ON THE FLYING PROA
At last the friends who had been left on Pearl Island three years
before, and whose hearts had been bowed with despair more than once,
saw the atoll gradually fade from view, until the top of the tallest
palm-tree dipped out of sight in the blue Pacific and vanished from
view forever.
"It seems hardly possible," said Abe Storms, when at last his
straining vision could detect no shadow of the spot, "that we have
been rescued. I'm so full of joy and hope at the prospect before me
that it is hard work to restrain myself from shouting and jumping
overboard."
"What is your idea in jumping overboard?" asked Sanders, with a laugh,
in which Inez Hawthorne joined.
"Merely to give expression to my exuberance of joy; after I should
cool off, I would be cooler, of course."
Captain Bergen, to the grief of his friends, showed no signs of
mental improvement, though his hallucination took a different form.
Instead of being talkative, like he was the day before, he became
reserved, saying nothing to any one, not even to answer a simple
question when it was put to him. He ensconced himself at the stern in
such a position that he was out of the way of the man with the
steering oar, where he curled up like one who wished neither to be
seen nor heard.
"Humor his fancies," said Sanders, "for it will only aggravate him to
notice them. It was the same with Redvignez and Brazzier that I was
speaking about last night."
"Redvignez and Brazzier?" repeated Inez; "where did you ever see
them?"
"I sailed a voyage with them once from Liverpool, and I was telling
Mr. Storms last night that I saw them both so frightened without cause
that their minds were upset for a while. And may I ask whether you
know them?" asked the young man, with a flush of surprise, addressing
the girl.
"Why, they and a negro, Pomp, were the three mutineers who were the
means of our staying on the island. They tried to kill the captain and
mate, but----"
"She saved us," broke in Storms, who thereupon gave the narrative told
long ago to the reader, omitting the attempt that was made upon his
own life by cutting the hose-pipes which let the air down to him,
inasmuch as that would have caused the telling of the pearl fishing
also.
Fred Sanders listened with great interest, for he had known the men
well, and it may as well be stated that the danger to which the
scoundrels were exposed, as referred to by him, was that of being
executed for mutiny; and, as it was, the part of Sanders himself was
such that he would have been strung up at the yard-arm in short order
had it not been his extreme youth, which pleaded in his favor.
Since Storms and his companions had revealed some things that might
have been better concealed, so Fred Sanders himself felt he had hinted
at a little story which was likely to injure his standing in the eyes
of those toward whom he was playing the part of the good Samaritan.
The proa was arranged as comfortably as possible, Inez Hawthorne being
given a place in front, where a sort of compartment was made for her,
by means of stretching awnings of cocoa-matting and a portion of the
reserve fund of lateen on hand. The others disposed themselves so that
she was left undisturbed whenever she chose to withdraw to her "state
room," as Captain Fred Sanders facetiously termed it.
The two natives had little to say, and they obeyed orders like the
veritable slaves they were. There could be no doubt they understood
the management of the proa to perfection, and the strange craft spun
through the water with astonishing speed.
Mr. Storms deposited his valise, with its valuable contents, forward,
where he seemed to bestow little attention on it, though, as may well
be supposed, it was ever present in his thoughts, and quite often in
his eye.
Several times in the course of the day they caught sight of sails in
the distance, but approached none; for, as Sanders said, the
all-important thing now was to make the most speed possible, while the
opportunity remained to them. There was a freshening of the breeze and
a haziness which spread through the northern horizon that caused some
misgiving on the part of all, for the proa would be a poor shelter in
case they were overtaken by one of those terrific tempests they had
seen more than once.
Toward the middle of the afternoon something like a low bank of clouds
appeared to the left, or in the west, which, being scrutinized through
the glasses, proved to be a low-lying island. Sanders knew of it, and
said they passed it still closer on their way to the atoll.
It was also an atoll like that, but much smaller in size, and, of
course, uninhabited. It might do for a refuge in case of the coming of
a violent storm, while in the vicinity; but otherwise it would only
be a loss of time to pause at it. The fact that such a place existed
so near them caused something like a feeling of security upon the part
of Mate Storms, such as comes over one on learning he has a good
friend at his elbow in face of some coming trouble.
