WHICH BRINGS IN THE DAY AND WHAT BEFELL THEREIN
It was just after dawn that Miss Ruth came up from her room below and
found me at my lonely post on the plateau of the watch-tower rock.
Dolly Venn was fast asleep by that time, and Peter Bligh and the
carpenter no less willing for a spell of rest. I had sent them to their
beds when it was plain to me that, whatever might come after, the night
had nothing more in store for us; and though heavy with sleep myself I
put it by for duty's sake.
Now, I was watching all alone, my rifle between my knees and my eyes
upon the breaking skies, when I heard a quick step behind me, and,
turning round, I saw Miss Ruth herself, and felt her gentle hand upon
my shoulder.
"I couldn't sleep, Jasper," said she, a little sadly I thought. "You
are not angry with me for being here, Jasper?"
It blew cold with the dawn, and I was glad to see that she had wrapped
her head in a warm white woollen shawl--for these little things stick
in a man's memory--and that her dress was such as a woman might wear in
that bleak place. She had dark rings about her eyes--which I have
always said could look at you as the eyes of no other woman in all the
world; and I began to think how odd it was that we two, whom fortune
had cast out to this lonely rock together, should have said so little
to each other, spoken such rare words since the ship put me ashore at
the gate of her island home.
"Miss Ruth," said I, "it's small wonder what you tell me. This night is
never to be forgotten by you and I, surely. Sometimes, even now, I
think that I am dreaming it all. Why, look at it. Not two months ago I
was in London hiring a ship from Philips, Westbury, and Co. You, I
believed, were away in the Pacific, where all things beautiful should
be. I saw you, Miss Ruth, in an island home, happy and contented, as it
was the wish of us all that you should be. There were never lighter
hearts on a quarterdeck than those which set out to do your bidding.
'It's Miss Ruth's fancy,' we told ourselves, 'that her friends should
bring a message from the West, and be ready to serve her if she has the
mind to employ them.' What other need could we think of? Be sure no
whisper of this devil's house or of yonder island where honest men will
die to-day was heard by any man among us. We came to do your bidding as
you had asked us. It was for you to say 'go' or 'stay.' We never
thought what the truth would be--even now it seems to me a horrid
nightmare which a man remembers when he is waking."
She drew a little closer to me, and stood gazing wistfully across the
westward seas, beyond which lay home and liberty. Perchance her
thoughts were away to the pretty town of Nice, where she had given her
love to the man who had betrayed her, and had dreamed, as young girls
will, of all that marriage and afterwards might mean to her.
"If it were only that, Jasper," she said, slowly, "just a dream and
nothing more! But we know that it is not. Ah, think, if these things
mean so much to you, what they have meant to me. I came away from
Europe believing that heaven would open at my feet. I said that a good
man loved me, and I gave myself heart and soul to him. Just a silly
little girl I was, who never asked questions, and trusted--yes, trusted
all who said they loved her. And then the truth, and a weary woman to
hear it! From little things which I would not see, it came speaking to
me in greater things which I dare not pass by, until I knew--knew the
best and the worst of it! And all my castles came tumbling down, and
the picture was shut out, and I thought it was forever. The message I
spoke to the sea would never be answered, or would be answered when I
no longer lived to hear it spoken. Do you blame a woman's weakness? Was
I wrong to believe that you would forget the promise?"
"I never forgot it, Miss Ruth," was my answer, "never for a moment.
'May-be,' said I to Peter Bligh, 'she'll laugh when I go ashore;
may-be--but it is a thousand to one against that--she'll have need of
me.' When I saw Ken's Island looming off my port-bow, why I said, 'It's
just such a picture of a place as a rich man would pitch upon for an
island home. It's a garden land,' said I, 'a sunny haven in this good
Pacific sea.' Judge how far I was from the truth, Miss Ruth, how little
I knew of this prison-house that, God helping me, shall stand open to
the world before many days have come and gone."
