Blue Lagoon — 24 - Book3 Chap4

It was on the 10th of May, so quickly did things move under the supervision of the bedridden captain, that the _Raratonga_, with Lestrange on board, cleared the Golden Gates, and made south, heeling to a ten-knot breeze.

There is no mode of travel to be compared to your sailing-ship.

In a great ship, if you have ever made a voyage in one, the vast spaces of canvas, the sky-high spars, the _finesse_ with which the wind is met and taken advantage of, will form a memory never to be blotted out.

A schooner is the queen of all rigs; she has a bounding buoyancy denied to the square-rigged craft, to which she stands in the same relationship as a young girl to a dowager; and the _Raratonga_ was not only a schooner, but the queen, acknowledged of all the schooners in the Pacific.

For the first few days they made good way south; then the wind became baffling and headed them off.

Added to Lestrange’s feverish excitement there was an anxiety, a deep and soul-fretting anxiety, as if some half-heard voice were telling him that the children he sought were threatened by some danger.

These baffling winds blew upon the smouldering anxiety in his breast, as wind blows upon embers, causing them to glow.

They lasted some days, and then, as if Fate had relented, up sprang on the starboard quarter a spanking breeze, making the rigging sing to a merry tune, and blowing the spindrift from the forefoot, as the _Raratonga_, heeling to its pressure, went humming through the sea, leaving a wake spreading behind her like a fan.

It took them along five hundred miles, silently and with the speed of a dream.

Then it ceased.

The ocean and the air stood still.

The sky above stood solid like a great pale blue dome; just where it met the water line of the far horizon a delicate tracery of cloud draped the entire round of the sky.

I have said that the ocean stood still as well as the air: to the eye it was so, for the swell under-running the glitter on its surface was so even, so equable, and so rhythmical, that the surface seemed not in motion.

Occasionally a dimple broke the surface, and strips of dark sea-weed floated by, showing up the green; dim things rose to the surface, and, guessing the presence of man, sank slowly and dissolved from sight.

Two days, never to be recovered, passed, and still the calm continued.

On the morning of the third day it breezed up from the nor’-nor’west, and they continued their course, a cloud of canvas, every sail drawing, and the music of the ripple under the forefoot.

Captain Stannistreet was a genius in his profession; he could get more speed out of a schooner than any other man afloat, and carry more canvas without losing a stick.

He was also, fortunately for Lestrange, a man of refinement and education, and what was better still, understanding.

They were pacing the deck one afternoon, when Lestrange, who was walking with his hands behind him, and his eyes counting the brown dowels in the cream-white planking, broke silence.

“You don’t believe in visions and dreams?

” “How do you know that?

” replied the other.

“Oh, I only put it as a question; most people say they don’t. ” “Yes, but most people do.

” “I do,” said Lestrange.

He was silent for a moment.

“You know my trouble so well that I won’t bother you going over it, but there has come over me of late a feeling—it is like a waking dream.

” “Yes?

” “I can’t quite explain, for it is as if I saw something which my intelligence could not comprehend, or make an image of.

” “I think I know what you mean.

” “I don’t think you do.

This is something quite strange.

I am fifty, and in fifty years a man has experienced, as a rule, all the ordinary and most of the extraordinary sensations that a human being can be subjected to.

Well, I have never felt this sensation before; it comes on only at times.

I see, as you might imagine, a young baby sees, and things are before me that I do not comprehend.

It is not through my bodily eyes that this sensation comes, but through some window of the mind, from before which a curtain has been drawn.

” “That’s strange,” said Stannistreet, who did not like the conversation over-much, being simply a schooner captain and a plain man, though intelligent enough and sympathetic.

“This something tells me,” went on Lestrange, “that there is danger threatening the—” He ceased, paused a minute, and then, to Stannistreet’s relief, went on.

“If I talk like that you will think I am not right in my head: let us pass the subject by, let us forget dreams and omens and come to realities.

You know how I lost the children; you know how I hope to find them at the place where Captain Fountain found their traces?

He says the island was uninhabited, but he was not sure.

