The rest of that morning, Grace, to her intense relief, saw little of
the man into whose abhorrent company she had been so strangely and
unceremoniously thrown. Once the fire was well started Armitage had
disappeared, leaving her in privacy to attend to her immediate needs.
For this much consideration she felt grateful to him. But, after she had
dried her clothes and had time to realize her terrible situation, she
was overwhelmed by the hopeless horror of it. Her faculties well-nigh
paralyzed, her nerves shattered almost to the point of total collapse,
she sank down on a rock under the frowning cliffs, and, looking
helplessly out over the vast and now peaceful sea, started to take
mental stock of the extraordinary predicament in which she suddenly
found herself.
Things had happened so quickly that she had no time for reflection. Bad
as the situation had been before, it was ten times worse now. To think
that she should be perched on a lonely island hundreds of miles from
civilization, without any means of communicating with the outside world,
alone with that man--and such a man!
Her heart sank as she remembered all the dreadful things she had heard
about him on the ship. It was surely calamity enough to be shipwrecked
and cast away on a stupid little island without food, shelter, or
clothes, but how much more serious was the situation when the only other
human being to be saved beside herself was the worst character on board.
The first revelation of his identity was such a shock to her nervous
system that she nearly swooned, her brain reeled, she thought she would
go insane with terror.
She tried to calm herself. At the worst, she argued philosophically, he
could only kill her and throw her body into the sea. Not that she could
look forward to such a fate with equanimity. She gulped down a
hysterical sob as she pictured her splendid form and tender young flesh
providing a toothsome meal for some rapacious shark, and she wondered if
the world--particularly her own set--would care when they read in the
sensational Sunday papers all the horrible details of her dreadful end.
Yet why, after all, should this man--this ogre--kill her? Her pearls
didn't tempt him. Hadn't he scoffed at them just now? Then her face
blanched and she dug her manicured nails deep into her skin as she
thought of a worse fate than death that could overtake her. She had read
and heard of such things--hadn't Professor Hanson, during their talks on
shipboard, conceived this very situation?
She wondered how she could protect herself and what attitude she should
adopt toward this man. An open rupture would never do; she must not even
show distrust of him. Only she must be constantly on her guard. All
these thoughts were rushing through her brain when it suddenly occurred
to her that she was hungry. What was more natural? The last thing she
had eaten was the plate of ice cream brought to her during the dance by
Count von Hatzfeld. Since then nothing but sea water had passed her
lips.
A feeling of faintness came over her, and soon her dread of Armitage
gave her less anxiety than her speculations regarding the problem of
procuring food. She was desperately hungry. Perhaps if she walked along
the shore she could pick up some shell-fish--oysters, or perhaps some
crabs. She thought pensively of the delicious crab meat _a la Newburg_,
served in chafing-dish, which was one of the culinary delights of
Sherry's delightful little after-the-theater suppers, and, closing her
eyes, she gave a sigh of despair. Then, catching a glimpse of her
water-stained, tattered gown, she could not help laughing in spite of
her misery. The idea of her traipsing along the sands in a decollete
ball-dress struck her as ludicrously incongruous. She must find
something else to wear, but what?
She wondered where Armitage had gone and why he stayed so long away.
Perhaps he would never come back. Then, surely, she would perish
miserably alone. It needed a man's strength and resourcefulness to
ensure an existence in such a wild, deserted spot. What could she, a
frail woman, do alone to get food and devise some way of escape?
Unconsciously, she already missed her companion. Without realizing it,
she admitted his superiority in the new conditions the shipwreck had
brought about.
Suddenly she heard a shout, and, turning quickly, she saw him coming
along the beach carrying something in his hands. She advanced toward
him, preserving a cold, indifferent exterior, but glad secretly that he
had returned. After all, he was a human being, some one she could talk
to. Had she alone been saved, to live alone on this island, she would
have gone mad. As she watched him approach she wondered why she had not
recognized him at first. It was the same tall, splendidly proportioned
figure, the same dark, wavy hair, closely cropped, the same regular
features, and bold, defiant toss of the head. Yes, she saw the reason
why. His face was clean and white now, whereas on shipboard she had
never seen it any other way than grimy and covered with coal-dust. The
involuntary bath had effected a wonderful transformation. He was
decidedly handsome. As he came along at a quick, swinging gait she
wondered why such a fine fellow should have sunk so low as to be obliged
to become a common stoker.
