A murmur passed through the air, and the last tinge of red light
succumbed to the hot haze, while the dry storm raced up, and the cloud
came well away from the water, whirling more slowly because its bulk
had increased.
I was superstitious enough to feel afraid when Akshelah, her face pale
and small with fear, assured me that a priest was one who controlled
the occult sciences, and that Redpath had undoubtedly obtained the
power by the mere assuming of the character. All evil comes from the
south, according to native belief. It is the south wind, Seekwah, who
blows good to no one.
“Rupe, I’m going around the ship,” said MacCaskill hastily.
He went one way, and I the other.
Approaching the stern hatchway, the figure I feared rose suddenly, and
there was no avoiding the black-clad man, who greeted me affectionately.
“My dear fellow, we are doing excellently. You were admiring my scheme
and my scholarship, were you not? Very neat, eh? Altogether beyond
those fools, whom we could have held there half the night. You timed
your interruption capitally. By Gad! we are working well together.”
My courage came up in arms.
“You’re not going to keep me here now,” I said defiantly.
He moved from the hatchway, all smiles and good humour.
“Good man, you set me a splendid example of keenness! Ah, you have
youth and energy to back you! I shan’t ask your plan, because I feel
convinced we can best attain our end by acting independently. We
understand each other. Keep a sharp look-out below, old man. They are
a rascally lot, and accidents easily happen during a storm. See you
presently.”
What was the use of me thinking I could fight this man!
I watched him move away, and was about to descend when a cold pressure
came across my face. The water, which had spread away like oil, broke
at the same moment into a shiver; the surface ruffled, as though rain
were falling. This disturbance was quickly gone, and the stagnation and
heat continued, but I knew, by this premonitory breath, that the wind
was very near to us.
The lanterns had not yet been lighted below, but a dull gleam suffused
from the engine-room, where I could hear the cord-wood dragged up to
feed the furnace. The blue light of a sulphur match flickered, and
when I came to a standstill a gaunt head popped over the barrels, and a
coarse voice called guardedly:
“Is it O. K., Bill?”
“Yaw,” replied the voice behind the blue light still spluttering. “The
priest’s gone. Gimme some smoke tobaccer.”
Just as I reached the two men the big shape of MacCaskill loomed upon
us. Leblanc shifted, but not in my direction. Morrison smoked on
imperturbably.
“Got a picnic here?” snorted the factor. “Say!” he called to the
half-breed, who turned unwillingly, “I’ve ben wantin’ to chew the rag
with you. You mind being this part wi’ old man Fagge one time?”
It was dark, but when Jim Morrison drew at his pipe I could see, by
the glow shed from the bowl, the white terror upon the face of the
half-breed. He had shown that fear before.
“Never was jest this part,” he said hoarsely.
“You come along the coast, I guess? Now, see here. Jim Petrie never
fixed old man Fagge?”
Leblanc gave a faint growl, and I could make out he was shaking his
great head.
“We know old man never died natural,” went on the cunning factor.
“Talk to ’em, pard!” exclaimed the gruff voice of Morrison. “They
ain’t a-gettin’ no rope around your neck.”
“Jim Petrie was around,” growled Leblanc. “An’ Redpath an’ Olaffson,
they were around.”
“Maybe Redpath could tell?” suggested MacCaskill.
“If he was here, which he ain’t.”
A hissing filled my ears, and for one moment I thought steam was being
released from the engine.
“He’s not so far off, I guess?” said MacCaskill.
Leblanc looked excited, and Morrison interested. They had the look of
men who expected to obtain some long-desired information. Both were
about to ask a question, when I staggered, fell against my partner,
cannoned him over, and the two sailors fell over us, while my ears were
filled with noise; the ship creaked dismally, lurched irresolutely, and
finally righting herself, settled into the wind and rushed with it.
The south wind had broken loose. In that hollow space the noise was so
terrific that shouting was ineffectual.
We disentangled ourselves, and crawled away.
The _Carillon_ gave me the idea that she was flying up and down a
succession of hills. On regaining the deck it was difficult to stand;
the wind streamed down, not in heavy blasts, but with one unvarying
torrent. The surrounding haze was as dry as a blanket. The current
brought strangely to me the voices of invisible men.
“Look at yon cloud in the south! Watch it!” This was Sandy’s voice.
Through the overhanging screen I could just see the purple bank
threatening from the black line of the horizon. Occasional ghastly
patches of foam swept along; lake, sky, and atmosphere were mixed, and
whirled together; the _Carillon_ plunged and panted through the gloom
to the infernal music of the mighty whistling.
Sandy’s voice reached me again: “No electricity yet.”
I could imagine Lennie struggling with the wheel, and the mate holding
Redpath’s tiny compass up to his eyes. The haze pressed upon us, like
the roof of a cave. To the side I could watch the livid water heaving
and roaring against an almost black wall of its rival element. Akshelah
found me out, and clung to me, the terror of her racial superstitions
upon her.
“We shall go down into the water, and it will choke us!” she screamed.
I had only known my own little river of Yellow Sands, always gentle
and pleasant. I had seen Lake Whispering under a storm, but I had
never known what it was to fight the violence of its waves. Water now
appeared to me for the first time as a power, as a tyrant capable of
destroying life with one stunning blow of its wave. It was the same
as the sand upon the beach. Lying idly, I could gather a handful, and
let it trickle through my fingers in its fascinating way, and it
would leave my hand as lightly as so much water. But when the gales of
Tukwaukin came, that fine yellow dust would leap into the wind in a
rage, and then I could not face it, because it would choke, and sting,
and blind. The Indian belief in a mighty beast, whom the Creator cannot
destroy, which spreads along the bottom of the lake, all eyes and
jaw, waiting to snatch and devour the men whom the water overwhelms,
recurred to my memory.
A deeper sound broke crashing behind the screaming of the dry tempest,
and a sheet of fire sprang suddenly into the south.
“We are safe,” said Akshelah gravely. “See! The Great Spirit is there.
They say he is everywhere, and though he has no power upon the water,
he sits upon the rock lighting his pipe, to show us he is there.”
The first torrent of wind had passed, and the stream became far less
violent. When the _Carillon_ came up from an abyss, as though she had
been hurled by a mighty hand, I saw a low island, chiefly of basalt,
where a few pines grew and some sparse vegetation. Akshelah pointed at
the land when we came up the second time. The lightning played about
the pines, making the scene as distinct as an evil dream.
Akshelah had her lips against my ear.
“Tell me what they do with the thing which was broken by the flying
stone?”
“They find which way the ship must go.”
“Which way do we go to reach the river?”
“North-east.”
“Then we have lost our way.”
I pulled her more closely to me, to make sure of her words, and called
on her to explain.
“We are going where the ghost-lights are born.”
Due north!