The Island of Gold: A Sailor's Yarn

“James sat silently beholding me for fully a minute. His face was clouded, and pity and anxiety were in every lineament of his manly features.

“‘I’m taken aback,’ he stammered at last. ‘White squalls is nothin’ to it. Charlie Halcott, you’re in love. It’s an awful, fearful thing. No surgical operation can do anything for you. It’s worse by far than I thought. A mild touch of the cholera would be mere moonshine to this. A brush wi’ Yellow Jack wouldn’t be a circumstance to it. O Halcott, Halcott! O Charlie! what am I to do with you?’

“‘James,’ I interrupted, ‘light your pipe. Did you see the beautiful vision – the lovely child?’

“‘I followed your eyes.’

“‘And what saw you, James?’ I asked, leaning eagerly towards him.

“‘I saw what appeared to be – a woman. Nothin’ more and nothin’ less.’

“‘James, did you not notice her blue and heavenly eyes, that seemed to swim in ether; her delicately pencilled eyebrows; the long lashes that swept the rounded rosy cheeks; her golden hair like sunset’s glow; her little mouth; her lips like the blossom of the blueberry, and the delicate play of her mobile countenance?’

“‘Delicate play of a mobile marling-spike!’ cried James, jumping up. He rammed a piece of paper into his pipe and thrust it into his pocket.

“‘Charles Halcott, I’m off,’ he cried.

“‘Off, James?’

“‘Yes, off. Every man Jack shall be on board the Sea Flower to-day, bag and baggage. We’ll drop down stream to-morrow morning early, ship a pilot, and get away to sea without more ado.’

“He was at the door by the time he had finished but he stopped a moment with a look of wondrous pity on his handsome face, then came straight back and clasped my hand in brotherly affection, and so, without another word, walked out and away.

“Now, I was master of the Sea Flower, but in the matter of sailing next day – three or four whole days before I had intended – I should no more have thought of gainsaying honest James Malone than of disobeying my father had he been alive. James was acting towards me with true brotherly affection, quite disinterestedly in my behalf, and —quien sabe? – probably saving me from a lifetime’s misery.

“I would be advised by James.

“So after he had left, and I had smoked in solitary sadness for about an hour, I rose with a sigh, and commenced throwing my things together in the great mahogany sea-chest that while afloat stood in my state-room, and which on shore I never travelled without.

“For the whole of that forenoon I wandered about the streets of Liverpool, looking chiefly at the photographers’ windows. I was bewitched, and possessed some faint hope of seeing a photograph of her who had bewitched me. I even entered the shops under pretence of bargaining for a likeness of my sailor-self, and looked over their books of specimens.

“Had I come across her picture, the temptation to purchase it would, I fear, have proved irresistible.

“Suddenly I pulled myself taut up with a round turn, and planked myself, so to speak, on my mental quarterdeck before Commander Conscience.

“‘What are you doing, or trying to do, Charles Halcott?’ said Commander Conscience.

“‘Only trying,’ replied Charles Halcott, ‘to procure a photograph of the loveliest young lady on earth, whose eyes shine like stars in beauty’s night.’

“‘Don’t be a fool, Charles Halcott. Are you not wise enough to know that, even if you procure this photograph, you will have to keep it a secret from honest James Malone? His friendship is better far than love of womankind. Besides,’ added Commander Conscience, ‘you need no photograph. Is not the image of the lady who has bewitched you indelibly photographed upon your soul? Charles Halcott, I am ashamed of you!’

“I stood at a window for a few minutes, looking sheepish enough; then I threw temptation to the winds, put about, and sailed right away back to my chambers, studding-sails set low and aloft.

“I finished packing, saw my owners in the afternoon, and when James came off to the ship he found me quietly smoking my biggest pipe in the saloon of the Sea Flower.

“He smiled now.

“‘Better already,’ he said; ‘His name be praised!’

“James was a strange man in some ways. This was one: he thanked Heaven for every comfort, even the slightest, and did nothing without, in a word or two, asking a blessing thereon.

“In three days’ time we were staggering southwards, and away across Biscay’s blue bay, with every inch of canvas set. And a pretty sight we were – our white sails flowing in the sunshine – the sea as blue as the sky, and the waves sparkling around us as if every drop of water contained a diamond.

