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CHAPTER VII
THE MAN'S DEATH

When, after leaving Papeete, Veneda came to consider the facts connected with his excursion ashore, he could not help seeing two things very clearly. In the first place, he was quite convinced in his own mind that, to obtain the information she wanted, Juanita had drugged the champagne he had drunk at lunch; but in the second, though he was loth to let her treachery pass unpunished, he could not but tell himself that it would be a most foolish proceeding on his part to allow her to suspect that he considered it of sufficient importance to make a fuss about. To confess annoyance would be to admit that the locket contained what she was in search of, and this he was, naturally, most anxious not to do. One thing was very certain, the situation was becoming more and more complicated every day; for each twenty-four hours was bringing them nearer to civilization, and once there the difficulties of his position would be intensified a hundred-fold. If Juanita were really in collusion with the Albino, it was most imperative that she should be outwitted, and that within the next fortnight. But though he racked his brains day and night for a scheme, he could not hit upon one that was in any way likely to prove successful.

Their course now lay almost due west, and though they had land on every side, it was far from likely that they would touch anywhere until they reached Thursday Island, where Captain Boulger's contract ended. It was Veneda's intention to leave the schooner at that place, and to intercept a British India mail-boat homeward bound.

If the voyage had been enjoyable before, it became doubly so now; warm, sunny days, bright blue skies, sapphire seas, and the most exquisite island scenery in the world kept them company continually. The Society group lay far behind them; the Navigators were on the starboard bow; while Hope, Keppel and Tafahi, or Boscawen peered up, surf-girt, away to port. Had it not been for the friction which suddenly occurred between the captain and Veneda, it would have been like a little heaven on shipboard. But if the captain and his chief passenger could not agree, the same could not be said of the two passengers themselves, whose behaviour towards each other grew more and more affectionate as the owner of the schooner's animosity deepened.

All past troubles and doubts seemed as much forgotten as though they had never existed. They arranged their future with untrammelled freedom, and even went so far as to discuss what they should do with the money when they had possession of it. Juanita's suspicions were completely allayed. Though she devoted considerable thought to the matter, she was as far from understanding it as ever. She could only attribute the change to the fact that her companion had at last really fallen under the spell of her fascinations.

But on the evening of the day upon which they sighted Fortuna, or Horne Island, as it is more usually called, an awful and unexpected event occurred, which was destined to bring about as complete a revolution in their plans as even Veneda could wish.

The breeze, which had been very uncertain throughout the afternoon, at night dropped to the faintest zephyr. The peacefulness of the evening was awe-inspiring; the ocean lay smooth as a sheet of glass, rising and falling like the breast of a sleeping child. The sails hung limp and listless, and the man at the wheel, one Schlank, a big, burly, taciturn German, had barely enough work upon his hands to keep him awake. The mate was in charge of the deck, the captain and passengers being below at tea.

According to Crawshaw's account he had gone forward to give an order to the cook, and when he returned it was to discover the German away from the wheel, rolling to and fro upon the deck, retching in a terrible manner, and nearly black in the face. Not knowing what to make of it, he called a couple of hands aft and bade them carry the unfortunate man to his bunk, while he himself hailed the captain through the skylight, and took possession of the wheel.

When Boulger reached the deck he hastened forward to examine, the man himself, but he was too late —Schlank was dead!

What the nature of the disease was, which had carried him off, no one could tell, but that its effects were deadly in the extreme was evidenced by the suddenness with which it worked its purpose; for, according to his shipmates' account, the man was in the best of health when he went aft to the wheel an hour before.

This sad occurrence, as might be expected, threw a gloom over the entire ship, and both Juanita and Veneda felt little touches of nervousness when they allowed their minds to dwell upon it. Lest any infection should be caught from the body, the captain gave orders that it should be committed to the deep as soon as a hammock and the necessary preparations could be made.

