The Splendid Idle Forties: Stories of Old California

by Gertrude Franklin Horn Atherton

  THE ISLE OF SKULLS

  I

  The good priests of Santa Barbara sat in grave conference on the longcorridor of their mission. It was a winter's day, and they basked inthe sun. The hoods of their brown habits peaked above faces lean andascetic, fat and good-tempered, stern, intelligent, weak, commanding.One face alone was young.

  But for the subject under discussion they would have been at peace withthemselves and with Nature. In the great square of the mission theIndians they had Christianized worked at many trades. The great aqueductalong the brow of one of the lower hills, the wheat and corn fields onthe slopes, the trim orchards and vegetable gardens in the canons of thegreat bare mountains curving about the valley, were eloquent evidence oftheir cleverness and industry. From the open door of the church came thesound of lively and solemn tunes: the choir was practising for mass. Theday was as peaceful as only those long drowsy shimmering days before theAmericans came could be. And yet there was dissent among the padres.

  Several had been speaking together, when one of the older men raised hishand with cold impatience.

  "There is only one argument," he said. "We came here, came to thewilderness out of civilization, for one object only--to lead the heathento God. We have met with a fair success. Shall we leave these miserableislanders to perish, when we have it in our power to save?"

  "But no one knows exactly where this island is, Father Jimeno," repliedthe young priest. "And we know little of navigation, and may perishbefore we find it. Our lives are more precious than those of savages."

  "In the sight of God one soul is of precisely the same value as another,Father Carillo."

  The young priest scowled. "We can save. They cannot."

  "If we refuse to save when the power is ours, then the savage in hisextremest beastiality has more hope of heaven than we have."

  Father Carillo looked up at the golden sun riding high in the dark bluesky, down over the stately oaks and massive boulders of the valley wherequail flocked like tame geese. He had no wish to leave his paradise, andas the youngest and hardiest of the priests, he knew that he would beordered to take charge of the expedition.

  "It is said also," continued the older man, "that once a ship from theContinent of Europe was wrecked among those islands--"

  "No? No?" interrupted several of the priests.

  "It is more than probable that there were survivors, and that theirdescendants live on this very island to-day. Think of it, my brother!Men and women of our own blood, perhaps, living like beasts of thefield! Worshipping idols! Destitute of morality! Can we sit here in hopeof everlasting life while our brethren perish?"

  "No!" The possibility of rescuing men of European blood had quencheddissent. Even Carillo spoke as spontaneously as the others.

  As he had anticipated, the expedition was put in his charge. DonGuillermo Iturbi y Moncada, the magnate of the South, owned a smallschooner, and placed it at the disposal of the priests.

  Through the wide portals of the mission church, two weeks later, rolledthe solemn music of high mass. The church was decorated as for afestival. The aristocrats of the town knelt near the altar, the peopleand Indians behind.

  Father Carillo knelt and took communion, the music hushing suddenly torise in more sonorous volume. Then Father Jimeno, bearing a cross andchanting the rosary, descended the altar steps and walked toward thedoors. On either side of him a page swung a censer. Four women neophytesrose from among the worshippers, and shouldering a litter on whichrested a square box containing an upright figure of the Holy Virginfollowed with bent heads. The Virgin's gown was of yellow satin, coveredwith costly Spanish lace; strands of Baja Californian pearls bedeckedthe front of her gown. Behind this resplendent image came the otherpriests, two and two, wearing their white satin embroidered robes,chanting the sacred mysteries. Father Carillo walked last and alone. Histhin clever face wore an expression of nervous exaltation.

  As the procession descended the steps of the church, the bells rangout a wild inspiring peal. The worshippers rose, and forming in linefollowed the priests down the valley.

