Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1912-12-15
Continued from page II

hours and the winds seem part of the mo-
notony. Evening comes with bold f1aunt-
ing of scarlet, barred by the clouds of the
trade winds; at night these same clouds sail
across the stars or the moon. They are there
at the dawn, when the faint flush comes that
scarcely interrupts the night till it is sure of
the power to flood the world with crimson
and gold.
Their route lay first to the Marshall Is
lands, more than fourteen hundred miles
west and south of the Hawaiian Islands.
The distance to be traversed brought
sense of security to Henderson. 1t had been
a serious shock to him to think that he had
so narrowly escaped arrest. All his devo-
ton to the Damon interests could not alter
the fact that his conscience had always re-
preached him for breaking the law, to which
he had been trained. He was glad of his
changed surroundings, because they seemed
to take him away from himself. He watched
for hours the snowy clouds of the day, build
ing up their ramparts between the blue,
dazzling roof of the sky and the blue floor
of the sea. He liked the sweet, soft air.
not too hot for his pleasure; for the tenn
perature did not rise above eighty-five. He
liked to watch the busy life of the house
keeping on the ship, and the cook making
bread on the main hatch, because he had
once been cook on schooner and could not
give up the old habit; the agile scatter
mOuch" (for so all Latins are called in Pa
cifc lingO) who stood at the bowsprit end
to spear dolphins: the sailors at their duties
about the ship, which somehow always
seemed to be done quietly, as if the Pacific
itself subdued all human noises. He liked
the sudden, violent squalls, coming over the
ship like gust of shameful temper, and then
passing to leeward, giving way to a pure,
clear sky and the blazing sun.
EVEN Damon liked it at first; but after
- few days the weather grew hotter and
his enforced idleness wore on him. Hender-
son in the circumstances could maintain him
self in his wOnted serenity: but the young
man doubly felt his isolation from the COM
mon life of men, doubly felt his nameless,
homeless condition. In New York, in any
city, he could at least feel that he was play
ing at being alive at having a rightful place
in the world of men: but on the ship he felt
a painful lack of self respect, a shamefaced
belief that he had no right to existence. If
only he could have been in touch with the
life of cities it would have been easier. He
could have forgotten himself, if only a daily
paper could have come flying each morning
into his stateroOm, reminding him that
other people were doing things, that some
where in the world institutions were waxing
and waning, wars were rising churches were
building, and men and women were loving and
dying, robbng and numbering, giving their
lives to their brother men, and spending
their money in noble dreams. But on the
ship there was no art or science, or thought
or love: nothing but a kind of primitive
living, rather suspension of life till land
should be reached nothing but the glare of
the day, the blackness of the night, the sight
of brig or schooner.
His chief solace was day-dreaming about
Angela Give. The advantage of day-dream-
ing over facts is that in dreaming gaps or
discrepancies can be easily got around by
the simple device of disdaining logic. He
would picture himself as somehow having
found the real Larrabee Damon, and mean
while, having remembered his own identity,
loaded with the blessings of Damon and
Henderson, and with substantial wages in
his pocket, he would arrive in New York.
In the twinkling of an eye he would be en-
tering the door of Mrs. Beldon's reception
room. Angela would be sitting by the Win
dow, still in black, a little paler than usual
"Mr. Sylvester!' she would exclaim.
"Sylyester is not the name; but that is a