As the afternoon advanced, and the proa bounded forward before a
strong, steady breeze, Storms thought the occasion a good one to
obtain some sleep, with a view of keeping awake during the coming
night, and he assumed an easy position, where, his mind being
comparatively free from apprehension, he soon sank into slumber.
This left Inez Hawthorne with no one to talk to excepting Fred
Sanders, who seemed in better spirits than usual. When they had
discussed the voyage, and he had given her as good an account as he
could of the island toward which they were hastening, and after she
had answered all his questions as best she could, she turned upon him
and asked:
"How long did you say you had spent in these islands?"
"As nearly as I can recollect, it is about five years."
"And, as you are now seventeen, you must have been only twelve years
old when you first came here."
"That agrees with my figuring," said Sanders, with a nod of his head.
"You can't be far out of the way."
"Where did you live before that?"
"Well, I lived in a good many places--that is, for two years. I was on
the Atlantic and on the Pacific and--well, it would take me a good
long while to tell of all that I passed through. I may as well own up
to you, Inez, that it was a wild, rough life for a man, even without
taking into account the fact that I was a boy."
"Then you went to sea when you were only ten years old?"
"That also coincides with my mathematical calculations," replied
Sanders, somewhat embarrassed, for he saw they were approaching
delicate ground.
"Then before you were ten years of age?"
"I lived at home, of course."
"And where was that?"
"You will excuse me, Inez, from answering that question. I have
reasons for doing so. Let me say that I stayed at home for the first
ten years of my existence, and was as bad a boy as can be imagined. I
fell into the worst kind of habits, and it was through the two
men--Redvignez and Brazzier--whom I've heard you speak of, that I was
persuaded to go to sea with them, when I ought to have been at home
with my father."
"Is your mother living, Mr. Sanders?"
The youth turned his head away, so she could not see his face, and
when he moved it back and spoke again there was a tear on his cheek,
and he replied, in a voice of sadness:
"My mother is in heaven, where her son will never be."
Inez was inexpressibly shocked.
"Why, Mr. Sanders, what do you mean by that?"
"A better woman than she never lived, nor a worse boy than I. You
can't understand, Inez. You are too young and too good yourself to
realize what a wretch I was. I deliberately ran away from home seven
years ago, and have never been within a thousand miles of it since,
and I never expected to do so, until within the last day or so;
somehow or other, I've fallen to thinking more than before."
"Have you a father?"
"I don't know. I think he is dead, too, for I was enough to break his
heart, and I have never heard of him since. I hadn't any brothers or
sisters when I came away. I'm all that's left, and now there is a
longing coming over me to hunt up my father again before he dies, that
is--if--he--isn't--already--gone!"
It was no use. Fred Sanders, the wild, reckless youth, who had passed
through many a scene that would have made a man shudder, suddenly put
his hands to his face, and his whole frame shook with emotion. The
memories of his early childhood came back to him, and he saw again the
forms of those who loved him so fondly, and whose affection he
returned with such piercing ingratitude. Conscience had slept for many
years, but the gentle words of Inez had awakened its voice again. The
goodness of the girl, who was already like a loved sister to Sanders,
had stirred up the better part of his nature, and he looked upon
himself with a shudder, that one so young as he should have committed
his many transgressions.
No wonder that he felt so pressed down that he cried out in the
bitterness of his spirit that heaven was shut from him. It was hard
for Inez to keep back the sympathizing tears herself when she
witnessed the overwhelming grief of the strong youth.
The latter sat silent for some minutes, holding his face partly
averted, as if ashamed of this evidence of weakness--an evidence which
it is safe to say he had not shown for years, young as he was.
Ah, there were memories that had slumbered long which came crowding
upon the boy--memories whose import no one on board that strange craft
could suspect but himself, and whose work was soon to appear in a form
and with a force that neither Inez Hawthorne nor Mate Storms so much
as dreamed of.