OF THE SOUTH SEAS 187 



est or admiration by their personality. But one real- 

 ized daily, as one saw them chewing their quids, devour- 

 ing rudely the courses served by Lovaina, or talking 

 childishly of their future, that heroes are the creatures 

 of opportunity. It is true Steve and Alex were picked 

 of all the crew for their sea knowledge and experience, 

 their nerve and willingness, by the sturdy captain, and 

 that he, too, was a man big in the primitive qualities, a 

 viking, a companion for a Columbus; but — they were 

 peculiarly of their sept ; types molded by the wind-swept 

 spaces of the vasty deep, chiseled by the stress of storm 

 and cahn, of burning, glassy oceans, and the chilling, 

 killing berg; men set apart from all the creeping chil- 

 dren of the solid earth, and trained to seize the winds 

 from heaven for their wings, to meet with grim con- 

 tempt the embattled powers of sky and wave, and then, 

 alas! on land to become the puny sport of merchant, 

 crimp, and money-changer, and rum and trull. 



Goeltz, Lying Bill, Llewellyn, and McHenry sat in 

 the Cercle Bougainville with eager looks as I read them 

 the diary of Steve Drinkwater. The seamen held 

 opinions of the failure of Captain Benson's seamanship 

 at certain points, and all knew the waters through which 

 he had come. 



"Many of the people of Mangareva came from Easter 

 Island," said Lying Bill. "There was a French mis- 

 sionary brought a gang of them there. 'E was Pere 

 Roussel, and 'e ran away with 'em because Llewellyn's 

 bloody crowd 'ere tried to steal 'em and sell 'em. They 

 lived at Mangareva with 'im till he died a few years 

 ago, and they never went back." 



Llewellyn lifted his dour eyes. There was never 



