Orphan Island (33 page)

Rosamond believed that she never did. “Very
nice” would probably be the extent of the information she would transmit on the subject.

“Now, my dear,” said the nurse, cheery and kind, “you must run out and have some fresh air. I'll take care of him, never fear. Don't you worry, my dear, everything will be quite all right, and you needn't be one bit anxious.”

“I'm not,” said Rosamond.

She went down to the lagoon to wade. On the way she met a lady with a sweet, spiritual face and a wonderful smile, who stopped and addressed her on the subject of Charles.

“I wish,” she said, “that you would let me heal him. He doesn't require doctors and nurses, it's all so simple really—just a question of faith. If you would let me treat him.…”

She smiled beautifully, and Rosamond saw that her smile was of the no-evil type, Christian Science or Faith Healing, she was not sure which; there were both in Cambridge.

“Thanks very much,” she said, “But perhaps you had better ask my father about it.”

“Gentlemen,” said the healer, “aren't always very easy to convince, are they? Rather obstinate and bigoted sometimes.”

Rosamond agreed that gentlemen were often like that.

“A little faith,” continued the lady, “is worth a hundred doctors. My treatment consists in letting loose the powers of good, till they flow about the patient, healing him. It's all so simple!”

“Well,” said Rosamond, “you might speak to the nurse about it. She's in there now.”

“Oh, the nurse. Nurses aren't always very openminded, are they? Rather bigoted.”

Rosamond agreed that nurses were probably like that.

“Well, at least I will try treatment from a distance on him, until I can see him. One can let loose the powers even from a distance—but not
so
loose.… I will speak to Mr. Thinkwell about it. Any one on the island can tell you of marvellous healings I have performed. Not
really
marvellous in the least, of course—it's all so simple, if one believes in the Lord of health. You see, don't you, that the Lord must
will
good health to His children. He must hate illness and pain, mustn't He? It's His nature to.”

Rosamond agreed that the Lord must probably be like that.

Then, seeing no likelihood that the conversation would end unless she ended it, she said “Good-bye,” and went down to the lagoon.

William was there, hanging over his favourite pool with his net.

“Hallo,” he said. “Charles getting on all right?”

“I think so. A nurse has come. And a faith healer is giving him absent treatment.”

“What on earth's that? … Oh, well, I suppose he'll be all right, soon, won't he. Rotten luck, though.… I say, these people seem rather excited still. They've all gone off to parliament now, to make demonstrations there. They seem to mean to change the government or something. More fools they not to have changed it years ago, if they don't like it.… By the way, the weather
experts say there's a first-rate storm coming along: see that purple over there?”

Rosamond saw it: a banked mass in the far south, slowly moving.

“That'll probably do for those convicts and the
Typee
,” said William. “That is, if they're navigating her themselves.… I shouldn't wonder if we're stuck here for some time. I shan't mind, shall you? There's lots to do here, and I rather like it. My aquarium needs a lot more creatures in it still.” He scooped up a netful of green sargassum, and in it there plunged an infant fish with a big head, but, while being transferred to a tin basin, it leaped into the open lagoon and fled.

“Another perfectly good young filefish gone,” said William resignedly. “The last died of grief. I must find another.”

Rosamond joined him at his marine sport.

PARLIAMENT had a stormy meeting that morning. Respectable Smith M.P.'s were pushed aside by a vociferous crowd of Orphans, who rushed the House, shouting cheerfully for the resignation of the Prime Minister and the Government, and for an immediate dissolution. They even shouted, rudely and continually, “We don't want Smiths!” until the Prime Minister, with grave dignity, addressed to them, at last and with difficulty making himself heard, an inquiry as to whom, then, if they dispensed with Smiths,
did
they deem fit for the government of the island? A loud shout of “Orphans!” answered him, but, more particularly than that, they specified no one.

