not go in quest of this far-away isle to which these seven sculptors and their families were transported by command of great Cæsar?
Perchance in that far-distant isle dwells a race of beings who, forgetting the world, and forgotten by it, will, by their strange habits and peculiar customs so interest me as to repay me for all the dangers I may run in crossing untracked seas and turning aside from ocean paths.
Perchance their descendants may be living yet?
This idea now took possession of my whole being.
Sleep was impossible.
Far into the night I pored over ancient charts.
While deepest silence enwrapped the baronial halls, I worked out in my mind, or, rather, let my mind work out, the course which I should pursue.
For it was always a custom of mine never to attempt to solve the unsolvable. In fact, I early made the discovery that any interference on my part with the mysterious workings of my mind tended rather to impede its action.
So I waited calmly for light.
It came at last.
Closing my eyes, with my inner sight I could see a map of the eastern world traced in glowing, shimmering lines upon an inky background.
And there, too, could I see my course marked out in dotted lines of fire.
With a loud, ringing cry of joy I sprang to my feet and exclaimed: “I shall find this wonderful isle! I shall unlock the portals of the Southern seas! I shall gaze upon the descendants of Paula’s murderers!
“Come, Bulger! Away! Away!”
Hastily bidding adieu to my parents, I swung myself into the saddle, and, with Bulger securely strapped en croupe, dashed madly away towards the shores of the Mediterranean.
“The baron’s mad son is off again!” cried the peasants, as I galloped past their farm houses.
In three days I stood upon the deck of my vessel.
In obedience to my orders, the captain’s hand literally rested upon the helm.
All that day he had been standing with his eyes riveted upon the shore, for something told him that I could not be far away.
Everything was in readiness, even to the last biscuit.
As Bulger and I leaped over the rail, my good ship rounded to the wind, and darted away like a thing of life.
The blood tingled in my veins at sight of the blue waves and white bellying sails.
Bulger gave vent to his satisfaction in mad gambols and ear-piercing barks.
It was certainly an auspicious beginning.
Leaving the command of the ship to the mate, the captain joined me in the cabin, where I unfolded to him my project of sailing in the Southern seas in quest of a long-forgotten island.
He made haste to unroll his chart and adjust his spectacles, in order to fix the location of the island when I should give him the latitude and longitude.
Fancy his almost consternation when I told him that the only proof I had of the existence of such an island was the brief mention in the ancient Roman newspaper.
Was I mad?
Did I care no more for life than to throw it away in such a foolhardy undertaking?
Had I no idea of the rage of the terrible typhoon, the treachery of the hidden reef, the weight of the watery mountains which would topple on our deck?
Could I expect seamen to go where there was no record that the most adventurous sailors of past centuries had ever ploughed the water?
I smiled.
“Master,” said I, after a moment’s silence, “this ship is mine, and you have sworn to serve me like a true seaman, but if your courage has failed you, you shall be put ashore at the first port we make. Go!”
“Nay, little baron,” cried the skipper, “I was only testing your resolution. If you have the courage to sail into unknown seas, I have the courage to follow you, come bright skies and calm waters or come storm clouds and thunderbolt!”
I shook the old man’s hand, and bade him go on deck, for at last sleep had come to my wakeful eyes—the first time in three whole weeks—and I wanted to be alone.
In a few days we passed the Straits of Gibraltar and turned southward, keeping the African coat in sight.
I passed my time perfecting myself in the Latin language, and often called forth very vigorous protestations from Bulger by addressing him in that tongue, and making use of him as a sort of audience before which I delivered my speeches after I had rounded them and polished them.
The only stops we made now were for water or provisions.
By daylight and starlight my staunch ship bounded along on her course as if some friendly nereids were pushing at her stern. In the long watches of the night I lay in my hammock and pictured to myself that Roman galley as it bore those seven exiles with kith and kin away from their beloved land forever.
Ere another moon had bent her crescent in the evening sky we had reached the Cape, and came to anchor with intent to overhaul our ship most thoroughly before going farther southward.
This occupied several days.
I chafed under the delay.
Ten times a day I summoned the ship’s master to my cabin and urged him to make greater haste. He bore with me most patiently. My heart gave a leap, when, at last, I heard the master order the crew to set the sails.
The seamen were singing and tugging away at the main-sheets as I stepped upon the deck.
“How shall I head her, little Baron?” asked the master, raising his hand to his cap.
“Dead to the southward!” I replied.
He stood transfixed.
He had thought that we would round the Cape and follow the usual course to the Indies.
His lips move as if to protest.
I cut him short, however, with an imperious wave of the hand.
Several of the sailors, noticing the pallor which had overspread the captain’s face, drew near and stood gazing upon us, half wonderingly, half inquiringly.
“Captain!” said I calmly, but quite loud enough to be overheard by the men standing in a group near by, “my pistols were made by the Emperor’s armorer. They never miss fire. Let me find you changing this vessel’s course a single point east or west of south and I’ll kill you in your tracks!”
Saying this I walked away.
From that moment all went well.
The ship’s master saw that I was determined to have my way, even if I lost my life in