"I have your breakfast here!" he called out cheerily, as he came in
earshot. "I guess you're ready for it."
She reddened, and stammered a confused reply.
"Here's some fresh water," he said, as he came up to her. Holding out a
huge scallop-shell filled with water, he went on: "You can drink it
safely. I've found a spring in the hills away yonder. It's clear as
crystal."
Grace drank greedily, murmuring her thanks.
"It's delicious!" she gasped between gulps.
He gave a grunt of satisfaction.
"I picked up the shell along the beach," he said. "It doesn't make a bad
drinking-cup. We'll find it useful. Mind you don't lose it."
Again that tone of command which had irritated her before. She looked up
angrily, but he was paying no attention to her. Putting his hand in his
pocket he brought out some mango fruit and offered it to her.
"Here's something you can break your fast with. There's plenty of it
growing hereabouts. There are limes and cocoanuts, too, for the
picking. When I get my tackle fixed, I shall be able to catch some
fish."
He threw himself down on the sloping beach as though weary after the
long exploring tour, and, picking up a splinter of wood, he started to
draw lines on the sand.
Grace, busy eating, her white teeth biting hungrily into the luscious
fruit, watched him without speaking. His abrupt manner intimidated her.
She was afraid of him, and the realization of her own utter helplessness
only served to make her more nervous. Finally, summoning up courage, she
asked:
"What did you see--could you make out where we are?"
He looked up and nodded. Then, with his bit of wood, he began to draw in
the soft sand a diagram of their position. Carelessly he said:
"We're on an island about ten miles long by about three miles wide. It
seems to be of volcanic origin and uninhabited. The land is low and
swampy in parts, with a lot of thick brushwood, but there's a big hill
on which we can build a signal fire."
"What are our chances of being sighted and taken off?" she interrupted
eagerly.
"Decidedly slim, I should say," was his laconic rejoinder.
Grace stopped eating, and a look of dismay overspread her face. He
continued:
"You see we're far out of the regular steamship track. Not being down on
the chart, navigators probably never heard of this island. Our only hope
is in the whalers. These waters are full of whales, and whaling-vessels
come here after them from all parts of the world. Some no doubt land
here to replenish their supply of fresh water. Or a passing whaler may
sight our fire."
"How long will we have to wait?" she demanded anxiously.
He shrugged his shoulders as if the length of their enforced sojourn on
the island were a matter of no concern to him. Indifferently he replied:
"One can't tell. Three months--six months--a year!"
"A year!" gasped Grace. "How could I live here a year, or even six
months--I should go mad."
He smiled grimly.
"Oh, we get accustomed to most anything when we have to. I wasn't
overfond of the job I had on the ship, but I had to knuckle down to it
all the same. We don't always get things the way we want them, do we?"
She ignored the rebuke, too much perturbed at the gloomy prospect he
held out. Nor did she notice that this was the first allusion he had
made to his work in the stoke-hold.
"Even a month would seem like a century," she went on almost
hysterically. "Is there no possible way of reaching the mainland?"
He shook his head.
"The nearest land is a good eight hundred miles away. We have no
boat--no compass----"
"Oh, what can we do? What can we do?" she wailed, pacing to and fro,
swinging her hands.
"Make the best of it, I should say," he replied coolly. There was the
suggestion of a smile hovering around his mouth, and his eyes were full
on her as he added: "I'm in no particular hurry to get away myself."
She saw the covert smile and the boldness of his glance, and it aroused
her resentment. Forgetting her caution she turned angrily on him.
