MY FELLOW-PASSENGER.
IN TWO CHAPTERS.—CHAPTER I.
To say that the real zest of an Englishman’s delight in England and English home-life is only attained after residence or travel in other countries, is to quote something like a truism. To this influence at least was owing in great measure the feeling of quite indescribable pleasure with which, after a not altogether successful six months of big-game hunting in the interior of Africa—a very far-away country indeed in those days, when no cable communication existed with England—I found myself on board the good ship Balbriggan Castle (Captain Trossach), as she steamed slowly out of the Cape Town Docks on a lovely June evening in 187-, homeward bound. I had come from one of the eastern ports of the colony in sole occupation of a cabin; and though I knew we had taken on board a large number of passengers that afternoon, I was not a little put out to find, on going below, that the berth above mine had been filled, and that the inestimable blessing of solitude was to be denied me for the next twenty days or so. However, there was no help for it; and with the best grace I could command, I answered my fellow-traveller’s courteous expressions of regret with a hope that the voyage would be a pleasant one. The new-comer was a tall, slightly-built, and strikingly handsome man, of about thirty, remarkable for a slow deliberative manner of speech, with which an occasional nervous movement of the features seemed oddly at variance. On a travelling-bag, as to the exact disposition of which he was especially solicitous, I caught sight of the letters P. R. in big white capitals. These being my own initials, the coincidence, though commonplace enough, furnished a topic of small-talk which sufficed to fill up the short time intervening before dinner, and ended, naturally enough, in the discovery of my new friend’s name—Paul Raynor—given, as I afterwards remembered, with some little hesitation, but producing a much finer effect of sound than my own unmelodious Peter Rodd.
At dinner, I found my place laid opposite to Raynor; and thus, notwithstanding the claims of an excellent appetite and the desire to take stock of other passengers, I had again occasion to observe the painful twitching of the fine features, recurring with increased frequency as he, too, looked round at those about him, and seemed to scan each in turn with more than ordinary deliberation. The man interested me greatly; and as I listened to his conversation with some Englishmen near, and noted the dry humour with which he hit off the peculiarities of the worthy colonists we were leaving behind, I saw at once that here at least was promise of relief to the monotony of the voyage, of which I should be constantly able to avail myself.
A sea like glass, and a temperature of unusual mildness for a June evening in those latitudes, drew every one on deck, and ensconcing myself in a pleasant corner just behind the too often violated legend, ‘No smoking abaft the companion,’ I proceeded to illuminate a mild Havana cigar, when I was joined by Raynor, with whom, after a good-humoured joke anent my unsuccessful attempt to obtain that solitude which the cabin could no longer afford, I renewed our conversation of the afternoon, passing from generalities to more personal matters, and sowing in a few hours the seeds of a friendship destined to grow and ripen with that marvellous rapidity only to be attained by the forcing process of life on board a passenger-ship.
Nothing could exceed the frankness of Raynor’s own story, as he told it me in brief before we turned in that night. One of a large family of sons, he had conceived an unconquerable dislike to the profession of teaching, to which, in lieu of one of a more lucrative nature, he had found himself compelled to turn. The suggestion of a friend, that he should try his luck in the colonies, was hardly made before it was acted upon; and a few weeks found him in an up-country town at the Cape, where his letters of introduction speedily brought him employment in a well-known and respected house of business. Here he rose rapidly; and having, by care and occasional discreet speculation, saved a few hundreds, was now on his way home, with four months’ leave of absence, professedly as a holiday trip, but really, as he admitted to me, to see what chances presented themselves of investing his small capital and procuring permanent employment in England. In answer to my question, whether his absence after so short a time of service might not conceivably affect his prospects in the firm, he replied, that his intention of remaining at home had not been communicated to any one; and that, should no suitable opening offer in England, he would, upon returning to the colony, resume his former position with Messrs ——, whose word to that effect had been given.
‘Do you know any one on board?’ said I carelessly, when his short narration was over, and after I had in turn imparted to him a few dry and unrefreshing facts as to my own humble personality.
‘Why do you ask?’
I was taken aback at the sharp, almost angry voice in which the words were uttered; but, strong in the harmless nature of my question, I replied: ‘Because I thought I saw a man at the next table to ours at dinner trying to catch your eye, as if he knew you.’
‘Daresay he did. One gets to know such an unnecessary lot of skunks in the colonies!’ Uttering these remarkable words hurriedly and in a tone of intense irritation, Paul Raynor strode away, and I saw him no more that night.
