THE LOTTERY
Maseden's prolonged absence on the first occasion was readily accounted
for by what he had done. When he reached the end of the foremast--at the
junction of spars known to the sailor as the couplings--he found that
the topmast was, in fact, thrust tightly against the rock wall.
Thus far, his most sanguine calculations had been justified to the
letter.
It was impossible to determine how the other end of that precarious
bridge was secured. He saw at once, however, that a great strain was
being placed already on the stays which attached it, by chance and
loosely at first, but now with ever-increasing rigidity, to the lower
mast. He thought that a vigorous kick would ease the pressure by partly
freeing one of the wire ropes which had become entangled in the
splintered wood.
Of course, he was only choosing the lesser of two evils. If the spar
snapped a second time, the last hope of rescue was absolutely destroyed.
On the other hand, by reducing the thrust on the retaining spar, the
forecastle might slip.
He kicked, and the stay was released! To the best of his belief the
wreck did not move.
Fastening the seaward end of the topmast in a rough and ready fashion,
in such wise that it was held in position, yet allowed some play if
subjected to irresistible weight, he tested it with one hand. It
remained taut. Then, murmuring something which had the semblance of a
prayer, he committed himself to the crossing.
The wind carried his body out at an astonishing angle, but he held on.
Of course, he had not far to travel, because a steamer's topmast is of
no great length, but, if he lives to become a centenarian, Maseden will
never forget the extraordinary thrill of thankfulness and jubilation
which ran through every fibre when his right foot rested on a projecting
knob of rock.
A ghostly light coming from the white maelstrom beneath enabled him to
make sure that the crevice in which the spar had stuck extended some
distance into the face of the cliff. He scrambled ashore, and found that
a narrow ledge ran inward about the height of his breast. It was
practicable as far as a hand could reach; so, well knowing how precious
was every second, he commenced the return journey.
He simply did not allow himself to think. The slightest hesitation might
have been fatal. He could form no sort of estimate of his own nervous
strength. He knew that any man's willpower may carry him to a certain
point and then desert him. He realized that he was leaving a sort of
safety for a no mean chance of speedy death; but there is safety that is
dishonor, and death that is everlastingly honorable.
Without any semblance of hesitation, this gallant young American swung
forth to the desolation and chaos he had just quitted.
Nor did his spirit quail when he had deposited a helpless woman on the
ledge. But his hands fumbled in untying the rope which had bound her to
him, and he became conscious of an affrighting lassitude which brought
with it a grimmer menace than the howling furies of the reef.
He tried to persuade himself that the poncho strapped to his back had
made the burden of another body almost unbearable. Hurriedly unfastening
it, he said to his collapsed companion--or, rather shouted, because the
din created by the breakers was almost stupefying:
"Are you able to hold this?"
Probably she replied, but her utterance was swept away by the wind ere
the words had crossed her lips. She took the folded cloak in her hands,
and the action sufficed.
Then Maseden left her. During this second crossing to the forecastle he
knew beyond range of doubt that he had reached the limit of physical
endurance. He had eaten nothing during many hours, he had been knocked
insensible and had lost a good deal of blood. It was not in human nature
that any man, howsoever fit and active he might be, could survive these
heavy drains on his energies and yet put forth the sustained effort now
called for.
It tasked his grit to the uttermost to go on this time. He knew in his
heart that a third double passage was not to be thought of.
So, during the brief respite while a wholly insensible woman was being
tied to him, he contrived to shout to the nearest man on the spar:
"I'm all in! You fellows must follow as best you can. It's not so bad
for a man crossing alone. Turn your back to the wind."
He had adopted that method while carrying the girl already on the rock,
and the force of the gale had seemed to exert less drag on his arms.
It needed a real life-and-death struggle to gain the ledge this time.
During a minute or longer he could not even endeavor to undo the rope.
He merely lurched forward on to the tiny platform and sank in a heap
with the inert body of a girl bound to his back. Then he felt dizzily
that someone was gaining a foothold on the rock behind. With a mighty
effort he bundled his own body and the girl's out of the way.
He fancied he heard a shout and a scream, but was beyond knowing or
caring what had happened. Had he slipped down into the raging vortex
beneath and been whirled to almost instant death he would have felt a
sense of relief that the long drawn-out and unequal fight was ended.
