IN WHICH THE UNEXPECTED HAPPENS
When Christobal descended to the saloon he found Elsie holding the
excited dog. It was instantly perceptible that she was not aware of the
grave position of affairs on deck. She knew, of course, that the
Alaculof menace had become active again, but the first attack had been
beaten off so easily that she was sure this later effort would fail.
The dog was better informed. His alert ears told him that there were
strange beings on board. He struggled so resolutely that Elsie freed
him just as the Spaniard reached the foot of the stairs. Forgetting his
wounded paw, and all a-quiver with the fine courage of his race, Joey
galloped up the companion and disappeared. Elsie was much distressed by
her four-footed friend’s useless pugnacity.
“I could not keep him back,” she said, “and I am afraid he runs some
risk of being hit. Do you think he will go to the chart-house? That is
so exposed—Captain Courtenay is not there, is he?”
“No. I left him a moment ago, close to the saloon entrance.”
She listened intently. Her imagination led her astray, it was so
hopelessly on the wrong tack.
“There does not appear to be so much stone-throwing now, but I suppose
I ought not to go on deck?” she cried.
“It is not to be thought of, Miss Maxwell. Indeed, the captain asked me
to come and bear you company.”
“Just fancy those horrid Indians venturing to approach the ship
to-night after the dreadful lesson they received this afternoon! And
what will poor Señor Suarez say? He was so positive that they would
never come near us after dark.”
“I saw him, also, on the promenade deck,” answered Christobal quietly.
“He had very much the semblance of a false prophet.”
The Spaniard meant to meet grim fate with a jest on his lips. He had
seen Suarez lying dead or insensible close to the rails. In fact, the
unlucky Argentine was only separated by the thickness of the ship’s
deck from the table near which Elsie was standing. Unless he were
speedily rescued he would bleed to death.
“Ah, I heard Joey barking. He has gone aft,” cried Elsie. “And what is
that?” she added, moving suddenly towards the center of the saloon. She
had caught the fierce hiss of steam, and she was well aware that steam
would only be brought into use if the Indians were endeavoring to climb
the ship’s sides: not yet had it occurred that they could possibly be
on board.
“Some of our friends the enemy have come near enough to be scalded,”
said the man, coolly. “That should soon drive them away. You are not
frightened, I hope?”
“Not a bit. My only regret is that I am not permitted to help in the
defense. It must be irksome for you, Dr. Christobal, to be stationed
here when the ship is in danger. I am certain you would prefer to be up
there with the others.”
“Thank you for saying that. I wish you were able to read all my
thoughts as accurately.”
His right hand went to the pocket in which he had placed the revolver.
The stock appeared to have a peculiar clamminess as his fingers closed
around it. Though he was proud of the iron nerve which had won him
repute in his profession, he almost prayed now that it might not fail
him at the last. What a horror, to be compelled with his parting glance
to see this bright and gracious woman crumple up on the deck!
“But I know you are a brave man,” she said with a confidant smile. “It
demanded a higher courage to pass undaunted through the ordeal of the
storm than to face these ill-armed Indians. Please don’t think I am a
warlike person, but it makes my blood boil to find that there are
wretches who regard our distress as their opportunity to murder us and
pillage the ship. What have we done to them? If they are poor and
hungry, and they would only come to us in a peaceful way, Captain
Courtenay would give them all the stores he could spare.”
Christobal heard ominous sounds from the fore part of the vessel. The
revolver shooting had ceased, for the convincing reason there were no
more cartridges. Courtenay’s double barrelled gun was being fired as
quickly as he could reload it, and the sharp snap of one of the rifles
in the Indians’ possession was recognizable as coming from the poop,
the remaining marksmen having preferred to fire wildly from their
canoes. But Christobal knew that a deadly struggle was in progress on
the fore deck. Tollemache, Frascuelo, and three Chileans were engaged
in a hand-to-hand fight with nearly a score of savages; the doctor
could distinguish the cries of the combatants, the irregular stamping
of boot-shod feet.
He wondered why the girl, with her acute senses, did not grasp the
significance of the yells and trampling on the deck, until it occurred
to him, with a quick pang, that she was listening for one voice alone;
owing to her ignorance of the desperate nature of the conflict raging
overhead she had ears for nothing further.
He placed a hand on her shoulder. She turned and looked at him. There
was a gravity in his eyes, which startled her.
