Rolling, tumbling, splashing, foaming water as far as the eye could
reach in every direction. A desolate waste, full of life, movement and
colour, extending to the bleak horizon and like a vast ploughed field
cut up into long and high liquid ridges, all scurrying in one direction
in serried ranks and with incredible speed as if pursued by a fearful
and unseen enemy. Serenely yet boisterously, gracefully yet
resistlessly, the endless waves passed on--some small, others
monstrous, with fleecy white combs rushing down their green sides like
toy Niagaras and with a seething, boiling sound as when flame touches
water. They went by in a stately, never ending procession, going
nowhere, coming from nowhere, but full of dignity and importance, their
breasts heaving with suppressed rage because there was nothing in their
path that they might destroy. The dancing, leaping water reflected
every shade and tint--now a rich green, then a deep blue and again a
dirty gray as the sun hid for a moment behind a cloud, and as a gust of
wind caught the top of the combers decapitating them at one mad rush,
the spray was dashed high in the air, flashing out all the prismatic
colours. Here and yonder, the white caps rose, disappeared and came
again, and the waves grew and then diminished in size. Then others
rose, towering, became larger, majestic, terrible; the milk-like comb
rose proudly, soared a brief moment, then fell ignominiously, and the
wave diminished passed on humiliated. Over head, a few scattered cirrus
clouds flitted lazily across the blue dome of heaven, while a dozen
Mother Carey chickens screamed hoarsely as they circled in the air. The
strong and steady western breeze bore on its powerful pinions the sweet
and eternal music of the wind and sea.
Shirley stood at the rail under the bridge of the ocean greyhound that
was carrying her back to America with all the speed of which her mighty
engines were capable. All day and all night, half naked stokers, so
grimed with oil and coal dust as to lose the slightest semblance to
human beings, feverishly shovelled coal, throwing it rapidly and evenly
over roaring furnaces kept at a fierce white heat. The vast boilers,
shaken by the titanic forces generating in their cavern-like depths,
sent streams of scalding, hissing steam through a thousand valves,
cylinders and pistons, turning wheels and cranks as it distributed the
tremendous power which was driving the steel monster through the seas
at the prodigious speed of four hundred miles in the twenty-four hours.
Like a pulsating heart in some living thing, the mammoth engines
throbbed and panted, and the great vessel groaned and creaked as she
rose and fell to the heavy swell, and again lurched forward in
obedience to each fresh propulsion from her fast spinning screws. Out
on deck, volumes of dense black smoke were pouring from four gigantic
smoke stacks and spread out in the sky like some endless cinder path
leading back over the course the ship had taken.
They were four days out from port. Two days more and they would sight
Sandy Hook, and Shirley would know the worst. She had caught the North
German Lloyd boat at Cherbourg two days after receiving the cablegram
from New York. Mrs. Blake had insisted on coming along in spite of her
niece's protests. Shirley argued that she had crossed alone when
coming; she could go back the same way. Besides, was not Mr. Ryder
returning home on the same ship? He would be company and protection
both. But Mrs. Blake was bent on making the voyage. She had not seen
her sister for many years and, moreover, this sudden return to America
had upset her own plans. She was a poor sailor, yet she loved the ocean
and this was a good excuse for a long trip. Shirley was too exhausted
with worry to offer further resistance and by great good luck the two
women had been able to secure at the last moment a cabin to themselves
amidships. Jefferson, less fortunate, was compelled, to his disgust, to
share a stateroom with another passenger, a fat German brewer who was
returning to Cincinnati, and who snored so loud at night that even the
thumping of the engines was completely drowned by his eccentric nasal
sounds.
The alarming summons home and the terrible shock she had experienced
the following morning when Jefferson showed her the newspaper article
with its astounding and heart rending news about her father had almost
prostrated Shirley. The blow was all the greater for being so entirely
unlooked for. That the story was true she could not doubt. Her mother
would not have cabled except under the gravest circumstances. What
alarmed Shirley still more was that she had no direct news of her
father. For a moment her heart stood still--suppose the shock of this
shameful accusation had killed him? Her blood froze in her veins, she
clenched her fists and dug her nails into her flesh as she thought of
the dread possibility that she had looked upon him in life for the last
time. She remembered his last kind words when he came to the steamer to
see her off, and his kiss when he said good-bye and she had noticed a
tear of which he appeared to be ashamed. The hot tears welled up in her
own eyes and coursed unhindered down her cheeks.
