THE ELEVENTH HOUR
Some little time after Elizabeth had left her, Mary fancied that she
caught a faint cry. She shouted to her sister, who was out of sight,
but whose voice she heard calling at intervals. The feeble sound
seemed to have come from a patch of woodland not a great distance from
the track which Elizabeth had taken. But as the wind was blowing from
that quarter, Mary realized that although she could hear Elizabeth it
was probably impossible for Elizabeth to hear her. She felt very tired
after her long walk, and doubted whether she could go far without her
sister's sustaining arm; but the thought that Elizabeth might wander
out of reach while Tommy was in danger near at hand gave her an
artificial strength. She rose from the ground and tottered in the
direction from which the cry had appeared to come. Every now and then
she stopped, listening for a repetition of the sound; but she heard
nothing except the rustle of the wind and Elizabeth's shouts, growing
fainter and fainter in the distance.
In a few moments she had passed beyond the orange grove, and felt that
she was in danger of losing her way. Even Elizabeth's voice soon
ceased to guide her. She stumbled along, shouting every few steps,
with no other result than to disturb the birds in the trees. Becoming
alarmed at the possibility of being lost and her strength failing, she
was on the point of trying to find her way back, and gave one last
call, when she was electrified by hearing a strange hoarse sound
apparently coming from some distance to the left. It was little like a
human voice; yet it was not the cry of a bird, and Mary hurried with
uneven steps towards it.
The ground rose steeply, leading up to the ridge far to the left. But
with the new strength lent by excitement Mary was not conscious of the
slope. She came to a number of straggling bushes edged by an irregular
circle of small trees. Here she looked eagerly around her, peering
through the bushes and between the trunks of the trees, listening for
that strange cry to be repeated.
There was no sound, but as her eyes travelled over the circuit she
noticed what seemed to be a small landslip in the bank. Following this
downward, her glance discovered a hole in the ground several feet wide.
Moved by a sudden impulse, and the instinctive feeling that here was
the explanation of Tommy's disappearance, she stumbled forward, hardly
conscious of her trembling limbs. Throwing herself flat on the ground
at the edge of the hole, she gazed into the pit beneath. It was some
moments before her eyes became used to the half-light; but then she saw
something white; she distinguished it as part of an object huddled on
the ground immediately beneath the opening; and she knew that Tommy was
found.
But an agonizing fear seized her. Was Tommy dead? She called down in
a low voice. There was no answer. She called again and still again,
her tones growing louder as she became more alarmed. At length, after
what seemed an age of suspense, her strained gaze noticed a slight
movement in the figure below, and a faint whisper came up to her.
"Thank God!" her heart cried out, and she eagerly called to Tommy,
saying that she would soon be safe. But Tommy made no reply; she had
relapsed into unconsciousness.
Mary was at her wits' end what to do. It was clear that Tommy was
helpless. A pang shot through Mary's heart as she remembered that the
girl had been without food for two days and two nights. The hole was
so deep that even if Tommy had been conscious Mary could not have
helped her, at the utmost stretch of her arms, to get out. Elizabeth
was beyond hearing: she might return to the orange grove: what would
she do if she found Mary missing? Mary dared not leave the
neighbourhood of the pit now that Tommy was found: but she wanted to
run after Elizabeth and bring her to the spot.
While she was still undecided she heard Elizabeth's voice in the far
distance. She shouted in reply, though she still felt that against the
wind her voice could not be heard. But in a few moments she was
gladdened to know from the growing loudness of the shouts that
Elizabeth was returning. There was a chance that as she drew nearer
she would hear a shrill call, so Mary every few moments formed a
trumpet with her hands, and let forth a prolonged "Cooee!" Presently
she knew by the tone of Elizabeth's call that her voice had been heard;
but, so confusing are sounds amid woods and thickets, it was a long
time before Elizabeth discovered where she was, and came hurrying
through the trees.
"Have you found her?" she asked eagerly.
"She is down there," replied Mary, pointing to the mouth of the pit.
"Oh, Bess, I'm afraid she is very much hurt, perhaps dying!"
Elizabeth, with an exclamation of dismay, threw herself down and peered
into the hole.
"Tommy! Tommy dear!" she called.
But there was no answer. Elizabeth measured with her eye the depth of
the pit; she felt tempted to spring down and see if Tommy were alive or
dead.
"Will you stay here while I run back and get the painter?" she asked.
At that moment neither of the girls thought of savages: fear for Tommy
had banished every other fear.
"It will take so long," murmured Mary. "You would be gone an hour at
least, and----"
"I know a way," Elizabeth interrupted; "we'll make a rope of creepers.
It won't take us long."
She darted off into the forest. In building the hut she had become
expert in selecting strong tendrils for binding their lattice-work, and
in a few moments she had cut, among the dense undergrowth, a
considerable quantity of tough material with which she hurried back to
the pit. The two girls at once set to work with nimble fingers
plaiting the tendrils together.