” “No,” replied Stannistreet, “he only spoke of the beach.

” “Yes.

Well, suppose there were natives at the other side of the island who had taken these children.

” “If so, they would grow up with the natives.

” “And become savages?

” “Yes; but the Polynesians can’t be really called savages; they are a very decent lot.

I’ve knocked about amongst them a good while, and a kanaka is as white as a white man—which is not saying much, but it’s something.

Most of the islands are civilised now.

Of course there are a few that aren’t, but still, suppose even that ‘savages,’ as you call them, had come and taken the children off—” Lestrange’s breath caught, for this was the very fear that was in his heart, though he had never spoken it.

“Well?

” “Well, they would be well treated.

” “And brought up as savages?

” “I suppose so.

” Lestrange sighed.

“Look here,” said the captain; “it’s all very well talking, but upon my word I think that we civilised folk put on a lot of airs, and waste a lot of pity on savages.

” “How so?

” “What does a man want to be but happy?

” “Yes.

” “Well, who is happier than a naked savage in a warm climate?

Oh, he’s happy enough, and he’s not always holding a corroboree.

He’s a good deal of a gentleman; he has perfect health; he lives the life a man was born to live face to face with Nature.

He doesn’t see the sun through an office window or the moon through the smoke of factory chimneys;

happy and civilised too—but, bless you, where is he?

The whites have driven him out; in one or two small islands you may find him still—a crumb or so of him.

” “Suppose,” said Lestrange, “suppose those children had been brought up face to face with Nature—” “Yes?

” “Living that free life—” “Yes?

” “Waking up under the stars”—Lestrange was speaking with his eyes fixed, as if upon something very far away—“going to sleep as the sun sets, feeling the air fresh, like this which blows upon us, all around them.

Suppose they were like that, would it not be a cruelty to bring them to what we call civilisation?

” “I think it would,” said Stannistreet.

Lestrange said nothing, but continued pacing the deck, his head bowed and his hands behind his back.

One evening at sunset, Stannistreet said: “We’re two hundred and forty miles from the island, reckoning from to-day’s reckoning at noon.

We’re going all ten knots even with this breeze; we ought to fetch the place this time to-morrow.

Before that if it freshens.

” “I am greatly disturbed,” said Lestrange.

He went below, and the schooner captain shook his head, and, locking his arm round a ratlin, gave his body to the gentle roll of the craft as she stole along, skirting the sunset, splendid, and to the nautical eye full of fine weather.

The breeze was not quite so fresh next morning, but it had been blowing fairly all the night, and the _Raratonga_ had made good way.

About eleven it began to fail.

It became the lightest sailing breeze, just sufficient to keep the sails drawing, and the wake rippling and swirling behind.

Suddenly Stannistreet, who had been standing talking to Lestrange, climbed a few feet up the mizzen ratlins, and shaded his eyes.

“What is it?

” asked Lestrange.

“A boat,” he replied.

“Hand me that glass you will find in the sling there.

” He levelled the glass, and looked for a long time without speaking.

“It’s a boat adrift—a small boat, nothing in her.

Stay!

I see something white, can’t make it out.

Hi there!

”—to the fellow at the wheel “Keep her a point more to starboard.

” He got on to the deck.

“We’re going dead on for her.

” “Is there any one in her?

” asked Lestrange.

“Can’t quite make out, but I’ll lower the whale-boat and fetch her alongside.

” He gave orders for the whale-boat to be slung out and manned.

As they approached nearer, it was evident that the drifting boat, which looked like a ship’s dinghy, contained something, but what, could not be made out.

When he had approached near enough, Stannistreet put the helm down and brought the schooner to, with her sails all shivering.

He took his place in the bow of the whale-boat and Lestrange in the stern.

The boat was lowered, the falls cast off, and the oars bent to the water.

The little dinghy made a mournful picture as she floated, looking scarcely bigger than a walnut shell.

In thirty strokes the whale-boat’s nose was touching her quarter.

Stannistreet grasped her gunwale.

In the bottom of the dinghy lay a girl, naked all but for a strip of coloured striped material.

