Page:The Gates of Morning - Henry De Vere Stacpoole.pdf/257

 floating fathoms deep could be seen drifting with the ship. Nothing else. Neither shark nor albacore nor palu nor gull spoke of life across or beneath that glacial sea.

The sun sank in a west of solid gold and the stars took the night, the sails showing black against the brilliant ceiling.

Dick, who had come on deck before sunset, stood by Aioma at the after rail. He seemed himself again, but he had not eaten that day; a fact that disturbed the canoe-builder, who had turned from dark thoughts and misgivings to a sort of cheery fatalism. Aioma was alive and there was food and water on board for a long time and the wind might blow soon or the drift—he sensed a drift—take them somewhere. He had a feeling also that his curses had closed the mouth of Le Juan; he had eaten well, and his belly was full of ship’s food and bananas, so his sturdy nature refused depression.

“Of what use,” he was saying, “is a man without food? A man is the paraka he eats and the fish.... Go and eat, Taori, for without food a man is not a man.”

“I will eat to-morrow,” said Taori, “I have no heart for eating now.”

Away forward crouching in her old place Le Moan listened to the creak of the ship as it moved to the swell and watched the stars that shone on Karolin.

The faithful unbreakable sense born with her as truly as the power of the water-finder is born in him,