by Zona Gale
CHAPTER VII
DUSK, AND SO ON
Dusk on the tropic seas is a ceremony performed with reverence, asif the rising moon were a priestess come among her silver vessels.Shadows like phantom sails dip through the dark and lie idle whereunseen crafts with unexplained cargoes weigh anchor in mid-air. Onealmost hears the water cunningly lap upon their invisible sides.
To Little Cawthorne, lying luxuriously in a hammock on the deck of_The Aloha_, fancies like these crowded pleasantly, and slipped awayor were merged in snatches of remembered songs. His hands wereclasped behind his head, one foot was tapping the deck to keep thehammock in motion while strange compounds of tune and time brokeaimlessly from his lips.
"Meet me by moonlight alone, And then I will tell you a tale. Must be told in the moonlight alone In the grove at the end of the vale"
he caroled contentedly.
Amory, the light of his pipe cheerfully glowing, lay at full lengthin a steamer chair. _The Aloha_ was bounding briskly forward, asolitary speck on the bosom of darkening purple, and the men sittingin the companionship of silence, which all the world praises andseldom attains, had been engaging in that most entertaining ofpastimes, the comparison of present comfort with past toil. LittleCawthorne's satisfaction flowered in speech.
"Two weeks ago to-night," he said, running his hands through hisgrey curls, "I took the night desk when Ellis was knocked out. Andtwo weeks ago to-morrow morning we were the only paper to be beatenon the Fownes will story. Hi--you."
"Happy, Cawthorne?" Amory removed his pipe to inquire with idleindulgence.
"Am I happy?" affirmed Little Cawthorne ecstatically in four tones,and went on with his song:
"The daylight may do for the gay, The thoughtless, the heartless, the free, But there's something about the moon's ray That is sweeter to you and to me."
"Did you make that up?" inquired Amory with polite interest.
"I did if I want to," responded Little Cawthorne. "Everything's trueout here--go on, tell everything you like. I'll believe you."
St. George came out of the dark and leaned on the rail withoutspeaking. Sometimes he wondered if he were he at all, and he likedthe doubt. He felt pleasantly as if he had been cut loose from allold conditions and were sailing between skies to some unknownplanet. This was not only because of the strange waters rushingunderfoot but because of the flowering and singing of somethingwithin him that made the world into which he was sailing an alienplace, heavenly desirable. A week ago that day _The Aloha_ hadweighed anchor, and these seven days, in fairly fortunate weather,her white nose had been cleaving seas to traverse which had so longbeen her owner's dream; and yet her owner, in pleasant apostasy, hadturned his back upon the whole matter of what he had been used todream, and now ungratefully spent his time in trying to count thehours to his journey's end.
Somewhere out yonder, he reflected, as he leaned on the rail, thissouthern moonlight was flooding whatever scene _she_ looked on; thelapping of the same sea was in her ears; and his future and hersmight be dependent upon those two perplexed tan-coloured greyhoundsbelow. By which one would have said that matters had been goingbriskly forward with St. George since the morning that he hadbreakfasted with Olivia Holland.
Exactly when the end of the journey would be was not evident eitherto him or to the two strange creatures who proposed to be hisguides. Or rather to Jarvo, who was still the spokesman; leanlittle Akko, although his intelligence was unrivaled, being contentwith monosyllables for stepping-stones while the stream of Jarvo'ssoft speech flowed about him. Barnay, the captain, franklydistrusted them both, and confided to St. George that "them twolittle jool-eyed scuts was limbs av the old gint himself, and theyreminded him, Barnay, of a pair of haythen naygurs," than which hecould say no more. But then, Barnay's wholesale skepticism was hisonly recreation, save talking about his pretty daughter "of schoolage," and he liked to stand tucking his beard inside his collar andindulging in both. In truth, Barnay, who knew the waters of theAtlantic fairly well, was sorely tried to take orders from the twolittle brown strangers who, he averred, consulted a "haythenapparaytus" which they would cheerfully let him see but of which hecould "make no more than av the spach av a fish," and then directedhim to take courses which lay far outside the beaten tracks of thehigh seas.
St. George, who had had several talks with them, was puzzled anddoubtful, and more than once confided to himself that the lives ofthe passenger list of _The Aloha_ might be worth no more than coralheadstones at the bottom of the South Atlantic. But he alwaysconsoled himself with the cheering reflection that he had had tocome--there was no other way half so good. So _The Aloha_ continuedto plow her way as serenely as if she were heading toward the whitecliffs of Dover and trim villas and a custom-house. And the sea laya blue, uninhabited glory save as land that Barnay knew about markedlow blades of smoke on the horizon and slipped back into bluesheaths.
