Angel Island | Page 3

sand, snowy, powdery,
hummocky, netted with wefts of black seaweed that had dried to a
rattling stiffness. To the east, this silvery crescent merged finally with a
furry band of vegetation which screened the whole foreground of the
island.
The day was perfect and the scene beautiful. They had watched the sun
come up over the trees at their back. And it was as if they had seen a
sunrise for the first time in their life. To them, it was neither beautiful
nor familiar; it was sinister and strange. A chill, that was not of the
dawn but of death itself, lay over everything. The morning wind was
the breath of the tomb, the smells that came to them from the island
bore the taint of mortality, the very sunshine seemed icy. They suffered
- the five survivors of the night's tragedy - with a scarifying sense of
disillusion with Nature. It was as though a beautiful, tender, and fondly

loved mother had turned murderously on her children, had wounded
them nearly to death, had then tried to woo them to her breast again.
The loveliness of her, the mindless, heartless, soulless loveliness, as of
a maniac tamed, mocked at their agonies, mocked with her gentle
indifference, mocked with her self-satisfied placidity, mocked with her
serenity and her peace. For them she was dead - dead like those whom
we no longer trust.
The sun was racing up a sky smooth and clear as gray glass. It dropped
on the torn green sea a shimmer that was almost dazzling; but ere was
something incongruous about that - as though Nature had covered her
victim with a spangled scarf. It brought out millions of sparkles in the
white sand; and there seemed something calculating about that - as
though she were bribing them with jewels to forget.
"Say, let's cut out this business of going, over and over it," said Ralph
Addington with a sudden burst of irritability. "I guess I could give up
the ship's cat in exchange for a girl or two." Addington's face was livid;
a muscular contraction kept pulling his lips away from his white teeth;
he had the look of a man who grins satanically at regular intervals.
By a titanic mental effort, the others connected this explosion with
Billy Fairfax's last remark. It was the first expression of an emotion so
small as ill-humor. It was, moreover, the first excursion out of the
beaten path of their egotisms. It cleared the atmosphere a little of that
murky cloud of horror which blurred the sunlight. Three of the other
four men - Honey Smith, Frank Merrill, Pete Murphy - actually turned
and looked at Ralph Addington. Perhaps that movement served to
break the hideous, hypnotic spell of the sea.
"Right-o!" Honey Smith agreed weakly. It was audible in his voice, the
effort to talk sanely of sane things, and in the slang of every day.
"Addington's on. Let's can it! Here we are and here we're likely to stay
for a few days. In the meantime we've got to live. How are we going to
pull it off?"
Everybody considered his brief harangue; for an instant, it looked as
though this consideration was taking them all back into aimless

meditation. Then, "That's right," Billy Fairfax took it up heroically.
"Say, Merrill," he added in almost a conversational tone, "what are our
chances? I mean how soon do we get off?"
This was the first question anybody had asked. It added its infinitesimal
weight to the wave of normality which was settling over them all.
Everybody visibly concentrated, listening for the answer.
It came after an instant, although Frank Merrill palpably pulled himself
together to attack the problem. "I was talking that matter over with
Miner just yesterday," he said. "Miner said God, I wonder where he is
now - and a dependent blind mother in Nebraska."
"Cut that out," Honey Smith ordered crisply.
"We - we - were trying to figure our chances in case of a wreck," Frank
Merrill continued slowly. "You see, we're out of the beaten path - way
out. Those days of drifting cooked our goose. You can never tell, of
course, what will happen in the Pacific where there are so many tramp
craft. On the other hand - " he paused and hesitated. It was evident,
now that he had something to expound, that Merrill had himself almost
under command, that his hesitation arose from another cause. "Well,
we're all men. I guess it's up to me to tell you the truth. The sooner you
all know the worst, the sooner you'll pull yourselves together. I
shouldn't be surprised if we didn't see a ship for several weeks -
perhaps months."
Another of their mute intervals fell upon them. Dozens of