Just as we were about to push off, I heard Manson's hail close to, and looking round, nearly lost my balance and fell overboard in astonishment—he was accompanied by a woman.
Springing out of the boat, I ran to meet them.
“Mrs. Hollister,” said the captain, “this is my supercargo. As soon as we get on board I will place you in his hands, and he will give you all the clothing you want at present for yourself and your little girl,” and then as, after I had shaken hands with the lady, I stood staring at him for an explanation, he smiled.
“I'll tell you Mrs. Hollister's strange story by-and-by, old man. Briefly it is this—she, her husband, and their little girl have been living here for over two years. Their vessel was castaway here. Now, get into the boat, please, Mrs. Hollister.”
The woman, who was weeping silently with excitement, smiled through her tears, stepped into the boat, and in a few minutes we were alongside.
“Make all the haste you can,” Manson said to me, “as Mrs. Hollister is returning on shore as soon as you can give her some clothing and boots or shoes. Then they are all coming on board to supper at eight o'clock.”
The lady came with me to my trade-room, and we soon went to work together, I forbearing to ask her any questions whatever, though I was as full of curiosity as a woman. Like that of all trading vessels whose “run” embraced the islands of Polynesia as well as Melanesia and Micronesia, the trade-room of the Metaris was a general store. The shelves and cases were filled with all sorts of articles—tinned provisions, wines and spirits, firearms and ammunition, hardware and drapers' soft goods, “yellow-back” novels, ready-made clothing for men, women and children, musical instruments and grindstones—in fact just such a stock as one would find in a well-stocked general store in an Australian country town.
In half an hour Mrs. Hollister had found all that she wanted, and packing the articles in a “trade” chest, I had it passed on deck and lowered into the boat. Then the lady, now smiling radiantly, shook hands with every one, including the steward, and descended to the boat which quickly cast off and made for the shore in charge of the boatswain.
Then I felt that I deserved a drink, and went below again where Manson and Loring were awaiting me. They had anticipated my wishes, for the steward had just placed the necessary liquids on the cabin table.
“Now, boys,” said the skipper, as he opened some soda water, “after we have had a first drink I'll spin my yarn—and a sad enough one it is, too. By-the-way, steward, did you put that bottle of brandy and some soda water in the boat?”