"I wish I could believe it, but those features are burned so deep into my memory and my heart that I should recognize them anywhere in the world from among a thousand others, who might appear identical to any one but me.""What do you mean, Jane?" cried Hazel, now thoroughly alarmed.
"Who do you think it is?"
"I don't think, Hazel.I know that that is a picture of Tarzan of the Apes.""Jane!"
"I cannot be mistaken.Oh, Hazel, are you sure that he is dead?
Can there be no mistake?"
"I am afraid not, dear," answered Hazel sadly."I wish Icould think that you are mistaken, but now a hundred and one little pieces of corroborative evidence occur to me that meant nothing to me while I thought that he was John Caldwell, of London.He said that he had been born in Africa, and educated in France.""Yes, that would be true," murmured Jane Porter dully.
"The first officer, who searched his luggage, found nothing to identify John Caldwell, of London.Practically all his belongings had been made, or purchased, in Paris.Everything that bore an initial was marked either with a `T' alone, or with `J.C.T.' We thought that he was traveling incognito under his first two names--the J.C.standing for John Caldwell.""Tarzan of the Apes took the name Jean C.Tarzan," said Jane, in the same lifeless monotone."And he is dead! Oh!
Hazel, it is horrible! He died all alone in this terrible ocean!
It is unbelievable that that brave heart should have ceased to beat--that those mighty muscles are quiet and cold forever!
That he who was the personification of life and health and manly strength should be the prey of slimy, crawling things, that--" But she could go no further, and with a little moan she buried her head in her arms, and sank sobbing to the floor.
For days Miss Porter was ill, and would see no one except Hazel and the faithful Esmeralda.When at last she came on deck all were struck by the sad change that had taken place in her.She was no longer the alert, vivacious American beauty who had charmed and delighted all who came in contact with her.Instead she was a very quiet and sad little girl--with an expression of hopeless wistfulness that none but Hazel Strong could interpret.
The entire party strove their utmost to cheer and amuse her, but all to no avail.Occasionally the jolly Lord Tennington would wring a wan smile from her, but for the most part she sat with wide eyes looking out across the sea.
With Jane Porter's illness one misfortune after another seemed to attack the yacht.First an engine broke down, and they drifted for two days while temporary repairs were being made.
Then a squall struck them unaware, that carried overboard nearly everything above deck that was portable.Later two of the seamen fell to fighting in the forecastle, with the result that one of them was badly wounded with a knife, and the other had to be put in irons.Then, to cap the climax, the mate fell overboard at night, and was drowned before help could reach him.The yacht cruised about the spot for ten hours, but no sign of the man was seen after he disappeared from the deck into the sea.
Every member of the crew and guests was gloomy and depressed after these series of misfortunes.All were apprehensive of worse to come, and this was especially true of the seamen who recalled all sorts of terrible omens and warnings that had occurred during the early part of the voyage, and which they could now clearly translate into the precursors of some grim and terrible tragedy to come.