Our cabin was on the starboard side of the ship, and the morning sun streamed in and laid his glorious mandate upon me and all sluggards to be up and stirring. Raynor, who had the berth above me, seemed to have obeyed the call still earlier, for he was gone. Mounting, a little later, to the poop-deck, I arrived just in time to find him in conversation with the odd-looking little Dutchman I had noticed watching Raynor at dinner, and to hear the former say, in that queer-sounding Cape English, which, at a few paces distant, is hardly to be distinguished from Cape Dutch: ‘My name is Jan van Poontjes; and I remember better as anything ’ow I met you six or five months ago by Pieteraasvogelfontein with young Alister of the Kaapstadt Bank, eh?’ To which Raynor replied: ‘I can only assure you again, sir, that you are mistaken. My name is Paul Raynor, and I have never had the honour of seeing you in my life before.’ Turning on his heel, Mynheer van Poontjes shuffled away, expressing sotto voce his readiness to be immediately converted into ‘biltong,’ if he wasn’t right about the ‘verdomd Englischmann.’
Directly he caught sight of me, Raynor left his seat, and coming hastily forward, said: ‘Mr Rodd, I owe you many apologies for my unpardonable rudeness of last night. I am blessed with the vilest of tempers, which, after years of effort, is not yet under my control. Will you forget the episode? Believe me, I shall not offend again.’
My answer need not be recorded. But it struck me as odd at the time, that when our reconciliation was complete, and we were pacing the deck for the short half-hour before breakfast, my companion made no reference whatever to the Dutchman’s mistake, not even evincing the slightest curiosity to know whether Poontjes was the same man whose regards I had observed so intently fixed upon him. Possibly he was not aware that I had been a witness of the interview, or, as seemed more probable, he avoided alluding to a subject so directly tending to recall his extraordinary outburst of the previous night.
The voyage was a quiet one enough, in spite of the very large number of passengers. Three really charming sisters were undergoing a well-sustained siege at the hands of a dozen or so of the most presentable young men, and at least one engagement was shortly expected. Theatricals were projected; but fortunately the ‘company’ would not attend rehearsals, and we were spared. One or two concerts were got up, at which feeble young men complacently rubbed fiddle-strings with rosined bows, and evoked flat and melancholy sounds, expressing no surprise when subsequently complimented on their ‘violin-playing.’ An opulent but unlovely Jew from the Diamond Fields created a diversion by singing, without notice given, a song of the music-hall type—refrain, ‘Oh, you ridic’lous man, why dew yer look so shy!’ &c.; and was genuinely hurt when the captain suggested his ‘going for’ard next time he wanted an audience for that song.’ Several ladies, of several ages, displayed their varied musical acquirements; and Raynor surprised everybody one day by giving us the Village Blacksmith in a round clear baritone, of which no one imagined him to be the possessor.
During these first ten days at sea, Raynor had, apparently without any striving after popularity, established himself as a universal favourite. The children adored him from the first, thereby securing him a straight road to the mothers’ hearts, who in their turn spoke warmly in his praise to the younger ladies on board. These last felt strongly his superiority to the other very ordinary young men, enjoyed his conversation greatly, and were perhaps the least bit afraid of him.
Raynor’s fondness for and influence with children were altogether remarkable. Early in the voyage, a tiny trot of four had tripped and fallen sharply on the deck at his feet. As he lifted her ever so tenderly in his arms and stroked the poor little hurt knee, the child looked up at him through her tears and asked: ‘Is you weally sorry?’ ‘Yes, indeed—I am, Nellie.’ ‘Then me’s better,’ came the little sobbing answer; and forthwith she nestled closer to him, and was comforted. This incident evidently produced a profound effect upon the other children playing near, who thereafter lost no opportunity of showing ‘the tall man’ that he might consider himself entirely one of themselves.
My own intimacy with him grew daily stronger, and our mutual friendship became so firm that we began to project various plans of business and pleasure for months to come in England. How often, in after-days, did I stop to think wonderingly of the man’s earnestness, the intense absorption with which he would ponder upon the relative merits of different undertakings, each more certain than the last to make our fortunes! Was he for the moment actually deceiving himself? or did the habit of concentrated thought forbid him to discuss otherwise than gravely, projects of whose very initiation he alone knew the impossibility?
Raynor spent his money freely, though without ostentation; and I hardly knew whether to be surprised or not when he applied to me one day for a loan of twenty-five pounds, explaining that he had lost rather heavily at cards during the past few days, and having only brought a limited supply of ready cash for the voyage, he found himself for the moment rather inconveniently short. Fortunately, I was in a position to supply his needs; and when we went ashore at Madeira the next afternoon, he invested a small fortune in sweets, toys, and native gimcracks for his army of little friends on board, including an exquisite model of one of the quaint little Funchal carts, destined for a poor crippled lad amongst the passengers in the fore-part of the ship.
