Edward Barry

CHAPTER XVII.

BARRY RECEIVES A "STIFFENER."

One day, nearly a month after the brig had spoken the Reynard, old Watson walked into the big room of the Sydney Merchants' Exchange, as he had done the first thing every morning for some weeks, and scanned the "arrivals" board. For the letters which Barry had written to him and Rose Maynard had come safely to hand nearly six weeks before.

Almost the first notice that met his eye was this:—

"Brig flying Hawaiian Islands and British colours entered 8.45."

The old man tossed his hat up to the ceiling, and gave a loud hurrah.

"Hallo, Watson, what's up?" said a seafaring friend named Craig, whom he ran up against at the door and nearly knocked down, in his eagerness to get out again.

"That brig I was looking out for has just come in. Her skipper is a friend of mine, and although he's been mighty lucky, I've rotten bad news for him, and wish some one else could tell it to him. Damn all women, I say!—leastways, all those who don't stick to the man who stuck to them."

"What's wrong, Watson?"

"Damn them all, I say!" repeated the old sailor in his deep, rumbling tones. "Here's as fine a sailor man as ever trod a deck coming into port to find the girl that was sworn to him another man's wife! Isn't that enough to make a man say 'Damn all women!' including the bad with the good?—not that this one is one of the bad lot, though."

"If I was served like that I'd make it mighty hot for the man who cut me out," said Craig, as they descended the steps of the Exchange, and by mutual intuition walked across the street to the nearest hotel.

"There are circumstances, and circumstances, Tom Craig. This girl is as good a little woman as ever put foot in shoe leather, but she had no grit in her, and that's the whole secret. Come in and take a drink, and I'll tell you the whole yarn before I go aboard and see the young fellow. I've got a letter for him—from her—in my pocket. It'll be a regular stiffener for him, poor chap; but if I'm any judge of a man he'll not make a song about it."

Entering a sitting-room of the hotel, the two men seated themselves at one of the tables and ordered drinks; then Watson, wiping his florid, heated face with his handkerchief, pulled out a letter from his breast-pocket and banged it down upon the table.

"That letter, Tom Craig, was written by a broken-hearted woman to the man she loves in her own weak-hearted way, if you understand me. And I have to give that blarsted letter to one of the best chaps that I ever met. And I don't like doing it, Tom Craig, I don't like doing it."

"Why don't you post it?"

"Because I can't. Didn't I tell you I'm going off to see him now? He knows that I know the girl who promised herself to him, and the first thing he will ask me will be about her; and then I'll have to tell him she's been married this six months to an old fellow, old enough to be her grandfather, poor child."

"Matter o' money, I suppose?"

"Matter of keeping body and soul together, Tom. It was this way. This young fellow and the girl were sweet on each other a long time ago, when her father was one of the big bugs of Sydney, but the girl's mother wouldn't have no sailor man courting her daughter. So there was a hitch for a time, and Barry—that's his name—was forbidden to see her again. He went off to sea again, got a berth as mate in the Tahiti trade, and when he came back to Sydney found that his girl and her father were close upon starving. The old man had lost all his money and the girl was earning a living by serving in a draper's shop—close by here, in George Street. The young fellow had precious little money, but he gave the old man all he had except a few shillings—something like six quid. Mind you, Tom Craig, the girl told me all this herself."

"He must be a good sort of a chap, Watson."

"Good! He's solid gold. Well, as I was saying, he did what he could for the old gentleman and the girl, and the same night as he met them he sailed. But before he did sail he gave the girl's father the address of some scientific old swab who he thought would buy some damned ebony or ivory carving that they wanted to sell. See?"

"I can see how it's coming out, Watson," replied his friend. "I know of just such another–"

"Shut up. I'm not sitting here to listen to any yarns of yours, Tom Craig. Well, as might have been expected, this old scientific fellow, Colonel Maclean, takes a fancy to the girl and asks her to take the billet of secretary to him. She took it—took it to help the old father who was getting shakier and shakier every day, and wanted all sorts of attention and nursing.

"I used to go and see them pretty frequently—at first just on account of this young fellow Barry who I had taken a liking to, and then because I liked the old man and the girl herself, whose voice was as sweet as the note of a thrush. She used to talk to me about Barry and made no secret of her loving him and all that.

"Well, one evening, I found she was in great trouble. Her father had had a paralytic seizure, and there were a couple of swell doctors attending him, and in the sitting-room was this old scientific bloke, Colonel Maclean, twirling his moustache and saying how very distressed he was and all that. He was mighty civil to me and took me down to Pfahlert's Hotel, where we had a drink or two, and he told me that he was deeply interested in Miss Maynard's welfare. Of course, I saw in a moment what he was driving at, and tried to do my best for Barry, saying that we (Miss Maynard and me) expected to see him back in a month or two, when they would be married.

