The man sat there silent, chin on hand, as he gazed steadily upon the girl. It was evident by the look in his eyes that he admired the clever way she had put the whole matter before him. Gabrielle mistook that look. Her heart fluttered. She felt like screaming in the ecstasy of hope that thrilled her in the thought that she might yet get back to Bougainville and see the young apprentice again. The man sat opposite her for a long while in thought, then he shook his head as though in response to his own reflections. He gave a cruel smile as he noticed the expression of delight in the girl’s eyes at the thought of getting out of his clutches. He rose to his feet and, giving her one of his lascivious looks, walked slowly out of the cuddy.
Gabrielle’s hopes faded. The reaction set in. Her despair was terrible as loneliness came to her heart. She went into her dismal berth. She was now left quite alone, for little sympathetic Tombo had ceased to come near her. She well knew that it wasn’t the little cabin-boy’s fault; he was ordered to keep out of the way.
“He’s a murderer, a cruel villain, a heathen—and once I thought he was a god among men, an apostle of beauty and truth.” So ran Gabrielle’s reflections as she sat alone and thought critically about the Rajah. She looked out of the port-hole. It was a brilliant moon-lit night. She saw the dark crew climbing aloft to reef the sails. She knew that the vessel had altered its course. The sight of everything depressed her terribly. There was something weird in the sight of those dark men toiling aloft as they sang their strange Malayan chanteys. She saw the shining clasp-knives between their teeth as their shadows dropped softly down onto the deck. Once more she heard the whistle blown to call the next watch. Then complete silence reigned. She had nearly gone off to sleep when once more she heard the wails and muffled screams. Though terrified at those sounds, she again peeped through the port-hole and watched. Again she heard the heart-rending moans. Again the awful dragging silence came as the hatchway was lifted. “Plomp! plomp! plomp! plomp!” She knew then that four more victims had been cast into the deep. She strained her neck and put her head right out of the port-hole. She saw the dusk of the burning tropic seas and the stars as the vessel kept steadily on its course, leaving the floating bodies in its wake.
The next day the Rajah came into the dismal cuddy several times and spoke to her, but she shrank instinctively from his presence. He noticed her manner and wondered. The girl’s uncongenial attitude did not rhyme in with the plans he had so nicely mapped out. But determination was his great virtue. He made many attempts to ingratiate himself. “Why you no liker me now?” he said, as he looked at her. She made no reply. In his excitement he mixed his language up so much that Gabrielle could hardly understand what he said. His mixture of pidgin-English and broken Biblical phrases made a kind of musical potpourri of exotic sensuousness that haunted the girl’s ears, reviving vivid memories of her own people and at the same time reminding her how far away she was from their protection.
“Gabri-ar-le, allow me,” he murmured in his soft, insinuating voice, as he leaned forward and stuck a small red frangipani blossom in the folds of her hair. It was a bloom from the pots of flowers that swung to and fro from the cuddy ceiling.
Gabrielle looked steadily at the man. A strange gleam was in his eyes. It was just after sunset. Already the eight members of the crew, who were devout sun-worshippers, had lain prone on the forecastle deck and murmured their dolorous chants to the last gold and purple glow of the departed day.
The stars were shining over the sea. It was almost calm. Every now and again came the muffled drum-like sounds of the heavy canvas sails that bellied out to the breath of the sleepy night wind, flopped, and fell loosely as the halyards rattled and the ship rolled to the glassy swell.
The Rajah had sat down at the low table, right opposite Gabrielle. His turban was tilted rakishly on one side. As he looked sideways, glancing poetically towards the deck roof, his firm, handsome, curved throat was certainly shown to advantage. He looked like some Byronic corsair. There was no denying that he was a handsome man of his type. He leaned gently towards Gabrielle, one hand on chin, continuing to gaze as though in sorrowful reflection over his shortcomings and the white girl’s sorrow resulting therefrom.
“Gabri-ar-le, I lover thee. You know not the ocean of my soul, how dark it is since your eyes should be the stars to shine over its darkness. Wilt love me a little, O white maiden?”
He still had his eyes fixed upon her in rapt admiration, eyes that moved up and down her form.