Transcriber’s Note:

The cover image was created by the transcriber and is placed in the public domain.

I. 1, No. 1. MID-OCEAN LIBRARY. Nov., 1890.

Issued Monthly. By Subscription, $3.00 per Year.

Chicago: EUREKA PUBLISHING CO., 310 Inter Ocean Building.

WAS HE A LEPER?

A novel bearing the above title, written by the author of “The God of Civilization,” is now in press.

The story, the scene of which is laid in Honolulu, deals with the dread scourge leprosy.

Eureka Publishing Company,

PUBLISHERS.

310 Inter Ocean Building,

CHICAGO.

THE
God of Civilization.
A ROMANCE

—BY—

MRS. M. A. PITTOCK,

AUTHOR OF “WAS HE A LEPER?” IN PRESS.

Copyright 1890. All rights reserved.

CHICAGO:

EUREKA PUBLISHING COMPANY.

TO

FRANCES M. BLUMAUER,

The valued friend who pointed out to me a pleasant path wherein my feet might tread; and to whose loving advice I shall owe whatever of success I may hereafter achieve.

The Author.

Chicago, Oct., 1890.

The God of Civilization.

CHAPTER I.

“Oh! I have grown so tired of this continual round of parties, calls, and theatre going; I do wish something would happen to break the monotony of my life.”

The foregoing remark was made by Mabel Miller, who spoke in a very discontented manner.

“Why, Mabel, how can you talk of monotony? There is not a girl in our acquaintance who has more delightful changes of amusement than yourself. What with your winters, a succession of gaieties, your summers at Santa Cruz or Monterey, I don’t see how you can be so discontented.” It was Mabel’s cousin, Lucy Maynard, who spoke.

“Oh, I know that is what you always say, but it does not alter the fact that I am sick of it all.”

“Well, well, what’s the trouble? What is this, that my little girl is so sick of?” Mabel turned hastily as these words of her father’s caught her ear.

“Why, papa, I didn’t know you were here or I might not have said what I did; I ought to be contented, I know, after all you do for me.”

“Come, come; this won’t do, little girl. If you are unhappy why shouldn’t your old father know all about it?”

“I am not unhappy, papa, only I am so tired of everything. I was just saying I did wish something out of the ordinary way might happen.”

“How would a trip to Australia do for novelty, Mabel?”

“Oh, papa, do you mean it? I would like it above all things. I have always wanted to go there.”

“Well, Mabel, if you think you can be ready in a week’s time you shall go. I met our old friend Captain Gray to-day, and it seems he is bound for Australia, and is going to take his wife and two daughters along with him, and he has room for one or two more on board; so there is a chance for you to go, if you like.”

“Won’t that be splendid?” cried Mabel, clapping her hands and dancing gleefully about the room like a child.

“But, Mabel, you must remember it is a sailing vessel, and not a steamer, that you are to go on, and, aren’t you afraid that the number of weeks it will take you to reach your destination, will prove as monotonous as parties and calls do now.”

“I don’t mind the length of time that we shall be in going. I shall find something amusing I feel sure; will you go too, Lucy?”

“Oh no, thank you; you will have to excuse me;” laughed Lucy. I like the present order of things very well and will try a little while longer to find amusement in balls, and so on, and then besides there is Harry, you know, I couldn’t leave him.”

“No, indeed, I do not intend to spare both of my dear girls at once; what in the world would I do with you both away,” said Mr. Miller.

“But, papa, you don’t mean to say that you are not going too,” asked Mabel.

“Why, of course, that is what I mean; did my girlie think I could drop everything and trot off to the antipodes with her at a moment’s notice? No, Mabel, I can’t go; but you will be well cared for, as Mrs. Gray, I know, will look after your welfare as closely as would your own mother if she were living. And her two daughters will prove most delightful companions if they are half as amiable as they are pretty.”

“They are lovely girls. I met them last summer at Santa Cruz, and liked them ever so much. I know we shall have a nice time.”

“All right, then; you had better begin your preparations, as young ladies are not noted for their ability to do things up well at short notice.”

“I could be ready to go to-morrow, but as long as I have a week to get ready in I expect I shall find every minute of the time taken up, so I am off to make a beginning. Lucy, will you run down to O’Brien’s with me? I shall want a dress or so, and you are such an authority on such things, I want you with me when I choose them.”

“Yes, I will go to O’Brien’s with you; that is much more to my taste than a disagreeable, tedious voyage to Australia,” answered Lucy.

The two girls left the room to don hats and wraps for their shopping tour; and as they left it Mrs. Maynard, Lucy’s mother, who had entered the room in time to catch a part of the conversation, came toward Mr. Miller with rather a troubled look on her face, saying, “James, how can you propose such a thing as this trip for Mabel; you really encourage her in her foolish notions of dislike for conventionalities. She has no mother, poor child, to explain to her, her duties and responsibilities, and I’m sure I have tried my best, if ever a woman tried, ever since I have been living here, to make her see how foolish she is to be always wishing for some new mode of life. She almost drives me to despair with her whims and her notions. You ought to help me in my efforts for her good.”

“Come, come,” broke in Mr. Miller, “you don’t mean to say I haven’t got the good of my only child as much at heart as you have, do you? Why, that girl and her happiness is my first care in life.”

“I know, you think you are doing what is best, but James, don’t you see you have spoiled her by always letting her have her own way in obtaining what she calls happiness? You ought to realize that Mabel is now twenty years old, and it is high time she thought of marriage instead of such foolish trips as this one.”

“Oh, nonsense, she has plenty of time yet; and if she don’t happen to get married I guess I’ve got money enough to keep her here with me yet awhile; hey, Kate?”

“I might almost as well talk to the girl herself as to you. Now, why can’t she settle down to take an interest in society, as Lucy does? In a few months I shall see Lucy nicely settled in an establishment of her own; and if Mr. Howard is a little wild now he will settle down after he and Lucy are married awhile, and I had hoped that when she was married and all that, I should then see Mabel as well suited.”

“I know, Kate, you are a great little matchmaker; but you see Mabel don’t want to find a husband just yet, and I don’t want to lose her yet awhile, sister; so we will just let her alone.”

Perhaps Mrs. Maynard might have felt inclined to carry the argument further, but at this moment the two girls returned, and with them Harry Howard, the young man to whom Lucy was betrothed. Of course the subject was dropped, and the few days that followed before Mabel’s departure was so fully occupied with the arrangements for her trip that the subject was not again referred to. These last days at home were made lively by a farewell afternoon tea and a round of calls, all of which Mrs. Maynard thought necessary for Mabel to make before her departure, although Mabel tried to evade making them by putting forward the plea that she was too busy; but her aunt was firm in her purpose, saying, “My dear Mabel, you do not seem to realize what you owe to society. You must make these calls or what will people in our set say?”

“Oh, auntie, I don’t care even the least little bit what people say. I don’t care for the people in our set, which means three or four hundred people that I don’t care the snap of my finger for, anyway; and who do not care at all for me. Then, what is the use of trying all the time to keep up with society? I like my friends, and I hope I have some friends who like me really in return; but I don’t care for society, as you call it, at all.”

Mabel and her aunt were not all likely ever to have the same ideas of society, as Mrs. Maynard was one of those women who all her life had lived for society, and struggled continually to be a leader, but as yet her ambition was ungratified, for, though she was a prominent figure socially, she was by no means a leader; whereas, Mabel, having lost her mother in early childhood, had been the companion, more or less, of her father, a man kindhearted and thoroughly good, but who regarded social duties as rather a bore, and consequently Mabel saw the world through his eyes and had learned, very young, the bitter lesson of disenchantment as far as the social system was concerned. It was all a sham to her, and, as she was eighteen when her aunt and cousin Lucy came to form a part of their household, the ideas of the two girls were very different.

CHAPTER II.

The day on which the bark sailed was one of those clear, bright days that are so delightful in San Francisco, when the brisk breeze blowing in from the sea, bringing the color to the cheeks and giving one an indescribable feeling of thankfulness for the mere fact of being alive.

As Mabel stood on the deck, dressed in a jaunty sailor suit, she made as pretty a picture as one could wish to see, with the soft curly locks of golden hair blown out from under a snug little cap about her sweet face, and among the large party of friends who had come down to see the vessel off that was to carry Mabel on her eventful trip, there was at least one young man, if not more, who thought her by far, the handsomest as well as the brightest girl he knew, and felt that he would like very much to tell her so. But Mabel had a peculiar way of her own of keeping young men at a friendly distance, and the young man who looked at her with such a longing in his heart had not dared to speak of love to her, fearing to meet the fate of more than one of his acquaintances, for already she had had a number of offers of marriage, for she was not only a girl of wonderful beauty, but also exceedingly fascinating and entertaining. She had every accomplishment that could be taught a woman of the present day. Then another fact that may have had its influence on some of her suitors was that her father was what is commonly called a rich man and she an only child.