What could these preposterous and abominable charges mean? What was
this lie they had invented to ruin her father? That he had enemies she
well knew. What strong man had not? Indeed, his proverbial honesty had
made him feared by all evil-doers and on one occasion they had gone so
far as to threaten his life. This new attack was more deadly than
all--to sap and destroy his character, to deliberately fabricate lies
and calumnies which had no foundation whatever. Of course, the
accusation was absurd, the Senate would refuse to convict him, the
entire press would espouse the cause of so worthy a public servant.
Certainly, everything would be done to clear his character. But what
was being done? She could do nothing but wait and wait. The suspense
and anxiety were awful.
Suddenly she heard a familiar step behind her, and Jefferson joined her
at the rail. The wind was due West and blowing half a gale, so where
they were standing--one of the most exposed parts of the ship--it was
difficult to keep one's feet, to say nothing of hearing anyone speak.
There was a heavy sea running, and each approaching wave looked big
enough to engulf the vessel, but as the mass of moving water reached
the bow, the ship rose on it, light and graceful as a bird, shook off
the flying spray as a cat shakes her fur after an unwelcome bath, and
again drove forward as steady and with as little perceptible motion as
a railway train. Shirley was a fairly good sailor and this kind of
weather did not bother her in the least, but when it got very rough she
could not bear the rolling and pitching and then all she was good for
was to lie still in her steamer chair with her eyes closed until the
water was calmer and the pitching ceased.
"It's pretty windy here, Shirley," shouted Jefferson, steadying himself
against a stanchion. "Don't you want to walk a little?"
He had begun to call her by her first name quite naturally, as if it
were a matter of course. Indeed their relations had come to be more
like those of brother and sister than anything else. Shirley was too
much troubled over the news from home to have a mind for other things,
and in her distress she had turned to Jefferson for advice and help as
she would have looked to an elder brother. He had felt this impulse to
confide in him and consult his opinion and it had pleased him more than
he dared betray. He had shown her all the sympathy of which his warm,
generous nature was capable, yet secretly he did not regret that events
had necessitated this sudden return home together on the same ship. He
was sorry for Judge Rossmore, of course, and there was nothing he would
not do on his return to secure a withdrawal of the charges. That his
father would use his influence he had no doubt. But meantime he was
selfish enough to be glad for the opportunity it gave him to be a whole
week alone with Shirley. No matter how much one may be with people in
city or country or even when stopping at the same hotel or house, there
is no place in the world where two persons, especially when they are of
the opposite sex, can become so intimate as on shipboard. The reason is
obvious. The days are long and monotonous. There is nowhere to go,
nothing to see but the ocean, nothing to do but read, talk or
promenade. Seclusion in one's stuffy cabin is out of the question, the
public sitting rooms are noisy and impossible, only a steamer chair on
deck is comfortable and once there snugly wrapped up in a rug it is
surprising how quickly another chair makes its appearance alongside and
how welcome one is apt to make the intruder.
Thus events combined with the weather conspired to bring Shirley and
Jefferson more closely together. The sea had been rough ever since they
sailed, keeping Mrs. Blake confined to her stateroom almost
continuously. They were, therefore, constantly in one another's
company, and slowly, unconsciously, there was taking root in their
hearts the germ of the only real and lasting love--the love born of
something higher than mere physical attraction, the nobler, more
enduring affection that is born of mutual sympathy, association and
companionship.
"Isn't it beautiful?" exclaimed Shirley ecstatically. "Look at those
great waves out there! See how majestically they soar and how
gracefully they fall!"
"Glorious!" assented Jefferson sharing her enthusiasm. "There's nothing
to compare with it. It's Nature's grandest spectacle. The ocean is the
only place on earth that man has not defiled and spoiled. Those waves
are the same now as they were on the day of creation."
"Not the day of creation. You mean during the aeons of time creation
was evolving," corrected Shirley.
"I meant that of course," assented Jefferson. "When one says 'day' that
is only a form of speech."
"Why not be accurate?" persisted Shirley. "It was the use of that
little word 'day' which has given the theologians so many sleepless
nights."
