HOW MY DEAR LADY WAS LOST TO ME
And now followed a season of much hard work, each day bringing its
varied tasks and we right joyous in our labour, so that ofttimes I
would hear her singing away in her sweet voice merry as any grig, or
find myself whistling lustily to the tap of my hammer. And now indeed
my saw (and all rusty though it was) served me faithfully and well, and
my carpentry went forward apace. During this time also we added four
goats and six kids to our flock, so that we had good store of milk, and
having with my lady's help made our net with strands of cord knotted
crosswise, we caught therewith great plenty of fish.
Remembering my adventure with the Indian I furnished myself with a good
stout pike and a couple of javelins; moreover I set up divers marks,
like rovers, and every day I would shoot at these with my bow, so that
I soon became so dexterous I could bring down a bird on the wing six
times out of seven, though in teaching myself this proficiency I lost
four of my Indian arrows beyond recovery.
Thus sped the time all too quickly, but with each day came a greater
understanding and a deeper amity betwixt my lady and me.
Now much and very much might I set down here concerning this my sweet
comrade, her many noble qualities, and how, as our fellowship
lengthened, I (that was a man selfish beyond thought) finding her
unselfish always and uncomplaining, seeing her so brave in the face of
adversity, and indomitable to overcome all difficulty, yet ever and
always a woman gracious and tender, I, by my very reverence for her
sweet womanhood, became in some sense a better man.
I might tell how, when my black moods took me, the mere sight of her,
the sound of her voice, the touch of her hand, nay her very nearness
was enough to dispel them.
I might paint to your imagination the way her hair curled at her
temples, the trick she had of biting her nether lip when at all put
out, of the jut of her pretty chin when angered. Then the sweet,
vibrant softness of her voice, her laughter, the wonder of her changing
moods--all these I would dilate upon if I might, since 'tis joy to me,
but lest I prove wearisome I will hasten on to the finding of Black
Bartlemy's Treasure, of all that led up to it and all those evils that
followed after it. And this bringeth me to a time whenas we sat, she
and I, eating our breakfast and the world all radiant with a young sun.
"To-night," says she, "if my calculations be right, should be a new
moon. And I am glad, for I do love the moon."
"Aye, but how should you judge this?" says I, wondering.
"Because I have kept a record, Martin. A stroke for each day and a
cross for every Sunday."
"Excellent!" quoth I. "Then you will know how long we have lived here?"
"Two months and five days, Martin."
"So long a time?" says I amazed.
"Hath it seemed so very long?" she questioned.
"No indeed!" says I. "No, and there's the marvel!"
"'Tis no marvel, Martin, you have been too full of business to heed
time. Let us reckon up what we have achieved thus far. First of all a
three-legged stool for me--"
"Hairpins!" says I.
"A spoon, Martin, and shoes for me--"
"Lamps and candles!" quoth I.
"A table, Martin--"
"A fishing line and two hooks."
"Two armchairs, Martin, a cupboard and a press."
"A churn!" says I.
"You are forgetting our five pipkins, Martin."
"True," says I, "and clumsy things they are!"
"But very useful, sir! Next a fishing-net, and a bed for me. Here is
fine achievement, Martin! Are you not proud to have wrought so much
and with so little?"
"But there is much yet to do!" quoth I.
"So much the better!" says she. "Thus far I am well content."
"And happy?" I demanded.
"Aye, Martin--are you?"
Now at this I fell to profound reverie and she also, and this the
subject of my musings, viz.,
In every man and woman born into this world (as it doth seem to me) God
putteth some of His infinite self whereby all things are possible in
degree greater or smaller; for to the God within us all things are
possible, 'tis our very humanity that limits our potentialities.
Confidence in this power within us is a mighty aid to all endeavour
whereby we, our coward flesh notwithstanding, may attempt great things,
and though, being human, we ofttimes fail, yet this very effort
strengthens and ennobles us.
"Who art thou," cries Flesh, "to adventure thing so great and above thy
puny strength to perform? Who art thou?" "I am God!" answers
Man-soul, "Since finite man am I only by reason of thee, base, coward
Flesh." Thus (to my thinking) in every man is angel and demon, each
striving 'gainst each for the soul of him; whereby he doeth evil or
good according to the which of these twain he aideth to victory.
Howbeit, thus it is with me, I being, despite my seeming slowness, of
quick and passionate temper and of such desperate determination that
once set on a course needs would I pursue it though it led to my own
confounding and destruction. For now, indeed, I wrought that the which
brought on my lady great sorrow and grievous peril, and on myself
shame, bloodshed and a black despair, and this the manner of it.
"Are you not happy, Martin?" says she, "Happy and proud to have
accomplished so much with so little?"
"No!" says I, and so bitterly-fierce that she blenched from me. "For
look now," says I, clenching my fist, "here have we wrought and slaved
together day in and day out--and to what end?"
"That we may live--to our comfort--" says she a little breathlessly.
"And to what end?" I demanded. "To what purpose have you cozened me to
labour thus?"