One of her arms was clasped round the neck of a form that was half hidden by her body, the other clasped partly to herself, partly to her companion, the body of a baby.

They were natives, evidently, wrecked or lost by some mischance from some inter-island schooner.

Their breasts rose and fell gently, and clasped in the girl’s hand was a branch of some tree, and on the branch a single withered berry.

“Are they dead?

” asked Lestrange, who divined that there were people in the boat, and who was standing up in the stern of the whale-boat trying to see.

“No,” said Stannistreet; “they are asleep.

” THE END

----- Transcriber's Note #1 ----- Introduction to the Project Gutenberg text of H. de Vere Stacpoole’s The Blue Lagoon: A Romance by Edward A. Malone University of Missouri-Rolla Born on April 9, 1863, in Kingstown, Ireland, Henry de Vere Stacpoole grew up in a household dominated by his mother and three older sisters.

William C. Stacpoole, a doctor of divinity from Trinity College and headmaster of Kingstown school, died some time before his son’s eighth birthday, leaving the responsibility of supporting the family to his Canadian-born wife, Charlotte Augusta Mountjoy Stacpoole.

At a young age, Charlotte had been led out of the Canadian backwoods by her widowed mother and taken to Ireland, where their relatives lived.

This experience had strengthened her character and prepared her for single parenthood.

Charlotte cared passionately for her children and was perhaps overly protective of her son.

As a child, Henry suffered from severe respiratory problems, misdiagnosed as chronic bronchitis by his physician, who in the winter of 1871 advised that the boy be taken to Southern France for his health.

With her entire family in tow, Charlotte made the long journey from Kingstown to London to Paris, where signs of the Franco-Prussian War were still evident, settling at last in Nice at the Hotel des Iles Britannique.

Nice was like paradise to Henry, who marveled at the city’s affluence and beauty as he played in the warm sun.

After several more excursions to the continent, Stacpoole was sent to Portarlington, a bleak boarding school more than 100 miles from Kingstown.

In contrast to his sisters, the Portarlington boys were noisy and uncouth.

As Stacpoole writes in his autobiograhy Men and Mice, 1863-1942 (1942), the boys abused him mentally and physically, making him feel like “a little Arthur in a cage of baboons.

” One night, he escaped through an adjacent girls’ school and returned to Kingstown, only to be betrayed by his family and dragged back to school by his eldest sister.

When his family moved to London, he was taken out of Portarlington and enrolled at Malvern College, a progressive school with refined students and plenty of air and sunshine.

Stacpoole thoroughly enjoyed his new surroundings, which he associated with the description of Malvern Hills in Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s Aurora Leigh (1857): “Keepers of Piers Plowman’s visions / Through the sunshine and the snow.

” This environment encouraged his interest in literature and writing.

The idyll ended, however, when Stacpoole began his medical training.

At his mother’s prodding, he entered the medical school at St. George’s Hospital.

Twice a day, he had to traverse a park frequented by perambulating nursemaids, and he became romantically involved with one of them.

When his mother discovered their affair, she insisted that he transfer to University College, and he complied.

More interested in literature than corpses, Stacpoole began to neglect his studies and miss classes, especially the required dissections.

Finally, the dean of the medical school confronted him, and their argument drove Stacpoole to St. Mary’s Hospital, where he completed his medical training and qualified L. S.

A.

in 1891. At some point after this date, Stacpoole made several sea voyages into the tropics (at least once as a doctor aboard a cable-mending ship), collecting information for future stories.

Stacpoole’s literary career, which he once described as being “more like a Malay fishing prahu than an honest-to-God English literary vessel,” began inauspiciously with the publication of The Intended (1894), a tragic novel about two look-alikes, one rich, the other poor, who switch places on a whim.

Bewildered by the novel’s lack of success, Stacpoole consulted his friendly muse, Pearl Craigie, alias John Oliver Hobbes, who suggested a comic rather than tragic treatment.

Years later, Stacpoole retold the story in The Man Who Lost Himself (1918), a commercially successful comic novel about a down-and-out American who impersonates his wealthy look-alike in England.

