COMPLETE SHORT STORY. “THE STOWAWAY”

Hawke's Bay Tribune, Volume XIV, Issue 282, 8 November 1924, Page 9

COMPLETE SHORT STORY. “THE STOWAWAY”

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People who aro born to impulsive action can rarely eliminate that weakness to their dying day. They may school themselves carefully to due deliberations through years, but every now and then, impulse will break through all custom and do the wrong tiling—nearly always the wrong tiling, yet once in a while it will do what is gloriously right in the end, although it hardly appears so at the time. If Alice Kosman, giddy with disappointment and suffering nostalgia for her native land, had not acted on the impulse of a few desperate moments, she would not have been a stowaway on board the Royal Mail steamer the Pendennis Castle, as it steamed away from Table Mountain.

It was impulse which had made her leave overcrowded England for Africa, where she had supported herself somewhat uncertainly for five years. But she was not an emigrant by nature, and every year of exile had intensified her longing for home, until the pain of that longing had been scarcely bearable.

It seemed wholly unbearable now that she had lost her personal possessions. and the savings that were to have taken her home, through a fire at her lodgings- . Beyond a sovereign and some loose silver she had literally nothing but what she stood up in and as she watched the tender going backwards and forwards with passengers and friends to the mail steamer, ho gleaming and alluring in Table Bay, she felt that she must go by it, or die of her nostalgia. She could not go tamely back to her employment with England calling—calling! She would go mad of daily monotonous drudging, with her hope and expectation so suddenly quenched and disappointed. She had no relatives to go home i-n nearer than Uncle Dan Rosman, whom she had offended by leaving England; and he had made no offer of giving her a home, although he was reputed to be very well off, besides what his curio shop brought him in. But he had been fond of her after his fashion, and he would be glad to see her. she knew; for herself it was England she wanted, as a man lost in the desert craves water. She hated the hard brilliance, the dazzling sunshine ahe cruel dust of Africa; she hated the place that was not England, with its soft and days, and primrose hedges. Some are made like this, so that their restless hearts well-nigh break if they cannot win home to the place o§ their birth. She saw the tender filling, the dazzling white funnels of the steamer semed to draw and fascinate her. while the red ensign with its Union Jack tears come. Sho would go! Nothing should stop her, and when once they had started she would be there, and although they might put her in the stoke-hole, wherever that might be. they coulu not drop her overboard and drown her.

By inventing a friend already on the mail boat, for whom she had an urgent message, Alice Rosman was able to board tho tender and the liner itself.

On fire with excitement and during, well-night out of her senses- with longing, she had no more idea of the fraud she was attempting than a bird has when it robs the cherry orchard; her senso of that was to come later with all its disagroeableness. She was solely possessed with the one desire, to the exclusilon of every other governing force* She was a beautiful young woman, with every aspect of her beauty heightened by the passion of her purpose; she held her head high, and because so striking and distinctive among the crowd, they made way for her, and answerea her inquiries with deference. Onyy one pian noticed anything unsuual about her except her beauty, and he was the ship’s doctor; he watched her intently as she made her way towards the third-class, hut in losing sight of her she slipped out. of his thoughts, for emotion either restrained or hysterical is usually present with big ship put out to sea. If the third-class deck had not been confused and crowded, she would have seemed still more conspicuous, for she was by no means dressed as a steerage passenger, and besides this difference the man or woman obsessed and over-ridden by one desperate purpose is invariably noticeable, and set apart amongst others. She would, prabably never have escaped detection by the ofl&ers of the ship as a contraband if, almost at the last, some one’s luggage had not been dropped overboard in transference from the tender. This does not often happen, but when it does it is an irretrievable disaster, and. the attention of every one on board within seeing, distance wag so focussed on the accident that Alice Rosman seized the opportunity to creep behind, and almost under a lot of rope, which was biding its time to be carefully coiled and put neat when the bustle of embarkation was over. At ordinary times she could have borne neither the burning heat of the deck nor the weight of the rope, some ofi which rested on her; but she was far too excited now to be in any way normal- Without any great sense or acute discomfort, she waited through one or more burning hours, until the cry “All for the shore” was raised for the’ last time. When the great screw began to throb and thrash the water, and she felt movement under her, her own heart throbbed and exulted until she could hardly breathe. They were off! Come what might she was going home, and none of them could stop her if only she could keep quiet a little there could be no question of sending her back. How long she endured she never knew, for almost suddenly physical suffering overcame all exultant elation, and she lost count of time and place. This wasn’t England with its cool and morning breath; this was the burning fiery furnace —a place of torment where’ she was pinned and helpless. Thank heaven it was darkening a little now, and her hands were growing a little cold—blessedly cold ; only the weight—the weight upon her I Her next consciousness was or a cool sea breeze blowing full in her face, and that her head was supported against a man’s knee. For a lew moments she lay inert, rapidly recovnrincr in th a life-eivinff breeze; then