Next morning, to every one's consternation, news came aft that Jacob Norris, another hand, had been struck down by the same mysterious complaint. The symptoms were identical with Schlank's case, and it appeared as if no remedy could be found in the ship's meagre medicine-chest to either alleviate the pain or to avert the disastrous consequences. Within an hour of being taken ill the second man was dead and overboard!

Then an awful terror took possession of everybody, and ominous mutterings of "Cholera" and "Yellow Jack" passed from mouth to mouth. Hitherto the disease seemed to have confined itself to the forecastle, but it was not to remain there long, for in the middle of his afternoon watch Crawshaw the mate was attacked. Veneda, who happened to be on deck at the time, saw him drop and ran to his assistance. Picking him up he carried him forrard and laid him on the hatch, at the same time sending a hand to rouse the captain. The poor fellow's agony was heart-rending, and in spite of all the remedies tried he too succumbed within the hour.

After this the consternation aboard the Island Queen may be better imagined than described. Every one went in fear and trembling, for no one knew who might not be the next attacked.

About nine o'clock that evening Juanita and Veneda were on deck. As on the preceding night, a wonderful stillness reigned. In the east the stars were beginning to pale, preparatory to the rising of the moon. The bo'sun, who had succeeded to poor Crawshaw's watch, was pacing to and fro near the binnacle, casting an eye ever and anon aloft and around him, as if in anticipation of a breath of wind.

Veneda and Juanita promenaded for awhile, and then crossed to the taffrail, against which they leant, conversing in low tones. In spite of the terrors of the day Veneda was in unusually good spirits. He rallied Juanita upon her quietness, and once more broached the subject of their future. Speaking softly so that the man at the wheel should not overhear them, he said —

"Juanita, my darling, our voyage is nearly ended; are you satisfied?"

She was quick to reply, and her voice had almost a tremor in it.

"More than satisfied, Marcos, if you love me as you say."

"Are you sure, Juanita? Think before you answer. Would you be content to take me for what I am? – to risk poverty with me if that fortune should be gone when we get to London?"

She hardly knew how to reply. Was this a trap? she asked herself. Slipping her hand over his with a gentle pressure, she said —

"Quite content, if you love me as I must be loved. But why do you speak as if our money should be gone?"

"Because nothing is safe. I think it is – you think it is; but if you found out my secret, why shouldn't the Albino have boxed it out and anticipated us, eh?"

In reality he was not thinking anything of the kind; he was telling himself that the peculiar note in her voice when she referred to the money was not quite what it should have been at the moment of his declaration of love. In spite of her cleverness, it evidenced what lay uppermost in her mind. But he was not going to betray that he had noticed anything.

While they talked the moon rose, and lent a wondrous beauty to the night, sweeping the stars from the sky as if by magic, and turning the sombre water into the likeness of a silver sea. The white and idle canvas threw strange shadows upon the decks, and with the moon's coming a light breeze stole across the surface of the deep, so that the schooner began to draw a little faster through the water. The bo'sun turned on his heel, and came aft to where the other two were standing.

"Nice evenin'," he said, by way of introduction; "the moon there makes it real pleasant on deck, don't it? You'll excuse me, sir, but maybe you don't happen to have a chaw of tobacco about you?"

Veneda gave him a piece, at the same time asking if there was any further sign of sickness forrard. The bos'un did not think so, and casting an eye aloft at the canvas now beginning to fill, and then at the compass card, prepared to air his theory of the malady.

"It's my belief," he said, expectorating vigorously over the side, "that it's no more nor less than pison, – fish-pisoning, I reckon it. Don't you tell me that cholera or Yellow Jack's a-goin' to come aboard this while out o' port – not it! Now, I mind a case once, where a schooner's crew mutinied ten days out from Sydney, their tucker not bein' good enough for 'em forrard. What must they do, when they'd got rid of the old man and the mate overboard, but break open the lazarette, and set to work on all the tinned fish they could lay their hands on!"

"What was the result?" Veneda asked carelessly.

