Chapter 9

“They’re in the Clubhouse,” said Ralph. And he burst suddenly into a long, wild cry of triumph. The cry was taken up in a faint shrill echo. From the distance came shrieks - women’s voices - smothered.

“By God, we’ve got them,” said Frank again.

And then a strange thing happened. Pete Murphy crooked his elbow up to his face and burst into hysterical weeping.

All this time, the men were moving swiftly towards the Clubhouse. As they approached, the sound inside grew in volume from a hum of terrified whisperings accented by drumming wings, to a pandemonium of cries and sobs and wails.

“They’ll make a rush when we open the door, remember,” Ralph reminded them. His eyes gleamed like a cat’s.

“Yes, but we can handle them,” said Frank. “There isn’t much nerve left in them by this time.”

“I say, boys, I can’t stand this,” burst out Billy. “Open the door and let them out.”

Billy’s words brought murmured echoes of approval from Pete and Honey.

“You’ve got to stand it,” Frank said in a tone of command. He surveyed his mutinous crew with a stern look of authority.

“I can’t do it,” Honey admitted.

“I feel sick,” Pete groaned.

Just then emerged from the pandemonium within another sound, curt and sharp-cut, the crash against the door of something heavy.

“That door won’t stand much of that,” Frank warned. “They’ll get out before we know it.”

The look of irresolution went like a flash from Billy’s face, from Honey’s, from Pete’s. The look of the hunter took its place, keen, alert, determined, cruel.

“Keep close behind me,” Frank ordered.

“When I open the door, push in as quick as you can. They’ll try to rush out.”

Inside the vibrant drumming kept up. Mixed with it came screams more sharp with terror. There came another crash.

Frank pounded on the door. “Stand back! he called in a quiet tone of authority as if the girls could understand. He fitted the key to the lock, turned it, pulled the door open, leaped over the two broken chairs on the threshold. The others followed, crowding close.

The rush that they had expected did not come.

Apparently at the first touch on the door, the, girls had retreated to the farthest corner. They stood huddled there, gathered behind Julia. They stood close together, swaying, half-supporting each other, their pinions drooped and trailing, their eyes staring black with horror out of their white faces.

Julia, a little in front, stood at defiance. Her wings, as though animated by a gentle voltage of electricity, kept lifting with a low purring whirr. Half-way they struck the ceiling and dropped dead. The tiny silvery-white feathers near her shoulders rose like fur on a cat’s back. One hand was clenched; the other grasped a chair. Her face was not terrified; neither was it white. It glowed with rage, as if a fire had been built in an alabaster vase.

All about on the floor, on chairs, over shelves lay the gauds that had lured them to their capture. Of them all, Julia alone showed no change. Below the scarlet draperies swathing Chiquita’s voluptuous outlines appeared the gold stockings and the high-heeled gold slippers which she had tried on her beautiful Andalusian feet. Necklaces swung from her throat; bracelets covered her arms; rings crowded her fingers. Lulu had thrown about her leafy costume an evening cape of brilliant blue brocade trimmed with ermine. On her head glittered a boudoir-cap of web lace studded with iridescent mock jewels. Over her mail of seaweed, Clara wore a mandarin’s coat - yellow, with a decoration of tiny mirrors. Her hair was studded with jeweled hairpins, combs; a jeweled band, a jeweled aigrette. Peachy had put on a pink chiffon evening gown hobbled in the skirt, one shoulder-length, shining black glove, a long chain of fire-opals. Out of this emerged with an astonishing effect of contrast her gleaming pearly shoulders and her, lustrous blue wings.

An instant the two armies stood staring at each other - at close terms for the first time. Then, with one tremendous sweep of her arm, Julia threw something over their heads out the open door. It flashed through the sunlight like a rainbow rocket, tore the surface of the sea in a dazzle of sparks and colors.

“There goes five hundred thousand dollars,” said Honey as the Wilmington “Blue” found its last resting-place. “Shut the door, Pete.”

With another tremendous sweep of her magnificent arm, Julia lifted the chair, swung it about her head as if it were a whip, rushed - not running or flying, but with a movement that was both - upon the five men. Her companions seized anything that was near. Lulu wrenched a shelf from its fastenings.