This was the evening of the seventh day, and that noon Jarvo hadlooked despondent, and Barnay had sworn strange oaths, and St.George had been disquieted. He stood up now, going vaguely down intohis coat pockets for his pipe, his erect figure thrown in reliefagainst the hurrying purple. St. George was good to look at, andAmory, with the moonlight catching the glass of his pince-nez,smoked and watched him, shrewdly pondering upon exactly how muchanxiety for the success of the enterprise was occupying the breastof his friend and how much of an emotion a good bit stronger. Amoryhimself was not in love, but there existed between him and all whowere a special kinship, like that between a lover of music and amusician.
Little Cawthorne rose and shuffled his feet lazily across deck.
"Where is that island, anyway?" he wanted to know, gazingmeditatively out to sea.
St. George turned as if the interruption was grateful.
"The island. I don't see any island," complained Little Cawthorne."I tell you," he confided, "I guess it's just Chillingworth's littleway of fixing up a nice long vacation for us."
They smiled at memory of Chillingworth's grudging and snarlingassents to even an hour off duty.
From below came Bennietod, walking slowly. The seaman's life was notfor Bennietod, and he yearned to reach land as fervently as did St.George, though with other anxiety. He sat down on the moon-lit deckand his face was like that of a little old man with uncannyshrewdness. His week among them had wrought changes in the headoffice boy. For Bennietod was ambitious to be a gentleman. Hiscovert imitations had always amused St. George and Amory. Now in thecomparative freedom of _The Aloha_ his fancy had rein and he hadadopted all the habits and the phrases which he had long reservedand liked best, mixing them with scraps of allusions to things whichBenfy had encouraged him to read, and presenting the whole in hisnative lower East-side dialect. Bennietod was Bowery-born andoffice-bred, and this sad metropolitanism almost made of him a goodphilosopher.
"I'd like immensely to say something," observed St. George abruptly,when his pipe was lighted.
"Oh, yes. All right," shrilled Little Cawthorne with resignation, "Isuppose you all feel I'm the Jonah and you thirst to scatter me tothe whales."
"I want to know," St. George went on slowly, "what you think. On mylife, I doubt if I thought at all when we set out. This all promisedgood sport, and I took it at that. Lately, I've been wondering, nowand then, whether any of you wish yourselves well out of it."
For a moment no one spoke. To shrink from expression is acharacteristic in which the extremes of cultivation and mediocritymeet; the reserve of delicacy in St. George and Amory would havebeen a reserve of false shame in Bennietod, and of an exaggeratedsense of humour in Little Cawthorne. It was not remarkable that fromthe moment the enterprise had been entered upon, its perils and itsdoubtful outcome had not once been discussed. St. George vaguelyreckoned with this as he waited, while Amory smoked on and blewmeditative clouds and regarded the bowl of his pipe, and LittleCawthorne ceased the motion of his hammock, and Bennietod hugged hisknees a
nd looked shrewdly at the moon, as if he knew more about themoon than he would care to tell. St. George felt his heart sink alittle. Then Little Cawthorne rose and squared valiantly up to him.
"What," inquired the little man indignantly, "are you trying to do?Pick a fight?"
St. George looked at him in surprise.
"Because if you are," continued little Cawthorne without preamble,"we're three to one. And three of us are going to Yaque. We'll putyou ashore if you say so."
St. George smiled at him gratefully.
"No--Bennietod?" inquired Little Cawthorne.
Bennietod, pale and manifestly weak, grinned cheerfully and fumbledin sudden abashment at an amazing checked Ascot which he had derivedfrom unknown sources.
"Bes' t'ing t'ever I met up wid," he assented, "ef de deck'd laydown levil. I'm de sonny of a sea-horse if it ain't."
"Amory?" demanded the little man.
Amory looked along his pipe and took it briefly from his lips andshook his head.
"Don't say these things," he pleaded in his pleasant drawl, "or I'llswear something horrid."
St. George merely held his pipe by the bowl and nodded a little, butthe hearts of all of them glowed.
After dinner they sat long on deck. Rollo, at his master'sinvitation, joined them with a mandolin, which he had beendiscovered to play considerably better than any one else on board.Rollo sat bolt upright in a reclining chair to prove that he did notforget his station and strummed softly, and acknowledged approvalwith:
"Yes, sir. A little music adds an air to any occasion, _I_ alwaysthink, sir."
The moon was not yet full, but its light in that warm world wasbrilliant. The air was drowsy and scented with something that mighthave been its own honey or that might have come from the strangeblooms, water-sealed below. Now and then St. George went aside for aspace and walked up and down the deck or sent below for Jarvo. Once,as Jarvo left St. George's side, Little Cawthorne awoke and satupright and inquiring, in his hammock.
"What _is_ the matter with his feet?" he inquired peevishly. "Ishall certainly ask him directly."
"It's the seventh day out," Amory observed, "and still nobodyknows."