At last all was ready and the staunch little tug Relief, after much fuss and bustle and blowing of whistles, had made fast to the bark. Mabel threw herself into her father’s arms for a last good-bye. Now she stands leaning over the rail, with one hand raised to shade her eyes from the glare of the sun, and with the other waved farewell to those standing on the wharf watching the slow, majestic progress of the vessel out towards the blue Pacific.

Mabel strained her eyes for a last glimpse of the form of her father. It never entered her mind that this is the last time she may ever see him, but her heart is as gay and as light as a child’s as she joined Mrs. Gray and her two daughters who are talking with a man of perhaps thirty, who is dressed in the pronounced English style.

As Mabel had already met Mr. Allen Thornton, who was a fellow passenger, she fell quickly into conversation with the group. Allen Thornton was saying to Mrs. Gray, “Well, you know I had intended to take the steamer for Melbourne, but reached San Francisco a day too late for the steamer, and as I should have to wait about a month for the next one, then finding that your vessel was to leave in a day or so with a pleasant little party on board, and as I have a fondness for pleasant little parties rather than large ones, not so agreeable, here I am. I do hope you ladies are going to be awfully nice to me and try to do everything in your power to make the trip a pleasant one for me.”

At which the three girls laughed heartily, and Etta, the younger of the Gray girls, answered him with, “Oh, we’ll make it pleasant for you, if waiting on us can make it so. I was just saying how nice it was to have a young man along to wait upon us all the time as you won’t have another thing in the world to do, and we shall have to keep you busy.”

“Oh, this is something simply fearful. I thought, being the only man in this little party of idlers, you would vie with each other in your efforts to amuse me; but alas, instead of that, you intend to use the advantage of your superior number to reduce me to the level of a slave.”

“Don’t you wish you were safe on shore again,?” laughed Etta.

“I do not dare to say I wish it or you may perhaps throw me overboard and tell me to strike out for the shore. No, I will try to bear your tyranny,” saying which he settled himself comfortably in a big bamboo chair, and after asking of the ladies permission to smoke and being granted his request, he lit his pipe. He certainly looked as if he were going to make the best of his lot.

CHAPTER III.

The days passed more rapidly than Mabel had any idea they would, and a delightful time they had, too. Reading, card playing, and an occasional old-fashioned candy making enlivened the time. They really did not heed the passage of time as the vessel, day after day, brought them farther into that realm of delight—the tropics. All day long they lie lazily on deck under an awning that had been put up to protect them from the fervid rays of the glorious king of day, and drink in the fresh sea air so warm, yet so refreshing, so delicious.

The party had become so imbued with truly tropical indolence, that now, even reading was abandoned by them. They were having a desultory conversation one afternoon when it occurred to them that a pleasant diversion would be to relate any strange events that had ever happened to any of them, and then weave the whole into one romance, drawing on their imaginations, of course, to make the final story more thrilling.

“Now,” cried Mabel, “Mr. Thornton, as you were the one to propose the scheme, you must be the first to tell of the events in your life that are worthy to be written in our crazy-patch story, which, I am sure, will astonish the whole world when we allow it to read our wonderful productions.”

“All right, Miss Miller; but as you are the one to propose giving our story the honor of being written I move that you be the one to write down all the events that have, in the past, happened to our party,” Mr. Thornton answered with a laugh, as Mabel made a wry face at being picked out as the one to do the only physical labor connected with the plan.

“Wait until I run down and get a blank book which I have in my cabin, and we shall be under full sail,” saying which Mr. Thornton disappeared down the companion way, returning with blank book and pencil. “Now, Miss Mabel, to work.”

“But,” said she, “how can I write anything until you have told me what to write.”

“By Jove, I forgot you were waiting for me to begin. Let me see, to begin with I was born at a very early age, and——”

“Now stop, Mr. Thornton, we won’t allow any such old joke as that to go with our romance,” cried Etta.

“Very well, then; I was born at Brighton, England. Now, really, girls, I don’t see where I’m going to find the romance or strange events in my life. I’m in despair.”

“That isn’t fair, Mr. Thornton,” said Mabel, “you’ve got to go on now. I warrant you have a romance you don’t want us to know anything about.”

“Well, here goes then. I was born at Brighton, England, and lived there the first fifteen years of my life. When I was about a year old my father, who was a sea captain, left home in his ship for the very port which we are bound for, but which he never reached, as his vessel was lost with all on board and was never heard from. I lived with my widowed mother until I was fifteen, at which time she died, leaving me alone in the world, as I had no brother or sister and but one relative, an uncle, who, at about the time I was born, had gone to Australia, where he had large interests in some of the gold mines in that region. After my uncle learned of my mother’s death he sent me to school and college, in the meantime putting a liberal amount of money at my disposal, and when I left college I had a letter from him saying that he now wished me to come out to Australia and live with him, to take an interest in his large business; in fact to occupy the place of a son to him, as he was childless. Now you would think of course I did as he wished, but I did not, and why? All because a pretty little girl, with rosy cheeks and roguish, laughing eyes, had too strong an attraction for me; but I should have known that those laughing eyes could have looked as lovingly at other admirers as myself. But I trusted my little darling, even when with her arms around my neck she told me that ‘papa must not know of our engagement just yet.’ What difference did it make to me so long as I knew she loved me, even if she did dance half the night and idle away half the day with that young idiot Grayson, whose father is worth his millions. I knew that she loved me, but one day I awoke from my dream. What was this I held in my hand—a card to a wedding? Was I going mad or had my eyes played me false? No, my God, no; it was there printed on the card I held in my hand—‘Helen Jessup to Herbert Grayson.’ Yes, it was my darling’s name. I dropped my head on my hands and gave way to my agony. But finally recovering myself I resolved to go to Helen and ask her what it meant; so dashing out of the house I was soon in a cab going rapidly toward her father’s house. I hardly gave the cab time to stop before I sprang out and rushed up the steps and rang at the door. I asked for Helen. The servant hesitated a moment and then said, ‘Miss Jessup is at home, but I do not know whether she will see anyone or not. I will ask, if you will step into the parlor, sir.’ I went in, my head in a whirl. I was hardly seated when Helen rushed in—a vision of loveliness in white—and actually threw herself in my arms, exclaiming, ‘You darling Allen; I know what you are going to say, but don’t say it, dearest, for my heart is broken, too.’

“‘What do you mean,’ I cried, ‘your heart broken? Who has broken it, may I ask?’

“‘Allen dear, don’t look at me that way; I cannot endure it. You look as if you blamed me for what has happened.’

“‘And who, pray, is to blame?’ I found breath to ask. At which she melted into tears and cried, ‘You don’t love me any more.’

“I was almost dumb with astonishment. ‘You don’t expect me to love you when you are going to marry another man, do you,?’ I gasped.

“‘Don’t you see how it is; I love you and always shall love you. Really, I could not marry you after papa found that your income from your mother’s estate was only four hundred pounds a year. Now, dearest, you know I could not dress decently on that. No, I had to marry Herbert, but I do not love him and never shall.’

“‘Why, Helen,’ I cried, ‘why did you not say it was money, not love, that you wanted, and I could have told you I have an allowance of five thousand pounds a year from my uncle, who is one of the wealthiest men in Australia.’

“‘Why didn’t you tell me that before; it would have made all the difference in the world. I don’t see what I can do now, unless I get up an awful quarrel with Herbert, and I will do that if I can.’

“I was shocked beyond all expression. This grasping, money-loving woman, who did not hesitate to say that she loved one man, when she was on the eve of marrying another. Could it be my Helen, whom I had thought the soul of innocence and goodness, all girlish love and yielding tenderness?

“I turned from her with a feeling that was almost loathing. I could not answer one word, but took my hat and left her presence forever.

“The next day found me with a ticket for New York in my pocket, and a determination to spend the rest of my life with my uncle, and, in a new country begin a new life. Such, young ladies, is my story so far; what will happen hereafter is a sealed book, as yet. Now, Miss Etta, give us your story next.”

Scarcely had Allen Thornton uttered these words, when they were suddenly aroused by the sharp ringing of the ship’s bell, and, at the same moment Mrs. Gray appeared on the deck, her face white and her whole manner one of alarm. The young people sprang to their feet and ran toward her, crying out “what is it,”? “what has happened”?, “what is the matter,?” all talking at once in breathless excitement, presenting a strange contrast to the picture they had formed a moment before, of perfect comfort and contentment.

Mrs. Gray did not speak, but dropped into a chair as if utterly helpless.