  When they reached the water's edge, Father Jimeno raised the cross abovehis head, stepped with the other priests into a boat, and was rowed tothe schooner. He sprinkled holy water upon the little craft; then FatherCarillo knelt and received the blessing of each of his brethren. Whenhe rose all kissed him solemnly, then returned to the shore, where thewhole town knelt. The boat brought back the six Indians who were to givegreeting and confidence to their kinsmen on the island, and the schoonerwas ready to sail. As she weighed anchor, the priests knelt in a rowbefore the people, Father Jimeno alone standing and holding the crossaloft with rigid arms.

  Father Carillo stood on deck and watched the white mission under themountain narrow to a thread, the kneeling priests become dots ofreflected light. His exaltation vanished. He was no longer the chieffigure in a picturesque panorama. He set his lips and his teeth behindthem. He was a very ambitious man. His dreams leapt beyond Californiato the capital of Spain. If he returned with his savages, he might makesuccess serve as half the ladder. But would he return?

  Wind and weather favoured him. Three days after leaving Santa Barbarahe sighted a long narrow mountainous island. He had passed another ofdifferent proportions in the morning, and before night sighted stillanother, small and oval. But the lofty irregular mass, some ten mileslong and four miles wide, which he approached at sundown, was the one hesought. The night world was alight under the white blaze of the moon;the captain rode into a small harbour at the extreme end of the islandand cast anchor, avoiding reefs and shoals as facilely as by midday.Father Carillo gave his Indians orders to be ready to march at dawn.

  The next morning the priest arrayed himself in his white satin garments,embroidered about the skirt with gold and on the chest with a purplecross pointed with gold. The brown woollen habit of his voyage was leftbehind. None knew better than he the value of theatric effect upon thebenighted mind. His Indians wore gayly striped blankets of their ownmanufacture, and carried baskets containing presents and civilized food.

  Bearing a large gilt cross, Father Carillo stepped on shore, wavedfarewell to the captain, and directed his Indians to keep faithfully inthe line of march: they might come upon the savages at any moment. Theytoiled painfully through a long stretch of white sand, then passed intoa grove of banana trees, dark, cold, noiseless, but for the rumble ofthe ocean. When they reached the edge of the grove, Father Carilloraised his cross and commanded the men to kneel. Rumour had told himwhat to expect, and he feared the effect on his simple and superstitiouscompanions. He recited a chaplet, then, before giving them permission torise, made a short address.

  "My children, be not afraid at what meets your eyes. The ways of allmen are not our ways. These people have seen fit to leave their deadunburied on the surface of the earth. But these poor bones can do youno more harm than do those you have placed beneath the ground in SantaBarbara. Now rise and follow me, nor turn back as you fear the wrath ofGod."

  He turned and strode forward, with the air of one to whom fear had nomeaning; but even he closed his eyes for a moment in horror. The poorcreatures behind mumbled and crossed themselves and clung to each other.The plain was a vast charnel-house. The sun, looking over the brow of aneastern hill, threw its pale rays upon thousands of crumbling skeletons,bleached by unnumbered suns, picked bare by dead and gone generations ofcarrion, white, rigid, sinister. Detached skulls lay in heaps, grinningderisively. Stark digits pointed threateningly, as if the old warriorsstill guarded their domain. Other frames lay face downward, as thoughthe broken teeth had bitten the dust in battle. Slender forms lay prone,their arms encircling cooking utensils, beautiful in form and colour.Great bowls and urns, toy canoes, mortars and pestles, of serpentine,sandstone, and steatite, wrought with a lost art,--if, indeed, the arthad ever been known beyond this island,--and baked to richest dyes, wereplaced at the head and feet of skeletons more lofty in stature thantheir fellows.

  Father Carillo sp
rinkled holy water right and left, bidding his Indianschant a rosary for the souls which once had inhabited these appallingtenements. The Indians obeyed with clattering teeth, keeping their eyesfixed stonily upon the ground lest they stumble and fall amid yawningribs.

