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 lifeboats 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 à 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
Reszké. 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.