"She must be famished, and dead with thirst," said Mary. "If we could
only give her some water."
"There's a little brook not far away," said Elizabeth. "When we have
done the rope we'll make a cup of leaves, and I'll fetch some water.
Then you must let me down into the pit."
"I could never do it," said Mary, "I am not strong enough."
"Not by yourself, but I'll fasten one end of the rope to that tree you
see there; then we'll pass it round that little one near us, and you
will be strong enough to pay it out. That's the only way."
They worked very quickly, and finished a long, stout rope in little
more time than the journey home would have taken. While Mary made
several cups from the large spreading leaves of a plant like rhubarb,
Elizabeth wound one end of the rope tightly about the tree trunk she
had pointed out. In the other end she made a loop to cling to.
"The rope is not long enough," said Mary.
"Not to reach the bottom, but that doesn't matter. I can drop a few
feet. When you have let me down, run down that slope, Mary, and you'll
find the brook a little way to the right. Bring two of the leaves
filled with water, and let them down by the rope. Pierce a hole in
each side of the cups near the top, and pass the rope through: you'll
see how to do it. Now take the rope firmly. I'll slip over the edge,
and when I give the word let it run out gently around the tree."
Pale with anxiety and weakness, Mary took up her position at the tree.
She made a determined effort to obey Elizabeth's instructions. Inch by
inch the rope slipped through her hands, at last so fast that she held
her breath in terror lest Elizabeth should be dashed to the ground.
The rope was stretched to its extreme tension; then it suddenly
relaxed; and next moment she heard the welcome cry from the pit: "I'm
safe. Now for the water."
Gathering herself together, Mary sped off to the brook, carrying the
two leaf cups. Eagerness to help lent her strength. She returned with
them brimming, drew up the rope, and unfastened the loop at the end.
Then passing two of the strands through the holes made in the cup, she
let it down slowly into the pit. Some of the water was spilled in the
descent; but Elizabeth said that enough was left for the moment.
"How is she?" asked Mary, dreading to hear that Tommy was past help.
"She is unconscious, but breathing," said Elizabeth. "I'll give her
some water."
For some little time Mary heard no more. Elizabeth bathed Tommy's head
and moistened her lips. At length the young girl gave a long sigh and
moan.
"I'm here, dear," said Elizabeth gently. "Mary is above. You are safe
now."
"The face!" moaned Tommy, her mind leaping back over all that had
happened since she had seen those eyes staring at her.
"Hush!" said Elizabeth, stroking her head. "There is nothing to harm
you. Drink a little water; we must see about getting you out of this
pit, you know."
Tommy drank eagerly, holding Elizabeth's hands in a tight clasp.
"We are getting on famously," Elizabeth called to reassure Mary.
Tommy lay still, taking a sip of water every now and again, too weak to
move or to speak. Meanwhile Elizabeth was beating her brain for some
means of getting her to the surface. It was clear that Tommy for some
time would be unable to do anything for herself. Lightly built though
she was, her dead weight was far more than Elizabeth could hope to
sustain, hanging on to the rope, and with no one but Mary to assist
from above. The rope was too short by several feet; the first
necessity was to lengthen it. Presently, therefore, when Tommy was
more recovered, Elizabeth asked Mary to cut some more creepers and
throw them down. Now her practice in splicing on board her uncle's
ship was very useful. She quickly added three or four feet to the
rope's length.
"Tommy dear, I'm going to leave you for a little," she said. "You are
quite safe now. I'm going to arrange about lifting you out of this
horrid place. You must be hungry, poor thing. I'll get a few oranges;
you can reach them if we throw them down, can't you? and bananas too;
they're more substantial. By the time I am ready to lift you out
you'll be heaps stronger."
"Mary won't go?" said Tommy quiveringly.
"No, she'll stay with you. You can hear her when she speaks to you:
but don't try to talk yourself; just eat the fruit I shall give you and
get strong."
She then told Mary to come to the edge of the pit and be ready to help
her.
"But take care you don't overbalance," she said. "It mustn't be a case
of three girls in a pit."
Tired as Elizabeth had been, the joy of discovering Tommy alive had
braced her, and she felt equal to any exertion. But she had not had
Tommy's practice in tree-climbing, nor in clambering up the rigging on
the barque; and when she clasped the rope and tried to draw herself up
she slipped down again and again. For a time she felt baffled, but a
means of overcoming the difficulty occurred to her.
"Pull up the rope, Mary," she said, "and make knots in it about two
feet apart. I shall be able to manage it then, I think."
When the knots were made she tried again. It was a terrible strain on
her wrists, and she got no assistance for her feet from the shelving
sides of the pit. But the knots gave a firm hold, and she managed to
climb hand over hand to the edge, where, with Mary's help, she heaved
herself on to the level ground.
"Do rest," said Mary, noticing the signs of strain on her sister's face.
"I am not a bit tired. Look, Mary, I want you to plait another rope.
