Perrysburg journal. (Perrysburg, Wood Co., O. [Ohio]) 186?-1965, 1915-07-08
CHAPTER w.
Alone on an Island.

Pongee pajamas and revolver belt
constitute light equipment even for
the tropics, but that was the least
pressing of my concerns.
When fell on the boat deck OF the
Wastrel, the last picture printed on
my retina was that of young Mans.
field beating back assaulting madmen.
If mans dying stare photographs
n final curtain scene from life, and II
I had never awakened from that
swoon, my eyes would have held fixed
a portraiture of strenuous physical
eXertion. But, as fate would have it,
my lids fluttered open again, und er
circumstances which left thousand
questioned unanswered and unanswer
able.
How long I remained 1nsensible l
can only estimate; but often there
come back to me, from that time.
wraithlike shreds of memory in which
1 seem to have drifted down the CEN
turies.
l recall for one thing, stunned and
throbbing aching back of the eyes and
half conscious gazing up at the
rocking stars. 1t is possible that
may once have drawn near to the
marges of sensibility only to relapse
again; because, out Of this vagueness,
there looms one more succinct impres
sion. seem to remember painfully
turning my head for glimpse OF
some triangular point rising and fall
ing with gentle swish in the phos
phorescent water. Unless this is I'M
aEination, it must have been the fin
of a shark.
At all events, when rational under
/ standing returned to me the sun was
glaring insufferably from a scorched
zenith. I began to patch together
fragments of memory and to call
aloud for Mansfield.
There was no answer, and when l
attempted to rise something held me
fast and powerless. Finally l succeed
ed in propping myself on a numbed
elbow to view what was left of the
world. l found myself roughly lashed
10 the lfe-raft by several turns Of
rope so tightly drawn that the nerves
in my legs gave no response. Mans
field was nowhere TO be seen.
lily support was rocking in its lods-
; ment between two weed-trailing boul-
ders stained like verdigris and licked
smooth by the tapping Of the sea. Off
to my front stretched waters SO quiet
that they seemed almost tideless,
though at distance = could hear the
running surf.
To look behind involved a painful
twisting of my neck, but l made the
effort, and was rewarded with the
sight of land. A quarter of mile
away smooth reaches of white sand
met the water, and beyond them
mounting up from palm-fringe to snow
cap, rose the very respectable proper
tions of volcanic island. Coral
rocks, like those which had caught
my raft, were outposts trooping sea
ward for a mile, breaking, here and
there, the surface Of jade-green shall
lows.
From the deep turquoise of the out
er sea to the green of the shore wat
ers ran an enhancing gamut of color
full beauty. The mountain. as sym
metrically cohed assFuji Yama, stood
over 1t all in grave domination. OF
to the left, sponge-like cliffs broke
steeply upward from the level of the
beach. and about their clefts circlct
endless flights of gulls. There.
knew. the rising tide would shortly
thunder and break itself to pieces IL
thousand plumes of spray.
But how had ] reached their place
and what had become of Mansfield?
1t must have been he who hat
lashed me to the raft. From no one
else on the Wastrel could have ex
pected better treatment than "a cut
lass swipe or an ounce of lead" Pa
pably. conjectured. he had emerged
victor from the battle. and. save fol
myself. sole survivor. What had nov
become OF himf