He revived under the stress of a new horror. He found himself gazing
blankly into a dim obscurity in which there was neither broken topmast
nor unheaved forecastle. The tons of metal piled on a slippery rock had
vanished completely, and the hapless few who had survived the slow agony
of those hours of waiting in the chart-room were hurled to death at the
very moment when fate tantalized them with the prospect of rescue!
Someone bawled huskily in his ear:
"They've gone! My God! What rotten luck! I could almost have touched the
man crossing behind me!... Can we get these girls out of this?... Which
way did you come?"
It was the young American passenger, Sturgess. He imagined that the man
who had brought hope and life to the doomed survivors of the _Southern
Cross_ had reached the vessel from the land and could now pilot the
three who alone were saved to some place where food and repose would be
attainable.
"I'm tied to someone," Maseden contrived to say. "Try and unfasten the
rope, and shove me up on to the ledge.... I'm all in, but I'll soon be
better.... Mind you hold fast yourself!"
Sturgess, though only a degree less exhausted, did as he was asked.
Sprawling weakly over the prostrate body of the second of the two girls,
Maseden felt in the darkness for the other one.
He discovered that she had collapsed sideways in a faint, but, by some
marvel, the folded cloak had not rolled down the side of the precipice.
His hands were feeble and numb, but he contrived to unfasten the strap.
The bottle of brandy was uninjured, and, so unnerved was he by knowing
that the spirit probably meant all the difference between life and death
for four people--at any rate till dawn--that he actually dropped it.
Again Providence intervened. It fell on the thick poncho, and did not
break.
Filled with savage resolve to conquer this weakness, he grasped the
bottle more firmly, drew the cork with his teeth, and, resisting the
impulse to swallow the contents in great gulps, sipped some of the
liquor slowly.
He did not offer any to the others at that moment. His mind was clearing
now, and he saw that the one vital thing needed was that he should
recover control of his mental and bodily powers. A few minutes more or
less of collapse mattered not so much to his companions as that he
should lead or carry them to a less exposed position. Then the brandy
would be really effective. At present, to hand it around in the
darkness, while wind and spindrift were whipping them with scorpions,
was merely courting the disaster which he himself had so narrowly
averted.
The other man had gained the ledge. He could not see Maseden, because
each inch of space increased an obscurity already akin to that of a
tomb, but he leaned forward and caught his arm.
"Say!" he yelled. "Isn't there some way out? We'll die quick if we stop
here!"
"You must wait a little," said Maseden. "I, like yourself, was on board
the ship. I'm going to stand up now and prospect a bit by feeling my
way. Take care that neither of the women falls off. They _are_ women,
aren't they?"
"Yes. D'ye think we'd send men ashore first?"
"I was not certain that both girls were still living."
What a time and place for a discussion on the etiquette of life-saving
at sea! It was typical of their race and type.
Placing the bottle in a breast pocket Maseden rose cautiously to his
feet. Gripping the rock with his hands, he stepped over the unconscious
form of the first girl he brought ashore. Evidently she had collapsed
when the forecastle was swept away before her eyes.
The ledge led straight into the crevice he had entered during daylight,
and though very uneven, trended generally upward. He had to depend, of
course, wholly on the sense of touch, since the darkness here was that
of a deep mine.
Some thirty feet inland he was halted abruptly. The ledge seemed to
widen out and then end against an overhanging rock. But the place was
dry, and the wind hardly penetrated, while the deafening thunder of the
reef had died down to a harsh growl. By comparison with the sea face
this secluded nook was a niche in Paradise. At any rate, here it was
possible to await daylight without necessarily dying from exposure.
He hurried back, having memorized each inequality of floor and wall on
the journey of exploration.
"Are you able to carry one of those girls?" he shouted to Sturgess when
he was once more in the midst of the external uproar.
"How far?"
"Not more than fifteen short strides. Take her in your left arm, and
feel the rock face on the right. Keep close in. I'm not certain about
the width of this ledge. It rises a little, but is fairly straight."
"Go right ahead!"
Soon the two men were in the haven of shelter at the further end. Each
was clasping an inanimate woman, but happily, speech no longer demanded
a straining of vocal chords.
