EDWARD BARRY
by LOUIS BECKE




EDWARD BARRY

(South Sea Pearler)

by

LOUIS BECKE







[Frontispiece: Barry lifted her in his arms and carried her down to the
boat.]



T. Nelson & Sons
London and Edinburgh
Paris: 189, rue Saint-Jacques
Leipzig: 35-37 Kцnigstrasse
1914




CONTENTS.


CHAP.

     I. "EDWARD BARRY--'DEAD BROKE'"
    II. THE MAYNARDS
   III. THE BRIG _MAHINA_
    IV. MR. BILLY WARNER OF PONAPЙ
     V. VELO, THE SAMOAN, PROPHESIES.
    VI. IN ARRECIFOS LAGOON
   VII. ALICE TRACEY
  VIII. MRS. TRACEY TELLS HER STRANGE STORY
    IX. "ALLA GOODA COMRADE"
     X. A REPENTANCE
    XI. CAPTAIN RAWLINGS PROPOSES "A LITTLE CELEBRATION"
   XII. BARRY AND VELO DISCOURSE ON MARRIAGE
  XIII. "THE LITTLE CELEBRATION COMES OFF"
   XIV. BARRY HOISTS THE FLAG OF ENGLAND
    XV. FAREWELL TO ARRECIFOS
   XVI. EXIT RAWLINGS AND THE GREEK
  XVII. BARRY RECEIVES A "STIFFENER"
 XVIII. ON BOARD THE NEW BARQUE




EDWARD BARRY.


CHAPTER I.

"EDWARD BARRY--'DEAD BROKE.'"

A wild, blustering day in Sydney, the Queen City of the Southern Seas.
Since early morn a keen, cutting, sleet-laden westerly gale had been
blowing, rattling and shaking the windows of the houses in the higher
and more exposed portions of the town, and churning the blue waters of
the harbour into a white seethe of angry foam as it swept outwards to
the wide Pacific.

In one of the little bays, situated between Miller's Point and Dawe's
Battery, and overlooked by the old-time Fort Phillip on Observatory
Hill, were a number of vessels, some alongside the wharves, and others
lying to their anchors out in the stream, with the wind whistling
through their rain-soaked cordage.  They were of all rigs and sizes,
from the lordly Black Ball liner of a thousand tons to the small fore
and aft coasting schooner of less than fifty.  Among them all there was
but one steamer, a handsome brig-rigged, black-painted and
black-funnelled craft of fifteen hundred tons, flying the house flag of
the Peninsular and Oriental Company.  Steamers were rare in Sydney
Harbour in those days (it was the year 1860), and the Avoca had pride
of place and her own mooring buoy, for she was the only English mail
boat, and her commander and his officers were regarded with the same
respect as if they and their ship were the admiral and staff of the
Australian squadron.

Leaning with folded arms upon one of the wharf bollards, and apparently
oblivious of the driving sleet and cutting wind, a shabbily dressed man
of about thirty years of age was looking, pipe in mouth, at the mail
boat and the sailing vessels lying in the stream.  There were four in
all--the steamer, an American whaling barque, a small brig of about two
hundred tons flying the Hawaiian Island colours, and a big, sprawling,
motherly-looking full-rigged ship, whose huge bow ports denoted her to
be a lumberman.

The man put his hand in his pocket and jingled together his few small
remaining coins; then he turned away and walked along the wharf till he
reached the side of a warehouse, the lee of which was sheltered from
the wind and rain.  He leant his back against the wall and again
handled the coins.

"Seven shillings and two coppers," he said to himself, "and a waterman
would want at least three shillings to pull round here from the
Circular Quay in such nasty weather.  No, Ted Barry, my boy, the funds
won't run it.  But that brig is my fancy.  She's all ready for sea--all
her boats up with the gripes lashed, and the Custom House fellow doing
his dog-trot under the awning, waiting for the skipper to come aboard,
and the tug to range alongside as soon as this howling gale takes off a
bit.  I'll wait here for another hour and watch for him."

Sitting under the lee of the wall, he again filled his pipe and began
to smoke placidly, scanning with a seaman's eye the various vessels
lying alongside the wharves.

Work had ceased for the day, the lumpers and longshore men had gone to
their homes, and the usual idlers and loafers, which are always to be
found in the immediate vicinity of shipping, or sitting about on the
wharf stringers, fishing, had been driven away by the inclemency of the
weather, or were gathered in small parties in the bars of the numerous
public-houses near by.  Now and then a seaman would be seen either
returning to his ship or hurrying along the wharf towards the city with
his coat collar turned up to his ears, and his hands thrust into the
capacious pockets of his heavy jacket; the whole scene was miserable
and depressing.