"Of course, _you_ don't care. Why should you? You find there's plenty
here to eat and nothing to do. That kind of life suits you better, no
doubt, than having to earn a living by hard work. You've no friends who
are mourning for you, no father or mother grieving over your supposed
death. So long as you can enjoy creature comforts without paying for
them, you are satisfied to stay here forever. But with me it's
different. My life has not been like yours. You ought to realize that.
What may seem like comfort and all that is necessary to you, is torture
and starvation to me. You ought to be able to see that! You ought! You
ought!"
She stopped, her face red from excitement, her bosom heaving, her voice
choking with sobs.
Taken aback at the vehemence of her hysterical outburst, he simply
looked at her, admiring her flashing, dark eyes, fascinated by her
beauty. He did not care what she said, although she had spoken as a
woman might to her lackey. Her words were stinging, her tone
contemptuous. She had given him plainly to understand that she was
fashioned of entirely different clay. When forced to it by circumstances
she might, when thirsty, share his cup. She might, when hungry, accept
part of his food, but aside from the satisfying of these elemental human
desires, he and she had naught in common. He must understand that
plainly.
"She's dead right," he said to himself. Socially they were separated by
the widest gulf imaginable. Even with him to attend to her wants she
would be as much alone on this island as if he were not there. A common
stoker was hardly fit to breathe the same air as a girl who was heiress
to millions, accustomed to all the refinements of wealth.
He looked at her for a moment in silence. His face flushed and his lips
moved as if he were about to make some angry retort. With a visible
effort he mastered himself, and, turning on his heel, he walked slowly
away.
Grace's first impulse was to recall him. Only her pride prevented her
running after him. Already she regretted her hasty words. She would have
given almost anything to unsay them. She had not intended to be
discourteous to this man. Whatever his character might be, however low
he might be in the social scale, he had rendered her a service she could
never repay. He had saved her life. Yet, thoughtlessly, needlessly, she
had hurt his feelings. What utter folly it was to boast of her social
position in her present predicament. She thought with bitterness how
little her culture and education could help her now. Their situation was
precarious enough without making matters worse by senseless bickerings.
Wearily she sank down on a rock, angry with herself, apprehensive of the
consequences of her speech. She had had reason to fear him before; by
her own foolishness the rupture was now definite. This new
misunderstanding would certainly add to her discomfort and perhaps
lessen her chances of escaping from this worst of horrors--a living
death!
Looking out to sea, she strained her eyes in every direction in the hope
of catching a glimpse of some vessel which to her would mean safety and
home. The thick black smoke from the fire Armitage had started was
still rising in a straight column to the sky. If there happened along a
craft of any description their signal could not fail to be seen. But her
tired eyes swept the horizon in vain. There was not a speck on the vast
expanse of shimmering blue to give her the slightest encouragement. Her
heart sank within her. All signs of the recent hurricane had
disappeared. Once more Nature was in holiday garb. The ocean reflected
the turquoise-blue of the cloudless heavens; the air, gently stirred by
a balmy breeze, was fragrant with the odor of spices. There was no trace
of the wreck or of the missing life-boats. The ocean had completely
engulfed the steamship. What the fate of the other passengers, officers,
and crew had been could only be matter of conjecture.
"God grant that they got safely away," she murmured fervently to
herself. "Perhaps they will be picked up by some ship and then they may
come in search of me--unless they come to the conclusion that I'm dead.
I might just as well be dead as here."
She was still ravenously hungry. The little fruit she had eaten had not
satisfied her and she did not know where to go to look for more. She
wondered if she had made him so angry that he would entirely desert her
and leave her to starve. With a shudder she thought of other terrors in
store for her. What about the coming night?
The afternoon was rapidly advancing; before very long the sun would set
and what then? How could she face the coming darkness alone with that
man whom she had angered and with all the unknown terrors the island
contained? Almost panic-stricken from sheer nervousness and anxiety,
utterly discouraged and miserable, she buried her face in her hands and
burst into tears.
Suddenly she heard a footstep, and, looking up, she saw Armitage
approaching. He was making only slow progress, being weighted down with
some heavy object.
