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SESTRINA

A. SAFRONI-MIDDLETON

SESTRINA

A ROMANCE OF THE SOUTH SEAS

BY A. SAFRONI-MIDDLETON

NEW YORK GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

SESTRINA

"O SWEET is woman clad in modest smiles and grass!"

"Cah! Cah! Cah! Too whoo Ha He!" said a second voice. It was the voice of wisdom, the philosophy of the ages was expressed on the wrinkled brow, in the solemn bright eyes and on the shining grey and crimson striped homespun suit, as away, in its own private aeroplane, it sailed over the palms--out of this story! It was a full-blooded native of the Marquesas Isles--a cockatoo!

The first speaker, who still stood under a palm by the lagoons, swished his hand and scattered the swarm of sandflies that buzzed before his eyes obstructing his curious gaze at the pretty, symmetrical brown maid who glided under the palms and then vanished! It was a common enough sight to see a modest maid or youth clad only in smallest green attire stitched on by invisible stiff grass thread, run from the village doorways into another hut opposite. It was a sight to sweep a dreamer's reflective mind into the golden age of Eden's fountains before the Tree of Knowledge upset the innocence and beauty of the first sylvan shades. And oh, the prevailing terrific heat, and the coolness suggested by such artless attire. True enough the glowing tropic heat had its drawbacks on those Isles. But Old Dame Nature toiled on, patiently and artlessly for art's sake, devising suitable clothes, mysteriously sewing and stitching wonderfully hued patterns and greenest, cheapest materials for her artless children. And what a fascinating code of morals was hers! An ill-timed sneeze before the altar, and the dusky bride's wedding-robe--her mass of shining hair--lo, became disarranged, and made the amorous chiefs sigh. How awful!

No wonder the young Englishman meditated profoundly and continued his preposterous reflections: "Who knows, I may have been happier had I have been born here, in Temeroka village, within sounds of the tribal drums instead of the chimes of Bow Bells." He gazed down on his much worn boots and wondered what would happen when they fell off! "How on earth can I ever get them re-soled and heeled here, on Isles where men and women wipe their noses on sweet-scented leaves, where the highest social society discuss morals and politics as they somersault in these shore lagoons. Truly, a sylvan utopia of fierce happiness and clotheless modesty. God's finest sculptural art done in smooth terra-cotta clays, sun-varnished, finished off with muscular curves, and, to say the least, picturesque feminine outlines as folk roam under these coco-palms." Our hero's reflections did him credit, nothing was truer. Even the first wonder over creation seemed to gleam in the eyes of those wild peoples. Only one odious odour disturbed the rich scents of tropic flowers. It came from the copra sheds round the bend of the bay, by the primitive wharf where a fore-and-aft schooner lay. It was at that spot where beggared tattooed chiefs and melancholy kings and queens of fallen dynasties cracked nuts ready for the extraction of suspicious looking fats to smear on the artificial breadfruit and well-combed smooth hair of civilised Man! O world of inscrutable mystery!

"'Ow gloryhus is rum, woman and coco-nuts!" grunted a third voice. Our hero was not startled. It was the voice of one of a noble lineage, that presumably dated back to Bacchus down in Thebes. It was none other than Beer de Beer Adams who spoke thus. It's a crying shame to have to introduce such a character to polite society. He would never have entered these pages, but for the fact that he stood by Royal Clensy that day. Adams was a derelict sailorman. Even as he spoke he conclusively proved how unfit he was to enter the society of the humblest pages of polite literature, except, perhaps, as a character of the most menial position--lo, he pursed his vulgar lips and sent a stream of filthy tobacco-juice across the line of Clensy's vision. But what cared our hero? He was young! twenty years of age!

Instead of Clensy being shocked over Adams's wicked yarns and disgusted to see a man squirt tobacco-juice with such marvellous precision over his shoulder, he stared his admiration of such vulgarity, and then roared with laughter.

"So yer wants ter git to ther coast of Sarth America, do yer?" said Adams. Then he added. "Look ye here, Myster Clensy, you're a young gent, anyone can spot that by the cut of yer jib. And anyones who knows me, knows I'm ther man ter be an honest fren' and guide ter yer."

"You really do seem a good sort," responded Clensy as he tugged the little tip of his virgin moustache and looked critically at Adams's wrinkled, semi-humorous, rum-stricken countenance. Then Clensy, summing up his inward thoughts, murmured to himself: "You look like a hardened old sinner to me, blessed if you don't."

Adams who only saw the distinct surface of things, thought he had made a fine impression. He rolled his solitary eye and said: "So you're a remittance man, and want ter git ter a plyce wheres yer can 'ave the spondulicks sent?"

Clensy nodded, and said, "I want to get to Acapulco, on the South American coast, my uncle's British Consul there."

