OF THE SOUTH SEAS 9 



nyked" man upon the wharf, and Sunday, when I went 

 to take my bath before breakfast, I felt the soft fingers 

 of the South caress my body, and looking out upon the 

 purple ocean, whose expanse was barely dimpled by 

 gleams of silver, I saw flying-fish skimming the crests 

 of the swinging waves. The officers and stewards ap- 

 peared in white; the passengers, too, put off their tem- 

 perate-zone clothes, and the decks were gay with color. 

 We all seemed to feel that we must be in consonance 

 with the loving nature that had made the sky so blue 

 and the sea so still. 



The Chinese — he was Leung Kai Chu on the list — 

 did not change his melancholy black. The deck sports 

 were organized, ship tennis, quoits, and golf, and the 

 disks rattled about his feet; but though he often moved 

 his chair to aid those seeking a lost quoit or ring, and 

 bowed ceremoniously to those who begged his pardon 

 for bothering him, he kept his position. I felt a somber 

 sense of gathering tragedy. In his face was a growing 

 detachment from everything about him ; he hardly knew 

 that we were there, that he ate and slept, and took his 

 seat by the boat. All of us felt this, but with many it 

 meant merely remarking that "the Chink is getting off 

 his head," and a wish that he would not obtrude his 

 grief when we were filled with the joy of sunny skies 

 and a merry company. 



The tragedy came sooner than expected by me. I 

 had cast a thought to my understanding that the phil- 

 osophy of Confucius did not contemplate self-destruc- 

 tion, and had been divided between relief and wonder 

 that it was so. 



It was dusk of Monday. The sun had sunk behind 



