IN A WILD HAVEN
Fortune has her cycles, whether for good or ill. The _Kansas_, having
run the gauntlet of many dangers, seemed to have earned an approving
smile from the fickle goddess. A slight but perceptible veering of the
wind, combined with the increasing power of the sun’s rays, swept the
ocean clear of its storm-wraiths. Soon after passing the pillar rock,
Courtenay thought he could make out the unwavering outline of
mountainous land amid the gray mists. A few minutes later the waves
racing alongside changed their leaden hue to a steely glitter which
told him the fog was dispersing. The nearer blue of the ocean carpet
spread an ever-widening circle until it merged into a vivid green.
Then, with startling suddenness, the curtain was drawn aside on a
panorama at once magnificent and amazing.
Almost without warning, the ship was found to be entering the estuary
of a narrow fiord. Gaunt headlands, carved on Titanic scale out of the
solid rock, guarded the entrance, and already shut out the more distant
coast-line. Behind these first massive walls, everywhere unscalable,
and rising in separate promontories to altitudes of, perhaps, four
hundred feet, an inner fortification of precipitous mountains flung
their glacier-clad peaks heavenward to immense heights,—heights which,
in that region, soared far above the snow-line. The sun was reflected
with dazzling brilliancy from their icy summits, and wonderful lights
sparkled in rainbow tints on their slopes. Delicate pink deepened to
rose crimson; pale greens softened into the beryl blue of stupendous
glaciers, vast frozen cataracts which flowed down deep and broad clefts
almost to the water’s edge.
Above these color-bands, the dead-white mantle of everlasting snow
spread its folds, with here and there a black ridge of granite
thrusting wind-cleared fangs high above the far-flung shroud. But, if
the crests of peak upon peak were thus clothed in white, their bases
wore a garment of different texture. Save on the seaward terraces of
stark rock, with their tide-marked base of weed-covered boulders, the
densest vegetation known to mankind imposed everywhere a first barrier
to human progress far more unconquerable than the awesome regions
beyond. Pine forests of extraordinary density crammed each available
yard of space, until the tree-growth yielded perforce to hardier Alpine
moss and lichens. This lower belt of deepest green ranged from five
hundred to one thousand feet in height, as conditions were adverse or
favorable; waterfalls abounded; each tiny glen held its foaming
rivulet, rushing madly down the steep, or leaping in fine cascades from
one rocky escarpment to another. Courtenay, after an astounded glance
at the magnitude and solemn grandeur of the spectacle, had eyes for
naught save the conformation of the channel. The change in the wind was
caused, he found, by the northerly headland thrusting its giant mass a
mile, or more, westward of its twin; but he quickly discovered, from
the conformation of the land, that the latter was really the protecting
cape of the inner water-way. He reasoned, therefore, that the
deep-water channel flowed close to the northern shore until it was
flung off by the relentless rocks to seek the easier inlet behind the
opposite point.
He did not know yet whether the ship was entering some unknown straits
or the mouth of a narrow land-locked bay. If the latter, the presence
of the distant glaciers and the nearer torrents warned him of a
possible bar, on which the _Kansas_ might be lost within sight of safe
anchorage. Not inspired guesswork now, but the skill of the pilot, was
needed; this crossing the bar in broad daylight was as great a trial of
nerve in its way as the earlier onward rush in the dark.
Wind and sea had abated so sensibly that the Pacific rollers raced on
unbroken, and it was no longer a super-human task to make one’s voice
heard along the deck.
So the captain aroused Walker with a sharp order:
“Go and see if the donkey-boiler has a good head of steam. We may have
to drop the stream anchor quick, and both bowers as well. If Tollemache
is doing his work properly, go forward, and keep a sharp lookout for
broken water. Clear off the tarpaulins, and be ready to lower away the
instant I sing out.”
Walker, who had been gazing spellbound at the majestic haven opening up
before the ship, hurried on his errand. He found Tollemache seated on
an upturned bucket, in which the taciturn one had just washed his face
and hands.
“Have you seen it?” demanded Walker, gleefully, while his practised
eyes took in the state of the gages and he overran a number of oil taps
with nimble fingers.
“Seen what?” asked Tollemache, without removing his pipe.
“The land, my bonnie lad. We-ah wunnin’ wight in now.”
