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Chapter VI. The Isles of Greece.

The details of our passage from Plymouth to Cythera call for no special mention; for I am unwilling to follow the bad example of many travellers, and chronicle trivialies. To my mind, one voyage is much the same as another; and a lengthy description of uneventful days is apt to breed boredom in the most lenient of readers. Therefore I refrain from prolixity, and merely note those incidents which bear directly on the future; since it is as well to hold by the unities, and admit nothing irrelevant to the development of this veracious narrative.

I can only describe the weather by the hackneyed epithet of “glorious,” for never were there such cloudless skies, such stormless seas, as fell to our page 70 happy lot; even the Bay of Biscay failed to prove worthy of its evil name, and the yacht skimmed its heaving surface like a sea gull. The dome of turquoise arched overhead, the darker blue of the waters spread below, and our boat ensphered, as it were, in a cerulean globe, bore southward, unchecked by wind or wave.

We passed at noon through the Straits, and leaving Gibraltar frowning on the left, steamed into the haze of southern summers. By day the sun, like some necromancer, converted the blue Mediterranean into a sea of fire, and our boat was but a tiny spot of blackness on that glittering plain. With nightfall came coolness and purple twilight, and many constellations. At such quiet moments we sat on deck, conversing of many things in a desultory manner. With me Bertha, as befitted a future matron, talked of our Shropshire home; but on occasions we lent willing ears to the lawless conversation of Flick and Harry. Their talk was all of battle and danger, and peril by sea and land; and while we contemplated coming years of peace in England, they looked forward to exploration and adventure in the far lands which fringe civilization.

Thus, our thoughts being so diverse, we fell naturally into two parties; for Flick and Harry left myself and the ladies severely alone, and it was only page 71 in the twilight, after dinner, that they gave us any of their company. Then Roaring Tom told stories of his somewhat shady past, which made Bertha exclaim and Aunt Chrissy shudder; although, personally speaking, I enjoyed the fierce excitement of these yarns, which mostly dealt with human nature in the rough, and sinful doings in lawless lands. Their narrator had been everywhere, he had seen and done everything, yet with the weight of sixty-five years on his broad back, he still relished hair-breadth escapes, and looked forward to dicing with Death—staking life for a moment of fierce living. The man was a veritable Ulysses, as crafty, as venturesome, as unfortunate as the Fate-tormented Greek.

Hitherto I have omitted all mention of Dosk; but, needless to say, he was on board, under the eye of our captain. On this ugly little creature lay the burden of the future, for Flick intended him to be an intermediary between himself and the negro embassy. As it was not likely that Dosk would further Flick's nefarious intentions regarding the statue, the real object of the expedition was concealed from him by our astute leader; and the islander was under the impression that Flick's sole object in seeking Isk was to restore him to his home. From this belief can be judged how uncivilized was the creature: he actually believed that men would do a kindness without page 72 ulterior motives. He did not relish the voyage in the yacht; for the power which made her rush so swiftly through the water, careless of wind and tide, at once mystified and terrified him greatly. For the most part he crouched in Flick's cabin, and when he came on deck, curled himself up in a distant corner, to drone barbaric songs. These were of so melancholy a nature that I judged the men of Isk—if they existed—to be of anything but a joyous temperament. Sometimes the negro would grovel before Bertha, whom he evidently took to be the incarnation of his deity; but, as she rather objected to this excessive adoration, Dosk was allowed to remain below as much as he pleased. The creature was quite out of his element, and no one was so glad as he when we dropped anchor in the harbour of Cythera, and he once more felt firm earth below his feet.

All this time we had not slackened our speed, for Flick, anxious to make the most of the limited time accorded to him, kept the engines hard at work, and only when it was absolutely necessary did he stop them for a few hours. Then the yacht swirled along under a cloud of canvas, and took advantage of every breath of wind to lessen the distance to her goal. Roaring Tom handled her admirably, and, as if quickened to emulation like a sentient thing, the Carmen, both in sailing and page 73 steaming, so acted up to her reputation as to delight us all, and Harry in particular. He was never weary of expatiating on her speed and beauty and manifold perfections, and I think he would have willingly prolonged the voyage indefinitely.

Skirting the African coast, we passed between Sicily and Tunis, caught a passing glimpse of Malta, arid and sun-scorched, and headed in a straight line for Cythera, at the southern tip of the Peloponnesia. Well do I remember the evening before we reached our destination, for it was then that Flick forced me to confess to a certain belief in his wild story. As a matter of fact, doubtful as I was of its truth, it was impossible to escape the contagious enthusiasm of the would-be adventurers; and, despite my matrimonial future, I found myself hoping that we should find the negro embassy at Cythera when we landed. Indeed, the prospect of adventure began to infect me with longings to join therein, and but that my future was settled for home-life and marriage vows, I verily believe that Flick would have whirled me off, against my better judgment, into a participation of his wild schemes. So one who disapproves of gambling may overlook a game, and end by taking a hand. The strongest nature is not proof against every temptation.

On this special evening whereof I make mention, we had come on deck after a late dinner, and were in page 74 that happy mind which usually follows a good meal. The night was warm, but not unpleasantly so, and the yellow moon rode low on the waves to the westward. Stars scintillated in the purple sky and flashed in the mirror of the sea, and the yacht, ploughing through this begemmed plain, left behind a broad trail of white foam. Not a breath of wind stirred, and no sound could be heard but the creaking of the boat as she swung and swayed, and the steady throb of the engines as every stroke of the propellers urged her onward.