"I have," said Clensy, then he handed the sailorman a sovereign on account.

"She's sailing day after termorrer, so we'd better go and say good-bye to our fren's on the islets tother side; agreed?"

And so Clensy agreed to go to the neighbouring isle to say good-bye to Adams's old friend, the widowed queen, Mara Le Vakamoa. "You must see heathen royalty afore you leaves these islands," said Adams.

That same night Adams paddled Clensy in a canoe across the narrow strip of ocean that divided them from the isle where dwelt several pagan kings and much-married queens. When Clensy arrived at the unpalatial-looking wooden building which was the residence of Queen Mara Le Vakamoa, much of the glamour which Adams's description of native royalty had conjured up in his mind faded. They only stopped one night and day in the royal village. True enough the queen and high chiefs were extremely courteous and paid great homage to the noble papalagai's . But though Adams was in his element when in the company of full-blooded South Sea royalty, Clensy soon sickened of the ceaseless chattering and royal display of limbs. The fact is, that the queens and princesses belonged to an ancient dynasty, and had long since passed the zenith of their beauty. Even Adams screwed up his lean, humorous-looking mouth and took in a deep breath when the Queen Vakamoa opened her enormous thick-lipped mouth and gave him a smacking farewell kiss. Then Clensy, too, bowed before the inevitable, took a large nip of Hollands gin from Adams's flask, and saluted the queen likewise. It was only when the pretty native girls took flowers from their hair, and handed them to Clensy as they murmured, "Aloah, papalagi"; that he really took an interest in the farewell ceremonies. Then they trekked down to the beach and paddled away in their canoe. It all seemed like some weird dream to Clensy as Adams chewed tobacco plug and diligently paddled back for the shore lagoons of the mainland. Night had swept the lovely tropic stars over the dusky skies, and they could faintly hear the musical cries of "Aloah, e mako, papalagi," as they faded away into the ocean's silence.

The voyage to the South American coast was extremely monotonous to Clensy. Adams's constant companionship and swashbuckling deportment on the dreary passage across tropic seas gave Clensy bad intellectual spasms. But still, he patiently tolerated his presence. He probably well knew that Adams too had his place in this scheme of intelligent things, and that one change of a footstep at the beginning of Adams's career might have made him a splendid Government official or Controller, and well respected by all who didn't know him! The fact is, that Clensy was by nature a genuine democrat. He was well bred, and so, carelessly unconscious of his worldly advantages over the uneducated men with whom he so readily consorted. He had proper pride, but it was humble enough. His head did not swell overmuch. He could not realise that when he was wealthy, and still dined side by side with penniless shellbacks, he was doing something that should be vigorously blown from the highest peak on democracy's brass bugle so that it might reverberate and echo down the halls of boasted brotherhood. His nature had no kinship with the great boast of a democracy that shouts: "See how our millionaires sit by the side of the wage-earning cowboy and dine on beans and corn-cobs." Thus pointing out to all who can see and hear, how wide a gulf really divides the poor man from the eternal boast of the democratic brotherhood. In short, Clensy was a splendid specimen of the democratic-aristocrat Englishman dwelling under the great socialistic government of the human heart. His intellect was fair: he knew that kings could feel humble, and a pope be really religious. He was a gentleman.

In due course Royal Clensy's remittance arrived. Acapulco was a quiet, lazy town in those days. The inhabitants were mostly Spaniards, Mexicans and niggers. Consequently Clensy made up his mind to clear out of the place and make for the larger states. What really happened after Clensy received his remittance whilst in Acapulco can only be guessed at. Clensy was as improvident and reckless with money as Adams, so it is possible that they had a pretty good time while the bulk of the money lasted. The only thing that can be recorded with certainty is, that they left Acapulco and made their way to Vera Cruz, and eventually arrived by steamer at Port-au-Prince, Hayti.

"It's no use you grousing, Myster Clensy," said Adams.

"I suppose not," replied the young Englishman as he gazed mournfully on the dark faced population of the semi-barbarian city of the Black Republic, Port-au-Prince. "Reminds me of what I've read about ancient Babylon and the Assyrian cities," said Clensy as he watched the swarthy Haytian chiefs and handsome mulatto women, clad in yellow and blue silken robes, as they shuffled along the stone pavements in their loose sandals. Many of the quaintly robed folk stood by the doorways of their verandahed weatherboard homes conversing, making a hushed kind of hubbub as they muttered and stared with large dark eyes at Clensy and Adams.

"What's Babylony and Asyery ter do with it? It b-- well reminds me of hell, and of being damned 'ard up, it do!" responded the unpoetical ex-sailor.

"What on earth shall we do? We're dead broke till my remittance arrives again," reiterated Clensy as he wiped his perspiring brow and smiled wearily as the pretty Haytian girl passed by and gave him a languishing glance.