It was obviously of little use to continue the proceedings of the House, as the Speaker had no control over this irruption and the police did not appear to be functioning to-day, so the Speaker before long arose and went, followed by the government and the members, leaving the intrusive Orphans in possession of the floor.

“Very Cromwellian proceedings,” Mr. Thinkwell commented. He himself remained in the House, interested in watching a political revolution at work.

There was a good speaking, of a more or less irrelevant but consistently anti-Smith tendency, and the question of the formation of the new government was discussed with energy, but unfruitfully. Jealousies, emulations, disagreements, and conflicting interests appeared to split the Orphans into factions. There was a good deal of heated argument as to who was to be the future Prime Minister. It became apparent that any Prime Minister would have a difficult time with the rival factions, and, though many names were flung about, no agreement was reached, until suddenly some one shouted, “How about Mr. Thinkwell? He's from outside; he'd be fair; no one'd make objections to him.”

The speaker was Dobbs the shoemaker, with whom Mr. Thinkwell had several times conversed over his work. His proposal was followed by a moment's pause; every one turned and looked at Mr. Thinkwell, where he sat on a bench by the door. Then the shoemaker's suggestion was acclaimed with a shout of approval, and Mr. Thinkwell had the experience, familiar to him hitherto only after feasts at his own college, when his health had sometimes been drunk, of hearing his name called in unison and with approbation by a considerable number of persons.

“Dear me!” he said, by way of comment. “Dear me!”

He was surrounded by a friendly crowd, all clamouring to him. He had had no idea that he was so popular on the island as was, apparently, the case.

The shoemaker addressed him.

“What do you say, sir? Since you're to stay on with us here, why not take on the government?
We can promise you loyal support. You know how the countries of the world are governed to-day, and you can help us to frame our constitution and laws on European models.”

“Heaven forbid!” said Mr. Thinkwell.

“Anyhow, sir, you're apart from our quarrels and parties, and would have a support no other man would have, so long as you act just and right by us. Come, sir, will you take it on?”

“Really,” said Mr. Thinkwell, “I don't know. I must think it over. It's a very sudden idea to me, and I can't reply off-hand. I will let you know to-morrow morning; that is, if you are still of the same mind.”

“We shall be that, sir. A gentleman like yourself is just what we want as head. You think it over, and meanwhile we'll be appointing the rest of the government and framing up the new laws. We must tackle this land business first.”

“Dear me. It all seems rather rapid and unconstitutional. But still, it's your own concern, of course.”

Mr. Thinkwell left them to it, and thoughtfully walked away. Outside the House he met Denis Smith, strolling uneasily about, switching mangoes off the trees with his stick. When Mr. Thinkwell informed him of what had occurred, he slapped his thigh and rejoiced.

“The very thing,” he said. “The Orphans won't be ruled by Smiths, and the Smiths won't be ruled by Orphans, but a government with you at the top—they'd both stand that. Gad, it's the very scheme. You'll be a drag on the hot-heads who want to go the whole hog, too. I must say the idea does the fellers credit, 'pon my soul it does. You may pull the old island through its troubles yet.
Don't know what Bertie'll say to it, but he'd rather you took his place than an Orphan, anyhow. You won't say no, Thinkwell?”

“I don't know, really. It is a curious proposal, and I must think it over. I have never been a politician, you know; my work has been of a quite different nature. Nor do I know anything of your constitution here.”

“The less the better, I dare say, since it's to be overturned.”

They parted outside Belle Vue, and Mr. Thinkwell went in to visit Charles, but did not stay long, as he found the nurse too conversational. He went out, paced up and down, and considered this new rôle which was offered him.