“We’ve been doing that for hours.”
“Yes, but this is diff’went. The’aw’s a fine wiv-ah ahead. Have ye
ev-ah seen the Tyne? Well, just shove Sooth Sheels an’ Tynemouth a few
hundwed feet high-ah, an’ you’ve got it. Now, don’t twy to talk, or you
might cwack yo’ face.”
With this Parthian shaft of humor he vanished towards the forecastle,
whence the ubiquitous donkey-boiler, through one of its long arms,
would shoot forth the stockless anchors at the touch of a lever.
Tollemache, who had already glimpsed the coast, strolled out on deck
and bent well over the side in order to look more directly ahead. He
could see one half only of the view, but that sufficed.
“A respite!” he growled to himself. “Penal servitude instead of sudden
death.”
And, indeed, this was the true aspect of things, as Courtenay
discovered when he had successfully brought the ship past three ugly
reefs and dropped anchor in the backwater of a small sheltered bay. He
speedily abandoned the half-formed hope that the _Kansas_ might have
run into an ocean water-way which communicated with Smyth Channel. The
rampart of snow-clad hills had no break, while a hasty scrutiny of the
chart showed him that the eastern coast of Hanover Island had been
thoroughly surveyed. Yet it was not in human nature that he should not
experience a rush of joy at the thought that, by his own efforts, he
had saved his ship and some, at least, of the lives entrusted to his
care. He was alone when the music of the chains in the hawse-pipes
sounded in his ears. The _Kansas_ had plenty of room to swing, but he
thought it best to moor her. Believing implicitly now that he would yet
bring his vessel into the Thames, he allowed her to be carried round by
the fast-flowing tide until her nose pointed seaward, and she lay in
the comparatively still water inshore. Then he dropped the second
anchor and stepped forth from the chart-house. His long vigil was
ended. Some of the cloud of care lifted from his face, and he called
cheerily to Joey.
“Come along, pup,” he said. “Let us sample Dr. Christobal’s cookery.
You have shared my watch; now you shall share my breakfast. We have
both earned it.”
It was in his mind to knock loudly on Elsie’s door and awaken her;
therefore he was dimly conscious of a feeling of disappointment when he
saw her, in company with Christobal, leaning over the rail of the
promenade deck, and evidently discussing the weird beauty of the scene
spread before her wondering eyes.
The ship was now so sheltered by the shoulder of the southern cape that
the keen breeze yet rushing in from the sea passed hundreds of feet
above her masts. There was nothing more than a tidal swell on the
surface of the water, in which the heavy-laden vessel rested as in a
dock. In the new and extraordinary quietude the light thud of the
donkey-engine sounded with a strange distinctness, and Elsie and her
companion heard Courtenay’s approaching footsteps almost as soon as he
gained the deck.
Instantly she ran towards him, with hands out-stretched.
“Let me be the first to congratulate you,” she cried, her cheeks
mantling with a rush of color and her lips quivering with excitement.
“How wonderful of you to bring the ship through all those awful reefs
and things! No; you must not say you have done nothing marvelous. Dr.
Christobal has told me everything. Next to Providence, Captain
Courtenay, we owe our lives to you.”
Courtenay felt it would hurt her were he to smile at her earnestness.
But he did say:
“Surely it is not so very remarkable that I should do my best to
safeguard the ship and such of her passengers and crew as survive last
night’s ordeal.”
“I know that quite well. Even I would have striven to help when my life
was at stake. But the really wonderful thing is that you should have
guessed an unknown track in the dark; that you should actually be able
to guide a helpless ship through waters so full of dangers that it
would be folly to venture in their midst in broad daylight and with
full steam-power.”
Then Courtenay took off his sou’wester, and bowed.
“I had no idea I had such expert critics on board. Is it you,
Christobal, who has followed the ship’s course so closely?”
“Not I, my dear fellow. Miss Maxwell is only saying what I feel,
indeed, but could not have expressed as admirably. Our silent friend,
Tollemache, is the man who observes. I was so amazed when I came on
deck half an hour ago that I sought him out, and he told me something
of the night’s later happenings. So I took the liberty of arousing Miss
Maxwell from a very sound sleep, but we thought it best not to disturb
you by appearing on the bridge until you had done everything you had
planned.”