"Can't play alone! What do you mean?" said Clensy.

"I simply means thet you must stand by me, and see that I'm unmolysted by these ere b-- 'eathens."

"Good heavens, have I come to this!" moaned our hero as he once again wiped his brow and made a thousand good resolutions as to how careful he would be when the next remittance came! But withal Royal Clensy was game. He brushed his misgivings away and smiled, and thought, "Well, I suppose I must adapt myself to circumstances in this world of woe and tears." Then he came to the sensible conclusion that it was best to cast one's pride aside when the digestive apparatus made pathetic appeals to the higher senses.

The Haytians and mulattoes are a naturally unostentatious folk in their likes and dislikes, a peculiar kind of calmness pervading their most deliberate acts. One cynical-looking Haytian chief gazed critically into Adams's collecting calabash as he once more went round, and dropped a dead putrid rat inside! The Haytian chief was evidently not feeling exactly partial towards white men, and chose that way of showing his resentment.

"For heaven's sake, don't get ratty!" whispered Clensy as he pulled his comrade's coat-tail and gave a warning glance. Fortunately for them both, Adams swiftly realised that Clensy was generally right, and so he cooled down and soothed his outraged feelings by swearing at the Haytian chief in the choicest Billingsgate English. With that marvellous precision which brings envy to the hearts of foreign sailormen throughout the world, Adams squirted a stream of tobacco-juice--splash! it had sent a dark stain down the length of the chief's yellow robe as he stalked majestically away. Then once more the Cockney sailorman began to play and sing.

"NICE gal, that!" mumbled Adams, as he and Clensy hurried away from the crowd that still loitered before the presidential palace. They quickly made their way towards the palm-sheltered portion of the dusty, heat-stricken city.

"Yes, very nice," responded Clensy, as he gazed vacantly ahead, hurrying Adams along as though he sought to escape from his own embarrassment.

"I'd loike ter marry a bootiful crawture like 'er. Only one fault ter find about 'er--she ain't fat!" said the sailorman, as he glanced up at Clensy, squinting his solitary eye sideways, like a curious cockatoo.

"Hem!" was Clensy's rejoinder, as he threw his shoulders back and looked the other way to hide his cynical disgust from Adams's eye, as that materialistic worthy still expressed several opinions about Sestrina's face and figure. Anything of a subtle nature in Clensy's manner or talk was naturally lost to such an intellect as Adams possessed, and so the sailorman at once changed the conversation. "'E's gone off agin, in one of 'is balmy moods!" the reprobate murmured to himself, then he added aloud, "Hawful 'ot," and pulled his whiskers.

"Thank God it's shady here," said Clensy, as they arrived in the shades of the beautiful mahogany trees. "Let's see the sights of the town," said Adams, as they stood under the trees and gazed on the little streets and the long, irregular rows of quaint wooden houses.

"I'm done up, nearly dead for want of sleep," replied Clensy.

"Don't fink much of this 'ere plyce!" mumbled Adams.

"All right in its way; good for insect collectors," replied Clensy.

"Don't break down; all our health is wanted to meet the trials of adversity before us," said Clensy in a soothing voice, as Adams hung his blushing face and the maids still danced on. Then the sailorman lifted his shocked countenance and, as his solitary eye gave a merry blue twinkle, he murmured, "Let's git out of it and go back to our lodgings."

The fact is that it was getting late, and the stars were already shining over the plains of Gonaives. In half an hour Clensy and Adams had arrived back at their cheap lodging-house that was situated by the Sing-Song Caf?, in La Selle Street.

"Maybe I am too particular," replied Clensy, as he glanced through the window at the stars, and wondered how long the mingy oil-lamp, that swung from the ceiling, would last before the oil was exhausted. Then his heart gave a thump and nearly stopped! Adams dropped his pipe in his astonishment. They both thought the roof had fallen on top of them.

Clensy and Adams still stared on the man with their mouths wide open.

"Give us some flea powder, youngster!"

Just for a moment Clensy continued to stare at those sombre yet humorous-looking eyes, then he picked up the tin of powder and courteously handed it to the big man.

"Got any baccy? Don't stand there with yer goddamned mouths open; hand the weed up!"

At this new demand, Adams and Clensy, like two obedient children, felt quickly in their pockets and handed their giant-like bedroom companion their pouches. They couldn't help it! The strange eyes were magnetic, the light in them not only compelled Clensy and Adams to accede to their owner's request, but also gave them pleasure at being able to supply his wants!

"And who may you be?" asked Clensy quietly as he recovered his composure.

"I'm Samuel Bartholomew Biglow! that's my handle!" roared the boisterous stranger. Then he half emptied their pouches, threw them on the floor, and carefully pressed his thumb into his corn-cob pipe.

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