The island of the stairs

by Cyrus Townsend Brady

You see, the fact that we were treasure hunting had got about. Who told it I could not discover, but the unusualness of our proceedings, the arming of a peaceful merchant ship, the indefiniteness of the articles, the clearing from Plymouth for the South Seas, the absence of any great amount of cargo, and the high wages promised had aroused suspicions. I had not thought much about the crew, except of Pimball. We had shipped a lot of smart seamen; about the average in quality and above the average in smartness, I decided as the days had passed with nothing happening; but times were good and ships were plenty, and we had sailed rather late in the season, and Pimball had signed many I could wish had been left ashore.

Her presence on the ship, too, was a mystery. Alone in the little Rose of Devon with thirty men! By evil mishap the maid she had brought with her had died after a brief illness two weeks out. Captain Matthews and I were for turning back, but she said no, she would go on. We had lost too much time already and her all was embarked. We were now plowing the blue waters of the Pacific and I, mate of the ship, and the only other officer to be trusted, locked up! Pimball, the boatswain, seemed to me to be the least trustworthy of the lot. I had not got over my initial dislike for him at all!

We were nearing the latitude and longitude of the island. Suppose the men rose in mutiny! I ground my teeth in rage at the thought. The men liked me well enough, and I had been particular to keep them in good humor, passing over many a thing for her sake that I would have followed with a blow had she not been there. Captain Matthews had complained once or twice of my laxity, but I knew things that he didn’t, and I had done what I deemed best for her. I pledge you my word that I didn’t care a farthing for the treasure. I had never given it much thought. I grew to believe in it less and less as we got further from home, and if I had been stronger for my duty and weaker in my love I would have dissuaded her from the voyage, following Master Ficklin’s lead.

Now that she was poor and alone, neglected and forgotten, I had enjoyed a foolish dream that I could be a companion to her—a life shipmate!—for the captain was a rough, plain old sailor. What a fool I was! and yet it had worked in some way as I had intended. We had been thrown into closer intimacy by the loneliness of her position, and by my faithful and, until that night, most unobtrusive, self-effacing devotion. I was thinking too much of her to give my attention to any other kind of treasure anyway, and I’d rather have had her than all the golden argosies that plowed the seas.

I supposed it never entered her head that I could presume to love her, consequently she was less careful than she had been otherwise, and that very night when I had poured out my declaration to her, she had found no words with which to meet it. I thought her motionless silence was consent. I see now that it was petrified amazement. I seized her in my arms, like the brute she must have thought me, lifted her up and kissed her fair on the lips and then on her averted cheek. Arcester, the blackguard, could have done no worse. I will never forget how she stigmatized me, brute, coward, lowborn. I don’t believe she had railed at that scoundrel duke so fiercely. Well, I didn’t care what she called me. Her safety, her life, her honor demanded that I be released. That was the paramount concern.

I listened—I thought I heard a footfall in the outer cabin. Could she be there? I suppose that I had been locked up for perhaps an hour, aye, on the instant the bell forward struck three. We kept man-o’-war customs at her fancy. The sound came to me faintly as I listened. Half past nine. She could not have gone to her berth yet. She must be there in the great cabin. I ventured to call.

Any man can imagine what it cost me to humble myself to ask her mercy. Stop, I ought to apologize. No gentleman—I do not mean the dandies that made love to her—but no real gentleman such as I, in spite of my low birth and rough breeding, hoped I might prove myself to be, would have taken advantage of her as I did. Yes, an apology was certainly owing from me. Even had it not been I should have been compelled to make it for her sake.

I am a man of fierce temper, as you have deemed and as you shall see, if you go with us further in this history, but I can control it on occasion, and I did it now. I shook the door of the cabin gently at first and then vigorously and called once and again. There was no answer. I beat upon it. I raised my voice. I scarcely thought I could be heard on deck. The wind was blowing, the sea was heavy and the ship was pitching wildly, the straining, the creaking, the groaning of the timbers would have prevented such a noise as I made from attracting attention unless someone were in the cabin.

But all in vain. No heed was paid to me and yet I could swear that somebody was there. I don’t know how exactly, but I was conscious of her presence. Perhaps because I was so in love with her that I could always tell whether she was about. I can to this day. Many a time in after years she has stepped into the room where I have been sitting, without a sound, and has come to me and laid her hand on my shoulder, but I have had knowledge before she touched me that she was there.

It made me madder than before to go thus unheeded. I was on the point of giving over my endeavor, but the thought of that peril in which she stood, and the fact that I was removed from the deck and a prisoner, made me resolve on one more effort. She must be made to hear, and if to hear, to answer.