Orphan Island (8 page)

Mr. Smith said, “They have always been lower. Ever since our island history began.”

“And how,” inquired Charles, “did they first show it?”

Mr. Smith combed with his fingers his beautiful whiskers.

“As they show it now, no doubt, by gesture, speech, character, and habits. Naturally there has always been a marked distinction between the descendants of my mother and the descendants of her brood of orphan children.”

“Oh, I see. Then the upper classes are all Smiths?”

“Naturally, my dear young sir.”

“But the Smiths must have married among the orphans. What was the social position of their issue?”

Issue was another word not taught by Miss Smith. But Mr. Smith, an intelligent man, perceived that it meant children, and replied, “The Smith blood decides the position of any one in whose veins it runs. Naturally no descendant of my mother's—no legitimate descendant, of course”—Mr. Smith interpolated this in a lower tone, glancing at Flora—“could belong to the lower orders.”

“And what,” asked Charles, “do you give the lower orders for their work?”

“Why, money, to be sure.”

“Money?”

“Ay. Our money is in the form of certain shells, and pieces of coral. Yours, I believe, consists of discs of metal.”

“But what,” asked William, “is the use of money here, “with nothing to buy?”

“Nothing to buy!” Flora smiled derisively.

Mr. Smith said, “Indeed, there is a great deal to buy. You must visit the shopping quarter later. Flora will tell you all about that; she haunts it. And how do you imagine that people obtain their daily food or clothes without buying them? They do not mostly own the sources of production, as the wealthier classes do. They are not, of course, allowed to rob the fruit trees or steal the game.”

“It's as bad as England,” William whispered to Rosamond.

“But,” said Mr. Smith, “I am doing all the talking. This will never do. We are all eagerness, aren't we, mamma, to hear our visitors' tale of how they first learnt of our existence and decided to discover us.”

“Fancy,” said Mrs. Smith, who was pressing delicious fruits upon Rosamond.

So Mr. Thinkwell told them the tale of his grandfather the sailor, and of the old letter and chart that had come, after all these years, into his hands.

Mr. Smith nodded at intervals, greatly interested. Flora stared at the narrator with her clear, bright gaze. Meanwhile, Rosamond, eating fruit, stared at Flora, and thought how very handsome she was. Charles thought so too. And Captain Paul and Mr. Merton thought, “If there are many girls as fine as her on the island, I wouldn't mind staying on. …”

“Lucky,” Flora commented, when Mr. Thinkwell had finished his narration. “Suppose that letter had never reached you. Or suppose you hadn't bothered to start. … What
luck.”

“Hardly luck, Flora,” said Mr. Smith. “Rather let us call it Divine Arrangement. We know, don't we, my child, that our lives are hidden in His hand,
and that all that happens to us is according to His plan.”

“Oh, yes, Flora, you know papa has often told you that,” Mrs. Smith absently interjected.

Flora seemed to have the modern habit of not taking a great deal of notice of her papa and mamma. She addressed the Thinkwells.

“What did you expect to find here? Were you amazed when you saw us? I'm sure I should have been prodigiously amazed if I had found an island like ours, full of people so odd as we. For I'm sure we
are
odd, aren't we?”

She asked this of Charles, who replied that, in his view, all human creatures were very odd indeed.

“Compared with what?” his father asked him, deriding his lack of precision; but Charles, who thought it no moment for philosophical argument, merely said “Turtles; vegetables; anything,” and to Flora, “We had no idea how many of you to expect, of course. You have increased at a good rate.”

“As a matter of fact,” said William, “they haven't increased so much as one would have expected. I calculated, if you remember, that the first orphans would make twenty pairs, and have, on an average, ten——”

Mr. Smith cleared his throat, and it occurred to Mr. Thinkwell that perhaps young ladies on the island were still Victorian and not supposed to hear calculations based on birth-rates.

Mrs. Smith hastily led the topic along harmless lines by asking Rosamond, “Do you like children?” a question which always made Rosamond puzzle and frown, for to her it meant neither more nor less than if some one were to ask her if she liked grown persons. Being inarticulate, she could not
explain her difficulty except by saying, “Some of them.” To which Mrs. Smith returned, “They soon know, don't they.”