"Is this the limit of the accommodation?" inquired Sturgess, obeying his
guide's restraining hand.
"Yes."
"Do we sit right down and hope that the sun will rise sometime?"
"Not yet.... Here! Grope this way. I am giving you a bottle of brandy.
Drink some, not much, because we must hoard it. Then we'll try and get a
few drops between these girls' teeth. After that we must rub their hands
and ankles till the friction hurts. It may revive them. I don't know. It
is the only plan I can think of. When they recover, if ever, we'll seat
them side by side with their backs to the rock, you and I will squeeze
close, one on each side, and I have a poncho which will cover the lot.
By that means we may obtain some degree of warmth in common."
"Old man, you said a page full!"
There was silence for a few seconds. Then Sturgess said gratefully:
"Gee! That's some tonic! Now, how about those girls?"
"Give me the bottle. This lady was conscious when I brought her ashore.
She may recover quickly."
The almost tangible blackness in which the little group of people was
wrapped greatly enhanced the difficulties attending restorative
measures. Maseden discovered that the abundant hair of the girl he was
hugging so closely to his heart had become loose, and was in a wet
tangle about her throat and mouth.
The clinging strands were troublesome, but, by prizing her lips open
between a finger and thumb, he contrived to make her swallow a few drops
of the brandy. In fact, while he was yet doubting the efficacy of the
dose, some slight convulsive movements showed that consciousness was
returning.
He laid her carefully down, and told the American to do likewise with
the sister. Sturgess seemed to be curiously slow to obey, and Maseden
admonished him sharply, thinking the other might be dazed.
"Now, rub hard!" he said. "First her left hand--then her left ankle."
Both set to work with a will. Maseden could not understand why the
unhappy girl should be nearly naked. The stockings had fallen about her
shoes. For the rest, her chief garment was an oilskin coat.
He, be it remembered, had been spared the hard usage of the waves, and
his clothing was better adapted to existing conditions. He was shocked
to find how cold she was, how icy and lifeless her flesh. He urged
Sturgess not to spare her.
Their rough and ready massage soon proved effective. The girl gasped
something incoherent, and strove to withdraw her limbs from a distinctly
strenuous handling.
"_She's_ nearly all right, now," announced Maseden briskly. "Sharp's the
word with the other one."
The second patient offered a longer task. By the time she gave any sign
of life her sister was frantically asking what had become of her, and
was only quieted by Maseden saying sternly:
"You will help most by not bothering us. We are doing our best for your
sister. She is here, and may recover. That is all I can tell you."
"We? Who are we?" came the broken cry.
"Mr. Sturgess, yourself, your sister and I. My name is Maseden."
He caught a strangled gasp of astonishment, but Sturgess broke in
breathlessly, for the exertion was warming him:
"Great Scott! You've got my name pat, Mr. Maseden. D'ye mean--to
tell--me--you were--on board--that poor old ship?"
"Rub! And don't talk!... She moved a little then."
His judgment was well founded. Within a few minutes he heard the second
girl address her sister as Nina.
So this one was Madge, his wife! He had literally brought her back from
the very gates of death. He could not even see her. What a curious
coincidence that when she saved his life, and he saved hers, she was
equally hidden from him; then by a veil, now by the pall of the darkest
night he had ever experienced!
The girls began exchanging broken confidences. Madge, who had fainted
while being towed across the fearsome chasm between bridge and
forecastle, did not know of the loss of the captain and chief and second
officers, with a passenger, until told by Nina. She wept bitterly, and
Maseden could not help noticing that Sturgess tried to console her in a
very lover-like manner.
He actually smiled at the tragic humor of it all, especially when Nina
seemed to sense his thought, and valiantly interfered by bidding Madge
not to add to their misery by useless grief. He refrained purposely from
giving them any more brandy until some time had elapsed. Now that their
faculties were restored, he knew, from his own experiences, that their
tongues and palates were on fire with the salt-laden atmosphere they had
perforce inhaled during so many hours.
But each minute of quiet in this sheltered nook, and in breathable air,
would do much to alleviate their suffering, and he trusted to the brandy
to put them to sleep.
