A Century Too Soon Part 27

"Kiss me, brother--I am going--rapidly going."

He entwined his arms about the being who, for fifteen years, had been his only companion, and pressed his lips to hers.

"Blanche, Blanche, you must not die; for my sake live."

"No, no; I will soon be gone; then you will be all alone. Don't leave me until all is over."

"I shall not, Blanche; I shall not," cried Stevens, holding her tightly clasped in his strong arms.

"It may be wrong--but we have been here so long--meet me in heaven, brother."

"G.o.d grant that I may, poor girl."

"Pray with me."

He knelt at her side, and the lips of both moved in prayer. When he rose, she laid her little hand, all purple with fever, in his and said:

"Brother--when I am gone, bury me in that beautiful valley near the spring, where the wild flowers grow close by the white stone. On the stone write: 'Here lies my beloved sister, Blanche Holmes.'"

An hour later John Stevens knelt beside a corpse. The gentle spirit had flown.

Midnight--and the castaway, despairing, half-crazed with grief, still knelt by the dead body, tearing his hair, and groaning:

"Alone--left alone!"

CHAPTER XIV.

THE TREASURE s.h.i.+P.

"O gentle wind ('tis thus she sings) That blowest to the west, Oh, couldst thou waft me on thy wings To the land that I love best, How swiftly o'er the-ocean's foam, Like a sea-bird I would sail."

--PRINGLE.

When the heart is full, there seems some relief in pouring out the story of woe into a sympathetic ear; but when one is alone, with no human being to listen or sympathize, grief is a hundredfold greater.

Day dawned and found John Stevens still kneeling by the side of the cold form of the only being who had shared his unhappy lot. How seldom we realize the worth of companions or friends until they are forever gone, and then, as if to mock our grief, each kind act, each little delicate attention seems to start out as if emblazoned on stone before us. At last the broken-hearted castaway rose and with folded arms gazed on the dead face, still beautiful and holy even in death.

"Blanche, Blanche, must I give you up, you who have so long cheered my lonely life? Must I never listen to the sweet music of your voice again?"

John roused himself at last from the feeling of despair and, taking the best boards left from the wreck, constructed a neat coffin. He dug the grave at the white stone as she had directed and laid her to rest. No one but G.o.d listened to him as he read the solemn and impressive burial service, according to the established church. No one but G.o.d saw those tears flow in silence as he gazed for the last time on her face. Then, fastening down the lid, he covered the coffin over with boards and began slowly and mournfully shovelling the earth upon it. He heaped up the earth and placed the soft green, sod over the mound. Then he cut the inscription on the stone as she had requested at the head of the grave, adding:

"Sweet sister, rest in peace, until Christ comes to claim his own, when there will be a crown given you which outs.h.i.+nes the sun." To go about his daily routine of life, to feel that heavy aching load on his heart crus.h.i.+ng and consuming him, made his existence almost unbearable.

He lost all interest in the little field, the tame goats and birds, and for two or three days even neglected to take food himself. An appalling silence had fallen upon the island. He seemed to still hear her voice in the house and about it, and when he closed his eyes in sleep, after being utterly exhausted, he saw her sweet face bending over him and felt the suns.h.i.+ne of her smile on him. It was so hard to realize that she was gone, and he could scarcely believe that he would not find her down on the beach gathering sh.e.l.ls, as he had so often seen her.

Frequently when alone in the cabin he would start, half expecting to see her enter with her cheering smile; but she was gone forever; her sweet smiles and cheering voice would no more be heard on earth.

It required long months before he could settle down to that life of loneliness. Hitherto he had not lived the life of a Crusoe or Selkirk; but now he was destined to know what real solitude was. John Stevens at last began to take some interest in his domestic affairs. He sadly missed the thousand little attentions which feminine instincts suggested for his comfort; but anon he became accustomed to being alone. He grew morose and melancholy, even wicked, for at times he blamed Providence, first for casting him away on this lonely island, and lastly for taking from him the companion he had failed to appreciate, until he felt her loss; but soon he turned to G.o.d and prayed for light.

He read the Bible and from this living fountain of consolation drank deep draughts of that which, to his starving soul, was the elixir of life. Strange as it may seem, in the first ebullition of his grief, John Stevens seemed to forget his wife and children. So long had he been from them, that they had lost their place in his thoughts. Time, the great healer of all wounds, the great reconciler to all fates, the great arbitrator of all disputes, had almost lost to him those tenderest ties which had lacerated his poor heart.

To the fatalist, John Stevens would seem to be one of those unfortunate beings doomed to be made the sport of a capricious fortune. His domestic relations in Virginia were a strange intermixture of good and bad. His business had been decidedly prosperous, he had married into a respectable family, and his wife was popular. His children were beautiful and healthy; but his wife was extravagant and foolish and had swept away his fortune faster than he could acc.u.mulate it. Then his voyage and s.h.i.+pwreck seemed the hand of fate. His father had been a sailor by profession and had never been s.h.i.+pwrecked, while he, on his first voyage, was cast away upon an unknown island. Fate gave him at first a companion and, just as he began to appreciate her, s.n.a.t.c.hed her away.

