“Not at first; but I made her take it, you bet,” said that sinful worthy.
I could sympathise with old Grimes, for, to tell the truth, he was not the only one in love. I myself was haunted by the memory of Pauline. As I lay in slumber in that old hulk’s depth, she crept down into silent gloom and scanned each grizzled face till she came to my bunk. I felt her shadow arms about me. I clasped her and kissed her lips in the glorious ecstasy of dream possession. Those dreams haunted me through the day. I felt that I could not seek a berth on the ships.
I even went so far as to go to that hamlet by the mountains, hoping that I should come across her, and became so romantic that I even tried to emulate the amorous programme of old-time Spanish hidalgos, and crept away from my comrades one night with my violin to serenade Pauline by moonlight.
I put my whole soul into my playing as I stood beneath the palms outside that little white-walled bungalow and watched her window. I had but a vague notion of what I expected: perhaps I imagined that a visionary creature would open that little lattice and gaze upon me with ecstatic rapture. It might have come off, too, but for the curse of reality. Alas! that the world is so commonplace nowadays. And I shall never forget the sudden chill that crushed my hopes when old John L—— rushed out of that little door in his night attire.
We almost came to blows as he expostulated about the d——d row I was making while he tried to sleep after a bad spell of two weeks’ insomnia. And when I told him I had the same right to play the violin as he had to get drunk, he struck out.
Well, anyway, such was the result of my South Sea serenading adventure.
And the cruel disillusionment of it made me decide to accept a berth on an outgoing boat. It so happened that the Sea Swallow was off in a few days, bound for Fiji. I knew the skipper well—we had sailed together before. He was a fiddle-player also, and had taken a liking to me. I went on board, signed on for the trip, and felt easier in my mind once the decision was made. In the few days that remained before the Sea Swallow sailed I wandered about a good deal. Grimes stuck to me like a leech. He, too, tried to get a berth on the boat, but they were full up. We walked miles in search of Waylao, but in vain. I even began to wonder if she might not have followed the poor ex-convict girl’s example.
Grimes was very despondent about my leaving him. We seemed to be full up with sorrow, for we had just heard that Hermionæ, our Marquesan chum, was dead.
I see by my log-book that Hermionæ died on 4th September, the day after my birthday, and that I shipped on the Sea Swallow on the 5th.
But I must tell you about Hermionæ. He was about eighteen years of age, straight as a coco-palm, and as graceful as a young god. I never saw such fine eyes as he had, full of fire and yet tender as a girl’s.