Bertha was seated by Aunt Chrissy, with a guitar, and every now and then she sang idle snatches of song to the old lady. Harry had gone below to worry Dosk into talking to him—for, with a view to prepare himself for Isk, he wished to learn the negro tongue; and I, with Flick, leaned over the taffrail, looking into the steel-hued water sweeping steadily past the black hull of the yacht. The whole scene was suggestful of luxurious ease and restful content, so that I was quite startled when Flick's strong voice jarred the silence.

“To-morrow,” said he, looking upward, “we shall sight Cythera, and by noon be anchored in her harbour.”

“And then, captain?”

“Then we shall prove that Dosk's story is true.”

“You still hold to that belief?” said I doubtfully.

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“Would I have come all this way if I did not, lad? I am no fool, to be deceived easily. The negroes may not have arrived yet, but they will come before the month of the bride is out.”

“The month of the bride?”

“Ay! So they call June. It is their time of marriage at Isk, and the embassy hither is always timed so as to arrive then.”

“So that is why you were anxious to sail for Cythera at once?”

“It was. May would have been too early—July too late. The embassy will come and go in the month of the bride, which now begins. If the negroes come not within the next few weeks, then, Sir Denis, I will admit that you are right.”

I did not immediately reply, for the tone of the man was so confident that my scepticism was shaken, and I felt a conviction that the tale, wild as it seemed to my sober sense, might be true after all. Flick, no mean reader of character, noticed my indecision, and as if to decide the wavering in his favour, placed an ornament in my hand.

“Look at that, sir. Hey! Tell me if it was wrought by barbarians.”

It proved to be a boss or brooch of silver, exquisitely enchased with a representation of the same mystic symbol which Dosk bore on his dark skin-woman, page 76 isle, star, snakes; all were wrought with a minuteness and delicacy which excited my wonder and admiration. None but a master of his craft could have produced so fine a piece of workmanship, which compared not unworthily with the ornate art of the Renaissance, and, as a further proof that the legend was true, beneath was inscribed in Greek letters the name “I 03A3 K.”

“There, Sir Denis,” said Flick, enjoying my unconcealed wonder, “what think you now of my story?'

“This goes a long way towards proving its truth, captain. Why did you not show it to me before?”

“You were so determined to make me out a superstitious old wife, that I could not bring myself to undeceive you. Harry was bent on coming without much temptation, else I might have clinched my arguments with that. Well, sir, do you believe now that there exists an unknown island in the Indian Seas, given over to the worship of Aphrodite?”

“I won't admit that the story is entirely true,” I answered cautiously. “I agree with you that the island exists, and that perhaps the inhabitants worship a statue. But that it represents Aphrodite, or that it is the work of Praxiteles, I still doubt.”

“But you see the name ‘Isk’ on that brooch is written in Greek letters.”

“True enough! You may be right after all page 77 Come, captain,” I added, handing back the ornament, “don't press me too hardly. I have now some belief in your enterprise, but I am not prepared to give way on all points. That embassy, for instance.”

“Well, sir! It will arrive this month at Cythera.”

“If it does, Flick, I will recant my heresies, and wish you good fortune in your adventure.”

“Do more than that, Sir Denis. Leave off persuading Harry to abandon the expedition.”

“H'm! You ask a great deal. Not only I, but the ladies are opposed to his going.”

“You can persuade them otherwise. I tell you I must have Harry,” continued the captain determinedly. “Come, Sir Denis, you won't rob me of my right hand.”

Before I could frame a reply, Bertha, who had been humming to herself, broke into full-voiced song I was glad of the interruption, as it gave me time to consider the most suitable answer to make on so weighty a subject. “Let us go sailing,” sang Bertha lightly.

“Let us go sailing—sailing,
Beyond the harbour bar,
And seek those lands, whose golden strands,
Allure us from afar.
There we can live in dreamful ease,
Beneath the shade of stately trees,
And be at rest, in love's own nest,
Till gleams the morning star.”

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“There, you see,” whispered Flick triumphantly, “take that as an omen that the lad should go. Better to wear out his life in adventure and peril, than rust at home.”

“One moment,” I replied, recognizing the song. “The oracle may speak otherwise in the next verse.”

Bertha resumed her song, all unconscious of its fateful intents.

“Away with dreaming—dreaming!
And shape your life anew,
To save our kin, from death and sin,
We need good men and true.
In London town, in street and den,
To aid our starving Englishmen,
And save our poor, from danger sure,
There's work enow to do.”

“Now then, captain; is it not clearly Harry's duty to stay at home and devote his money and life to helping his fellow countrymen?”

“Bah!” growled Flick, “let the parsons do that. A fine lad like Harry, with the instincts of a pioneer, would be thrown away on such work. There are plenty to slum, and save, and preach, and feed poor people. But there are few of Harry's sort, and we need them every one to widen our empire. Are you one of the ‘Little England’ lot, sir?”

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This I denied, whereupon Flick contradicted me, and then ensued a lively argument, in which I was worsted. At least, it ended in my promising to place no bar in Harry's way if he wished to sail for Isk; and I also promised, rashly enough, to bring the ladies round to the same way of thinking.