“What is it,” again cried Etta.

Mrs. Gray raised her head and uttered that one word, so terrible to hear at sea: “Fire!!”

“O, mamma, is the ship on fire?”

By this time Mrs. Gray had recovered her composure, and, answered, “yes, on fire. Do what you can quickly to save what valuables you have. Your father says there is considerable powder in the vessel, and, that we shall probably have to take to the boats to save our lives.”

Indeed, already while they had been speaking, the men had been busy supplying the life boats with barrels of sea biscuit, and salt beef, and casks of fresh water and other necessities; and the scene which had so lately been one of placid enjoyment, had, in a moment been turned into the wildest confusion. Sailors running here and there, officers shouting out orders, and above it all, the smoke arising in dense clouds. The life boats were soon ready for their precious human freight. Into one boat Mrs. Gray, Allen Thornton, the three girls, the captain and four sailors went, the rest of the crew taking another boat. The men set the sails on the captain’s boat, and, as there was a brisk breeze blowing, together with the fact that the men bent manfully to the oars, they were soon a safe distance from the burning ship, and looking back could see the flames bursting out all over her.

All at once there was a frightful noise, and as they looked, they saw the vessel torn asunder, portions of her being thrown high in the air. It was as if she had lifted herself out of her watery bed in one wild leap of joy, at no longer being under the control of human hands, but left to the mad caprice, of the wild elements—fire and water. As a portion of the smoke cleared away the now shipwrecked watchers could see that she has been completely shattered by the terrible explosion, and, that what had been so lately a noble vessel, breasting the waves with majestic calm, was now gone from the face of the waters; no more should she sail away with her sails bellying in the breeze, her flag and pennon floating gaily at her mastheads; no more should loving eyes gaze out over the harbor bar with longing anxiety for her coming, bringing loved ones home. No, she had gone, gone forever.

The day passed slowly enough to our friends. All through the afternoon they kept in sight of the other boat load of fellow sufferers. As the day advanced, the breeze, which had been blowing all day, was a strong gale by the time night had fallen, with that suddenness, which seems, in a moment, to envelop the sea and earth as with a dark shroud dropped by mysterious hand from heaven.

There is in the tropics no gentle approach of night, no soft shades of twilight, that time when all heaven and earth is hushed in dreamy, restful quiet; that time between the busy, gay and garish day and the dark, gruesome night. The darkness seemed to increase the uneasiness of all on board the little craft as they were afraid the high winds might drive them against some of the large pieces of wreckage which, before nightfall they had seen not far from them; and if such an accident happened to them there would be little chance of their escaping a most horrible death. But their fears from that source were fortunately not realized.

At last morning dawned, but bringing no abatement of the storm; in fact, the southerly gale had increased to almost a hurricane in violence.

All day long the wind and sea raged, the seas breaking over the frail craft time and again. Not a mouthful of food was taken by any of the wretched party, as they did not dare to relax their hold on the boat to which they clung in the agony of despair. After hours of this horrible battling with the sea, Mrs. Gray feebly called out, “I can keep my hold no longer. My strength is almost gone. Good-bye my loved ones.”

Captain Gray made an effort to reach her but he had been thrown from his feet to the bottom of the boat a moment before, and his leg was now held by a cask that had fallen on him, and before any one could reach Mrs. Gray, another sea had swept the unfortunate boat, and, tearing her from her feeble hold had carried her far beyond the reach of assistance. The storm continued but a short time longer to vent its fury on the ill-fated occupants of the life-boat, and shortly after Mrs. Gray was swept away it passed on to the north in search of new victims; but left behind it a long angry swell, the vast bosom of the deep, heaving and swelling.

The grey and sullen skies, from which the rain now came in a soft shower, like a child denied some wished for toy, who cries and stamps its foot in rage, then finally sobs itself to sleep. All through the night the swells continued, but by morning had almost disappeared and the sun shown from a clear sky, with a genial warmth.

By noon, the clothes of the drenched party were dry and they had set to work to find what was left to them, after the storm, of their supply of provisions. They found the barrel of beef all right, the sea biscuit a little water-soaked, and set to work spreading the biscuit in the sun to dry. The barrels had all been firmly lashed to the boat so they had stood the stress of the storm with but little damage, but, to their horror, they found when they came to examine the water cask that was also lashed to the boat, that during the storm its side had been stove in, letting almost all the water escape, so that now there remained but a few pints of the precious liquid in the bottom of the cask. It was realized by all that the danger they now had most to fear was lack of water. After having eaten heartily of the sea biscuit and beef, that to satisfy their immediate thirst, would take all the water remaining, but they contented themselves with a mere sip, just enough to moisten their parched lips.

Carrie Gray, who had always been a delicate girl, was completely prostrated by the terror and hardships which she had undergone the past few days, and the loss of her mother preyed upon her mind so constantly, that by the evening of the third day she was raging with fever, and her father and sister denied themselves of their share of water, only dampening their lips and tongues with a few drops, so that Carrie might have all to relieve her sufferings as much as possible.

CHAPTER V.

“Captain Gray, have you any idea where we are?” asked Allen Thornton, on the afternoon of the third day.

It was not the first time that the query had been on the lips of more than one of the unfortunates, but each time they had dreaded to ask the question, as they feared the answer.

“I can not say exactly, of course,” answered Captain Gray, “but as the wind that has been treating us so unmercifully, was from the southeast we have been keeping, apparently, a course, more or less, to the northwest, and I should say we are considerably northwest of our position when we left the ship.”

“Do we stand much chance of being picked up by some passing ship, Captain?” asked Mabel.

“No, I’m afraid we do not,” answered the captain, “as we are rather out of the line of ship travel. You see, the winds had been quite light for several days before we abandoned the vessel, and what headway we made was entirely to the westward, so that we were considerably farther west than the usual course of vessels.”

“Then we may as well make up our minds to die first as last, is that the way of it, Captain?” asked Allen.

“No, we will not give up yet by any means. Do you remember, Etta, the day before we left the ship, when I was marking our position on the chart, you asked me what all those little black dots, extending in a curved line almost ahead of us, were?”

“Yes, papa, I do indeed, and you said they were little islands, or reefs that had been sighted from time to time by some vessel.”

“Well, there lies our chance for safety,” said the captain. “We are now considerably nearer them, I should judge, and we may be able to make one of those islands.”

“How long will it take us to reach the islands, do you suppose?” asked Mabel.

“Well, I can’t say that we will ever reach them, my dear Mabel, I can only hope so; but even if we do, we may be no better off, as some of them are simply coral reefs, others barren and desolate, being of recent volcanic origin, while still others are inhabited by the fiercest tribes of cannibals. They are, for the most part, unexplored, as they are in latitudes where storms from the south, such as we have passed through, are of frequent occurrence, and the quantity of reefs make the approach to them a matter of great peril.”

“Well, Mabel, we will keep up stout hearts and hope for the best, won’t we?” said Allen.

Etta had sat listening to all her father had said, saying but little until now, but as Carrie, whose head was resting in Etta’s lap, moved restlessly and moaned, “Water, give me some water.”

It seemed that Etta could stand it no longer and she cried, “Oh, papa, we must get there right away. Can’t something be done to help us on? Carrie can not endure this horrible heat much longer, without shelter, and the water is all gone.”

“All gone?” the words seemed to be fairly shrieked by the horrified group, for they knew that under this burning sky they could none of them exist long without water.

Her father was the first to ask where the supply had gone, that an hour before he had thought sufficient, at the rate they were using it, for at least two days, and now it was all gone. “Who used it,” Captain Gray asked sternly?

“I did,” said Etta, “don’t blame me, papa, I could not help it, I have given it to Carrie. I could not endure it any longer to see her suffering so. I had to give it to her.”

Captain Gray bowed his head in his hands for a moment, then taking Etta’s hand in his, asked in a broken voice, “Do you know what you have done my child? You have doomed us all to a horrible death.”

“Don’t papa, don’t. I could not bear to see her die, calling for water when there was still a little that she might have.”

“But what can we do for her now, the water is all gone, and her fever higher than ever. My God! Must I see my loved ones die, and be powerless to help them. My wife torn from me by the relentless waves, and now, my darling daughter dying before my eyes. Would to God I could die; but, to live on bereft of those dearest to me, I shudder at the thought.”

The morning of the fourth day broke, hot, oh, so hot. The air was like a breath from a furnace, scorching, and parching the occupants of the boat. Carrie was raving wildly, and calling constantly for water, but not even a drop was to be had. Her agonized father, and sister could do nothing for her, and death came to release her from her horrible sufferings about one o’clock, as near as they could judge, as the watches of both the captain and Allen had stopped during the storm and they had set them by guess.