The men closed in upon them.

Twenty minutes later, silence had fallen on the Clubhouse, a silence that was broken only by panted breathing. The five men stood resting. The five girls stood, tied to the walls, their hands pinioned in front of them. At intervals, one or the other of them would call in an agonized tone to Julia. And always she answered with words that reassured and calmed.

The room looked as if it had housed a cyclone. The furniture lay in splinters; the feminine loot lay on the floor, trampled and torn.

“I’d like to sit down,” Ralph admitted. It was the first remark that any one of the men had made. “Lucky they can’t understand me. I’d hate them to know it, but I’m as weak as a cat.”

“No sitting down, yet,” Frank commanded, still in his inflexible tones of a disciplinarian. “Open the door, Pete - get some air in here!” He knelt before a sea-chest which filled one corner of the room, unlocked it, lifted the cover. The sunlight glittered on the contents.

“My God, I can’t,” said Billy.

“I feel like a murderer,” said Pete.

“You’ve got to,” Frank said in a tone, growing more peremptory with each word. “Now.”

“That’s right,” said Ralph. “If we don’t do it now, we’ll never do it.’

Frank handed each man a pair of shears.

“I sharpened them myself,” he said briefly.

Heads over their shoulders, the girls watched.

Did intuition shout a warning to them? As with one accord, a long wail arose from them, swelled to despairing volume, ascended to desperate heights.

“Now!” Frank ordered.

They had thought the girls securely tied.

Clara fought like a leopardess, scratching and biting.

Lulu struggled like a caged eagle, hysteria mounting in her all the time until the room was filled with her moans.

Peachy beat herself against the wall like a maniac. She shrieked without cessation. One scream stopped suddenly in the middle - Ralph had struck her on the forehead. For the rest of the shearing session she lay over a chair, limp and silent.

Chiquita, curiously enough, resisted not at all. She only swayed and shrugged, a look of a strange cunning in her long, deep, thick-lashed eyes. But of them all, she was the only one who attempted to comfort; she talked incessantly.

Julia did not move or speak. But at the first touch of the cold steel on her bare shoulders, she fainted in Billy’s arms.

An hour later the men emerged from the Clubhouse.

“I’m all in,” Honey muttered. “And I don’t care who knows it. I’m going for a swim.” Head down, he staggered away from the group and zigzagged over the beach.

“I guess I’ll go back to the camp for a smoke,” Frank said. “I never realized before that I had nerves.” Frank was white, and he shook at intervals. But some strange spirit, compounded equally of a sense of victory and of defeat, flashed in his eyes.

“I’m going off for a tramp.” Pete was sunken as well as ashen; he looked dead. “Do you suppose they’ll hurt themselves pulling against those ropes?” he asked tonelessly.

“Let them struggle for a while,” Ralph advised. Like the rest of them, Ralph was exhausted-looking and pale. But at intervals he swaggered and glowed. With his strange, new air of triumph and his white teeth glittering through his dark mustache, he was more than ever like some huge predatory cat. “Serves them right! They’ve taken it out of us for three months.”

Billy did not speak, but he swayed as he followed Frank. He fell on his bed when they reached the camp. He lay there all night motionless, staring at the ceiling.

There was a tiny spot of blood on one hand.

V

A.

Dawn on Angel Island.

A gigantic rose bloomed at the horizon-line; half its satin petals lay on the iron sea, half on the granite sky. The gold-green morning star was fading slowly. From the island came a confusion of bird-calls.

Addington emerged from the Clubhouse. Without looking about him, he staggered down the path to the Camp. The fire was still burning. The other men lay beside it, moveless, asleep with their clothes on. They waked as his footsteps drew near. Livid with fatigue, their eyelids dropping in spite of their efforts, they jerked upright.

“How are they?” Billy asked.

“The turn has come,” Ralph answered briefly. As he spoke he crumpled slowly into a heap beside the fire. “They’re going to live.”

The others did not speak; they waited.

“Julia did it. She had dozed off. Suddenly in the middle of the night, she sat upright. She was as white as marble but there was a light back of her face. And with all that wonderful hair falling down - she looked like an angel. She called to them one by one. And they answered her, one by one. You never heard - it was like little birds answering the mother-bird’s call. At first their voices were faint and weak. But she kept encouraging them until they sat up - God, it was - .”

