FIAT JUSTITIA
AS THE BOAT swept into the great lift and fall of the ocean swell, Dred
had leaned forward and rested his forehead upon the tiller, which he
still held. His body shook and heaved, and Jack sat like one turned to
stone. The thought went through his mind, “He is dying—will he die as
he sits there? Can it really be that he is dying?” Then Dred looked up,
and his face was as white as ashes. Great beads of sweat stood on his
forehead. “Some water,” he said, hoarsely; “give me some water, lad.”
Miss Eleanor Parker still lay in the bottom of the boat, whither Jack
had dragged her. Jack went forward blindly across the thwarts and
brought out a cup of water. His hand shook and trembled; his eyes saw,
but did not see, what he was doing; his throat was constricted as
though it would choke him. Then he came back with the cup of water.
It slopped and spilled over his hand. Suddenly, Miss Eleanor Parker
shrieked. She had aroused, and in her first glance had seen the blood.
“Oh, what is it?” she cried. Dred had raised himself again from the
tiller upon which he had been leaning, and he groaned. Jack pushed
past the young lady without speaking to her or noticing her, and Dred
reached out his hand for the cup of water. It shook, and part of the
water spilled, as he put it to his lips and, throwing back his haggard
face, drank it off. The young lady was sitting staring at him, white
even to the very lips. “Oh! oh!” she moaned, wringing her hands, “oh!
oh!” Jack panted, his breath coming hot in his dry mouth. He tried to
moisten his lips again and again, but they remained dry.
The yawl, its course unheeded, had come up into the wind, rising and
falling with the slow heaving of the ground-swell, the sail fluttering
and flapping. Dred leaned with one elbow upon the seat beside him.
“Ye’ll have to go up for’rd, mistress,” he said presently, in a hoarse
voice, “I’ve got to do summat—I’ve got to do summat to stop this here
place somehow. O Lord!” he groaned. She got up and went forward to the
bow, where she crouched down, hiding her face in her hands. “Reach me
that there shawl,” said Dred. “We’ve got to tear it up.”
Jack wrenched open the bundle, and with hands and teeth tore the shawl
into strips. Dred had stripped off his shirt. Jack looked at him. He
saw it, and he thrilled dreadfully and turned his eyes away. “Come,
come, lad,” said Dred, “this be no time for any such-like foolishness.
Well, give me that strip, I’ll do it for myself.”
The young lady still sat crouched down in the bow. It was all perfectly
silent as Jack busied himself about Dred. “Are you more comfortable?”
he said, at last.
“Yes,” said Dred. “M-m-m-m,” he groaned. “Let me lie down.” Jack had
helped him on with his coat again, and had buttoned it under his chin.
He had rolled up the shirt and thrown it overboard. “’Tis all right
now, mistress,” he said; “you can come back here again now.”
He supported Dred as the wounded man lay down upon the stern thwart,
then he covered him over with the overcoats. He did not leave him to
help the young lady as she came aft to sit down upon the bench opposite
to where Dred lay. Suddenly she burst out crying.
Dred lay with his eyes closed. His face was white and his forehead
covered with a dew of sweat. He opened his eyes for a moment and looked
at her, but said nothing, and closed them again. Jack, his breast
heaving and panting, sat at the tiller. As he did so he saw that there
were stains of blood upon it and upon the seat. Then he drew in the
sheets, and the yawl once more came up to its course.
The pirates must have landed from the sloop, for they had come out
across the land and down to the beach. They fired a few muskets-shots
after the boat, but the bullets fell short, and Jack held the yawl
steadily to her course, and soon they were dropping the hills of the
inlet far and farther away behind.
After a while Dred began every now and then to sigh recurrently, and
it was very dreadful to listen to him. All about them was the bright
sunlight and the swift salt wind driving the boat onward with its
tragic freight under the warm, mellow sky, so serenely calm and so
remotely peaceful. Jack, sitting there, heard, as from a distance, the
young lady’s convulsive sobbing. Suddenly Dred spoke hoarsely. “I want
another drink of water,” he said.
“Will you get the water for him, mistress?” said Jack. Then he knew
that he too was crying, and he wiped his eyes with the skirt of his
jacket.
She instantly arose and went forward to the barraca in the bows,
presently coming back with a brimming cup of water. Dred raised himself
upon his elbow and drank it off, and again they sailed onward for a
long time of silence.