There was a roguish twinkle in her eye. She well knew that he thought
as she did on metaphysical questions, but she could not resist teasing
him.
Like Jefferson, she was not a member of any church, although her nature
was deeply religious. Hers was the religion the soul inculcates, not
that which is learned by rote in the temple. She was a Christian
because she thought Christ the greatest figure in world history, and
also because her own conduct of life was modelled upon Christian
principles and virtues. She was religious for religion's sake and not
for public ostentation. The mystery of life awed her and while her
intelligence could not accept all the doctrines of dogmatic religion
she did not go so far as Jefferson, who was a frank agnostic. She would
not admit that we do not know. The longings and aspirations of her own
soul convinced her of the existence of a Supreme Being, First Cause,
Divine Intelligence--call it what you will--which had brought out of
chaos the wonderful order of the universe. The human mind was, indeed,
helpless to conceive such a First Cause in any form and lay prostrate
before the Unknown, yet she herself was an enthusiastic delver into
scientific hypothesis and the teachings of Darwin, Spencer, Haeckel had
satisfied her intellect if they had failed to content her soul. The
theory of evolution as applied to life on her own little planet
appealed strongly to her because it accounted plausibly for the
presence of man on earth. The process through which we had passed could
be understood by every intelligence. The blazing satellite, violently
detached from the parent sun starting on its circumscribed orbit--that
was the first stage, the gradual subsidence of the flames and the
cooling of the crust--the second stage: the gases mingling and forming
water which covered the earth--the third stage; the retreating of the
waters and the appearance of the land--the fourth stage; the appearance
of vegetation and animal life--the fifth stage; then, after a long
interval and through constant evolution and change the appearance of
man, which was the sixth stage. What stages still to come, who knows?
This simple account given by science was, after all, practically
identical with the biblical legend!
It was when Shirley was face to face with Nature in her wildest and
most primitive aspects that this deep rooted religious feeling moved
her most strongly. At these times she felt herself another being,
exalted, sublimated, lifted from this little world with its petty
affairs and vanities up to dizzy heights. She had felt the same
sensation when for the first time she had viewed the glories of the
snow clad Matterhorn, she had felt it when on a summer's night at sea
she had sat on deck and watched with fascinated awe the resplendent
radiance of the countless stars, she felt it now as she looked at the
foaming, tumbling waves.
"It is so beautiful," she murmured as she turned to walk. The ship was
rolling a little and she took Jefferson's arm to steady herself.
Shirley was an athletic girl and had all the ease and grace of carriage
that comes of much tennis and golf playing. Barely twenty-four years
old, she was still in the first flush of youth and health, and there
was nothing she loved so much as exercise and fresh air. After a few
turns on deck, there was a ruddy glow in her cheeks that was good to
see and many an admiring glance was cast at the young couple as they
strode briskly up and down past the double rows of elongated steamer
chairs.
They had the deck pretty much to themselves. It was only four o'clock,
too early for the appetite-stimulating walk before dinner, and their
fellow passengers were basking in the sunshine, stretched out on their
chairs in two even rows like so many mummies on exhibition. Some were
reading, some were dozing. Two or three were under the weather,
completely prostrated, their bilious complexion of a deathly greenish
hue. At each new roll of the ship, they closed their eyes as if
resigned to the worst that might happen and their immediate neighbours
furtively eyed each of their movements as if apprehensive of what any
moment might bring forth. A few couples were flirting to their heart's
content under the friendly cover of the life-boats which, as on most of
the transatlantic liners, were more useful in saving reputations than
in saving life. The deck steward was passing round tea and biscuits,
much to the disgust of the ill ones, but to the keen satisfaction of
the stronger stomached passengers who on shipboard never seem to be
able to get enough to eat and drink. On the bridge, the second officer,
a tall, handsome man with the points of his moustache trained upwards a
la Kaiser Wilhelm, was striding back and forth, every now and then
sweeping the horizon with his glass and relieving the monotony of his
duties by ogling the better looking women passengers.
"Hello, Shirley!" called out a voice from a heap of rugs as Shirley and
Jefferson passed the rows of chairs.
They stopped short and discovered Mrs. Blake ensconced in a cozy
corner, sheltered from the wind.
"Why, aunt Milly," exclaimed Shirley surprised. "I thought you were
downstairs. I didn't think you could stand this sea."