Presently a policeman appeared, walking slowly along under the shelter
of the warehouse walls.  He too was enjoying the luxury of a pipe, for
there was no danger of running across the sergeant on such a day as
this.  As he drew near to the man who was sitting down he gave him a
quick but apparently careless glance--a wharf policeman has a natural
distrust of a man who keeps hanging about the stores and warehouses,
doing nothing, or standing out in the open, exposed to the rain.  But
the guardian of the peace was satisfied that the object of his brief
scrutiny was no loafer or possible burglar, and bade him a civil
"Good-day," to which the man at once responded.

"It's beastly weather, isn't it?" said the official, as he leant
against the wall, evidently disposing himself for a chat.

"It is indeed," replied the other, "and it's getting dirtier still over
there to the south-east."

"That's pleasant for me.  I don't get relieved until midnight, and this
beat here is none too pleasant a one on a dark night, believe me."

"So I should imagine.  I'll be glad to get back into the city as soon
as I can; but I'm waiting here to see if I can get aboard that little
brig over there.  Do you know her name?"

"Yes.  She's the _Mahina_, a South Sea trader.  But I don't see how you
can get off to her, there's no waterman here, and none of her boats
will come ashore--I can tell you that much for certain.  The captain is
on shore looking for men, and those who are aboard won't be given a
chance to put foot in a boat."

"Why, anything gone wrong aboard?"

"Rather!  There's been a lot of trouble with the men, though there
hasn't been any court work over it.  The captain and mate are holy
terrors--regular brutes, I'm told.  Six of the hands swam ashore a few
nights ago and got clean away, poor beggars.  You ain't thinking of
joining her, are you?"

"Indeed I am.  I want a ship pretty badly.  I'm broke."

"Well, don't ship on _that_ craft, young fellow, take my advice.  Are
you dead, stony broke?"

"Pretty near, all but a few shillings.  And I find it hard to get a
ship--that is, the sort of ship I want.  I've been in the South Sea
trade a couple of years, and I like it."

"Ah, I see.  Well, you know best, mister.  I daresay you'll see the
_Mahina's_ captain coming down the wharf before it gets dark.  He's a
little, dark-faced, good-looking chap, with a pointed beard.  I wish
you luck, anyway."

"Thank you," said Barry, as he returned the policeman's good-natured
nod and watched him saunter off again towards the end of the wharf.

Half an hour later five men appeared, all walking quickly towards the
spot where Barry was still patiently waiting.  The man who was leading
he at once recognized as the captain of the brig--the four who followed
at his heels were common seamen by their dress, and ruffians of the
first water by their appearance.  Each carried a bundle under his arm,
and one a small chest on his shoulder; he was evidently the wealthy man
of the lot.

Stepping out from under the shelter of the wall, Barry stood in the
centre of the path, and waited the captain's approach.

"Are you in want of hands, sir?" he asked, touching his cap.  The
master of the brig gave him a swift, searching glance from head to
feet, and then without answering the inquiry he turned to his followers.

"Go on to the end of the wharf.  Hail the brig to send a boat ashore,
and then wait for me."  His voice was clear and sharp, but not
unpleasant.  The four men shuffled off, and the moment they were out of
hearing he addressed himself to Barry.

"I've just found all the men I want, but I could do with another--if he
is anything better than such things as those," and he nodded
contemptuously at the figures of the four seamen.  Then with
lightning-like rapidity of utterance he asked, "You're not a foremast
hand?"

"I want to ship before the mast," was the quiet answer.

"Got a mate's or second mate's certificate?"

"Yes; both."

"Last ship?"

"The _Tawera_, brig, of Tahiti."

"Ha!  You're used to the Island trade, then?"

"Pretty well."

"Willing to ship as mate or second mate?"

"Yes, and no.  Willing enough in one way, and not liking it in another.
I'm hard-up, have no clothes, and should cut a sorry figure on such a
smart-looking brig as yours when I haven't even a donkey's breakfast[1]
to bring aboard if I shipped before the mast.  And I'm not the man to
stand guying, especially from beauties like those who were here just
now."

Again the captain's keen, dark eyes flashed--this time in a
semi-approving manner--as he looked at Barry's bronzed face and tall,
square-built figure.  He stroked his carefully trimmed pointed beard
and thought for a few moments.

"I want a chief mate for the _Mahina_; the one I have now is seriously
ill and cannot live more than a day or two.  When can you come
aboard--to-night?"

Barry shook his head impatiently.  "I told you, sir, that I have no
clothes but those I stand up in----"

"Can you get what you want right off if I advance you ten sovereigns?"

"Five will do--or three if you have a slop chest aboard."

