Under the Big Dipper

by Desiderius George Dery

“There goes one of the finest young men,” said the Captain, looking after the rapidly retiring form, “a man in a million, Count.”

“He looks keen and strong; a bold man and true,” gently said the Count with almost a sigh. “Sportsman?”

“I don’t quite know, Count. I think he went out to explore the Soudan and the Blue Nile country, if I remember correctly. He comes of a very fine family—a man of rare good judgment and the very man to have around when trouble is brewing. Some time I will tell you how I met him. If you’ll permit me, Count, I’ll now look up that pilot. We are getting under way. Good evening, Excellency!”

“Au revoir, Captain. I shall have to interview the chief steward and see if Dr. Brown will allow me another meal to-day.”

Now that he was once again alone, the Count forgot the evening meal, forgot the steward and the man he just had met—he had weightier matters on his mind. This man of the world, trained to think while chatting and seemingly enjoying small talk—this old diplomat realized that he had arrived at a parting of the ways. The oppressive heat of earlier day had yielded somewhat to the gentle breeze rising from the ever-nearing mountainous shore. A brilliant crimson band silhouetted sharply the deep purple of Ras Séan, the bluish haze half hid the frowning abrupt cliffs of Perim Island; the first twinkle of the lighthouse shone like a firefly, coming and going in rhythmic flashes. To the north the broad dome of Disohebel Menghéli rose high, the towering guardian of the strait, the dread of the unwary skipper. Over the ultramarine hills rose the red moon of the silent East, mysterious and alluring, the light of the romantic night. Count Rondell, obeying the promptings of weary limbs, sank into his seat and gazed as if fascinated into the glory of the tropical eve.

The world was so beautiful and life so promising! Moments of the years gone by passed in rapid succession through his mind; the days of youth and hope—the years of ambition and fulfillment. The shadows of beloved faces rose to disappear; the joy of deeds performed, the regret of acts omitted. As in a panorama he saw his life over again and lived it once more.

A flock of buzzards flying across the hazy light of the moon that looked for all the world like a flattened giant orange, by a curious disconnection of the phenomenon so well known to him, awoke him to the present; to the warning he had received, to the call of a life which was to end. A slight tremor passed over the frame of the man, who seemed to have aged considerably within the last hour.

The training of decades, the inbred desire to suppress thoughts and control the mind, supervened. He lightly passed his hand over the smoothening brow, caressing the thick hair upon his temple and the old gentle smile appeared again in his eyes. “Well, I have run a long race—and on the homestretch I am beaten. Vivat sequens!” he whispered to himself.

He rose and walked freely to the rail, contemplating the wondrous evening, admiring the marvelous light effects in the now rapidly darkening sky. He gazed at the minute wavelets springing from the sides of the boat and spreading their gory crests endlessly toward the east, ever widening and disappearing in purplish black shadows. The first stars as if by magic had leaped upon the zenith, new born, blinking mockingly to him.

A smile gentler than before illuminated the fine features. “God is great, nature is full of wonders, and I shall not cry quits and sulk. There is work before you, my boy, work and duty. And when that is done, my beloved, I shall be glad to join you.”