"It is a little rougher than I care to have it," responded Mrs. Blake
with a wry grimace and putting her hand to her breast as if to appease
disturbing qualms. "It was so stuffy in the cabin I could not bear it.
It's more pleasant here but it's getting a little cool and I think I'll
go below. Where have you children been all afternoon?"
Jefferson volunteered to explain.
"The children have been rhapsodizing over the beauties of the ocean,"
he laughed. With a sly glance at Shirley, he added, "Your niece has
been coaching me in metaphysics."
Shirley shook her finger at him.
"Now Jefferson, if you make fun of me I'll never talk seriously with
you again."
"Wie geht es, meine damen?"
Shirley turned on hearing the guttural salutation. It was Captain
Hegermann, the commander of the ship, a big florid Saxon with great
bushy golden whiskers and a basso voice like Edouard de Reszke. He was
imposing in his smart uniform and gold braid and his manner had the
self-reliant, authoritative air usual in men who have great
responsibilities and are accustomed to command. He was taking his
afternoon stroll and had stopped to chat with his lady passengers. He
had already passed Mrs. Blake a dozen times and not noticed her, but
now her pretty niece was with her, which altered the situation. He
talked to the aunt and looked at Shirley, much to the annoyance of
Jefferson, who muttered things under his breath.
"When shall we be in, captain?" asked Mrs. Blake anxiously, forgetting
that this was one of the questions which according to ship etiquette
must never be asked of the officers.
But as long as he could ignore Mrs. Blake and gaze at Shirley Capt.
Hegermann did not mind. He answered amiably:
"At the rate we are going, we ought to sight Fire Island sometime
to-morrow evening. If we do, that will get us to our dock about 11
o'clock Friday morning, I fancy." Then addressing Shirley direct he
said:
"And you, fraulein, I hope you won't be glad the voyage is over?"
Shirley sighed and a worried, anxious look came into her face.
"Yes, Captain, I shall be very glad. It is not pleasure that is
bringing me back to America so soon."
The captain elevated his eyebrows. He was sorry the young lady had
anxieties to keep her so serious, and he hoped she would find
everything all right on her arrival. Then, politely saluting, he passed
on, only to halt again a few paces on where his bewhiskered gallantry
met with more encouragement.
Mrs. Blake rose from her chair. The air was decidedly cooler, she would
go downstairs and prepare for dinner. Shirley said she would remain on
deck a little longer. She was tired of walking, so when her aunt left
them she took her chair and told Jefferson to get another. He wanted
nothing better, but before seating himself he took the rugs and wrapped
Shirley up with all the solicitude of a mother caring for her first
born. Arranging the pillow under her head, he asked:
"Is that comfortable?"
She nodded, smiling at him.
"You're a good boy, Jeff. But you'll spoil me."
"Nonsense," he stammered as he took another chair and put himself by
her side. "As if any fellow wouldn't give his boots to do a little job
like that for you!"
She seemed to take no notice of the covert compliment. In fact, she
already took it as a matter of course that Jefferson was very fond of
her.
Did she love him? She hardly knew. Certainly she thought more of him
than of any other man she knew and she readily believed that she could
be with him for the rest of her life and like him better every day.
Then, too, they had become more intimate during the last few days. This
trouble, this unknown peril had drawn them together. Yes, she would be
sorry if she were to see Jefferson paying attention to another woman.
Was this love? Perhaps.
These thoughts were running through her mind as they sat there side by
side isolated from the main herd of passengers, each silent, watching
through the open rail the foaming water as it rushed past. Jefferson
had been casting furtive glances at his companion and as he noted her
serious, pensive face he thought how pretty she was. He wondered what
she was thinking of and suddenly inspired no doubt by the mysterious
power that enables some people to read the thoughts of others, he said
abruptly:
"Shirley, I can read your thoughts. You were thinking of me."
She was startled for a moment but immediately recovered her self
possession. It never occurred to her to deny it. She pondered for a
moment and then replied:
"You are right, Jeff, I was thinking of you. How did you guess?"
He leaned over her chair and took her hand. She made no resistance. Her
delicate, slender hand lay passively in his big brown one and met his
grasp frankly, cordially. He whispered:
"What were you thinking of me--good or bad?"
"Good, of course. How could I think anything bad of you?"