"The _Mahina_ is a trading vessel (though I'm going to have a try at
pearling this trip) and carries a general store from a needle to an
anchor aboard; but at the same time, although you can get what you want
in the way of clothing, you may want money for other purposes.  Are you
willing to come aboard to-night, and take first mate's duty?"

"Yes."

"Then take these"--he took two five pound notes from his pocket-book
and placed them in Barry's hand.  "This is Saturday, and the shops keep
open till late.  But I rely on you to be here on this wharf not later
than midnight.  My mate, whose place you will take, is very ill, my
crew are a troublesome lot--six of them have deserted, and the rest of
them would clear out to-night if they could.  I shall look out for you,
and send a boat when you hail."

"I shall be here sooner, if you wish it," replied Barry, "but I do not
want all this," and he gave back one of the bank notes.  "I don't owe a
cent to any one, but I have some gear of mine in pawn."

The captain waved it back courteously.  "Keep it, sir; keep it--we sail
early on Monday morning, and you will not be able to get on shore
again."

"Thank you," laughed Barry.  "I've no doubt I can find use for it."
Then he added, "My name is Barry."

"And mine is Rawlings.  I hope we shall pull together, Mr. Barry," this
with a pleasant smile as he buttoned up his overcoat.  "Ha, there is my
boat, and I must take my gaol-birds on board.  Good-afternoon.  I shall
look for you about twelve o'clock."

Then with a polite inclination of his head he stepped out towards the
waiting boat, and left his new chief officer to pursue his way into the
city with a light heart.



[1] A now almost obsolete nautical expression for a mattress staffed
with straw.




CHAPTER II.

THE MAYNARDS.

A quarter of an hour's walk through the dimly lighted and squalid
streets which intersect Miller's Point and Church Hill brought Barry
out into the glare and noise of the lower part of the principal
thoroughfares of the city, which, boisterous as was the night, was
fairly thronged with the poorer class of people engaged in their
Saturday night's shopping.

Pushing his way through the crowd in no very gentle manner, for he was
both wet and hungry, he at last reached a respectable-looking
second-class hotel at the corner of George and Bridge streets.  The
house was much frequented by men of his own position in the merchant
service, and, as he walked into the comfortable parlour and stood by
the fire to warm himself, he was greeted by all the occupants of the
room--four decently dressed mates or second mates.

"You look pretty wet," said an old red-faced man, moving his chair
further away from the fire, so as to give the newcomer more room; "why
didn't you take your oilskins with you when you went out?"

Barry laughed with the utmost good-nature.  "Because Uncle Levi Harris
down the street is taking care of them for me, Mr. Todd.  And he's got
my watch and chain, and my sextant and some other things as well."

The four men--mere casual acquaintances of a few weeks' standing--gave
a sympathetic murmur, and then one of them in a deep, rumbling kind of
voice, and without even looking at Barry, inquired if he could "do with
a change of togs?"

"Much obliged to you, Mr. Watson," replied the young man, "but I'll be
all right now.  I've got a ship, the skipper has given me an advance
out of his own pocket, and as soon as I get my watch and other things
out of old Levi's I'm going up the town to buy some clothes."

"You ain't going into a pawnshop yourself, are you?" inquired Todd.
"Don't you do it, young fellow.  Why, the skipper as give you the
advance might see you going in, and chuck it up in your teeth again
some day."

"Aye, that's true," said another; "men like us can't run the risk of
being seen even looking in at a pawnshop window."

"Well, as I can't get any one to go for me, I must go myself," said
Barry, who was quick to perceive that his companions thought nothing of
a man having to avail himself of a pawnbroker's shop, but did think it
exceedingly improper to be seen entering or leaving one.

"Leave it till Monday morning," said another.  "I'll get one of the
hands aboard my hooker to go for you if you give me the tickets."

Barry shook his head.  "I've promised to be aboard to-night, and we
sail early on Monday morning."

"Humph!  That's a corker," said the man with the rumbling voice;
"there's no getting out of that;" then rising from his seat he walked
to the door, opened it, and then turning his head, said, "Just come
here a minute, mister, and I'll tell you how we might manage it."

Barry followed him out into the passage and then upstairs into his
bedroom.

"Look here," said Watson as he struck a match, lit a candle and then
his pipe, and speaking amidst a cloud of smoke, "you don't know much of
me, and I don't know much of you, but I do know that you're one of the
right sort.  I could see you were getting pretty well pushed, although
you have always kept a stiff upper lip.  Now, look there.  There's my
chest.  Help yourself to some dry togs--they'll fit you right enough.
Then go out, and do all you want to do, and if you have time come back
here and we'll have a glass of grog together.  If you haven't--why, it
don't matter.  I've been on _my_ beam ends often enough, I can tell
you."