“I shall never understand how I came to fall asleep,” said Elsie. “I
remember feeling very tired; I sat down for a moment, and that ended
it. The next thing I heard was a rapping on my door, and Dr.
Christobal’s voice bidding me hurry if I would see the entrance to the
harbor.”
The two men exchanged glances. Courtenay laughed, so pleasantly that it
was good to hear.
“Yet there was I up aloft, maneuvering the ship in the firm faith that
Dr. Christobal was busy in the cook’s galley,” said he.
“Ah, we have news for you,” cried Elsie. “One of the poor fellows who
was knocked on the head during that terrible fight for the boats was
the master cook himself. He is better now, and breakfast can be ready
in five minutes. I’ll go and tell him.”
She ran off, and Joey scampered by her side, for he knew quite well
where the kitchen lay.
“Bromide is useful at times,” murmured Christobal, watching Elsie until
she had disappeared. Then he turned to Courtenay.
“I suppose you have seen nothing of the boats?”
“No sign whatever. And I could hardly have missed them if they were
here. They may have escaped, but I doubt it. The sea ran very high for
a time, and the _Kansas_ scraped past so many reefs that it was almost
impossible for each of the three boats to have done the same.”
“Even if one or more of them reached land, there is small likelihood
that they would turn up in this particular bay?”
“That is true, especially if they used their sails. The Chileans who
got away in the life-boats would know sufficient of the coast to
endeavor to make a northerly course, while my parting instructions to
Malcolm were to keep to the north all the time.”
“I wish now that poor Isobel Baring and the others had not left us,”
said Christobal sadly.
Courtenay was about to say something, but checked himself. He was not
blind to the aspect of affairs which Tollemache had summarized so
pithily. It might yet be that those who remained had more to endure.
Then Elsie summoned them to breakfast, which was served on deck, as the
saloon had been temporarily converted into a hospital.
Before sitting down, Courtenay paid a brief visit to Mr. Boyle.
Christobal told him not to allow the wounded man to talk too much,
complete rest for a few hours being essential. But Boyle’s pallid face
lit up so brightly when the captain stood by his side that it was hard
not to indulge him to some extent.
“Huh,” he said, his gruff voice strong as ever. “Christobal was not
humbugging me when he assured me you were all right. Where are we?”
“In a small bay on the east of Hanover Island. I have not taken any
observations yet, and there is no hurry, old chap. You’ll be out and
about long before we move again.”
“Huh. D’ye think so? I know the beggar who knifed me. I’ll take it out
of him when I see him.”
“You are better off than he, Boyle. Unless he is here with you, I guess
he is rolling on the floor of the Pacific by this time.”
Boyle tried to turn and survey his fellow-sufferers; there was the fire
of battle in his eye. Courtenay restrained him with a laugh.
“A nice thing I am doing,” he cried, “permitting you to talk, and
getting you excited. I believe you would punch the scoundrel now if he
were in the next berth. You must lie quiet, old man; doctor’s orders;
he says you’re on the royal road if you keep on the easy list for a day
or so.”
Boyle smiled, and closed his eyes.
“I heard the anchors go, and then I knew that all was well. You’re the
luckiest skipper afloat. Huh, the bloomin’ _Kansas_ was lost not once
but twenty times.”
“Are you in pain, Boyle?” asked Courtenay, placing a gentle hand on his
friend’s forehead.
“Not much. More stiff than sore. It was a knock-out blow of its kind. I
can just recall you hauling me out of the scrimmage, and—”
“It will be your turn to do as much for me next time. Try to go to
sleep; we’ll have you on deck tomorrow.”
Courtenay noticed that there were only four other sufferers in the
saloon: Three were firemen injured by the explosion. He had a pleasant
word for each of them. The fourth was a sailor, either asleep or
unconscious, and Courtenay thought he recognized a severe bruise on the
man’s left temple where the butt of his revolver had struck hard.
When he returned on deck he learned that two other members of the crew,
in addition to the cook, were able to work. Walker had set one to clear
up the stokehold; his companion, a fireman, had relieved Mr.
Tollemache. Indeed, the latter had gone to his cabin, and was the last
to arrive at the feast, finally putting in an appearance in a new suit
and spotless linen.
Christobal protested loudly.