  The ghastly tramp lasted two hours. The sun spurned the hill-top andcast a flood of light upon the ugly scene. The white bones grew whiter,dazzling the eyes of the living. They reached the foot of a mountain andbegan a toilsome ascent through a dark forest. Here new terrors awaitedthem. Skeletons sat propped against trees, grinning out of the dusk,gleaming in horrid relief against the mass of shadow. Father Carillo,with one eye over his shoulder, managed by dint of command, threats, andsoothing words to get his little band to the top of the hill. Once,when revolt seemed imminent, he asked them scathingly if they wished toretrace their steps over the plain unprotected by the cross, and theyclung to his skirts thereafter. When they reached the summit, they laydown to rest and eat their luncheon, Father Carillo reclining carefullyon a large mat: his fine raiment was a source of no little anxiety. Noskeletons kept them company here. They had left the last many yardsbelow.

  "Anacleto," commanded the priest, at the end of an hour, "crawl forwardon thy hands and knees and peer over the brow of the mountain. Then comeback and tell me if men like thyself are below."

  Anacleto obeyed, and returned in a few moments with bulging eyes and abroad smile of satisfaction. People were in the valley--a small band.They wore feathers like birds, and came and went from the base of thehill. There were no wigwams, no huts.

  Father Carillo rose at once. Bidding his Indians keep in the background,he walked to the jutting brow of the hill, and throwing a rapid glancedownward came to a sudden halt. With one hand he held the cross wellaway from him and high above his head. The sun blazed down on theburnished cross; on the white shining robes of the priest; on his calmbenignant face thrown into fine relief by the white of the fallingsleeve.

  In a moment a low murmur arose from the valley, then a sudden silence.Father Carillo, glancing downward, saw that the people had prostratedthemselves.

  He began the descent, holding the cross aloft, chanting solemnly; hisIndians, to whom he had given a swift signal, following and lifting uptheir voices likewise. The mountain on this side was bare, as if fromfire, the incline shorter and steeper. The priest noted all things,although he never forgot his lines.

  Below was a little band of men and women. A broad plain swept from themountain's foot, a forest broke its sweep, and the ocean thundered near.The people were clad in garments made from the feathered skins of birds,and were all past middle age. The foot of the mountain was perforatedwith caves.

  When he stood before the trembling awe-struck savages, he spoke to themkindly and bade them rise. They did not understand, but lifted theirheads and stared appealingly. He raised each in turn. As they oncemore looked upon his full magnificence, they were about to prostratethemselves again when they caught sight of the Indians. Those darkstolid faces, even that gay attire, they could understand. Glancingaskance at the priest, they drew near to their fellow-beings, touchedtheir hands to the strangers' breasts, and finally kissed them.

  Father Carillo was a man of tact.

  "My children," he said to his flock, "do you explain as best you-can tothese our new friends what it is we have come to do. I will go into theforest and rest."

  He walked swiftly across the plain, and parting the clinging branchesof two gigantic ferns, entered the dim wood. He laid the heavy crossbeneath a tree, and strolled idly. It was a forest of fronds. Lofty ferntrees waved above wide-leaved palms. Here and there a little marsh withcrowding plant life held the riotous groves apart. Down the mountain upwhich the forest spread tumbled a creek over coloured rocks, then woundits way through avenues, dark in the shadows, sparkling where thesunlight glinted through the tall tree-tops. Red lilies were everywhere.The aisles were vocal with whispering sound.

  The priest threw himself down on a bed of dry leaves by the creek. Aftera time his eyes closed. He was weary, and slept.

  He awoke suddenly, the power of a steadfast gaze dragging his brain fromits rest. A girl sat on a log in the middle of the creek. Father Carillostared incredulously, believing himself to be dreaming. The girl'sappearance was unlike anything he had ever seen. Like the other membersof her tribe, she wore a garment of feathers, and her dark face was castin the same careless and gentle mould; but her black eyes had a certainintelligence, unusual to the Indians of California, and the hair thatfell to her knees was the colour of flame. Apparently she was not morethan eighteen years old.

  Father Carillo, belonging to a period when bleached brunettes wereunknown, hastily crossed himself.