In effect, that was what actually happened. When each of the four had
swallowed a small quantity of the spirit Maseden and Sturgess nestled in
beside the two girls and tucked the poncho over knees and feet. The
bodies of the men served as excellent shields. In the physical and
mental reaction which set in with the consciousness of assured
safety--because that was what both girls thought, and neither man cared
to weaken their faith--they were sound asleep within half an hour of the
time they left the wreck.
Sturgess, too, was worn out, and slept fitfully, but it was long before
Maseden's overtaxed nerves would yield. He could not help speculating as
to what wretched hap the coming day might bring. There was a gnawing
dread in his mind that they might be lodged in a fissure of an
unscalable cliff. If that were so, what a fearsome prospect lay before
them! The mere notion was unendurable, and he resolutely refused to
dwell on it.
Then he mused on the queer chance which, even in this small company,
divorced him from his wife. He had rescued Nina first. By the accident
of situation he was nearest the rock which closed the ledge, and she
next. It was her body, not his wife's, to which he was close pressed,
and in which his more vigorous frame had already induced a certain
comfortable warmth.
Her head had fallen on his shoulder. An unconscious movement revealed
that some roughness in the rock wall was hurtful, so he put his left arm
around her neck and pillowed her gently.
Try as he might, he found himself still brooding on the chances of the
coming day. Fortune favoring, they might find a way to the summit of the
cliff. Would they be much better off? Water they would surely
obtain--but what of food?
Somehow, in such woful plight, a man's mind turns instinctively to a
pipe. He actually had a cherished briar between his teeth and a tobacco
pouch in his hand, when his heart sank at the remembrance that he had
struck the last match in the only box of matches in his pocket after
breakfast that morning. He recollected tossing the empty box into the
sea. Subsequently, in lighting a cigar, he had borrowed a match.
Searching his pockets without disturbing the exhausted girl by his side,
he made sure of the unhappy truth. He had no match. Even if they reached
the interior of the island they could not possibly start a fire.
He knew at once that Sturgess, who had been soaked in salt water for
many hours, was in a worse predicament than himself, because his own
clothing was dry inside, whereas the other was wet to the skin, and any
matches he might have carried must be in a pulp.
Tucked away in a money belt, Maseden carried ten thousand dollars in
American bills, yet one small box of matches would be of far greater
practical value in that hour than all the money. Slight wonder, then, if
his stout heart failed him at last and the darkness closed in on his
soul as on his eyes.
The sleeping girl, conscious only of warmth and protection, snuggled her
head a little nearer.
"Mother, darling," she murmured, "we had to do it! We had no choice. It
was for your dear sake!"
That was all--some troubled confidence of a dream--but it sufficed to
set Maseden musing on the strange vortex into which fate had sucked him
from the peace and seclusion of Los Andes ranch.
His mind wandered. He saw again the magnificent groves of mahogany trees
and coyal palms, with their golden flowers fully three feet in height,
and the _chicka_ sap oozing from the bark. He sauntered through the
well-cultivated plantations of bananas, yams, arrow-root, guavas, and
all the fruit and cereals which that favored region of Central America
produces in such abundance that men grow lazy and are content to plot
and thieve rather than toil. He particularly recalled a number of
"chocolate" trees, the marvelous growth which yields a more delicately
flavored beverage than the cocoa-tree.
The original owner of the ranch prided himself on these
trees--botanically, the _Herrania purpurea_--because they were not
indigenous to San Juan, but had been brought from Guatemala. Los Andes
ranch was indeed a veritable Garden of Eden.
While roaming through it in spirit Maseden dropped off to sleep.
And that was a kindly act on the part of a Providence which marks even
the fall of a sparrow from a house-top. A full day lay before this man
and those others committed to his care. Even a couple of hours' fitful
repose served as a splendid restorative. Without some such respite he
could never have faced and carried through the almost Sisyphean task
which awaited him at daylight.
He awoke with a shiver. He was chilled to the bone. Not knowing what he
was doing, he had drawn the poncho closely over Nina Gray, leaving his
own limbs almost uncovered. Startled lest the others might be stiff in
death, since his clothes were dry, while theirs, such as they possessed,
were wet, he touched the girl's cheek. It was quite warm and soft.