“All the way to the Cape, and farther, James treated me as tenderly and compassionately as if I had been an invalid brother. He never contradicted me even once. He used to keep me talking and yarning on the quarterdeck, when he wasn’t on watch, for whole hours at a stretch; and in the evenings, when tired spinning me yarns, he would take his banjo and sing to me old sea-songs in his bold and thrilling voice. And James could sing too; there were the brine, and the breeze, and the billows’ roll in every bar of the grand old songs he sang, and indeed I was never tired of listening to them. Sometimes I closed my eyes as I sat in my easy-chair; then James’s banjo notes grew softer and softer, and ever so much farther away like, till at last it was ghostly music, and I was in the land of dreams.

“When I awoke, perhaps it would be four bells or even six, and there would be James, with his specs athwart his great jibboom of a nose, poring earnestly over his mother’s Bible.

“‘You’ve had a nice little nap,’ he would say cheerfully. ‘Now you’ll toddle off to your bunk, and when you’re safe between the sheets I’ll bring you a tiny little drop of rum and treacle.’

“Poor James! Rum and treacle was his panacea for every ill; and yet I don’t believe any one in the wide world ever saw James the worse of even rum and treacle.

“When we got as far as to Madeira, he proposed we should anchor here for a few days and dispose of some of our notions. Notions formed our cargo; and notions must be understood to mean, Captain Weathereye, all kinds of jewellery and knick-knacks, including table-knives and forks, watches, strings of bright beads, cotton cloths, parasols, and guns. Now I knew very well that we could easily dispose of all our cargo at the Cape and other parts; but I also knew very well that James’s main object in stopping at Madeira was to give me a few delightful days on shore.

“This was part of the cure, and I had to submit with the best grace I could.

“We had, at that time, as handy and good a second mate as any one could wish on the weather side of a quarterdeck. So it was easy enough for myself and James to leave the ship both at the same time, though this had very seldom been our custom, except when in dock or in harbour.

“To put it in plain language, James did not seem to know how good to be to me, nor how much to amuse me. The honest, simple soul kept talking and yarning to me all the while, and pointing out this, that, and the other strange thing to me, until I was obliged to laugh in his face. But James was not offended; not he. He was working according to some plan he had formulated in his own mind, and nothing was going to turn him aside from his purpose.

“About midday we entered the veranda of a cool and delightful hotel, and seating ourselves at a little marble table, James called for cigars and iced drinks. Then he proposed we should luncheon. No, he would pay, he said; it was not often he had the honour or pleasure of lunching with his captain, in a marble palace like this. So he pulled out an old sock tied round with a morsel of blue ribbon, and thrusting his big brown paw into it, brought forth money in abundance.

“‘Never been here before?’ he asked me quietly.

“‘No,’ I said; ‘strange to say I’ve touched at nearly every port in the world except this place.’

“‘Well, I have,’ said James, ‘and I’m going to put you up to the ropes.’

“‘Now,’ he continued, when we stood once more under the greenery of the trees that bordered the broad pavement, ‘will you have a hammock or a horse?’

“Not knowing quite what he meant, I replied that I would leave it to him.

“‘Well,’ he said, ‘this must be considered a kind of picnic, them’s my notions, and as you’re far from well yet, I’ll have a horse and you a hammock.’

“Both horse and hammock were soon brought round to the door. The hammock was borne by two perspiring half-caste Portuguese, and was attached to a pole, and on board I swung, while James got on board the horse. The saddle was a hard and horrid contrivance of leather and wood, the stirrups a pair of old slippers, and the horse himself – well, he was a beautiful study in equine osteology, and I really did not know which to pity most, James or his Rosinante. But in my hammock I felt comfortably, dreamily happy.

“We passed through the quaint old town of Funchal, then upwards, and away towards the mountains. The day was warm and delightful – hot indeed James must have found it, for he soon divested himself of coat and waistcoat, and even then he had to pause at times to wipe his streaming brow. The peeps at the beautiful gardens I caught while being carried along were charming in the extreme; the verandaed and trellised villas, canopied with flowers of every hue and shape, the bright green lawns where fairy-like children played, and the flowering trees – the whole forming ever-changing scenes of enchantment – I shall never forget. Then the soft and balmy air was laden with perfume.

“‘How nice,’ I thought, ‘to be an invalid! How kind of James to treat me as one! And he jogging along there on that bony horse’s back, with the boy holding fast by the tail! Dear, unselfish, but somewhat silly fellow!’