"Why, that inside of three hours every mother's son o' that blamed crew was lyin' a-rollin' an' a-kickin' about the deck o' that schooner, turnin' black in the face, and lookin' for all the world as if they had swallowed half-a-pint o' pison apiece. When they was picked up by a man-o'-war, there was only one on 'em left to tell the tale, and he wouldn't ha' been there but for not bein' hungry that night, having started on cuddy bread, which is good an' fillin' at the price."

"And what makes you think," asked Juanita, "that the men on this ship have been poisoned? Have they eaten such fish as you describe?"

"Well now, there you have me, ma'am; I don't know as they have, but maybe it ain't fish this time, maybe it's somethin' else just as bad. For my part, I – "

At this moment the captain appeared on deck to relieve the bos'un, who, bidding them "good-night," went forrard. Veneda had grown suddenly silent, and when he had ensconced Juanita in a sheltered spot (for the wind was beginning to freshen), fell to pacing the deck as if he had something upon his mind. Once he stopped and spoke in a low voice to the captain; then he resumed his tramp, pausing now and again to lean against the bulwark and scan the moon-lit sea. About four bells (ten o'clock), Juanita declared her intention of going below, and he assisted her down the gangway. As he bade her good-night, she was struck by the change that had come over his face; he was deathly pale, and his eyes had a look that was very foreign to their usual state.

"Marcos," she said anxiously, steadying herself against the cuddy table, "there's something the matter with you; for heaven's sake take medicine at once; your face frightens me. Don't delay an instant! Oh! if anything should happen to you now!"

He laughed, and said huskily —

"Do you think you would care, my beauty? I rather doubt it." (Here he caught sight of his face in the glass.) "My God, but my face is bad though. I'll go and consult the skipper."

He turned towards the companion, but he was unable to reach it. He tottered, stretched his hands out feebly for the bulkhead, missed it, and fell prone upon the cuddy floor. With a scream Juanita sprang past him, and dashed up on deck. The skipper was beside the binnacle.

"Oh, captain!" she cried, "come quickly; he's dying, he's dying!"

It did not take the captain long to understand to whom she referred; the words were hardly uttered before he had passed the order for the bos'un to come aft and take charge, and was down in the cuddy, kneeling beside the sick man. The mysterious disease had found another victim.

Veneda's face was distorted almost beyond recognition; his limbs were strangely twisted and cramped; his breath came in great gasps; only his skin retained its extraordinary pallor. Juanita understood the captain to say that the symptoms were the same as in each of the previous cases.

Between them they carried him to his bunk.

"Now, ma'am," said Boulger, turning to Juanita, "I'm sorry, but I'll just have to trouble you to go to your own berth for a while. I can't have you running any risks here. Mr. Veneda's quite safe in my hands, and I'll let you know from time to time how he gets on."

But this was not in the least to her taste. She was not prepared to let any one else pry into her private concerns.

"Oh, Captain Boulger," she began, throwing all the sweetness she could muster into her voice and looks, "it's inhuman to think that I can remain away from him; you cannot expect it; let me help you with him. I'll be as patient and quick as possible, and I've had some experience in nursing – I really have."

"No, no, ma'am, I'd like to, but I can't allow it," Boulger replied, "it wouldn't be fair to ask me. What this devilish disease may be is more than I can tell, but as it's certain there's infection in it, I can't let any risks be run. Now, do go; you're only hindering me, and I must be looking after him, poor chap; he wants all the attention I can give him."

After this there was nothing for her but to submit, and I must do her the justice to admit that she did it with as good grace as possible.

In the security of her cabin a vague terror seized her. What if Veneda should die, and the locket be cast into the sea with him? The thought almost took her breath away. Come what might, she must have a few moments alone with the sick man, or, in the event of his death, with his body.

True to his word, at regular intervals, hour after hour, the skipper presented himself at her door with the latest bulletins of his patient's condition. "Just a leetle better" – "Just so so" – "Not much change" – "Seems a bit weaker" – "Another awful attack," was the order in which they ran. On hearing the last she broke down completely, and for some reason which I am unable to explain, fell to sobbing as if her heart would break.