Suddenly Dred spoke in a low, uncertain voice. “You’ve got to run
ashore, lad,” he said. “I can’t stand this any more; I’ve got to get
ashore.”
“Do you think I can get the boat through the breakers?” Jack said,
chokingly.
“Ye’ll have to,” said Dred, groaning as he spoke, “for I can’t bear it
here.” Then Jack drew in the sheets and brought the boat up with its
bow diagonally toward the distant beach. The sand-hills of the inlet
were lost in the distance, and all danger of pursuit was over. As the
yawl drew nearer to the beach, Jack could see that very little surf was
running. “You’ll have to bring her around with her bows to the sea,”
whispered Dred, opening his eyes; “and then take to the oars—and let
the surf drive her in to the beach. Try to keep her off—lad—keep her
bows steady.” He panted as he spoke.
Jack left the tiller and shipped the oars. They were now close to the
beach, and the ground-swell was sharpening to the breakers that burst
into foam a little further in. He brought the bows of the boat around
to the sea, and then backed water toward the shore. “Keep her off,”
panted Dred, “she’ll go in fast—fast enough of herself.”
Presently they were among the breakers; they were not very heavy, but
enough to make it needful to be careful. Suddenly, a coming breaker
shot the yawl toward the beach. As the water ebbed, the boat tilted
upon the sand. Jack dropped his oars and leaped out. The sweep of the
next wave struck against the yawl and tilted it violently the other
way. The barraca and the oars slid rattling. Dred groaned, and the
young lady grasped convulsively at the rail. “Pull her up!” exclaimed
Dred.
“I will,” said Jack, “but I can hardly manage her.” He held to the
bows, and when the next wave came he pulled the boat around up upon the
beach. The wash of the breaker ebbed, the sand sliding from under his
heels. Then came another wave, and with its wash he dragged the yawl
still further up the beach. Then he ran up with the bow-line and drove
the anchor into the sand. He came back, his shoes and stockings and
loose breeches soaked with the salt water. “You get out, mistress,” he
said, “then I’ll help Dred.” She obeyed him silently, going a little
distance up from the edge of the shore and there sitting crouched down
upon the sand. “Now, Dred,” said Jack. Dred groaned as he arose slowly
and laboriously. “Easy, easy, lad,” he whispered, as Jack slipped his
arm around him. Then he laid his arm over Jack’s shoulder and heavily
and painfully clambered out of the boat. He sat for a while upon the
rail, the wash of a breaker sweeping up around his feet and ankles.
“What a lucky thing ‘twas,” he said, looking down at the thin slide of
water, “that we had high tide to carry us through the inlet, else we’d
‘a’ been lost.” Then Jack burst out crying. There seemed something very
pitiful in Dred’s thinking about that now. After a while Dred steadied
himself and then arose slowly, leaning heavily upon Jack, who supported
him as he walked up to the little bank of sand that fronted upon the
beach. Here the wounded man made an effort as though to sit down.
“Can’t you go a little further?” said Jack.
“Not much,” he whispered.
“O Dred!” said Jack, “I’m afraid you’re worse, I’m afraid you’re
worse—” Dred did not reply. His hand touched Jack’s cheek, and it felt
cold and limp.
“What can I do?” said the young lady, rousing herself.
“You may fetch up the two overcoats from the boat,” Jack said, “and be
quick about it.”
He had seated Dred upon the sand, where he instantly sank down and lay
at length. Jack supported his head until the young lady came with the
two rough overcoats. He rolled one of them up into a pillow which he
slid beneath Dred’s head, and then he went down to the boat and brought
up the oars, and with them and the other overcoat, he and the young
lady arranged a shelter over the wounded man’s face.
“Bring me a drink of rum, lad; I feel sort of faint-like,” Dred
whispered, and Jack again ran off down to the boat, presently returning
with the bottle. He poured out some of the liquor into the cup, and
Dred drank it off. It seemed to revive him. “Come here, lad, there’s
summat—summat I want to say to ye.” Jack came close to him, and
the young lady also approached. “I want to speak to—Jack hisself,
mistress,—if you’ll leave us alone a bit,” said Dred; and then she
turned and walked away.