Knowing that they could not keep the body of Carrie any length of time, and fully realizing the fact that they were all fast losing strength, Allen Thornton, assisted by two of the sailors, committed the remains to the sea. It was horrible to think of doing so, as sharks had been following the boat for some time past, and, here and there the shining dorsal fin of a sluggish, slow moving monster of the deep could be seen glistening in the sunlight. Etta was spared the torture of seeing her loved sister’s body given up to such a fate, owing to the fact that she was utterly unconscious of all that passed, and sat in the bottom of the boat with a vacant stare in her eyes. Both she and Mabel had now almost succumbed to the heat, and their terrible thirst. One of the sailors was raving wildly and throwing his arms above his head with heart-rending shrieks, as the body of Carrie struck the water with a slight splash, the sound seemed to madden him still more, for he gave one wild cry and threw himself over the side of the boat.

The sky which had been so clear at the beginning of the day, had gradually become overcast with clouds. At about three o’clock a few drops of rain fell with a soft plash into the boat. It soon increased to a hard shower. Captain Gray, Allen and the sailors quickly unlashed the barrel containing the sea biscuit, which they emptied into the bottom of the boat and set the barrel to catch the rain. They soon had caught enough to give each of the girls a refreshing draught, moistening their own parched throats as well. The rain continued to fall for some time, enabling them to catch several quarts of water.

For three days more they drifted on, with no signs of land, or even a friendly sail in sight, but about noon of the eighth day one of the sailors cried: “Land! Land!” “Captain, isn’t that land ahead?”

“I have seen that line against the sky for some time,” answered Captain Gray, “and I think you are right in saying it is land, yet it may be only a coral reef.”

What remnant of sail they had left was soon put up, and fortunately what breeze there was, was setting directly toward the island, if island it really was.

“Can’t we do something to make sure of reaching it, papa, if it is land?” asked Etta, who had now entirely revived.

“No my child, we must trust to luck to take us there. We are almost helpless. But there seems to be a current setting in towards shore, which, if nothing, such as adverse winds, happens to change our course, I think that sometime to-morrow we shall reach the island or reef, whichever it is.”

“Are we not in danger of running on some hidden reef?” said Allen.

“Yes, we do run some risk of that, but we must do the best we can.”

As night came on, the weary wanderers over the face of the waters, composed themselves to rest with a feeling of almost security, so nearly ended seemed their trials of the past week. The three sailors, Allen and the captain went on watch by turns throughout the night. By the early morning light how anxiously all the party scanned the shore, which could now be seen quite plainly. The waves gently lifted the boat and each moment seemed to carry it onward, in a manner that was meant to compensate for the roughness with which the waves had handled the staunch little craft a few days before.

“I think,” said Captain Gray, “that we are inside of a large reef and that fact accounts for the calmness of the sea.”

“We are lucky that the wind keeps favorable,” said Allen. “What in the world should we do if the wind should go down?”

“Well, Allen,” answered Mabel, “we must trust in providence. God has so far brought us out of our perils, and we should not now, doubt His goodness, or power to protect us.”

“I know Mabel, yet I cannot help feeling as if, were we again to be driven out to sea, it would be harder to bear than our trials of the last week have been.”

“But see, Allen,” broke in Etta, “we can actually see the shore and what is on it.”

“You mean, what is not on it, don’t you?” said Allen. “I don’t see anything but a mass of reddish brown rock.”

“I must say it is not a very promising looking shore” answered Etta, “but I shall be thankful to reach it, no matter what there is on it. I have such a horror of this boat, from which my mother and sister have been snatched by death.”

Nearer, and nearer they came to the shore. At last a grating sound under the keel, was heard. They had gone as far as possible. One of the sailors sprang out, and found the water quite shallow, and waded ashore. He soon came back, and, with the help of the other sailors, carried ashore what was left of the provisions. Going on shore a second time they found that if they could move the boat from its present position, they might get it into deeper water, and by pushing it along with a pole bring them a sort of little cove.

“But where are we to get the poles from?” asked Allen.

“We will take the remains of the mast. That will do,” said Captain Gray.

Suiting the action to the word, and getting the boat free once more, they began to push her slowly up the little inlet. At last she was snugly alongside the shore, and once more all the party felt the firm earth under their feet. A feeling of thankfulness filled every heart.

CHAPTER VI.

They were all very hungry, as they had been too intently watching their approach to the island to think of eating anything since the morning, and it was now almost sunset. Going over to the place where the sailors had first landed, where the beef and biscuit had been deposited, they prepared to eat their supper. They were all heartily tired of salt beef and hard tack, but the country appeared to be very barren, and there seemed little likelihood of their finding much in the way of food on it.

“I think,” said Captain Gray, “that this is one of the volcanic islands I spoke of, but still we may have landed on the most desolate part of it. To-morrow we will explore it in all directions, and find out just what our position is.”

After supper they prepared for their first night ashore, and yet it was not exactly ashore, either, as the boat was more comfortable as a sleeping place, than the rocky shore; so arranging the sail in the bottom of the boat, they spent, by far, the most comfortable night since the burning of the “Western Shore.”

When the first light of morning made its appearance, Allen and Harry (one of the sailors) set out to see if they could find water, which they were again likely to suffer for, or any kind of food. They followed the shore line until they had rounded a sharp point which obscured the boat from their view. As they rounded this point, an exclamation of joy burst from Allen’s lips. “See Harry,” cried he, “there is a large number of trees; they will probably have fruit of some kind.”

“Yes, they have fruit,” answered Harry, “but I’m afraid we can’t reach it. They are cocoanut trees.”

“Well, what if they are? What’s to prevent our getting the nuts; they would be a fine change in our diet, and the milk, too, would be very acceptable.”

“Yes, that’s true, sure enough, but we can’t get them. Those trees are from fifty to seventy-five feet high, and it takes a fellow that’s used to climbing them, to reach the nuts. I can tell you that.”

“Why,” said Allen, “can’t you climb one of those trees? You were nimble enough when you had to go aloft to set a sail, and I think it must be quite as hard to climb a mast as a tree.”

“No sir, that’s where you’re wrong. When a fellow’s going up the rigging, don’t you see he has all the ropes to help him, but to climb a cocoanut tree it’s a sight different. You’ve got nothing to lay hold of, and have got to trust to your feet and hands having a good grip on the bark.”

“I think you could do it if you tried,” said Allen.

“Well, I know as how I ain’t smart enough to do it, for I have tried it afore now. You see I’ve been around a good bit in the South Seas, and there ain’t no fellow but what’ll try his hand at climbing a cocoanut tree if he thinks he can do it.”

By this time they were in the midst of the graceful, tall trees which held their plume-like heads high against the sky, as if in proud defiance of all such aspiring mortals as should wish to rob them of their royal crown of fruit. But now that they had reached the cocoanut grove, they found that there were a number of other trees of much lower growth in the neighborhood. On going up to these trees they found them to have very broad leaves that spread out from the top of the trunk, each leaf being held in an almost horizontal position by a thick, pulpy stem, from three to five feet in length. The lower round of leaves having the largest stems, and each row being somewhat shorter than the one beneath, forming a most agreeable shade, as its shape was that of an immense umbrella. Clustered closely around the trunk, and directly under the leaves, were about a dozen bright, orange-colored fruits, resembling a quince somewhat in shape, only larger. Allen was the first to see these, and called to Harry, “What are those trees ahead of us, do you know?”

“Yes, they are papiea trees, and the fruit is mighty good to eat, too.”

They were not long in gathering a number of these, and also some guavas, which they found in abundance. Now, as it was getting well on in the morning, and they were beginning to feel as if breakfast would be acceptable, they started back to the boat. They were rather disappointed at not having found any traces of fresh water, but hoped that the captain and Ben, who had gone in the opposite direction, had been more fortunate, and so indeed they had. Not far from where the boat was moored they came upon a little stream, whose limpid water hurrying over its rock-brown bed, was a joyful sight to the searchers. Passing a little beyond the shining brooklet, on whose bank they stopped a moment, both the captain and Ben taking a long draught of the sweet water, they came upon a lovely beach covered with bits of coral, shining sands and bright shells. Ben, running down to the water’s edge, soon turned with the exclamation, “It’s just as you thought, captain, when you said there should be plenty of crab, if we could find a good beach. See, here is a fine one, I have caught.” After working for some time they managed to capture eight fine crabs.

“Now,” said the captain, “I think we had better go back to camp with what we have, and delay our expedition until after breakfast. It will take some time to prepare these, even if Hans and the girls have managed to get a fire.”

“All right, just as you say, captain,” came the answer, “but if you will wait just a few minutes I will get some of that sea-weed we have seen clinging to the rocks. It makes first-rate eating.”