"I? I don't understand you, Martin!" says she unsteadily.
"Here's you cast alone with me on this island. 'He is a man,' says you
to yourself, 'and I a lonely woman. So must I keep him busy, his mind
ever employed on some labour, no matter what, lest peradventure he make
love to me--'"
"Stop!" cries she angrily, leaping up to her feet all in a moment.
"For shame, Martin Conisby! You wrong me and yourself--I am your
comrade--"
"Nay, you are a woman, very subtle, and quick-witted as you are
beautiful. So have you kept me in ploy thus, yearning meanwhile for
some ship--anything to bear you safe away from me! Often have I seen
you staring seaward and praying for a sail."
"O you lie, Martin, you lie! Ah, have I not trusted you?"
"Aye, as one might a tiger, by humouring me and distracting my
attention! All these weeks I have scarce touched you and kissed you
never, nor had I thought to--but now by God--"
"Martin--O Martin, what would you--"
"Kiss you!" says I savagely, and caught her wrists.
"Nay, that you shall never do--with that look on your face!" cries she,
and twisted so strongly as nigh broke my hold; but despite all her
desperate striving, struggle how she might, I dragged her to me,
pinning her arms in my cruel embrace; but still she withstood me and
with such fury of strength that twice we staggered and came near
falling, until all at once she yielded and lay all soft, her breath
coming in little, pitiful, panting groans. So I kissed her as I would,
her hair, her eyes, her parted lips, her cool, soft throat, until sun
and trees and green grass seemed to spin and whirl dizzily about me,
until my lips were wet with her salt tears.
"O God--O God!" she whispered, "O Martin that I trusted so, will you
kill my faith and trust? Will you shame your comrade? You that I
loved--"
"Loved!" says I, catching my breath and staring down at her tear-wet
lashes, "Loved me--O Damaris--"
"Aye loved, and honoured you above all men until the beast broke loose."
"And now?" cried I hoarsely, "And now--what? Speak!"
"God's pity--loose me, Martin!"
"And now what--tell me. Is't hate now, scorn and contempt--as 'twas
aboard ship?"
"O Martin--let me go!" she sobbed.
"Answer me, is it hate henceforth?"
"Yes!" she panted, "Yes!" and tore herself from my hold. But, as she
turned to fly me, I caught her back to me and, madman that I was, bent
her backward across my knee that I might look down into her eyes; and,
meeting my look, she folded her hands upon her bosom and closing her
eyes, spoke broken and humbled:
"Take--take your will of me--Black Bartlemy--I am not--brave enough to
stab you as--she did--"
Now at this I shivered and must needs cast my gaze towards that great
pimento tree that towered afar off. So, then, my hateful dream had
come true, and now I knew myself for black a rogue as ever Bartlemy had
been. So I loosed her and starting up, stood staring across the
desolation of ocean.
"O Damaris!" says I at last, "Here in my belt was my knife to your
hand, 'twere better you had stabbed me indeed and I, dying, would have
kissed your feet after the manner of yon dead rogue. As it is I must
live hating myself for having destroyed the best, the sweetest thing
life could offer me and that, your trust. But, O my lady," says I,
looking down where she knelt, her face bowed upon her hands, "I do love
you reverently and beyond my life."
"Even greatly enough to forego your vengeance?" she questioned softly,
and without glancing up.
"God help me!" cried I, "How may I forget the oath I swore on my
father's grave?"
"You broke your oath to me!" says she, never stirring, "So do I know
that true love hath not touched you."
"Think of me as you will," quoth I, "but--"
"I know!" says she, raising her head at last and looking up at me, "I
am sure, Martin. Where hate is, true love can never be, and love
howsoever vehement is gentle and reverent and, being of God, a very
holy thing! But you have made of it a thing of passion, merciless and
cruel--'tis love debased."
"So will I get hence," says I, "for since I have destroyed your faith
how shall you ever sleep again and know yourself secure and such rogue
as I near you. I'll go, Damaris, I'll away and take your fears along
with me."
Then, the while she watched me dumbly, I slung my bow and quiver of
arrows about me, set the hatchet in my girdle and, taking my pike,
turned to go; but, checking my haste, went into the cave (she following
me silent always) and taking the pistol from where it hung, examined
flint and priming and charge and laid it on the table.
"Should you need me at any time, shoot off this pistol and I will come"
says I, "so good-bye, my lady!" But scarce was I without the cave than
she comes to me with my chain-shirt in her hands, and when I would have
none of it, grew the more insistent.
"Put it on," says she gently, "who can tell what may befall you, so put
it on I pray!" Thus in the end I donned it, though with ill grace;
which done, I took my pike across my shoulder and strode away. And
when I had gone some distance I glanced back and saw her standing where
I had left her, watching me and with her hands clasped tight together.
"Good-bye, Martin!" says she. "O good-bye!" and vanished into the
gloom of the cave.
As for me I strode on at speed and careless of direction, for my mind
was a whirl of conflicting thoughts and a bitter rage against myself.