  "Who are you?" he asked.

  His voice was deep and musical. It had charmed many a woman's heart,despite the fact that he had led a life of austerity and sought nowoman's smiles. But this girl at the sound of it gave a loud cry andbounded up the mountain, leaping through the brush like a deer.

  "HE AWOKE SUDDENLY, THE POWER OF A STEADFAST GAZEDRAGGING HIS BRAIN FROM ITS REST."]

  The priest rose, drank of the bubbles in the stream, and retraced hissteps. He took up the burden of the cross again and returned to thevillage. There he found the savage and the Christianized sittingtogether in brotherly love. The islanders were decked with the rosariespresented to them, and the women in their blankets were swollen withpride. All had eaten of bread and roast fowl, and made the strangersofferings of strange concoctions in magnificent earthen dishes. As thepriest appeared the heathen bowed low, then gathered about him. Theirawe had been dispelled, and they responded to the magnetism of his voiceand smile. He knew many varieties of the Indian language, and succeededin making them understand that he wished them to return with him, andthat he would make them comfortable and happy. They nodded their headsvigorously as he spoke, but pointed to their venerable chief, who sat atthe entrance of his cave eating of a turkey's drumstick. Father Carillowent over to the old man and saluted him respectfully. The chief nodded,waved his hand at a large flat stone, and continued his repast, hisstrong white teeth crunching bone as well as flesh. The priest spreadhis handkerchief on the stone, seated himself, and stated the purposeof his visit. He dwelt at length upon the glories of civilization. Thechief dropped his bone after a time and listened attentively. When thepriest finished, he uttered a volley of short sentences.

  "Good. We go. Great sickness come. All die but us. Many, many, many. Weare strong no more. No children come. We are old--all. One young girlnot die. The young men die. The young women die. The children die. Nomore will come. Yes, we go."

  "And this young girl with the hair--" The priest looked upward. The sunhad gone. He touched the gold of the cross, then his own hair.

  "Dorthe," grunted the old man, regarding his bare drumstick regretfully.

  "Who is she? Where did she get such a name? Why has she that hair?"

  Out of another set of expletives Father Carillo gathered that Dorthe wasthe granddaughter of a man who had been washed ashore after a storm, andwho had dwelt on the island until he died. He had married a woman ofthe tribe, and to his daughter had given the name of Dorthe--or so theIndians had interpreted it--and his hair, which was like the yellowfire. This girl had inherited both. He had been very brave and muchbeloved, but had died while still young. Their ways were not his ways,Father Carillo inferred, and barbarism had killed him.

  The priest did not see Dorthe again that day. When night came, he wasgiven a cave to himself. He hung up his robes on a jutting point ofrock, and slept the sleep of the weary. At the first shaft of dawn herose, intending to stroll down to the beach in search of a bay where hecould bathe; but as he stepped across the prostrate Californians, asleepat the entrance of his cave, he paused abruptly, and changed his plans.

  On the far edge of the ocean the rising diadem of the sun sent greatbubbles of colour up through a low bank of pale green cloud to the graynight sky and the sulky stars. And, under the shadow of the cacti andpalms, in
rapt mute worship, knelt the men and women the priest had cometo save, their faces and clasped hands uplifted to the waking sun.

  Father Carillo awoke his Indians summarily.

  "Gather a dozen large stones and build an altar--quick!" he commanded.

  The sleepy Indians stumbled to their feet, obeyed orders, and in a fewmoments a rude altar was erected. The priest propped the cross on theapex, and, kneeling with his Indians, slowly chanted a mass. The savagesgathered about curiously; then, impressed by the solemnity of thepriest's voice and manner, sank to their knees once more, althoughdirecting to the sun an occasional glance of anxiety. When the priestrose, he gave them to understand that he was deeply gratified by theirresponse to the religion of civilization, and pointed to the sun, nowfull-orbed, amiably swimming in a jewelled mist. Again they prostratedthemselves, first to him, then to their deity, and he knew that theconquest was begun.