"'Oh, indeed,' says the swab, 'how very interesting! I know Mr. Barry personally and have bought some very valuable ethnographical specimens from him. Good-night, Mr.—er, Mr. Watson.'

"Well, the next time I called at Miss Maynard's rooms I found that she and her father were gone—gone to Colonel Maclean's house, so the landlady said. I footed it out there and asked to see her. She came downstairs and met me, crying.

"'My father will never rise from his bed again, Mr. Watson,' she says, 'and I have promised to marry Colonel Maclean to-morrow. Here, take this, please,' and she hands me this very identical letter which I've just shown you, Tom. And married she was the very next day."

"It wasn't your fault, anyway, Sam," observed Mr. Craig, as he drank off his brandy-and-soda.

"Who said it was?" inquired the old mate indignantly; "I wasn't in charge of the girl, was I? But what has given me such a smack in the face is this, Tom; about a month after she was married I got a letter from Barry telling me all about his adventures—and damned queer adventures they are—and enclosing one to Miss Maynard."

"What did you do with it, Sam?"

"Posted it to her—to 'Mrs. Maclean, Carabella Villa, Darling Point,' and I got this," said Watson furiously, hauling another letter out of his pocket and reading it to his friend:—

"'Mrs. Maclean thanks Mr. Samuel Watson for his kind note and the letter enclosed received yesterday. In reply to Mr. Watson's sympathetic remarks concerning Mrs. Maclean's father's health, Mrs. Maclean is sorry to say that there is no improvement. Colonel Maclean wishes Mr. Samuel Watson to understand that the letter enclosed to his wife requires no answer.'"

Craig grinned. "That's the correct kind of letter to write to excuse a dirty trick, Sam. It's got the true, rotten, swell twang about it."

The old mate sighed. "Maybe, Tom, maybe. But I don't believe she wrote it naturally—from her heart, like. I believe that her husband made her write it. He has a cold, hard face, and she's but little more than a child. But it's hard on this young fellow."

"It is hard, Sam. But there's lots o' women in the world, and I daresay he'll find another just as good before a month o' Sundays. Come, buck up, old man; what'll you have? Same again?"

"No more for me, Tom; I'm off aboard to see him. And I feel as if I was a blarsted sheriff telling a man that he was to be hung."

Craig slapped his friend on the back as they rose from their seats. "He'll get over it, Sam, never fear. When the heart is young, as the Bible says, it doesn't care a damn for anybody. And if he's getting good money he'll soon forget all about the girl; for he'll see plenty more just as good as her. Anyway that's my experience, Sam."

Bidding his friend good-bye, Watson, with a gloomy brow, walked to the Circular Quay and hired a water-man to take him down the harbour to the Mahina.

"There she is, sir, over there in Neutral Bay," said the boatman as he rounded Fort Macquarie.

Half an hour's pull brought them alongside, and the old man jumping on deck at once made his way into the cabin. Barry was seated at the table, getting his papers ready and waiting for Mrs. Tracey.

Springing to his feet he grasped Watson's hand and shook it warmly, but at once discerned from the expression on the old man's kindly face that there was something wrong. Before he could frame a question, however, Watson blurted out that he had bad news.

"Anything the matter with Miss Maynard or her father," he asked quietly.

"The old gentleman has had a paralytic seizure; but it's not him I had in my mind." Then he hesitated.

"Go on, man, what is it?"

"The girl is married—married Colonel Maclean about two months ago."

Barry's face paled under its bronze, but he said nothing for a few moments. Then he motioned his friend to a seat.

"Sit down, Watson," he said quietly; "it is bad news for me, and news I never dreamt of hearing. Tell me all about it. Steward, bring us something to drink."

The red-faced old mate looked at him with a certain admiring sympathy, then he laid his hand on his shoulder.

"You're one of the right sort. Now I'll tell you the yarn, but first of all she gave me a letter for you. Here it is."

The captain of the Mahina took it from him, opened it, and read it with an unmoved countenance. Then without a word of comment he passed it over to Watson; it contained but a few lines:—

"DEAR TED,—Try to forgive me. Perhaps in after years I will try to forgive myself. I could not bear to see my father suffer. Weak and unstable as water as I am in some things, my duty and affection for him conquered my love for you.—ROSE."

Lighting a cigar, he leant back in his chair and listened to Watson's story. When it was finished he got up and held out his hand.

"Thank you, Watson, for all you tried to do for me. It's a bitter pill to swallow, but I'll get over it in time, like everything else."

Watson could not refrain from a sigh of relief. He had feared that Barry would cut up roughly.

