... Behind the canoe a long thread of pale light quivered and twisted:
bright points from time to time mounted up, glowered like eyes, and
vanished again;--glimmerings of faint flame wormed away on either side
as they floated on. And the little craft no longer rocked as
before;--they felt another and a larger motion,--long slow ascents and
descents enduring for minutes at a time;--they were riding the great
swells,--_riding the horizon!_
Twice they were capsized. But happily the heaving was a smooth one, and
their little canoe could not sink: they groped for it, found it, righted
it, and climbed in, and baled out the water with their hands.
From time to time they both cried out together, as loud as they
could,--"_Sucou!--sucou!--sucou!_"--hoping that some one might be
looking for them.... The alarm had indeed been given; and one of the
little steam-packets had been sent out to look for them,--with
torch-fires blazing at her bows; but she had taken the wrong direction.
--"Maximilien," said Stéphane, while the great heaving seemed to grow
vaster,--"_fau nou ka prié Bon-Dié._"...
Maximilien answered nothing.
--"_Fau prié Bon-Dié_" (We must pray to the Bon-Dié), repeated
Stéphane.
--"_Pa lapeine, li pas pè ouè nou atò!_" (It is not worth while: He
cannot see us now) answered the little black.
... In the immense darkness even the loom of the island was no longer
visible.
--"O Maximilien!--_Bon-Dié ka ouè toutt, ha connaitt toutt_" (He sees
all; He knows all), cried Stéphane.
--"_Y pa pè ouè non pièss atouèlement, moin ben sur!_" (He cannot
see us at all now,--I am quite sure) irreverently responded
Maximilien....
--"Thou thinkest the Bon-Dié like thyself!--He has not eyes like thou,"
protested Stéphane. "_Li pas ka tiny coulé; li pas ka tini zié_" (He
has not color; He has not eyes), continued the boy, repeating the text
of his catechism,--the curious creole catechism of old Perè Goux, of
Carbet. [Quaint priest and quaint catechism have both passed away.]
--"_Moin pa save si li pa ka tini coulè_" (I know not if He has not
color), answered Maximilien. "But what I well know is that if He has not
eyes. He cannot see.... _Fouinq!_--how idiot!"
--"Why, it is in the Catechism," cried Stéphane.... "'_Bon-Dié, li
conm vent: vent tout-patout, et nou pa save ouè li;--li ka touché
nou,--li ka boulvésé lamnè._" (The Good-God is like the Wind: the
Wind is everywhere, and we cannot see It;--It touches us,--It tosses the
sea.)
--"If the Bon-Dié is the Wind," responded Maximilien, "then pray thou
the Wind to stay quiet."
--"The Bon-Dié is not the Wind," cried Stéphane: "He is like the Wind,
but He is not the Wind."...
--"_Ah! soc-soc!--fouinq!_... More better past praying to care we be
not upset again and eaten by sharks."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
... Whether the little chabin prayed either to the Wind or to the
Bon-Dié, I do not know. But the Wind remained very quiet all that
night,--seemed to hold its breath for fear of ruffling the sea. And in
the Mouillage of St. Pierre furious American captains swore at the Wind
because it would not fill their sails.
V
Perhaps, if there had been a breeze, neither Stéphane nor Maximilien
would have seen the sun again. But they saw him rise.
Light pearled in the east, over the edge of the ocean, ran around the
rim of the sky and yellowed: then the sun's brow appeared;--a current of
gold gushed rippling across the sea before him;--and all the heaven at
once caught blue fire from horizon to zenith. Violet from flood to cloud
the vast recumbent form of Pelée loomed far behind,--with long reaches
of mountaining: pale grays o'ertopping misty blues. And in the north
another lofty shape was towering,--strangely jagged and peaked and
beautiful,--the silhouette of Dominica: a sapphire saw!... No wandering
clouds:--over far Pelée only a shadowy piling of nimbi.... Under them
the sea swayed dark as purple ink--a token of tremendous depth.... Still
a dead calm, and no sail in sight.
--"_Ça c'est la Dominique_," said Maximilien,--"_Ennou pou
ouivage-à!_"
They had lost their little palettes during the night;--they used their
naked hands, and moved swiftly. But Dominica was many and many a mile
away. Which was the nearer island, it was yet difficult to say;--in the
morning sea-haze, both were vapory,--difference of color was largely due
to position....
_Sough!--sough!--sough!_--A bird with a white breast passed overhead;
and they stopped paddling to look at it,--a gull. Sign of fair
weather!--it was making for Dominica.
--"_Moin ni ben faim_," murmured Maximilien. Neither had eaten since the
morning of the previous day,--most of which they had passed sitting in
their canoe.
--"_Moin ni anni soif_," said Stéphane. And besides his thirst he
complained of a burning pain in his head, always growing worse. He still
coughed, and spat out pink threads after each burst of coughing.
The heightening sun flamed whiter and whiter: the flashing of waters
before his face began to dazzle like a play of lightning.... Now the
islands began to show sharper lines, stronger colors; and Dominica was
evidently the nearer;--for bright streaks of green were breaking at
various angles through its vapor-colored silhouette, and Martinique
still remained all blue.
... Hotter and hotter the sun burned; more and more blinding became his
reverberation. Maximilien's black skin suffered least; but both lads,
accustomed as they were to remaining naked in the sun, found the heat
difficult to bear. They would gladly have plunged into the deep water to
cool themselves, but for fear of sharks;--all they could do was to
moisten their heads, and rinse their mouths with sea-water.
Each from his end of the canoe continually watched the horizon. Neither
hoped for a sail, there was no wind; but they looked for the coining of
steamers,--the _Orinoco_ might pass, or the English packet, or some one
of the small Martinique steamboats might be sent out to find them.
Yet hours went by; and there still appeared no smoke in the ring of the
sky,--never a sign in all the round of the sea, broken only by the two
huge silhouettes.... But Dominica was certainly nearing;--the green
lights were spreading through the luminous blue of her hills.
... Their long immobility in the squatting posture began to tell upon
the endurance of both boys,--producing dull throbbing aches in thighs,
hips, and loins.... Then, about mid-day, Stéphane declared he could
not paddle any more;--it seemed to him as if his head must soon burst
open with the pain which filled it: even the sound of his own voice hurt
him,--he did not want to talk.