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84 Abbott's Monthly

I expected to see my own horror written all over her face, but, the last astounding surprise of all, her expression was as detached in the face of the terrible disaster she had nearly caused as though she was watching a picture. Her eyes rested on Alden's without a quiver.
He strode right up to her.
"Are you satisfied?" His voice was like steel. "I have just nearly lost my ship! Get to hell off the bridge!"
She jumped the remaining step onto the bridge and faced him like a tiger. "Hell hath no fury"?-maybe. She was as elemental as the jungle woman of the world's youth beyond the count of Time. Defiant, insolent, she measured him with her scornful eyes. When she spoke her deep contralto voice was vibrant with contempt.
"So-you have lost your nerve, eh, Alden?-Instead of your ship! And am I to be ordered to hell from anywhere by you?"
He made no answer, but appeared to consider her a moment. Then he stepped deliberately back and struck her full across the mouth with all his strength. Though it was his open palm, she would have been hurled to the deck below had she not been holding on with both hands.
"Now," he said evenly, "get to Hell off the bridge, damn you!"
She rocked where she stood; then, cowed as a beaten dog, she retreated step for step, conquered by the only power she recognized, and slunk aft along the west deck.
Unseeing, I stumbled into the wheelhouse, my thoughts, in indescribable and chaotic confusion, and felt my way down to the quiet, electric-lit alleyway. I had a dim perception of the Captain brushing hurriedly past me as he made for the bridge. I stopped and looked blankly at the immobile white-painted wood, thinking, and my head seemed to be aching and hot.
I stepped out on the loo'ard deck through the door from the officer's quarters. Under the lee of the long deckhouse there was no wind, and under my feet I felt the steady pulsation of the faithful engines-twenty knots. Above my head had been played the struggle of two souls, of Love, of Danger, of Hate-the forces that make our very world and life and give it color for each an evanescent instant. And through it all the works of men and the unrelenting menace of the Earth had fought on.
And as I looked out through the blackness away to the north-west I caught a sudden brilliant pinpoint of light, steady and clear over the tumbling seas, that lighted the seeking ship Home from the unmarked wastes. The Bishop's Light! The last valediction and first welcome of many a wanderer of the sea.

Heirs of the Storm (Continued from page 54)

and bantering were Lee's greatest sport, but she loved him all the more for it. He was never glum or moody. Lee seemed to be made of sunshine. She felt a glorious warmth near him.
Leroy Summers assisted the vibrant young woman into the canoe and himself boarded the tricky craft with the agility of the experienced. A couple of smooth strokes in the light yellow water sent them nosing down the flowing stream. Little River flowed on to the gulf at its own leisurely rate. Its speed, however, would have been sufficient to bear them along if Leroy were not so anxious for action. In a few years spent away from the beaten track Lee had learned to get much out of little effort, and even that crossed him today. Little action left him too much time to think, to want. Safety lay in speed. Down they sped along the curved and jagged course through sylvan beauty manifold; palisades of pine trees, groves of oaks, and as they neared the everglades, woods of bearded cypresses, all seemed to slide by their range of vision.

SUMMERS felt a benumbing veil encloak his blase attitude. He was young and clean once more. Shirley's delicate beauty radiated an atmosphere of purity, youth and love. She was healthy, attractive youth incarnate. And she loved him. He felt within himself again a flurry somewhat like that which he experienced long, long ago when he had stolen his first kiss. He, too, had an annoying feeling of being unworthy of her.
The middle of the day crept upon them and unconsciously Leroy slowed his pace. The mystic stillness of the midday hushed much of the twittering in the trees and to some degree oppressed even their spirits. Scarcely a breath of air stirred beneath that canopy of trees but it was in itself delightfully cool. The somnolent charm of the woodlands and the meandering river catered to their wont for reverie.
Inebriated with love, as the crooning murmurs ever showed, the passengers of that singular canoe took little note or interest in the mysteries or dangers about them. Alligators and snakes, disturbed from their naps, took to the water unnoticed. The fuss of a mocking bird protesting another bird's nearness to her nest, too, went unobserved. They were only concerned with the sweetness of love and in fear of the parting, blindly magnified the anguish. Of course neither of them thought. They only felt that of all days today was their day to love and be loved. The rest-well, would be another sad story.
Shirley Essington was simply head over heels in love with Leroy Summers. She had loved him since she first saw him, some three years before. Of course, Summers did not know her, and in that lay the pain. He was a young blade, aristocratic and debonair, and high in the favors of women. One little sub-deb could not have meant anything to him. Shirley had suffered much those few years, suffered and traveled extensively. She had tried to forget in gay abandon, but only found more to regret. Essingtons were one-woman-men, and one-man-women; Shirley derived no pleasure from the promiscuous amours as were common in her set. She just could not. And now when she was resigned to the fate of marrying Stafford Bates up bobs Leroy Summers.
Leroy was still paddling his canoe with the remarkable grace of motion, but his deft skill was all a matter of habit, for his mind was not upon it. The craft was cutting through sluggish water now but he had never noticed the difference. Shirley lay there before him, nestled languorously in the bow, set off by a bevy of colorful cushions. Her hair of glossy jet, smartly sleeked about her head, revealed too, its stunning loveliness. Her dark face, the cutest, the most inviting Summers could recall, held a pair of luminous, deep brown eyes.  Eyes that were dreadfully wistful when he had found her, but since had grown to sparkle with laughing love-light.  Leroy wanted her that way all the time.  It made him happy.  