For Jarvo and Akko had another distinction besides their diminutivestature and greyhound build. Their feet, clad in soft solelessshoes, made of skins, were long and pointed and of almost uncannyflexibility. It had become impossible for any one to look at eitherof the little men without letting his eyes wander to their curiouslyexpressive feet, which, like "courtier speech," were expressivewithout revealing anything.
"I t'ink," Bennietod gave out, "dat dey're lost Eyetalianorgan-grinder monkeys, wid huming intelligence, like Bertran'sBimi."
"What a suspicious child it is," yawned Little Cawthorne, and wentto sleep again. Toward midnight he awoke, refreshed and happy, andbroke into instant song:
"The daylight may do for the gay, The thoughtless, the heartless, the free, But there's something about the moon's ray--"
he was chanting in perfect tonelessness, when St. George cried out.The others sprang to their feet.
"Lights!" said St. George, and gave the glass to Amory, his handtrembling, and very nearly snatched it back again.
Far to the southeast, faint as the lost Pleiad, a single goldenpoint pricked the haze, danced, glimmered, was lost, and reappearedto their eager eyes. The impossibility of it all, the impossibilityof believing that they could have sighted the lights of an islandhanging there in the waste and hitherto known to nobody simplybecause nobody knew the truth about the Fourth Dimension did notassail them. So absorbed had St. George become in the undertaking,so convincing had been the events that led up to it, and so readyfor anything in any dimension were his companions, that theirexcitement was simply the ancient excitement of lights to themariner and nothing more; save indeed that to St. George they spokea certain language sweeter than the language of any island lying inthe heart of mere science or mere magic either.
When it became evident that the lights were no will-o'-the-wisps,born of the moon and the void, but the veritable lights that shineupon harbours, Bennietod tumbled below for Jarvo, who came on deckand gazed and doubted and well-nigh wept for joy and poured forthstrange words and called aloud for Akko. Akko came and nodded andshowed white teeth.
"To-morrow," he said only.
Barnay came.
"Fwhat matther?" He put it cynically, scowling critically at Jarvoand Akko. "All in the way av fair fight, that'll be about Mor-rocco,if I've the full av my wits about me, an' music to my eyes, by thesame token."
Jarvo fixed him with his impenetrable look.
"It is the light of the king's palace on the summit of MountKhalak," he announced simply.
The light of the king's palace. St. George heard and thrilled withthanksgiving. It would be then the light at her very threshold,provided the impossible is possible, as scientists and devotees haveevery reason to think. But was she there--was she there? If therewas an oracle for the answer, it was not St. George. The littlewhite stars danced and signaled faintly on the far horizon. Whateverthey had to reveal was for nearer eyes than his.
The glass passed from hand to hand, and in turn they all swept thelow sky where the faint points burned; but when some one had criedthat the lights were no longer visible, and the others had verifiedthe cry by looking blankly into a sudden waste of milky black--blackwater, pale light--and turned baffled eyes to Jarvo, the little manspoke smoothly, not even reaching a lean, brown hand for the glass.
"But have no fear, adon," he reassured them, "the chart is notexact--it is that which has delayed us. It will adjust itself. Thelight may long disappear, but it will come again. The gods willpermit the possible."
They looked at one another doubtfully when the two little brown menhad gone below, where Barnay had immediately retired, tucking hisbeard in his collar and muttering sedition. If the two strangecreatures were twin Robin Goodfellows perpetrating a monstroustwentieth century prank, if they were gigantic evolutions of Puckwhose imagination never went far beyond threshing corn with shadowyflails, at least this very modern caper demanded respect for soperfectly catching the spirit of the times. At all events it wasimmensely clever of them to have put their finger upon the publicpulse and to have realized that the public imagination is ready tobelieve anything because it has seen so much proved. Still, "sciencewas faith once"; and besides, to St. George, charts and compasses ofall known and unknown systems of seamanship were suddenly becomebut the dead letter of the law. The spirit of the whole matter wasthat Olivia might be there, under the lights that his own eyes wouldpresently see again. "Who, remembering the first kind glance of herwhom he loves, can fail to believe in magic?" It is very likely thathaving met Olivia at all seemed at that moment so wonderful to St.George that any of the "frolic things" of science were to beaccepted with equanimity.
For an hour or more the moon, flooding the edge of the deck of _TheAloha_, cast four shadows sharply upon the smooth boards. Lined upat the rail stood the four adventurers, and the glass passed fromone to another like the eye of the three Grey Sisters. The farbeacon appeared and disappeared, but its actuality might not bedoubted. If Jarvo and Akko were to be trusted, there in the velvetdistance lay Yaque, and Med, the King's City, and the light upon thevery palace of its American sovereign.
St. George's pulses leaped and trembled. Amory lifted lazy lids andwatched him with growing understanding and finally, upon a pretextof sleep, led the others below. And St. George, with a sense ofjoyful companionship in the little light, paced the deck until dawn.