enng in the lite-giving Breeze: wen she raised herself a little and looked anxiously over the stern oS the ship, out of the distant haze. She was going home; not one of them could stop her, and a flood of pure felicity rushed over her. With the help of the ship s doctor, who was regarding her with professional solicitude, she rose to her feet and turned her happy eyes to him. , i “Wo are going home J ’ she cried joyfully. “Home to England.” Every word was in spoken italics; even the one emotional sob was a punctuation of pure gladness. “That is all right,” the doctor answered vaguely and kindly; “but I think you had better sit down.” For. unconsciously, she was leaning heavily against him—she had not her wits about her as yet—she only knew that she was going homo. Some one : brought a chair, and then she realised for the first time that she was the

ior ino nrsi time tnat bii© wa« uio centre of general observation. At a 5 prescribed distance a crowd was round her, the galleries of the upper decks •were thronged with interested spectators, and immediately facing her was an official in a white duck suit, who . proved to bo the captain himself. With * stern brevity, ho questioned her as io her right to bo on board this ship 1 under such suspicious circumstances: and still with her scattered wits circld ing giddily about th© one central de>•■'.•ollB fn<a vhp hnbbled to him and to them of all the fire and her loss and her joyous willingness to work her passage home in the humblest capacity in which sho could be useful. “I will do

Ellen Ada Smith)

anything!” she ended joyously; “but £ couldn’t let the ship go without me. 1 couldn’t.”

Now, if the first-class passenger had not immediately put in an exorbitant claim for her lost piece of luggage, utter going into violent and abusive nystencs, the captain might have been in a more urbane manner than he was. As a fact, he was not feeling urbane at all, and, as all captains of ships hate stowaways he told this one plainly what be tnought of her and her audacious attempt to get a free passage under false pretences, and food to eat.

“I suppose you understand,” he concluded, ••that yours is an offence at law, and. that you will be punished for it when we arrive in England?” At that she was out of her tool's paradise, and looking from the captain’s irate face to the assembled ones around her she saw herself a spectacle and mocked at by general disbelief in any part of her story. The women looked at her pitilessly, the men with an adoration which bad no respect in it. One man’s face stood out from all the rest, it was so admiring and so very insolent. Quick to receive impressions, she saw herselfi as these people saw her—an adventuress, glib .Mtn lies and trusting to her youth and good looks to make a success of her trespass, bhe tnought them cruel; she anted them for their injustice, their unbelief, which shamed her to the soul, out, of course, appearances were grievously against her, and they did not realise tnat just the thought of picking an English daisy from an English clover held had power to make her *eek. Yet some amongst them might nave known, for some exiles returning dome have stooped down to kiss even the earth of the land they love. So she looked round the circle and saw no sympathy—no understanding! July that detached interest and amusement which is so entirely at the expense of others. She looked last at me ship’s doctor, and something in the kindness of hi» eyes told her that here at least was a friend who would uelieve what she said, although he might blame her impulsive action. But it was the indignant captain she had to face—the captain and the passengers who were enjoying the entertainment. “1 am very sorry,” she said humbly; “L meant to have honestly paid my passage, and 1 should have done so out tor the fire, in which I lost nearly everything 1 had. And, surely, in a big ship like this, carrying so many passengers, 1 can look after somebody who is ill, or take care of the children. 1 am very fond of children.”