“They soon know! They said that here too, then, thought Mr. Thinkwell. Strange, how these remarkable phrases grow up everywhere the same, springing, it seems, out of the fatuity of the human mind. Or had Miss Smith and the Scottish nurse said it before the wreck, and passed it down? They soon know! Perhaps they also said on Orphan Island that the world was small, that boys would be boys, that we've only one life, haven't we.

William meanwhile was still pursuing his calculations. “How many are there actually on the island now?” he asked, and Mr. Smith told him one thousand and twenty-five, of whom five hundred and ninety-three were children under fifteen.

“Oh, I see,” said William. “That's on the basis of an average of about five children to each pair, taking four generations and given approximate equality of sexes, and a few deaths. I suppose,” he added, “that you don't have many celibates. Bachelors, I mean, and spinsters, as we have in England.”

“Oh, a few. Not many, certainly.”

“Poor things,” Mrs. Smith said kindly. “Seems quite against nature, don't it. Poeple ought to get married, to be sure they ought. It's only right. We were made for that, after all, weren't we?”

“In consequence of that, anyhow,” Mr. Thinkwell amended. “What we were made
for
seems a doubtful question. I dare say you are no nearer answering it on Orphan Island than we in our hemisphere.”

Charles thought they were probably a good deal nearer, and, to avert a discussion that might prove
wearisome and could scarcely be very fruitful, he begged Mr. Smith to relate to them something of the history of the island community during the past sixty-eight years, and to give them some idea of its social constitution, which, he said, must be a very interesting story. At this request, Miss Flora yawned, and got up to go.

“That,” she murmured, as she passed Charles, “is indeed asking for it.”

Mr. Smith looked benignantly on the young inquirer, and said, “You are very right, sir. The history and development of our community is of immense and remarkable interest, and I shall have great pleasure in unfolding something of it in the near future. But just now is not the moment, for we have sat here long enough. If you are all refreshed, we will take a turn on the beach and read the day's news, and then I shall endeavour to arrange an audience for you with Miss Smith.” He inclined his head at the name, as usual, and the visitors politely did the same.

“She receives people, then?” Captain Paul said.

“Oh, yes; in moderation. Her mind is still, at intervals, vigorous, and she is by no means an invalid. A wonderful grasp of affairs. Of course, at ninety-eight, she has a few
fancies
.…”

Rosamond, who at nineteen had more than a few of these, wondered in what direction Miss Smith's fancy strayed. Perhaps she imagined Orphan Island full of elves … perhaps, in her view, the turtles and the shell fish chatted together with mermaids on the beach. … Oh, yes, even at ninety-eight one would have retained a few fancies, on such an isle as this.

“But first,” resumed Mr. Smith, “we will go
and read the evening news on the shore, if you are agreeable. It comes out at about this hour.”

“My God,” Mr. Merton commented. “The local press.”

“My love, perhaps you would prefer not to come out again in the heat,” said Mr. Smith to Mrs. Smith, and Mrs. Smith agreed that she would prefer a nap. The visitors bade her good-bye for the present, thanking her for her kindness and hospitality.

“Delicious drinks you gave us, madam,” said Mr. Merton, and she smiled, pleased, and said, “The recipes are mostly from Mr. Smith's papa. Such a very clever man at making drinks. A doctor, you see. Good-bye, sir; good-bye, my dear. Very pleased, I'm sure. We don't often see such a party here; it makes a nice change. We shall meet again later on. The drink makes one sleepy, don't it. Particularly on top of the heat. I shall have a good nap. Don't let Mr. Smith tire you out, walking round. I'm sure there'll be plenty of time for you to see everything later on. Good-bye.”

THE party went through the garden out into the wood, where a crowd of islanders stood patiently waiting for them to come. When they appeared a murmur of interest rippled among the crowd. Mothers lifted up their children to see the sight; young persons giggled to one another because of the strangers' unconventional attire.

Mr. Smith raised a firm hand, motioning them all back.

“No crowding,” he commanded. “I am conducting our guests to the shore, to see the news. Make way, if you please.”

The crowd followed them down to the shore; perhaps they all wanted to see the news.

Rosamond, walking a little behind the rest, looked round for Flora, and saw her slipping away, her arm in a girl friend's. Rosamond had a little envious pang. If she had been Flora's friend! But what was she, to be the friend of radiant Flora? Flora would never do more than fling her an occasional word or glance, and pass on to her own friends. To be loved by Flora—what felicity! But did Flora, loved, surely, by all, really love any one? Was it in Flora's heart to love?

