CHAPTER XVII.
THE WAVES IN HARNESS.
WHEN a carefully concocted plan carried out industriously and faithfully results in a total failure to achieve the end sought, the consequences are disastrous in more ways than one. There is first the loss of all the labor, which is important; and secondly, and far more important, there is also inevitably a loss of confidence in one’s own power to achieve success.
I went to my hammock under the shed that night humiliated to the last degree, with a sense of utter contempt for my own judgment,—in short, in a sneering mood, criticising the folly I had displayed in not foreseeing events and making due provision for them. In a rank spirit of self-criticism and self-condemnation I reviewed what I had done, and what I had left undone, and deliberately pronounced myself a stupid ass for all my pains. Nevertheless, as before stated I went very quickly to sleep, and slept the traditional sleep of the just until after dawn.
When I awakened, the new risen sun hung bathed in fleecy clouds of primrose just above a sea all golden and flashing with his level beams; the dew gemmed each blade and leaf; the cool morning air trembled gently among the glistening foliage; the birds sang in noisy chorus far and near; everything was fresh and rested and hopeful and fair and encouraging.
I felt braced and full of confidence and hope; all the worry and trouble of the night had rolled away and gone. Never say die! There is no such thing as fail. The only question now is, what shall we do next? How shall we protect the wreck where it lies, and overcome the obstacles that have risen in our path? I went whistling a jolly tune down to the bathing-place in the creek, took a cool plunge in the clear water, and returned light-hearted, confident, and happy, to rouse my companions, that they also might feel the inspiring effect of the beautiful morning. I wanted somebody to talk with, to discuss the hundred half-formed projects with which my brain already teemed. I wanted to get to work again on some new line, and felt that no moment should be lost. I went to the door and called them; then built a fire and put the kettle on for coffee.
When Alice Millward came down to the fire, radiant in the beauty of health and freshness, her cheek flushed, her beautiful eyes sparkling, and a rebellious tendril of silken hair trembling over her brow in the breath of the morning, I so looked my admiration that she instinctively blushed. I turned away, busying myself with the fire. Somehow I could not help whistling snatches of the merry air that had been running in my head all the morning.
She caught my eye presently and said in a tone of full conviction, “Mr. Morgan, you have found some way of getting that treasure. I know you have by your manner this morning.”
“You are mistaken, Miss Millward. I only wish you were not. The fact is I have only just found that it is possible to begin again calmly to think and plan. But that discovery is quite enough to cheer one. It is a good deal to have recovered from the stunning disappointment of yesterday, and to have regained composure and confidence; for that is equivalent to regaining one’s faculties. Don’t you think so?”
“Yes, I suppose so,” she answered, with a little air of thoughtfulness, “but I really do not know; for to speak the truth I do not think I felt the disappointment so severely as either you or father. Of course I was sorry, but then you see I was not so deeply interested, perhaps, as you two were.”
Mr. Millward now came up, and after the usual morning greeting said, “I imagine it will now be in order to begin to think of getting back to civilization. Our labors here seem to have come to naught.”