She nodded gravely.
The young man went on politely to say that a Spanish Mestizo general was making himself troublesome on the island of Nahal. He was a great bother to the Government, which was trying to bring strife to an end in order to set up its great emancipation schemes.
“They are over-sentimentalizing the thing—think the bird can be caught by putting salt on his tail. Government wants everybody to lay down arms and listen to the gospel of democracy. Fancy that in the East!”
“It must be a fearful struggle when the people are so unconvinced. There were guns going off all night in Solano!” Julie reflected. “Are there any men and women on Nahal?”
“Oh! of course.” The young man made a carelessly expansive gesture. “There are natives everywhere.”
“But I mean real people, white people, people that make things happen.”
“Hope so. The natives are no good except for background; help along with palms and things to fill up space.”
Thereupon the young man introduced himself, and commenced to explain to Julie that he was going to the island to act as Treasurer. He had been a captain of volunteers, and appeared to deprecate his present office. It served in his opinion, however, as a step to higher things. A Filipino had been made governor of Nahal—matter of government policy; but as he didn’t count for much, Mr. Purcell—such was the name the young man gave himself—had been sent down to bolster things up. His father was a politician in Iowa, and would look out for his son’s advancement. His parents did not approve his roving, oriental life, and wanted him to come home and settle down. He allowed a considerable pause to ensue after this reflection.
For hours the only two persons on the tiny deck, they sat and watched the sea. Later in the afternoon, the sky grew overcast, bringing relief from the intolerable heat.
Finally, a dissolving cloud broke apart on the horizon, and the sun lit up an island green and wild as a new-made world. Julie rose with a cry at the beauty of it. That was Nahal! Mars itself could not have looked more uninhabited. What subliminal, lonely wildness! It called up to her the vision of the wild, moon-swept cliffs of Mindoro, passed at night on the way down to Solano, with its mysterious jungle and without even a light against its primal shores. This little island had ridges of green cones, that looked in the distance like the domes and spires of mosques, all clothed in quiet forests over which the wind seemed scarcely to blow.