"That's old Vick's plantation across the point," the Captain said, rising and stretching his arms above his head. "Looks like we're near there, don't it; but it'll be mornin' before we land." Looking at his large watch, its open face characteristic of its owner, he gave an exclamation of surprise and turning away hurried down the ladder to the lower deck.

"Don't forget what I've been telling you!" he called back as he disappeared. "I wa'n't born yesterday, nor the day before neither."

The young fellow walked forward when he was alone, and stood where he could see beneath him the prow of the boat pushing its way into the impenetrable blue of the broad stream. He had felt the influence of the river that night more than at any time during his voyage. Its immensity, its awfulness, gripped him with a new understanding of eternity. The endless legends it embodied rose before him; gorgeous pageants passed in review; into his vision came the long procession of pioneers who had set sail upon these waters; De Soto first, who slept now within its enveloping solitude, afterwards Joliet and Marquette, La Salle with his cross of conquest and his flag of France, the Spaniards from the Mexican Gulf clashing with the English out of the North, and always, coming first upon the river and still present in their silent, stealthy canoes, the real owners of its breadth and length—the Red Men. All these he saw pushing their way along and seeking their fortune, even as he was doing now.

His face was turned towards the south, the place to which his destiny was calling him; in it lay the mystery of his future. Far behind him was the land of his birth, which held the compelling force that was driving him on and on to that future, as relentlessly as the silent river was sweeping to the sea.

In an incident of his childhood lay this force which had made the severing of home ties less bitter and the setting out towards an unknown country the first step in the realization of years of determination. So filled with suffering was this incident that, after twelve years, it lived in his thoughts' with insistent detail.

It had happened in an apple orchard in Maine. There had been a day of great festivity, gay in the gathering of apples, and in the knowledge that a ship had been sighted in which the sea captain, his father, was returning from a six months' voyage. He saw himself as a little limping boy who had just come home from the town school, flushed with pride at the success of his first speech; then he saw himself late in the day, when the ship had anchored and the friends had gathered in a circle over the completed work, repeating the speech to the enthusiastic crowd.

How well he remembered the encouraging faces, the baskets of red apples all about, the pungent smell of the fruit, the twisted branches of the trees back of them, and beyond, far down the sloping hill, the great Atlantic on which the ship had come to anchor! His first speech! Even the words stuck in his memory! Then, while the great joy he had felt in their applause was flushing his face and making him tingle with the first stirrings of awakened talent, he had been lifted into the arms of the sea captain who had stolen up behind the tree and heard him. In that moment came the blow which was yet to mar or make him. The proud father, holding him up before the crowd, had cried out with a great roar of laughter:

"He's a pretty bright little rascal, isn't he? We'll have to send him to college one of these days and make a big speaker out of him—even if he is a cripple."

"Even if he is a cripple!" The words rang out as sharply now as they had twelve years before. He heard them so distinctly that the inflection of the big man's voice, thoughtless and unmeaning as it had been, made him throb with the first opening of the wound. Cripple! Cripple! The words were as the whistling of knotted thongs. Never before that day had he heard them applied to him. Now they were to be with him always; he was powerless to forget them. They had pushed him on and on from that time forward, in a mad desire to embrace all the learning within his power so as to show the world some day that it was not a curse of God's, to be less perfect than other men.

CHAPTER II