"Here's a prize!" he shouted, as he came nearer.
Staggering up to near where she stood he set down a huge iron pot.
"I spied it lying among the drift along the shore," he went on. "It's a
bit rusty, but that'll scrape off. It's worth its weight in gold to us.
We've something to cook in now."
He spoke cheerily, with the utmost frankness. If he still nourished any
resentment his manner did not betray it. In her present state of
depression Grace would have welcomed the apparition of Satan himself.
She made no attempt to conceal her joy at his return. Clapping her hands
with childish enthusiasm, she cried:
"Oh, isn't it perfectly lovely!"
At home she had never been inside a kitchen. It is indeed doubtful if
she knew what a culinary utensil looked like. Perhaps it had never
occurred to her that the kettle and many other things as humble are all
indispensable parts in our civilization. But now she understood.
Necessity is a quick teacher and Grace was learning. The pot was an
ordinary tripod affair, battered and rusty. Judging from its appearance,
it had fallen overboard from some ship and had floated ashore. Otherwise
it was sound and serviceable. She could see that its value to them was
well-nigh inestimable.
"That's splendid--that's bully!" she repeated excitedly.
He enjoyed her enthusiasm. It was the first time he had seen her smile,
and it looked good to him. He chuckled to himself as he said:
"But that isn't all. A pot with nothing to put in it isn't much use.
I've brought you something good to eat."
Plunging his hand into the pot he brought out half a dozen live crabs
and threw them at her feet.
"Aren't they beauties?" he exclaimed. "I'll bet they'll taste dandy,
too. Look out! Mind they don't nip your fingers with their claws.
They're pretty lively. They bite like the mischief."
Grace's mouth was already watering:
"What shall I do with them?" she asked helplessly.
"Cook 'em, of course," he replied, with a grin. "You get them ready
while I go and fetch some water."
She listened in consternation, not liking to tell him she did not know
how to cook. His women, of course, could work and do everything to help
themselves. They could sew and make their own dresses. She felt ashamed
of her own uselessness and was about to make confession when he hurried
away. As he ran he turned and called out:
"You'd better take a shell and see if you can scrape off some of that
rust inside the pot."
He disappeared, leaving her looking in dismay, first at the iron pot and
then at the crabs, already striving to regain their liberty. She had not
the slightest idea what to do. Her only knowledge of crabs was when
their tender, white, flakelike meat was served in chafing-dish with
delicious sherry sauce. How to accomplish the operation of transforming
those crawling, dangerous-looking things into a toothsome dish she had
not the slightest notion. Even if she did know, how could she touch the
nasty things when they were raising their nippers so menacingly and
already trying to scud away in the direction of their native habitat,
the sea. The most she could do was to run after each wriggling deserter
and with her foot turn him over on his back. As to the other order she
had received--that was easy. She could scrape the pot with a shell.
That was easy enough. Yet if she were busy on the pot the crabs would
profit by it to slip away, and then they would have no supper at all. It
was certainly a problem worthy of the Sphinx.
She was still trying to solve it when Armitage reappeared. In one hand
he carried a gigantic cocoanut filled to the brim with sparkling, fresh
water; with the other he was dragging along the sand a huge plant of
unfamiliar aspect.
"Are you all ready?" he called out.
"No--I'm afraid not," she stammered confusedly.
Quick to guess the reason, he merely smiled.
"All right," he said pleasantly. "I'll fix it."
Carefully putting down the precious liquid, he seized hold of the iron
pot, and, with a few strokes of his sheath-knife, soon had it in
condition and on the fire. Over such fierce heat, the water did not take
long to boil, and a few minutes later the obstreperous crustaceans were
on the way to discharge their natural debt to two starving humans.
"What a feast we'll have!" exclaimed Grace, as she eagerly watched his
preparations. "If only we had some bread to go with them."
"Here's something just as good," he replied quickly. Stooping down
toward the plant he had just brought in he plucked some of the
fruit--long, yellow pods with red speckles--and held them out to her.
