THE GUESTS.
“Welcome.”
This was the first word that sprang alive from the heart to the lips of
Justin Rosenthal, as he held out both his hands and cordially grasped
those of the young officer who stepped on shore.
He was a very handsome fellow, this young sailor, of slight but elegant
figure, of dark olive complexion, dark brown hair and mustache, and
dark, hazel eyes. His expression of countenance was gracious, his
movements graceful and his manners courteous. In a word, he had the air
of a true gentleman.
“Thanks,” he answered, lifting his cap and announcing himself as:
“Lieutenant Ethel, of the United States sloop of war _Xyphias_.”
“I am rejoiced to see you, lieutenant—truly rejoiced,” said Justin, with
smiling emphasis, as he heartily shook the hands of the newcomer. “I am
Mr. Rosenthal, late of Washington city,” he added.
“I am very glad to know you, Mr. Rosenthal.”
“And this young lady,” said Justin, turning the lieutenant toward
Britomarte, “is Miss Conyers, also late of Washington.”
Again the young sailor lifted his hat and bowed profoundly.
“And this other young person,” said Justin, smiling, “is Judith Riordan,
Miss Conyer’s attendant, and our companion in exile, and as such as dear
to us as a sister.”
“I am glad to make her acquaintance,” said Lieutenant Ethel.
“And now,” said Justin, eagerly, “will you walk up to our house, while
we become better acquainted?”
“With pleasure,” answered the young officer, and he immediately offered
his arm to Britomarte, as the way was rugged.
But with a courteous smile she declined the assistance; and they walked
on in an irregular group.
Under all these civilities there had been on both sides a
half-suppressed eagerness of curiosity. On that of the young officer, to
know how these American citizens happened to be found on the desert isle
in the Indian Ocean. And on that of Justin to know how the war went in
his native land; and also with him it was something more than curiosity;
it was almost an agony of anxiety. And it broke forth as they went on.
“Outward or homeward bound?” he inquired.
“Outward,” replied the young lieutenant.
“I am sorry for that! I had hoped that you were going home.
Nevertheless, you are as welcome—as welcome as—what shall we say, Miss
Conyers? What simile shall we find to express how welcome he is?” said
Justin, turning to Britomarte.
“None so strong as the simple fact,” answered Britomarte, and then,
turning with a smile to the visitor, she added: “You are as welcome,
sir, as friends from home to exiles on a desert island.”
Lieutenant Ethel bowed.
“From what port are you last?” inquired Justin.
“From New York.”
“And where bound? You must not take exceptions to my asking many
questions. I shall ask as many as a Yankee in the pursuit of information
under difficulties. Remember that news is scarce here. In fact, the
morning papers are not delivered with the regularity we could wish.”
“Oh, pray question me as much as you like. I am ready to give you all
the information in my power. If I forget to volunteer any, ask me.”
“Then, where are you bound?”
“Oh, I beg pardon. We are cruising in search of privateers, reported
even down as low as these latitudes, lying in wait for our returning
East Indiamen, which offer them a rich and easy prey.”
“Ah!” exclaimed Justin, breathing hard, “if you are just from home you
can tell us—how goes the war for the Union?” he eagerly inquired.
“Fast and furious!”
“Ah, Heaven! and I not there to take a part! Which side has the
advantage?” he breathlessly questioned.
“The South. Heavens! what a great fight those Southerners are giving us!
By the soul of Washington! none but our own people could have beaten us
so thoroughly as we have been beaten at Big Bethel, Bull’s Run, Ball’s
Bluff, and the battles that have followed those fatal fields!” fervently
exclaimed the young sailor, with that generous admiration which every
true hero feels for heroism, even in a foe.
“And I not there to strike a blow!” fumed and fretted Justin.
“Well, hundreds of thousands of brave men are there, striking hard blows
in the good cause.”
“But still the rebels have the advantage, you say!”
“Yes; for in every battle they fight as Leonidas fought at Thermopylæ—as
Roland fought at Roncesvalles. But this state of things cannot last. It
is only a question of time. We shall overwhelm them by numbers at
length, if in no other way. There is something pathetic and tragical in
the aspect of the South now, in the midst of her delusive victories. It
is sad to see so much heroism and self-devotion wasted upon a cause as
evil as it is hopeless.”
Britomarte turned to look at the young speaker, and thought that she had
never seen a face or heard a voice more interesting or more eloquent.
“You have a broad vision and a large heart. You are brave and patriotic,
but you are also just and generous. You fight gallantly for your
country, yet you feel deeply for the brave, misguided men who have
brought all this woe upon her! And you would willingly be the Curtius to
plunge living into this yawning gulf of disunion if that act would cause
it to close above your life!” said Britomarte, gravely.
