SKELETON ISLAND
Then Gaspard came on deck. He had spoken his mind and he felt easier.
He had tried to dissuade Sagesse from disturbing this resting-place of
bones and possible treasure, Sagesse would not be dissuaded, all the
same Gaspard felt easier. He had, in plain English, a holy terror of
Simon Serpente. His sufferings on the island, his ill-luck in killing
Yves and betraying himself to Sagesse, the horrible personality of
Serpente and the fact that he had seen and handled his bones just
before the tragedy of Yves, all these things combined with superstition
to make this monster-man, dead long years ago, a living, and vital
personality to Gaspard. He feared him a great deal more than he feared
the devil. He was not sure at all that the devil had existence or power
over man, but he was sure that Serpente had acted as an excellent
substitute for the devil in life and that in death he was still harmful.
For Gaspard the _Ka_ of Simon Serpente existed on that island, guarding
the bones it had once surrounded and the treasure it had once amassed;
in trying to dissuade Sagesse from the expedition, he felt he had
propitiated this _Ka_, the wrath of the thing he fancied would fall
on Sagesse, and as he leaned on the bulwark rail thinking over the
situation and the forthcoming expedition, an unholy curiosity awoke in
his mind as to the upshot of the affair.
I doubt if he would have drawn back from it now, even if he could;
curiosity, whose hold upon the superstitious mind is profound, had him
in her grip.
“Wait,” said Curiosity, “I will show you something strange.”
As he gazed across the blue water of the harbour at the coloured town,
the palms, the high woods, leaping green against the blue sky, he
remembered Marie. Simon Serpente had driven her for a moment from his
mind. He was to meet her this evening, two hours before sunset, on the
road to Morne Rouge.
Contrasted with his gloomy thoughts, how bright seemed that faithful
figure, contrasted with the demon picture of Serpente, how lovely was
this form! From where he stood he could see, or thought he could see,
the beginning of the road to Morne Rouge, up there where the houses
fell away and the palms took the place of buildings.
His heart leaped to the spot.
As he was leaning on the rail and looking, Sagesse came out of the
deck-house. The negroes at work on the cargo had knocked off for a
spell, boats had come alongside with the wives of the stevedores,
bringing their food; each woman had with her a basket covered with a
white cloth and each basket was divided into compartments containing
fruit, fish—generally _sádines_—and bread.
As the men chattered with their wives, Sagesse and Gaspard went round
the decks; the cargo was half out; it was a very light cargo and it
was easy to see that _La Belle Arlésienne_ would be clear of it and
in ballast by Friday morning. Having satisfied himself on this point,
Gaspard went to the little cabin that had been allotted to him and
began turning out the rubbish with which it was encumbered, old bottles
and cigar boxes, bundles of old newspapers, all sorts of useless
raffle; when the place was clear, _déjeuner_ was ready, corossoles,
chicken and rice, fruit, and the inevitable rum. The negro cook placed
the things on the table and retired.
Sagesse was cheerful during the meal, even friendly; never would you
have thought that this man had only a short time ago held out threats
against his table companion. I doubt, even, if his cheerfulness was
assumed or his friendliness false; he had the art, almost a horrible
art, of packing away in his mind ill feeling, distrust, suspicion,
against a man, keeping them cool and fresh till they were wanted. He
was almost certain that Gaspard had betrayed the secret of the island
to Seguin, but he shewed nothing of it in his manner, felt, perhaps,
nothing of it in his mind, as he enjoyed the excellent food before him
and talked of trade, of the cargo, of the customs—and the hundred and
one things that are bound up with trade, the tropics, and the sea.
After _déjeuner_, Gaspard lit a pipe and lay down in his cabin for a
siesta; he kept the door open for coolness and he could see out beyond
the cave-like twilight of the deck-house a glimpse of the sun-smitten
deck; then he fell asleep, and when he awoke it was three o’clock.
He turned out of the bunk and came on deck. The winches were still
going; Sagesse was nowhere to be seen; Jules, who was superintending
the unloading of the cargo, said that Missie Sagesse had gone ashore an
hour ago.
He was very friendly, Jules, and anxious to please, and leaving the
hands to look after themselves for a moment, he called a shore boat
that was hanging about the ship and with his own hands dropped the rope
ladder for Gaspard.
In a few minutes the boat had landed Gaspard at the harbour steps; he
paid the man, and taking his way up the Passage Bartine, made for the
Rue Victor Hugo. He did not know that one of the boatmen was following
him.
As he entered the Rue Victor Hugo he met M. Seguin, who had just
returned from Grand Anse; it was one of those accidental meetings that
Fate arranges. M. Seguin shook hands with his preserver, then, taking
him by the arm, led him across the way to the Café Palmiste.
An hour later, the news was brought to Sagesse that Gaspard had met M.
Seguin, evidently by appointment, in the Rue Victor Hugo, and that both
men had entered a café.
This confirmation of his suspicions was the only thing wanted to fix in
Sagesse’s mind the certainty that he was betrayed.
He had no fear of Seguin stealing a march on him, for _La Belle
Arlésienne_ would be away long before Seguin could commission a ship.
But he swore a frightful oath to be even with Gaspard when the moment
arrived—and the place.