"What is it?" she asked, in surprise. "I never saw fruit like that
before."
"They are plantains--the potatoes of the tropics," he answered.
"They look like bananas," said Grace, starting to peel and eat one.
"Same family," he explained. As if surprised at her ignorance, he went
on: "It is a wonderful fruit. It's meat, potatoes, and bread all in one.
Its fiber one can use as thread, and its enormous leaves make warm
clothing. When the fruit is powdered and baked you would hardly know it
from rice. Speke, Stanley, and the other African explorers frequently
mention plantains as the staple food of the natives. We're fortunate to
find it here, and there seems to be an abundance."
Grace looked at him curiously. She was not aware that seamen were so
well versed.
"What do you know about African explorers?" she demanded.
Her question seemed to amuse him, for he showed his teeth in a smile.
"Oh, I've read their books," he replied. "We sailormen pick up a good
deal of information knocking about the world as we do."
She would have liked to question him further, curious to learn something
of his history, but there was an air of reserve about him that gave her
little encouragement. On reflection she thought it unwise to appear
interested. He might misconstrue her motive. She had not forgotten the
bad reputation he had borne on the steamer, and while there had been
nothing in his behavior so far to give her cause for alarm, she must not
forget that she was entirely alone on this island with a man of the
lower classes, a man unaccustomed, probably, to self-control. She must
discourage all familiarity, and never for a moment permit him to forget
the broad social gulf which separated them. With these anxieties running
through her mind she relapsed into silence. He seemed to notice the
sudden change in her manner, for he looked up from the fire and said:
"I'll soon have it ready. Suppose you get two big, flat shells for
plates. We'll have to use our fingers for forks."
As she went to carry out his suggestion, she said apologetically:
"You think of everything. I wish I could be of more assistance."
"Nonsense!" he answered. "Why was I saved from the wreck if not to look
after you?"
She did not like this speech, savoring as it did of clumsy gallantry, so
she made no rejoinder. By the time she had found the kind of shells
suitable for plates, the crabs were cooked to a turn, and they
immediately sat down in semi-reclining position to enjoy them.
It was a veritable feast of Lucullus served picnic-fashion in mid-ocean.
To Grace it seemed that in all her life she had never tasted anything so
delicious. The crabs were tender and sweet-flavored, and the plantains
provided her with a new taste which improved on acquaintance. In spite
of their thus sharing a common meal there was a certain restraint. Each
seemed to be uncertain of and mistrust the other. They ate quickly and
in silence, each preoccupied, Grace becoming more and more nervous as
the shadows about her deepened, Armitage, silent, in admiring
contemplation of his companion's shapely hands, her full bust and white
neck, her beautiful eyes which, when they looked full into his, caused
every nerve in his body to thrill.
By the time they had eaten the last scrap, the evening was well
advanced. The sun had dipped below the watery horizon long ago, and it
was getting dark very rapidly. Grace's growing nervousness became more
and more apparent. He noticed it and suddenly broke the silence.
"Where will you sleep to-night?" he asked. "You're worn out after all
you've gone through."
"Yes--I am very tired," she replied.
He rose, and, after throwing more wood on to the fire, he turned to her.
"I'll have to fix you up a bed in the cave the best way I can. I can get
fern-leaves and long, cypress-haired moss in the woods. That'll make
capital stuffing, and with a few plantain-leaves you'll have a mattress
fit for a queen. It'll do for to-night. To-morrow we'll make you more
comfortable."
Before she could murmur her gratitude he had hurried away in the
direction of the woods.
Left alone, her nervousness increased. She wondered what he would do for
a bed, if he would insist on sharing the shelter of the cave with her,
or if he would prefer to sleep outside under the stars. She felt
singularly apprehensive. A panicky feeling seized her. How could she
spend all the lonely hours of the night in the terrifying
darkness--alone with that man? She felt nervous and uneasy, as if some
new peril threatened her. Certainly, she would not be able to close an
eye. A night of mental torture was before her.