“Heaven knows how willingly I would, lady,” earnestly answered the young
man, reverently raising his cap.
“We are lingering too long in the sun,” suggested Justin; “let us hurry
on to the house.”
“Bedad he’s jealous! and with good reason,” muttered Judith to herself.
“Let us get into the house. We have a house, even on this uncivilized
isle,” said Justin, as the whole party increased their rate of speed.
“Yes; but all this time I am struck with astonishment to find my
fellow-citizens here, beating about the walls of the universe like the
lost spirits of the free lovers in Dante’s “Inferno,” and I am consumed
with curiosity to know how they came to be thrust outside the world,”
said the young lieutenant.
“And, unlike myself, you are too polite to ask questions. Well, you
shall know all about it. But here we are at the house. Please to walk
in,” said Justin, leading the way through the rustic gate, up a graveled
walk, between borders of fragrant flowers, to the vine-shaded portico
that roofed the door.
“Welcome to our island home!” he added, as he opened the door and
conducted the guest into the hall, and through that into the parlor.
“Thanks,” said the young stranger, removing his cap, and gazing around
upon one of the pleasantest summer rooms he had ever seen in his life.
Straw matting was on the floor; snow-white curtains at the vine-shaded
windows; fresh flowers on the mantelshelf and on the tables, and
coolness, comfort and beauty everywhere.
Justin handed him a chair.
Judith ran out to prepare refreshments.
When they were all seated, the young lieutenant said:
“Everything I see around you increases my astonishment and curiosity.
You seem really to be comfortable and permanently colonized here!”
“Heaven forbid!” exclaimed Justin, quickly. “We have been here over two
years, and passed a not unhappy period. But we have had enough of it,
and want to get home.”
“But—how—came—you—here?” inquired the young man, slowly and
emphatically.
“Ah! you have really asked the question at last. I thought I should
bring you to it!” laughed Justin. Then, growing suddenly grave, as he
thought of the shipwreck, he said:
“You remember the ill-fated _Sultana_?”
“East Indiaman? sailed from Boston for Calcutta last October was two
years ago? Yes, I should think I did. I was on the sloop of war
_Peuguin_ at the Cape of Good Hope when she touched there. She remained
two days, and then sailed, and was never heard of afterward.”
“We were passengers on the _Sultana_. After leaving the cape she
encountered heavy gales, and was driven entirely out of her course and
out of her reckoning, and finally upon the reef of rocks below here,
where she was wrecked.”
“Great Heaven! And you were cast away here?”
“Yes.”
“And your fellow-voyagers?”
“They were but too probably all lost.”
“Tell me the particulars.”
Justin settled himself in his chair and told the tragic story of the
shipwreck.
The lieutenant listened with deep interest. He was much too young a
sailor to be very familiar with such disasters.
When the narrative was finished, and he had expressed all the horror and
the pity that was naturally inspired by the tremendous calamity, he
said:
“But in the midst of all the desolation it was very fortunate for you
that the ship struck so high and fast between the rocks, and held so
long together.”
“Yes; it enabled us to save nearly all her cargo, provisions, and even
furniture and live stock,” said Justin.
“It was a stupendous undertaking to remove them all.”
“Yes; but it was successfully accomplished; and it enabled us to
establish ourselves comfortably here.”
“Yes, indeed!” assented the young man, looking approvingly around upon
the pleasant room. “That was more than two years ago. And you have lived
here ever since, quite isolated from the world?”
“Yes.”
“And in all that time no ship has passed?”
“Yes! one ship! But of that hereafter. Tell me now, lieutenant, how you
come to be so far out of your course as to touch this island?”
“We are not out of our course. We are cruising about these latitudes on
the lookout for rebel privateers, as I told you. We were just as likely
to find one lying to in your cove as anywhere else hereabouts.”
“Just,” answered Justin, emphatically.
“But we did not exactly come in here to look for them. In fact, we
suffered some injury from the gale last night, and this morning we
steered for this cove, that we might be at anchor here while repairing.
It was while we were letting go the anchor that the captain, to his
unbounded astonishment, saw you and your companion on the beach. He
immediately sent a boat on shore to see who you could possibly be; for,
up to the moment at which we discovered you, we had supposed the island
to be entirely uninhabited.”
“Then, of course, you did not see our signal?”
“Signal? What signal? Had you a signal?”
“We have had a pennon flying from a staff at the highest point of land
on the island ever since we have been here. We have renewed it from time
to time during the last two years. There it is.”
“Where?” inquired the young man.
“There!” said Justin, going to the window and pointing to the top of the
mountain.
