LOST
That night, for the first time in their residence on the island, the
girls were awakened by a patter of rain. Only once before had rain
fallen, and that was during the tornado. Now the sound of it upon the
thatch of the hut was very slight, but the girls slept so lightly that
a whisper was almost enough to disturb them.
"I hope we are not in for another smash up," said Elizabeth, finding
that her sisters were both awake.
"There's no wind at present," returned Mary. "Rain alone won't hurt
us. I expect it's the rainy season beginning, and we shall have weeks
of it."
"How disgusting!" exclaimed Tommy. "I always hated having to stay
indoors, and it will be worse than ever here, with no cosy fire and
nice story-book. What's the time, Bess?"
She leant over towards Elizabeth, who lay next to her, and showed a
light with her match-lighter. Elizabeth looked at her watch, which she
never forgot to wind.
"It's about four o'clock," she said.
"Time for another snooze before daylight," said Tommy, snuggling down
again into her wraps. In a minute or two she was fast asleep.
The other girls remained wide awake, and talked quietly together.
"I wish we knew our whereabouts better," said Elizabeth. "If we only
knew what those islands are that we have seen in the distance, we might
perhaps row to one of them and find friends."
"Yes; of course there are missionaries," said Mary. "Don't you
remember Uncle Ben told us of a friend of his who was returning to his
station? What was his name, Bess?"
"I forget. We can't venture across the sea, can we?"
"Oh, no! There are thousands of islands, and I believe some have never
been visited by white people at all. We might land among cannibals!"
"We are certainly better off here. I can't believe there are any
people on this island, in spite of Tommy, or why haven't we seen
something of them? We'll go to the ridge after breakfast, as we said,
and settle the matter once for all."
"Supposing there _are_ people?" said Mary.
"As I said before, I think we ought to try and make friends with them,
and if they seem inclined to be unfriendly, perhaps we could make them
afraid of us. Tommy's match-lighter would startle them, wouldn't it?"
"It might, but I don't like to think of having to rely on that sort of
thing for our safety. They would soon find out our real weakness, and
then---- Oh! I do hope we shall not see anybody. We should be so
much more uncomfortable."
"Tommy's birthday is somewhere about now. We can't be quite sure of
the date, because we didn't begin to cut notches at once; but we should
be right within a day or two. The present she would like best would be
some oranges from beyond the ridge, and certain news that the island is
uninhabited."
"How strange it seems to hope that there are no human beings near us!
Do you know, Bess, I think the people of these islands must be very
melancholy."
"Why should you think that? I have always supposed them to be a happy,
light-hearted folk, with not a care in the world."
"But they have nothing to do. Their food grows for them without work,
and they don't need many clothes. They've no books to read, no
amusements----"
"How do you know that?"
"Well, what amusements can they have? Isn't it only civilized people
who play games?"
"I don't know. I seem to remember that even savages gamble, if that is
amusement; it wouldn't be to me if I lost."
"Then you're no sport, Bess," said Tommy, who had awakened and caught
the last few words. "It's the excitement they like, whether they win
or lose. I should be a dreadful gambler, I know, if I had the chance."
"Then I hope you will never have it, dear," said Elizabeth. "It is an
unhealthy excitement, I am sure. We were talking about your birthday,
Tommy. It might be yesterday, to-day, or to-morrow, but you are
fourteen. We'll wish you many happy returns now."
"Oh, I wish you hadn't reminded me," cried Tommy. "Think of being
fifteen and sixteen, and twenty, and getting old on this island! I
don't want to grow old at all, and it would be dreadful here. I'd be a
scullery maid, or a beggar girl--anything in England, rather than stay
here. Shall we ever get away?"
And Tommy nestled to Elizabeth's side, and as she lay encompassed by
her elder sister's arms she prayed with all her heart that God would
send help to them soon.
When dawn broke and they got up, it was a dreary world upon which they
looked. Sea and earth were covered with a clinging mist. A drizzle
was falling. Everything was sodden and forlorn. The fire was out, and
there were no dry sticks for re-lighting it. They had to content
themselves with a breakfast of cocoanuts, and then they sat inside the
hut, too much depressed in spirit to go out, or do anything but watch
the rain.
Presently the drizzle became a downpour, which, went on for an hour or
two, then suddenly ceased, the sun bursting through the leaden sky.
They took advantage of this to gather a quantity of twigs, which they
carried into the hut to dry there. Elizabeth had just suggested that
Mary and she should start on their expedition to the ridge, when a
sharp shower drove them again to shelter. So it went on all day--heavy
showers that lasted for a few minutes alternating with brief, bright
intervals.
