THE DREAM SHIP 



21 



farer our inability to find Cristobal must 

 appear ridiculous. For his benefit I 

 would point out that we were not pro- 

 fessional seafarers, but a party of incon- 

 sequent and no doubt over-optimistic 

 land-lubbers engaged in the materializa- 

 tion of a dream — to cruise through the 

 South Sea Islands in our own ship ; that 

 what navigation we knew had been learnt 

 in three weeks, and that I would invite 

 any one who fancies his bump of locality 

 to test it in the Galapagos Islands. 



LANDING AT CRISTOBAL 



We had more than half decided to cut 

 out Cristobal and its five hundred inhabi- 

 tants and shape a course for the Society 

 Islands, 3,500 miles to the southwest'ard, 

 when Steve gave a yelp like a wounded 

 pup. 



"I see Dalrymple Rock," he chanted, 

 as one in a trance, with the binoculars 

 to his eyes. "I see Wreck Point, and a 

 bay between 'em, with houses on the 

 beach. What more do you want?" 



How supremely simple it was to recog- 

 nize each feature by the chart — when 

 there was an unmistakable landmark to 

 go by. What fools we had been not to — 



But we left further recriminations till 

 a later date. At the present it was neces- 

 sary to enter Wreck Bay through a chan- 

 nel three hundred yards wide, without a 

 mark on either side, in the teeth of a 

 snorting "trade," and with a lee tide. 



At one time during the series of short 

 tacks that were necessary to get a slant 

 for the anchorage we were not more 

 than fifty yards from the giant, emerald- 

 green rollers breaking on Lido Point to 

 port with the roar of thunder. To star- 

 board one could see the fangs of the 

 coral reef waiting for us to miss stays to 

 rip the bottom out of us. 



But the Dream Ship did not miss stays, 

 and finally we shot through the channel 

 into Wreck Bay, and anchored in three 

 fathoms of water off a rickety landing 

 stage. 



THE OWNER OF CRISTOBAL BOARDS THE 

 DREAM SHIP 



While the agony of removing a three- 

 weeks' beard was in progress a crowd 

 had assembled on the beach, and pres- 

 ently a boatload of three put off to us. 

 Steve, who had picked up some Spanish 



during three misspent years in Mexico, 

 received them at the companion with a 

 new-born elegance that matched their 

 own. 



They proved to be the owner of the 

 island, a good-looking youth of about 

 twenty-five ; the chief of police (presum- 

 ably "chief," because there is only one 

 representative of the law in the Gala- 

 pagos), a swarthy Ecuadorean in a be- 

 coming poncho, and a little, wrinkled old 

 man with a finely chiseled face and deli- 

 cate hands. 



The owner of Cristobal informed us in 

 excellent French (he had been four years 

 in Paris previous to marooning himself 

 on his equatorial possession) that the 

 island was ours and the fullness thereof ; 

 that he also was ours to command, and 

 would we dine with him that evening at 

 the hacienda, it being New Year's eve ? 



The "chief" of police demanded our 

 ship's papers, which, when placed in his 

 hands, he gracefully returned without at- 

 tempting to read, and gave his undivided 

 attention to a rum swizzle and a cigar. 



DAD HAD HEARD RUMORS OF THE WAR 



The little old man, whom we soon 

 learned to call "Dad," sat mum, with a 

 dazed expression on his face and his head 

 at an angle, after the fashion of the deaf. 

 When he spoke, which he presently did 

 with an unexpectedness that was start- 

 ling, it was in a low, cultured voice and 

 in English ! "What about this Dutch 

 war he had heard rumors of during the 

 last year or two ? With Germany, was 

 it? Well, now, and who was winning? 

 Over, eh, and with the Allies on top? 

 That was good, that was good." 



He rubbed his wrinkled hands and 

 glared round on the assembled company 

 with an air of triumph, but without mak- 

 ing any appreciable impression on the 

 owner of Cristobal or the "chief" of 

 police. 



"Dad" was a type, if ever there was 

 one, of the educated ne'er-do-well, hidden 

 away in the farthest corner of the earth 

 to avoid those things that most of us 

 deem so desirable. He had a split bamboo 

 house on the beach, a wife who could 

 cook, freedom, and God's sunlight. What 

 more did man desire? 



He had run away to sea at the age of 

 seventeen, run away from sea two years 



