The Improbable Journeys of Billy Battles

Chapter 5

Chapter 5Later, aboard the SS China, Katharina and I

met for dinner in the first-class dining hall. We had another day

in Honolulu before the ship sailed for Yokohama. That longest leg

of the voyage would take ten days and both of us wanted to spend as

much time ashore as possible.

There was only one problem. The man who was

looking for Katharina would no doubt be watching the ship.

“I can’t understand how he knew I was aboard

this vessel,” Katharina said as we settled in at one of the smaller

tables. “Only my family knew that I was in San Francisco, and only

my brother knew that I would be traveling to the Philippines.”

It was a mystery, I agreed.

“What do you want to do tomorrow?” I asked.

“Shall we risk going ashore?”

We had arranged for Mataio to arrive at the

dock at six thirty in the morning, figuring that leaving early

would allow us to elude our mysterious follower.

“Yes, I refuse to let that man, whoever he

is, interfere with my time in Honolulu. I am sure I will never be

here again.”

After dinner, we both retired to our cabins.

We agreed to meet at six the next morning and disembark quickly. We

were to wait for Mataio around the corner of one of the long

buildings that ran alongside the dock and flag him down before he

got close to the ship. I also decided I would go heeled, just in

case, and spent a half hour before going to sleep cleaning my Colt

revolver.

The next morning, as planned, Katharina and

I met on deck near the gangway. I carried the revolver under my

brown flannel blazer in the leather belt and holster I purchased

years ago in Tombstone. I felt a lot better feeling the heavy Colt

next to my right hip. I also took my deputy U.S. marshal’s badge,

just in case. We surveyed the dock and saw no evidence of anybody

hanging about. We still had our reboarding cards from the day

before so we scooted down the gangway and made our way to one of

the buildings where we would not be seen by approaching

carriages.

Several wagons and small carriages passed us

without seeing us. None of them carried the man we had seen the day

before. Finally, we saw Mataio. When he got to within twenty feet

or so, I walked out from the corner of the building and waved. A

few minutes later, Katharina and I were in the carriage and headed

away from the ship.

“Where to?” Mataio asked. “Diamond Head or

the Punch Bowl?”

Katharina and I had decided we would rather

get out of Honolulu and thereby avoid another encounter with the

mystery man.

“I know just the place,” Mataio said. “We

will go to Manoa Valley and Manoa Falls. Nobody will follow us

there.”

He was right. The trip through the broad,

verdant, and sparsely populated Manoa Valley was relaxing. No one

followed us. About an hour into the journey, Mataio stopped the

carriage, secured the horse, and led us on a mile-long hike over a

small footbridge. The trail led us past a large stand of Eucalyptus

trees and then uphill along a narrow path through a lush tropical

forest strewn with small boulders and rocks.

To her credit, Katharina managed the hike

very well, considering she was wearing another Gibson Girl outfit

and natty low-cut calf-skin walking shoes that looked to me like

anything but walking shoes.

Then, all at once, we came to an oval-shaped

pool at the foot of a 150-foot waterfall. It was breathtaking. We

rested there for 45 minutes or so, watching the water cascade into

the pool and listening to a cacophony of tropical birds.

The return hike took less time because it

was mostly downhill. Mataio took a much longer route back to

Honolulu. We stopped at several tourist spots, and when we arrived,

near the Waikiki area, not far from Diamond Head, it was almost two

hours later.

Katharina and I spent the next thirty

minutes walking along the white-sand beach. She removed her shoes,

relishing the feeling of fine white sand between her toes.

When we returned to the carriage, Mataio

turned to us.

“How would you like to have an authentic

Hawaiian lunch?” he asked eagerly.

Katharina and I looked at each other for a

moment, and then she spoke for both of us.

“I can think of nothing I would like

better.”

“Good, then I will take you to my uncle’s

house. It is just up the road.”

“Your uncle’s house? We thought you meant a

restaurant,” Katharina said. “We don’t want to impose on your

family”

Mataio laughed. “You aren’t imposing… We are

having a birthday luau for my uncle, and I already told my family I

would be bringing some guests.”