There was no doubt that the rainy season had begun. The girls were
practically confined to the hut for many days in succession, only
sallying forth to catch fish, which they cooked at a new stove built
nearer the hut. The showers were sometimes light, sometimes very
heavy, and at last the rain began to drip through the thatched roof,
and the girls had to sit in their macintoshes. Though the sun appeared
every now and then, it did not shine long enough to dry the ground
before another downpour soaked it. They all became very low-spirited,
and could not find any occupation to pass away the time, for even
weaving was impossible with the sodden grass.
Their troubles came to a climax one day when Mary complained of a
racking headache. Feeling her hot brow, Elizabeth feared she had taken
a fever, no doubt owing to the exhalation from the damp earth working
on a lowered system. She and Tommy felt much concern, which became
real alarm when they found Mary rapidly becoming worse. She could not
eat, and lay on her mat bed covered with the macintoshes and wraps of
the other girls, her cheeks flushed, her eyes bright and glassy.
Towards evening, when Elizabeth had left the hut to fetch water for the
night, and Tommy sat by the invalid, she was startled to hear Mary
talking in a very strange way.
"No milk to-day--there's something wrong with Dapple--Jane, Uncle Ben's
coming to-morrow. Don't forget the----" Then her voice died away into
an indistinguishable muttering. Presently Tommy caught more phrases:
"Oh, no, no! They'll eat us: don't let Tommy go. Bess! Bess! they're
coming after me!--Dan will carry the luggage, Uncle!"
So she raved on, in her delirium babbling about the farm, the ship, her
friends, a word every now and again showing how much the fear of
cannibals had occupied the background of her mind. Tommy was
terrified. She had never seen any one delirious except her father just
before he died, and she was smitten with an agonizing fear that Mary
would not recover.
"Oh, Bess, she's out of her mind!" she cried piteously, as Elizabeth
returned. "What shall we do?"
Elizabeth went quickly to the bed, dipped a handkerchief in the water
she had brought, and laid it on Mary's fevered head.
"We must sit up with her to-night," she said. "Don't give way, Tommy
dear. She will soon be better. The fever came on so suddenly that I
am sure it is one of those sharp attacks that don't last long. But it
will leave her very weak, and we must be very careful of her. I do so
wish we had some oranges; the juice is so cooling."
But it was too late to think of looking for oranges, and they had to be
satisfied with water and cocoanut milk, which they gave Mary in sips.
All night long they remained at her side, watching her with distress as
her teeth chattered as if with cold, and then next moment she tossed
about on her little mat bed, and flung the macintoshes off as if she
could not bear the heat. Elizabeth tried to induce Tommy to lie down
for a little, but the young girl refused, saying that she could not
rest until she knew that Mary was better.
"I will get some oranges to-morrow," said Elizabeth. "I am sure they
will do her good."
Towards morning Mary dropped off to sleep, and then Tommy was persuaded
to lie down. The sun had risen when she awoke to find Elizabeth still
watching over her sleeping sister.
"I'll just run down to the stream and bathe my face," said Elizabeth.
"She is still asleep. Give her a little water if she wakes; I shan't
be long. Luckily, it's a fine morning."
She returned in a few minutes.
"Now you run down and wash, Tommy," she said; "it'll freshen you. I've
put in some fish to bake for breakfast."
Tommy rose and left the hut. During Elizabeth's absence she had strung
herself up to a great resolution. Mary must have oranges, but the one
to fetch them should not be Elizabeth. She was so calm and steady and
capable that she would do far better to stay and look after Mary. "I
can be best spared," thought Tommy, "but I know Bess won't let me go if
I propose it. I shall just do it without telling her. It won't take
long to scamper to the orange grove and back again."
She had not forgotten her former fright; but she told herself that
perhaps she might get to the oranges without being observed, and she
was ready to do anything for Mary, of whom she was very fond, though
they sparred sometimes. So, after bathing her face in the stream, she
went to the stove and scratched on the sand in front of it with her
knife the words, "Gone to the orange grove." Then, without waiting,
for fear her courage failed, she ran swiftly along the bank of the
stream, munching a piece of cocoanut as she went.
In the hut Mary had awakened perfectly sensible, and wondering why she
felt so weak. Elizabeth bathed her face and hands, smoothed her hair,
and having tried to make her a little more comfortable, gave her a
drink of cocoanut milk.
"What's the matter with me, Bess?" she asked.
"You've had a touch of fever. You'll soon be all right again. I'm
going to get you some oranges presently. You will enjoy them."
"Yes, I shall. Have I been ill long? I feel as weak as anything."
"Only one night, dear. We shall have to feed you up. You ought to
have beef tea or chicken broth, of course; but we shall have to do the
best we can. I think we must try to snare a bird of some sort."
"Where's Tommy?"
