insight  into  human 
character. "—Evening  Standard. 

"Told  with  graphic  power  and  sincerity." — Globe. 

"A  book  to  read :  a  breeze,  bracing  and  stimulating,  from  the  land 
where  men  came  hurrying  to  England's  call."— PaW  Mall  Gazette. 

"  Her  work  is  impregnated  with  an  intense  loyalty  ;  the  chief 
characters,  Joe  Lathom  and  Jack  Desborough,  are  both  fine  characters 
and  well  handled." — Athemeum. 

"  *  Follow  After  ! '  is  amazingly  topical.  We  have  nothing  but 
praise  for   'Follow  Aiierl'  "—Illustrated  London  News. 

"The  author  has  given  a  fine  picture  of  the  marvellous  loyalty 
which  impels  the  true  colonist  and  her  own  passionate  faith."— Cown/ry 
Life. 

•9 


SOME   SUCCESSFUL    NOVELS 

RECENTLY    ISSUED. 

Each  in  cr.  8vo.    cloth  gilt,    5/- 

THE  TEETH  OF    THE   TIGER     ,.aE4Wo. 

By     MAURICE     LEBLANC 
The  new  Arsene  Lupin  novel. 

"In  the  best  Ars6ne  Lupin  vein.  Need  I,  can  I,  say  more!  The 
ingenuity  of  the  plots  and  counter-plots  is  almost  incredible.  The  vigour, 
the  excitement,  the  sudden  turns  and  falls  of  fortune,  the  sheer  intellectual 
brilliance  that  the  great  Arsene  applies  to  the  vast  and  sinister  problems 
confronting  him  make  a  rattling  good  book  of  a  rattling  good  kind."— 
New  Statesman. 

THE  MIRACLE  OF  LOVE  ^.a^uo. 

By    COSMO    HAMILTON 

•*  Mr.  Cosmo  Hamilton  does  his  theme  full  justice— his  novel  will 
probably  be  very  widely  read  and  will  cheer  dull  lives  enormously." — West- 
minster Gazette. 

"Mr.  Hamilton  proves  again  his  undoubted  qualities  both  as  story 
teller  and  delineator  of  character,  and  uses  the  old  themes  of  love  and  re- 
nunciation with  the  happiest  results  " — Giobe. 

FALL     IN!  SrdEditioa 

By    J.    P.  MOLYNEUX 

The  Morning  Post  says  : — "  *  Fall  In  ! '  is  to  our  thinking  the  best  of 
the  many  novels  that  we  have  read  having  the  South  African  War  for  their 
subject.  It  is  wriittn  with  a  simple  and  straightforward  zeal  for  the 
honour,  glory  and  welfare  of  the  Empire,  and  at  the  same  time  describes 
the  fighting  with  the  restraint  of  a  soldier  and  the  vividness  of  an  eye- 
witness. The  love  story  which  binds  the  book  together  is  an  attractive  one, 
because  the  f>eople  that  are  concerned  in  it  are  real  people.  But  it  is  above 
all  things  a  war  novel,  and  one  that  stirs  the  pulses  and  uplifts  the  heart." 

A  DUCHESS  OF   FRANCE 

A  Story  of  Old  Versailles 

By    PAUL    WAINEMAN 

*'  Mr.  Wainentan  launches  his  story  in  excellent  style,  and  he  does  not 
disappoint  the  hopes  he  raises.     His  narrative  is  always  lively." — Standard. 

**  Paul  Waineman  has  the  real  gift  of  bestowing  on  wig  and  ruffle  just 
that  degree  of  human  interest  which  makes  the  novel  of  costume  readable. 
Paul  Waineman  manages  to  keep  his  entertaining  story  alive  till  the  last 
page." — Daily  News. 

"  A  charming  story  of  love,  court  intrigue,  and -the  pomp  and  splendour 
of  •  Le  Grand  Monarque.'  The  author  has  nianaged  to  invest  it  with  the 
magic  of  atmosphere." — Pall  Mall  Gazette. 


