The Marriage of Esther

"You are very generous, but I cannot accept alms, thank you."

With an apology for having so long detained him, Ellison continued his walk down the beach. Hong Kong Joe was in his boat-building yard, laying the keel of a new lugger. Approaching him he came to the point straight away:

"I am in search of work. Have you any to give me?"

The boat-builder straightened himself up, looked his questioner in the face, ran his eye round the tattered shirt, and arrived at the moleskin trousers. When he got higher up the bruised eye seemed to decide him.

"Not with that eye, thank you," he said. "When I want one, I can get my pick of fighting-men in the settlement without employing a stranger."

"Then you don't want me?"

"No, thank you."

"You can't put me in the way of finding any employment, I suppose? God knows I want it pretty badly."

"Try Mah Poo's store on the Front. I heard him say yesterday he wanted a steady, respectable chap, so you should just about qualify. No harm in trying, anyway."

Thanking him for his advice, and ignoring the sarcasm contained in it, Ellison walked on to the Chinaman's shop. The Celestial was even less complimentary than the boat-builder, for without waiting to answer the applicant's inquiries, he went into his house and slammed the door. At any time it hurts to have a door banged in one's face, but when it is done by a Chinaman the insult is double-edged. Ellison, however, meekly pocketed the affront and continued his walk. He tried two or three other places, with the same result – nobody wanted him. Those who might have given him work were dissuaded by the bruises; while those who had no intention of doing so, advised him to desist from his endeavours until they had passed away. He groaned at the poverty of his luck, and walked down the hill to the end of the new jetty, to stare into the green water whose colour contrasted so well with the saffron sands and the white wings of the wheeling gulls.

A British India mail-boat was steaming down the bay to her anchorage alongside the hulk, and innumerable small craft were passing to and fro between the islands. He looked at the water, the birds, the steamer, and the islands, without being really conscious that he saw them. Somehow he was filled with a great wonderment at his position, at the obstinate contrariness of his luck. Over and over again in days gone by he had been offered positions of trust, beside which packing pearl shell and assisting boat-builders would have been as nothing. He had refused them because he did not want to work. It was the revenge of Fate that now he had resolved to turn over a new leaf he could hear of nothing. As this thought entered his brain he looked down at the transparent green water rising and falling round the copper-sheathed piles of the pier, and a fit of desperation came over him. Was it any use living? Life had evidently nothing to offer him now in exchange for what his own folly had thrown away. Why should he not drop quietly over the side, disappear into that cool green water, and be done with it forever? The more he considered this way out of his troubles the more he liked it. But then the old doubt came back upon him, – the doubt that had been his undoing in so many previous struggles, – might not the future have something better in store for him? He resolved to test his luck for the last time. But how? After a moment's thought he decided on a plan.

There was not a soul within a couple of hundred yards of the jetty. He would arrange it thus: if anyone set foot on it before the mail-boat let go her anchor he would give life another chance; if not, well, then he would try and remember some sort of prayer and go quietly over the side, give in without a struggle, and be washed up by the next tide. From every appearance luck favoured the latter chance. So much the better omen, then, if the other came uppermost. He looked at the mail-boat and then at the shore. Not a soul was to be seen. Another five minutes would decide it all for him. Minute after minute went by; the boat steamed closer to the hulk. He could see the hands forrard on the fo'c'sle-head ready to let go the anchor, he could even make out the thin column of steam issuing from the escape-pipe in the cable range. Another minute, or at most two, would settle everything. And yet there was no sign of excitement in his tired face, only a certain grim and terrible earnestness in the lines about the mouth. The steamer was close enough now for him to hear the order from the bridge and the answer from the officer in charge of the cable. Another two or three seconds and he might reckon the question settled and the game played out. He turned for the last time to look along the jetty, but there was no hope there, not a living being was anywhere near it.