Four or five days later, and signs of the approaching end began to be visible in the shape of Railway Guides on the saloon tables, great ease in the procuring of hitherto impossible luxuries from the stewards, and the appearance on the scene of certain towzled officials not previously observed, but with ‘backsheesh’ writ plain on each grimy feature. Raynor and I had during the last few days matured our plans for the immediate future. These were to include a week in town, another on the river, some visits to friends, and, if possible, a few days with the grouse towards the end of August. After this, a tentative negotiation with a City House with a view to the fruition of a certain scheme upon which my friend built great hopes.
Musing pleasurably upon these and other prospective delights, I turned in at ten o’clock, determined to get a few hours’ good sleep before reaching Plymouth—where we expected to put in at four or five o’clock in the morning, to land mails and some few passengers—the rest going on with the ship to Southampton. I had not slept more than an hour or two at most, when I was awakened by a sensation, known to even the soundest of sleepers, as if something were going on near me of which I ought to know. Looking out half-dreamily from my berth, I saw that Raynor was standing in the cabin, a lighted taper placed on a small shelf near him. I was about to close my eyes, when I became aware that there was something unusual in his appearance and actions. Instead of undressing himself for the night, he stood half bent over a locker opposite, upon which was lying open the travelling-bag I have referred to as being the object of his special care at the outset of the voyage. From this he drew one after another a number of small brown packets, in size and look not unlike gun-cartridges—which, indeed, in the dim light of the taper, I took them to be—hurriedly passing them into the various pockets of a light overcoat I now noticed him to be wearing. Still drowsily watching his movements, I was surprised to see him unroll from a bundle of wraps a thick heavy ulster, and putting it on, proceed to transfer more of the queer little brown-paper parcels to the pockets of this second garment. I was now fairly awake, and with a perhaps rather tardy recognition of the unfairness of my espionage, I coughed an artfully prepared cough, so toned as to convey the impression that I had that moment come from the land of dreams.
‘Hullo!’ I said, with the uneasy drawl of somnolence, ‘is that you?’
He started, and made a movement as if trying to stand full between me and the valise, as he answered: ‘Yes; I am just putting away one or two things.’ Then, after a moment’s pause, during which I heard him lock and fasten the bag, ‘I’m afraid,’ he said, ‘you will think me a terribly shifty fellow, Peter, but the fact is, I know those old people in Cornwall will never forgive me if I don’t go and see them whilst I’m at home; and I’m equally positive that if I put it off now, I shall never get anywhere near them’——
‘And so you’ve suddenly made up your mind to get out at Plymouth, and leave me to go on to town alone,’ said I, interrupting, with a feeling of keener disappointment than I cared to show. ‘I see it all. Never mind. I can bear it. I was born to suffer.’
‘So you will say when I have finished,’ was the laughing reply. ‘After all, though, it is only putting off our little jaunt for a few days. Meanwhile, will you do me a favour? I cannot descend upon the old folks with a heap of luggage; and besides, this concern’—pointing to the valise—‘holds everything I am likely to need. Therefore, I want you, like a good boy as you are, to pass through the Customs with your own things, my two portmanteaus which are in the hold, and take them up to town with you. Go to the rooms you spoke of, and I will join you in a week from to-day.’
‘All right, you unblushing deserter. Have it as you will. But remember, if you are not at No. 91 Savile Street by Thursday evening next, I shall “cause your goods to be sold to defray expenses, and reserve to myself the right of deciding what to do with the proceeds,” as the Tipperary lawyers have it.’
‘Do; only keep something to remind you of the biggest scoundrel you are ever likely to know,’ he replied, laughing again, but with a curious ring in his voice, of which, I think, I shall never quite lose the memory. Its effect at the moment was to set me thinking whether this new move of Paul’s might not portend the upsetting of all our schemes.
‘Here, Peter,’ he went on—‘here is what I owe you, with many thanks. You don’t mind having it all in gold, do you? Those fellows have been giving me a very decent revenge at loo the last night or two, and this is the result!’ holding up a handful of sovereigns, and proceeding to pour twenty-five of them with a horrible clatter into my washing-basin.
‘Haven’t you got any English notes?’ I asked, wondering sleepily what I should do with all these sovereigns in addition to an existing small supply of my own.