"Just run down to wash. I dare say she'll bring back the fish with
her. I put some to bake. You could eat a little, couldn't you?"
"I'll try, but I don't feel much like eating. I want to go to sleep
again."
And, indeed, in a few minutes she was sleeping. "The very best thing
she could do," said Elizabeth to herself.
A quarter of an hour passed and Tommy had not returned. "I wonder why
she is lagging," thought Elizabeth. She went to the entrance of the
hut and looked down towards the shore. The trees hid the stove from
her, and she did not call out for fear of waking Mary. She went back
into the hut and sat down; but after five minutes, when there was still
no Tommy, her vague wonder grew into a slight feeling of alarm. Seeing
that Mary was still asleep, she went out again, and ran swiftly down
towards the stove, glancing to the left with a half expectation of
discovering Tommy fishing on the rocks. But Tommy was not in sight,
and Elizabeth soon learnt why, as her eye caught the scribble on the
sand.
"How plucky!" she thought. "But the child will be terrified before she
gets there; I had better fetch her back."
But with a moment's reflection she saw that she could not expect to
catch Tommy before she reached the top of the ridge. If there was any
danger Tommy would have run into it by the time she could be overtaken.
Mary was so weak that Elizabeth did not care to leave her for long; but
she ran some distance up the stream, as far as the broad, bare avenue
made by the storm, and then was on the point of giving a shrill call
when she checked herself. The sound might cause the very harm she
wished to avoid. Perturbed, and somewhat vexed as well, she hastened
back, feeling that at present Mary must be her chief care. She
reflected that, after all, though they had been now more than two
months on the island, they had never met any other person, and had no
real reason to think it was inhabited. Surely if the object Tommy had
seen was actually a human being, they would by this time have had other
evidence of his existence. Thus reassuring herself, she hurried back,
took out of the oven the fish that was already over-baked, and regained
the hut. To her great relief Mary was still fast asleep. Elizabeth
dreaded the effect upon her if she suspected that anything had happened
to Tommy.
As she ate her breakfast, reserving some of the fish for Tommy, she
felt decidedly annoyed at the young girl's escapade. Tommy ought to
have mentioned what she intended, thought Elizabeth. But Tommy had
been from her earliest years impulsive and heedless, so that her
present disobedience--for so Elizabeth had come to regard it,
forgetting that no instructions had been given--was quite apiece with
former instances. Then Elizabeth made amends to Tommy in her heart.
"She has been very good all this time," she thought. "I do wish she
would come back."
But the hours dragged by, and still Tommy had not appeared. Mary
awoke, and looking round the hut, inquired again for Tommy.
"She has run up to get some oranges," said Elizabeth, as calmly as she
could, though she felt very troubled.
"Tommy has?" said Mary, in surprise. "Gone alone to where she saw the
face? Oh, you shouldn't have let her, Bess."
"I wouldn't have, only I did not know. She scrawled on the sand to say
that she had gone. I suppose she thought I would make a better nurse
than she."
"She's a dear, brave girl," said Mary, "and I shall like the oranges
all the better."
Elizabeth got her to eat a little fish, cold as it now was, and
presently she dropped off to sleep again. It was past dinner-time; the
sun was very hot, and Elizabeth, thoroughly alarmed at Tommy's
protracted absence, wondered if, after her trying night, she had been
overcome by the heat, and was, perhaps, lying helpless somewhere. She
felt that she must try to find her; so, slipping out of the hut, she
ran as fast as her feet would carry her up through the woods, never
pausing until she had crossed the ridge and come to the orange grove.
She had looked about her as she ran, and, now regardless of
consequences, had called Tommy several times, but she saw neither her
nor any living person, and there was no answer to her calls.
At the grove there were oranges and bananas scattered here and there on
the ground, so that Tommy's absence could not be due to any difficulty
in obtaining what she came for. And then Elizabeth's heart stood still
as she noticed at one spot, a strange collection of objects. There
were four or five oranges on the ground close together, and with them
Tommy's knife, the little stick she had fed her parrot with, a piece of
hair-ribbon, and a wedge of cocoanut. What had happened? These
objects were obviously the contents of Tommy's pocket; why had she
placed them there, and where was she? Had she been startled? Had some
natives come stealthily upon her, and seized her? Would they not at
least have taken the knife at the same time?
Elizabeth felt a shiver of fear, along with utter bewilderment. But
she crushed down her uneasy imaginings and, placing Tommy's belongings
in her pocket, began to search among the trees, shouting from time to
time, no matter who might hear her. Suddenly her eye was caught by the
flutter of a small coloured object at some distance among the bushes.
