“About twelve or thirteen years ago I was mate of a San Francisco trading brig, the Lola Montez, and one afternoon, when we were running down the east coast of New Caledonia, we sighted a vessel drifting in shore—this very same schooner. The skipper of the brig sent me with a boat's crew to take possession of her—for we could see that no one was on board.
“I boarded her and found that her decks had been swept by a heavy sea—which, I suppose, had carried away every one on board. I overhauled the cabin, but could not find her papers, but her name was on the stern—Meta.”
Marsh started, and was about to speak, but the old skipper went on:—
“During the night heavy weather came on, and the Lola Montez and the Meta parted company. The Lola was never heard of again—she was old and as rotten as an over-ripe pear, and I suppose her seams opened, and she went down.
“So I stuck to the Meta brought her to Sydney, and re-named her The Dove. And she's a bully little ship, I can tell you. I think that she was built in the Marquesas Islands, for all her knees and stringers are of ngiia wood (lignum vitae) cut in the Marquesan fashion, and set so closely together that any one would think she was meant for a Greenland whaler. Then there is another thing about her that you will notice, and which makes me feel sure that she was built by a whaleman, and that is the carvings of whales on each end of the windlass barrel, and on every deck stanchion there are the same, although you can hardly see them now—they are so much covered up by yearly coatings of paint for over a dozen years.”
Meredith rose suddenly from his seat. “You'll excuse me, but I feel tired, and must turn in.” The visitor took the hint, and did not stay. Wishing the partners good luck, he got into his boat, and pushed off for the shore. Then Meredith turned to Marsh, and said quietly:—“Marsh, I know that you can trust Âli, but what of Tofia?”
“He's all right, I think. But what is the matter?” “I'll let you know presently. But first tell Tofia that he had better go on shore to sleep. You and I are going to have a quiet talk, and then do a little overhauling of this cabin.”
Wondering what possibly was afoot, Marsh got rid of the friendly chief by asking him to go on shore and buy some fresh provisions, but not to trouble about bringing them off until daylight, as he and his partner were tired, and wanted to turn in.
Leaving Âli on deck to keep watch, the two men went below, and sat down at the cabin table.
“Marsh,” began the young American, “I have a mighty queer yarn to tell you—I know that this schooner, once the Meta, and now The Dove, was originally the Juliette, and was built by my father at Nukahiva in the Marquesas. Now, I'll get through the story as quickly as possible, but as I don't want to be interrupted I'll ask Âli not to let any chance visitor come aboard to-night.”