She was silent for a spell, for her eyes were searching the distant
island, and she seemed to be scanning its fog-bound heights and misty
valleys as though to read that secret of the night of which I hoped no
man had told her.
"The ship that came ashore last night, Jasper?" she asked, of a sudden.
"What have they done to the ship?"
I put my hand upon her arm and led her forward to the sea's edge,
whence we could espy both the sword-fish reef and the ashes of her
bungalow at the island's heart. The day had broken by this time, quick
and beautiful as ever in the Pacific Ocean. Sunny waves rolled up to
our very feet. There were glittering caps of rock gleaming above the
island of death. Czerny's yacht lay, the picture of a ship, eastward in
the offing. The longboats, twelve of them, and each loaded with its
devil's crew, drifted round and round the master's ship; but never a
man that went aboard from them.
"The ship," said I, "is where many a good ship has gone before: a
thousand fathoms down by yonder cruel reef. As for those that sailed
her, they live or die on Ken's Island, mistress. Last night in my watch
I heard them crying like wild beasts that hunger drives. Those who do
not sleep to-day herd together on yonder beach. I counted nine of them
not half an hour since."
She tried to see with me, looking across the water; and presently she
said:
"There are men there and women, too--oh, Jasper, think of it, women!"
"Ah!" said I, "I have been thinking of it for an hour or more, ever
since I first made a signal to them. So much comes of being a seaman,
who can speak to folks when others are dumb. If they read my message
aright, they'll not stay on Ken's Island to sleep, be sure of it; but I
doubt that they'll dare it, Miss Ruth. Poor souls; their need is sore,
indeed!"
"And our own, Jasper," says she, "is our own less? You are brave men,
and you have all a woman's trust and gratitude; but, Jasper, when my
husband comes, what will you say to him? They are a hundred and we are
but five, shut up in this prison of the sea! We may live here forever
and no help come to us. We may even die here, Jasper. There are things
I will not either name or think of. But, oh, Jasper," says she, "if we
could save those poor people!"
It was always thus with her--nine thoughts for others and not the half
of one for herself. What she meant by the things she would not name or
speak of, I could hardly guess; but it was in my head that she meant to
indicate the corridors below and that unknown danger which iron doors
shut down. I had been a clearer-headed man that morning if I could have
put away from me my doubt of what the depths were hiding from us. But I
hid it from her always. A truce of self-deception shut out the question
as one we neither cared to hear nor answer.
"Miss Ruth," said I, speaking very slowly, "those people have a boat,
for you can see it on yon sands. Let them find the courage to float it,
and it is even possible that Dolly Venn and I can do the rest. We
should be thirteen men then, and glad of the number. I won't hide it
from you that we are a pitiful handful to face such a horde as lingers
yonder. Why, think of it. Your husband keeps them off the yacht, that's
clear to a child's eye. What harbour, then, is open to them? The
island--yes, there's that! They can go and sleep the death-sleep on the
island, as many an honest man before them. But they will have something
to say to Czerny first if I know anything of their quality! Our plight
is bad enough; but I wouldn't be in your husband's shoes to-day for all
the money in London City. We may pull through--there would be rasher
promises than that; but Edmond Czerny will never see a white man's town
again--no, not if he lives a hundred years!"
"It would be justice, God's justice," said she, very slowly; "there is
that in the world always, Jasper. Whatever may be in store for me, I
should like to think that I had done my duty as you are doing yours."
"We won't talk of that;" said I; "the day is dark, but the sunshine
follows after. Some day, in some home across the sea, we'll tell each
other how we held Ken's Island against a hundred. It may be that, dear
friend; God knows, it may be that!"
