The Captain of the Kansas | Page 7

the topography of South
America. Dr. Christobal knew this weakness of hers; he also
remembered her beautiful half-caste mother, from whom Isobel
inherited her flashing eyes, her purple-red lips, and a skin in which the
exquisite flush of terra-cotta on her checks merged into the delicate
pallor of forehead and neck.
But, being a tactful man, he only answered: "Your English sailors, my
dear, who gruffly dubbed the adjacent point 'Cape Dungeness,' have
shortened Magellan's mouthful into 'Cape Virgins.'--Yet, Ursula was a
British saint, and her memory ought to be revered, if only because it
keeps alive a classic pun."
A born raconteur, he paused.

"Go right ahead, doctor," came a voice from the lower end of the table.
"Well, the story runs that Princess Ursula fled from Britain to Rome to
escape marriage with a pagan--"
"How odd!" interrupted Isobel, and Elsie alone understood the drift of
her comment.
"Not at all odd if she didn't happen to like him," said Christobal. "She
reached Cologne, and was martyred there by the Huns. Long afterwards
a stone was found with the inscription Ursula et Undecimilla Virgines,
which was incorrectly translated into 'Ursula and her Eleven Thousand
Virgins.' Some later critic pointed out that a missing comma after
Undecimilla, the name of a handmaid, made all the difference,
assuming that two young ladies were a more reasonable and probable
number than eleven thousand. But what legend ever cared for a comma,
or reached a full stop? If you go to Cologne, the verger of the Church
of St. Ursula will show you the bones of the whole party in glass cases,
and, equally amazing, the town of Baoza in Spain claims to be the
birthplace of the lot. Clearly, Magellan had a man from Baoza on board
his ship."
"All mail steamers ought to provide a lecturer on things in general and
interesting places passed in particular," said Isobel.
Dr. Christobal bowed.
"I am sure that some of the officers of the Orellana could have told you
the history of Cape Virgins, but they, not to mention the other young
gentlemen in the passenger list, would certainly find you better sport
than puzzling your pretty head about the ship's landmarks."
"I also came out on the Orellana, but there was no Miss Baring to be
seen," murmured the Frenchman.
"You had a dull trip, I take it?" said the doctor, quietly.
"I was very ill," was the response; but, after a stare of surprise, he

joined in the resultant laugh quite good-naturedly.
"It is a standing joke that my countrymen are poor sailors," he protested,
"and that is strange, don't you think, seeing that France has the second
largest navy in the world?"
"Console yourself, monsieur," said Christobal. "Three great
sea-captains, Nelson, Cook, and, it is said, Columbus himself, always
paid tribute to Neptune. And, if I am not mistaken," he added, glancing
through the port windows, "we shall all have our stamina tested before
twenty-four hours have passed."
Heads were turned and necks craned to see what had induced this
unexpected prophecy. Behind the distant coast-line the inner giants of
the Andes threw heavenward their rugged outlines, with many a peak
and glacier glinting in vivid colors against a sky so clear and blue that
they seemed strangely near.
"Yes, this wonderful atmosphere of ours is enchanting," said the doctor,
when assailed by a chorus of doubts. "But it carries its deceptive smiles
too far. The very beauty of the Cordillera is a sign of storm. I am sorry
to be a croaker; yet we are running into a gale."
"I shall ask the captain," pouted Isobel, rising.
The Count twisted his mustache. He knew that both ladies were in the
forbidden territory of the bridge when the fracas occurred.
"You, perhaps, are a good sailor?" said he, addressing Elsie.
"I am afraid to boast," she answered. "I have been in what was called a
Number Eight gale, whatever that may mean, and weathered it
splendidly, but I am older now."
"It cannot have been long ago, seeing that you recall it so exactly."
"It was six years ago, and I was seventeen then," said Elsie, her eyes
wandering to the purple and gold of the far-off mountains.

"But you are English. You are therefore at home on the rolling deep,"
murmured Monsieur de Poincilit, confidentially. She did not endeavor
to interpret his expressive glance, though he seemed to convey more
that he said.
"Not so much at home at sea as you are in my language," she replied,
and she turned to Dr. Christobal, whom she had already known slightly
in Valparaiso.
"Are you coming on deck?" she inquired. "I am sure you are a mine of
information on Chile, and I want to extract some of the ore while the
land