Read Ebook: Sestrina: A romance of the South Seas by Safroni Middleton A Arnold

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Ebook has 979 lines and 86771 words, and 20 pages

"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.

"So that's your name, and it's a suitable one," Clensy ventured to say; then he smiled, for he vaguely realised that a man had a right to call himself by any name he wished, especially one with such a commanding personality and giant-like proportions.

"I like the look of ye both, damned if I don't," said the stranger; then he well sprinkled his bunk with the flea powder and tossed Clensy back the tin.

"And what might your name be?" he said, as he gave Adams a mighty languishing glance.

"My nyme's Adams," mumbled that worthy in humble tones.

"And my name is Jonathan Canton Solomon Clensy," said the young Englishman, in a voice which intimated that he too could call himself names.

For a moment the big man surveyed Clensy with a glance of admiration, then he yelled out, "Solomon Clensy and Isaac Adams, I've cottoned to ye both, so I'll see more of ye both in the morning." The next moment he had tucked his immense silken scarf about his throat, and placing two huge, wonderfully white feet over the bunk's side, settled himself for sleep.

When Clensy and Adams awoke in the morning the new-comer was already up and dressed.

"God damn it, rise and shine, lying in bed, ye lazy loafers," he yelled.

They lifted their tired heads and gazed vacantly on the boisterous disturber of their late slumber. For a moment a look of resentment over the man's impertinent manner leapt into Adams's eye. Clensy also gave Biglow a look which plainly said, "Who the devil are you that you have the cheek to order us to rise?" But when Bartholomew Biglow laid his massive hand on his velvet waistcoat and burst into a song that told of the horn of the hunters on the English hills, of grey dawns and the skylark's melodious trills to the sunrise, Clensy and Adams rose, and, looking rather sheepish, commenced to dress. Then Biglow took them both into the big dining-room where lodgers assembled for their meals, and treated them both to a glorious breakfast.

"Get it down ye!" he yelled, as Adams and Clensy munched their toast and poached eggs and bacon. Adams nudged Clensy in the ribs, and chuckled over their sudden luck. After breakfast, the three man went outside their lodging shanty and stood under the shading mahogany trees near Selle Place. Then Samuel Biglow, for such we will call him, told Clensy and his comrade, that though he had been the paramour of queens and the confidant of kings, he reckoned he was well off to have met such a one as Adams. Adams took the big man's hand and said in almost respectful tones, "Same ter you, Myster Samuel Bartholomew Biglow." Then Samuel tendered them his credentials in the shape of voluminous verbal reminiscences, telling them of mighty deeds he had performed. If the man's own accounts could be relied upon, he had been a wonder in his time.

Then Samuel listened to Adams, for that worthy also started to blow his own trumpet. Samuel Biglow bent his giant form and roared with laughter as he listened. Then Adams said he was "a man of honour," that he would "sooner die than do unto another that which he would not like to be done to him."

"So, so!" murmured Samuel Biglow soothingly, as he gave Adams a kindly, mother-like look, which plainly told Clensy, who thoroughly enjoyed the play, that he, Samuel, didn't believe one word that the sailorman said, and that he was doubtlessly as big a rogue as himself. "Ye've got honesty written on yer mug!" he said, and Adams felt pleased.

The fact is, that circumstances were running as near dire disaster as could possibly be when two men like Samuel Biglow and Adams met in Hayti, where catastrophes were of hourly occurrence. And it can only be put down to extraordinary good luck that Royal Clensy never got his head into at least a noose of difficulties through associating with such characters. However, let it be said, that all that happened afterwards was not the fault of either Samuel Biglow or Adams; if anything, Samuel Biglow was Royal Clensy's saviour when the hour arrived, and they had to flee, the three of them, from Hayti.

SAMUEL BIGLOW was a blessing to Clensy and Adams.

