"The feeling of unrest and the desire to see the world—the wonderful, ancient, beautiful world of which we, in this island prison, for lovely as it is, it is but a prison for free souls—becomes so intense at times that I almost dread lest I should end my life like his."
"And in what way was that?" I asked. "God forbid you should ever do a deed so terrible," I said.
"Do you not know? He used to go every day to the top of a high cliff on the south side of Pitcairn to gaze over the ocean—as I have done hundreds of times—thinking, perhaps, of the wonderlands beyond, where he had forfeited the right to live by his own act; and—and one day he threw himself over the cliff, and they found his body on the rocks below. Poor Fletcher! I can partly understand his feelings."
This was but one of our many conversations, always fascinating to me, as affording the rare privilege of exploring a mind naturally of high intelligence, developed by patient thought and a wide range of reading,—the island library, enriched by many generous gifts, being by no means a poor one,—guarded from deterioration by an exquisite natural refinement, yet withal clear and limpid as the transparent seas which encircled her home, where the more deeply the eye penetrated the more precious were the treasures disclosed.
So it came to pass that the Rosario sailed without me. The Captain and my jolly comrades of the gun-room chaffed me about what they called my imprudent attachment. "You'll have to turn Pitcairner," they said, "and settle down after old Nobbs has spliced you upon a fifty-acre patch, where you can grow sweet potatoes, yams, and maize to the end of your days. Surely a fellow like you, with a family to go back to, has something better in view than that!"
"I shall not stay on the island," I said, "I intend to live in Australia, perhaps near Sydney."
"Then your island princess will run away and leave you disconsolate. They can't live away from their people and where they were brought up. Some of them insisted on going back to Pitcairn, and are there now. They could not be persuaded from it. They had to let them go. They would have died else."
"I have resolved," I said. "I will take all risks. You shall all come and see us in Sydney. We will live at North Shore, and have a yacht built on the lines of the Leonora. Adios!"
So we parted. The Rosario got up steam, and once more I watched the black cloud of smoke pouring from her funnels and the waves breaking as she moved majestically across the bright-hued ocean.
Up to the last moment my simple and warm-hearted friends on the island had serious doubts as to whether I was not going off in the Rosario. They could hardly understand how I could prefer remaining as their guest and friend when the glory and dignity of a man-of-war—their highest expression of maritime splendour—were open to me.