Under the Big Dipper

by Desiderius George Dery

Upon the free and lofty upper structure in the broad space between the cabins and the captain’s quarters some privileged travelers, to judge by the important bearing of the men and the well-groomed appearance of the ladies, are languidly settling themselves down. They show scarce a sign of sleepless tossing in heated berths. One of these, a tall, lean man in Pongee, cap and scarf to match, bearing carefully trimmed little chops below the grayish hair, is Sir Balingbroke-Smith, Under-Secretary of the Colonies. He is holding forth to his daughter Muriel on the history of the islands which are just sinking below the southern horizon.

Miss Muriel endeavors to show some interest, appearing to listen with careful attention; but her eyes are wandering around the deck. She is waiting for the appearance of the stranger who had come on board the evening before and whom the Captain had discussed at dinner. The new passenger had declined coming to table as he needed “civilizing.” So Captain Pollard had put it; but he was a gentleman, though an American, who had spent the last eighteen months in the wilds of the Soudan and the mountains of Somali, instead of lounging at Shepard’s Hotel at Cairo or at the Casino at Nice. He was young, rich, independent and “as fine a chap as ever came out of Eton or Oxford, my lord.”

“Muriel seems tired or sleepy, or both,” said her aunt and duenna, the Hon. Mrs. Fitzhugh, the wife of an Indian officer. The good lady was returning to winter in London to recuperate after a trying season with her husband at Lahore, and incidentally was acting as chaperon to Miss Muriel. The ladies of the group duly agreed. Who would dare to differ from her? But all are casting side glances in the direction in which Miss Muriel insists on keeping her pretty face.

The Rev. Mr. Akley, in sober gray, with solemn face and pained, bloodshot eyes, is gazing intently at a group of prostrated orientals, a martyr to faith and duty. The latter, however, do not seem to mind the sad, pained expression in the eyes of the churchman. But even the countenance of the reverend gentleman is somewhat askew from the vertical—since he also is partaking in the general interest. Will this much-talked-of young man ever make his appearance?

And now that the sun has risen above the slight mist to the east, chairs are being pushed into shady and cool places. Chatting and fussing and good-natured pushing, the one business of the day must he attended to first—how to avoid the heat of the day.

“It is going to be beastly hot! If one could but get one’s Times and know what the world is doing? Muriel, my dear, if you insist upon taking such violent exercise before your breakfast you will not be really comfortable for the rest of the day. May I remind you that the next few days are the most trying of the voyage and that the best means to make it bearable—would be—a-a-absolute rest—very little food and liquid refreshments?”

Sir Balingbroke was very impressive. As breakfast had been mentioned by so high an authority as the Under-Secretary of the Colonies, the subject became now the general topic of conversation.

But the ladies managed to turn it into a more interesting channel, and Sir Balingbroke was gradually drawn into speaking of the new passenger whom he had met in the smoking room.

“A very estimable young man, I believe; Captain Pollard tells me that he met him on transatlantic liners—he says he is a well-connected, affluent American—a Mr. Morton, I think; quite refined and unassuming. I understand he has been engaged on some exploring or observation work in southern Egypt and the adjacent territory. It may be—semi-officially of course—that he is under the wings of the Royal Geographical Society. He mentioned that Lord Salisbury was kind enough to recommend him to the authorities—expects to go to London to report the results of his research. Very nice fellow, indeed.”

Eight bells, and shortly after the gong sounds for breakfast—the first important function of the day. The little coterie gathered on the forepart of the deck abandon chairs and troop down to the dining saloon.