The Indian Ocean, a vast expanse of tossing blue water, its heaving
bosom still agitated by the expiring gale, glorious in the outburst of
sunshine that followed the storm, stretched away to every point of the
compass. As far as the eye could carry, away to where the breaking
clouds touched the fast-disappearing land line of mysterious Asia, the
boisterous white-capped seas scattered showers of prisms and spray.
Rolling and tumbling, their lofty crests flecked with fleecy foam, the
endless waves advanced majestically, with rhythmical motion and the
stateliness and precision of trained battalions, all scurrying in one
direction, urged on by the whip of the southwesterly gale. The tempest
had abated, the lowering clouds were rapidly dispersing, once more
Nature was smiling and serene, diffusing the beauty and gladness of life
through water and sky. Graceful, white-winged sea-birds uttered shrill
cries of delight as they circled in the air, gorgeously colored flying
fish leaped joyously from the dancing waters, which flashed like jewels
in the blinding sunlight. The world was at its brightest and fairest,
full of movement and color. The breeze was caressing and balmy, and as
the _Atlanta_, now three weeks from home, plunged her way resistlessly
Eastward, the great liner was sonorous with the music of wind and sea.
Thus far the voyage had hardly been all that could be desired as regards
weather. January is seldom a good month for the Atlantic, and this year
the crossing was nastier than usual. The _Atlanta_ had no sooner cleared
the Banks than it began to blow great guns. Gale followed gale with
tropical downpours of rain, the wind blowing from every quarter at once,
piling up mountainous combers that every now and again broke over the
bridge, forty feet above the water. The tremendous seas crashed aboard
with a thunderous roar, frightening the more timid among the passengers,
smashing life-boats and ventilators, sweeping the decks from bow to stem
with avalanches of green water. Skylights were shattered, bridge
stanchions bent and twisted, but otherwise there was no damage. The big
ship steamed true on her course, haughtily indifferent to the
capricious ocean's moods, staunch as a rock, and quite as steady as any
railroad-train moving at full speed.
The rough weather had the natural effect of confining most of the women
folk to their staterooms, and as the men also kept to themselves,
preferring bridge and poker in the smoking-room to the wet decks, there
was not much opportunity for social amenities.
Owing to the high seas, no attempt was made to land at Madeira, and
there was no little grumbling because the vagaries of the elements made
it impossible to visit Funchal, the Pico Ruivo, Ponta Delgada, and other
picturesque places of perennial verdure and flowers. The storm gradually
abated, but it was not until the steamer entered the smoother waters of
the Mediterranean that there was the slightest pretense at dress or any
attempt made to put in regular appearances at dinner. However, the
improvement in the weather and the close proximity of land, with the
cheering prospect of going ashore, brought about a quick change in
everybody's humor. The passengers' spirits rose with the barometer.
Fine toilettes made their appearance on deck, the usual little
steamer-chair cliques were speedily formed, and every one now started in
to enjoy themselves as if the voyage had only just begun.
They landed gleefully in tenders, some to inspect the wonders of
England's impregnable fortress, others to visit Spanishtown; they
crowded to the rail as the ship steamed slowly past the enchanted island
of Capri, so dear to the archeologist, and in the Bay of Naples they
gazed in awe upon frowning Vesuvius, still smoking and rumbling after a
disastrous eruption that had cost hundreds of lives. Sheep-like, after
the manner of tourists, they hurried breathlessly through the
attractions Naples had to offer, and then, skirting classic Scylla and
Charybdis, they steamed on to the land of the Pharaohs, where a complete
change of scene awaited them.
So far, Grace had kept much to herself. She was not particularly
interested in anybody on board, and she found it a welcome novelty,
after her recent strenuous social activities, to be able to enjoy a few
hours of absolute rest. What with unpacking, writing letters home, and
looking after Mrs. Stuart, who, almost from the start, had been
completely prostrated with seasickness, she had found the time slip by
rapidly and agreeably enough without having to seek diversion outside
her immediate little circle. Her chaperon's indisposition furnished her
with an admirable excuse for remaining in seclusion, and if another were
needed, she had it in the inclemency of the weather. While she herself
was not distressed by the rolling and pitching, the unusual motion did
not add to her comfort. She preferred to stay in the privacy of her
luxurious quarters, which were the object of the envy and curiosity of
every other woman on board.