Jack watched her as she sat down upon the sand some distance away,
wiping her eyes with her handkerchief. The sun stood midway in the
heavens and it was very warm, and he stripped off his coat as he sat
down alongside of Dred. Dred reached out his hand. Jack hesitated for a
moment, then, seeing what he wanted, took it. Dred pressed Jack’s hand
strongly. “I believe I’ve got my—dose, this time—lad,” he whispered.
“Don’t say that, Dred,” said Jack; “I—” and then he broke down, his
body shaking convulsively.
“I don’t know,” said Dred, “but I kind o’ think I—won’t get over this.
But if I should die, I want to ax you, lad—don’t you never tell the
young mistress ‘twas I—shot her brother.”
“No, I won’t,” gasped Jack. “I won’t tell her, Dred,” and again Dred
pressed the hand he held.
He waited for a long, long while,—his breath every now and then
catching convulsively,—thinking Dred might have something more to say;
but the wounded man did not speak again, but lay there holding his
hand. “Is that all, Dred?” he said at last. “Have you nothing more on
your mind to say?”
Dred did not answer for a while. Then, as though collecting himself,
“No—that’s all,” he said; and then again, presently, “I’ve been a
bad man, I have. Well, I—can’t help that now—now—now,” and then he
lapsed away into silence. He loosened his hold upon Jack’s hand and let
his own fall limp.
Then Jack realized with a shock, how very much worse Dred was than he
had been. He had been growing ever weaker and weaker, but Jack only
fully realized it now. He sat watching; Dred seemed to be drowsing. “I
want another drink of rum,” he whispered presently. “Another drink o’
rum—another drink o’ rum—drink o’ rum—drink o’ rum,” and he fell to
repeating the words with lips that whispered more and more.
Jack arose instantly. The bottle and cup were at a little distance.
The cup had sand in it, and he wiped it out. The young lady, who was
sitting a little piece away, arose as she saw him coming. “Is he any
better now?” she asked.
Jack could not answer; he shook his head. He knew that Dred was going
to die. He was so blinded that he could hardly see to pour out the
liquor. But he did so and then brought it to Dred. “Here ’tis, Dred,”
he said, but there was no reply. “Here ’tis, Dred,” he said again, but
still there was no answer.
Jack thrilled dreadfully. He bent down and set the cup to the wounded
man’s lips, but Dred was unconscious of everything. Then he stood up
and tossed out the liquor upon the sand. “Mistress!” he called out in
a keen, startled voice—“mistress, come here quick! I do believe he’s
passing.”
She came over and stood looking down at Dred. She was crying violently.
Jack sat squatting beside him. He reached out and felt Dred’s hand,
but it was very cold and inert. The young lady crouched down upon the
other side, and so they sat for a long, long time. But there did not
seem to be any change. The afternoon slowly waned toward sundown, and
still they sat there. “You’d better go and rest a bit,” said Jack, at
last, to the young lady. “You’re worn out with it all. I’ll call you if
there’s any change.”
She shook her head; she would not go.
The sun sank lower and lower and at last set, but still there was no
change. The young lady moved restlessly now and then. “You’d better get
up and walk a bit,” said Jack, as the gray of twilight began to settle
upon them. “You’re cramped, sitting there so long.” Then she got up
and walked up and down at a little distance. Jack sat still. By and
by he leaned over Dred. Dred had ceased breathing. A sharp pang shot
through him. Was it over? Then suddenly Dred began again his convulsive
breathing, and Jack drew back once more. The young lady still walked up
and down, and the twilight settled more and more dim and obscure. There
was a slight movement, and again Jack leaned over and touched Dred.
He began breathing again, and again Jack sat down. Then there came a
longer pause than usual in the breathing. It is over, thought Jack. But
no; he breathed again, now fainter and shorter. He ceased. He breathed.
He ceased. There was a long, long pause, then there was a rustling
movement, and then silence. Was it over? Jack sat waiting, tremblingly
and breathlessly, but there was no further sound. Then he reached over
in the darkness and touched Dred’s face. He drew back his hand quickly
and sat for a moment stunned and inert. He knew in an instant what it
was. He arose.
The stars had begun to twinkle in the dim sky, but sky and sea and
earth were blurred and lost to his flooded eyes. He walked over toward
the young lady. She stopped as he approached. “How is he?” she said.
“He—he’s dead,” said Jack; and then he put up his arm across his face
and began crying.