Such was the state of Haytian affairs in Clensy's youth, in the grand days when Samuel Bartholomew Biglow smacked the President of the Republic in genial comradeship on the back and patronised the cynical Haytian chiefs by his august presence. Samuel Biglow was not an enigma, he was simply royalty in the raw state. He had the personality and the cool cheek that raises men to eminence amongst primitive or even civilised peoples when they mourn a lost leader. Had Biglow lived in old Britain in the days of Boadicea, he would have been heard of. School-children would to-day have been compelled to memorise the date of his birth and when and how he died. Antiquated, worn monuments to his ancient fame would adorn the old bridges of our cities. But he was born too late. When he arrived on earth, the moral codes of the heroic ages had become reversed; consequently, it required all his astuteness to save himself from being elected for the gallows or life-long meditation in Wormwood Scrubbs or Sing-Sing. Such is the irony of fame and changeful circumstance. However, Samuel was happy enough. His handsome face would flush with the light of his amorous imagination when the dusky ladies who attended the presidential balls gave him languishing glances; and gallantly did he return them! He had not been in Hayti more than a week before he managed to enter the palace and make the acquaintance of President Gravelot. Adams and Clensy were astonished when one night he came back to his lodgings and informed them that he had had a busy day, being honoured as the special guest of the president of the Black Republic.

"Borrow anyfing from 'im?" said Adams, staring at the big man in hopeful surprise.

Biglow's cheek and convivial ways pleased the President and all the officials whom he came in contact with. Though the national emblem of Hayti was the feathery cabbage palm, and suggested "Peace on Earth, Truth and Beauty," the true emblem should have been daggers and knives and a human skull, with the motto, "Live and be Merry, for To-morrow we lose power or die!" For, as has been said, revolutions came like the punctuality of the seasons, and generally ended in the reigning president being shot and the officials having to flee for their lives. No doubt, Gravelot was immensely pleased to meet such a one as Biglow when he was already feeling uneasy about his waning power. For the Cacaos insurgents had already taken to warfare in the Black Mountains, and day by day rumours were reaching Gravelot which hinted that his presidency was nearing its close. Indeed, during his office Hayti had been in arms, in one long civil war. Gravelot held the highest prestige in the eyes of the British and French Consuls, and so Biglow knew what he was about when he got in friendly touch with Gravelot. It was hard, in the interminable squabbles between the negro, mulatto and Mexican portion of the population, to know which was really the greatest power. All that can be positively asserted is that no chance was lost by the Haytians and mulattoes to thoroughly enjoy their lives according to their tastes. So Biglow was received with open arms at the presidential balls, where he astonished the lustrous-eyed maids of the passionate south by his magnificent effrontery, in days of old when passions ran riot in Hayti. When Clensy got wind of the truth, heard that Biglow was in with the President, his heart beat with a great hope. Not for one moment had he forgotten the beautiful girl who had spoken to them when he and Adams had stood, two humble troubadours, outside the palace gates. He saw his chance. He had already made inquiries, and discovered that the girl who had so impressed him was the beautiful Sestrina, President Gravelot's daughter. At the earliest possible moment Clensy had informed Bartholomew Biglow that he would feel more than kindly towards that worthy if he would use his influence to get him introduced into the palace.

"You can accomplish anything you wish to accomplish," said Clensy.

"Possibly so," was Biglow's brief reply; then he added, "You see, lad, my business at the palace is peculiarly secret, and I don't stand on safe ground when I commence to introduce white men into the Court of the Black Republic."

Clensy looked glum at hearing this, but he looked more cheerful when Biglow ended up by saying, "I'll think the matter over; p'raps I can see a way of doing the thing."

"What on earth has the piano to do with it? How? Why?" said Clensy, mystified.

"Lad, you're a mug, and though you can't see farther than the tip of yer nose, you may consider yourself engaged on the spot as Pianist to the President of the Black Republic."

