"Well," Joan said with a sigh, "I've
shown you hustling American methods
that succeed and get somewhere,
and here you are beginning your
muddling again."
Five days had passed, and she
and Sheldon were standing on
the veranda watching the Martha,
close-hauled on the wind, laying
a tack off shore. During those
five days Joan had never once
broached the desire of her heart,
though Sheldon, in this particular
instance reading her like a book,
had watched her lead up to the
question a score of times in
the hope that he would himself
suggest her taking charge of
the Martha. She had wanted him
to say the word, and she had
steeled herself not to say it
herself. The matter of finding
a skipper had been a hard one.
She was jealous of the Martha,
and no suggested man had satisfied
her.
"Oleson?" she had demanded. "He
does very well on the Flibberty,
with me and my men to overhaul
her whenever she's ready to fall
to pieces through his slackness.
But skipper of the Martha? Impossible!"
"Munster? Yes,
he's the only man I know in
the Solomons I'd
care to see in charge. And yet,
there's his record. He lost the
Umbawa--one hundred and forty
drowned. He was first officer
on the bridge. Deliberate disobedience
to instructions. No wonder they
broke him.
"Christian
Young has never had any experience
with large
boats. Besides, we can't afford
to pay him what he's clearing
on the Minerva. Sparrowhawk is
a good man--to take orders. He
has no initiative. He's an able
sailor, but he can't command.
I tell you I was nervous all
the time he had charge of the
Flibberty at Poonga-Poonga when
I had to stay by the Martha."
And so it had gone. No name
proposed was satisfactory, and,
moreover, Sheldon had been surprised
by the accuracy of her judgments.
A dozen times she almost drove
him to the statement that from
the showing she made of Solomon
Islands sailors, she was the
only person fitted to command
the Martha. But each time he
restrained himself, while her
pride prevented her from making
the suggestion.
"Good whale-boat sailors do
not necessarily make good schooner-
handlers," she replied to one
of his arguments. "Besides, the
captain of a boat like the Martha
must have a large mind, see things
in a large way; he must have
capacity and enterprise."
"But with your Tahitians on
board--" Sheldon had begun another
argument.
"There won't be any Tahitians
on board," she had returned promptly. "My
men stay with me. I never know
when I may need them. When I
sail, they sail; when I remain
ashore, they remain ashore. I'll
find plenty for them to do right
here on the plantation. You've
seen them clearing bush, each
of them worth half a dozen of
your cannibals."
So it was that Joan stood beside
Sheldon and sighed as she watched
the Martha beating out to sea,
old Kinross, brought over from
Savo, in command.
"Kinross is an old fossil," she
said, with a touch of bitterness
in her voice. "Oh, he'll never
wreck her through rashness, rest
assured of that; but he's timid
to childishness, and timid skippers
lose just as many vessels as
rash ones. Some day, Kinross
will lose the Martha because
there'll be only one chance and
he'll be afraid to take it. I
know his sort. Afraid to take
advantage of a proper breeze
of wind that will fetch him in
in twenty hours, he'll get caught
out in the calm that follows
and spend a whole week in getting
in. The Martha will make money
with him, there's no doubt of
it; but she won't make near the
money that she would under a
competent master."
She paused, and with heightened
colour and sparkling eyes gazed
seaward at the schooner.
"My! but she
is a witch! Look at her eating
up the water, and
there's no wind to speak of.
She's not got ordinary white
metal either. It's man-of-war
copper, every inch of it. I had
them polish it with cocoanut
husks when she was careened at
Poonga- Poonga. She was a seal-hunter
before this gold expedition got
her. And seal-hunters had to
sail. They've run away from second
class Russian cruisers more than
once up there off Siberia.
"Honestly,
if I'd dreamed of the chance
waiting for me at
Guvutu when I bought her for
less than three hundred dollars,
I'd never have gone partners
with you. And in that case I'd
be sailing her right now.