  After breakfast they were ready to follow him. They had cast theirfeathered robes into a heap, and wore the blankets, one and all. StillDorthe had not appeared. The chief sent a man in search of her, andwhen, after some delay, she entered his presence, commanded her to makeherself ready to go with the tribe. For a time she protested angrily.But when she found that she must go or remain alone, she reluctantlyjoined the forming procession, although refusing to doff her birdgarment, and keeping well in the rear that she might not again look uponthat terrible presence in white and gold, that face with its strangepallor and piercing eyes. Father Carillo, who was very much bored, wouldhave been glad to talk to her, but recognized that he must keep hisdistance if he wished to include her among his trophies.

  The natives knew of a shorter trail to the harbour, and one of them ledthe way, Father Carillo urging his footsteps, for the green cloud ofdawn was now high and black and full. A swift wind was rustling thetree-tops and tossing the ocean white. As they skirted the plain of thedead, the priest saw a strange sight. The wind had become a gale. Itcaught up great armfuls of sand from the low dunes, and hurled them uponthe skeletons, covering them from sight. Sometimes a gust would snatchthe blanket from one to bury another more deeply; and for a moment theold bones would gleam again, to be enveloped in the on-rushing pillar ofwhirling sand. Through the storm leaped the wild dogs, yelping dismally.

  When the party reached the stretch beyond the banana grove, they saw theschooner tossing and pulling at her anchor. The captain shouted to themto hurry. The boat awaiting them at the beach was obliged to make threetrips. Father Carillo went in the first boat; Dorthe remained for thelast. She was the last, also, to ascend the ladder at the ship's side.As she put her foot on deck, and confronted again the pale face andshining robes of the young priest, she screamed, and leapt from thevessel into the waves. The chief and his tribe shouted their entreatiesto return. But she had disappeared, and the sky was black. The captainrefused to lower the boat again. He had already weighed anchor, and hehurriedly represented that to remain longer in the little bay, with itsreefs and rocks, its chopping waves, would mean death to all. The priestwas obliged to sacrifice the girl to the many lives in his keep.

  II

  Dorthe darted through the hissing waves, undismayed by the darkness orthe screaming wind; she and the ocean had been friends since her babydays. When a breaker finally tossed her on the shore, she scrambled tothe bank, then stood long endeavouring to pierce the rain for sight ofthe vessel. But it was far out in the dark. Dorthe was alone on theisland. For a time she howled in dismal fashion. She was wholly withoutfear, but she had human needs and was lonesome. Then reason told herthat when the storm was over the ship would return to seek her; and shefled and hid in the banana grove. The next morning the storm had passed;but the ship was nowhere to be seen, and she started for home.

  The wind still blew, but it had veered. This time it caught the sandfrom the skeletons, and bore it rapidly back to the dunes. Dorthewatched the old bones start into view. Sometimes a skull would thrustitself suddenly forth, sometimes a pair of polished knees; and once along finger seemed to beckon. But it was an old story to Dorthe, and shepursued her journey undisturbed.

  She climbed the mountain, and went down into the valley and lived alone.Her people had left their cooking utensils. She caught fish in thecreek, and shot birds with her bow and arrow. Wild fruits and nuts wereabundant. Of creature comforts she lacked nothing. But the days werelong and the island was very still. For a while she talked aloud inthe limited vocabulary of her tribe. After a time she entered intocompanionship with the frogs and birds, imitating their speech.Restlessness vanished, and she existed contentedly enough.

  Two years passed. The moon flooded the valley one midnight. Dorthe layon the bank of the creek in the fern forest. She and the frogs had heldlong converse, and she was staring up through the feathery branches,waving in the night wind, at the calm silver face which had ignored herovertures. Upon this scene entered a man. He was attenuated and ragged.Hair and beard fell nearly to his waist. He leaned on a staff, andtottered like an old man.