Clensy, with his usual lack of confidence, began to expostulate and bring forward a hundred reasons to show why such a procedure would be a failure. But Biglow simply gave him another contemptuous glance, and then, pushing his mass of curls from his massive brow, turned on his heel and walked away. Next day, when Clensy returned from a stroll in the town back to his lodgings, Biglow smacked him on the back and informed him that he was engaged as piano-player for the coming presidential ball. The next moment Biglow had handed Clensy twenty Mexican dollars.

"What's this for?" gasped the astonished Clensy.

"Why, you looney, it's your advance, a bit on account of your wages!" Then Biglow explained that he had told the President that he, Clensy, was a great musician, the chief Musical Director of the Conservatoire in New York, and that it was a relentless rule of Yankee virtuosos to demand an advance note.

"But I'm not a professional player at all. I can't play well enough," said Clensy, as he recovered from his surprise, and looked at the money. "I'm only a strummer on the piano, and they'll expect to hear some of the classics performed, won't they?" said Clensy.

Clensy turned round and found himself face to face with President Gravelot's daughter, Sestrina! Her rich tresses were ornamented with hibiscus blossoms. And as she stood smiling before Clensy, she did look as perfect as a young man's dream of woman.

"Yes, I am here," replied Clensy, hardly knowing what else to say, as he gazed into the girl's dark, beautiful eyes as she laughed like a happy child. And as he gazed, he heard the buzz and weird hum of the native orchestra's stringed instruments playing in the ball-room. Those sounds meant that his absence from the piano would not be missed, for the dancing had commenced to the strains of the four Haytian musicians, who had sat silent in the ball-room when Clensy had presided at the piano. Though it was night, the trees, the fountains, and even the colour of the flowers, were distinctly visible. Every hanging bough sparkled with the steady lights of the hundreds of hanging garden lamps. The mystery of night and the stars and the dark orange groves was in perfect harmony with Sestrina's type of beauty. Perhaps Sestrina knew this, for she stood perfectly still under the mahogany tree's branches, staring earnestly at Clensy as the warm scented winds drifted her tresses in confusion over her shoulder. The young Englishman could hardly believe his luck as the girl took his arm and walked away with him into the shadows as though he was a very, very old acquaintance! Though she had made a great impression on his mind when he had first seen her, he had endeavoured to thrust her from his memory as something quite unattainable, beyond his hopes and the ordinary possibilities of his humble position in Hayti. But there he stood, Sestrina holding his arm, gazing into his face with a childlike expression in her eyes. Yes, it was all true enough. Fate had thrown them together, some immutable law had decreed that it should be, that all that was to happen in their lives afterwards, had been carefully planned out and sighed over by destiny. Clensy's heart thumped with happiness, no premonition of coming sorrow in far-off days came to dispel his unbounded joy as they both, in mutual secrecy, stole away by the tropical fuchsia trees so that they could get away from the prying eyes of the stragglers near the palace.

"Have you come to stay in Hayti, Engleesman?" whispered Sestrina, as she gave Clensy a swift bright glance.

"I don't know yet," responded Clensy. And as he gazed down the moonlit orange groves he fancied he could see the happy phantoms of his imagination dancing in impish delight on the footpath. The rich odours from decaying pineapples and the hanging overripe lemons and limes made a perfect atmosphere for Clensy's romantic meditations. And Sestrina?--her heart fluttered, it was almost like a dream to her, too!

"Oh, how different are the sun-tanned flushed faces of the handsome Englishmen to the yellow-skinned Haytian men," she thought as she sighed and looked at Clensy again. Everything in nature seemed to feel kindly disposed towards them both. The moon intensified the dark loveliness of Sestrina's eyes as the scented warm zephyrs lifted her tresses and tumbled them in artless confusion about her neck and shoulders.

"I am only in Hayti for a holiday, I'm travelling. I'm a tourist, you know," said Clensy. Then he remembered under what circumstances Sestrina had first seen him, and added with excusable mendacity. "I've been most unfortunate, I lost all my money in a shipwreck just before I arrived in Hayti."