“What, that black, slippery looking stuff?” asked the captain.

“Yes, sir. The natives of several islands down in these parts eat it, and I have tasted it and it’s first rate.”

“That’s so,” said Captain Gray, “now I come to think of it, I have seen the natives of the Hawaiian Islands, and Samoa, eat it.”

So, gathering a quantity of the sea kale, they also started back for the boat.

In the meantime the girls and Hans had not been idle. They had searched in all directions for material to build a fire. They succeeded in finding a number of pieces of driftwood, which, during some storm had been cast high and dry on this rocky point. The captain had been fortunate enough to have kept some matches perfectly dry, as his little gold match-box, which he carried in an inner pocket, shut so tightly that not a drop of water had reached the now much needed and precious matches. The girls had arranged a fire all ready to light when any of the party came back, so that if they found any game or fish they would be able to cook it immediately. Consequently when captain and Ben returned, the fire was soon going, and the crabs put into the hot ashes to cook. Hans had found a comfortable shade from the sun behind some huge rocks which was very pleasant to the captain and Ben, who had not found a particle of shade during the time they were exploring and so were very much heated, for, although the hour was early the heat of the sun was intense.

During the absence of captain and Ben, Hans had busied himself making a bucket of the staves of the broken water cask and needed only hoops to complete it. The two girls started to the boat after them. They had been gone but a few moments when they rushed back, with their faces as pale as death. Etta, throwing herself into her father’s arms, cried: “Papa, what shall we do, where can we hide? They have come, they have seen us, I am sure they have. Oh, papa, papa, what shall we do?”

Their fear soon communicated itself to the whole group.

“What is it,” exclaimed Captain Gray, “who has come?”

“The natives,” whispered Mabel, “don’t speak so loud, perhaps they didn’t see us after all.”

The captain was busy, meanwhile, trying to smother the fire by dragging a portion of the old sail upon it.

“If the smoke does not attract their notice,” said Captain Gray, “we may still be safe, if as Mabel thinks, they did not see you.”

“But papa, I am sure they did see us and they are cannibals, I know they are cannibals. What shall we do?”

“Put your trust in the Lord, and fear not,” said Mabel, drawing Etta close to her.

“Are you never frightened at anything Mabel, you are so calm?”

“Yes, I am afraid now, but I feel that what is best for me will happen, and it is useless for me to struggle against fate.”

“How many natives were they and how far away?” inquired the captain.

“There was five,” replied Mabel, “and they were just coming over the crest of the hill as we saw them.”

“Five,” mused Captain Gray. “They could easily overpower us as we are but three men now. Oh, if Allen and Harry were only here.”

Mabel raised her head with a startled little cry. “Oh, captain, what if Allen is already in the hands of those horrible natives; or perhaps he and Harry both have been killed and these savages are searching for further traces of our party.”

They now lay as closely as possible to the protecting rocks and after Mabel’s last words, a deathlike hush reigned. The moments seemed like hours in the agonizing suspense, for they knew not how close the dreaded savages might have come by now, as their footfalls, they were aware, could not be heard and they expected any moment to see their malignant faces stealthily peering around the corners of the rocks. They did not dare to go to the edge of the rocky screen to see if their foes were in sight, for fear of betraying their hiding place; they had resolved to fight to the last and not be taken alive if possible.

Perhaps Etta and Mabel dreaded capture more than the three men; they also resolved to fight for their lives, if necessary.

CHAPTER VII.

The moments had passed slowly until almost an hour had gone by. Captain Gray was the first to break the long silence with: “I begin to think, that for this time we are safe,” but hardly had the words left his lips when the murmur of voices were heard. The hearts of every member of the little party seemed to stop beating, so intense was their terrible dread. In a moment more the form of a strongly built young savage bounded over the lowest part of the rocky barrier and stood before the horrified group. He was quickly followed by four other natives.

The captain and the rest of the little party sprang to their feet ready to defend themselves, their backs against the rocks, their drawn knives in their hands. But instead of rushing upon them, the young native smiled and pointed to something he carried in his hand, which was a large conch shell, having a curved piece of bright pearl shell attached to it in a curious manner, the whole arrangement being fastened to a long cord of braided grass, and said in a kind voice:

“Fish! Ahleka, Fish! Have no fear of Ahleka.”

The surprise of the little group can be better imagined than described, at hearing very fair English spoken by this stalwart young native, whose skin was a rich nut-brown, and whose only clothing consisted of a strip of braided grass wound about his waist and hanging in a deep fringe half way to the knees. The rest of his body was totally devoid of covering or ornament, except a necklace of claws that encircled his throat. He was a splendid specimen of manhood; tall and straight as a young tree, broad shouldered, muscular and supple.

The strangeness of hearing words they could understand, flow from his lips, in a full musical tone, when they had expected to hear only sounds unintelligible to them, was so great as to make the little party stare at the natives with open-eyed wonder, as Ahleka continued:

“My people will do you no harm. We war not with the children of the lands beyond the seas. But, how came you here? We have found your large waa (canoe) close under the rocks. Did you come from lands beyond the rising of Ka La (pointing to the sun) and, how did so few warriors bring so large a waa so far?”

The natives were regarding curiously the group before them.

Captain Gray answered, “No, we did not come in so small a boat from our land, but our big ship was burned at sea, and nine days have we drifted, until we came upon your island.”

Mabel now broke in with: “Are there white people on your island?”

“White people, daughter of mahina (the moon), what are white people?”

“Why, do you not know? and yet you speak English; we are white people, not brown like yourself and your friends.”

“Are all your people like you, daughter of mahina, as if the light of Ka La shone forever on bright pearls?”

Mabel was a little confused at his admiring glance, but answered: “Yes, do you not see, all my friends are white, also?”

“The two daughters are white, as you say, but not so white are the warriors.”

There was a general laugh at this remark. Etta spoke up for her bronzed father and the two sailors, saying, “they are indeed darker than we, but the rays of the sun made them so, while we live indoors.”

The sailors were indeed very much sun-burned, while Captain Gray was naturally a very dark man. There was no denying the fact that they presented a strong contrast to the two girls, who were both fair, with light hair, particularly Mabel, whose complexion was extremely delicate. On attempting to talk with the other natives, Captain Gray was surprised to find that they understood but a word or two of what was said to them.

“You have not told us yet: are there other of our people living on your island?”

“No, not of your people. My father speaks your tongue. He has taught me to speak it also, but he is of our people.”

“But, if he speaks English he must be an American or an Englishman,” cried Mabel.

“No, said I, not, he is my father. How is he of your people beyond the rising of Ka La. No waa, in all my life before, ever came to our land, nor heard I of any that ever came.”

“But is he dark, like you, or white like us?” persists Mabel, feeling sure that his father must be a white man, having noticed that all of the natives with him were much darker than he.

“He is as thy father,” answered Ahleka, pointing to Captain Gray.

“This is not my father, my father is beyond the rising of the sun. This is the father of my friend,” she said, pointing to Etta.

“Did not your father come from some far country?” inquired the captain.

“Yes. It is said by the people of our village that the fiku (fig) trees have been in blossom many, many times, since my father and two other Alii (chiefs) descended from pale mahina to dwell among our people. They spoke not as our people spoke, but soon learned our language. My father taught me your strange tongue as a pastime, and when I saw the faces of the mahina maidens I spoke it to them. But come let me take you to my father.”

“Not yet,” answered Captain Gray, “we have two more who belong to us and we must wait till they come back, and, besides that we have not eaten yet.”

On hearing this, Ahleka turned and spoke a few words to one of the natives, who quickly started in the direction of the boat. Another native set about rebuilding the fire. The native who had gone to the boat soon returned, bringing a bundle done up in large, green leaves. This he laid upon the ground and proceeded to open, having handed to one of the other natives a number of fish which he had also brought, strung upon a sharp stick. The fish were quickly dressed and wrapped in several layers of the large leaves, when they were placed in the hot ashes to cook, while out of the bundle were produced some delicious looking mangoes, some figs, a large bread fruit which was already cooked, and some tamarinds. These things were intended to be eaten by the fishermen at midday. They also had a couple of gourds to drink from. They quickly spread the meal, using the broad leaves for plates. The repast was almost prepared, when Allen and Harry were seen coming around the point towards the camp. Mabel and Etta ran forward to meet them, breathless to tell them of the strange events that had happened while they had been away. Allen could hardly believe the wonderful story; it seemed incredible that they should have found English-speaking Aborigines. The idea was almost weird. When he had reached Captain Gray and the rest of the party, he found it indeed true.

“Now that we are all together again we had best have something to eat. What have you there Allen?” asked the captain.

