CHAPTER XLV
MOUNT PELÉE
The good fortune that had followed him pursued also the Anne Martin, the wind held steady, the sky clear; flying, fresh weather and a sparkling sea brought her into the Caribbean; they sighted ships but always at a distance, sails that flecked the far off horizon and vanished, long wreaths of steamer smoke, phantoms speaking as vaguely of the world of men as the strips of fucus floating past on the swell.
Not only had they good weather but good temper reigned on board.
Stock, a “hard case” in the language of sailors, had taken in, with the news of Sagesse’s death, a cargo of good humour that promised to last him till they fetched Martinique.
Gaspard had his meals in the cabin, with the few words of English that he knew and a few more that he picked up daily, he could make his wants understood without the assistance of Diego; as for conversation, he did just as well with his half dozen words as with a thousand, for conversation there was none amidst the after guard of the Anne Martin.
As day followed day and Martinique crept closer to them, so did the idea of Marie grow in Gaspard’s mind, ousting the idea of Fortune and all other ideas and preoccupations. Just as, on the approach to Skeleton Island, the vision of treasure drove her image from his mind, now on his approach to Martinique, so did her image cast out the vision of treasure. If he thought of his wealth at all, it was only connection with her.
One night, under a sky blazing with stars, he was standing on deck watching the phosporescent gleams in the water. Captain Stock, who had just emerged from the cabin companion-way came towards him, leaned over the bulwark, took his cigar from his mouth and expectorated into the sea.
“To-morrow,” said the Captain, pointing right ahead.
Gaspard started.