Set in France during the Franco-Prussian War, Stacpoole’s second novel, Pierrot (1896), recounts a French boy’s eerie relationship with a patricidal doppelganger.

Like its predecessor, it was a commercial failure, and it was at this point, perhaps, that Stacpoole began to view literary success only in terms of sales figures and numbers of editions.

A strange tale of reincarnation, cross dressing, and uxoricide, Stacpoole’s third novel, Death, the Knight, and the Lady (1897), purports to be the deathbed confession of Beatrice Sinclair, who is both a reincarnated murderer (male) and a descendant of the murder victim (female).

She falls in love with Gerald Wilder, a man disguised as a woman, who is both a reincarnated murder victim (female) and the descendant of the murderer (male).

Despite its originality, the novel was killed by “Public Indifference” (Stacpoole’s term), which also killed The Rapin (1899), a novel about an art student in Paris.

Stacpoole spent the summer of 1898 in Sommerset, where he took over the medical practice of an ailing country doctor.

So peaceful were his days in this pastoral setting that he had time to write The Doctor (1899), a novel about an old-fashioned physician practicing medicine in rural England.

“It is the best book I have written,” Stacpoole declared more than forty years later.

He could also say, in retrospect, that the book’s weak sales were a disguised blessing, “for I hadn’t ballast on board in those days to stand up to the gale of success, which means incidentally money.

” He would be spared the gale of success for nine more years, during which he published seven books, including a collection of children’s stories and two collaborative novels with his friend William Alexander Bryce.

In 1907, two events occurred that altered the course of Stacpoole’s life: he wrote The Blue Lagoon and he married Margaret Robson.

Unable to sleep one night, he found himself thinking about and envying the caveman, who in his primitiveness was able to marvel at such commonplace phenomena as sunsets and thunderstorms.

Civilized, technological man had unveiled these mysteries with his telescopes and weather balloons, so that they were no longer “nameless wonders” to be feared and contemplated.

As a doctor, Stacpoole had witnessed countless births and deaths, and these events no longer seemed miraculous to him.

He conceived the idea of two children growing up alone on an island and experiencing storms, death, and birth in almost complete ignorance and innocence.

The next morning, he started writing The Blue Lagoon.

The exercise was therapeutic because he was able to experience the wonders of life and death vicariously through his characters.

The Blue Lagoon is the story of two cousins, Dicky and Emmeline Lestrange, stranded on a remote island with a beautiful lagoon.

As children, they are cared for by Paddy Button, a portly sailor who drinks himself to death after only two and a half years in paradise.

Frightened and confused by the man’s gruesome corpse, the children flee to another part of Palm Tree Island.

Over a period of five years, they grow up and eventually fall in love.

Sex and birth are as mysterious to them as death, but they manage to copulate instinctively and conceive a child.

The birth is especially remarkable: fifteen-year-old Emmeline, alone in the jungle, loses consciousness and awakes to find a baby boy on the ground near her.

Naming the boy Hannah (an example of Stacpoole’s penchant for gender reversals), the Lestranges live in familial bliss until they are unexpectedly expelled from their tropical Eden.

The parallels between The Blue Lagoon and the Biblical story of Adam and Eve are obvious and intentional, but Stacpoole was also influenced by Lewis Carroll’s Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland (1865), which he invokes in a passage describing the castaways’ approach Palm Tree Island: “One could see the water swirling round the coral piers, for the tide was flooding into the lagoon; it had seized the little dinghy and was bearing it along far swifter than the sculls could have driven it.

Sea-gulls screamed about them, the boat rocked and swayed.

Dick shouted with excitement, and Emmeline shut her eyes TIGHT.

“Then, as though a door had been swiftly and silently closed, the sound of the surf became suddenly less.

The boat floated on an even keel; she opened her eyes and found herself in Wonderland.

” This direct reference to Wonderland prepares the reader for the many parallels that follow.

When their adventures begin, both girls are about the same age, Alice seven and a half, Emmeline exactly eight.

Just as Alice joins a tea party in Wonderland, Emmeline plays with her tiny tea set on the beach after they land.