A few minutes later, we pulled onto a road

that led over a broad plain and then into another tropical forest.

Beyond the forest was a large wooden structure with a broad veranda

on three sides. Behind the house was an open area. A pavilion with

a roof of long thick grass covered two long tables occupied by

several dozen people.

“Doesn’t anybody work on this island?” I

whispered to Katharina as we neared the pavilion.

Mataio overheard me and looked at me

quizzically.

“But it is Sunday, Mr. Battles… nobody works

on Sunday on Oahu.”

“Sunday? It is?” I asked, looking at

Katharina.

As I took her hand to help her from the

carriage, she laughed. “Nun, Herr Battles, Sie sind wirklich ein

zerstreuter Professor!” Katharina was calling me an absent-minded

professor, and I had to agree. I had lost complete track of the

days during the voyage from San Francisco.

We spent the next three hours at the luau.

Several women placed a necklace of flowers around Katharina’s neck.

They put a lei made of multicolored beads around mine. The flow of

food never seemed to end. The main dish was chicken baked in

coconut milk. Other dishes included pork, salmon, tropical fruits,

and taro chips. There were no knives, forks, or spoons. Everything

was eaten with the fingers.

Perhaps the most unusual dish served was

poi, a thick, viscous food made from the roots of the taro plant.

Mataio explained that poi got its name from the number of fingers

required to eat it.

“There is three-finger, two-finger, or, the

thickest, one-finger poi,” Mataio informed us. “We are serving

one-finger poi today,” he added proudly. “It is the best.”

Katharina and I agreed that we had no way to

confirm that judgment, though there was little doubt that the stuff

stuck to the fingers with the consistency of wallpaper paste.

During the lunch, several dancers performed

traditional Hawaiian dances to the music of ukuleles and drums.

They coaxed Katharina and me into having a go at a dance called the

Hula Kahiko. She did fine. I’m sure I was as limber as a giant

sequoia. It was an event unlike anything I had ever seen or

experienced. Certainly nothing in Kansas or Colorado came

close.

I found myself wondering how my cousin

Charley Higgins or my mother or Mallie might enjoy such an event.

It was a mistake to allow those thoughts to enter my mind because I

quickly turned melancholic, and for the last hour or so, I was

unable to enjoy the luau. Guilt was still holding me captive.

Finally, around four o’clock, Katharina and

I thanked Mataio’s family for their hospitality and bid them aloha.

Some forty minutes later, Mataio returned us to the SS

China. As we arrived, all of us looked for the carriage with

the red rims and white spokes. It was nowhere in sight.

Mataio stopped his carriage in front of the

gangway to the ship and then got out and helped Katharina down.

“Baroness, Mr. Battles… it has been a

privilege to show you around my country, and I wish you a happy

voyage tomorrow.”

I gave

Mataio five dollars[2] and thanked him for his

excellent service and for inviting us to his uncle’s marvelous

birthday luau.

As Katharina walked up the gangway, Mataio

shouted, “Aloha!” We both turned and returned the Hawaiian

good-bye. Aboard ship, Katharina and I also said good-bye. I

escorted her to her cabin and then walked to mine. I hadn’t gone

very far when I ran into Potts.

“Hello, guvnor. How was yaaahr Sunday

ashawer?” he asked.

“Restful,” I answered.

“And da lady’s?”

I shot Potts a stern look, and he spoke up

immediately.

“I only ask because there was a fellow ’ere

lookin’ fer ’er, innit.”

“What fellow? What did he look like?”

“Hum wiv me, an’ I’ll show yew exactly what

’e looks like. He’s down on da second-class deck right now—at least

’e was. Just befawer yew an’ da lady returned, ’e was down on da

dock talkin’ ter two German blokes.”

Potts led me to an area of the promenade

that jutted out a bit from the ship. From there, we could see the

deck below.

“There ’e is!” Potts whispered loudly. “That

’eavy-set bloke down there wiv da brown bowler an’ da spade beard.

He came aboard today.”

The man Potts was pointing out was the same

man who had come into the Wo Fat Restaurant earlier looking for

Katharina.

“Blimey! He’s a big blighter ain’t ’e.”