But there it certainly was not.
“I suspect that the wind made free with your flag of distress, friend;
for certainly not a vestige of it remains,” said the young lieutenant,
leaving the window and retiring to his seat.
Judith reappeared and laid the cloth, and spread the table with coffee,
rolls, butter, fried fish and broiled chicken.
“It is our luncheon hour,” said Justin; “draw up and partake.”
The young lieutenant frankly accepted the invitation.
They gathered round the table, and while they ate they talked of the war
for the Union.
The young officer gave his host a detailed account of all those
disastrous engagements that had followed the first fatal field of Bull
Run. But always he spoke hopefully of the future. When luncheon was over
the young man arose and thanked his host and prepared to return to his
ship.
“The captain will come on shore to see you, I am sure. How long we may
have to remain here for repairs I do not know; a few days, I suppose;
but when we sail, of course, you and your party will go with us?” he
said.
“Of course we shall, with your captain’s kind permission,” replied
Justin, with a smile.
“We are not homeward bound, as I have already told you. We are cruising
in search of rebel privateers. We may be some months longer in these
latitudes, and we may have a sea fight or so. Still I think, upon the
whole, your prospects will be better in going with us than in staying
here.”
“Immeasurably better! Besides, we can stock your storeroom with a large
quantity of fresh provisions which may be acceptable to your crew. And,
if there should be a ‘sea fight or so,’ as you say, why, I shall be
happy to take part in it.”
“Troth so shall I,” put in Judith, “if ye will put me behind a safe
place entirely, with a little hole convanient for me to shoot through.”
“Thank you, Miss Riordan. You are another Moll Pitcher,” replied the
young man, laughing. Then, turning to Justin, he said:
“Why cannot you accompany me back to the ship? Our captain, I know, will
be very happy to see you. And he would probably like to return on shore
with you.”
“I thank you, I should like very much to go on board in person and
invite your captain to visit us here. But are you sure it will be
convenient for you to carry me?”
“Convenient for me to carry you? Why, certainly. And not only
convenient, but delightful. And not only you, but you all. Will Miss
Conyers honor us by making one of the party?” said the young sailor,
turning toward Britomarte.
“Will you, Miss Conyers?” inquired Justin.
“Thanks! no, I think not this morning. Some other time,” answered the
young lady.
So, with a courteous bow, the young lieutenant lifted his cap and left
the house, accompanied by Justin.
They walked down the beach, where they found the boat waiting. The young
officer motioned Justin to precede him, and then followed him into it.
And the oarsmen took their oars, pushed off from the land, and struck
out for the ship.
Five minutes of rapid rowing brought them alongside.
The captain stood on deck waiting to receive the stranger.
The young lieutenant stepped on board, accompanied by Justin, saluted
his superior officer, and then presented his companion.
“Captain Yetsom, Mr. Rosenthal.”
The two gentlemen thus introduced to each other, bowed somewhat
informally.
“Wrecked from the _Sultana_, some two years since, and cast, with two
companions, on this desert island,” the young officer went on to
explain.
“Lord bless my soul alive! Come down into my cabin and take a glass of
wine,” said the captain, as if the calamity had just then occurred, and
the sufferer was in immediate need of a restorative.
Captain Yetsom was what might well be called a stout man. He was of
medium height, but thickly set and solidly built, with a large head,
broad shoulders, deep chest and strong limbs. He had a florid
complexion, blue eyes and sandy hair and whiskers. He wore the undress
uniform of a captain in the United States Navy.
“Come—come down into my cabin and take something to drink. It will help
you.”
“Thanks, captain. I will go down into your _sanctum_ with pleasure; but
as we have just risen from the luncheon table, I do not require any
refreshment,” said Justin.
“Nonsense, man, you must need something to drink! A glass of generous
wine would set you up. Come down and take—— Lord bless my life and soul,
what a calamity! Were they all lost?”
“All but three,” answered Justin, as he followed the hospitable and
obstinate sailor down into the cabin.
And there, over some rich old port, Justin had to tell again the tale of
the woeful shipwreck, and to hear again the story of those fatal fields
of Bethel, Manassas and Ball’s Bluff.
This talk wore away a good part of the afternoon; and then Justin arose
to go.
“I came on board in the hope of persuading you to return with me and
spend the afternoon and evening at our rustic dwelling,” said Justin,
standing, cap in hand.
“Not to-day. To-morrow, perhaps. We shall be here three or four days, at
least. The ship’s carpenter reports our injuries from the late gale much
more serious, or, at least, more extensive, than we had supposed them to
be. He says it will take the best part of a week to get her ready for
sea again. When we sail I hope you will go with us. I dare say you have
no desire to colonize here?”