NEW  1/-  EDITION 

In  crown  8vo,    with   picture  paper  cover  in  colours. 

Weeds 

By  OLAVE  POTTER  and  DOUGLAS  8LADEN 

"An  excellent  novel.  A  very  realistic  picture  of  life  as  it  is  lived 
by  a  large  number  of  women." — Morning  Post. 

"A  valuable  contribution  to  the  problem  of  the  gentlewoman  called 
upon  to  earn  her  living." — Dailv  Nervs. 

"  Full  of  vivid  descriptions  of  life  and  realistic  presentations  of 
character  :  it  should  prove  one  of  the  most  notable  novels  of  the  season." 
— Daily  Telegrath. 


ALREADY    PUBLISHED 

Each  in  crown  8vo,  with  picture  paper  cover   in  colours. 

THE    CLAW  By  Cynthia  Stocklky 

POPPY :    The  Story  of  a  South  African  Girl 

By  Cynthia  Stockley 

TO-DAY  AND   LOVE  By  Maud  Yardley 

AS  YE   HAVE   SOWN  By  Dolf  Wyllarde 

MAFOOTA  By  Dolf  Wyllarde 

THE  CRYSTAL  STOPPER  By  Maurice  Leblanc 

In  cloth,  picture  wrappers. 

THE    SECOND    THOUGHTS   OF   AN    IDLE   FELLOW 

By  Jerome  K.  Jerome 

THE    PASSING    OF   THE    THIRD    FLOOR    BACK 

And  other  Stories.  By  Jerome  K.  Jeromk 

THE    PREY   OF   THE   STRONGEST        By  Morley  Roberts 


Jerome  K.  Jero.me's  Original  Play 

THE    PASSING    OF  THE  THIRD    FLOOR    BACK 

Id  crown  8ro,  cloth  gilt,  with  16  iUttftrations,  2*.  6cl.  net. 

lo  paper  oorer,  Is.  6«l«  oci. 

21 


Hurst  S  Blackett's  7d.  NOVEL  SERIES 


Each  in  small  crown  8vo,  bound  in  cloth,  gold  lettering, 
excellently  printed  from  NEW  TYPE  ON  GOOD  PAPER, 
with  frontispiece  illustration  and  decorative  title  page  on 
art  paper,  and  with  picture  wrapper  in  colours,  7d.  net. 


Ne<w  Volumes  for  t9t5. 


HER    CONVICT 

WE    TWO 

IN  THE  GOLDEN  DAY5 

FOOL  OF  APRIL 

THE  O'FLYNN 

THE  ENGLISHWOMAN 

FATE  AND  DRU5ILLA 

HESTER  TREFUSIS 

HEARTS    AT    WAR 


By  M.  E.  Braddon 

By  Edna  Lyall 

By  Edna  Lyall 

By  Justin  H.  McCarthy 

By  Justin  H.  McCarthy 

By  Alice  and  Claude  Askew 

By  Alice  and  Claude  Askew 

By  Effie  Adelaide  Rowlands 

By  Effie  Adelaide  Rowlands 


HURST    &    BLACKETT'S  Td.    NOVELS. 

Volumes   already  published, 

Mrs.   B.  M.  CROKER 


MADAME  ALBANESI 

Drusilla's  Point  of  View 
Marian  Sax 
A  Question  of  Quality 
The  Strongest  of  All  Thingrs 
A      Vouns:      Man     from     the 
Country 

ALICE  &  CLAUDE  ASKEW 

Destiny 

The  Orchard  Close 

M.  E.  BRADDON 

Dead  L^ve  has  Chains 
The  White  House 
During  Her    Majesty's   Plea- 
sure 

PRISCILLA    CRAVEN 

Circe's  Daughter 


Her  Own  People 

The  Youngest  Miss  Mowbray 

The  Company's  Servant 

JESSIE    FOTHERGILL 
Lassies  of  Leverhouse 
A  March  In  the  Ranks 

TOM  GALLON 
Jimmy  Quixote 

COSMO   HAMILTON 

The  Infinite  Capacity 
The  Outpost  of  Eternity 

E.  W.  HORNUNG 
Peccavi 


22 


Hurst   &  Blackett's  Yd.  Novels 

CONTINUED, 

Volumes  already  published. 