“Upwards still, steeper and steeper the hill. And now we seemed to have mounted into the very sky itself, and were far away from the tropics and tropical flora.

“We came at last to a table-land. For the life of me I could not help thinking of the story of ‘Jack and the Bean-stalk.’ Here gorgeous heaths and heather bloomed and grew; here birds of sweet song flitted hither and thither among the scented and the yellow-tasselled broom; and here solemn weird-like pine-trees waved dark against the far-off ocean’s blue.

“Under some of these trees, and close to the cliff, we disembarked to rest. We were fully half a mile above the level of the sea. Yet not a stone’s throw from where we sat was the edge of the awful cliff that led downwards without a break to that white line far beneath where the waves frothed and fumed against the rocks.

“But far as the eye could reach, till lost in distance and merged into the blue of the sky, lay the azure sea, with here and there a sail, the largest of which looked no bigger than a white butterfly with folded wings.

“A delicious sense of happiness stole over me, and for the first time, perhaps, since leaving England I forgot the sweet young face that had so completely bewitched me.

“I think I must have fallen asleep, for the next thing I was sensible of was James tuning a broad guitar.

“Then his voice was raised in song, and I closed my eyes again, the better to listen.

“Poor James, he played and sang for over an hour; no wild, wailing sea-songs this time, however, but verses sweet and plaintive, and far more in harmony with the notes of the sad guitar. The romance of our situation, the stillness of our surroundings, unbroken save in the intervals of song by the flitting of a wild bird among the broom, and the low whisper of the wind through the pine-trees overhead, with the balmy ozonic air from the blue ocean, continued to instil into my soul a feeling of calm and perfect joy to which I had hitherto been a stranger.

“Just as the sun was sinking like a great blood orange through a purple haze that lay along the western horizon, James laughingly handed the guitar to the boy who had carried it. Then laughing still – he was so strange and good this James of mine – he pulled out a silver-mounted flask and poured me out a portion of its contents.

“It was a little rum and treacle.

“‘The dews of night isn’t going to harm you after that,’ said James.

“Lights were glimmering here and there on the hills like glow-worms, and far beneath us in the town, long before we reached the streets of Funchal.

“We went straight to the hotel and discharged both horse and hammock.

“Then we dined.

“I thought I should be allowed to go on board after this. Not that there was the slightest hurry.

“However, I was mistaken for once. James had not yet done with me for the night. I had still another prescription of his to use; and as I knew it was part and parcel of James’s love cure, I could not demur. He had given me so much pleasure on that day already, that when he asked me to get up and follow him I did so as obediently as the little lamb followed Mary.

“But that he, James Malone, who feared womankind, if he did not positively hate them, should lead me to a Portuguese ballroom of all places in the world, surprised me more than anything.

“I could hear the tinkling of guitars, the shuffling of feet, and the music of merry, laughing voices, long before we came near the door.

“I stopped short.

“‘James,’ I said, ‘haven’t you made some mistake?’

“His only answer was a roguish laugh.

“I repeated the question.

“‘Not a bit of it,’ he answered gaily.

“‘Charlie Halcott,’ he added, ‘if you were simply suffering from Yellow Jack I’d hand you over to a doctor, but, Charles Halcott, it takes a man to cure love. And you’ve been sorely hit.’

“This had been a day of surprises, but when I entered that ballroom there came the greatest surprise of all. Those here assembled were not so-called gentle-folks. They were the sons and daughters of the ordinary working classes; but the taste displayed, the banks of flowers around the orchestra, the gay bouquets and coloured lights along the walls, the polished and not overcrowded floor, the romantic dresses of the gallants that transported one back to the middle ages, the snow-white costumes of the ladies, and, above all, their innocent, ravishing beauty, formed a scene that reminded me strongly of stories I had read in the Arabian Nights’ Entertainments.

“I was almost ashamed of my humble attire, but the courtesy of the master of ceremonies was charming. Would the strangers dance? Surely the stranger sailors would dance? He would get us, as partners, the loveliest señoritas in all the room.

“So he did.

“I forgot everything in that soft, dreamy waltz – everything save the thrilling music and the sylph-like form of my dark-eyed partner, who floated with me through the perfumed air, for surely our feet never touched the floor.