"Well, this settles it, once and forever," he said to himself, following his speech with a little sigh, for which he could not account. Then, as if to carry out his intention, he crossed to the steps leading down to the other side of the jetty. As he did so he almost shouted with surprise, for there, on the outer edge, hidden from his line of sight where he had stood before, lay a little Kanaka boy about ten years of age fast asleep. He had been there all the time. Ellison's luck had triumphed in a most unexpected manner! As he realised it he heard the cable on board the mail-boat go tearing through the hawsehole, and next moment the officer's cry, "Anchor gone, sir!" At the same instant the ship's bell struck eight (twelve o'clock).

With the change in his prospects, for he was resolved to consider it a change, he remembered that Murkard was on the hillside waiting for him. Instantly he wheeled about and started back on his tracks for the side of the island he had first come from. The sun was very warm, the path a rough one, and by the time he reached it his bare feet had had about enough of it. He found Murkard sitting in the same spot and almost in the same attitude as when he had left him nearly five hours before. The expression of amusement on the latter's face changed a little as he noticed that his friend carried nothing in his hand.

"And so, my dear fellow, you have come back. Well, do you know, I felt convinced you would. Nothing offered, I suppose?"

"Nothing. But stay, I'm wrong. I was offered a shilling to get myself a breakfast."

"Good for you? So you have eaten your fill."

"No; I refused it. I wanted work, not charity!"

"So it would appear. Well I must say I admire your fortitude. Perhaps in better days I might have done the same. Under present circumstances, however, I am inclined to fancy I should have taken the money."

"Possibly. I acted differently, you see."

"You're not angry with me for laughing at you this morning, are you, Ellison?"

"Angry? My dear old fellow, what on earth put that in your head? Why should I be angry? As it happens, you were quite right."

"That's the very reason I thought you might have been angry. We're never so easily put out of temper as when we're proved to be in the wrong. That's what is called the Refining Influence of Civilization."

"And what's to be done now? We can't live up here on this hillside forever. And, as far as I can see, we stand a very poor show of having anything given us down yonder."

"We must cut our tracks again, that's all. But how we're to get away, and where we're to go to is more than I can say. We've tried Adelaide, Melbourne, Sydney, and Brisbane; Rockhampton turned us out, Townsville and Cooktown proved as bad. Now Thursday Island turns its back on us. There's something rotten in the state of Denmark, my friend. Don't get cast-down over it, however; we've succeeded before, we'll do so again. As the proverb has it, 'Le desespoir redouble les forces.'"

"What do you propose?"

"Something practicable! I've been thinking. Don't laugh. It's a habit of mine. As I think best when I'm hungry, I become a perfect Socrates when I'm starving. Do you see that island over there?"

"Yes – Prince of Wales. What about it?"

"There's a pearling station round the bay. You can just catch a glimpse of it from here – a white roof looking out from among the trees. You see it? Very good! It belongs to an old man, McCartney by name, who is at present away with his boat, somewhere on the other side of New Guinea."

"Well, then, that stops our business right off. If the boss is away, how can it help us?"

"What a chicken it is, to be sure. My boy, that station is run, in the old man's absence, by his daughter Esther – young, winsome, impulsive, and impressionable. A rare combination. We visit it in this way. As near as I can calculate it is half a mile across the strait, so we swim it. I am nearly drowned, you save my life. You leave me on the beach, and go up to the house for assistance. Arriving there you ask to see her, tell your story, touch her heart. She takes us in, nurses me; I sing your praises; we remain until the father returns – after that permanently."

"You don't mean to tell me you think all that humbug is likely to succeed?"

"If it's well enough done, certainly!"

"And hasn't it struck you that so much deception is playing it rather low down upon the girl?"

"It will be playing it still lower down upon us if it doesn't succeed. It's our last chance, remember. We must do it or starve. You've grown very squeamish all of a sudden."

"I don't like acting a lie."

"Since when? Look here, my dear fellow, you're getting altogether too good for this world. You almost take me in. Last night, before I grew too drunk to chronicle passing events, I heard you tell one of the most deliberate, cold-blooded lies any man ever gave utterance to – and, what was worse, for no rhyme or reason as far as I could see."

"You have no right to talk to me like this!"

