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Adrift on the Pacific: A Boys Story of the Sea and its Perils, a fiction by Edward Sylvester Ellis |
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Chapter 30. On The Flying Proa |
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_ CHAPTER XXX. 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. _ |
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