Politics! It was putting it mildly to say he had never been a politician; he had always disliked politicians excessively. But rather, of course, for what they, as a rule, were, than for their profession. The art of government need not necessarily be despicable; there had been good rulers occasionally in history. It was the system of parties, of intrigue, of hypocritical acceptance of tenets not necessarily believed in, of struggling to gain or keep office, which made politics the ill-looking game they were in all countries. These things, and the third-rate intellects of most politicians, and the foolish and turgid eloquence they used in debate.… And the lies they told.… Mr. Thinkwell, reading on the banian trunk the tale of—

“How Ananias was struck dead,

Caught with a lie upon his tongue,”

reflected that politicians might count themselves uncommonly fortunate to be left, any of them, alive. To be in politics was obviously to be in a position of temptation against which most politicians were ill-equipped. Why did it involve greater temptation than a life of study or research? Perhaps because so much of it consisted in trying to persuade one's fellow men of something or other of doubtful worth or veracity. One of those
human
jobs which are so demoralising. Acquiring influence over people. Deserting realms of pure fact and theory, realms in which only patient study and investigation availed one anything, for spheres in which one could score by trickery, or by the personal factor. A parliamentary debate was a disagreeable thing to read or hear. Silly; common; uneducated. Compare it with, for instance, a discussion of the British Association, or of the Royal Geographical Society.… No; politics were not a pleasant business.

Still, that was the fault of politicians, of an absurd system. In a scientifically regulated world, that great desideratum, it was not unfitting that a sociologist should be Prime Minister. What an opportunity for fashioning affairs on sound theory Decidedly, the idea had attraction. There would be a certain interest, while he remained here, in helping in the management of this odd island. A certain interest. Perhaps it would be well to accept.…

At this point his reflections were interrupted by the faith healer, who, stopping in front of him, turned on him the light of her smile and petitioned to be allowed to save his son Charles. Though she did her best to explain, and he to comprehend, it remained obscure to him throughout the interview and ever after what methods she proposed to adopt
to this end, and the conversation closed with satisfaction to neither side.

After this perplexing interlude, Mr. Thinkwell resumed his meditations and his pacing, continuing so absorbed that he forgot his three o'clock meal.

“Well,” he said at last, “I suppose I shall do it. I feel that I shall, however long I consider. Therefore it would be foolish to waste any more time in considering.… How simple the problems of taking office must be to those politicians who feel it their duty to do so, as they mostly, in England, say they do. Now, I feel nothing of the sort, nor do I see why any one ever should. But I certainly feel that I shall do it, which comes to the same thing.”

So reflecting, Mr. Thinkwell went into his house to see Charles, whom he found quieter, with abated fever.

William and Rosamond were driven up from the lagoon by a terrific burst of thunder and rain. The great black cloud had swept from the horizon till it stood over the island, and there it discharged its fury. Every one caught out in it was lashed, beaten, drenched to the skin, before they could reach shelter. The wind broke trees in two, rending off great branches, laden with cowering birds, from their stems; cocoa-nuts, fruit, and monkeys pelted like great hailstones on the ground. Thunder rolled and clapped; lightning struck five palm trees, a house, and several pigs. Monstrous waves swept over the reef and across the lagoon and thundered up the island and into the wood, breaking
and carrying back to sea the boats on the shore and smashing a small house.

It was certainly a storm.

The Thinkwells, Captain Paul, Mr. Merton, and the nurse, sat in Belle Vue listening to it, barely making their voices heard above it. The nurse said it was the worst storm she remembered. Captain Paul said, gloomily, that it would be a miracle if the
Typee
came through it; he could scarcely have pulled her through himself.

“We shall hear no more of her,” he said. “Serve those damned scoundrels right. But there goes our one chance of rescue.”

“Not necessarily,” said Mr. Thinkwell. “Some of the crew may be picked up.”

“Picked up by sharks,” muttered Mr. Merton, who was in an ill humour, partly because there was not enough to drink in Belle Vue.

The nurse went back to Charles, who lay turning and moaning, his head disagreeably affected by the storm.

“There, there,” said the nurse. “There, there, there.”

“Where?” asked Charles, suddenly opening his eyes.

“Well, I declare,” she said. “If you're not better! There, now!”

“Where?” asked Charles again, thinking she meant that Flora was there, or else a mad monkey with blue teeth.