Sea stories, American; Seafaring life -- Fiction; Short stories, American
"The idea gave him comfort, strange as it may seem; he could contemplate
the entire destruction of his beloved as an event of minor importance.
It offered something to fall back on, in his mental agony; a practical
explanation to dull the edge of the frantic feeling that all the while
the island existed, if he could only find it. When I noted how he
devoured the suggestion, I enlarged on its possibility.
"’You see, you haven’t been able to find the rock, either’ I pointed out
’And I remember you told me there wasn’t any coral formation in the
neighbourhood of that rock. A sure sign of recent volcanic activity.
I’d be willing to bet that it hadn’t been on the surface very long; it
had been poked up recently for your especial benefit. And where
volcanic action is busy poking things up, it’s just as liable to sink
them down again’
"’But the island had been there a long while’ he objected ’It had a
coral reef all the way round; our boat crossed it by a miracle that
morning. And the people, Nichols—people don’t rise full grown from the
sea, or drop down out of the air’
"I wondered whether they didn’t, in this case. ’Never mind, this was the
way of it’ said I ’The rock was an indication of volcanic action that
hadn’t yet extended to the island. But the whole area was in danger,
and the next outbreak, which happened to be one of depression, dragged
down the island, too’
"We left the question pending, and went our various ways. Now and then
I’d run into him, wandering about the world, as the years went by. He’s
never wholly given up the search. The singular thing about it is that
material fortune has fairly pursued him. He’s made a lot of money, and
sunk it all in fruitless expeditions. Too bad it is that he didn’t
possess a scientific bent; he knows all there is to know of the Pacific
islands on their practical side—that is, on the side that isn’t worth
knowing"
Nichols struck the table again. "Well, what do you think of it?" he
demanded "There he goes, now—alone, always alone. Why was he sent back
to us? What’s his obscure moral? Do you get any hint?"
"Nichols, do you yourself believe in the reality of this island?" I
asked.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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