Adrift on the Pacific. Edward Sylvester Ellis
“She shall go,” said the sailor, in a husky voice.
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CHAPTER II
THE CAPTAIN AND INEZ
The steamer Polynesia was steaming swiftly across the Pacific, in the direction of Japan––bravely plunging out into the mightiest expanse of water which spans the globe, and heading for the port that loomed up from the ocean almost ten thousand miles away.
Although but a few days out, little Inez had become the pet of the whole ship. She was full of high spirits, bounding health––a laughing, merry sprite, who made every portion of the steamer her home, and who was welcome wherever she went.
To the bronzed and rugged Captain Strathmore she was such a reminder of his own lost Inez that she became a second daughter to him, and something like a pang stirred his heart when he reflected upon his arrival at his destination and his parting from the little one.
Inez, as nearly as the captain could gather, had been living for several years with her uncle and aunt in San Francisco, from which port her parents had 9 sailed a considerable time before. The stranger gave a very common name as his own––George Smith––and said he would await the return of the Polynesia with great anxiety, in order to learn the particulars of the arrival of his niece in Japan.
However, the captain did not allow his mind to be annoyed by any speculations as to the past of the little girl; but he could not avoid a strong yearning which was growing in his heart that something would turn up––something possibly in the shape of a social revolution or earthquake––that would place the little girl in his possession again.
And yet he trembled as he muttered the wish.
“How long would I keep her? I had such a girl once––her very counterpart––the sweet Inez, my own; and yet she is gone, and who shall say how long this one shall be mine?”
The weather remained all that could be wished for a number of days after steaming out of the Golden Gate. It was in the month of September, when a mild, dreamy languor seemed to rest upon everything, and the passage across the Pacific was like one long-continued dream of the Orient––excepting, perhaps, when the cyclone or hurricane, roused from its sleep, swept over the deep with a fury such as strews the shores with wrecks and the bottom with multitudes of bodies.
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What more beautiful than a moonlight night on the Pacific?
The Polynesia was plowing the vast waste of waters which separates the two worlds, bearing upon her decks and in her cabins passengers from the four quarters of the globe.
They came from, and were going to, every portion of the wide world. Some were speeding toward their homes in Asia or Africa or the islands of the sea; and others living in Europe or America, or the remote corners of the earth, would finally return, after wandering over strange places, seeing singular sights, and treading in the footsteps of the armies who had gone before them in the dim ages of the past.
Now and then the great ship rose from some mighty swell, and then, settling down, drove ahead, cleaving the calm water and leaving a wide wake of foam behind. The black smoke poured out of the broad funnels, and sifted upward through the scant rigging, and was dissipated in the clear air above. The throbbing of the engine made its pulsations felt through the ponderous craft from stem to stern, as a giant breathes more powerfully when gathering his energy for the final effort of the race. A few drifting clouds moved along the sky, while, now and then, a starlike point of light, far away against the horizon, showed where 11 some other caravansary of the sea was moving toward its destination, thousands of leagues away.
Although Captain Strathmore was on duty, and it was against the rules for any passenger to approach or address him, yet there was one who was unrestrained by rules or regulations, no matter how sternly they were enforced in other cases.
The captain was standing on the bridge, when he felt some one tugging at his coat, and he looked down.
There was Inez demanding his attention.
“Take me up, pop,” said she.
“Bless your heart!” laughed the captain as he obeyed the little empress; “you would ruin the discipline of a man-of-war in a month.”
While speaking, he perched her on his shoulder, as was a favorite custom with him.
The day had been unusually warm, and the night was so mild that the steady breeze made by the motion of the steamer was scarcely sufficient to keep one cool. Little Inez had thrown aside her hat with the setting of the sun, and now her wealth of golden hair streamed and fluttered in fleecy masses about her shoulders.
The steamer was plowing straight to the westward, cutting the waves so keenly that a thin parabola of water continually curved over in front of her from the knife-like prow.
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Perched aloft on the shoulder of the captain, Inez naturally gazed ahead, and the figure was a striking one of innocence and infancy peering forward through the mists and clouds toward the unknown future. But Inez was too young to have any such poetical thoughts, and the captain was too practical to be troubled by “æsthetic meditations.”
He chatted with her about their arrival in Japan, saying that she would be glad to see no more of him, when she replied:
“If you talk that way, I’ll cry. You must go home and live with us. Uncle Con says papa has a big dog, and if we haven’t room in the house, you can sleep with him, and I’ll feed you each morning––oh, look!”
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CHAPTER III
AN ACCIDENT
That which arrested the attention of the little girl in the arms of Captain Strathmore, was a sight––unique, rare and impressively beautiful.
All around the steamer stretched the vast Pacific, melting away into darkness, with here and there a star-like twinkle, showing where some ship was moving over the waste of waters. Overhead, the sky was clear, with a few stars faintly gleaming, while the round, full moon, for whose rising so many on the steamer had been watching, had just come up, its disk looking unusually large, as it always does when so close to the horizon.
Just when the moon was half above the ocean, and when the narrowing path of the illumination stretched from the ship to the outer edge of the world, a vessel under full sail slowly passed over the face of the moon.
The partial eclipse was so singular that it arrested the attention of Inez, who uttered the exclamation 14 we have recorded. It was seen by nearly all the passengers, too, most of whom were looking toward the horizon for the rising of the orb, and expressions of delight were heard from every quarter, for such a sight, we say, is rare.
When observed by the passengers on board the Polynesia, the moon had barely cleared the horizon, as we have stated, and the top of the mainmast just reached the uppermost portion of the periphery, while spars, rigging and hull were marked against the yellow disk as distinctly as if painted in India ink.
Such an obscuration, like a total one of the sun, could last but a few seconds, for the Polynesia