Ralph could not go on for a while.

“She gave them a long talk - she was so weak she had to keep stopping - but she went right on - and they listened. Of course I couldn’t understand a word. But I knew what she said. In effect, it was: ‘We cannot die. We must all live. We cannot leave any one of us here alone. Promise me that you will get well!’ She pledged them to it. She made them take an oath, one after the other. Oh, they were obedient enough. They took it.”

He stopped again.

“That talk made the greatest difference. After it was all over, I gave them some water. They were different even then. They looked at me - and they didn’t shrink or shudder. When I handed Julia the cup, she made herself smile. God, you never saw such a smile. I nearly - “ he paused, “I all but went back to the cabin and cut my throat. But the fight’s over. They’ll get well. They’re sleeping like children now.”

“Thank God!” Merrill groaned. “Oh, thank God!”

“I’ve felt like a murderer ever since - - “ Billy said. He stopped and his voice leaped with a sudden querulousness. “You didn’t wake me up; you’ve done double guard duty during the night, Ralph.”

“Oh, that’s all right. You were all in - I felt that - “ Ralph stammered in a shamefaced fashion. “And I knew I could stand it.”

“There’s a long sleep coming to you, Ralph,” Pete said. “You’ve hardly closed your eyes this week. No question but you’ve saved their lives.”

B.

Mid-morning on Angel Island.

The sun had mounted half-way to the zenith; sky and sea and land glittered with its luster. Like war-horses, the waves came ramping over the smooth, shimmering sand; war-horses with bodies of jade and manes of silver.

Pete floated inshore on a huge comber, ran up the beach a little way and sat down. Billy followed.

“I’ve come out just to get the picture,” Pete explained.

“Same here,” said Billy.

For an instant, both men contemplated the scene with the narrowed, critical gaze of the artist.

The flying-girls were swimming; and swimming with the same grace and strength with which formerly they flew. And as if inevitably they must take on the quality of the element in which they mixed, they looked like mermaids now, just as formerly they had looked like birds. They carried heads and shoulders high out of the water. Webs of sea-spume glittered on the shining hair and on the white flesh. One behind the other, they swam in rhythmic unison. Regularly the long, round, strong-looking right arms reached out of the water, bowed forward, clutched at the wave, and pulled them on. Simultaneously, the left arms reached back, pushed against the wave, and shot them forward. Their feet beat the water to a lather.

They were headed down the beach, hugging the shore. Swim as hard as they could, Honey and Frank managed but to keep up with them. Ralph overtook them only in their brief resting-periods. Further inshore, carried ceaselessly a little forward and then a little back, Julia floated; floated with an unimaginable lightness and yet, somehow, conserved her aspect of a creature cut in marble.

“I have never seen anything so beautiful in any art, ancient or modern,” Billy concluded. “When those strange draperies that they affect get wet, they look like the Elgin marbles.”

“If we should take them to civilization,” was Pete’s answer, “the Elgin marbles would become a joke.”

Billy spoke after a long silence. “It’s been an experience that - if I were - oh, but what’s the use? You can’t describe it. The words haven’t been invented yet. I don’t mean the fact that we’ve discovered members of a lost species - the missing link between bird and man. I mean what’s happened since the capture. It’s left marks on me. I’ll bear them until I die. If we abandoned this island - and them - and went back to the world, I could never be the same person. If I woke up and found it was a dream, I could never be the same person.”

“I know,” Pete said, “I know. I’ve changed, too. We all have. Old Frank is a god. And Honey’s grown so that - . Even Ralph’s a different man. Changed - God, I should say I had. It’s not only given me a new hold on things I thought I’d lost-morality, ethics, religion even - but it’s developed something I have no word for - the fourth dimension of religion, faith.”

“It’s their weakness, I think, and their dependence.” Now it was less that Billy tried to translate Pete’s thought and more that he endeavored to follow his own. “It puts it up to a man so. And their beauty and purity and innocence and simplicity - .” Billy seemed to be ransacking his vocabulary for abstract nouns.