Barry put out his hand.  "Thank you, Mr. Watson.  If you'll lend me a
suit of clothes, I'll feel grateful.  I've only those I stand up in,
and I'm feeling jolly cold.  But I've a good suit or two in pawn with
my other gear, and I'll be back here with them in half an hour."

Without another word Watson opened his sea chest and threw a collection
of clothing upon the bed.

"There's shirts, collars, ties, and everything else you want in the
chest, and boots under the bed.  Blow out the light when you've
finished, lock the door, and leave the key in the bar, and if you're on
for a yarn when you come back, you'll find me downstairs with old Billy
Todd.  Welsh rarebit at ten o'clock."

Then refusing to listen to Barry's thanks, he went out to rejoin his
companions.

Immediately he had finished dressing himself in his new friend's
clothes, Barry rolled his own up in a bundle, locked the room door, and
hurried down into the bar, where he left the key as directed, and had
some coffee and a sandwich or two instead of supper, for he was anxious
to return as quickly as possible, and then make his way down to the
_Mahina_.

The pawnbroker's shop was less than ten minutes' walk from the hotel,
and stepping briskly along he soon reached its doors, entered, and went
directly to the open counter instead of availing himself of one of the
dirty, ill-smelling little confessional boxes wherein hapless creatures
confess their poverty to Poverty's Father Confessor, mine uncle.

Producing his tickets, a young Hebrew gentleman at once gave him his
immediate attention, and one by one the articles were brought and
delivered to him, after repayment of the money loaned and interest,
which transaction took four pounds out of the ten he possessed.  His
watch and chain were the last to be produced, and as he was winding up
the former, before placing it in his vest pocket, he heard a voice
proceeding from the nearest confessional box, speaking to one of the
assistants, which caused him to start and then listen intently.  It was
a voice he remembered well--clear, refined, but tremulous with age.

"I can assure you," it said, "that it was bought in Calcutta fifty
years ago, and cost two hundred rupees."

"Vell, my good sir, it doesn't madder nodings to me vat it cost.  I
dell you dot ve don't advance nodings on dose dings.  Ve cannot fill up
dis blace mit such rubbish."

"Will you buy it, then?  Will you give me three pounds?"

"Vy don't you say dree dousand!  Now I dell you vat I vill do, so as to
have no more droubles mit you, ven I have mine pizness to addend--I
vill give five shillings for it."

"Will you, you sweep!" shouted Barry, striking the wooden partition a
blow with the side of his clenched hand; and then to the astonishment
of the pawnbroker and his assistants, and the people in the shop, he
seized his parcel, and pushing open the partition door kicked
vigorously at the "confession box."

"Open the door and come out of this place, Mr. Maynard," he cried--"I'm
Ted Barry!"

In an instant the door was opened, and a little, pale-faced,
white-moustached man came out.  A faint cry of astonishment escaped his
lips.

"Come, sir, take my arm," quickly said the seaman, who saw that the old
man was trembling with excitement; "let us get out of this before we
have a crowd round us."

"Yes, yes, Mr. Barry," was the eager reply, "do let us get away.  I
feel so upset; and then, too, your voice gave me a shock--no, no, not a
shock, my boy, but a surprise, a pleasant surprise," and he pressed his
arm closely to Barry's.  "Rose, poor Rose will be delighted to hear I
have seen you."

"Where is she?" asked Barry quickly.

The old man halted and looked piteously into his face.

"She is near here, Mr. Barry.  We are poor, very poor now; she is
serving in a draper's shop."

An exclamation of pity that he could not repress burst from the
seaman's lips.  Then he pulled himself together again.

"Let us sit down somewhere for half an hour if you can spare me the
time," he said.  "See, there's a good place," and he indicated a large,
brilliantly lighted restaurant on the opposite side of the street.
"I've had no supper.  Will you come and have some with me, and we can
have a chat?"

"Yes, yes; of course I will, my dear boy.  But I must not stay long.  I
always wait for Rose to see her home, and must be outside the shop at
nine o'clock."

"It is now a little past eight.  We will have something to eat; and
then--if you will allow me to come with you--I should like to see Miss
Maynard.  This is my last night on shore.  My ship sails early on
Monday."

"She will be delighted to see you, poor child; delighted and yet
distressed to hear that you are leaving.  She has never forgotten you,
and we have often wondered why you have not written to us for so long.
'Tis quite a year."

Barry's face flushed with pleasure, but he made no reply.  Entering the
restaurant, he chose a table in a quiet corner, and ordered some
supper.  Then for the first time he was able to observe the thin,
pinched face and shabby clothing