“And what' passenger do you suppose, madam, will give her children into the charge of« a lady who comes on board as you have done? What name do you give?” She answered the captain clearlyvery clearly, despite her bitter humiliation. “My name is Alice Rosman.” There was a little pause, and then the unexpected happened. The man whose admiration of the adventuress had been the most insolent of all, stepped forward and spoke in a friendly and respectable manner. “1 will pay this lady’s passage,” he said; “i will get the money and pay it to the purser at once.” Sustained applause rewarded this chivalrous speech, but the woman, more shamed than she had been yet, tried desperately to avoid this act of charity. “No, no! On no account. If I cannot be of service I will pay for myself at the end of the voyage.” She did not know in the least how she was going to do this, but .she did nothing would induce, her to profit by this man’s doubtful kindness. The captain glared at both impartially. He did not believe the lady,* and he was not fond of this first-class passenger, who often travelled and who often played cards—to win. But, of course, passages must be paid, and he represented the company. “Madam, if you cannot pay your passage, and this gentleman is willing to pay it for you at once, the affair is settled. You can return the fare to Mr Linton at your convenience.” “I am willing to pay it,” repeated the other man, “first-class of course!” “No, no!” interupted the doctor quickly - “if you are going to do this thing, let the lady travel third-class; it will be so infinitely more comfortable tor her.”

The eyes of the men clashed as they met. “Certainly not,” declared Linton coolly; “ a lady can only travel with comfort first-class, and I wish Miss Rosman to have comfort.”

It sounded, of course, very chivalrous, and open-handed, but it wax really the refinement of cruelty; and although Alice would a thousand times rather have travelled obscurely as a third-class passenger, she was given the number of her berth, and was bound to sleep in it and have her meals in the first saloon. She was ostracised by all the women, and addressed freely and familiarly by the men when they thought they could. Many showed her kindness, but it was a kindness to which she had not been accustomed ,and the torture of her false position was more than punishment for the offence she had committed. Linton was very kind; he was also respectful, which many or the men were not, but she did not like or trust him, and he was with her whenever opportunity offered. As a matter of fact, he appeared sincerely in love with her. and he offered her marriage before they had been a week at sea. Of course, she cpuld not snub him, because she owed him money—more prabably, than she would ever bo able to pay him; but his offer was genuine, so she refused him gently—or tried to, because, although he was respectful he was distinctly possessive, and she could not quit herself of his constant society. The only one she liked was Ramsden, the doctor: he had trusted her word from the first, and he was genuinely kind to her. She. told him exactly how her mistaken impulse had arisen, and he had understood. “I understand just how it was,” he told her; “I was stationed in West Africa once, and I felt I must get home or die of it, and of course you suffered a great shock and disappointment in losing your things and your money.” •Yes,” she answered sadly; “1 had no thought of consequences, and 1 never once pictured what might really happen. But what cruel kindness to force mo under such a heavy obliga-

tion!” Now, to himself, Ramsden had stigmatised Linton’s over-lavishness as an infamous piece of cruelty, but it was no use saying so, nor could he fathom Linton’s motive m wasting his money, as he was so obviously ono who lived by his wits. “You must remember,” he said quickly; “that you only owe the fellow your third-class fare; all the extravagance is his look out; you are not in any way responsible for it.” : ‘I feel that; all the same. I shall try and pay him all I can. I offended mv uncle, Daniel Rosman, very much when 1 went abroad; but I know if 1 go to him and tell him exactly what has happened ho will pay the money for me; he would never let his niece remain under such an obligation to a stranger.” . They were on the third-class decK. where she was careful to spend most of her time; and as ho looked into her sad, anxious eyes he thought a friend had better tell her now, rather than let her go, almost penniless as she was, to find her uncle’s house empty. “I had some curios to dispose of and I knew your uncle quite well. But I fear that I saw the announcement of his death in tho paper just before I left England.”

Her heart sank heavily, and she was frightened. Through all that had happened she had felt Uncle Dan as a force in the background; now that force had failed her, and although she could support herself as an effiicent and certificated teacher, she would have to land with a rope round her neck in the shape of a debt to a man she neither liked nor trusted.

“Don’t worry,” Ramsden said very kindly, “we shall find a way out, but don’t be induced to marry any man merely out ofi gratitude.” “Marry him!” she answered, “marry Mr. Linton! 1 would rather throw myself into the sea than do that.”