The justice of her contention
came abruptly home to Sheldon.
What she had done she would have
done just the same if she had
not been his partner. And in
the saving of the Martha he had
played no part. Single-handed,
unadvised, in the teeth of the
laughter of Guvutu and of the
competition of men like Morgan
and Raff, she had gone into the
adventure and brought it through
to success.
"You make me feel like a big
man who has robbed a small child
of a lolly," he said with sudden
contrition.
"And the small child is crying
for it." She looked at him, and
he noted that her lip was slightly
trembling and that her eyes were
moist. It was the boy all over,
he thought; the boy crying for
the wee bit boat with which to
play. And yet it was a woman,
too. What a maze of contradiction
she was! And he wondered, had
she been all woman and no boy,
if he would have loved her in
just the same way. Then it rushed
in upon his consciousness that
he really loved her for what
she was, for all the boy in her
and all the rest of her--for
the total of her that would have
been a different total in direct
proportion to any differing of
the parts of her.
"But the small child won't
cry any more for it," she was
saying. "This is the last sob.
Some day, if Kinross doesn't
lose her, you'll turn her over
to your partner, I know. And
I won't nag you any more. Only
I do hope you know how I feel.
It isn't as if I'd merely bought
the Martha, or merely built her.
I saved her. I took her off the
reef. I saved her from the grave
of the sea when fifty-five pounds
was considered a big risk. She
is mine, peculiarly mine. Without
me she wouldn't exist. That big
nor'wester would have finished
her the first three hours it
blew. And then I've sailed her,
too; and she is a witch, a perfect
witch. Why, do you know, she'll
steer by the wind with half a
spoke, give and take. And going
about! Well, you don't have to
baby her, starting head-sheets,
flattening mainsail, and gentling
her with the wheel. Put your
wheel down, and around she comes,
like a colt with the bit in its
teeth. And you can back her like
a steamer. I did it at Langa-Langa,
between that shoal patch and
the shore-reef. It was wonderful.
"But you don't
love boats like I do, and I
know you think I'm
making a fool of myself. But
some day I'm going to sail the
Martha again. I know it. I know
it."
In reply, and quite without
premeditation, his hand went
out to hers, covering it as it
lay on the railing. But he knew,
beyond the shadow of a doubt,
that it was the boy that returned
the pressure he gave, the boy
sorrowing over the lost toy.
The thought chilled him. Never
had he been actually nearer to
her, and never had she been more
convincingly remote. She was
certainly not acutely aware that
his hand was touching hers. In
her grief at the departure of
the Martha it was, to her, anybody's
hand--at the best, a friend's
hand.
He withdrew his hand and walked
perturbedly away.
"Why hasn't he got that big
fisherman's staysail on her?" she
demanded irritably. "It would
make the old girl just walk along
in this breeze. I know the sort
old Kinross is. He's the skipper
that lies three days under double-reefed
topsails waiting for a gale that
doesn't come. Safe? Oh, yes,
he's safe--dangerously safe."
Sheldon retraced his steps.
"Never mind," he said. "You
can go sailing on the Martha
any time you please--recruiting
on Malaita if you want to."
It was a great concession he
was making, and he felt that
he did it against his better
judgment. Her reception of it
was a surprise to him.
"With old Kinross in command?" she
queried. "No, thank you. He'd
drive me to suicide. I couldn't
stand his handling of her. It
would give me nervous prostration.
I'll never step on the Martha
again, unless it is to take charge
of her. I'm a sailor, like my
father, and he could never bear
to see a vessel mishandled. Did
you see the way Kinross got under
way? It was disgraceful. And
the noise he made about it! Old
Noah did better with the Ark."
"But we manage to get somewhere
just the same," he smiled.
"So did Noah."
"That was the
main thing."
"For an antediluvian."
She took another lingering
look at the Martha, then turned
to Sheldon.
