Part 26 (2/2)

”No wantchee,” said the c.h.i.n.k.

”He ain't sick?”

”No savvy.”

Next day Bananas turned up again, but he was more sullen than ever, and after dinner the captain asked the girl what was the matter with him.

She smiled and shrugged her pretty shoulders. She told the captain that Bananas had taken a fancy to her and he was sore because she had told him off. The captain was a good-humoured man and he was not of a jealous nature; it struck him as exceeding funny that Bananas should be in love.

A man who had a squint like that had a precious poor chance. When tea came round he chaffed him gaily. He pretended to speak in the air, so that the mate should not be certain that he knew anything, but he dealt him some pretty shrewd blows. The girl did not think him as funny as he thought himself, and afterwards she begged him to say nothing more. He was surprised at her seriousness. She told him he did not know her people. When their pa.s.sion was aroused they were capable of anything.

She was a little frightened. This was so absurd to him that he laughed heartily.

”If he comes bothering round you, you just threaten to tell me. That'll fix him.”

”Better fire him, I think.”

”Not on your sweet life. I know a good sailor when I see one. But if he don't leave you alone I'll give him the worst licking he's ever had.”

Perhaps the girl had a wisdom unusual in her s.e.x. She knew that it was useless to argue with a man when his mind was made up, for it only increased his stubbornness, and she held her peace. And now on the shabby schooner, threading her way across the silent sea, among those lovely islands, was enacted a dark, tense drama of which the fat little captain remained entirely ignorant. The girl's resistance fired Bananas so that he ceased to be a man, but was simply blind desire. He did not make love to her gently or gaily, but with a black and savage ferocity.

Her contempt now was changed to hatred and when he besought her she answered him with bitter, angry taunts. But the struggle went on silently, and when the captain asked her after a little while whether Bananas was bothering her, she lied.

But one night, when they were in Honolulu, he came on board only just in time. They were sailing at dawn. Bananas had been ash.o.r.e, drinking some native spirit, and he was drunk. The captain, rowing up, heard sounds that surprised him. He scrambled up the ladder. He saw Bananas, beside himself, trying to wrench open the cabin door. He was shouting at the girl. He swore he would kill her if she did not let him in.

”What in h.e.l.l are you up to?” cried Butler.

The mate let go the handle, gave the captain a look of savage hate, and without a word turned away.

”Stop here. What are you doing with that door?”

The mate still did not answer. He looked at him with sullen, bootless rage.

”I'll teach you not to pull any of your queer stuff with me, you dirty, cross-eyed n.i.g.g.e.r,” said the captain.

He was a good foot shorter than the mate and no match for him, but he was used to dealing with native crews, and he had his knuckle-duster handy. Perhaps it was not an instrument that a gentleman would use, but then Captain Butler was not a gentleman. Nor was he in the habit of dealing with gentlemen. Before Bananas knew what the captain was at, his right arm had shot out and his fist, with its ring of steel, caught him fair and square on the jaw. He fell like a bull under the pole-axe.

”That'll learn him,” said the captain.

Bananas did not stir. The girl unlocked the cabin door and came out.

”Is he dead?”

”He ain't.”

He called a couple of men and told them to carry the mate to his bunk.

He rubbed his hands with satisfaction and his round blue eyes gleamed behind his spectacles. But the girl was strangely silent. She put her arms round him as though to protect him from invisible harm.

It was two or three days before Bananas was on his feet again, and when he came out of his cabin his face was torn and swollen. Through the darkness of his skin you saw the livid bruise. Butler saw him slinking along the deck and called him. The mate went to him without a word.

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