With a thrill of hope she hastened towards it, but long before she
reached it, she realized that her hope was vain; the object was only a
bit of tattered cloth attached to one of the line of poles they had
seen on their former visit. Retracing her steps to the orange grove,
she went in and out among the trees, shouting Tommy's name again and
again. Her distress at Tommy's disappearance was coupled with anxiety
about Mary. It was now a considerable time since she had left the hut,
and she felt that, with Mary so weak and helpless, she could not stay
to search any longer. Thrusting a few oranges into her pocket for the
invalid, she hastened back, conscious that she herself was weak and
shaky. The long, anxious search in the fierce sunlight, following a
sleepless night, had been almost too much for her strength.
She tried to enter the hut unconcernedly, with a dim hope that Tommy
might have returned before her. Mary was awake.
"Why did you leave me?" she said, in the querulous tone of an invalid,
her eyes filling with tears. "I've called and called for you and
Tommy, but you wouldn't come. I am so miserable."
"Here are some oranges, dear," said Elizabeth gently. "I will squeeze
the juice into a cup for you. It will do you good."
"Thank you so much. I'm a wretched bad patient, Bess dear, but I got
it into my silly head that you had deserted me. Ridiculous, wasn't it?
This is delicious. It was kind of Tommy to get them for me. Where is
she?"
Elizabeth was in a quandary. Mary seemed a little better; her
querulousness was a good sign; but it would not further her recovery to
tell her that Tommy was missing. On the other hand, Elizabeth herself
was so much distressed that she would have liked to pour out her
troubles to a sympathetic ear. But she thought it best to keep the bad
news to herself for the present, and said---
"She must have quite recovered her courage, and gone roaming. You are
getting on, aren't you, dear?"
"Yes, only rather weak still. But these oranges are delicious. I feel
much refreshed. Don't sit up with me to-night, Bess; I am sure I shall
be all right, and you mustn't wear yourself out. Put some oranges near
me, so that I can get one in the night without disturbing you."
She soon fell asleep again, and did not awaken until it was quite dark.
She was careful not to disturb her sister, and so did not become aware
until the morning that Tommy had not returned. Elizabeth had spent a
sleepless night, and felt quite worn out when day broke. Mary was
quick to notice her distress, of which she knew she could not be the
cause, since she was so much better.
"You are hiding something, Bess. Tell me; has something happened to
Tommy?"
Elizabeth, on the verge of a breakdown, was glad to pour out the whole
story.
"Oh, why didn't you tell me before!" cried Mary. "You must go at once
and look for her again. There is really nothing the matter with me
now. Do, please, go, Bess. It is awful to think of what may have
happened."
Hastily getting Mary a little food, Elizabeth set out for the orange
grove, and searched it and the neighbourhood through and through,
calling Tommy's name until she was hoarse. Once in response to her
shouts, she thought she heard a faint cry, and hurried in the direction
from which she supposed it to have come.
At that moment she felt that she would have welcomed the appearance of
a native; the sight of any human face would have been a comfort. But
her search was still fruitless; neither Tommy nor any one else
appeared; and Elizabeth thought she must have been mistaken. The birds
were trilling and chattering in the woods, and among so many sounds it
was easy to deceive oneself.
At length, when she had been several hours absent, she felt that she
must return in case Mary should be wondering whether she too had
disappeared. She could hardly drag herself home. At the entrance of
the hut she found Mary looking anxiously towards the ridge.
"You shouldn't have got up," she said. "Oh, Mary, I can't find her,
and I am so tired."
For a moment it looked as if she would break down utterly, but she
controlled herself, and in response to Mary's entreaty, lay down to
rest. Fatigue even overcame her distress of mind, and for an hour or
two she slept heavily. Then she awoke with a start, and declared that
she must go and search again. Swallowing a little food, she set off,
and thoroughly hunted over a wider area than before, not returning
until the evening.
"It's no good," she said, despairing. "Poor Tommy's gone."
"Don't say so," said Mary. "You haven't seen any one, have you?"
"Nobody."
"Then she may only be lost. You know how venturesome she is, and
having found no one to be afraid of perhaps she has gone right over the
island, and sprained her ankle or something. Have a good sleep, Bess.
To-morrow we'll both go. I'm sure I shall be strong enough."
Next morning, after a breakfast of bananas and oranges--for there was,
of course, no fish--the girls set off together. Mary, although a
little "tottery," as she said, was able to walk slowly, and she
declared it was much better for her to go too, than to remain at home
wondering what was happening. Elizabeth had to support her, and she
stopped for frequent rests; but they came at length to the orange grove.
"Now, I'll stay here," she said, "in the shade of the trees, while you
go round and round; and if you don't find her here, go right over the
ridge and cooee every few seconds. I won't stir until you come back."