“Elsie,” he said, “you believe in the efficacy of prayer, don’t you?
Well, then, pray now a little. I shall be glad to think, when this time
of danger has passed, that we owed something to your invocation.”
It was in his mind that he must shoot her within a few seconds, and the
immeasurable agony of the thought reflected itself in his face. He had
no notion that she would give his words a more direct significance than
he intended them to bear. But a strange, hoarse yell of triumph, the
war-cry of an Alaculof leader who had hauled himself to the bridge and
found it undefended, warned her in the same moment that all was not
well with the defense.
She sprang towards the saloon stairs.
“Do you hear that?” she cried in a ringing voice. “There are Indians on
board. Come! We must not stay here when our friends are fighting for
their lives.”
Christobal knew that this active girl would readily outstrip him in a
race to the deck. She was already several feet distant, but he must
detain her, no matter what the cost; if she fell into the clutches of
the ghouls then over-running the _Kansas_, she might not be killed, but
only wounded, and her sufferings would be inconceivable ere the end
came.
“You are wrong,” he shouted with convincing vehemence. “But, if you
wish to see for yourself, at least allow me to go first.”
While he was speaking, he ran forward. She thought he meant what he
said, and waited for him. Then he caught her right arm firmly in his
left hand.
“Let us wait here a moment or two,” he breathed.
“No, no; I am going now. You shall not hold me back. You don’t
understand. The man I love is up there, perhaps surrounded by savages.
Let me go, I tell you! If he is dying I shall die by his side. Let me
go! Would you have me strike you?” She turned on him like an angry
goddess, and strove to wrest herself from his grip. At that instant
Tollemache and Frascuelo, the only survivors of the deadly struggle
forward, were driven back by a rush of Indians. They caught sight of
others leaping down the bridge companion.
“To the saloon, Courtenay!” roared Tollemache, clearing a path for
himself with an iron bar which he swung in both hands. Followed by
Frascuelo, he jumped inside the saloon gangway. Four savages followed,
two entering through the doorway behind him. One raised a hatchet-like
implement, and would have brained the Englishman had not Christobal
whipped out his revolver and shot him through the body, releasing the
girl’s wrist in his flurry. The Indian pitched headlong down the
stairs, falling limply at Elsie’s feet. She stooped over the terrifying
figure and seized the man’s weapon. Her eyes shone with a strange
light. She felt her arms tingle. A wonderful power seemed to flow
through her body, like a gush of strong wine. She was assured that she,
unaided, could beat down all the puny, despicable creatures who barred
the path to her lover. She vaulted over the writhing form of the
Alaculof, and made to climb the stairs, but Christobal, admirably cool,
fired again and brought another Indian to his knees. The second
Indian’s fall caused Frascuelo to trip; and the Chilean, locked rib to
rib with a somewhat sturdy opponent, rolled into the saloon. Elsie drew
back just in time, or the two men would have knocked her down. Even as
they were turning over on the steep steps she saw Frascuelo’s knife
seek that favorite junction of neck and collar-bone which Christobal
had said was so well understood by those of his ilk. At the foot of the
stairs the Indian lay still, and Frascuelo tried to rise. She helped
him gladly. The awfulness of this killing no longer appalled her. Each
dead or disabled Indian was one less obstacle between her and
Courtenay. A third time the revolver barked, but Christobal missed. It
did not matter greatly, as Tollemache had shortened his bar, using it
twice as a miner delves at a rock. But the doctor did not forget that
he had only three cartridges left, two of which were bespoke long
before the fight began.
At last, then, the way was clear. Elsie would have mounted the stairs
but an appealing hand detained her.
“I cannot walk, señorita. My leg has given way. And we can do no good
there. They are all down.”
A death chill gripped her heart at Frascuelo’s words.
“All down!” she repeated, white-lipped.
“I think so,” said he, blankly. The man was dazed by the ordeal through
which he had passed.
As if to answer and refute him, Joey’s hysterical yelp sounded from a
point close at hand, and they distinctly heard Courtenay’s loud
command:
“This way, Boyle! Rally to the bridge!”
“You are mistaken!” shrieked Elsie, wrenching herself free from the
Chilean’s grasp. Nothing short of violence would stop her now.
Tollemache darted out into the darkness, and she mounted the steps two
at a time. Christobal panted by her side. He was determined not to be
parted from her: if necessary, he would drag her away from any doubtful
encounter on the battle-field of the deck. But his blood was aflame now
with the lust of combat. He wished to die fighting rather than by a
suicide’s bullet.