* * *
It was five o'clock in the morning by my watch when I signalled for the
second time to the people on the beach, and half-past five when first
they answered me. Until that time I had not wished to awake Dolly Venn
or Mister Bligh; but now when it began to come to me that I might,
indeed, save these poor driven folks and add to the garrison which held
the house, sleep was banished from my eyes and I had the strength and
heart of ten. No longer could I doubt that my signals were seen and
read by some sailor on that distant shore. Driven out, as they must
have been, by the awful fogs which loomed over Ken's Island, gasping
for their lives at the water's edge, who shall blame their hesitation
or exclaim upon that delay? Over the sea they beheld a white flag
waving. Was it the flag which friend or foe had raised? There, from
that craggy rock, help was offered them. Could they believe such good
fortune, those who seemed to have but minutes to live?
Well, Dolly Venn came up to me, and Peter Bligh, half awake from sleep;
and all standing together (Seth Barker keeping watch below) I told them
how we stood and pointed out that which might follow after.
"There'll be no attack from Czerny's men with the light," said I; "for
so much is plain reason. If there's murder done out yonder, look for it
on Czerny's yacht when his friends would go aboard. Why, see, lads,
there are a hundred and twenty men, at the lowest reckoning, drifting
yonder in open boats. Who's to feed them, who's to house them? They can
go ashore on Ken's Island and dance to the sleep-music; but they are
not the sort to do that, from what we've seen of them! No, they'll have
it out with Edmond Czerny; they'll want to know the reason why! And let
the wind blow more than a capful," said I, "and by the Lord above me
not a man among them will see to-morrow's sun! Does that put heart into
you, Peter, or does it not? There are folks to save over there, Peter
Bligh," says I, "and we'll save them yet!" His reply was an earnest
"God grant it!" and from that moment the sleep left his eyes, and
standing by my side, as he had stood many a day on the bridge of the
Southern Cross, he began to read the signals and to interpret them
aloud as the old-time duty prompted him.
"Eight men and a woman, and one long-boat," says he; "sickness among
them and no arms. 'Tis to know if they shall put off now or wait for
the dark. You'll be answering that, captain."
"Let them come, let them come," said I; "how's the dark to help them?
Will they live a day in the fogs we know of? And what sort of a port is
Ken's Island in the sleep-time for any Christian man? If Czerny murders
them on the high seas, so much the more against him when his day comes.
Let them come, Peter, and the Lord help them, poor wretches!"
I was using my arms with every word, and trying to make my meaning
clear to the poor folks on the beach. So far they had been content to
answer me with questions; but now, all at once, they ceased to signal,
and a black object riding above the surf told me that they had risked
all and were afloat, be the danger what it might. At the same moment a
sharp cry from Dolly Venn turned my eyes to Czerny's yacht; and I saw
his devils rowing their boats for the open water of the bay, and I knew
that murder was in their minds, and that the hour had come when every
veil was to be cast aside and their purpose declared against all
humanity.
"Clear the gun and stand by," was my order to the others; "we'll give
them something to take home with them, and it sha'n't be pippins! Can
you range them, Dolly, or must you wait? There's no time to lose, my
lad, if honest lives are to be saved this day."
He went to work without a word, charging his magazine and training the
gun eastwards towards the advancing boats. If he did not fire at once,
it was because he doubted his range; and here was his difficulty, that
by sweeping round to the east and coming at the refugees upon a new
course, Czerny's lot might yet cheat us and do the infernal work they
intended. Indeed, the poor people in the longboat were just racing for
their lives; and whether we could help them or whether they must perish
time alone would show. Yard by yard, painfully, laboriously, they
pushed towards the rock; yard by yard the devil's crew were bearing
down upon them. And still Dolly kept his shot; the gun had nothing to
say to them. No crueller sight you could plan or imagine. It was as
though we were permitting poor driven people to be slaughtered before
our very eyes.
"Fire, Dolly, lad!" cried I, at last--"fire, for pity's sake! Will you
see them die before our very eyes?"
His fingers trembled upon the gun. He had all the heart to do it; but
still he would not fire.