She turned her eyes on him in wonderment. Then she went on:
"I was wondering how a girl could distinguish between the feeling she
has for a man she merely likes, and the feeling she has for a man she
loves."
Jefferson bent eagerly forward so as to lose no word that might fall
from those coveted lips.
"In what category would I be placed?" he asked.
"I don't quite know," she answered, laughingly. Then seriously, she
added: "Jeff, why should we act like children? Your actions, more than
your words, have told me that you love me. I have known it all along.
If I have appeared cold and indifferent it is because"--she hesitated.
"Because?" echoed Jefferson anxiously, as if his whole future depended
on that reason.
"Because I was not sure of myself. Would it be womanly or honourable on
my part to encourage you, unless I felt I reciprocated your feelings?
You are young, one day you will be very rich, the whole world lies
before you. There are plenty of women who would willingly give you
their love."
"No--no!" he burst out in vigorous protest, "it is you I want, Shirley,
you alone."
Grasping her hand more closely, he went on, passion vibrating in every
note of his voice. "I love you, Shirley. I've loved you from the very
first evening I met you. I want you to be my wife."
Shirley looked straight up into the blue eyes so eagerly bent down on
hers, so entreating in their expression, and in a gentle voice full of
emotion she answered:
"Jefferson, you have done me the greatest honour a man can do a woman.
Don't ask me to answer you now. I like you very much--I more than like
you. Whether it is love I feel for you--that I have not yet determined.
Give me time. My present trouble and then my literary work---"
"I know," agreed Jefferson, "that this is hardly the time to speak of
such matters. Your father has first call on your attention. But as to
your literary work. I do not understand."
"Simply this. I am ambitious. I have had a little success--just enough
to crave for more. I realize that marriage would put an extinguisher on
all aspirations in that direction."
"Is marriage so very commonplace?" grumbled Jefferson.
"Not commonplace, but there is no room in marriage for a woman having
personal ambitions of her own. Once married her duty is to her husband
and her children--not to herself."
"That is right," he replied; "but which is likely to give you greater
joy--a literary success or a happy wifehood? When you have spent your
best years and given the public your best work they will throw you over
for some new favorite. You'll find yourself an old woman with nothing
more substantial to show as your life work than that questionable
asset, a literary reputation. How many literary reputations to-day
conceal an aching heart and find it difficult to make both ends meet?
How different with the woman who married young and obeys Nature's
behest by contributing her share to the process of evolution. Her life
is spent basking in the affection of her husband and the chubby smiles
of her dimpled babes, and when in the course of time she finds herself
in the twilight of her life, she has at her feet a new generation of
her own flesh and blood. Isn't that better than a literary reputation?"
He spoke so earnestly that Shirley looked at him in surprise. She knew
he was serious but she had not suspected that he thought so deeply on
these matters. Her heart told her that he was uttering the true
philosophy of the ages. She said:
"Why, Jefferson, you talk like a book. Perhaps you are right, I have no
wish to be a blue stocking and deserted in my old age, far from it. But
give me time to think. Let us first ascertain the extent of this
disaster which has overtaken my father. Then if you still care for me
and if I have not changed my mind," here she glanced slyly at him, "we
will resume our discussion."
Again she held out her hand which he had released.
"Is it a bargain?" she asked.
"It's a bargain," he murmured, raising the white hand to his lips. A
fierce longing rose within him to take her in his arms and kiss
passionately the mouth that lay temptingly near his own, but his
courage failed him. After all, he reasoned, he had not yet the right.
A few minutes later they left the deck and went downstairs to dress for
dinner. That same evening they stood again at the rail watching the
mysterious phosphorescence as it sparkled in the moonlight. Her
thoughts travelling faster than the ship, Shirley suddenly asked:
"Do you really think Mr. Ryder will use his influence to help my
father?"
Jefferson set his jaw fast and the familiar Ryder gleam came into his
eyes as he responded:
"Why not? My father is all powerful. He has made and unmade judges and
legislators and even presidents. Why should he not be able to put a
stop to these preposterous proceedings? I will go to him directly we
land and we'll see what can be done."
So the time on shipboard had passed, Shirley alternately buoyed up with
hope and again depressed by the gloomiest forebodings. The following
night they passed Fire Island and the next day the huge steamer dropped
anchor at Quarantine.