The Ebb-Tide | Page 8

and
strong, something in the port or madeira line, the best in the store. Then
I'd bear up for a toy-store, and lay out twenty dollars in assorted toys
for the piccaninnies; and then to a confectioner's and take in cakes and
pies and fancy bread, and that stuff with the plums in it; and then to a
news-agency and buy all the papers, all the picture ones for the kids,
and all the story papers for the old girl about the Earl discovering
himself to Anna-Mariar and the escape of the Lady Maude from the
private madhouse; and then I'd tell the fellow to drive home.'
'There ought to be some syrup for the kids,' suggested Herrick; 'they
like syrup.'
'Yes, syrup for the kids, red syrup at that!' said the captain. 'And those
things they pull at, and go pop, and have measly poetry inside. And

then I tell you we'd have a thanksgiving day and Christmas tree
combined. Great Scott, but I would like to see the kids! I guess they
would light right out of the house, when they saw daddy driving up.
My little Adar--'
The captain stopped sharply.
'Well, keep it up!' said the clerk.
'The damned thing is, I don't know if they ain't starving!' cried the
captain.
'They can't be worse off than we are, and that's one comfort,' returned
the clerk. 'I defy the devil to make me worse off.'
It seemed as if the devil heard him. The light of the moon had been
some time cut off and they had talked in darkness. Now there was
heard a roar, which drew impetuously nearer; the face of the lagoon
was seen to whiten; and before they had staggered to their feet, a squall
burst in rain upon the outcasts. The rage and volume of that avalanche
one must have lived in the tropics to conceive; a man panted in its
assault, as he might pant under a shower-bath; and the world seemed
whelmed in night and water.
They fled, groping for their usual shelter--it might be almost called
their home--in the old calaboose; came drenched into its empty
chambers; and lay down, three sops of humanity on the cold coral
floors, and presently, when the squall was overpast, the others could
hear in the darkness the chattering of the clerk's teeth.
'I say, you fellows,' he walled, 'for God's sake, lie up and try to warm
me. I'm blymed if I don't think I'll die else!'
So the three crept together into one wet mass, and lay until day came,
shivering and dozing off, and continually re-awakened to wretchedness
by the coughing of the clerk.



Chapter 2.
MORNING ON THE BEACH - THE THREE LETTERS
The clouds were all fled, the beauty of the tropic day was spread upon

Papeete; and the wall of breaking seas upon the reef, and the palms
upon the islet, already trembled in the heat. A French man-of-war was
going out, homeward bound; she lay in the middle distance of the port,
an ant heap for activity. In the night a schooner had come in, and now
lay far out, hard by the passage; and the yellow flag, the emblem of
pestilence, flew on her. From up the coast, a long procession of canoes
headed round the point and towards the market, bright as a scarf with
the many-coloured clothing of the natives and the piles of fruit. But not
even the beauty and the welcome warmth of the morning, not even
these naval movements, so interesting to sailors and to idlers, could
engage the attention of the outcasts. They were still cold at heart, their
mouths sour from the want of steep, their steps rambling from the lack
of food; and they strung like lame geese along the beach in a
disheartened silence. It was towards the town they moved; towards the
town whence smoke arose, where happier folk were breakfasting; and
as they went, their hungry eyes were upon all sides, but they were only
scouting for a meal.
A small and dingy schooner lay snug against the quay, with which it
was connected by a plank. On the forward deck, under a spot of awning,
five Kanakas who made up the crew, were squatted round a basin of
fried feis, and drinking coffee from tin mugs.
'Eight bells: knock off for breakfast!' cried the captain with a miserable
heartiness. 'Never tried this craft before; positively my first appearance;
guess I'll draw a bumper house.'
He came close up to where the plank rested on the grassy quay; turned
his back upon the schooner, and began to whistle that lively air, 'The
Irish Washerwoman.' It caught the ears of the Kanaka seamen like a
preconcerted signal; with one accord they looked up