"That is so," he said, "but it's a hard knock for you. Now I've lots of other news for you. First of all I got your letters from Arrecifos safely. The John and Pauline whaler put them ashore at Levuka, and I can tell you I went to bed with a bad head that night."

"What did you do with Miss Maynard's—I beg her pardon—Mrs. Colonel Maclean's letter?"

"Posted it to her, and this is what I got in reply," and he showed him the note he had exhibited to his friend Tom Craig.

Barry read it with a smile of contempt. "What's the other news, Watson?"

"Ah, now I have something that will astonish you. Rawlings and the other chap are dead."

"Dead!"

"Aye, both of 'em."

"How do you know?" said Barry quickly.

"The Eclipse, man-of-war, brought the news from Noumea last week. Here's the account of it," and he spread a newspaper out on the table, and pointed to an article headed—"Tragedy in the South Seas."

"Wait a moment," cried Barry excitedly, as springing from his seat he tapped at the door of Mrs. Tracey's cabin. "Come out quickly, please."

The door opened and Mrs. Tracey, without waiting for an introduction, first shook hands with the old mate. "You are Mr. Watson! I guessed who you were the moment you came on board, and I heard your voice. Now what is the matter, Captain Barry?"

"Read this, Mrs. Tracey," he replied, spreading the paper out on the cabin table. Stooping beside him they read it together:–

"Just as the Eclipse was leaving New Caledonia, the gunboat Reynard arrived, and reported having spoken the Hawaiian brig Mahina in the vicinity of the Banks' Group. The acting master informed the commander of the gunboat that he had on board in confinement two men who, some months previously, had murdered the captain of the brig, and seized the vessel. By the aid of some natives, the chief officer succeeded in retaking her, and the two men were over-powered and placed in heavy irons. Commander Martyn, of the Reynard, consented to take charge of them, as the brig was deeply laden, and likely to make a long passage to Sydney. They were at once transferred to the gunboat, which then proceeded on her voyage to Noumea.

"About a week afterwards one of the two, a powerfully built Italian or Greek, who was of a sullen and savage disposition, was relieved of his irons for half an hour by the doctor's orders, and placed on deck with his companion, as he complained of a severe pain in his chest. This was evidently a ruse, for while the sentry's back was turned for a moment the Greek seized his fellow pirate (who was in irons) by the waist, and leapt overboard with him. They sank immediately, the Greek, no doubt, having determined to drown with the other man.

"Fuller particulars of the seizure of the brig, and her recapture, will be looked forward to with interest on her arrival here. It is stated that she has a cargo of 'golden-edge' pearl shell worth over 40,000 pounds."

Mrs. Tracey shuddered, and covered her face with her hands. "Heaven forgive them their crimes," she murmured.

Barry could not help a certain feeling of relief. Both he and Mrs. Tracey had looked forward to the trial of Rawlings and the Greek with the utmost aversion; for heartless villains and murderers as they were, their probable death at the hands of the law haunted Mrs. Tracey like a nightmare, and Barradas himself had a growing horror of the coming time, for on his evidence alone Rawlings would certainly be hanged.

"I must tell Barradas," said Barry; "steward, send the mate here."

The Spaniard came below, heard the news in silence, bent his head and crossed himself, and quietly went on deck again. He knew that in a few hours, or a day or so at most, he would be arrested, but knew that his conduct since the murder of Captain Tracey would go largely in his favour, and that in both Barry and Mrs. Tracey he had friends. As for attempting to escape, he had put the thought away at once and for ever the night he walked to the little island cemetery.

"Are you ready to come on shore, Mrs. Tracey?" inquired Barry as the mate left the cabin.

"Quite ready, captain," she answered with a light smile, "and see here. Look what I am taking with me," and stepping into her cabin she returned with the white wooden box which contained "Rose Maynard's Dot."

Barry rose to the occasion, like the man he was. "You must keep those pearls, Mrs. Tracey. The woman for whom you intended them is married. I only heard of it just now." He spoke very quietly, but Mrs. Tracey could detect the shame that he felt in making the admission.

"I am so sorry–" she began, and then with sudden passion she flung the box away. "How could she? I hate her! I hate her! She must be a wicked, worthless–"

She gave him a glance which told Barry her secret, and then with an hysterical sob passed him and entered her cabin, and as Toea shut the door old Watson looked at Barry, and the faintest flicker of a smile moved his lips.

Then stooping down he picked up the box of pearls and placed them in Barry's hand.

"My boy, I think your happiness lies in there—in that cabin. She loves you."

CHAPTER XVIII.

ON BOARD THE NEW BARQUE

Three months had come and gone, and one warm summer's evening as Barry was dressing for the theatre one of the hotel waiters announced "Captain Watson."