‘Not one,’ answered Raynor. ‘Now, go to sleep; and I’ll come down and awake you when we’re within anything like reasonable distance of Plymouth. It’s no use turning in for the short time that’s left, so I shall go up and smoke a pipe and watch for the first sight of the land of my birth.’ He then went out into the soft air of the July night, looking strangely uncouth in a superfluity of wraps such as no man would throw about him only to meet the light breeze that just precedes a summer dawn.
A few hours afterwards, I was leaning over the taffrail waving good-bye to my friend as he stood near the wheel of the little tender that bore him and some half-dozen others to the shore. There had been a deep sadness in his eyes at parting; and the foreboding of the night before changed now to a chill conviction that Paul Raynor and I should meet no more.
‘So your friend has just now landed already, eh?’ said the voice of Mr van Poontjes, a gentleman with whom I had not exchanged a dozen words during the voyage, but who now, planting himself heavily on the deck-chair next mine, gave evidence of his intention to put a full stop to my enjoyment of the book which I was struggling to finish before delivering it to its owner that evening.
‘Yes,’ I replied wearily, wondering a little whether this worthy but slightly repulsive individual was going to stay long, and mentally laying plans of escape to meet the contingency.
‘Well, now,’ he continued, ‘I dessay you consider your Mister Raynor a jolly fine feller, eh?’
Suppressing the instantaneous impulse to take the little boer by the collar and shake him, I answered: ‘Mr Raynor is a friend of mine, as you are aware; and as I am not in the habit of discussing my friends with strangers, perhaps you will leave me to my book!’
‘Strangers, eh! Stranger to you, per’aps, yes! but not stranger to Mister—what do you call ’im?—Raynor! Eh, I could tell you something’——
‘Now, look you here, Mr van Poontjes,’ I burst out; ‘you have courageously waited to speak like this until Mr Raynor is no longer here to answer you. But I happen to have heard that gentleman inform you with his own lips that he had never set eyes on you until the day you met on board this ship; and therefore to say that you are not a stranger to Mr Raynor is equivalent to the assertion that Mr Raynor has told a lie. You had better not dare to repeat that statement either to me or to any other passenger on board.—Now, good-morning; and take care that mischievous tongue of yours doesn’t get you into trouble yet!’
As the little crowd that these angry words had brought about us moved away, a few clustering inquisitively round the little Dutchman, my reading was once more postponed by Jack Abinger, the second officer, a man with whom Raynor and I had struck up something of a friendship. ‘Hullo, Rodd,’ he said, strolling up to where I sat, ‘what’s all the row about? I saw you from my cabin standing in the recognised attitude of the avenger, apparently slating Mynheer van Poontjes as if he were a pickpocket.’ After listening to my story of what had occurred, he said: ‘Ah, a clear case of mistaken identity! But, I say, talking of Paul Raynor, it was a pity, as far as he was concerned, that we couldn’t have got to Plymouth a day or two earlier.’
‘What do you mean?’ I asked surprisedly.
‘Only, that he would have gone ashore a richer man by a good bit. Surely he told you what a bad time he’s been having of it lately? Anybody else would have been stone-broke long ago. And last night, by way of a finish, that unspeakable little reptile, Barnett Moss, took a lot of money out of him at écarté. Never saw a man hold such cards in my life!’
‘It’s a good thing Paul was able to pay the little beast,’ I said, trying to speak easily, and miserably failing, as I recalled what had passed between us the night before.
‘Pay!’ replied Abinger; ‘I believe you! Why, Paul must have brought a perfect bank on board with him! I only hope he hasn’t lost enough to spoil his holiday.’
‘Never mind, Jack; he’ll be all right. He has gone to stay with friends in Cornwall for a week—to economise, I expect.’
‘A week!’ shouted Jack. ‘Why, I know I shouldn’t be able to go ashore for the next year or two, if I had had his bad luck!’ And he ran off on some duty or other, leaving me in perplexed and restless cogitation. If, as Abinger said, Paul had ‘brought a perfect bank on board with him’—the words ran in my head—what could have been his object in seeking to produce exactly the opposite impression upon myself—even going so far as to borrow money during the voyage ostensibly to replace his losses—repaying the amount, too, at the very moment when his ill-luck had reached a climax, with a few light words about the ‘revenge’ which, as it now appeared, he had been so very far from obtaining? The whole affair was inexplicable and disquieting; and I was glad when the necessity for making my final preparations left me little further time for thoughts which, do what I would, kept crossing the border-line into the hateful regions of doubt.