"Very probably that's why I do it. Another of my habits. But forgive me; don't let us quarrel on the eve of an enterprise of such importance. Are you going into it with me or not?"

"Since you are bent on it, of course! You know that."

"Very good; then let us prepare for the swim. It will be a long one, and I am not in very great trim just now. I have also heard that sharks are numerous. I pity the shark that gets my legs; my upper half would not be so bad, but my lower would be calculated to give even a mummy dyspepsia."

While speaking, he had rolled his trousers up to his knees. Then, having discarded his jacket, he announced himself ready for the swim. All the time he had been making his preparations Ellison had been standing with his back to him, looking across the strait. He was still brooding on the accusation his companion had a moment before given utterance to. He was aware that he had told a lie on the previous night – wilfully and deliberately lied, without hope of gain to himself, or even without any desire of helping himself. He had represented himself to be something he was not, for no earthly reason that he could account for save a craving for exciting interest and sympathy. It was his one sin, his one blemish, this fatal trick of lying, and he could not break himself of it, try how he would. And yet, as I have already insisted, weak as he was in this, in all other matters he was the very soul of honour. It rankled in his mind, as the after-knowledge always did, to think that this man, whom he had learned to fear as well as to despise, should have found him out. He nodded to show that he was ready, and together they set out for the beach. On the way, Murkard placed his hand upon Ellison's arm, and looked into his face with a queer expression that was almost one of pity.

"Ellison," he said, "you are thinking over what I said just now. I'm sorry I let it slip. But, believe me, I meant no harm by it. I suppose every man has his one little failing – God knows, I'm conscious enough of mine. Don't think any the worse of me for having been so candid, will you?"

"The subject is distasteful to me; let's drop it."

"By all means. Now we've got our swim before us. Talk of Hero and Leander! I don't suppose there can be much doubt as to which of us is destined to be Leander."

Side by side they waded out till the water reached their shoulders; then they began their swim. Both were past masters in the art; but it was a long struggle, and they soon discovered that there was a stiff current setting against them. It began to look as if they would be washed past their goal before they could reach it.

When they were three parts of the way across, Ellison was ahead, Murkard some half dozen yards behind him. Suddenly the former heard a cry; he turned his head in time to see Murkard throw up his arms and disappear. Without a moment's hesitation he swam back to the spot, reaching it just as the other was disappearing for the third and last time. With a strength born of despair he clutched him by the hair and raised his head above the surface. Then, holding him at a safe distance, he continued his swim for the shore. The piece of acting designed to carry out their plot looked as if it were likely to become downright earnest, after all.

It was a long swim, and, being saddled with this additional burden, it taxed Ellison's strength and endurance to the uttermost. When he touched the beach on the opposite side, it was as much as he could do to carry the unfortunate body up out of the reach of the water. This done, his strength gave way entirely, and he threw himself down exhausted on the sand.

CHAPTER II

A WOMAN – A RECOVERY – TRANSFORMATIONS AND TWO RESOLVES

When Ellison felt himself able to move again, he rose to his feet and looked about him. He discovered that they had landed on the shore of a little bay, bounded on one side by a miniature cliff and on the other by a dense tropical jungle; through this latter looked out the white roofs of the boat-sheds and houses of the pearling station of which they had come in search. Two columns of palest blue smoke rose above the palms, and after a glance at his still insensible companion he started towards them.

Leaving the white sandy foreshore of the bay, he entered the thicket by what was certainly a well-worn path. This circled round the headland, and eventually brought him out on the hill above the beach. Stepping clear of the undergrowth, he found himself confronted by a number of buildings of all sizes and descriptions. The nearest he settled in his own mind was a store-shed; that adjoining it, to the left, was the Kanakas' hut; that to the left, again, their kitchen; that to the right, rather higher on the hill, with its long low roof, the station house itself. As he approached it, two or three mongrel curs ran out and barked vociferous defiance, but he did not heed them. He passed the store, and made towards the veranda. As he came closer, a strange enough figure in his dripping rags, he saw that he was observed. A young woman, possibly not more than three-and-twenty, was standing on the steps awaiting him. She was, if one may judge by what the world usually denominates beauty, rather handsome than beautiful, but there was also something about her that was calculated to impress the mind far more than mere pink and white prettiness. Her figure was tall and shapely; her features pronounced, but regular; her eyes were the deepest shade of brown; and her wealth of nut-brown hair, upon which a struggling ray of sunlight fell, was carelessly rolled behind her head in a fashion that added to, rather than detracted from, her general appearance.

