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any money. Then he, protesting to us that he was an honest man and

must be believed, described himself as being a thief whenever he



took a drop too much, and told us that he went on board and passed

the rifles one by one without the slightest compunction to a canoe



which came alongside that night, receiving ten dollars apiece for

them.



"Next day he was ill with shame and grief, but had not the courage

to confess his lapse to his benefactor. When the gunboat stopped



the brig he felt ready to die with the apprehension of the

consequences, and would have died happily, if he could have been



able to bring the rifles back by the sacrifice of his life. He

said nothing to Jasper, hoping that the brig would be released



presently. When it turned out otherwise and his captain was

detained on board the gunboat, he was ready to commitsuicide from



despair; only he thought it his duty to live in order to let the

truth be known. 'I am an honest man! I am an honest man!' he



repeated, in a voice that brought tears to our eyes. 'You must

believe me when I tell you that I am a thief - a vile, low,



cunning, sneaking thief as soon as I've had a glass or two. Take

me somewhere where I may tell the truth on oath.'



"When we had at last convinced him that his story could be of no

use to Jasper - for what Dutch court, having once got hold of an



English trader, would accept such an explanation; and, indeed, how,

when, where could one hope to find proofs of such a tale? - he made



as if to tear his hair in handfuls, but, calming down, said:

'Good-bye, then, gentlemen,' and went out of the room so crushed



that he seemed hardly able to put one foot before the other. That

very night he committed suicide by cutting his throat in the house



of a half-caste with whom he had been lodging since he came ashore

from the wreck."



That throat, I thought with a shudder, which could produce the

tender, persuasive, manly, but fascinating voice which had aroused



Jasper's ready passion" target="_blank" title="n.同情;怜悯">compassion and had secured Freya's sympathy! Who

could ever have supposed such an end in store for the impossible,



gentle Schultz, with his idiosyncrasy of naive pilfering, so

absurdly straightforward that, even in the people who had suffered



from it, it aroused nothing more than a sort of amused

exasperation? He was really impossible. His lot evidently should



have been a half-starved, mysterious, but by no means tragic

existence as a mild-eyed, inoffensive beachcomber on the fringe of



native life. There are occasions when the irony of fate, which

some people profess to discover in the working out of our lives,



wears the aspect of crude and savage jesting.

I shook my head over the manes of Schultz, and went on with my



friend's letter. It told me how the brig on the reef, looted by

the natives from the coast villages, acquired gradually the



lamentable aspect, the grey ghastliness of a wreck; while Jasper,

fading daily into a mere shadow of a man, strode brusquely all



along the "front" with horriblylively eyes and a faint, fixed

smile on his lips, to spend the day on a lonely spit of sand



looking eagerly at her, as though he had expected some shape on

board to rise up and make some sort of sign to him over the



decaying bulwarks. The Mesmans were taking care of him as far as

it was possible. The Bonito case had been referred to Batavia,



where no doubt it would fade away in a fog of official papers. . .

. It was heartrending to read all this. That active and zealous



officer, Lieutenant Heemskirk, his air of sullen, darkly-pained

self-importance not lightened by the approval of his action



conveyed to him unofficially, had gone on to take up his station in

the Moluccas. . . .



Then, at the end of the bulky, kindly-meant epistle, dealing with

the island news of half a year at least, my friend wrote: "A



couple of months ago old Nelson turned up here, arriving by the

mail-boat from Java. Came to see Mesman, it seems. A rather



mysterious visit, and extraordinarily short, after coming all that

way. He stayed just four days at the Orange House, with apparently



nothing in particular to do, and then caught the south-going

steamer for the Straits. I remember people saying at one time that



Allen was rather sweet on old Nelson's daughter, the girl that was




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