  He stared about him sullenly. "Curse them!" he said aloud. "Why couldthey not have died and rotted before we heard of them?"

  Dorthe, at the sound of a human voice, sprang to her feet with a cry.The man, too, gave a cry--the ecstatic cry of the unwilling hermit wholooks again upon the human face.

  "Dorthe! Thou? I thought thou wast dead--drowned in the sea."

  Dorthe had forgotten the meaning of words, but her name came to herfamiliarly. Then something stirred within her, filling her eyes withtears. She went forward and touched the stranger, drawing her hand overhis trembling arms.

  "Do you not remember me, Dorthe?" asked the man, softly. "I am thepriest--was, for I am not fit for the priesthood now. I have forgottenhow to pray."

  She shook her head, but smiling, the instinct of gregariousnessawakening.

  He remembered his needs, and made a gesture which she understood. Shetook his hand, and led him from the forest to her cave. She struck firefrom flint into a heap of fagots beneath a swinging pot. In a littletime she set before him a savoury mess of birds. He ate of itravenously. Dorthe watched him with deep curiosity. She had never seenhunger before. She offered him a gourd of water, and he drank thirstily.When he raised his face his cheeks were flushed, his eyes brighter.

  He took her hand and drew her down beside him.

  "I must talk," he said. "Even if you cannot understand, I must talk toa human being. I must tell some one the story of these awful years. Thevery thought intoxicates me. We were shipwrecked, Dorthe. The wind droveus out of our course, and we went to pieces on the rocks at the foot ofthis island. Until to-night I did not know that it was this island. Ialone was washed on shore. In the days that came I grew to wish that I,too, had perished. You know nothing of what solitude and savagery meanto the man of civilization--and to the man of ambition. Oh, my God! Idared not leave the shore lest I miss the chance to signal a passingvessel. There was scarcely anything to maintain life on that rockycoast. Now and again I caught a seagull or a fish. Sometimes I venturedinland and found fruit, running back lest a ship should pass. There Istayed through God knows how many months and years. I fell ill manytimes. My limbs are cramped and twisted with rheumatism. Finally, I grewto hate the place beyond endurance. I determined to walk to the otherend of the island. It was only when I passed, now and again, theunburied dead and the pottery that I suspected I might be on yourisland. Oh, that ghastly company! When night came, they seemed to riseand walk before me. I cried aloud and cursed them. My manhood has gone,I fear. I cannot tell how long that terrible journey lasted,--months andmonths, for my feet are bare and my legs twisted. What kind fate guidedme to you?"

  He gazed upon her, not as man looks at woman, but as mortal looksadoringly upon the face of mortal long withheld.

  Dorthe smiled sympathetically. His speech and general appearance strucka long-dormant chord; but in her mind was no recognition of him.

  He fell asleep suddenly and profoundly. As Dorthe watched, she graduallyrecalled the appear
ance of the old who had lain screaming on the grounddrawing up their cramped limbs. She also recalled the remedy. Not farfrom the edge of the forest was a line of temascals, excavations coveredwith mud huts, into which her people had gone for every ill. She ran toone, and made a large fire within; the smoke escaped through an aperturein the roof. Then she returned, and, taking the emaciated figure in herarms, bore him to the hut and placed him in the corner farthest from thefire. She went out and closed the door, but thrust her head in from timeto time. He did not awaken for an hour. When he did, he thought he hadentered upon the fiery sequel of unfaith. The sweat was pouring fromhis body. The atmosphere could only be that of the nether world. As hisbrain cleared he understood, and made no effort to escape: he knewthe virtues of the temascal. As the intense heat sapped his remainingvitality he sank into lethargy. He was aroused by the shock of coldwater, and opened his eyes to find himself struggling in the creek,Dorthe holding him down with firm arms. After a moment she carried himback to the plain and laid him in the sun to dry. His rags still clungto him. She regarded them with disfavour, and fetched the Chief'sdiscarded plumage. As soon as he could summon strength he tottered intothe forest and made his toilet. As he was a foot and a half taller thanthe Chief had been, he determined to add a flounce as soon as his healthwould permit. Dorthe, however, looked approval when he emerged, and seta bowl of steaming soup before him.