They were not yet clear of the doorway when an extraordinary burst of
cheering and shouts in English and Spanish assailed their wondering
ears. The sounds seemed to come from the sea, from some point very near
to the ship. A loud hubbub arose among the Indians; Courtenay, clubbing
his gun, rushed past, with the dog at his heels, and ran up the bridge
companion. They could follow his progress as he raced towards the port
side, and they heard his amazed cry:
“What boats are those?”
“Your own, captain,” came the answering yell, plainly audible above the
din.
“That is Mr. Gray,” screamed Elsie, and she, too, ran towards the
bridge, with the doctor close behind.
“Sink every canoe you can get alongside of, and knock those fellows on
the head who are swimming,” roared Courtenay, who was so carried away
by the fierceness of the fight from which he had just emerged that he
would have given the same directions to the archangel Michael had that
warrior-spirit come to his aid.
He seemed to have eyes in the back of his head, he turned so suddenly
when Elsie neared him.
“Ah, thank God you are safe!” he said, drawing her to him for an
instant. “Stand there, dear heart!”
He placed her in the forward angle of the bridge rail, and leaned out
over the side. She understood that she must not speak to him then, but
a great joy overwhelmed her, and her eyes melted into tears.
Christobal, who had missed no word of Elsie’s frenzied protest in the
saloon, nor failed to note the manner of Courtenay’s greeting, seemed
to take the collapse of his own aspirations with the unmoved stoicism
he had displayed in the face of danger.
“The ship’s boats—” he began, but the captain raised his gun and fired
twice aft along the side of the vessel. Cries of pain and a good deal
of splashing in the sea proved that he had expedited the departure of
several Indians who were perched on the rails beyond the reach of
Walker’s steam jet.
“The ship’s boats,” went on Christobal calmly, “have turned up in some
mysterious manner, just in the nick of time. A few minutes more, and
they would have been too late.”
“But where have they come from? Where can they have been all these
days?” whispered Elsie, whose eyes were so dimmed that she perforce
abandoned the effort to make out what was going on in the sea near the
ship.
“My brain reels under the wildest guesses. At present we are chiefly
concerned in the fact that they are here. Yet people say that the age
of miracles has passed: obviously a foolish remark.”
Those who have been plucked from the precipice by a sleeve, as it were,
are seldom able to concentrate their attention on the one thought which
should apparently swamp all others. They either yield to the strain,
and lapse into unconsciousness, or their minds become the arena of
minor emotions, wherein trivialities play battledore and shuttlecock
with the tremendous issues of the moment. When a more extended
knowledge of all that had happened, joined to a nicer adjustment of the
time-factor in events, enabled Elsie to realise the extraordinary
deliverance from death which she had been vouchsafed that night, she
began to appreciate the service which Christobal rendered her in
discussing matters with such nonchalance.
Barely a minute had elapsed since they were in the throes of a struggle
which promised to be the last act of a tragedy. The ship was then
over-run by a horde of howling savages, maddened by the desperate
resistance offered by the defenders, and ruthless as wolves in their
lust for destruction. Now, the _Kansas_ was clear of every bedaubed
Alaculof, save the many who cumbered the decks, either dead or so
seriously wounded that they could not move. These men were so near akin
to animals, that this condition implied ultimate collapse save in a few
instances of fractured skulls and broken limbs. From the final stage of
a hopeless butchery the survivors of the ship’s company were suddenly
transferred to a position of reasonable security. It was not that the
arrival of the ship’s boats meant such an accession of fighting
strength that the Alaculofs could not have made sure of victory. Gray
and his companions were badly armed. The Indians remaining in the
canoes could have pelted them to shreds in a few minutes. Even those on
the ship had the power to resist any attempt by the newcomers to gain
the decks. But the superstitious savages had already screwed themselves
up to an act of unusual daring in delivering a night attack, and the
appearance of boats filled with men of whose fighting qualities they
had already such a lively experience quite demoralized them. They fled
without attempting a counter assault. Just as negroes conjure up white
demons, so did these nude Alaculofs regard with awe men who wore
clothes. They were ready to kill and eat the strange beings of another
race who, few in numbers and ill armed, wandered into their rock-pent
fastness, but it was quite a different thing to face them in equal
combat.