Allen had now cut open a couple of the papiea fruit and found them to be juicy and not unpleasant to the taste. They contained a large number of little shot-like seeds, which, at first, he thought to be the part of the fruit to be eaten, but soon found his mistake.

“Take of our food to eat,” said Ahleka, “and when you have eaten and rested, we will go to the village.”

“But do not you and your friends need the food for yourselves?” inquired the captain.

“No, not so, we shall not fish to-day, but shall go with you to my father,” saying which, Ahleka motioned to put the fish upon fresh leaves also, which was deftly done by the native boy who had been attending to the fire. The meal proved a delightful one, the fish juicy and toothsome, the bread fruit a pleasant change from hard tack, the fruits delicious. The gourds had been filled with clear water into which a number of tamarinds were dropped, making a cool, refreshing drink, somewhat acid to the taste.

After having done full justice to what had been provided for them, they began to feel as if, after all, their lot was not such a hard one; so reviving are the effects of a dainty meal.

CHAPTER VIII.

They were soon on their way with Ahleka and his friends, to the village, which they reached in about two hours’ time. The village was built at almost the other extreme of the island. After having crossed the hill, where the girls had first seen the natives, they went but a short distance before they came to two canoes, into one of which Ahleka stepped and held out his hand to assist Mabel in. Etta, the captain and Allen were all told to arrange themselves in the same canoe and the three sailors were directed to get into the other, which one of the native boys, whom Ahleka called Kaluha, was directed to manage; the other three natives pushing the canoes out into the water, which seemed to be a long arm of the sea, which extended far into the island, cutting it almost in two.

Captain Gray, on seeing that the three natives were to be left behind, exclaimed: “It is too bad for us to eat their breakfast and then take their boats from them. How will they get to the village?”

“Have no fear for them,” replied Ahleka, “the village is on that side of the island. We often walk from the village here; indeed it is the shortest way, but by canoe, is the most pleasant.”

The canoes seemed to fairly skim over the bright water so rapidly did they go. They had gone swiftly onward for an hour, when the canoes were again headed for the shore.

After having landed, there was still quite a distance to walk before reaching the village, but, at last, it was espied embowered in trees of every description; the stately cocoanut and the spreading candlenut tree, with its delicate silver green foliage, contending for supremacy. The houses were built of grass, and were scattered here and there, without any regard for regularity, but seeming as if built wherever a large cluster of trees offered their friendly shade; at the side of most of the houses a sort of trellis had been arranged by sticking one end of long poles in the ground and leaning the other end against the roof of the house. These trellises were covered by flowering vines of great variety and brilliancy, the whole effect being one of exceeding loveliness. Under these flowery bowers, which were open at each end, were spread mats of the finest workmanship, being braided of lohala (a tree possessing a fibre of extreme fineness.) Some had the appearance of goats fleece, so skillfully were they woven, leaving fibres three or four inches in length, loose on the top of the rug; others were braided in a smooth, close surface.

Mabel exclaimed, on coming in sight of the village: “How lovely! I never saw anything half so beautiful; it seems like a vision of dreamland.”

“And is not your country, that has such beautiful maidens, far more lovely than our land?” broke in Ahleka.

“Oh, no! Our country is not one half so enchanting,” said she.

There seemed a strange quiet brooding over the village as they drew near, and, on Etta speaking of this, Ahleka said: “In my country we sleep at midday; then each one who is in the village rests, so that we tire not ourselves in the heat of the day.”

“What a delightful custom,” cried Mabel, smiling.

As they entered the village, all still remained quiet. Ahleka led them to one of the largest and most beautiful of the houses. After offering them seats on the comfortable rugs under the trellis that was a mass of fragrant bloom. “This,” said he, “was my house. Now it is yours. I will leave you now while I go to speak to my father, of you. I will soon return. These boys,” pointing to the one who had been in the canoe with the sailors, and another, who had been lying asleep on a mat, but had gotten up as they came in, “will wait upon you while I am gone.” Speaking a few words to the boys in his native tongue, he departed.

“That fellow looks like a prince, doesn’t he,” said Allen, “in spite of his dark skin and lack of clothing.”

“Indeed he does,” asserted Mabel, “and acts like one, too. I have never seen a prince, but he comes very near my ideal of one.”

“Look out Mabel,” laughed Etta, “and don’t let him play the part of Prince Charming.”

Allen cast a quick, keen glance at Mabel, who colored angrily and answered quickly: “There is no excuse for that remark.”

“Why, Mabel, you know I did not mean to annoy you,” said Etta, really sorry she had made so hasty a speech. “Do forgive me, it was only a joke.”

“That may be, but not a pleasant one. I do admire him very much as a savage, but the idea of putting myself on a level with a brown skinned heathen is not agreeable.

“Come, come, girls, don’t get to quarreling over our dusky friend,” exclaimed Captain Gray, “this sort of thing won’t do at all.” In a moment’s time, the girls had forgotten the little occurrence and all went on pleasantly.

The two boys now came out of the house, one of them carrying two peculiar looking water vessels. They consisted of large gourds covered with a curiously wrought net work of fine cord, the cords being gathered around the top into half a dozen handles by which to carry them conveniently. These calabashes had been filled with cool water from a little stream near by; into one of them a number of very fragrant ginger flowers had been thrown, giving to the water a delicate perfume. The water from this calabash, the boy emptied into a number of shallow gourds they had brought with them. One of the calabashes of perfumed water he sat before each of the party, putting beside each, a piece of something that looked like the finest cloth, but was in reality the bark of a tree, beaten to extreme thinness. It was so evident what was intended by these attentions that the travellers were not slow to avail themselves of this provision for their comfort, and found themselves much refreshed.

The other boy had, in the meantime, been filling small cups made of half a cocoanut, highly polished and curiously carved, with the juice of young cocoanuts. This proved very pleasant to the taste.

Just as they had handed back the cups to the boy, Ahleka returned, and with him his father, whose appearance was in striking contrast to that of his son, Ahleka; for, although he was browned by many years of exposure to the tropical sun, and the hot winds of this lovely island, was unmistakably a white man. His long hair hanging in soft silvery waves, half way down his back, his grey beard falling low on his breast, while his deep-set grey eyes looked out from under brows that were almost as black as Ahleka’s own, giving his face a most peculiar expression. He was dressed in the same manner as his son, only that over his shoulders was thrown a small cape made of bright feathers. In his hand he carried a long staff. As he came toward the house, in which Captain Gray and his shipwrecked party were sitting, they could see that the old man was strongly affected by their presence; in fact, his agitation was so great, that Ahleka was obliged to support his trembling form.

Captain Gray, followed by the rest, arose and went forward to meet him. He stretched out his hand toward them, dropping his staff. “Thank God,” he cried, “once more do I speak to my countrymen!”

After having seated his father, Ahleka said, “I have told him all your story, as far as I knew it, but he wishes to hear much more.”

“Yes,” cried the old man, “tell me all. How did you get here? All these weary years have I prayed to God that before I died, he would let me speak once more to men of my own country.”

Captain Gray told their story to him in all its thrilling details. He listened attentively, now and then shaking his head sadly. When the captain had finished, the old man said, “You can not hope for deliverance from this sea-bound land for years, if ever. I have been here thirty years. For years after I came I spent my time scanning, with anxious eyes, the face of the ocean, but no sign of sail did I ever see, except once, and then the fire, which I placed on the highest hill on the island failed to attract attention. You are the first sign of life outside of this island I have seen for thirty years.”

His words brought a feeling of horror to each of his listeners. Must their fate be what his had been?

“In time,” he continued, “I grew more contented and ceased to look out to sea. About that time I married, according to the native custom, a young and beautiful girl, the daughter of the reigning queen of the island. Think not that I was soon comforted for the loss of the wife I had left at home, for that was not the case; but the princess loved me and one day two of the warriors came to tell me that I was expected to marry her, and, as a refusal on my part would result in my death, I consented to the proposal, thinking to leave her behind me when I returned to my own country; but the girl I married was so beautiful, so gentle, so affectionate and devoted, that I learned to love her deeply and mourned her loss greatly when she was taken away from me by death.”

“But you have not told us, as yet, how you came here,” broke in Allen. “Will you not tell us about it?”

“’Tis a tale soon told,” he replied. “I left England thirty years ago. It was on the thirteenth of January, 1857, and I shall never forget that day. I think it is thirty years since then, am I right?”

“Yes,” answered Allen, “you are right. Thirty years, and a little over, as it is now March.”