Thus went I a goodish while and all-unheeding, and so at last found
myself lost amidst mazy thickets and my eight-foot pike very
troublesome. Howbeit I presently gained more open ways and went at
speed, though whither, I cared not. The sun was westering when, coming
out from the denser woods, I saw before me that high hill whose rocky
summit dominated the island, and bent my steps thitherward; and then
all in a moment my heart gave a great leap and I stood still, for borne
to me on the soft air came a sudden, sharp sound, and though faint with
distance I knew it for the report of a firearm. At this thrice-blessed
sound an overwhelming great joy and gratitude surged within me since
thus, of her infinite mercy my lady had summoned me back; and now as I
retraced my steps full of thankfulness, I marvelled to find my eyes
a-watering and myself all trembling eagerness to behold her loveliness
again, to hear her voice, mayhap to touch her hand; indeed I felt as we
had been parted a year rather than a brief hour. And now I got me to
dreaming how I should meet her and how she would greet me. She should
find a new Martin, I told myself. Suddenly these deluding dreams were
shivered to horrible fear and myself brought, sweating, to a standstill
by another sound that smote me like a blow, for I knew this for the
deep-toned report of a musket. For a moment I stood leaning on my pike
as one dazed, then the hateful truth of it seized me and I began to run
like any madman. Headlong I went, bursting my way through tangled
vines and undergrowth, heedless of the thorns that gashed me, cursing
such obstacles as stayed me; now o'erleaping thorny tangles, now
pausing to beat me a way with my pikestaff, running at breathless speed
whenever I might until (having taken a wrong direction in my frenzy) I
came out amid those vines and bushes that bordered the lake of the
waterfall, and right over against the great rock I have mentioned. But
from where I was (the place being high) I could see over and beyond
this rock; and as I stood panting and well-nigh spent, mighty
distraught and my gaze bent thitherward, I shivered (despite the sweat
that streamed from me) with sudden awful chill, for from those greeny
depths I heard a scream, wild and heartrending, and knowing this voice
grew sick and faint and sank weakly to my knees; and now I heard vile
laughter, then hoarse shouts, and forth of the underbrush opposite
broke a wild, piteous figure all rent and torn yet running very
fleetly; as I watched, cursing my helplessness, she tripped and fell,
but was up again all in a moment, yet too late, for then I saw her
struggling in the clasp of a ragged, black-bearded fellow and with
divers other men running towards them.
And now madness seized me indeed, for between us was the lake, and,
though my bow was strung and ready, I dared not shoot lest I harm her.
Thus as I watched in an agony at my impotence, my lady broke her
captor's hold and came running, and he and his fellows hard after her.
Straight for the rock she came, and being there stood a moment to stare
about her like the piteous, hunted creature she was:
"Martin!" she cried, "O Martin!" and uttering this dolorous cry (and or
ever I might answer) she tossed wild arms to heaven and plunged over
and down. I saw her body strike the water in a clean dive and vanish
into those dark and troubled deeps, and with breath in check and
glaring eyes, waited for her to reappear; I heard vague shouts and
cries where her pursuers watched for her likewise, but I heeded them
nothing, staring ever and waiting--waiting. But these gloomy waters
gave no sign, and so at last my breath burst from me in a bitter,
sobbing groan. One by one the minutes dragged by until I thought my
brain must crack, for nowhere was sign of that beloved shape. And
then--all at once, I knew she must be dead; this sweet innocent slain
thus before my eyes, snatched out of life and lost forever to me for
all time, lost to me beyond recovery.
At last I turned my haggard, burning eyes upon her murderers--four of
them there were and all staring into those cruel, black waters below
and not a word betwixt them. Suddenly the black-bearded man snapped
his fingers and laughed even as my bowstring twanged; then I saw him
leap backwards, screaming with pain, his shoulder transfixed by my
arrow. Immediately (and ere I might shoot again) his fellows dragged
him down, and lying prone on their bellies let fly wildly in my
direction with petronel and musquetoon. And now, had I been near
enough, I would have leaped upon them to slay and be slain, since life
was become a hateful thing. As it was, crouched there 'mid the leaves,
I watched them crawl from the rock dragging their hurt comrade with
them. Then, seeing them stealing off thus, a mighty rage filled me,
ousting all other emotion, and (my bow in one hand and pike in the
other) I started running in pursuit. But my great pike proving
over-cumbersome, I cast it away that I might go the faster, trusting
rather to my five arrows and the long-bladed knife in my girdle, and
the thought of this knife and its deadly work at close quarters
heartened me mightily as I ran; yet in a while, the passion of my anger
subsiding, grief took its place again and a hopeless desolation beyond
words. So ran I, blinded by scalding tears and my heart breaking
within me, and thus came I to a place of rocks, and looking not to my
feet it chanced that I fell and, striking my head against a rock, knew
no more; and lost in a blessed unconsciousness, forgot awhile the
anguish of my breaking heart.