I studied the man for several more minutes.

At one point, he leaned over the railing, and as he did, his suit

coat opened, just enough so I could see the butt of a revolver

wedged in a leather shoulder holster. Then he looked up in our

direction. I moved quickly out of his line of sight and pulled

Potts with me. In doing so, Potts lost his balance and almost fell

to the deck.

“I’m sorry,” I said, catching Potts before

he could fall. “I didn’t want him to see me… at least just not

yet.”

“Think nothin’ ov i’, govenor… Don’t like da

look ov what bloke.”

“Do you think you can find out where he’s

from? I mean, what kind of information does the SS China

keep on its passengers?”

“Let me do some sleuffin’, an’ I’ll spot wot

I can find out.”

I thought about asking Deputy Captain

Partington about the man on the second-class deck but decided

against it. Partington was already on edge. I didn’t want to

introduce yet another complication for him to be concerned

about.

I returned to my cabin and lay down on my

bed. For some reason, I was tired; and I fell into a light sleep,

wondering what to make of the man on the second-class deck. Why

hadn’t we seen him before? Why was he walking around heeled?

Moreover, why was he asking about Katharina?

When I awoke perhaps an hour later, I sat

down at the small writing desk and began another letter to my

mother and Anna Marie. I hadn’t written more than two pages when

there was a knock on the door.

It was Potts. He stepped into the cabin and

closed the door. Then he informed me the SS China was to

depart Honolulu Harbor around four o’clock the next morning after

the boilers built up steam.

“Is that all?” I asked, an annoyed tone

apparent in my voice.

“Not exactly, guvenor. That bloke below got

on da ship in San Francisco an’ is booked fruff ter Manila. Ain’t

what where da lady is going?”

“Yes… what else? Do you have a name? Do you

know his nationality? And why is he heeled?”

“Heeled?” Potts asked, not familiar with the

term.

“Yes, why is he carrying a gun under his

jacket?”

Potts fished through his coat pockets and

produced a piece of paper that he handed to me.

“Here, yew can read all abaaaht da blighter

fer yaaahrself.”

The paper was a carbon copy of a page from

the ship’s passenger manifest.

“Thanks,” I said as my eyes scanned the

page.

“Yer didn’t cop that from me, right?”

“Yes, right… don’t worry.”

Potts opened the cabin door and stepped out

onto the deck. Then, turning back, he shouted much louder than he

needed to, “Don’t forget, guvnor… we push off at four in da

mornin’!”

A few seconds later, I grasped why he had

bellowed. He was warning me that Deputy Captain Partington was

headed for my cabin. I quickly shoved the copy of the manifest

under the green leather blotter pad on my writing desk just before

Partington arrived at my cabin’s threshold.

“Might I have a word, Mr. Battles?”

“Sure, please come in.”

“Captain Kreitz and I are a bit troubled by

the… uh… shall we say… the extent of attention the baroness has

been getting. And now this chap who apparently came aboard in San

Francisco and was seen meeting with two German men.”

“What chap?” I asked, feigning

ignorance.

“The same big fellow who came into the

Chinese restaurant yesterday looking for the baroness. Turns out he

is a second-class passenger, and I saw him this morning talking to

those same two German chaps down on the dock. When he came aboard,

he asked me about the baroness’s whereabouts. Said he was working

for the Pinkerton Detective Agency.”

Damn, I thought to myself. What in

the hell have I gotten myself into?

“Wonder what he wants with the baroness?” I

asked.

“The captain and I thought you might

know.”

“Why me?”

“Mr. Battles… it is rather common knowledge

that you are… uh… assisting the baroness on her voyage to

Manila.”

“Assisting her? Listen, I have agreed only

to keep an eye on her. Apparently, because you and the captain told

her about my temporary appointment as a U.S. deputy marshal, she

thinks I am in some position of authority and that I can protect

her. But from what, I don’t know.”

Partington was not put off by that

explanation. “You and I both know something is amiss… Why would

representatives of the German government be hounding her, and why

is that detective chap inquiring about her?”

“Why don’t you ask the baroness,” I said

finally. “Maybe she can chew it finer than I can.”