"You are a
slovenly lot down here when
it comes to boats--most
of you are, any way. Christian
Young is all right though, Munster
has a slap-dash style about him,
and they do say old Nielsen was
a crackerjack. But with the rest
I've seen, there's no dash, no
go, no cleverness, no real sailor's
pride. It's all hum-drum, and
podgy, and slow-going, any going
so long as you get there heaven
knows when. But some day I'll
show you how the Martha should
be handled. I'll break out anchor
and get under way in a speed
and style that will make your
head hum; and I'll bring her
alongside the wharf at Guvutu
without dropping anchor and running
a line."
She came to a breathless pause,
and then broke into laughter,
directed, he could see, against
herself.
"Old Kinross is setting that
fisherman's staysail," he remarked
quietly.
"No!" she cried
incredulously, swiftly looking,
then running
for the telescope.
She regarded the manoeuvre
steadily through the glass, and
Sheldon, watching her face, could
see that the skipper was not
making a success of it.
She finally lowered the glass
with a groan.
"He's made a mess of it," she
said, "and now he's trying it
over again. And a man like that
is put in charge of a fairy like
the Martha! Well, it's a good
argument against marriage, that's
all. No, I won't look any more.
Come on in and play a steady,
conservative game of billiards
with me. And after that I'm going
to saddle up and go after pigeons.
Will you come along?"
An hour later, just as they
were riding out of the compound,
Joan turned in the saddle for
a last look at the Martha, a
distant speck well over toward
the Florida coast.
"Won't Tudor be surprised when
he finds we own the Martha?" she
laughed. "Think of it! If he
doesn't strike pay-dirt he'll
have to buy a steamer-passage
to get away from the Solomons."
Still laughing gaily, she rode
through the gate. But suddenly
her laughter broke flatly and
she reined in the mare. Sheldon
glanced at her sharply, and noted
her face mottling, even as he
looked, and turning orange and
green.
"It's the fever," she said. "I'll
have to turn back."
By the time they were in the
compound she was shivering and
shaking, and he had to help her
from her horse.
"Funny, isn't it?" she said
with chattering teeth. "Like
seasickness--not serious, but
horribly miserable while it lasts.
I'm going to bed. Send Noa Noah
and Viaburi to me. Tell Ornfiri
to make hot water. I'll be out
of my head in fifteen minutes.
But I'll be all right by evening.
Short and sharp is the way it
takes me. Too bad to lose the
shooting. Thank you, I'm all
right."
Sheldon obeyed her instructions,
rushed hot-water bottles along
to her, and then sat on the veranda
vainly trying to interest himself
in a two-months-old file of Sydney
newspapers. He kept glancing
up and across the compound to
the grass house. Yes, he decided,
the contention of every white
man in the islands was right;
the Solomons was no place for
a woman.
He clapped his hands, and Lalaperu
came running.
"Here, you!" he ordered; "go
along barracks, bring 'm black
fella Mary, plenty too much,
altogether."
A few minutes later the dozen
black women of Berande were ranged
before him. He looked them over
critically, finally selecting
one that was young, comely as
such creatures went, and whose
body bore no signs of skin-disease.
"What name, you?" he demanded. "Sangui?"
"Me Mahua," was
the answer.
"All right,
you fella Mahua. You finish
cook along boys. You
stop along white Mary. All the
time you stop along. You savvee?"
"Me savvee," she
grunted, and obeyed his gesture
to go to the
grass house immediately.
"What name?" he
asked Viaburi, who had just
come out of the
grass house.
"Big fella sick," was the answer. "White
fella Mary talk 'm too much allee
time. Allee time talk 'm big
fella schooner."
Sheldon nodded. He understood.
It was the loss of the Martha
that had brought on the fever.
The fever would have come sooner
or later, he knew; but her disappointment
had precipitated it. He lighted
a cigarette, and in the curling
smoke of it caught visions of
his English mother, and wondered
if she would understand how her
son could love a woman who cried
because she could not be skipper
of a schooner in the cannibal
isles.
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