At last he became reconciled even to live and die alone on that island--to die without a friend to close his eyes, or to soothe his pillow. Horrible as the fate might seem, he was reconciled. No human hand would give him Christian burial, and the vultures which soared about the island might pluck out his eyes even before life was extinct.

With this dread on his mind, he shot the vultures whenever he saw them, and almost drove them from the island.

Three years had lapsed since poor Blanche had been laid in her grave, and John was morose, silent and moody, but reconciled. It was eighteen years since he had been cast away, and he had about abandoned all thought of again seeing any other land save this.

Among other things saved from the wreck was a quant.i.ty of tobacco seed, and, as tobacco was then thought to be an indispensable article, he planted some and grew his own. He fas.h.i.+oned pipes from the roots of trees, as the Indians did, and his pipe became his greatest solace in solitude.

One night, a little more than three years after he had been left alone, he was lying on his well-worn mattress, smoking his evening pipe, when there came on the air far out to sea a heavy "Boom!"

The trumpet of doom would not have astonished him more. At first he could scarcely believe his ears. Starting up, he sat on the side of his bed listening.

"Boom!"

A second report, more heavy than the first, shook the air.

"G.o.d in heaven! can it be cannon?" cried Stevens. He leaped to his feet, pulled on his rude shoes and seized his musket.

"Boom! Boom! Boom!"

Three more shots from the sea rang on the air, and there could now be no doubt that a s.h.i.+p was near the island. The hope which suddenly started up in his heart almost overcame him, and he clung to the door for support.

Only for an instant did he linger thus, then he rushed to the headland from whence his tattered flag had floated all these years. The moon was s.h.i.+ning brightly from a cloudless sky, and his vision swept the ocean far beyond the dangerous reefs which formed a natural guard about the island. There he saw a sight calculated to startle him. A large Spanish galleon was coming directly toward the island, pursued by a vessel which from the first he surmised to be a pirate. Even as he looked, he saw the flash of a gun and imagined he could hear the crash of the iron ball striking into the side of the fugitive s.h.i.+p. He heard the cry of dread from the poor wretches on board, as the pirate drew nearer. On the still evening air came wild shouts of the buccaneers as they fired shot after shot at the prize.

John Stevens was greatly excited. Here was an opportunity to escape or be slain, either preferable to living on this terrible island alone.

The Spanish galleon was being driven directly through the only gap in the reefs to the island. Like a bird chased by a vulture she sought any shelter. She returned the fire as well as she could; but was no match for the well-equipped and daring pirate.

John's whole sympathies were with the unfortunate Spaniards. Their vessel evidently drew considerable water, for entering the gap in the reef, the tide being low, it stranded. The pirate, being much lighter draft, came nearer and poured in her volleys thick and fast. They were so near to the headland that John Stevens, a spellbound spectator, heard the iron b.a.l.l.s and shot tearing into her timbers. With his gla.s.s he could even see her deck strewn with dead and dying.

The foremast of the galleon was cut through and fell, and the s.h.i.+p's rudder was shot away. The Spaniards, evidently bewildered, lowered boats, abandoned the galleon and pulled toward a rocky promontory two miles to the south.

Their enemies saw them and, manning boats, headed them off, killing or capturing every one. The captured men were taken aboard the victorious s.h.i.+p.

While these startling scenes were being enacted, a great change had come over the sky. The tide began to rise and floated the galleon clear of the sand, and it drifted into the little bay not a mile from John's house. The sky was obscured with clouds and one of those tropical hurricanes called squalls swept over the island and sea. It struck the pirate broadside, and John Stevens last saw the vessel amid a mountain of waves and spray struggling to right itself. It probably went down, as he never saw or heard of it more.

For hours the amazed castaway stood in the pelting rain and howling wind, with the roaring sea below him. Was it all a dream, or was this only another freak of capricious fate, which doomed him to eternal misery. The storm roared and the hungry sea swallowed up the pirate.

Why could not one have been spared? Even a pirate would have made a companion; but fate had roused his hopes only to dash them to the earth again.

It was pitch dark save when a flash of lightning illuminated the heavens. John Stevens turned slowly about to retrace his steps homeward, half believing it was some terrible dream which had brought him from his bed into the pelting storm, when by the aid of a flash of lightning he saw the Spanish galleon, which had been again stranded within a hundred yards of the beach. The single flash of lightning revealed only her deck and rigging; not a soul was to be seen on board the s.h.i.+p; but the sight of the vessel roused the castaway. In eighteen years this had been the only sign of civilization which had greeted his vision, and he was nearly frantic with delight.

Some one might be on board. Some skulkers from the cannon-b.a.l.l.s of the pirates might have sought safety in the hold of the galleon, and he would find them. His heart was full to overflowing. He even began to hope that the s.h.i.+p could be gotten off the bar, and could make a voyage to some land of civilization. Though the s.h.i.+p was between the dangerous reefs and the sea, partially protected by a small land-locked bay, yet the surf was so high that it was madness to think of reaching the vessel that night. He built a fire on sh.o.r.e and all night long heaped on wood in the hope of attracting attention of those on board.