The boat sailed gently along the outer
or barrier reef which fringed the coast of beautiful
verdured Upolu, and then, as the sun sank, there shone
out myriad stars upon the bosom of a softly heaving
sea, and only the never-ceasing murmur of the surf
as it beat against the coral barrier, or the cry of
some wandering sea-bird, disturbed the warm silence
of the tropic night.
Leaving the boat to the care of their
native friends at eight o’clock, Frewen and
his comrade laid down amidships and were soon fast
asleep, for the day had been a tiring one, and they
needed more rest to recover from the effects of the
three days they had spent on the open sea.
Soon after daylight they were awakened
by the steersman, who pointed out a large, lofty-sparred
vessel. She was about five miles away, and being
head on, Frewen was uncertain as to her rig, till an
hour later, when he saw that she was a full-rigged
“Not the Casilda”
he said to his comrade, and neither of them gave the
strange vessel any further thought, especially as the
wind had now died away, and, the sail being lowered,
the crew bent to the oars under an already hot and
Shortly before noon, the boat rounded
a low headland and entered a lovely little bay, embowered
in thick groves of coco-palms and breadfruit trees.
The new house which Raymond had built was not visible
from the bay, but there were some thirty or forty native
houses clustered under the shade of the trees, a few
yards up from the beach, on which they noticed a ship’s
longboat was lying.
The moment Frewen’s boat was
seen, a strange clamour arose, and a number of natives,
armed with muskets and long knives, rushed out of their
houses, and took cover behind the rocks and trees,
evidently with the intention of resisting his landing,
and Frewen and Cheyne heard loud cries of “Lemonte!
“Back water!” cried Cheyne
in his mother tongue to the crew; then he turned to
Frewen: “There is something wrong on shore.
‘Lemonte’ is my brother-in-law’s
name, and they are calling for him.” Then
he stood up and shouted out
“Friends, do you not know me?
I am Randall. Where is my sister and her husband?”
A loud cry of astonishment burst from
the natives, many of whom, throwing down their arms,
sprang into the water, and clambering into the boat
greeted the young man most affectionately; and then
one of them, commanding silence, began talking rapidly
“We must get ashore quickly,”
said Cheyne to Randall. “My brother-in-law
has a number of dead and dying people in his house.
There has been a mutiny on board that ship but
come on, he’ll tell us all about it.”
In another minute the boat was on
the beach, and as Frewen and Cheyne jumped ont
they were met by a handsome, dark-faced man about forty
years of age, who grasped Cheyne’s hands warmly.
“I never expected to see you,
Randall,” he said quietly, “but I thank
God that you have come, and at such a time,
too. Where is your ship?”
“Three hundred miles away.
But we will tell you our story another time.
How is Marie?”
“Well. She already hears
the people shouting your name. Come to the house.”
Then he turned to Frewen and held out his hand.
“My name is Raymond, and you are welcome to
“And mine is Frewen. I
hope you will accept any assistance I can give.”
“Gladly. But I will tell
you the whole story presently. I have two men
dying in my house, three others wounded, and two dead.”
He led the way along a shady winding
path to the house on the wide verandah of which were
seated a number of natives of both sexes who made
way for them to pass with low murmurs of “Talofa
aliia” to the two strangers. Then
in another moment Marie Raymond stepped softly out
from the sitting-room and threw her arms round her
“Thank God you are here, Randall,”
she said, leading the way into another room.
“Tom will tell you of what has happened.
I will return as soon as I can.”
“How is Captain Marston?”
asked Raymond, as she stood for a moment with her
hand on the handle of the door.
“Still unconscious. Mrs.
Marston is with him.” She paused, and then
turned her dark and beautiful tear-dimmed eyes to Frewen:
“Tom, perhaps this gentleman might be able to
do something. Will he come in and see?”
Raymond drew him aside. “Go
in and see the poor fellow. He can’t last
long his skull is fractured.”
Frewen followed Mrs. Raymond into
the large room, and saw lying on her own bed the figure
of a man whose features were of the pallor of death.
His head was bound up, and kneeling by his side, with
her eyes bent upon his closed lids, was a woman, or
rather a girl of twenty-two or twenty-three years
of age. As, at the sound of footsteps, she raised
her pale, agonised face, something like a gleam of
hope came into it.
“Are you a doctor?” she asked in a trembling
The seaman shook his head respectfully. “No,
madam; I would I were.”
He leant over the bed, and looked
at the still, quiet face of the man, whom he could
see was in the prime of life, and whose regular, clear-cut
features showed both refinement and strength of character.
“He still breathes,” whispered the poor
“Yes, so I see,” said
Frewen, as he rose. Then he asked Mrs. Raymond
a few questions as to the nature of the wound, and
learned that in addition to a fractured skull a pistol
bullet had entered at the back of the neck.
“There is no hope, you think.
I can see that by your face,” said Mrs. Marston,
suppressing a sob.
“I cannot tell, madam.
But I do think that his condition is very, very serious.”
She bent her head, and then sank on
her knees again beside the bed, but suddenly she rose
again, and placed her hand on Frewen’s sleeve.
“I know that my husband must
die, no human aid can save him. But will you,
sir, go and see poor Mr. Villari. Mr. Raymond
has hopes for him at least. And he fought very
bravely for my husband.”
Villari was the first mate of the
ship, and was lying in another room, together with
three wounded seamen. He was a small, wiry Italian,
and when Frewen entered with Raymond and Mrs. Raymond,
he waved his right hand politely to them, and a smile
lit up his swarthy features. He had two bullet
wounds, one a clean hole through the right shoulder,
the other in the thigh. He had lost a great deal
of blood, but none of his high courage, though Raymond
at first thought he could not live.
“I am not going to die,” he said. “Per
Frewen spoke encouragingly to him
and then turned his attention to the seamen, all of
whom were Englishmen. None of them were severely
wounded, and all that could be done for them had been
done by Raymond and their own unwounded shipmates,
of whom there were four.
“Now I shall tell you the story,”
said Raymond to Frewen and Cheyne, as he led the way
to the verandah, on which a table with refreshments
had been placed. “But, first of all, do
you see that ship out there? Well, that is the
Esmeralda. She is now in the possession
of the mutineers, and has on board forty-five thousand
dollars. You see that she is becalmed?”
“And likely to continue so for
another three or four days, if I am any judge of the
weather in this part of the Pacific,” said Frewen,
“I agree with you. And now, before I begin
to tell you the story of the mutiny, I want to know
if you two will help me to recapture her? You
are seamen, and ”
Both men sprang to their feet.
“Yes, we will!”
“Ah! I thought you would
not refuse. Now wait a moment,” and calling
to a young native who was near, he bade him go to
the chief of Samatau and ask him to come to the house
as quickly as possible.
“Malie, the chief of Samatau,
will help us,” he said to Frewen; “he has
two hundred of the best fighting men in Samoa, and
I shall ask him to pick out fifty. But we want
a nautical leader some one to take charge
of the ship after we get possession of her.”
“Now here is the story of the
mutiny, told to me by poor Mrs. Marston.”