For a long while he had been listening to the moan of the sea--the wail
and the warning that rise from every reef in that wild waste of waters.
There was no moon, but the large stars cast each a wake upon the wave,
and the distant surf-lines were faintly illuminated by a phosphorescent
glow.
There were reefs on every hand, and treacherous currents that would have
imperilled the ribs of any craft depending on the winds alone for its
salvation; but the "_Waring_," its pulse of steam throbbing with a slow
measured beat, picked its way in the glimmering night with a confidence
that made light of dangers past, present, and to come.
It had struck eight-bells forward; midnight; the air was warm, moist,
caressing; it stole forth from invisible but not far distant vales
ladened with the unmistakable odor of the land--a fragrance that was at
times faint enough, but at other times was almost overwhelming; from the
heart of the tropics only, is such perfume distilled; few who inhale it
for the first time can resist its subtle charm; its influence once
yielded to, the soul is soon enslaved and the dreams that follow are
never to be forgotten.
Eight-bells, and silence broken only by the swish of the propeller as it
ploughed slowly, deliberately, through the sea; the slap of the ripples
under the prow, and an occasional harp-like sigh of the zephyr in the
softly-vibrating shrouds; Paul Clitheroe had stolen out of the cabin and
was sitting by the companion-way on the port side. A small ladder still
hung there, for there had been boating and bathing just before dinner,
and there was sure to be more or less fishing whenever the weather was
favorable. Moreover, it must be acknowledged that the yacht was
liberty-hall afloat, yes, adrift, on a go-as-you-please cruise, and
things were not always in ship-shape.
An old half-breed Trader, who knew these seas as the star-gazer knows
the skies, was in the wheelhouse; every wakeful eye among officers and
crew, was at the prow peering into the depth in search of
danger-signals; every ear was listening intently for an order from the
lips of the pilot, and for the first whisper of the wave upon the reef.
Meanwhile the vessel crept forward with utmost caution, barely ruffling
the water under her keel.
_One Bell! Two Bells!_ Clitheroe had for a long time been sitting
unobserved by the companion-way. He had dined with a riotous company and
withdrew as soon after dinner as possible; this privilege was freely
accorded him, for he was at intervals gloomy, or silent, and his
companions were quite willing to dispense with his society. Hilarity had
ceased for the night, the fact was patent. The truth is, there was apt
to be something too much of it aboard that ship. When a young gentleman,
on the death of a distant relative, comes suddenly into an almost
fabulous fortune, he is apt to set about doing that which pleases him
best; in all probability he overdoes it. If he be fond of any society
and is willing to pay for the purchase of it, he will find no difficulty
in supplying himself, even to the verge of satiety.
A certain gentleman who shall be nameless in these pages but who came to
be known among his followers as _The Commodore_, finding himself heir to
a fortune, chartered a yacht for a summer cruise, and invited his
friends to join him. The yacht had been for some weeks the scene of
unceasing festivity; the joyous party on board her had passed from
island to island, the feted guests of Kings and Queens and dusky Chiefs;
feasting, dancing, and the exchange of gifts--these were the order of
entertainment night and day.
It was a novel life for most who were on board, filled with adventure
and spectacular surprises. The Commodore's hospitality was boundless;
the appetites of his guests insatiable. But Clitheroe had seen all this
from quite another point of view; he had been a native among the
natives; admitted into brotherhood with the tribe, he had lived the life
they lead until it had become as natural to him as if he had been born
to it. Their thoughts were his thoughts, their tongue, his tongue. He
was thinking of this as he sat by the companion-way, in the silence,
unobserved.
_Three Bells!_ He rose and going to the open transom, looked down into
the cabin. The long dinner table had been relieved of dessert-dishes,
but the after-dinner bottles were there in profusion, and cigar-boxes
and cigarettes within convenient reach; it was an odd scene; a picture
of confusion in a dead calm. The lights were burning low and there was
no sound save the hoarse breathing of some of the revelers who had
subsided into uncomfortable positions and were too heavy with sleep to
seek easier ones. Clitheroe saw at the head of the table the Commodore,
stretched back in his easy chair; he was fast asleep; there was no doubt
about that. His guests one and all were dozing. The drowsy stupor that
follows a debauch pervaded the whole company. I venture the assurance
that not one person present could have been aroused in season to save
himself or herself had the ship at that moment struck a reef, and
foundered.
There they were, dimly outlined under the cabin-lamps, the companions
with whom for a season Clitheroe had been more or less intimately
associated in the Misty City; the Bohemians who had found it an easy and
pleasant thing to flock upon the deck of the "_Waring_," one foggy
afternoon, and set sail on a summer cruise. The Commodore invited them
for his entertainment, and because he was a mighty good fellow and could
afford to. They went for a change of air and scene, in search of
adventure--and moreover they were sure of luxurious hospitality for at
least six months. Clitheroe joined the company, not only for the reason
that there seemed nothing else for him to do, but he was glad of the
opportunity of revisiting a quarter of the globe so very dear to him.
This voyage, he thought, might re-awaken his interest in life; at any
rate, he could lose nothing by taking it, and that settled the question
for him.
The singers, the dancers, the painters and poets made life very lively
in that summer sea; it was a case of sweet idleness with wine, women and
wits, and all the world before them where to choose. It must be
confessed that Clitheroe had enjoyed himself in the society of these old
comrades--you would recognize most of them were he to name them; but
tonight, or rather this early morning he had begun to moralize, as he
peered down the transom upon the half-shadowy forms of those feasters
who had fallen by the way. He was asking himself if it paid--this
high-pressure happiness that knew no respite save temporary
insensibility? He began to think that it did not, and with a shrug of
his shoulders and a faint sigh, he turned away. He was about to resume
his solitary watch, for he could not sleep on such a night, when his eye
was attracted by a flitting shadow weaving to and fro astern; it seemed
to be soaring upon the face of the waters; was it some broad-winged
sea-bird following in their wake? He watched it as it drew near, growing
larger and larger every moment. No! it was not a bird; but it was the
next thing to one.
Out of the darkness was evolved the slender hull of a canoe, the wide,
many ribbed sail, and the dusky forms of three naked islanders. They had
not yet taken note of him; with a sudden impulse, he stole up to the
transom, and standing over it so that the lights from the cabin-lamps
shone full upon him, he waved a signal to the savages, enjoining
silence, and bidding them approach with caution.
In a few moments they had wafted themselves noiselessly up under the
companion ladder, and there, with suppressed excitement, he was
recognized. Old friends these, pals in the past, young chiefs from an
island he had loved and mourned.
There was a moment of passionate greeting, and but a moment, in the
silence under the stars, then, with a sudden resolve, and with never a
glance backward, Clitheroe, descending the ladder, entered the canoe
and it swung off into the night.
Two hours later, the "_Waring_," having run clear of the labyrinthine
reefs, steamed up and was out of sight before daybreak.
* * * * *
"_And what is left? Dust and Ash and a Tale--or not even a Tale_!"