"Come in, old man," cried Barry cheerfully, and he opened the door to his visitor. "Sit down there and smoke while I put on my togs, then we'll have a long cool drink. Phew, it'll be a roaster this evening."

"Going out dining?" inquired the rumbling-voiced old man.

"No, to the theatre. I'm taking Mrs. Tracey. How is everything getting on on board?"

"Right as can be. Came in to see if you'd come down to-morrow and have a look at her."

Barry nodded. "Right you are, Watson: and I daresay that Mrs. Tracey will come too. She takes a lot of pride in the new ship I can tell you."

"Just so. And you'll find that the new ship will be even a better sailer than the Mahina."

For the Mahina, had been sold a month or so before, and in her place had been bought a smart little barque of double her tonnage.

She was to sail for Arrecifos in a few days, and old Watson had joined her as chief mate, for poor Manuel Barradas was in prison, having received a sentence of two years' imprisonment for his share in the seizure of the brig. And here, as this story draws near to an end, let me tell what became of him. After twelve months of his sentence had expired he was, through the persistent efforts of Barry and his friends, set at liberty, the judge who had tried him being one of some hundreds of people who petitioned the Crown on his behalf. Before another year had passed he was back in Arrecifos Lagoon, in charge of the station, which he took over from Velo at Barry's desire; the faithful Samoan being tired of living on shore, and for long, long years Barradas remained in Barry's employ on the island, happy and contented and with his mind at rest.

The hotel in which Barry was living was quite near the wharves of the Circular Quay. He had taken up his quarters there after the Mahina had been sold, for as old Watson was an active and energetic chief officer there was no need for him to live on board the new vessel. During the time he had been living on shore he had met Mrs. Tracey frequently; for he acted as her business agent, and she relied upon him with the most implicit confidence. When he suggested that the brig should be sold and another vessel bought she eagerly acquiesced on the one condition that he would take command.

"Of course I will," he said, "and very glad to do so, Mrs. Tracey. She is a beautiful little barque and not a bit too big. You will see how she can sail when you pay a visit to Arrecifos next year."

"I almost wish I were going this time, Captain Barry. Till next year seems a long, long time to wait, and what I should do without Toea to talk to I can't imagine. I suppose I shall grow more reconciled by and by."

"You will make many friends, Mrs. Tracey."

Her cheeks reddened slightly.

"Friends! No, not friends—merely people who want to know me because I am rich. And I don't want to make friends. The other afternoon a Mrs. Bell-Lovatt and her two daughters called to see me, and Mrs. Bell-Lovatt simply gushed over me for half an hour and made me feel quite sick with her odious flattery. I knew the girls when I was at school in Melbourne, but I've never seen them since and had no wish to see them again."

Barry laughed. "You'll have to put up with a good deal of that sort of thing, I fear. Even I, myself, have discovered that I unknowingly possessed heaps of friends. When I go into the Exchange now, a dozen or more men—shipowners, brokers, and others—insist on shaking hands with me and asking me to dinner. When I was in Sydney last and was badly in want of a berth no less than three of these very men metaphorically kicked me out of their offices when I applied to them. But now that I am agent and manager to 'the rich Mrs. Tracey' they can't find words to express their admiration of my talents and all-round virtues."

"Ah, well. We must not mind these things, I suppose. But I wish I were a man—I should at least escape being called upon and kissed by 'catty' women like Mrs. Bell-Lovatt."

Not once since he returned had Barry caught sight of the woman he had hoped to call his wife, and as the days went by he thought less and less of her and more of Alice Tracey. And his would indeed have been a hard, unimpressionable nature not to have yielded the influence she was surely, but slowly, exercising upon him. She honestly tried to attract him, and now that he was a free man she did not mean to let him go away to sea again without trying to let him understand that she would feel the loss of his society very much.

"If he cared for me ever so much he wouldn't tell me," she thought to herself, "he is that sort of man, I'm sure. If I had no money it would be different. Ah, well, I must wait."

Old Watson, in his own quiet way, was helping matters on; for he conceived quite a sincere admiration for the young widow, and one day he bluntly told Barry that she was "only waiting to be asked. And there'll be a hungry crowd hanging around her once you are away at sea, my boy."

"She's too rich a woman for me to think of, Watson," he said, with a laugh.

This was said on board the barque when they were at dinner, and Mosé, the steward promptly imparted it to Toea when she one day came to look at the new ship, and Toea of course repeated it to her mistress, who said nothing but smiled wisely.

Leaving his hotel Barry drove to Mrs. Tracey's apartments in Macquarie Street, where she soon joined him, looking very charming in a dainty evening dress of yellow silk.