Suddenly a strange craving came over her, and rising from her bunk she procured and propped her crucifix against the tiny wash-hand basin, and kneeling on the sloping floor before it, endeavoured to frame a prayer for the passing of the man's soul. Her long black hair hung in glorious profusion about her shoulders; tears streamed down her pallid cheeks; and her lips continually faltered over the words she tried to utter. When she had finished, her spirits recovered, and crawling back into her bed, she fell asleep.

It was long after daybreak before she awoke. The sun was shining brightly through the porthole above her bunk, and from the angle at which the schooner was lying, she knew a fresh breeze must be blowing.

Urged by a great anxiety to learn the latest news of Veneda's state, she dressed with all the haste she could command, and passed into the cuddy. As she entered it, the captain emerged from the berth opposite and greeted her with a mournful face. She divined the worst.

"You're going to tell me that he is dead," she said, clutching at the table.

"Ma'am, it's a thing which must come sooner or later to all of us. I won't deceive you – he is dead – passed away in the hope of a glorious resurrection, twelve minutes afore three bells in this morning's watch. Now, don't take on about it too much, there's a good girl, for he's better as he is than suffering the agonies he went through all night. You couldn't wish it, I know."

"Dead! dead!" was all she could say. It seemed impossible that it could be true. The news stunned her. Though she had expected and dreaded the worst, she had no idea that it would have come so soon. What should she do now? In spite of her consternation, her own position was always uppermost in her mind. It behoved her to play her cards carefully, or she might lose everything. Assuming a look of hopeless grief, unable to find relief in tears, she faltered —

"Take me to him."

Without another word Boulger led the way across to the cabin, and opened the door. She prepared to enter, but he would not permit it.

"No, ma'am," he said kindly, but with determination, "as I said last night, you cannot go in; this ship's mine, and while there's infection aboard, I'm not the man to run risks. But seeing he's your husband – and I'm real grieved for you – I'll stretch a point, and let you see him from here. But I dare not pass you in."

So saying, he went in himself, and approached the figure lying stiff and stark under a blanket in the bunk. Pulling the covering aside, he allowed Juanita a view of the drawn and pallid face beneath. A terrible change had come over the man, and accustomed though she was to what are called horrible sights, she was compelled to avert her eyes. Seeing this, Boulger re-drew the blanket, and came out of the cabin, securely locking the door behind him. Then, with a fatherly air, he placed his arm around the woman's waist and led her on deck, whistling the Dead March softly as they went.

In the bright sunshine the horrors of the cabin were for a time dispelled from her memory. It was a glorious morning. The wind, which on the previous night had been so weak, now blew with invigorating freshness. The schooner, under a press of sail, was ploughing her way through the green water as if conscious of her strength, turning the sea away in two snowy furrows from either bow. Dotted about on either hand were numerous small islands; and thinking it might distract her thoughts, the skipper named them to her.

Ahead, across the curling seas, and not more than eight miles distant, rose the mountains of Vanua Lava, the largest island of the Banks Group. A few clouds rested gracefully on the topmost peaks, and so clear was the air that it was already just possible to make out the native villages ashore. Suddenly an idea leapt into Juanita's brain; a brilliant inspiration that she wondered had not occurred to her before. Turning to the captain, who stood beside her, and who was inwardly wondering at the vivacity of her expression, she said —

"Captain, there is one thing I should like you to get for me – I know you will not deny it – a locket he wears round his neck."

"No, ma'am; I'm real sorry, but that I can't do. He asked particularly that it should be buried with him. It's his mother's portrait, and we mustn't go against that."

Juanita could have cried with vexation. But she dared not show it. She had still another card to play.

"Where will you bury him? Not at sea, captain; oh, not at sea!"

"And pray why not at sea, ma'am?" the captain replied, pulling himself up short in a rendering of "Rock of Ages," – "many a good man has been buried at sea."

