THE LAST OF AN ENEMY.
It was no time to gloat over the downfall of an enemy.
I had attained the coveted position of a Kantoonship among the Sargassons, and I was to occupy it at the expense of the life of the man who had been the means of bringing me among these strange people, who had just shown their appreciation and respect by conferring a high dignity upon me.
Unacquainted as I was with the history of Arthur Gray prior to my arrival in the community I could not pass judgment upon the acts of my fellow Sargassons. I had lost sight of Gray in the stirring events that had filled the previous months of my stay on the Happy Shark, and although it was considered quite improper to inquire regarding the fate of missing members of the community, I had tried, on several occasions, to ascertain what had become of him. I had been told that he was killed in the attack on the Caribas. There certainly had been some mystery attending the period of Gray’s existence between that memorable capture and the fatal hour in which I again crossed his path. It was strange that we individually were responsible for the misfortunes that had overtaken each of us.
These thoughts were dominant in my mind as I stood on the deck of my old ship, contemplating my now humiliated and condemned enemy. To his credit, I must say that Gray did not evince any humiliation or seek to curry favor. He was already tightly bound in a peculiarly constructed chair, in which condemned Kantoons were drowned.
This seat was made of three boards, fashioned quite like a rustic chair found in our American Summer houses and parks. Into the longest piece of board was mortised a seat, and this rude chair was made to stand by being inclined backward and supported by a prop, similar to that which holds an easel in position. Devices like this existed on every Kantoonment, in order that they might be ready whenever wanted.
The custom under which each commander kept a device for his own destruction in case of condemnation may appear strange to those who are not familiar with the habits of this people. And yet, when a boy in the United States, I remember distinctly to have known a neighbor family that had resided for several generations in the same dwelling-house. With the boys of my own age in this family I was on friendly terms, and I recollect repeatedly to have been shown a broad board that was carefully placed above the kitchen cupboard, and upon which, I was gravely informed, all members of the Baxter household were laid out and prepared for the grave. That broad board was as much a part of the family possessions as its silverware, its cameo pins and other heirlooms. I remember an occasion, when most of the members of the family were absent, the eldest boy and myself carefully took the board from the cupboard, and, with the assistance of two barrels, constructed a rude counter, across which we dispensed vinegar soda water, grapevine-leaf cigars and apples of suspicious character.
This was not in Sargasso, but in the suburbs of my native city of Brooklyn.
“This must gratify you very much, Clark,” began Gray, in thoroughly good English. “I understand perfectly what hopes are awakened in your mind by your return to this ship, but I want to tell you that they are vain. You never can effect your escape from the Sargasso Sea!”
He was a mind-reader!