Mr. Harmon had spared no expense to secure for his daughter the best on
the ship that money could buy. Grace occupied the "royal" suite, a
series of sumptuously furnished and richly decorated rooms, entirely
shut off from the rest of the ship, thus ensuring complete privacy,
comprising bedroom, parlor, dining-room, with piano, telephone, library,
etc. With her own maids to wait on her and all meals served privately,
there was no necessity to leave her rooms unless she wished to, and if
she chose to breathe the invigorating sea air there was no one to see
her walk on the deserted lower promenade-deck on which her suite
directly opened.
She had not gone ashore with the other passengers when the steamer
stopped at Gibraltar and Naples. Mrs. Stuart was still indisposed, and
she refused to leave her, but when the _Atlanta_ reached Cairo, her
chaperon was feeling better, and they both landed to see the sights.
Mrs. Stuart had visited Egypt before, but to Grace it was like a glimpse
of grand-opera land, a scene from "Aida." The waving palm-trees, the
queer Oriental dwellings, the wonderful blue sky blazing on the peaceful
desert, with its endless miles of burning sands, its beautiful oases,
its camels and picturesquely costumed natives--all this made up a
picture of delightful novelty for the young girl fresh from prosaic New
York. She gazed wondering at the blue-turbaned Copts, they laughed
merrily at the Fellahin in their blue skirts and stared at the
yellow-turbaned Jews, fierce-looking Bedouins and black Nubians. At the
cost of a few piastres but much muscular exertion, they were dragged up
the face of the mighty pyramids, and with varying emotions they
contemplated the time-eaten features of the inscrutable Sphinx.
The two women derived much enjoyment from their little jaunts. Sometimes
they were escorted by Mr. Fitzhugh, who, despairing of making any
headway with Mrs. Phelps now that his detested German rival, Count von
Hatzfeld, had contrived to monopolize the widow, had begun to dance
attendance upon Grace. He knew she had money in her own right, and his
mouth watered at the magnitude of her expectations. There seemed no
reason why the Harmon millions should not be as usefully employed in
regilding the dilapidated Fitzhugh coat-of-arms as those of the late Mr.
Phelps. But he did not make much progress, and he had a vague
premonition that he was not the kind of chap to appeal to this cold,
proud beauty. Discreet conversations on the subject with Mrs. Stuart
went far to discourage him altogether.
"Grace does not expect to love the man she will marry, so her utter
indifference does not reflect her feelings to you in the least," said
that perspicacious student of modern femininity. This statement was not
exactly true, but it served the purpose of the moment. "Even if she
considered you a desirable match," she went on, "she would not be any
more unbending. That indifferent, independent manner is her chief charm.
It is the stateliness of the lily. Grace might marry you, but she would
not love you. She is too much up to date to believe there is any such
thing as love. Self-interest governs the world to-day--not love, which,
after all, is only a primitive, vulgar emotion. Girls who want to marry
well understand this thoroughly. Love and lovers are very delightful in
fiction, but no sensible girl to-day takes them into account when
planning her future welfare. When Grace does change her name, it will be
to take that of one of the proudest families in Europe. Surely you know
that she's already as good as engaged to Prince Sergius of Eurasia! As
far as titles are concerned, that's going some!"
"But I may be a peer one day," protested Mr. Fitzhugh.
"You may be, but you're not," retorted Mrs. Stuart. "Your father, the
earl, is still alive, and your elder brother is aggressively healthy.
American girls do not deal in futures."
The Englishman took the hint, and, profiting by a temporary
indisposition of Count von Hatzfeld, returned to the siege of the
fascinating Mrs. Phelps, whose millions were nearly as many and
aspirations not quite as high as those of Miss Grace Harmon.
The steamer stayed in port over a week, much to the delight of the
passengers, who enjoyed the holiday ashore hugely after having been
cooped up so long aboard. The weather continued ideal, and every one
took advantage of it to see everything that was worth seeing.
The more enterprising passengers undertook little side excursions up the
historic Nile; others roamed through the native bazaars, buying at
exorbitant prices a vast quantity of things for which they had no
possible use; others drove to the tomb of Mehemet Ali, or to the
viceroys' palace, keeping up the sightseeing day and night, until all
were so weary that they were glad when the _Atlanta_ once more weighed
anchor and proceeded down the Red Sea and so into the Indian Ocean, _en
route_, for Bombay.