  He took the temascal twice again, and at the end of a week the drasticcure had routed his rheumatism. Although far from strong, he felt twentyyears younger. His manhood returned, and with it his man's vanity. Hedid not like the appearance of his reflected image in the still pools ofthe wood. The long beard and head locks smote him sorely. He dislikedthe idea of being a fright, even though Dorthe had no standards ofcomparison; but his razors were at the bottom of the sea.

  After much excogitation he arrived at a solution. One day, when Dorthewas on the other side of the mountain shooting birds,--she would killnone of her friends in the fern forest,--he tore dried palm leaves intostrips, and setting fire to them singed his hair and beard to the roots.It was a long and tedious task. When it was finished the pool told himthat his chin and head were like unto a stubbled field. But he was youngand well-looking once more.

  He went out and confronted Dorthe. She dropped her birds, her bow andarrow, and stared at him. Then he saw recognition leap to her eyes; butthis time no fear. He was far from being the gorgeous apparition of manymoons ago. And, so quickly does solitude forge its links, she smiledbrightly, approvingly, and he experienced a glow of content.

  The next day he taught her the verbal synonym of many things, and shespoke the words after him with rapt attention. When he finished thelesson, she pounded, in a wondrous mortar, the dried flour of the bananawith the eggs of wild fowl, then fried the paste over the fire he hadbuilt. She brought a dish of nuts and showed him gravely how to crackthem with a stone, smiling patronizingly at his ready skill. When thedinner was cooked, she offered him one end of the dish as usual, but hethought it was time for another lesson. He laid a flat stone with palmleaves, and set two smaller dishes at opposite ends. Then with a flatstick he lifted the cakes from the fry-pan, and placed an equal numberon each plate. Dorthe watched these proceedings with expanded eyes, butmany gestures of impatience. She was hungry. He took her hand and ledher ceremoniously to the head of the table, motioning to her to beseated. She promptly went down on her knees, and dived at the cakes withboth hands. But again he restrained her. He had employed a part of hislarge leisure fashioning rude wood forks with his ragged pocket-knife.There were plenty of bone knives on the island. He sat himself opposite,and gave her a practical illustration of the use of the knife and fork.She watched attentively, surreptitiously whisking morsels of cake intoher mouth. Finally, she seized the implements of civilization beside herplate, and made an awkward attempt to use them. The priest tactfullydevoted himself to his own dinner. Suddenly he heard a cry of rage, andsimultaneously the knife and fork flew in different directions. Dortheseized a cake in each hand, and stuffed them into her mouth, her eyesflashing defiance. The priest looked at her reproachfully, then loweredhis eyes. Presently she got up, found the knife and fork, and made apatient effort to guide the food to its proper place by the new andtrying method This time the attempt resulted in tears--a wild thundershower. The priest went over, knelt beside her, and guided the knifethrough the cake, the fork to her mouth. Dorthe finished the meal, thenput her head on his shoulder and wept bitterly. The priest soothed her,and made her understand that she had acquitted herself with credit; andthe sun shone once more.

  An hour later she took his hand, and led him to the creek in the forest.

  "C--c--ruck! C--c--ruck!" she cried.

  "C--c--ruck! C--c--ruck!" came promptly from the rushes. She looked athim triumphantly.

  "Curruck," he said, acknowledging the introduction.

  She laughed outright at his poor attempt, startling even him with thediscordant sound. She sprang to his side, her eyes rolling with terror.But he laughed himself, and in a few moments she was attempting toimitate him. Awhile later she introduced him to the birds; but heforbore to trill, having a saving sense of humour.

