Angel Island | Page 6

the foolish risks they were taking, on the stupidity of
such a waste of energy. "Save what we need!' he iterated and reiterated,
bellowing to make himself heard. "What we can use now - canned stuff,
tools, clothes! This lumber'll come back on the next tide."
He seemed to keep a supervising eye on all of them; for his voice,
shouting individual orders, boomed constantly over the crash of the
waves. Realizing finally that he was the man of the hour, the others
ended by following his instructions blindly.
Merrill, himself, was no shirk. His strength seemed prodigious. When
any of the others attempted to land something too big to handle alone,
he was always near to help; and yet, unaided, he accomplished twice as
much as the busiest.
Frank Merrill, professor of a small university in the Middle West, was
the scholar of the group, a sociologist traveling in the Orient to study
conditions. He was not especially popular with his companions,
although they admired him and deferred to him. On the other hand, he
was not unpopular; it was more that they stood a little in awe of him.
On his mental side, he was a typical academic product. Normally his
conversation, both in subject-matter and in verbal form, bore towards
pedantry. It was one curious effect of this crisis that he had reverted to
the crisp Anglo-Saxon of his farm-nurtured youth.
On his moral side, he was a typical reformer, a man of impeccable
private character, solitary, a little austere. He had never married; he had
never sought the company of women, and in fact he knew nothing
about them. Women had had no more bearing on his life than the fourth
dimension.
On his physical side he was a wonder.
Six feet four in height, two hundred and fifty pounds in weight, he

looked the viking. He had carried to the verge of middle age the habits
of an athletic youth. It was said that half his popularity in his university
world was due to the respect he commanded from the students because
of his extraordinary feats in walking and lifting. He was impressive,
almost handsome. For what of his face his ragged, rusty beard left
uncovered was regularly if coldly featured. He was ascetic in type.
Moreover, the look of the born disciplinarian lay on him. His blue eyes
carried a glacial gleam. Even through his thick mustache, the lines of
his mouth showed iron.
After a while, Honey Smith came across a water-tight tin of matches.
"Great Scott, fellows!" he exclaimed. "I'm hungry enough to drop. Let's
knock off for a while and feed our faces. How about mock turtle,
chicken livers, and red-headed duck?"
They built a fire, opened cans of soup and vegetables.
"The Waldorf has nothing on that," Pete Murphy said when they
stopped, gorged.
"Say, remember to look for smokes, all of you," Ralph Addington
admonished them suddenly.
"You betchu!" groaned Honey Smith, and his look became lugubrious.
But his instinct to turn to the humorous side of things immediately
crumpled his brown face into its attractive smile. "Say, aren't we going
to be the immaculate little lads? I can't think of a single bad habit we
can acquire in this place. No smokes, no drinks, few if any eats - and
not a chorister in sight. Let's organize the Robinson Crusoe Purity
League, Parlor Number One."
"Oh, gee!" Pete Murphy burst out. "It's just struck me. The Wilmington
'Blue,' is lost forever - it must have gone down with everything else."
Nobody spoke. It was an interesting indication of how their sense of
values had already shifted that the loss to the world of one of its biggest
diamonds seemed the least of their minor disasters.

"Perhaps that's what hoodooed us," Pete went on. "You know they say
the Wilmington 'Blue' brought bad luck to everybody who owned it.
Anyway, battle, murder, adultery, rape, rapine, and sudden death have
followed it right along the line down through history. Oh, it's been a
busy cake of ice - take it from muh! Hope the mermaids fight shy of it."
"The Wilmington 'Blue' isn't alone in that," Ralph Addington said. "All
big diamonds have raised hell. You ought to hear some of the stories
they tell in India about the rajahs' treasures. Some of those briolettes -
you listen long enough and you come to the conclusion that the sooner
all the big stones are cut up, the better."
"I bet this one isn't gone," said Pete. "Anybody take me? That's the
contrariety of the beasts - they won't stay lost. We'll find that stone yet -
where among our loot. The first thing we know, we'll be all knifing
each other to get it."
"Time's up," called Frank Merrill. "Sorry to drive