I'll get the stuff for you."
She hastened into the undergrowth, and returned with her arms full of
creepers.
"Now I'm going to get Tommy some food, and then run back to the hut.
I'll be as quick as I can. Talk to her while I am away to keep her
spirits up."
Soon she was flinging an armful of bananas and oranges, one by one,
into the pit.
"There's a feast for you," she said cheerfully. "Now in about an hour
you'll be released. Eat slowly, that's the rule after fasting, isn't
it?"
"You are a dear," said Mary, hugging her. "What should we have done
without you?"
"My dear girl, without me you wouldn't have been here at all, we all
came together. Good-bye for an hour."
She flitted off as lightly as a bird, overflowing with happiness.
Reaching the hut she took up the longest of the mat beds, her own, and
without waiting for a moment to rest, hurried back to her sister,
announcing herself from a distance by a cheerful cooee.
"All well?" she said.
"Tommy has been telling me all about it," said Mary. "She saw the
little brown face again."
"Bother the little brown face!" said Elizabeth. "Really, I should like
to smack it. Tommy's well enough to talk, is she?"
"Yes, but she has sprained her ankle."
"Poor girl! it will be hoppety-hop when we get her up, then. Now see
how we'll manage it. You've finished that rope? We'll make a cradle
of my bed."
She made two holes at each end of the mat large enough for the ropes to
pass through. In this way she formed a rough cradle upon which Tommy
could be drawn up, for the girl's weight would keep it steady if the
ropes were placed far enough apart. The cradle was soon ready for
lowering.
"Can you manage to get on to it yourself, Tommy?" asked Elizabeth, "or
shall I come down again and help you?"
"I can manage," answered Tommy. "I am ever so much better. Are you
sure it's strong enough?"
"Certain, I'd trust myself on it. All you will have to do will be to
clutch a rope at each end and hold tight. Call out when you are ready."
She and Mary then each took the end of a rope and passed it round a
tree, the two trees being not quite so far apart as the length of the
mat. Tommy gave the word. They began to haul. The trees relieved
them of all strain, and making a succession of short pulls, with rests
in between, they drew the cradle inch by inch to the surface.
Elizabeth was afraid that Mary's strength might give way, or that Tommy
would lose her grip of the ropes; but neither of these mishaps
occurred, and with a final pull they hauled Tommy and cradle over the
brink of the pit.
[Illustration: "WITH A FINAL PULL THEY HAULED TOMMY OVER THE BRINK."]
And then overwrought nerves gave way. Elizabeth ran to Tommy, clasped
her in her arms, and burst into tears. A little later, when all three
girls were sitting together weeping in sympathy, Elizabeth exclaimed--
"Well, we are a lot of babies. We ought to be shouting for joy. I'm
quite ashamed of myself."
"I'm not," said Mary stoutly. "I think it's a blessing we can cry a
little. It eases the nerves. Boys never cry, and what's the result?
They get as crabby as two sticks."
"How am I to get you two poor invalids home?" said Elizabeth. "You
have done wonders, Mary, but you would be utterly done up if you tried
to walk back. And Tommy certainly can't walk. We shall have to stay
here for the night; fortunately, it is fine."
"Oh, no, we _must_ get home, Bess," said Tommy earnestly. "I could not
bear to stay here after seeing that face."
"But there can't be anything to harm us," persisted Elizabeth. "I have
walked round and round, miles altogether, and haven't seen a single
sign of people. You are quite sure it was a human face? Mayn't it
have been a monkey or an owl?"
"No, I am sure of it. You never saw such eyes, they seemed to burn
like fire."
"But didn't you see a body, too?"
"No, just a face. That was what frightened me so; just a face that
seemed all eyes."
Elizabeth saw that Tommy had been too much scared to take real notice
of anything, and decided that for the sake of her peace of mind it
would be better to make an attempt to reach home.
"Very well, then, it's a case of pick-a-back. I'll carry you. Mary
must get along as well as she can. It will take us an age, but we can
rest on the way."
They started, Mary carrying Elizabeth's mat, and Elizabeth carrying
Tommy. Slowly and with many halts they made their way down, reaching
the hut about their usual tea-time. The two elder girls had taken
precautions to fill their pockets with fruit as they skirted the orange
grove. They had no other fruit in the hut except cocoanuts, and
Elizabeth was too worn out to think of catching fish. They satisfied
themselves with a meal of fruit.
Tommy was delighted with the behaviour of her parrot, Billy. Overjoyed
at the return of its mistress, it hopped upon her shoulder, cocking its
head and uttering cries loud but by no means sweet.
"A welcome home, Tommy," said Elizabeth, smiling. "We can't gush, Mary
and I, but we are more glad than we can say, dear, and Billy says it
for us as well as he can."
Then, after Tommy's ankle had been bathed and bound up, they threw
themselves on their simple couches, and, all their present anxieties
set at rest, slept heavily until the sun woke them to another day.