“As I was saying, I left England, bound for Australia, on that day. We had pleasant enough passage until we had almost reached our destination, when we encountered one of those horrors of the sea—a cyclone. For days we were at the mercy of the wind, our masts gone and a greater part of the upper works washed away. Our ship began to leak so fast, that with the most desperate efforts we could no longer keep her afloat and were driven to take to the boats. One boat was smashed against the vessel’s side; a second was swamped by the suction produced by the sinking ship. We, in our boat, alone escaped, but our sufferings were intense. What with the stormy waves that dashed over us, carrying away three of our number, the horrible hunger we had to undergo, being without anything to eat, and the frightful thirst that overtook us before we reached this island, my sufferings were so great, that, whereas my hair had been as black as Ahleka’s there, when I sailed from home, when I landed here it was as you see it now. Finally we were thrown on the reef, that extends almost around this island. Our boat quickly went to pieces and we clung to portions of the wreckage, hoping to be at last thrown on the island. Just as we were almost exhausted, and about to give up, we saw several canoes, containing natives, coming rapidly toward us. They had been surf bathing, and seeing our terrible position, and being kindly natured, had come to our assistance. We were soon in the canoes, but there were only three of us, whereas, when the boat struck the reef, three had been five, but they were nowhere to be seen. After bringing us to this village they cared for us with the greatest kindness. It was not long before one of our number, a young doctor, was happily settled in a little grass cottage with a lovely brown girl for a wife. The other member of our party was the mate of the ship. He had a sweet little wife back in England, so declined to marry a native women who wished him as a husband. According to a custom of this people, he was instantly put to death by her relatives, who took this method of resenting the insult to their kinswoman. If she had been a beautiful young maiden, like the doctor’s bride, it might have been different. Then I married my lovely Lokie (a rose). We had three children, this son and two daughters. I was happy and contented as years went by, but when Ahleka was twelve years old, a dreadful scourge of fever swept over the island, and my wife, one of my daughters, and the young doctor were among those who were marked by the hand of death. Then I lived on with my son and daughter. I received great consideration from the people of the island, as my son Ahleka is their head Alii or king. The line of succession descending in this island, not from father to son, but from the mother to her children, thus keeping the royal blood pure. Now, you have heard my story.”

“Yes, but not your name, or that of the vessel in which you sailed,” said Captain Gray.

“The ship’s name was the ‘Castle Ayreshire.’” At the mention of that name Allen Thornton made a violent start. “And I,” continued he, “was her captain—Allen Thornton.”

At the sound of that name a cry of astonishment burst from the lips of each of the party.

Allen, throwing himself on his knees, in front of the old man, cried: “My father! My father! Have I found you at last?”

The old man looked bewildered.

“You are my father,” continued Allen, “did you not leave a boy, a few months old, as well as a young wife, behind you at Brighton.”

“I did! I did!” sobbed the old man, “and you are he. I thank God for his goodness. To think that my other son should be sent to cheer my declining days. Surely God moves in a mysterious way, his wonders to perform. But your mother, boy, your mother. Where is she, and how? Why did you leave her?”

“Father she is happy and has no need of me. She died when I was fifteen, after mourning you as dead so many years.”

Captain Thornton, as we shall now call him, pressed his hands tightly over his eyes to repress his emotion, then clasped Allen to his breast. While this scene was being enacted the others had gone a little aside.

“Isn’t it all strange?” whispered Mabel to Etta.

“Yes, and to think of Allen and Ahleka being half brothers; did you think of that?” answered Etta.

“Sure enough; I had not thought of that. I wonder if Allen has, and how he will like it when he realizes it.” Mabel spoke in a tone as if she should not care for so dark a brother herself.

Presently Captain Thornton turned and said, “My son, Ahleka, has asked, that, in his name I extend the hospitality and protection of the village and island to you all, which I gladly do; he also wishes to give to Captain Gray and the two young ladies, this house and the one adjoining, which are his own. He will provide for the sailors with you’ hereafter, and, as for my son Allen, his comfort shall be my care.”

During this conversation the village had literally awakened from its sleep, and from every little grass house came streaming, dusky forms. They clustered around Ahleka, listening with open-eyed astonishment to the strange story he was telling them in their own musical tongue, with many a gesture. Presently a number of smiling girls darted off, and soon returned with long leis (bands) of flowers, made by braiding the brightest and sweetest flowers with ferns, or, a sweet smelling vine, into long garlands, with which they proceeded to deck each of the strangers, putting them over one shoulder and under the other arm like a military sash, leaving long ends to fall almost to the ground. More garlands were wound about their waists, placed upon their heads and around their necks until they were fairly clothed in flowers; the girls, meantime, laughing gaily, and repeating in their soft, musical voices, ah mie ha (you are welcome.)

CHAPTER IX.

The village of Nahua is in a great excitement to-day. Everything wears an aspect of unusual gaiety. The houses are bedecked with flowers, and in the center of the village has been erected two rows of high poles standing about twenty feet apart and extending in a line almost two hundred feet long. Garlands of flowers are stretched from the top of these poles in all directions and are also wound around the poles, the whole forming a canopied avenue of exceeding beauty. Under this canopy were placed two rows of straw mats; further on were laid more mats in the form of a letter H. On these mats was spread a banquet consisting of raw fish with chili peppers, fish dried in the sun, fish that had been wrapped in leaves and then cooked, devil fish which had been salted and dried, its long slender tentacles being regarded as an especial dainty. Then there was lemu, or sea kale, plantain, kalo, a vegetable resembling, somewhat, the potato, there was kui, or candlenut, ground to a coarse powder and salted, to be eaten as a relish to the fish. There were mangoes, guavas, oranges, dates, figs, pomegranates, papiea, young cocoanuts, the meat of which was not yet hard, but of a thick creamy appearance and had to be scooped out with little spoon-shaped pieces of shell. Then there was a large number of small cups made of wood curiously carved, containing a peculiar, greyish looking mass of something that would put one in mind of paste, if one were not told it was a very much liked dish, in fact, being the piece d’ resistance of the feast. Into these little dishes of poi, as it is called, a native will daintily dip the first finger, then giving it a quick twirl, wrap a sufficient quantity on the finger, when it is skillfully and gracefully conveyed to the mouth. For drinking, we were provided small calabashes full of the juice of the young cocoanut and large calabashes containing awa awa, a drink very much esteemed by them, being in its effects very much like whisky.

The cause of all this preparation was the fact that it was the yearly celebration of the maiden’s feast. On this day the inhabitants of the four villages on the island gathered at Nahua, the principal village of the kingdom.

All the morning of this day, Mabel and Etta had been very busy and now were resting under the shade of the trellis of their cottage, when a native girl, about sixteen years old, came toward the house, followed by an older girl, each bearing in their hands the fall dress of a native maiden; the younger girl was Kaelea, the sister of Ahleka. She was slender and graceful; her charms would have attracted the notice of a sculptor at first glance; her face was expressive; her features delicate; her eyes brown, large, soft and languorous; her hair hung in a wavy mass far below her waist. She moved with a peculiar grace seldom seen. But, if she was beautiful, what was Maula, who came with her, Maula was the maiden of the village, of Howcu, the village on that part of the island, which was beyond the arm of the sea; she was a vision of voluptuous loveliness, tall and stately, grand in her proportions; her eyes could melt in tenderest mood or flash in the wildest anger or proudest defiance. She seemed to bend every one to her will, so strong and passionate was her nature. She was much darker than Kaelea, being a full blooded native. In her bearing she somehow made one think of a tigress; when in a happy mood, moving with a sinuous grace, which was fascinating, and when angry, one could but admire her grandeur.

As these two girls were crossing the open space, between the two houses, Etta was saying to Mabel, “I can hardly believe that it is six months since we landed here. Does it seem possible to you?”

“No, it does not, and yet it is strange that the time should seem to pass quickly,” replied Mabel. “I feel, whenever I think of my father, that I should be unhappy, instead of contented, as I am. My poor father, his heart, I know, is almost broken, for I was his all; and long ’ere now he has given us up as dead. My poor, poor father, I can picture in my mind his grief.”

“Do not think of that Mabel. Above all not to-day when every one is expected to be happy and make merry,” begged Etta.

Mabel, now seeing the two girls coming towards them, got up to receive them, as did also Etta. Kaelea and Maula entered the cottage, with the adornments they held in their hands, extended laughingly towards the two American girls.

Maula was the first to speak: “Your father and your friend have long been wearing the dress of our country; now we shall see how fair and beautiful you will look when dressed in the costume which nature teaches her children to wear. Your loveliness is obscured by the ugly garments that are put upon you to hinder your movements. When you are dressed as we are, you will be free; you will never wish to again put on those clothes which make you so uncomfortable.”

