BOUND TO THE WHEEL
Gerald Danvers was never able to realize how long he lay there.
Blissful moments of unconsciousness came with awful awakenings to the
reality of that painful binding. Every time he moved the cords seemed to
attain the heat of redness, and to burn into his flesh.
Thirst--that was the most awful feeling. He had not been there an hour
before he was assailed with it.
The handkerchief made his mouth water, and the linen seemed to act like
blotting paper, absorbing and drawing up every drop of moisture in his
body.
He could turn his head, and there, not a yard away, sparkling in the
sun, was water trickling down; the waterfall which was to swell in body
and force and whirl him to his death.
It was not long before he was praying for death--life seemed so full of
pain.
The acute agony of that immovable position, with the cords seeming to
cut into his flesh every time he attempted to move, became unendurable.
He could keep no count of the hours, but when at last the setting sun
turned things red, he felt that he had been there days and days.
Not that he noticed the color of the sun; the blood which had rushed to
his head made things all black one moment, all red the next.
Night fell; all was darkness--so black a darkness that in the shadow in
which he lay he could not see the faintest outline of the mill.
Presently a little speck of light appeared above him. Water was in his
eyes, tears forced there by the pain, blurring his sight.
The little light looked like a flashing diamond. He could not wipe the
water from his eyes, but when presently it fell away, and his vision was
clearer, he saw that what had appeared as a speck of light was a star in
the sky above him.
Then he realized that it was night. He gathered some idea of the time,
too.
He knew that the moon did not rise till nine o'clock, and it had not
risen yet. It was clear and cloudless, the canopy above him, and he knew
that ere long the moon would rise and lighten up his surroundings.
Then he lapsed into unconsciousness again.
From that state he was aroused by a noise--aroused to find that the moon
was up, and flooding half the mill wheel with light, and throwing the
other half in deep shadow.
His head and chest were in the former, and the rest of him in darkness.
The noise was slight, but his tense nerves caught it; it was on the
wheel, and presently he was conscious that some one was feeling his
legs, and then higher up his body, round his waist.
He guessed it was the mad woman come back, and he was not sorry. He
still heard the slight noise, and imagined it to be the woman creeping
along the paddle.
He closed his eyes.
Not that he feared death. In his conscious moments, for hours past, he
had been praying for release from his torturing position--praying for
death.
And he felt that it was coming at last. He closed his eyes because he
did not want to see in what shape it had arrived.
He guessed that it would be a noiseless weapon, perhaps a knife, and a
feeling of wonder stole over him, wonder of how it would feel as the
knife sheathed itself in his heart.
No feeling of fear, not a scrap; he would welcome it. It would end the
pain. And then he prayed.
He felt the movements about his legs, but his limbs were so numbed that
he could not very well tell what was being done.
And then he felt a weight on his chest, a moving weight. He thought that
his last moments had arrived--that his murderer was getting closer and
closer. Still he prayed.
His had not been a very religious upbringing. Indeed, there had been
times when he had scoffed at godly people, and the idea of entering a
church had never occurred to him since his childhood.
There had been nothing particularly vicious in his life, but the idea of
prayer had never entered his mind. He had, he had thought, too much to
do in thinking of this world to trouble himself about the next one. Time
enough for that when he was dying.
Quite a number of persons think that way. The heavenly bookkeepers are
troubled only with entries on the debit side during most men's healthy
times.
No grateful acknowledgment rises for that same health; it is only when
illness reaches the man on earth that he thinks of heaven.
The recording angel can usually gauge a man's health by a reference to
the credit side of his ledger account. The entries tell.
Now, with closed eyes, Gerald Danvers prayed. He thanked God for
bringing his torture to an end, and asked forgiveness for his previous
forgetfulness. He was earnest in his prayer, and he prayed on. And all
the time he felt the movement on his chest; but his life was spared.
Then he wondered why. He knew that his chest was in the moonlight, and
that if he opened his eyes he could see his murderer there.
And the suspense was as bad to bear as the previous torture. He would
open his eyes.
Danvers opened his eyes. Could he have given vent to a scream it would
have been one of mortal fear and agony.
His cry to God was not one of thankfulness now, but of fear, horror, and
fear of being eaten alive!
For on his chest, his legs, his whole body, there seemed to be swarming
hundreds and hundreds of huge rats!
Perhaps his prayer was answered, for once more he became oblivious of
his surroundings. And he remained unconscious for many hours, so much so
that, when next he opened his eyes, the sun was rising, and the whole
place was bright with the light of daybreak.
He cast his eyes to his chest, to his feet; thank God! not a sign of a
rat. Moreover, the feeling of numbness and pain had left him.
He began to wonder whether it had all been a fearful dream.
And then something happened which startled him. A fly alighted on his
face.
Involuntarily he started to brush it away with his hand. And the hand
brushed it away!
It was not till he had so used his hand that he realized that that
member was free. Then he could not understand.
He lay there quite still with the hand poised in the air--his own hand
free. He looked at his wrist, and there were the red marks where the
rope had been. He could not understand it.
Gently he tried to move his left hand--and succeeded. Lifted it till it
grasped the blade of the wheel to his left.
Still he lay quiet, unable to realize that his hands were free--and what
that meant.
But it did not take long for the full meaning to burst on him, and when
it did, he lost no time.
A moment after he was in a sitting position, and had wrenched the
handkerchief from his aching, parched mouth.
The sitting position pained him intensely for a few moments, after his
long recumbent attitude, and he rested for the pain to go off.
He heard a noise, and, looking down over the wheel, saw cattle on the
brink of the rivulet--cattle endeavoring to bury their noses in the cool
water.
The sight gave him fresh life; he must reach that water and drink, and
drink, and drink.
He essayed to move his legs--he could. He was quite free. Just cramped,
that was all.
What could it mean? How had his liberation been effected?
He looked around, and there was not a trace of the ropes which had bound
him.
Yet stay, what was that upon which he was sitting? He put his hands
beneath him, and withdrew a piece of rope--a piece of greasy rope.
He examined it carefully. It was a piece that had been entirely covered
by his body. He examined the ends, and the marks thereon told him all.
The rats which had caused him such horror had been his salvation.
Attracted by the fat sodden rope, they had gnawed it and gnawed it all
the while he was lying unconscious.
And now--thank God--he was free at last.