♦•IOTA"    (Mrs.  Mannington      Mrs.  BAILLIE  REYNOLDS 
Caffyn)  The  ides  of  March 

Dorlnda  and  Her   Daughter  Her  Point  of  View 


WILLIAM  LE  QUEUX 

The      Man      from      DownitiK 

Street 
The  Price  of  Power 


RITA" 

The  Seventh  Dream 

A  Man  of  no  Importance 

Countess  Daphne 


EDNA    LYALL 

Donovan 

justin    huntly 
McCarthy 

The  Oorgeous  Borgia 
The  King  over  the  Water 
The  God    of  Love 
Needles  and  Pins 
A  Health  unto  His  Majesty 
A  Fair  Irish  Maid 


ADELINE  SERGEANT 

Kitty  Holden 
A  Soul  Apart 
Jacobi's  Wife 


BEATRICE  WHITBY 

Bequeathed 

The    Awakening   of   Mary 

Fenwicli 
Mary  Penwlck's  Daughter 

in    the  Suntime  of    Her 
Youth 


MARY    E.    MANN 
Moonlight 

CHARLES   MARRIOTT 

The   Intruding  Angel 

Mrs.  OLIPHANT 

The  Cuckoo  In  the  Nait 

It  was  a  Lover  and   Hit 
Laas 

Janet 

AgnM 


PERCY  WHITE 

Colonel   Daveron 

The    House  of   Intrigue 

Mrs.  C.  N.  WILLIAMSON 

The  Turnstile  of  Night 
The  Silent  Battle 


AUGUSTA  EVANS  WILSON 
St.  hlmo 


33 


HURST    &    BLACKETT'S 

6(1.  Copyright  Novels 

Well   printed  from   new  type  on  good 

paper,   and   bound   in   attractive 

picture  covers  In  colours. 


NEW  VOLUMES  for  I9I5 

COUNTESS  DAPHNE 

ON  THE  HIGH  ROAD 

THE  DAUGHTER-IN-LAW 

THE  RIVER  OF  DREAMS 

THE  KING  OVER  THE  WATER 

THE  GOD  OF   LOVE 

LOVERS  OF  MADEMOISELLE 

THE  PRICE  OF  POWER 

THE  HOUSE  OF  INTRIGUE 

COLONEL  DAVERON 

BALAOO,  or  The  Mysterious  Mr.  Noel 


HIS  BROTHER'S  KEEPER 
EUGENE  VIDOCQ 
FREEDOM 


Rita 

Effie  Adelaide  Rowlands 

E.  W.  Savi 

William  Westrup 

Justin  H.  McCarthy 

Justin  H.  McCarthy 

Clive  Holland 

William  le  Queux 

Percy  White 

Percy  White 

Gaston  Leroux 

Judge  M'D.  Bodkin 

Dick  Donovan 

Alice  and  Claude  Askew 


Owing  to  the  large  demand  for  the  following  Novels  by 

the  very   popular  author,    EFFIE  ADELAIDE    ROWLANDS 
they  are  being  reprinted  :— 

Love  Wins  Husband  and  Foe 

Her  Heart's  Longing  Love's  Fire 

Her  Punishment  Hester  Trefusis 

The  Fault  of  One  A  Lovely  Woman 

A  Umt  of  Hur9t  d  Blaokett's  6d.  Novels  (over  100  titles)  will 
be  sent  on  agmlloatlon. 
24 


YB  32846 


S100I6 


^^1 

v2> 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CAUFORNIA  UBRARY