They came down out of the wood on to the shore again, and on the smooth, damp stretch of sand near the sea's edge two men were busily
writing with sharp sticks, at the dictation of a third, who threw a sentence or phrase now at one, now at the other. What was already written was large and legible, in clear round letters, and laid out in separate paragraphs, each with its own heading.

“Amazing Occurrence this Afternoon,” the largest paragraph was headed. “Landing of Strangers.” It went on, “Early this afternoon a more amazing event occurred than has ever before been known in our country. A large vessel was seen on the horizon, and was observed to be approaching our shores. When it was arrived at the reef, it stopped, and a boat put forth from it, containing several persons, who presently landed on the island. They proved to be a party of six, a Mr. Thinkwell, his daughter and two sons, a Captain Paul, who owned the ship, and a Mr. Merton. Great excitement was naturally caused by this unprecedented event, and there were amazing scenes as most of the population assembled on the shore to watch the landing and to inspect the newcomers, who were dressed in some white material. The young lady of the party wore a thin white gown and a white hat, and had fair hair cut short on the neck after our fashion of fifteen years ago or so. It was thought at first that they must be missionaries, but it was gathered that this was not the case, but that they were a party who had sailed from England with the object of removing us from the island, having learnt of our whereabouts in some manner as yet unknown to the press, who have not yet had an opportunity of interviewing any of the party. The keenest interest is felt in the newcomers, who were shortly conducted by Mr. Albert Edward Smith to his house, the Yams, for refreshment.
The party was followed up to the house by a considerable crowd, among whom were many well-dressed women.”

Parallel with this column, there were other items of news—a paragraph on the weather, reports of the convictions of various persons arrested for trespassing or theft, and, in a prominent position and large letters, “Health of Miss Smith. Miss Smith has to-day been feeling the heat a little, and has not yet been out. Doctor Brown reports, however, that she is taking her meals well and that there is no cause for anxiety.” Next to this was “Resumed Trial of True-Heart Jenkins. Amazing Statements. The trial of True-Heart Jenkins for the murder of her husband by poison berries was resumed this morning. There were many well-dressed women present. The prisoner was smartly dressed in bark, with broad hat of plaited palm trimmed with pink feathers, and white coral necklace and ear-rings. Testimony was given by Hindley Green, aged eight, whom Jenkins had desired to pick the berries for her a few days before her husband's death. Jenkins told the boy that the berries were for a hat wreath. Testimony was given by Sally Wilson, the girl who worked for Jenkins, that the berries had been crushed up for jam. Doctor Brown stated that Adolphus Jenkins had certainly died of the jam. Testimony was given by many witnesses that prisoner and deceased had not lived in harmony of late. The jury gave a verdict of guilty, and the judge (Mr. James Smith) sentenced the unfortunate and misguided female to be drowned, which will be done on Monday morning.”

“A most unfortunate incident,” Mr. Albert Smith commented.

“So,” said Mr. Thinkwell, “you have trial by jury here—that odd old Saxon custom.”

“To be sure we have, my dear sir. My mother instructed us from the first in British institutions. We have them all.”

“Did his mother instruct them in journalese too?” Charles whispered. “The amazing scenes, the well-dressed women, and all the rest of it? Or did it just grow? After all, why not here as well as with us?”

“It's a natural enough style,” said Mr. Merton, for so, indeed, it seemed to him. “Nothing odd about that. How else should one report news?”

William prodded Charles with his elbow. “Listen to this, Charles. Charles, we must listen to this.”

The gentleman dictating the news, a small, plump, globular person with a brick-red face and a green cigar in his mouth, was in the middle of the Political Intelligence. This was too complicated for the strangers wholly to grasp. It seemed that there was trouble in Hibernia—(“Hibernia?” queried Mr. Thinkwell. Mr. Smith indicated the adjacent and smaller peninsula of the island. “My father named it that,” he said. “We have had a good deal of trouble with it from time to time. Malcontents have always made it their abode; particularly since the insurrection of 1910. The insurrectionists were put down, of course, but there is still a sad amount of disloyalty.”)—Trouble, then, in Hibernia; and trouble, too, in politics; a great fracas, in fact, in Parliament, between one party and another. It seemed that one party was in favour of the sending forth of boats on a voyage of exploration, and the other parties were not.