Ellison lifted his hat as he came towards her. She looked him up and down with the conscious air of a superior, and was the first to speak.

"Well, my man," she said, without embarrassment, "what do you want here?"

"In the first place, I want your help. I tried to swim the straits with a companion; he was nearly drowned, and is now lying unconscious on the shore down yonder."

He pointed in the direction he had come.

"Good gracious! and you're wasting time on words." She picked up a sun-bonnet lying on a chair beside her, and put it on, calling: "Mrs. Fenwick, Mrs. Fenwick!"

In answer, an elderly person wearing a widow's cap appeared from the house.

"Have blankets warmed and put in the hut over yonder. Don't lose a minute." Then turning to the astonished Ellison she said: "I'll be with you in one moment," and departed into the house.

Before he had time to speculate as to her errand, she reappeared with a bottle of brandy in her hand.

"Now, come along. If he's as bad as you say, there's not a moment to lose."

They set off down the path, and as they passed the Kanakas' hut, she cried:

"Jimmy Rhotoma!"

A big Kanaka rolled out of the kitchen.

"Man drowned along Alligator Bay. Look sharp!"

Then signing to her companion to follow, she set off at a run across the space between the huts and along the scrub-path towards the sea. Ellison followed close behind her, dimly conscious of the graceful figure twisting and turning through the undergrowth ahead of him. When she reached the open land on the other side of the headland, she paused and looked about her; then, making out the figure stretched upon the sands, she ran towards it. With a swiftness that betokened considerable experience she placed her hand upon his heart. No, he was not dead; it was not too late to save him. As she came to this conclusion, Jimmy Rhotoma appeared, and the trio set to work to restore animation. It was some time before their efforts were rewarded. Then Murkard sighed wearily, half-opened his eyes, and rolled his head over to the other side.

"He'll do now, poor fellow," said the woman, still chafing his left hand. "But it was a very close thing. What on earth induced you to try and swim the straits?"

"Despair, I suppose. We're both of us as nearly done for as it is possible for men to be. We tried the settlement yesterday for work, but nothing offered. Then we heard of your station, and thought we'd swim across on chance."

"I don't know that I altogether like the look of either of you. Beach-combers, I fancy, aren't you?"

"We're Englishmen who have experienced the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, with a vengeance. I suppose you would call us beach-combers, now I come to think of it. However, if you can give us work, I can promise you we'll do it, and do it faithfully. If you can't – well, perhaps you'll give us a meal a piece, just to put strength into us for the swim back."

"Well, I'll think about it. In the meantime we must get your mate up to the station. Jimmy, you take his head, you – by the way, what's your name?"

"Ellison – Cuthbert Ellison."

"Very well then, Ellison, you take his heels. That's right, now bring him along."

Between them, and led by the woman, they carried Murkard up the path to the station. Arriving at a hut, near that from which the Kanaka had been summoned, she stopped, took a key from a bunch in her pocket, unlocked the door, and threw it open. It was small, but scrupulously clean. Two camp bedsteads were ranged beside the wall, furnished with coarse blue blankets; a tin wash-hand basin stood on a box at the far end, alongside it a small wooden table, with a six-inch looking-glass above that again.

"You can occupy this hut for the present. Put him down on that bed, so! Before I take it away give him a drop more brandy. That's right. I think he'll do now. If you don't want a spell yourself you'd better come with me."

Ellison arranged Murkard's head upon his pillow, glanced almost unconsciously at himself in the square of glass, and then followed her out of the hut, and across the yard to the veranda opposite. Arriving there she seated herself in a hammock, that swung across the corner, and once more looked him up and down.