Emmeline’s former pet, like the Cheshire Cat, “had white stripes and a white chest, and rings down its tail” and died “showing its teeth.

” Whereas Alice looks for a poison label on a bottle that says “Drink Me,” Emmeline innocently tries to eat “the never-wake-up berries” and receives a stern rebuke and a lecture about poison from Paddy Button.

“The Poetry of Learning” chapter echoes Alice’s dialogue with the caterpillar.

Like the wily creature smoking a hookah, Paddy smokes a pipe and shouts “Hurroo!

” as the children teach him to write his name in the sand.

The children lose “all count of time,” just as the Mad Hatter does.

Whereas Alice grows nine feet taller, Dick sprouts “two inches taller” and Emmeline “twice as plump.

” Like the baby in the “Pig and Pepper,” Hannah sneezes at the first sight of Dicky.

The novel is artfully littered with references to wonder, curiosity, and strangeness—all evidence of Stacpoole’s conscious effort to invoke and honor his Victorian predecessor.

Stacpoole presented The Blue Lagoon to Publisher T. Fisher Unwin in September 1907 and went to Cumberland to assist another ailing doctor in his practice.

Every day from Eden Vue in Langwathby, Stacpoole wrote to his fiancee, Margaret Robson (or Maggie, as he called her), and waited anxiously for their wedding day.

On December 17, 1907, the couple were married and spent their honeymoon at Stebbing Park, a friend’s country house in Essex, about three miles from the village of Stebbing.

It was there that they stumbled upon Rose Cottage, where Stacpoole lived for several years before he moved to Cliff Dene on the Isle of Wight in the 1920s.

Published in January 1908, The Blue Lagoon was an immediate success, both with reviewers and the public.

“[This] tale of the discovery of love, and innocent mating, is as fresh as the ozone that made them strong,” declared one reviewer.

Another claimed that “for once the title of ‘romance,’ found in so many modern stories, is really justified.

” The novel was reprinted more than twenty times in the next twelve years and remained popular in other forms for more than eighty years.

Norman MacOwen and Charlton Mann adapted the story as a play, which ran for 263 performances in London from August 28, 1920, to April 16, 1921. Film versions of the novel were made in 1923, 1949, and 1980. Stacpoole also wrote two successful sequels: The Garden of God (1923) and The Gates of Morning (1925).

These three books and two others were combined to form The Blue Lagoon Omnibus in 1933. The Garden of God was filmed as Return to the Blue Lagoon in 1992. This Gutenberg etext of The Blue Lagoon: A Romance is based on the 1908 first American edition published by J. B.

Lippincott Company of Philadelphia.

----- Transcriber's Note #2 ----- The stated edition for this etext is the 1908 first American edition published by J. B.

Lippincott Company of Philadelphia.

Stacpoole delivered his original manuscript to publisher T. Fisher Unwin (London) in September 1907. The London edition and the Lippincott (this etext) edition were both published in 1908. Four changes were made in creating the Lippincott edition: 1. On page 18: London edition: he sat with it on his knees staring at the white sunlit main-deck barred with the black shadows of the standing rigging.

US edition: he sat with it on his knees staring at the white sunlit main-deck barred with the white shadows of the standing rigging.

Stacpoole originally indicated black shadows of the rigging on the deck.

2. On page 19: London edition: It was seven bells—half-past three in the afternoon—and the ship’s bell had just rung out.

US edition: It was three bells—half-past three in the afternoon—and the ship’s bell had just rung out.

The London edition is correct: seven bells is 3:30 in the afternoon.

Three bells is half-past one.

3. On page 24: London edition: The dinghy was rather a larger boat than the ordinary ships’ dinghy, and possessed a small mast and lug-sail.

US edition: The dinghy was rather a larger boat than the ordinary ships’ dinghy, and possessed a small mast and long sail.

A lug-sail (modern: lugsail) is an evolved version of the classical square sail that is correct for the boat as described.

4. On page 309: London edition: “This is the gentleman, Simon,” ...

US edition: “This is the gentleman, Silas,” ...

Other than these four changes, both 1908 editions are essentially identical.

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