“And that sense you have,” Pete broke in eagerly, “of molding a virgin mind. It gives you a feeling of responsibility that’s fairly terrifying at times. But there’s something else mixed up with it - the instinct of the artist. It’s as though you were trying to paint a picture on human flesh. You know that you’re going to produce beauty.” Pete’s face shone with the look of creative genius. “The production of beauty excuses any method, to my way of thinking.” He spoke half to himself. “God knows,” he added after a pause, “whatever I’ve done and been, I could never do or be again. Sometimes a man knows when he’s reached the zenith of his spiritual development. I’ve reached mine. I think they’re beginning to trust us,” he added after another long interval, in which silently they contemplated the moving composition. Pete’s tone had come back to its everyday accent.

“No question about it,” Billy rejoined. “If I do say it as shouldn’t, I think my scheme was the right one - never to separate any one of them from the others, never to seem to try to get them alone, and in everything to be as gentle and kind and considerate as we could.”

“That look is still in their eyes,” Pete said. He turned away from Billy and his face contracted. “It goes through me like a knife - - . When that’s gone - - .”

“It will go inevitably, Pete,” Billy reassured him cheerfully. Suddenly his own voice lowered. “One queer thing I’ve noticed. I wonder if you’re affected that way. I always feel as if they still had wings. What I mean is this. If I stand beside one of them with my eyes turned away I always get an impression that they’re still there, towering above my head - ghosts of wings. Ever notice it?”

“Oh, Lord, yes!” Pete agreed. “Often. I hate it. But that will go, too. Here they come.”

The bathers had turned; they were swimming up the beach. They passed Julia, who joined the procession, and turned toward the land. Stretched in a long line, they rode in on a big wave. Billy and Pete leaped forward. Assisted by the men, the girls tottered up the sand, gathered into a little group, talking among themselves. Their wet draperies clung to them in long, sweeping lines; but they dried with amazing quickness. The sun grew hotter and hotter. Their transient flash of animation died down; their conversation gradually stopped.

Chiquita settled herself flat on the sand, the sunlight pouring like a silver liquid into the blue-black masses of her hair, her narrow brows, her thick eyelashes. Presently she fell asleep. Clara leaned against a low ledge of rock and spread her coppery mane across its surface. It dried almost immediately; she divided it into plaits and coils and wove it into an elaborate structure. Her fingers seemed to strike sparks from it; it coruscated. Julia lay on her side, eyes downcast, tracing with one finger curious tangled patterns in the sand. Her hair blew out and covered her body as with a silken, honey-colored fabric; the lines of her figure were lost in its abundance. Peachy sat drooped over, her hand supporting her chin and her knees supporting her elbows, her eyes fixed on the horizon-line. Her hair dried, too, but she did not touch it. It flowed down her back and spread into a pool of gold on the sand. She might have been a mermaid cast up by that sea on which she gazed with such a tragic wistfulness - and forever cut off from it.

A little distance from the rest, Honey sat with Lulu. She was shaking the brown masses of her hair vigorously and Honey was helping her. He was evidently trying to teach her something because, over and over again, his lips moved to form two words, and over and over again, her red lips parted, mimicking them. Gradually, Lulu lost all interest in her hair. She let it drop. It floated like a furry mantle over her shoulders. Into her little brown, pointed face came a look of overpowering seriousness, of tremendous concentration. Occasionally Honey would stop to listen to her; but invariably her recital sent him into peals of laughter. Lulu did not laugh; she grew more and more serious, more and more concentrated.

The other men talked among themselves. Occasionally they addressed a remark to their captives. The flying-girls replied in hesitating flutters of speech, a little breathy yes or no whenever those monosyllables would serve, an occasional broken phrase. Superficially they seemed calm, placid even. But if one of the men moved suddenly, an uncontrollable panic overspread their faces.

Honey arose after a long interval, strolled over to the main group.

“I think they’re coming to the conclusion that we’re regular fellows,” he declared cheerfully. “Lulu doesn’t jump or shriek any more when I run toward her.”

“Oh, it’s coming along all right,” Frank said.

“It’s surprising how quickly and how correctly they’re getting the language.”

“I’m going to begin reading aloud to them next week,” Pete announced. “That’ll be a picnic.”