The oilskins she and her sister wore and the huddling together of the
four under the heavy poncho had generated a moist heat which probably
helped to preserve the two delicate women from some type of deadly
pneumonia.
At first it did not strike Maseden as strange that he should be able to
see her face. As the initial feeling of panic passed, and he glanced
around, he understood what had happened. The sky was clear, and the
moon, late risen, was spreading a mild radiance over rocks and sea.
By raising himself a little, so as not to disturb the sleeper still
trustfully tucked under his arm, he peered sidewise down on the reef.
The tide was high, and great rollers were smashing over the barrier
which had broken the _Southern Cross_.
So far as he could tell, not a vestige of the ship remained. Bridge and
chart-house had vanished. He fancied that some part of the framework
accounted for a particularly vexed boiling of the surges on a spot where
the engines and stoke-hold had lodged. But that was only guesswork.
The morning tide had done its work with thoroughness. The _Southern
Cross_ had become a memory.
Then he surveyed the ledge and the cleft. Apparently, at this point, he
was some twenty feet above high-water mark. To the left was the sea. To
the right, the rock overhung the ledge in such wise that the place was
almost a cave. This fact, combined with the elevation of the opposite
wall, explained the shelter the castaways had been vouchsafed from the
bitter gale now blowing itself out. But it was affrighting to realize
that the very physical feature which provided a refuge might also immure
them in a living tomb.
He shuddered, and moved involuntarily, and the girl awoke with a start.
She lifted her head, and gazed at him with uncomprehending eyes.
"Where am I?" she said, rather in wonderment than alarm.
"Somewhere on the coast of Chile," he said.
She extricated a hand from the folds of the poncho and swept the errant
hair from her face. Turning partly, she looked at her sister and
Sturgess.
"I remember now," she said slowly. Then she discovered that Maseden's
arm was supporting her shoulders.
"Have you held me like that all night?" she inquired.
"'All night' is a figure of speech. It is not yet daybreak. This is
moonlight."
"The moon! Does the moon still shine? But your arm must be weary."
Maseden was just beginning to realize that he owned a left arm.
Circulation was being restored, and he knew it.
"Now that you mention it," he said quietly, "I believe it is."
She spoke again, but he was in such agony that he broke out in a
perspiration, a most fortunate circumstance, since he was perished with
cold. The spasm did not last long, however, and he found his voice
again.
"Are you Miss Nina Gray?" he asked, and, in the same breath, was
conscious of the absurd formality of the question in the conditions.
She did not answer.
"We may as well become acquainted," he went on, smiling at the queer
turn their first words had taken.
"Now I remember everything," she said, burying her face in her hands.
"I can't have you crying," he muttered with a certain roughness. "Tears
won't help. We're in a pretty bad fix, and must meet developments
calmly."
"I'm not crying," she said, dropping her hands, and looking at him as
though to offer proof.
"Then you can at least tell me your name, though I'm almost sure that
you are Nina. Even here, your sister, who is also my wife, keeps away
from me."
"That is unjust. You saved both of us, but I kept my senses, and she did
not. You asked me if I was Nina Gray. I am not. My name is Nina Forbes."
Maseden was stung into a revolt as fantastic as it was sudden.
"Good Lord!" he cried. "Are you married?"
"Please let me explain. Mr. Gray was not my father, but my stepfather.
My mother married again. I--wanted to tell you. But does it really
matter? Why are we discussing such trivial things? Are we four the only
survivors of the wreck?"
"I suppose so."
"Mr. Gray died--while we were in the chart-room. He was an invalid--a
neurotic. He could not withstand hardship of any sort. But the captain
and chief officer were behind me on that mast.... Ah! I had forgotten
that. I fainted, didn't I?"
"Yes."
Madge stirred uneasily. Their voices had aroused her.
"Don't be unkind to Madge," said the girl hurriedly. "Neither of us
could help what happened in San Juan. We thought we were acting for the
best. Our lives are still in jeopardy, I imagine. Won't you be good and
forget that unfortunate marriage?"
"I won't talk of it, if that is what you mean. But I can hardly regard
it as unfortunate. It undoubtedly saved my life."
Madge awoke with a cry.
"Nina!" she screamed. "Oh, Nina, is that you? Are we really alive?"