Edward Barry by George Lewis Becke (books to read to get smarter .TXT) 📖

we can never catch and assailed by the Australian newspapers as 'lazy, la-de-da "haw-haws."' Wish I had one of those newspaper fellows on board the Reynard to show him how the much-maligned naval officer doing patrol work in the South Seas manages to live and keep his men from rank mutiny. Now, good-bye once more. Hope we'll all meet in Sydney soon."

Shaking hands with Mrs. Tracey, he and Barry went on deck and took a few turns together.

"She's a sweet little woman, Mr. Barry," said the naval officer impulsively; "her soft, velvety eyes are like those of a girl I know in the old country--near Swanage way. You're not a married man, are you?"

"No," replied Barry, with a laugh; "but I hope to be within a week or so after this little brig drops her mud-hook in Sydney harbour."

"Ah! I thought so! And you deserve her! By Jove, you do! It's the 'brave knight and the beauteous woman' story over again, with the South Seas for a setting. And she is a beautiful woman! Good luck to you both! Wish I could come to the wedding; but as I can't you must just accept my best wishes and all that sort of thing, you know. And now I'll have something to write about to the little girl in Dorset. Good-bye, here's my boat alongside."

He grasped Barry's hand vigorously, and with his sword clattering on deck and nodding a good-bye to Barradas and Joe, who stood at the gang-way, he descended the ladder and jumped into the Reynard's boat, which at once pushed off.

A quarter of an hour later Barry and Mrs. Tracey stood watching the gunboat as with the black smoke pouring from her long, yellow funnel she cut through the glassy water on her way to Noumea. Long before noon only a faint line of smoke on the southern sea-rim was visible.

* * * * * *


That night as the brig was moving quietly through the water, and Barradas had just relieved Joe (who was now second mate), the captain came and stood beside him, and began to speak to him in low but earnest tones. The Spaniard listened intently, but shook his head every now and then in dissent.

"I won't do anything like that, Captain Barry! I won't run away like a coward. I am a Catholic and have vowed to the Holy Virgin and the blessed Saints that I shall lead a better life. And I cannot begin that better life by avoiding the punishment that I should endure. No, sir, I will stick to the ship and be a man, and not a coward."

"Barradas," said Barry earnestly, placing his hand on the Spaniard's shoulder, "think again. Whatever harm you have done to Mrs. Tracey has been amply atoned for. The law may recognise that, or it may not. The captain of the man-of-war himself thinks that it would be as well for you to leave the ship before we get to Sydney. And remember that I and Mrs. Tracey, who are your sincere friends, will have to appear against you. This would be distressing to us both, Manuel."

"I am prepared to suffer for what I have done, captain," answered the Spaniard quietly, "and when I come out of prison I shall come to you and Mrs. Tracey and ask you to forget that I was Manuel Barradas, the fellow-criminal of Rawlings and the Greek, and ask you to only remember that I have tried to undo some of the wrong I have done."

"As you please, Manuel. But in me you will ever have a firm friend, even though you will force me to be an accuser."


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