“But the drollest thing of all was this – James was dancing too. James with his – well, I must not say aversion to, but fear and shyness of womankind, was dancing; and I knew he was only doing so to encourage me. A handsome fellow he looked, too, almost head and shoulders taller than any man there, and broad and well-knit in proportion. The master of ceremonies had got him a partner ‘for to match,’ as he expressed it; certainly a beautiful girl, with a wealth of raven hair that I had never seen equalled, far less surpassed. I daresay she could dance lightly; but James’s waltzing was of a very solid brand indeed, and he swung his pretty partner round the room in a way that seemed to indicate business rather than pleasure. Several couples cannoned off James and went ricochetting to the farther end of the room, and one went down. James swung past me a moment after, apparently under a heavy press of canvas, and as he did so I heard him say to his partner, referring to the couple he had brought to deck, —

“‘They should keep out o’ the way, then, when people are dancing.’

“The hours sped quickly by, as they always do in a ballroom, and by the time James and I got on board the Sea Flower four bells in the middle-watch were ringing out through the still, dark night. But all was safe and quiet on board.

“I took a turn on deck to enjoy a cigar before going below, just by way of cooling my brow. When I went down at last, why, there was James seated at the table, his mother’s Bible before him, and, as usual, the awful specs across his nose.

“Poor James, he was a strange man, but a sincere friend, as the sequel will show.”

Book Two – Chapter Five.

“Till the Sea Gives up its Dead.”

From Madeira, where we stayed for many days, going on shore every forenoon to sell some of our cargo to the shopkeepers, and every afternoon for a long ride – horse and hammock – over some part or other of this island of enchantment, sometimes finishing up with a dance – from all this pleasure and delight, I say, we sailed away at last.

“South and away we sailed, and in due time we reached and anchored off Saint James’s Town, Saint Helena.

“Now, Saint Helena had not figured in our programme when we left Merry England. But here we were, and a most delightful place I found it. Hills and dells, mountains and glens; wild flowers everywhere; and the blue eternal sea dotted with many a snow-white sail, engirdling all. This, then, was the ‘lonely sterile rock in the midst of the wild tempestuous ocean,’ to which Napoleon had been banished.

“James had been here before, although I had not, so everything was of interest to me, and everything new. And my good mate determined to make it as pleasant for me as possible. He seemed to know every one, and every one appeared delighted to see him. Such remarks as the following fell upon our ears at every corner: —

“‘Well, you’ve got back again, James?’

“‘What! here you are once more, James, and welcome.’

“‘Dee – lighted to see you, certain – lee!’

“‘Ah! Jeames,’ – this from a very aged crone, who was seated on a stone dais near her door, basking in the warm, white sunshine – ‘ah! Jeames, and sure the Lord is good to me. And my old eyes are blessed once more wi’ a sight o’ your kindly face!’

“‘Glad to see you alive, Frilda. And look, I have got a pound of tea for you. And I’ll come to-night and read a bit out of my mother’s Good Book to you.’

“‘Bless you, Jeames – bless you, my boy.’

“We went rambling all over the island that day. We visited the fort, where James had many friends; then we went up a beautiful glen, and on reaching the top we struck straight off at right angles, and a walk of about half a mile took us to one of the most pleasantly situated farms I have ever seen. It was owned by the farmer, a Scotsman of the name of MacDonald. Nothing flimsy about this fine house. The walls were built of sturdy stone, and must have been some feet thick, so that indoors in the cheerful parlour it was cool and delightful, especially so with the odour of orange blossom blowing through the open window and pervading the whole room.

“‘Man, James, I’m so pleased. Here! Hi! Mrs Mac, where are you? Here’s James Malone, the honest, simple sumph come back again. Jamie, man, ye must stop all night and give us a song.’

“‘We – ll – I – ’

“‘No wells nor I’s about it. And your friend here too.’

“Mrs Mac was a very little body, with rosy cheeks, a merry voice, and blue eyes that looked you through and through.

“A little girl and boy came running in, and James soon had one on each knee; and while I and MacDonald talked in the window recess, he was deep in the mysteries of a mermaid story, his tiny audience listening with wondering eyes and rosy lips apart.

“Mrs Mac had gone bustling away to send in a dram of hollands, cunningly flavoured with seeds and fruit rind. She disappeared immediately again, to send orders down to James’s Town for fish and fowl.

“Of course we would stay all night?

“‘Well,’ I said, ‘the ship is safe, unless a tornado blows.’