“I thought this was to be a workers’ meal,” he said. “Tollemache has
stolen a march on us. He is quite a Bond-street lounger in appearance.”
“Dirty job, stoking,” said Tollemache.
“I seem to have been the only lazy person on board during the night,”
cried Elsie.
“Do you know what time it is?” asked Courtenay.
“No; about ten o’clock, I fancy.”
“It is not yet half-past four.”
The blue eyes opened wide. “Are you in earnest?” she demanded.
He showed her his watch. Then she perceived that the sun had not yet
risen high enough to illumine the wooded crest of the opposite cliff.
The snow-clad hills, the blue glaciers, the wonderful clearness of
atmosphere, led her to believe that the day was much more advanced.
Land and sea shone in a strange crystal light. None could tell whence
it came. It seemed to her, in that solemn hour, to be the reflection of
heaven itself. By quick transition, her thoughts flew back to the
previous night. Scarce four hours had elapsed since she had waited in
the captain’s cabin, amidst the drenching spray and tearing wind, while
he took Isobel, and Mrs. Somerville, and the shrieking maid to the
boat. The corners of her mouth drooped and tears trembled on her
eyelashes. She sought furtively for a handkerchief. Knowing exactly
what troubled her, Courtenay turned to Christobal.
“This island ought to be inhabited,” he said. “Can you tell me what
sort of Indians one finds in this locality?”
Christobal frowned perplexedly. During many previous voyages to Europe
he had invariably traveled on the mail steamers of smaller draft which
use the sheltered sea canal formed by the Smyth, Sarmiento, and Messier
channels, the protected water-way running for hundreds of miles to the
north from the western end of the Straits of Tierra del Fuego, and, in
some of its aspects, reminding sailors of the Clyde and the Caledonian
Canal.
“I fear I do not know much about them,” he said. “Behind those hills
there one sees a few Canoe Indians; I have heard that they are somewhat
lower in the social scale than the aborigines of Australia.”
“Are they?” said Courtenay. He looked Christobal straight in the eyes,
and the doctor returned his gaze as steadily.
“That is their repute. They live mostly on shellfish. They do not
congregate in communities. A few families keep together, and move
constantly from place to place. They have a quaint belief that if they
remain on a camping-ground more than a night or two the devil will
stick his head out of the ground and bite them. Obviously, the real
devil that plagues them is the continuous wandering demanded by their
search for food.”
Christobal would have aired such a scrap of interesting knowledge at
the foot of the scaffold, and expected the executioner to listen
attentively.
“They are called the Alaculof. They use bows and arrows, with heads
chipped out of stone or bottle-glass,” put in Tollemache.
“Oh, you have been in these parts before?” cried Courtenay, regarding
his compatriot with some interest, while the Spaniard surveyed his
rival doubtfully.
“Yes—was on the _Emu_—wrecked in Cockburn Channel.”
Now, the story of the _Emu_ is one of those fierce tragedies which the
sea first puts on the stage of life with dire skill, and then proceeds
to destroy the slightest vestige of their brief existence. But such
things leave abiding memories in men’s souls, and Courtenay had heard
how twenty-seven survivors, out of a muster-roll of thirty who escaped
from the wreck, had been shot down by Indians ambushed in the forest.
Elsie, whose tears were dispelled by the doctor’s amusing summary of
the Canoe Indians’ theological views, was listening to the
conversation, so the captain did not carry it further, contenting
himself with the remark:
“That will be useful, if we are compelled to go ashore. You will have
some acquaintance with the ways of our hosts.”
Tollemache, having nothing to say, was not given to the use of
unnecessary words. Elsie was conscious of a certain constraint in their
talk.
“Please don’t mind me,” she said quietly. “I know all about the loss of
the _Emu_. If we fall into the hands of the Alaculof tribe, we shall be
not only killed but eaten.”
She was pouring out a second cup of tea for Walker when she made this
remarkable statement. Her eyes were intent on exact quantities of tea,
milk, and sugar, and she passed the cup to the engineer with a smile.
Each of the men admired her coolness, but Tollemache, who had been
quietly scrutinizing the nearer hills, gave painful emphasis to this
gruesome topic by exclaiming:
“There they are now: smoke signals.”
