Fairhaven High School - Huttlestonian Yearbook (Fairhaven, MA)

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16 THE HUTTLESTONI AN blue and frank, into which one might gaze and probe the very depths of this man, knowing that the reaction obtained would be correct. A feeling of guilt enveloped Jean. This was the one whom he was going to dupe, the one who, obviously, would be responsible for him, on whom would fall the blame for his escape. For a split second, Jean’s plan tottered and then swiftly regained its equilibrium. Too much had been endured, too much was waiting for him — he must go on, and it was a dictate of fate that the simple-minded priest must pay for his freedom. Perhaps, mused Jean as he threaded his way up a winding path overhung with foliage still glistening with myriads of cobwebs of morning dew, the priest would con¬ sider this added trouble as just one step nearer Heaven. The He Lawrence remained Jean’s world for six months, and he was sure that a lovelier spot did not grace the world. After three years of sand and sun, there were trees and brooks and moss, and freedom to wander and enjoy all this. Often he would lay on the moss, listening to the alternating melan¬ cholic murmur and rippling laughter of the brook, smelling the air pregnant with the heavy scent of heliotrope, such as only twilight can sire, and, occasionally, entertaining the thought of passing his life here with no respect for tomorrow and no care for today. There is a strong likelihood that this might have come to pass had it not been for the fact that, lovely as the island might be, it was given over to lepers and, regardless of the cautions that Jean might take, his position was precarious. It was when they allowed him the privilege of roaming about the island unattended that he first began to formulate his plans for escape. He knew, from information imparted to him by Rasset, that the He Lawrence was four miles from the mainland and that the waters thereabouts were infested by baracudas. His only means of departing from the island were either to hide in the packet which brought the provisions, and this was too risky, or to fashion some sort of a raft or canoe that would get him across the river. He commenced building a raft,

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THE H U T T L i; S T O N I A N 15 sary, so Jean cut off his little finger, massaging the ragged stump with the herb which put an end to the bleeding. The doctor was convinced that he was dealing with a case of ad¬ vanced leprosy, and the young man was prepared for the leper colony on the He Lawrence which was some twenty miles inland on the Macon River. Perhaps it would have been more accurate to have said that he prepared himself, for everyone avoided him as they would have avoided any personification of death. On the packet which was to take him away, he was thrown into a hatch, given water, bread, and some sort of canned meat, and left there for the thirty-six hours necessitated for the journey. Time did not drag in this wooden inferno; already Jean was dreaming of what he was going to do, the girls he was going to dance with, the people he was going to talk with as soon as he reached Rio de Janerio. The hours slipped by as he amused himself with this happy occupation, and he was even a little rueful when the hatch was lighted and the daylight protruded itself into his privacy, causing his eyelids to contract involuntarily. He was aware that a man was coming down the steps, and the next thing he knew was that an arm was flung about his shoulders and a priest was chatting cheerfully to him as they mounted the ladder. This was the first show of open com¬ passion that Jean had witnessed in more than three years. Tears threatened, and it was only by sheer force of will power that he was able to press them back, making his eyes burn with the rage of suppression. Now accustomed to the light, he looked at his friend. Slightly built, the priest seemed a spirit clothed in a flowing cassock, endowed by mystic interference with the ability to appear as though it harboured the body of a man. His hand§, one of which rested on Jean’s shoulder, were like the claws of a bird only whiter and more tapering. His face would have impelled a second glance from the most insensitive of men. It was one which spoke of suffering not for self but for others, and, deeper than that layer of suffering, was a certain sad, resigned glow of happiness. All this could be read in his eyes.

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THE HUTTLESTONIAN 17 felling about one tree a day down on the farther and seldom- ever-frequented end of the island. When he had a sufficiency of logs, he cut them to a common length and bound them with rawhide stolen from the home of the insane lepers. All was now in readiness for the final step to freedom, a step which had taken nearly three years to arrive at. There could be, there must be, no slip. To prevent the authorities from doubting the authenticity of his affliction he had cut off another finger, following up this procedure by rubbing the deceiving herb on both the wound and his entire body. One night, exactly six months from the date of his arrival, after the inspection of the nurse, he slipped through the window by his bed, and made for the secluded little cove, in which his raft lay provisioned and waiting. With only the approving darkness as witness and the sound of the loose, lackadaisical lapping of the incoming tide, Jean put to sea. The few miles he paddled seemed to stretch into infinity. A strong wind impeded him, and his state of mind, as he thought how he was betraying Father Simal’s trust in him, was not conducive to haste. So emerged would he become in his reveries, that he would suddenly become aware of the fact that he had been drifting. As dawn began to tint the horizon, he was filled with the fear that he had lost his course. Then he noticed a black ridge over which the sun was casting rays. His first thought, that this blackness heralded an approaching storm, was banished when, after paddling furiously for a brief time, he discovered that it was the sky¬ line of the gently swaying jungle foliage. Ashore, he flung himself on the soil which would lead him directly to freedom, alternatingly pressing his feverish cheeks into the hard-packed sand. His mind could fasten to no definite thought or emotion, but rather whirled giddily about in a fashion over which he had no control nor attempted to exercise any. It was enough to know that he was going to live again, be free again, be happy again. After the flush of ecstacy had deepened into a warm, satisfying glow, Jean pushed the raft out into the current of