"I can't," says he, half mad at his confession; "the gun won't do
it--it's cruel, captain--cruel to see it--they're half a mile out of
range. And the others dropping their oars. Look at that. A man's down,
and another is trying to take his place----"
It was true as I live. From some cause or other, I could only surmise,
the longboat lay drifting with the tide and one of Czerny's boats, far
ahead of its fellows, was almost atop of her.
"They're done!" cries Peter Bligh, with an oath, "done entirely. God
rest their souls. They'll never make the rock----"
We believed it surely. The refugees were done; the pirates had
unsheathed their knives for the butcher's work. I saw no human help
could save them; and saying it a voice from the open door behind me
gave the lie to Peter Bligh, and named a miracle.
"'Tis the others that need your prayers, Mister Bligh--Czerny's lot are
sinking sure----"
I looked round and found Seth Barker at my elbow. His orders had been
to watch the gate of the corridor below. I asked him what brought him
there, and he told me something which sent my heart into my mouth.
"There's knocking down below and strange voices, sir. No danger, says
Mister Gray, but a fact you should know of. Belike they'll pass on,
sir, and please God they'll leave the engine for their own sakes."
"Does Mister Gray say that?" asked I. "Does he fear for the engine?"
"If it stops, we're all dead men for want of breath, the doctor says."
"Then it sha'n't stop," said I, "for here's a man that will open the
trap if two or twenty stand below."
He had quickened my pulse with his tale, for the truth of it I could
not deny; and it seemed to me that danger began to close in upon us,
turn where we might, and that the outcome must be the worst, the very
worst a man could picture. If I had any satisfaction, any consolation
of that wearing hour, it was the sight I beheld out there upon the
hither sea, where Czerny's boat drifted upon its prey--yet so drifted
that a child might have said, "She's done with; she's sinking."
"Flushed, by all that's wonderful," cries Peter Bligh, with a
tremendous oath; "aye, down to oblivion, and an honest man's curse go
with you. The rogue's done, my lads; she's done for, certain."
We stood close together and watched the scene with burning eyes. Dolly
Venn chattered away about a shot that must have struck the boat last
night and burst her seams. I cared nothing for the reasons, but took
the facts as the sea showed them to me. Be the cause what it might,
those who would have dealt out death to the refugees were going down to
eternity now, their arms in their hands, their mad desire still to be
read in every gesture. When the truth came swift upon them, when the
seas began to break right in across their beam, then, I say, they
leaped up mad with fear, and then only forgot their prey. For think
what that must have meant to them, the very boat sinking beneath them;
their comrades far away; the waves lapping their feet; the sure
knowledge that they must die, every man of them within hail of those
very woods wherein so many had perished for their pleasure. Aye, it
came upon them swiftly enough, and the good boat, making a brave effort
to battle with the swell, went down headlong anon, and the cries of
twelve drowning men echoed even in the distant island's hills. That
which had been a placid sea with two ships' boats was still a placid
sea though but one boat swam there. I beheld horrible faces looking
upward through the blinding spindrift; I saw arms thrust out above the
foam-flecked waters; I witnessed all that fearful struggle for life and
air and the sun's bright light; and then, aye, then the scene changed
awfully, and silence came upon all, and the sun was still shining, and
the untroubled deep lapped gently at our feet.
* * *
The twelve had perished; but the nine were saved. Stand awe-struck as
we might, seeing the hand of God in this deliverance, the truth of it
remained to put new heart into us and to hide that scene from our eyes.
There, pursued no longer, was the island boat. Glad voices hailed us,
wan figures stood up to clasp our hands; we lifted a woman to the
rocks; we ran hither, thither, for help and comfort for them. But nine
in all, they were our human salvage, our prize, our treasure of honest
lives. And we had snatched them from the brigand crew, and henceforth
they would stand with us, shoulder to shoulder, until the day were won
or lost and Ken's Island gave up its mysteries, or gathered us for that
last great sleep-time from which there is no waking.