“Not the slightest. I and my companions in exile will very gladly take
passage with you,” said Justin.
“And I shall be very glad to have you. But mind! I do not promise to
take you home immediately. We may have a bout or two with the rebel
privateers first,” explained the captain.
“‘So mote it be!’ I should enjoy a bout or two with the rebel
privateers; and bear a hand in it as well as I could.”
“I’ll warrant you!”
“And now, captain, I have a large quantity of provisions, consisting of
live stock, fresh vegetables, fish, eggs, fruits and so forth, which I
would like to place at your disposal,” said Justin.
“Oh, I wouldn’t like to rob you of them! In fact, I couldn’t think of
doing so,” said the captain, while his palate, almost pickled with a
surfeit of salt food, fairly watered at the mention of fresh meat and
vegetables.
“But,” said Justin, smiling, as he noticed this, “if we are to be your
passengers, where will be the robbery?”
“True—I didn’t think of that! Surely it would do you no good to leave
all the fresh food here to go to loss after you are gone.”
“Certainly not. Therefore, captain, if you can spare any of your hands
from duty on the ship, perhaps you had better send them on shore to
employ the days while you remain here in taking the provisions on
board.”
“Certainly. That is good advice,” said the captain, smacking his lips.
“And—I shall hope to see you and as many of your officers as you please
to bring, to dine with us to-morrow at four.”
“Yes—thank you. We’ll come.”
“Then I will bid you good-afternoon, captain.”
“Ahem! I beg your pardon! Stop!”
Justin stopped.
“Mr. Ethel!”
The young lieutenant answered the call.
“Is the boat ready to take Mr. Rosenthal on shore?”
“Ay, ay, sir!”
“Then I will take leave of you,” said Justin.
“Ahem! wait one moment,” said the captain.
Justin waited.
“Ahem! Ahem! Ahem! You say that you have plenty of fresh provisions over
there?”
“Plenty, captain; and they are heartily at your service,” said Justin,
suppressing a smile.
“Beef?”
“No, I am sorry to say, not beef. We have but one milch cow.”
“That’s bad. Mutton?”
“Running; not killed. You see we never kill sheep at this season, for
one would spoil before we three could eat it.”
“Humph! that’s bad again. But a slaughtered sheep wouldn’t spoil before
we could eat it here on shipboard.”
“You shall have your choice of the flock to-morrow, captain.”
“Thank you; I will take it then. Have you chickens?”
“Yes, I am happy to say that we have chickens in our larder already
prepared to cook.”
“Ahem! send me a pair for my supper by the boat when it returns; there’s
a good fellow.”
“Certainly, captain. It was my intention to do so,” said Justin.
“And now I’ll not detain you, since I see you are in a hurry to be off,”
said the captain.
And Justin bowed and left the cabin.
On deck he found Lieutenant Ethel waiting to see him on shore. And they
entered the boat and were rowed back to the island.
“You will be so kind as to send one of your men with me to take back a
basket which I promised to send the captain,” said Justin to Lieutenant
Ethel, as the boat touched the sands.
“Yes, certainly; go, Jones,” said the young officer.
And the sailor to whom he gave the order arose and followed Justin on
shore and then up to the house.
And then before even giving Britomarte an account of his visit to the
ship, he called Judith to bring a large covered basket, and with his own
hands he filled it with chickens, eggs, fresh butter, cheese, milk,
fruit and fish, and gave it to Jones, directing him to take it with his
compliments to the captain of the _Xyphias_.
And Jones touched his hat and went back to the boat.
Justin passed into the parlor, where Britomarte, with tea ready, waited
for him.
“Oh, Justin! what a joy to think that we shall leave this lonely isle,
and sail for our native land once more!” she exclaimed.
“Yes, an unutterable joy!” replied Justin.
“Ah! what a change has a few hours brought about. This morning, when we
arose, we had no more idea of being rescued from this island than we had
had on any day in the two years and a half that we have spent here!”
“No, indeed! Let us thank the Lord for this great deliverance.”
“Oh, I do! I do!” said Britomarte, fervently.
Then a silence fell between them for a few minutes—a silence which
Britomarte at length broke by asking:
“Our prisoner, Justin—what about him? Have you told the captain of him?”
“No, not yet. I have concluded to defer all mention of our prisoner
until to-morrow, when the captain and his officers are coming to dine
with us.”
“Yes; that will be the best opportunity of introducing the subject,”
assented Britomarte.
After tea they spent the evening in planning for the entertainment of
the captain and the officers of the _Xyphias_. And then they separated
and retired to bed—not to sleep, but to lie awake with the joy of
thinking about their voyage home.