CHAPTER XXXVII
At sunset on the day of our landing at Belkoffski we passed the active volcanoes of Pogromni and Shishaldin, on the island of Unimak. For years I had longed to see Shishaldin; and one of my nightly prayers during the voyage had been for a clear and beautiful light in which to see it. Not to pass it in the night, nor in the rain, nor in the fog; not to be too ill to get on deck in some fashion—this had been my prayer.
For days I had trembled at the thought of missing Shishaldin. To long for a thing for years; to think of it by day and to dream of it by night, as though it were a sweetheart; to draw near to it once, and once only in a lifetime—and then, to pass it without one glimpse of its coveted loveliness!—that would be too bitter a fate to be endured.
In a few earnest words, soon after leaving Valdez, I had acquainted the captain with my desire.
It was his watch when I told him. He was pacing in front of the pilot-house. A cigar was set immovably between his lips. He heard me to the end and then, without looking at me, smiled out into the golden distance ahead of us.
"You fix the weather," said he, "and I'll fix the mountain."
I, or some other, had surely "fixed" the weather.
No such trip had ever been known by the oldest member of the crew. Only one rainy night and one sweet half-cloudy afternoon. For the rest, blue and golden days and nights of amethyst.
But would the captain forget? The thought always made my heart pause; yet there was something in the firm lines of his strong, brown face that made it impossible for me to mention it to him again.