  The comrades of her solitude were deserted. She made rapid progress inhuman speech. Gradually her voice lost its cross between a croak and atrill and acquired a feminine resemblance to her instructor's. At theend of a month they could speak together after a fashion. When she madeher first sentence, haltingly but surely, she leaped to her feet andexecuted a wild war dance. They were on the plain of the dead. She flungher supple legs among the skeletons, sending the bones flying, herbright hair tossing about her like waves of fire. The priest watched herwith bated breath, half expecting to see the outraged warriors arise inwrath. The gaunt dogs that were always prowling about the plain fled indismay.

  The month had passed very agreeably to the priest. After the horrors ofhis earlier experience it seemed for a time that he had little more toask of life. Dorthe knew nothing of love; but he knew that if no shipcame, she would learn, and he would teach her. He had loved no woman,but he felt that in this vast solitude he could love Dorthe and be happywith her. In the languor of convalescence he dreamed of the hour when heshould take her in his arms and see the frank regard in her eyes for thelast time. The tranquil air was heavy with the perfumes of spring. Thepalms were rigid. The blue butterflies sat with folded wings. The birdshung their drowsy heads.

  But with returning strength came the desire for civilization, theawakening of his ambitions, the desire for intellectual activity. Hestood on the beach for hours at a time, straining his eyes for passingships. He kept a fire on the cliffs constantly burning. Dorthe'sinstincts were awakening, and she was vaguely troubled. The commoninheritance was close upon her.

  The priest now put all thoughts of love sternly from him. Love meant alifetime on the island, for he would not desert her, and to take her toSanta Barbara would mean the death of all his hopes. And yet in his wayhe loved her, and there were nights when he sat by the watch-fire andshed bitter tears. He had read the story of Juan and Haidee, by no meanswithout sympathy, and he wished more than once that he had the mind andnature of the poet; but to violate his own would be productive of miseryto both. He was no amorous youth, but a man with a purpose, and that,for him, was the end of it. But he spent many hours with her, talking toher of life beyond the island, a story to which she listened with eagerinterest.

  One night as he was about to leave her, she dropped her face into herhands and cried heavily. Instinctively he put his arms about her, andshe as instinctively clung to him, terrified and appealing. He kissedher, not once, but many times, intoxicated and happy. She broke from himsuddenly and ran to her cave; and he, chilled and angry, went to hiscamp-fire.

  It was a very brilliant night. An hour later he saw something skim thehorizon. Later still he saw that the object was closer, and that it wassteering for the harbour. He ran to meet it.

  Twice he stopped. The magnetism of the only wom
an that had ever awakenedhis love drew him back. He thought of her despair, her utter and, thistime, unsupportable loneliness; the careless girl with the risen sunwould be a broken-hearted woman.

  But he ran on.

  Spain beckoned. The highest dignities of the Church were his. He saw hispolitical influence a byword in Europe. He felt Dorthe's arms about him,her soft breath on his cheek, and uttered a short savage scream; but hewent on.

  When he reached the harbour three men had already landed. Theyrecognized him, and fell at his feet. And when he told them that he wasalone on the island, they reembarked without question. And he lived, andforgot, and realized his great ambitions.

  Thirty years later a sloop put into the harbour of the island forrepairs. Several of the men went on shore. They discovered footprints inthe sand. Wondering, for they had sailed the length of the island andseen no sign of habitation, they followed the steps. They came upon acurious creature which was scraping with a bone knife the blubber froma seal. At first they thought it was a bird of some unknown species, sosharp was its beak, so brilliant its plumage. But when they spoke to itand it sprang aside and confronted them, they saw that the creature wasan aged woman. Her face was like an old black apple, within whose skinthe pulp had shrunk and withered as it lay forgotten on the ground. Hertawny hair hung along her back like a ragged mat. There was no light inthe dim vacuous eyes. She wore a garment made of the unplucked skins ofbirds. They spoke to her. She uttered a gibberish unknown to them with avoice that croaked like a frog's, then went down on her creaking kneesand lifted her hands to the sun.