"Oh, how sad!" exclaimed Sestrina, then she gave a low, merry peal of hushed laughter. Clensy wondered why the girl should laugh so, and cursed the very memory of Adams. For, if ever he had wanted to appear refined and gentle, and one who loved delicate associations, it was at that moment in his life. However, Clensy was wrong in his suspicions, the girl had believed every word he uttered. Sestrina was unworldly. She was Gravelot's only daughter. Her mother was an inmate of an asylum at Rio Grande, a fact of which Sestrina was not aware, she having been brought up to think that her mother was dead. She had led a secluded life in the palace since her father had been made President of the Black Republic. Her father had had her reared with jealous care. The girl's constant companion had been and was still, an aged negress nurse named Claircine. Claircine had ever watched over the girl with that affection which is characteristic in the coloured people when they become attached to those who are placed in their care. This negress had cultivated Sestrina's imagination by telling her pretty legends and, as Gravelot had wished, had kept her mind childlike, quite ignorant of the world and ways of men and women. The only knowledge of the world that she had acquired had come to her through the medium of the sensational French novels which she obtained and read in secret. Indeed it is no exaggeration to say, that Sestrina, like many Haytian maids, had educated herself and obtained her knowledge of the great world around her, from French novels. Of course, the girl did not realise the meaning of a deal that she read. And so, to her mind, the words--"Passion, and passionate," only conveyed some idea that the hero or heroine possessed bad tempers, or were endowed with a poetic passion which resembled the wild moanings of the mahogany trees when the fierce tornadoes broke over Hayti. And whenever she asked the negress uncomfortable questions, Claircine adroitly changed the conversation or misinformed the girl. And so Sestrina went every day with great punctiliousness to confess to the aged Catholic priest, P?re Chaco, also knelt every night by her bedside to pray with absolute faith over the goodness of men and the boundless mercy of God.

Such was the simple wisdom of Sestrina's mind. And Royal Clensy, as he stood in the palace gardens with Sestrina that night, did not misunderstand her when she boldly intimated that she was supremely happy in his company. A girl's character is generally clearly imaged in the mirrors of her soul--her eyes. And Clensy's mind was not the kind that gives a distorted view of the truth. When she took a flower from her hair, touched it with her lips, and then placed it in the lapel of his coat, he realised that it was all innocent enough. And he was happy as they both walked up and down in the moonlit shades of the orange groves. "Adams's wretched accordion-music has its compensations," he thought as he realised that had he not gone off busking with Adams he might never have met Sestrina. "It's fate, Sestrina was destined to come into my life like this," he mused as Sestrina stumbled, and nearly fell over the cactus hedge. Sestrina gave a little cry of distress.

"Destiny!" was his mental ejaculation as he leaned forward, and with an apologetic look in his eyes, said "Allow me!"

Ah, the girl's innocent manner made a fascinating picture as she lifted her pretty ankle a few inches from the ground. How tenderly Clensy examined it so that he might staunch the tiny flow of blood--a thorn had torn the soft flesh! His solicitude eased the pain! Only a born artist could have pulled the brown stocking down as he did! It was perfect art, a subtle poem in curves, maiden artlessness, and the impertinence of passionate youth. But all was well. Royal Clensy was in Hayti! Hayti, the land of flowers and song. Hayti where the passions ran riot, where pretty maids had a strange golden gleam in their large dark eyes, and all their actions were inspired by the romance and glamour of flamboyant French novels!

