The Hurricane

This is Orton Wills. A hurricane according to the dictionary advances in a straight or curved version, and I promise you we're not doing the night story.

Anybody from here, Captain Agar? 600 miles, for them. Are we reading in the South Seas now? Right in the heart of them. The South Sea Island. The last hiding place of beauty and adventure. That's what all the travel folders say.

Captain, what's that wretched bear and spot? Where are you up there to the right? That's one of them. One of the South Sea islands. Nothing like that in the photos. There was a time when it was mentioned in all the folders.

Oh, but it's just a silly-looking sandway. Is it a name? It's the island of Mauna Quora. Twenty years ago, that was the most beautiful of all the islands that raised their little green heads above these waters.

The most beautiful and enchanting bit of paradise in all the world. I always throw it a kiss when I pass it for old... Happen to it, Captain. It's a very simple story, Maden. That island made the mistake of being born in the heart of the hurricane belt.

I ran a boat between here and Tahiti in those days, before I got hold and sober. And one beautiful morning like this, I sailed up to the beautiful island that used to be, with sugar and calico and a few other things for the islanders, besides a new governor from Europe to enforce the law.

Later I wish I'd thrown him over, brought. He was just about as beneficial as the hurricane. But maybe I misjudged him. It's his story anyway, and I guess his story is as good as mine.