for January, 1931     85
THEY glided out into the open once more and making a great curve through the everglades pulled up to Mammy Lou's cabin, just behind a margin of fir trees.  The old black lady in guinea-blue housedress, white apron, and dotted red kerchief toddled across the wharf-like veranda to meet her guests.  There was consternation on her dark face.  "Lawdy, lawdy, chillun ain't you all got no bedder sense den to com' outcha to meet a strom!  Mammy waved her hand almost dramatically toward the overcast sky. It was then that they first noticed signs of the impending tempest.  Fitful gusts were already playing among the rushes out near the surf. "Oh, it's you, Mistah Lee!" Mammy Lou exploded in a spasmodic chuckle.  She tottered back and forth and stroked her knee in her own way of expressing mirth.  "Ah cudder taut it 'ud be you."  Then to Shirley, "You don' need ter be afraid lil' angel, taint no storm to harm you.  Not while you wid Mistah Lee."
"Sure enough, Mammy Lou?"
"Ahm positiv', chile!  Dis yere Mistah Lee am de luckies' debbel on earth. But tell me, you all chillun ain't been-"
They perceived Mammy Lou's question before it was well started and experienced a peculiar embarrassment.
"No, no, Mammy Lou, not yet," Lee assured her. "We simply thought it would be nice to dine out here."
Mammy Lou winked an eye in kindly understanding and led the way into the cabin, that even behind a palisade of trees bore many a scar from semi-tropical storms.  It was as dull and colorless as a fallen tree in the marsh.  However, on the inside it was scrupulously neat.  The walls were bright, perhaps recently color-washed, and were adorned with guns, rods, and trophies.  The floor glowed with a golden yellow cleanliness.  The faint aroma of an exotic herb spent itself within the air.  
Mammy Lou slipped away while her guests were renewing their acquaintances with her place, and returning, spread an immaculate cloth upon the rough-hewn table.  She toddled back and forth as fast as her aging limbs would permit, but in a little while had spread before the young lovers a sumptuous feast of creole dishes.
Mammy Lou was an epicure and no mean culinary artist.  Her taste and talents had been nurtured in the fertile surroundings of a grandee's manor house kitchen, where her mother before her, prepared dishes "Dat made ha white fo'ks lick dare fingahs."  Of course that was before Sam had inebriated her heart with dreams of love and a cabin of her own.  She had since reared a family and sent them into the world, though she and Sam remained in the old cabin to weather their winter where they had romped through spring.
Through the courses of the dinner, Mammy Lou in her own inimitable way, told of the joys and sorrows that she and Sam had undergone hand in hand.
Shirley, who had from the beginning, evidenced signs of profound interest, was at its close, sorely hurt.  The goodness of her nature prevented her from really envying Mammy Lou's life of mutual understanding and love.  But she wondered why she could not expect such a lot.  She would never be safe unless she married Bates.  She could not be happy if she would. Still she had no choice! She could not think of endangering Leroy's life by refusing to acquiesce to Bates' request.  He was so resourceful and relentless.  Mammy Lou's often recited story had really torn at Shirley's little heart.  Oh, if she could only get off with the man she loved she could then lead as simple or even as humble a life.  Of course it was all futile. She was caught in the tentacles of the octopus, never to be freed.  Shirley rose with an effort and went to the window.  Leroy followed her.  
The story of Mammy Lou's life was a matter of old knowledge to Lee, so it only slightly renewed an old impression.  Perhaps he would have been hopelessly bored were not the old lady such a colorful tale-teller.  It was his belief that Shirley was simply afraid of the storm.

The tempest was hard upon them.  Lightning, in its quick electric way, flooded the place with light, fled, and left it in deeper darkness.  The earth tremored under the mighty peals of thunder that seemed to have shattered the upper air.  The wind howled through the trees and bore the rain in all directions.  The view from the window was reduced to a veritable blur.

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Transcription Notes:
finish with the advertisement column on right of page 2