“‘There will be no tornado, sir,’ said Farmer Mac.

“‘I’ll send off, then, and tell the second mate.’

“‘My henchman is at your service, Captain Halcott.’

“‘And look, see,’ cried James, ‘just tell your henchman to bring my Good Book and specs. I haven’t the heart to disappoint old Mother Banks.’

“‘And the guitar,’ I added.

“‘Well – well, yes.’

“The children clapped their hands with glee, and Maggie, the girl, pulled James’s face towards her by the whiskers and kissed him.

“We started next for Longwood and Napoleon’s tomb. Maggie and Jack – ten and nine years old respectively – came with us, and a right pleasant day we spent. There were bright-winged birds flitting hither and thither in the dazzling sunshine, and singing sweet and low in trees of darkest green; but the happy voices of the children made sweeter music far to my ears, and I’m sure to James’s too.

“All along the roadsides at some parts grew the tall cacti; they were one mass of gorgeous crimson bloom, and here and there between, the ground was carpeted with trailing blossoms white and blue; yet, in my opinion, the laughing rosebud lips of Maggie and Jack’s saucy eyes of blue were prettier far than the flowers.

“And here, on the top of the dingle or glen, and overlooking the sea, were Napoleon’s house and garden.

“‘Why, James,’ I cried, ‘this isn’t a dungeon any more than Saint Helena is a rock. It strikes me – a simple sailor – that Nap must have had fine times of it.’

“‘No, sir, no,’ said James, shaking his head. ‘Plenty to eat and drink, plenty o’ good clothes to wear, but ah! Charles Halcott, he wasn’t free, and there burned inside him an unquenchable fire. When in action, on the field, or on the march, he had little time to think; but here, in this solitude, the seared conscience regained its softness, and in his thoughts by day and in his dreams at the dead hours o’ night, Charles Halcott, rose visions of the terrible misery he brought on Europe, and the black and awful deeds he did in Egypt. O sir, if you want to punish a man, leave him alone to his conscience!’

“James Malone was in fine form that evening at Farmer Mac’s. He sang and he yarned time about – the songs for the children, the yarns for us. Parodying Tam o’ Shanter, I might say: —

“‘The nicht drave on wi’ sangs and clatter,Wi’ childish glee, wi’ bairnies’ patter;The sailor tauld his queerest stories,The farmer’s laugh was ready chorus;Till, hark! the clock strikes in the hallThe wee short oor ayont the twal.’

“Before dinner that evening simple James had gone to see old Mother Banks, and he spent a whole hour with her.

“‘Good-bye, dear laddie,’ she said, when he rose to leave; ‘I’ll pray for ye on the ragin’ sea, but I know the Lord will never let me behold ye again.’

“And simple James’s eyes were wet with tears as he held her skinny hand for a moment, then dropped it and bore away up the street, never once looking back, so full was his heart.

“When the clock struck one, James shyly proposed a few moments’ devotion. Then he mounted the awful specs and opened the Good Book.

“Half an hour after this, all in the great house were asleep, and not a sound could I hear – for I lay long awake thinking – save the sighing of the wind in the trees above my open jalousies, to me a very sweet and soothing sound.

“‘Heigho!’ I murmured to myself. ‘Will I ever have a home on the green earth, I wonder, or shall I die on the blue sea?’

“Then I began to doze, and mingling with my waking thoughts came dreams which proved that poor James’s prescriptions had not yet been entirely successful.

“Just three weeks after this we were far away in the centre of the South Atlantic Ocean, and bearing up for Rio de Janeiro. The sea around us was of the darkest blue, but sparkling in the sunshine, and there was just sufficient wind to gladden the heart of a sailor.

“What induced James and me to change our plans and sail west instead of south and east, I never could tell, though I have often thought about it. A friend of mine says it was Fate, and that Fate often rules the destinies of men, despite all that can be done to alter her plans and intentions. This line of reasoning may be right; my friend is so often right that I daresay it must be.

“But one thing now occurred to me that at times rendered me rather uneasy, and which, when I tried to describe it to James, caused that honest sailor some anxiety also. I have spoken of it more than once to so-called psychologists and even to so-called mediums; but their attempted explanations, although seemingly satisfactory enough to themselves, sounded to me like a mere chaos of words, the meaning of which as a whole I never could fathom. But the mystery with me was this: I seemed at times to be possessed of a second self, or rather, a second soul.