"And how, and when shall I see you again, Mademoiselle Sestrina?" said Clensy as he gazed in an insane way into her face. Poor Clensy, it was a case. However, his malady had its compensations, for Sestrina also seemed beautifully insane as they both held each other's hands, loth to part! Only the cry of the blue-winged Haytian owl disturbed the silence of the giant mahogany trees that stood like mighty sentinels around the palace walls. The sounds of revelry by night had ceased, for quite an hour had passed since they had heard the last wails coming from the violins and weird Haytian musical instruments played in the Presidential ball-room. Clensy had forgotten the flight of time. Sestrina was the more practical of the two in the matter of time, since she dwelt within walking distance of the paternal halls. She knew that her father would raise the roof, so to speak, if he discovered that she was absent from her chamber at such an hour. "Monsieur Royal, I will see you again, fear not," said Sestrina.

"But--how? And when?" said Clensy as he glanced about him in desperation. Had not Sestrina told him a few moments before that she was not allowed away from the palace precincts without old Claircine?

Before the young Englishman had realised the full import of Sestrina's remarks and her pretty wit, he was alone. Sestrina had passed away like some shadowy form of a dream. He was still standing under the orange trees that fronted Sestrina's palatial residence. Then he moved away and hurried home, his footsteps walking on air as he recalled the lovely light of Sestrina's eyes.

That same night Clensy's life seemed to have become extra valuable to him. For the first time he began to realise what a waste of his days he was making by associating with men like Adams.

"I am what I am! I cannot change myself. To attempt to control one's nature is as ridiculous and as hopeless as to attempt to revise and reform the work of God Himself, and all that is written on that strange manuscript--the human heart!"

Ah, Clensy, you had indeed got into a sadly morbid state.

As the young Englishman continued to reflect over the careless, inconsequential splendour of his life up to the time when he met Sestrina, he realised that his passion for the girl was as deep as his own interest in himself, and, knowing this, he saw the brighter side of his strange reflections and was cheered up. "I shall be happy even though I fail, so long as Sestrina loves me," he thought. Then he turned over on his rickety bed and joined Bartholomew Biglow and Adams in the calm, deep bass measure of their respective snores.

AFTER Sestrina had taken her sudden departure from the infatuated Clensy, she ran down the pathway by the fuchsia trees so that she might enter her home unobserved. She did not fear meeting a stray servant who might be abroad in the cool of the night, but she knew that her father had been absent from the Presidential ball since six o'clock. His absence was an ominous sign for Sestrina--when her parent returned from his mysterious nocturnal visits into the mountains he usually behaved like a frenzied maniac.

"I do hope I shall not see father to-night," she thought, as she entered the little doorway by the wine vaults, and then peered in fright down the corridor. She was no longer the gay, inconsequential Sestrina whom Clensy had parted from a few moments before. The Englishman had dispelled all the heart-aching fear that had worried Sestrina's mind for the last few weeks. Clensy little dreamed of the skeleton in the cupboard of the Haytian girl's home, how it haunted her soul with a fearful wonder and terror when it roamed about before her eyes! Even as she peered along the silent corridor she gave a startled jump that made her shadow leap down the whole length of the white wall. A sigh of relief escaped her lips--it was only the shuffling footsteps of the old negro, Charoco; he was putting out the lights in the large rooms from which the festival guests had lately departed. The next moment Sestrina had slipped down the corridor, and had run across the large drawing-room where she had to pass through ere she could reach her chamber.

Sestrina gave an instinctive crouch in her fright, and then swiftly turned round--a dark cloaked figure was standing behind her--it was her father, President Gravelot.

Footnote 1:

"It's you! you! Sestrina!" he murmured as the girl took his hand very gently, and in pathetic, mute appeal looked up into her father's face. Her heart thumped violently as she watched the expression of his eyes. Then she gave a sigh of relief. And still she fawned before him, caressed his bloodstained hands, delight on her troubled face as she saw the gleam of reason stealing back into his bloodshot eyes.

"It's me! me!" she whispered, as she once more caressed that hand in her terrifying eagerness to press her advantage. She saw the look of recognition leap into his eyes.

"Sestrina, what did I do? What have I said? help me!" he moaned, as he leaned forward and gazed into the terrified eyes of his daughter. What had he said? What had the devil that possessed him muttered for the girl's hearing?

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