Sure enough, thin columns of smoke were rising from several points on
the land. It could not be doubted that these were caused by human
agency. They were not visible when the party sat down to breakfast. The
appearance of the ship was their obvious explanation, but not a canoe
or a solitary figure could be seen, though Courtenay and others, at
various times during the day, searched every part of the neighboring
shore with field glasses and powerful telescopes.
After an all too brief burst of sunshine, the Land of Storms again
justified its name. Giant clouds came rolling in from seaward. The
mountains were lost in mist; the glaciers became sullen, rock-strewn
masses of white-brown ice; the fresh greenery of the forests faded into
somber belts of blackness. Though it was high summer in this desolate
region, heavy showers of hail and sleet alternated with drenching rain.
At low-water, though the _Kansas_ floated securely in a depth of twenty
fathoms, a yellow current sweeping past her starboard quarter showed
how accurately Courtenay had read the tokens of the inlet. Many a
swollen torrent, and, perhaps, one or two fair-sized streams at the
head of the bay, contributed this flood of fresh water.
And, with the evening tide, there were not wanting indications that the
gale without had developed a new fury. A solitary albatross, driven
landward by stress of weather, rode in vast circles above the ship.
There was no wealth of bird life in that place of gloom. Though fitted
to rear untold millions of gulls and other sea birds, this secluded
nook was almost deserted; generations of men had devoured all the eggs
they could lay hands on.
To Elsie and the doctor were entrusted the daylight watch on deck and
the care of the sick. For the latter there was not much to be done. The
cook undertook to feed them, and Frascuelo, the wounded stevedore who
had been discovered in a state of collapse, soon revived, and was
practically able to look after himself. The others, under Walker’s
directions, were hard at work in the engine-room and stoke-hold, for
there alone lay the chance of ultimate escape.
The two sentinels conversed but little. The outer war of the elements
was disturbing, and Christobal, though unfailingly optimistic in his
speech, was nevertheless a prey to dark forebodings. Once, they were
startled by the fall of an avalanche, which thundered down a mountain
side on the farther shore, and tore a great gap in the belt of trees
until it crashed into the water. It sent a four-foot wave across the
bay, and the _Kansas_ rocked so violently that the men toiling below
raced up on deck to ascertain the cause of the disturbance.
This was the only exciting incident of a day that seemed to be
unending. Elsie, worn out by the strain of the preceding twenty-four
hours, and, notwithstanding her brief sleep in the morning, thoroughly
exhausted for want of rest, was persuaded to retire early to her cabin.
She lay down almost fully dressed. Somehow, it was impossible to think
of a state of unpreparedness for any emergency.
She was soon sound asleep. She awoke with a start, with all her nerves
a-quiver. Joey was tearing along the deck, barking furiously. She heard
two men run past her door with ominous haste. Then, after a
heart-breaking pause, there was some shooting. Some one, she thought it
was Courtenay, roared down the saloon companion:
“On deck, all hands, to repel boarders!”
With a confused rush, men mounted the stairs and raced forward. She
knew that nearly all of those not on watch were sleeping with the
injured men in the saloon, and now she understood the reason. The ship
was being attacked by Indians, and not altogether unexpectedly. The
savages had stolen alongside in their canoes under the cloak of night.
Perhaps they were already on board in overwhelming numbers. Poor girl,
she murmured a prayer while she hurriedly drew on her boots and ulster.
There seemed to be no end to the evils which assailed the _Kansas_, and
she dreaded this new terror more than the mad fury of the seas. But, if
the men were fighting for their lives and her’s, she must help, too.
That was clear. She had a weapon, a loaded revolver, which she had
picked up from beneath a boat’s tarpaulin lying on the spar deck. She
opened her door and peered out. She could not see any one, and the
rattle of a hail-storm overhead effectually dulled any other noise. But
several shots fired again in the fore part of the ship were audible
above the din of the pelting hail. So she ran that way, with the fine
courage of one who fears yet goes on, and her eyes pierced the shadows
with a tense despair in them. For what could so few men do against the
unseen watchers who sent up the thirty-four smoke columns she had
counted?
Ah, trust a woman to read the unspoken thought! Courtenay and
Christobal and Tollemache need not have striven to couch their warnings
in ambiguous words. Elsie could have told them all that was left unsaid
at breakfast. The ship had fought her own enemies; now the human beings
she had saved must defend themselves from a foe against whom the ship
was helpless.