“It’s been a long fight,” Ralph said contentedly. “But we’ve won out. We’ve got them going. I knew we would.” His eyes went to Peachy’s face, but once there, their look of triumph melted to tenderness.

“What are we going to read them?” Honey asked idly. He did not really listen to Pete’s answer. His eyes, sparkling with amusement, had gone back to Lulu, who still sat seriously practising her lesson. Red lips, little white teeth, slender pink tongue seemed to get into an inextricable tangle over the simple monosyllables.

“Leave that to me!” Pete was saying mysteriously. “I’ll have them reading and writing by the end of another two months.”

“It’s curious how long it’s taken them to get over that terror of us,” said Billy. “I cannot understand it.”

“Oh, they’ll explain why they’ve been so afraid,” said Frank, “as soon as they’ve got enough vocabulary. We cannot know, until they tell us how many of their conventions we have broken, how brutal we may have seemed.”

“And yet,” Billy went on, “I should think they’d see that we wouldn’t do anything that wasn’t for their own good. Well, just as soon as I can put it over with them, I’m going to give them a long spiel on the gentleman’s code. I don’t believe they’ll ever be frightened of us again. Hello!”

Lulu had tottered over to their group, supporting herself by the ledge of rock. She pulled herself upright, balancing precariously. She put her sharp little teeth close, parted her lips and produced:

“K-K-K-K-K-K-Kiss-S-S-S-S-S-S Me!”

The men burst into roars of laughter. Lulu looked from one face to the other in perplexity. In perplexity, the other women looked from her to them and at each other.

“Sounds like the Yale yell!” Pete commented.

“But what I can’t understand,” Billy said, reverting to his thesis, “is that they don’t realize instantly that we wouldn’t hurt them for any thing - that that’s a thing a fellow couldn’t do.”

C.

Twilight on Angel Island.

The stars were beginning to shoot tiny white, five-pointed flames through the purple sky. The fireflies were beginning to cut long arcs of gold in the sooty dusk. The waves were coming up the low-tide beach with a long roar and retreating with a faint hiss. Afterwards floated on the air the music of the shingle, hundreds of pebbles pattering with liquid footsteps down the sand. Peals of laughter, the continuous bass roar of the men, an occasional uncertain soprano lilting of the women, came from the group. The girls were reciting their lessons.

“Three little girls from school are we, Pert as schoolgirls well can be, Filled to the brim with girlish glee, Three little maids from school!”

intoned Lulu, Chiquita, and Clara together.

“Mary, Mary, quite contrary, How does your garden grow? Silver bells and cockle shells, And pretty maids all in a row.”

said Peachy.

“The hounds of spring are on winter’s traces,” began Julia. With no effort of the memory, with a faultless enunciation, a natural feeling for rhythm and apparently with comprehension, she, recited the Atalanta chorus.

“That’s enough for lessons,” Honey demanded.

“Wait a moment!”

He rushed into the bushes and busied himself among the fire-flies. The other four men, divining his purpose, joined him. They came back with handkerchiefs tied full of tiny, wriggling, fluttering green creatures.

In a few moments, the five women sat crowned with carcanets of living fire.

“Now read us a story,” Lulu begged.

Pete drew a little book from his pocket. Discolored and swollen, the print was big and still black.

“‘Once upon a time,’” he began, “‘there was a little girl who lived with her father and her stepmother - ’”

“What’s ‘stepmother’?” Lulu asked.

Pete explained.

“The stepmother had two daughters, and all three of these women were cruel and proud - - ’”

“What’s ‘cruel and proud’?” Chiquita asked.

Pete explained.

“‘And so between the three the little girl had a very hard time. She worked like a slave all day long, and was never allowed to go out of the kitchen. The stepmother and the proud sisters, used to go to balls every night, leaving the little girl alone. Because she was always so dusty and grimy from working over the fire, they called her Cinderella. Now, it happened that the country was ruled by a very handsome young prince -’”

“What’s ‘handsome young prince’?” Clara asked.

Pete explained.

“‘And all the ladies of the kingdom were in love with him.’”

“What’s ‘in love’?” Peachy asked.

Pete closed the book.

“Ah, that’s a question,” he said after an instant of meditation, “that will admit of some answer. Say, you fellers, you’d better come into this.”

D.

Moonlight on Angel Island.