"Of course, I know that," she sobbed; "but oh, I cannot bear to think of his poor body tossing about for all time under those cruel waves, the prey of every shark and fish! Oh! no, no, I beseech you, do not let it be at sea."

Her grief was so sincere that the captain was visibly affected.

"What would you have me do then, my dear ma'am?" he asked tenderly, thinking he would go a long way towards obliging her if she always pleaded like that.

"Why not bury him on land?" she asked, turning her tear-laden eyes towards the island they were approaching; "surely it would not be so very difficult?"

"Well," replied the captain, after a moment's consideration, "if you're so set upon it, I don't know but what it can't be done; we'll see, at any rate. Now you just come along down and have a bit of breakfast. It'll cheer you up more than anything."

When they returned to the deck the island was abeam. The captain occupied himself with a careful study of authorities, and then selecting a spot, hove the schooner to off a thickly-wooded bluff. Sounds of carpentering came from forrard, and Boulger, who had quite constituted himself Juanita's protector, took care that she should not go too near lest she should see the work which occasioned it.

It was well into the afternoon before the arrangements for the funeral, including the digging of the grave ashore, were completed. As soon as all was ready the captain informed Juanita, who thereupon prepared herself to accompany the party.

When the long-boat was swung overboard and brought alongside, sounds of scrambling feet came up the companion-ladder, and next moment the captain, carpenter, and two of the crew appeared, bearing the rough coffin which the carpenter had managed to knock together. With some difficulty it was lowered into the boat, and then, the captain steering, Juanita sitting beside him, and two of the hands pulling, they set out for the shore.

Unlike most approaches to the island, the deep water extended right up; consequently the boat was able to discharge its burden on the beach without much difficulty. Having landed, they marched to the grave, situated beneath a grove of cocoa-nut trees, some hundred yards from the shore. The captain, whom Nature seemed to have designed for the work, delivered a short but impressive address, and then the remains of Marcos Veneda were committed to the ground.

To Juanita it was all a whirl. She could not realize that the man had passed out of her life – that he whom she had admired for his strength in Chili was now an inanimate substance on Vanua Lava. The whole thing had been so sudden that she had had no time to prepare herself for the shock. Yesterday he was triumphant in all the consciousness of living; to-day he was only a memory, a part of the mysterious, irreclaimable Past!

The funeral over they returned to the schooner, which at sundown weighed anchor, and resumed her voyage to Thursday Island. It certainly seemed as if Veneda was to be the last victim of the malady, for not another soul was attacked.

The following morning, after breakfast, the captain escorted Juanita to the vacant cabin, and handed her the dead man's goods and chattels. With a well-simulated air of grief she bore them to her own berth, in order to examine them. They made only a small parcel, but hunt through them as she would, no sign of either letter or locket could she find. The contents were simple in the extreme – a few clothes, a pocket-book containing twenty pounds in English gold, a tattered Horace, a knife, a ring, and a few little personal odds and ends, completed the total. Waiting her opportunity, she again approached the captain on the subject of the locket, but he had only the same answer for her.

"What he had on him, ma'am," he solemnly declared, "I reckoned was his own property, and left there; so the locket you speak of is under three foot of earth now, back there in Vanua Lava; meaning no disrespect to you, ma'am."

This was all the information Juanita could gather on the subject. Nor did she press the matter further. Fortunately her own immediate comfort was provided for by the twenty pounds, of which she assumed undisputed possession. Had it not been for this she would have found herself placed in a very awkward situation.

The rest of the voyage needs little chronicling; suffice it that ten days later the schooner dropped her anchor off Thursday Island, her eventful journey completed.

When Captain Boulger bade Juanita farewell, he asked if she had formed any definite plans regarding her future. She hesitated before replying, but finally said that she thought of remaining in the island until she had communicated with her friends. He felt a touch of pity for her loneliness, and proffered any assistance within his power. She, however, declined it with thanks, and a day later the Island Queen departed on her return voyage to Tahiti.

The same night, the Thursday Island telegraph operator was in the act of closing his office, when the following mysterious message was handed in —