“Our god will be in wrath. Not one of us will ever reach the Sweet Water Heaven.”
“Too bad; anything else?” I inquired, now rather annoyed at all this ado about nothing.
“Yes; the thief, the one who has stolen this holy emblem—this sacred stone in which fire that water cannot quench is hidden—will be punished with a death so awful that the coldest Sargasson blood runs boiling hot at its contemplation. When found, he will be seized, taken to the ship of the Chief Kantoon, where his hands will be burned off, his eyes will be plucked out, and he will then be fastened to a spit and slowly roasted over the Sacred Fire that he has attempted to destroy. If, by a fatal mischance, the fire should be extinguished, he will then be cut into pieces while still alive and fed to the sacred sharks of the Inland Sea.”
Having said this, the first mate saluted, and, with my permission, hurried away to rescue, if possible, by force, such members of the crew as had attempted suicide, but were unable to sink.
I returned to Fidette’s side. She had ceased weeping. She was now more calm, but her face was ghastly pale. She now remembered me, and in the tenderest manner possible reached out her hands, taking mine that were extended toward her, and with quivering voice began:
“My dear husband, I am the cause of this dire calamity. I know how terrible must be my punishment; yet that is not what I fear, but the distress I have brought on others.”
Then the suffering little woman had a nervous chill.
“Confide in me, Fidette,” I began, sitting down close by her side to reassure her. “Tell me all.”
“It happened in this way,” Fidette began. “You know I gave a tea on board the Caribas two weeks ago, Saturday afternoon. Donna Elenora was here and assisted me, you will remember. Our tea was hot, contrary to the Sargasson custom. There never had been any fire on board the Cormorant, although on some of the other ships fires had been started surreptitiously by some of the wives of the Kantoons! The commander of the Cormorant had never permitted anything of the kind on board his ship.
“When, therefore, Donna Elenora, desiring to give a tea to-morrow, asked me for the loan of your flint, steel and punk, in a thoughtless moment I declined to accede to her request. I suggested that she borrow the flint from the Priest of the Sacred Fire. She said nothing more, but, going back to the gig that she was using, she at once set out for the Inland Sea. I understand what followed. She has gone to the ship of the Chief Kantoon and has wheedled his daughter into lending the Sacred Flint! My careless words inspired her. Envy counseled her to commit this awful crime. She wanted to be like me. She wanted to make a show. She has sacrificed her life, that of her husband, and probably mine, to her vainglory—not that I fear Death in his usual form, but, ugh! how I shall hate to be roasted alive!”