CHAPTERXIII.
The Sargasson method of taking rest was peculiar.
Absolute inactivity was to them the wildest excitement. It represented their daily life of anxiety and the constant menace to death. On the other hand, dancing and carousing brought to them perfect rest.
The first day of the “Week of Silence” opened with a wildly hilarious dance, entitled “The Glorification of the Sun.” In common with all the members of the Community, I was awakened at 3 o’clock. I dressed, and made my appearance upon the deck. There I found the entire ship’s company drawn up in line, each man standing upon a mass of freshly gathered seaweed, still damp with the ocean’s brine. They all faced the east, where signs of the coming day already could be detected.
Just as soon as the great golden orb appeared above the horizon the ship’s company broke into a hymn.
The music was in the minor key, and of a weird, monotonous character. The singing lasted for ten minutes, after which followed the Sun dance, in which everybody joined. It was somewhat after the fashion of the Roger de Coverley, and was accompanied by singing on the part of the dancers, that being the only music to which the feet of the dancers moved. The time was accentuated by the clapping of hands. A small wicker platter of shellfish was then handed around, each person taking one ofthe scallops in his fingers and eating it. The dish was passed and repassed, and many times replenished, until all had heartily feasted. Then everybody was sent to quarters, and the sleep of one week began.
This sleep is to the Sargassons the supreme idea of excitement. It is indecorous to awaken until the Kantoon of the ship has himself arisen and summoned has chief officers.
Fidette had not appeared during the morning ceremony. She watched the sun rise, however, from the window of her own cabin, and was thoroughly imbued with the spirit of the ceremony. She composed herself to rest contentedly, doubtless looking forward with cheerful anticipation to “Bantang,” or the “Day of the Awakening,” when her lover would be permitted to call upon her.
How I put in this week of misery, I can hardly find words to describe. I was forbidden to move about the ship. Never having been a heavy sleeper, I awakened on the next morning and found that the Sargasson cook had very thoughtfully placed a dish of dried berries and baked fish at the door of my stateroom. This thoughtfulness I highly appreciated, because I knew that I would be very hungry. I carefully divided the food into seven portions, in order that gluttony might not get the better of me, and cause me to suffer for the want of food later in the week.
I rose as usual with the sun on the following morning, and carefully tiptoed to the upper deck in order to make a long and thorough search of the horizon, in the hope that I may detect the smoke of some passing vessel. I longed for the companionship of men who belonged to the real world that I feared I had left for ever. Although I climbed to the masthead, my search was in vain. Not a moving object was in sight!
I could and would have escaped had I not been in love with Fidette.
The description of one day will answer for all of those that succeeded during the week of misery. If theincident of the trombone player had not occurred when it did, I believe I could have occupied my mind during the entire week with thoughts of Fidette. But, under the circumstances, I was torn by jealousy, and my affection for the dear girl had been sorely weakened. Therefore, I used to sit for hours far out in the bowsprit, as it surged in and out the swaying sea, and rehearse to myself again and again the unhappy incident. There was an unreality about it that annoyed me. If Fernandez were dead some one else had played the trombone. Knowing nothing of Fernandez, this unknown would not come to see Fidette, and I could easily turn the girl’s mind against the suppositious lover when he failed to put in an appearance.
She confidently expected me. Now, if he didn’t come, I would win her!
I contrived to sleep about twelve hours out of the twenty-four. But the silence and the loneliness were very oppressive.
To me, of course, sleep did not mean excitement. In the long voyages I had made I had grown used to taking very little sleep. Besides, I was very anxious for Fidette to wake in order that we might be reconciled. Several times I contrived to look into her dainty cabin as I passed the half-open door, but she lay arrayed like a bride on her pretty couch, apparently in a stupor. The Sargassons never snore. I have been told that very few of them ever dream dreams.
Their lives are so romantic in themselves that they need no visions in their sleep.
Following my afternoon nap, I generally took a bath in Fidette’s pond. She was asleep, and I did not therefore intrude upon her privileged property.
Almost counting the hours, the dreary week wore away. My provisions were entirely exhausted by the sixth night, economize as carefully as I could.
The seventh morning broke resplendently beautiful. The Kantoon, awakened, came bounding out his cabinwith the skill of an acrobat, sprang into the air, and alighted neatly in the cask of water that stood awaiting him. It was one of my self-imposed duties of “The Week of Silence” to keep this cask filled with water. In the Sargasso Sea evaporation is so rapid that I have no doubt that the contents of the barrel would have been quite exhausted.
The magic of the Kantoon’s voice awakened the entire ship’s company. He gave a long, sonorous howl, which was the signal for everybody to start up and yawn.
A hearty meal was then served upon the upper deck, all being seated. Waiters were unknown, that idea never having developed in the Sargasson mind. The food had been cooked more than a week before and carefully stowed away in a water-tight chest, cast overboard to keep fresh, but held to the ship by a strong thong. One of the first acts of the steward was to drag this box out the water. Most of the men partook very sparingly. As for Fidette, she ate ravenously.
As I said before, I always liked the frankness of this young woman, for she never pretended to be anything but the ingenuous girl she was.
Then followed the closing event of “The Week of Silence,” “The Dance of the Derelicts.” This differed entirely in character from the “Sun Dance.” The entire ship’s company did not participate. All the sailors remained standing respectfully with bared heads while Fidette executed a difficult and rather tedious hornpipe. She was arrayed in a curious costume, the skirt of which was woven from variegated sea-grass, hardly reaching to the knees. The bodice was made wholly of tarpon scales, held together by some insoluble gum. How beautiful were her arms and shoulders! After the hornpipe followed a “walk around.” Then, offering her hands to her father and the chief mate, the three skipped around the deck in a most hilarious “razzle-dazzle” manner.
Not a smile crossed any cheek during this ceremony, which the Sargassons regarded as wholly religious. “TheDance of the Derelicts” is a public manifestation of gratitude to the Greatest of all the Kantoons for his mercy in permitting the Sargassons to have survived another year. It is not to be wondered at that this strange people are grateful for the protecting power of the Most High. They really appreciate the benefits that He confers in allowing them to live after their own manner and under their own laws.
To their way of thinking, there is a great deal of prosperity among the Sargassons, for which they are properly proud. They have no coin or medium of exchange, except sharks’ teeth and tarpon scales, but these seem to serve the purpose very well.
The ceremonial ended as it had begun—with another feast.
Just as the long sleep throughout “The Week of Silence” had been to the Sargassons a continuous vision of the wildest excitement and a foretaste of the eternal bliss of the sweet-water heaven they all hoped to attain, so, antithetically, was “The Dance of the Derelicts,” in which they found no pleasure whatever, a solemn reminder of the cares of this world.
Fidette showed no anxiety to see or to converse with me. The old love had supplanted the new.
On that night, in the silence of the midwatch, I heard the ’cursed trombone again!
“The Week of Silence” had only added to the vigor and strength of lung that the player exhibited.
I hoped that Fidette was asleep and would not hear her lover’s signal.
I stole stealthily along the deck and looked over the ship’s side, only to discover, as I had feared, Fidette’s pretty head, with its loosened mass of dark hair falling in profusion about her bare shoulders, at her cabin window. I was glad that in the darkness I could not gaze upon her happy face and see again thereon that smile of ecstasy.
There was murder in my heart.