And she meant it, for Linton’s face as she had first seen it with its cruel insolence was stronger in her memory than any.’honourable proposals of his. She could not reconcile the two things, any more than Ramsden could sum up the situation- Tho intimate atmosphere of the smoking-room had revealed Linton to the trained observer as a rotter in more ways than one; the very last man to propose honourable marriage to a penniless girl and be prepared to support a wife. And yet he had done this, as Ramsden knew, for when the men continued to joke Linton about his fair protege he had drawn himself up and silenced them by asserting that, as he hoped to make Miss Rosman his wit® immediately on landing, such jokes were unseemly and out of place. The announcement had been somewhat theatrical, but obviously genuine, and even Ramsden, with his knowledge of human nature, and all the experience that much travel gives, could make nothing of it. Meanwhile Alice Rosman’s position grew more and more intolerable, and the third-class deck was no protection against Linton’s assiduous attentions. “I reckon it was a sprat to catch a herring, my dear,” exclaimed a vulgar, ill-favoured woman, when she noted his leisurely approach from more aristocratic quarters; “if only I was such a good-looking girl now! But who do you think would pay my passage fust class for the sake of my pretty lace? Why, nary a one.” For Alice, turn which may she might, was met by the jealousy and spite of the women. They felt she had no right to be where she was, and they were envious of her handsome looks. After the ship had touched Madiera, Linton ’L-came even more insistent and possessive. He used all the pressure which, a man can use when a woman owes him money; she did not know where to go or what to do in order to be out> u> his way. If her cabin had not been unbearably hot she would gladly have .stayed in it; the ladies’ drawing-room had been made intolerable to her. One real woman friend would have saved the situation for her, but she had none and she was so desperately unhappy that, but for Ramsden, she might have acted again on disastrous impulse and thrown herself into the sea. , . *. » But she had Ramsden, and seeing her distress he also saw a way out of it. Love for this woman taught him that a debt to him instead of to Linton would weigh far less heavily upon her —would, indeed lie quite lightly if by happv chance he was calling her to himself. It would only mean another voyage before settling down, when he hoped to have done with voyages; and that seemed a small price to pay lor her peace of mind, even if they each had to go their different ways- But he had little ready cash with him, and he did not want Linton to know anything about the transaction except that Alice Rosman had discharged her debt. So he wrote a cheque for the necessary amount, and got the captain to cash it for him, or rather give him notes; then he watched his opportunity to find Alice by herself.. It was late in the evening when he did so, and by the moonlight he saw that she*was crying and disconsolate. If his errand had embarassed him at all he lost that feeling entirely, for as she turned to him he felt that he brought her comfort and that when they were together she knew rest. Feeling this as he did made everything quite simple; he put the notes into her hand and folded the hand softly with his own. “This is a full discharge of your obligation to Linton. 1 venture to hope that you would rather be in my deot than in his.” Her face lighted, oh, so brilliantly. Words were needless to show her unbounded relief. “Thank you a thousand times 1 I would so infinitely rather! But I ought not to let you do this. I have two brothers doctors, but not in England, and 1 know* it is a hard profession where one does not grow rich, I know you ought not to do this generous thing for me —that you really cannot afford it?’ “I honestly believe that I can afford it better than Linton. Anyhow, this thing is between us, and as soon he is paid he is out of it for always. Tell me, dear, do you really feel that there can be any sort of deot between you and me? Because I cannot-” She looked at their clasped hands; then she looked at him, and the eyes of her were the happy eyes of a loved and loving woman. Se made no answer, but they kissed each other, and the voyage of humiliation ended. The next morning Alice Rosman sat next to the doctor at his table, and she cared nothing for the' snubs of the women; she was too happy for that. In the presence of the captain she discharged her obligation to Linton in full, and instead of being glad to see his money again he was quite obviously uneasy and chagrined. He made the dreadful mistake of being unwilling to take it, until the captain testily instated that he could pay the lady no worse compliment than to hesitate for one moment. For the captain was a good fellow, and having got over his rancour he had made it as tolerable for the stowaway as he could. So with an ugly and baffled countenance Linton opened his pocket-book to put away the notes, and as he did so a tiny cutting o 5 paper dropped out unnoticed by him in his discomfiture. , Ramsden picked it up with the intention of restoring it, but a word caught his eye, for it was printed matter, so he handed it to Alice instead. It was a paragraph which had appeared for weeks in English and African papers, requiring that Alice Rosman, the next-of-kin and heiress of Daniel Rosman, who had died worth twenty thousand pounds. Ramsden went no more voyages; there was no need. THE END.