“Well, you see, they do not seem at all uncomfortable to us,” laughed Mabel, “but, as our clothes are completely worn out, we are obliged to dress as you do, and I have no doubt we shall like it, too,” this she added as she noticed a slight frown on Maula’s face. Kaelea took Etta aside and soon arrayed her in the costume. In the meantime, Maula was showing Mabel the mysteries of a Nahua maiden’s toilet. First she placed around her waist a skirt which reached to the knees, being composed of a series of fringes of grass; around her body was wound a length of soft kapa, or tree fibre cloth, in color bright blue, this being passed around the body twice and tied at the side, had both a picturesque and modest effect. Around her neck was hung a necklace of shells, pure white in color, and about the size and shape of a grain of rice; this necklace encircled her throat about twenty times. On her arms were placed shell bracelets, on her ankles the fringe of soft grass. Last of all a sort of chaplet, made of the brightest feathers, which crowned her head. When Maula had placed this upon her shining hair, Mabel stood arrayed for the first time in the native dress which she was hereafter to wear.

“I feel so oddly, Maula, with this short skirt,” she said.

“You will like the dress, I am sure, when you are used to it,” answered Maula. “There will be no maiden at the feast half as beautiful as yourself, and happy will he be, whom you choose to be your husband.”

“Oh, do not think I intend to choose a husband,” quickly answered Mabel, blushing a deep crimson, “I shall not choose a husband.”

“No,” queried Maula, “then do you not love your friend Allen?”

“No,” came the answer. It was not pleasant to Mabel to be thus questioned, yet she could not resent it, as it was not intended to displease her. “I do not love Allen, and if I did I should not choose him, for in my country the young girls must not choose their husbands, but wait to be asked in marriage by the young men.”

“Do you mean you do not love him?” exclaimed Maula.

“No, indeed, I do not. Why do you ask?”

“Ah, now is Maula happy. Maula loves Allen. Oh, how she loves him. But she would have waited until the moon maidens had chosen. Then, if you had chosen him, Maula would have taken her canoe far out beyond the reef and thrown herself to the sharks.” As the girl spoke, a passionate light shone in her eyes, forcing Mabel to believe her. “But now he is Maula’s. How I love him. I shall be so kind, so gentle, to him that he shall love me in return. Maula shall be a soft, cooing dove in his hands, a wild beast of the hills to his enemies.”

“But what if he refuse you?”

“He will not when I look with love into his eyes, open my arms and fold him to my breast, and press my burning lips to his. I shall dance before him. He shall see my strength, my ease of movement, my grace; he will love me!”

She beat her heaving breast with her clenched hands, and Mabel stood aghast at the intensity of the girl’s love. She, too, could but think that Allen would not be able to resist this beautiful tigress.

The girl continued, “and if he scorns my love, and says no, then he shall die. It is our country’s custom. No man is fit to live who will refuse a maiden’s love. But he shall not die at the hands of our warriors, but I shall kill him! Maula has a strong arm and can handle the spear with as sure an aim as her brothers. Maula’s hand shall end his life. I have sworn it, if he refuses my love. But he will not,” calming herself. “But you say that in your country the maidens wait to be asked. There must be many who have no husbands.”

“Yes, that is so,” answered Mabel, “but there is one objection to your way; if the man does not love the maiden whom he marries, he will be unhappy. Have you no unhappy marriages?”

“No, they rarely occur. You see, on the day of the maiden’s festival, each maiden chooses the one she loves; from that moment they belong to each other, but at the end of a year she is at liberty to go back to her home and he, also, is permitted to take her back to her father’s house if he finds she is not lovable, kind, obedient and all that he desires in a wife; so that all the time she tries to please him and any maiden can make a man love her by her affectionate gentleness, and when he learns to love her he tries to please her so that, at the yearly feast she shall not wish to leave him, and each year they renew their vows.”

“Oh,” said Mabel, “a sort of yearly probation. It is a good plan, for then they constantly strive to please each other.”

Etta now advanced, accompanied by Kaelea, towards the other two girls. She, too, was fully dressed in the costume of the island. Her necklace was a bright red coral, the strip of cloth about her waist a delicate yellow; otherwise her dress was the same as Mabel’s.

CHAPTER X.

The four girls now left the house, going toward the canopy of flowers. As they drew near, a murmur of gay voices greeted their ears, a scene of dream-like beauty met their eyes. The rich and varied color of the foliage; the fringed heads of the cocoanuts waving like vast plumes against the sky; the bronzed red of the mangoes hung in luxuriant plenty on hundreds of trees; locust trees showering their fragrant white blossoms all around; the delicate accasia trembling in each breath of air in a thousand feathery masses; the date palm with its pendant shower of fruit; the lou-hale, whose slender spear-like foliage and bright, orange colored fruit lends it a subtle charm; the ohia lifting high its mass of crimson ponpons, all growing in tropical profusion; the ia-ia whose flame colored tufts of bloom seemed to spring from every tree as its parasitic arms spread in all directions; the perfume of flowers was wafted like incense to the god of love on the warm breeze that came softly over the summer sea, whose wavelets touched by the sun, shone like bright silver, and the soft curves of creamy breakers could be seen through this long vista of everlasting green.

Already the inhabitants had gathered at the place of festivity, for it was now after the hour of rest; music, sweet, rythmic and weird, arose from tom toms, gourds and a sort of musical rattle accompanied by a hundred girlish voices. Mabel and Etta stood entranced by the charm of it all.

Captain Gray and Allen, together with Captain Thornton, or Alii Mahina (moon chief, as he was called by the people of the island), also Ahleka, were already seated on a large mat, watching the gay scene. Allen had a leis of ginger flowers bound around his head, also one about his neck. It looked oddly enough to see these white men and girls dressed in the costume of this strange people. The girls found places on the mat beside Captain Gray, and, when they had been seated about five minutes, there arose a wild shout of joy from hundreds of lips that sung a song of triumph and love. The tom toms and gourds were beaten wildly by the palms of the hands, of a score of players who were arranged a little way off on each side of the avenue or lanai, as it was called. As the weird strains increased young men bounded with joyous leaps toward the lanai where they arranged themselves on one of the lines of mats. They were closely followed by the maidens who quickly placed themselves on the line opposite.

The young girls were a vision of grace and beauty, the armlets and necklaces of white shells and bright corals making a lovely contrast to their rounded arms and shapely throats, glistening like bronze, their faces aglow with animation and delight, their lithe limbs, firm, rounded and supple, their every movement grace. The ceremonies began by the young men showing their strength and agility, by throwing high in the air the heavy spears they carried and catching them as they descended. After these feats of prowess had been completed, amidst the wildest excitement, there came a strange stillness over all the participants and on-lookers, but in a moment the strains of music, played in softest tones, seemed to descend from the very heavens, so sweet was it.

One after another the maidens joined their fresh voices to the strain until it seemed to fill ones very soul with ecstasy. The chant grew louder and the girls began to beat the air gently, with long feather wands, which they carried in their hands; soon their bodies began to sway in an undulating motion, keeping time to the chant. Then, waving their hands above their heads, they would advance toward the young men and then retrace their steps, each girlish form meanwhile waving to and fro like a young tree bent in the wind. The music grew faster and more intense, the girls no longer sang; a languorous expression filled their eyes which spoke only of love. A voluptuous smile was on each lip, the hips moving gently to and fro, with a peculiar motion, set every little fringe of grass in their short skirts to quivering. Now and then some quicker movement would float the light skirts high in the air, revealing to the rapt eyes of the beholders glimpses of rounded limbs above the knee. The wands were now placed on the mats, unbinding from about their waist’s the strips of cloth, and; holding it in both hands, they continued the dance, waving the scarfs of bright-hued cloth, first high above their heads, then passing it beneath their feet, keeping up that peculiar serpent-like motion, swaying, twisting and twirling in a hundred ways. When this dance was finished the girls took up their wands and each one advancing toward the line of young men, touching lightly the young man of her choice. Maula being the maiden of highest rank was the first to advance, with unbound waist, carrying her scarf on her arm. She touched Allen softly with her wand, looking at him with loving eyes the while. He stepped forward as one bound by some strange sweet spell. She quickly bound about his loins the strip of bright yellow cloth that had lately encircled her own waist, in token that he now belonged to her, and as a warning to other maidens to choose elsewhere. He also tied on her arm, high above the elbow, a band of woven sea grass, on which was strung two small conch shells in token that she was his. This, with the unbound waist, being the distinguishing mark of the unmarried woman.

Maula was followed in quick succession by other maidens.

“My love, my own, let us not stay until all have chosen,” whispered Maula, “let us go together to the sea shore where none may hear our words of love.” Allen moved as one in a dream, so strong was her charm for him. She held out her warm arms to him and he was soon held to her so closely that he could feel her heart beats. Her ecstasy was shared in by him, and, twining his arms about her, answered, “Yes, my queen, let us go,” saying which, the pair disappeared down the long vista of flowers and waving trees.