"I don't think you need have told me you were an Englishman!" she said at length.

"Why not?" he asked, without any real curiosity. He was watching the shapely feet and ankles swinging beneath the hammock.

"Because I could see it for myself. Your voice is the voice of an Englishman, your face is the face of an Englishman, and, if I wanted any further proof, I should convince myself by your walk. Have you ever noticed that your countrymen" (she spoke as if Australians were not Englishmen), "Britishers, I mean, walk in quite a different fashion from our men? You haven't noticed it, I see. Well, I'm afraid, then, you haven't cultivated the faculty of observation."

"I have had things of more importance to think about lately."

"Oh, I beg your pardon! I had quite forgotten. Sit down for one moment."

She pointed to a long cane-chair. He seated himself, and she disappeared inside the house. In less than five minutes she returned with a bundle in her arms.

"Here you are – some clothes for you and your mate. You needn't thank me for them. They belonged to a man from your own country, who went to the bottom six months ago in one of our luggers, a degree east of the D'Entrecasteaux group. Take them over to the hut and change. When you've done that come back here, and I'll have some lunch ready for you."

As soon as she had given him the bundle she turned on her heel and vanished into the house, without giving him an opportunity of uttering an expression of his thanks. He looked after her as if he would like to have said something, but changed his mind and crossed to his hut. Murkard was still asleep, so he did not disturb him. Throwing the bundle on his own bed, he started to examine it. To the man who has lived in rags there is something that is apt to be almost discomposing in the sudden possession of a decent wardrobe. Ellison turned the dead man's effects over with a strange thrill. Ashamed as he was of his sordid rags, there was something to him indescribably beautiful about these neat tweeds, linen shirts, collars, socks, and white canvas shoes. Selecting those which looked nearest his own size, he prepared to make his toilet. A razor lay upon the dressing-table, a shaving brush stood on a tiny bracket above the tin wash-hand basin. A shave was a luxury he had not indulged in for some time. He lathered his face, stropped the razor on his belt, and fell to work. In three minutes the ugly stubble on his cheeks and chin had disappeared. Five minutes later he was dressed and a new man. With the help of water, a well-worn hair-brush, and his fingers, his matted locks were reduced to something like order, his luxuriant brown mustache received an extra twirl, and he was prepared to face the world once more, in outward appearance at least, a gentleman. Esther McCartney watched him cross the path from a window opposite, and noticed that he carried himself with a new swing. She allowed a smile, that was one of half pity, to flicker across her face as she saw it, and then went into the veranda to receive him.

"They fit you beautifully," said she, referring to the clothes. "You look like a new man."

"How can I thank you? I feel almost like my old self once more. I tremble to think what a figure I must have cut half an hour ago."

"Never mind that. Now come and have something to eat."

He followed her into the sitting room. It was a pretty place, and showed on all sides evidences of a woman's controlling hand. The weatherboard walls were nicely stained, a painted canvas cloth took the place of a plaster ceiling; numerous pictures, mostly water-colours, and many of them of considerable merit, hung on either hand, interspersed with curiosities of the deep, native weapons, and other odds and ends accumulated from among the thousand and one islands of the Southern seas. In the furthest corner Ellison noticed an open piano, with a piece of music on the rest. But the thing which fascinated him beyond all others was the meal spread upon the centre-table. Its profusion nearly took his breath away – beef, tomato salad, pickles, cheese, and a bottle of home-brewed beer. At her command he seated himself and ravenously set to work. All the time he was eating she sat in a deep chair by the window and watched him with an amused smile upon her face. When he had taken off the first raw edge, she spoke:

"Do you know, I don't think that black eye is exactly becoming to you."

Ellison made as if he would like to cover it up.

"Oh, you can't hide it now. I noticed it directly you showed yourself this morning. I wonder who gave it you? for of course you've been fighting. I don't like a quarrelsome man!"

"I'm sorry I should appear before you in such a bad light, for naturally I want to stand well with you."