At last the sounds of conflict died away. The black waters closed over
the dead; the last swimmer vanished into the silence. The spasmodic
barking of the dog, the groaning of men lying on the decks and the
shouts exchanged between Courtenay and Gray for the guidance of the
boats, were the only remaining symbols of the fiercest crisis which had
yet befallen the _Kansas_.
Elsie, wandering through a trance-like maze of vivid impressions, awoke
with a start to the fact that Courtenay was giving directions for the
lowering of the ship’s gangway, meanwhile receiving information as to
the identity of the boats beneath.
“Mr. Malcolm is in charge of the jolly-boat,” Gray was saying. “Miss
Baring and Mr. and Mrs. Somerville are with him. Miss Baring’s maid is
dead. Señor Jerrera is in my boat, Number 2. We have been on White
Horse Island all this time, but we have seen nothing of the other
life-boat.”
That meant that two boats out of those which quitted the ship had
arrived thus opportunely. Señor Jerrera was the Spanish mining engineer
who had been hustled into one of the craft manned by the mutineers. And
Isobel was actually sitting down there in the darkness a few feet away.
How wonderful it all was! Elsie thought her heart would never cease its
labored throbbing. Even yet her breath came in little gasps. How could
the captain and Gray talk so coolly, as if some of the passengers and
crew were returning on board the ship after an evening ashore? It was
the bedizened savages who now assumed reality: the simple orders which
dealt with the clearing of the falls and the lowering of a ladder
became wildly fantastic.
And Christobal was saying:
“Well, Miss Maxwell, you and I can look forward to a busy night. The
ship is littered with wounded men, and our newly arrived friends must
be worn with fatigue.”
His smooth, even sentences helped to dispel the stupor of amazement
which had made her dumb. And the first reasoned thought which came to
her was that the Spanish doctor had treated her with the kindness of an
indulgent parent, for Elsie was far too unselfish not to be alive to
the unselfishness of others.
“How good you have been to me!” she murmured. “I can never repay you. I
remember now that I said dreadful things to you in the saloon. But you
did not know what it meant to me when I realized that Captain Courtenay
might be falling even then beneath the blows of those merciless
savages. I have not had a chance to tell you that he has asked me to be
his wife, and I have consented. I love him more than all the world. And
you, Dr. Christobal, you who knew my father and mother, who have
grown-up daughters of your own, you will wish me happiness?”
It was not easy to bear when it came, although he had guessed the truth
already. But he choked back the wrath and despair which surged up in
him, and said with his stately courtesy:
“I do wish you well, Elsie. No man can hope more earnestly than I that
you have made the better choice.”
Then he turned, with a certain abruptness which reminded her of the
change in his manner she had noticed once or twice during recent days,
and quitted the bridge. She sighed, and was sorry for him, knowing that
he loved her.
Courtenay, who had been far too busy to pay heed to anything beyond the
brief fight between the boats and the canoes, perceived now that the
gangway was in position; lights were shining on both the upper and
lower platforms.
He stretched out his hand, and drew Elsie to him.
“Are you alone, sweetheart?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Kiss me, then, and go to meet your friends. They will be aboard in
less than a minute. Oh, Elsie, I thought I had seen the last of you.”
“Was it so bad as that?” she murmured, a great content soothing her
heart and brain at her lover’s admission that he was thinking of her
during the worst agony of the fray. He gave her a reassuring hug.
“You will never know how bad it was,” he said. “I cannot understand how
we escaped. One moment it all looks like blind chance; the next I feel
like going on my knees in thankfulness for the direct intervention of
Providence. Those brutes ought to have mastered us a dozen times. I
almost lost faith when I heard Tollemache shout that the saloon was in
danger, but I could not leave the after deck, where four of us were
keeping fifty in check. The least sign of yielding would have caused an
overwhelming rush. Well, all’s well that ends well. And not a sailor
living can squeeze his best girl and do his work at the same time. Off
with you, or I shall never bring you on a voyage in my ship again.”
With her soul singing a canticle of joy she passed from the bridge to
the lower deck. Mr. Boyle was waiting there, holding a lantern.
“Huh!” he growled, when he saw her, “p’raps you’ll believe what I tell
you before your hair turns gray, if not sooner. Luck! Did any man ever
have such luck as the skipper? Why, if he fell off Mong Blong he’d find
a circus net rigged up to catch him.”
“I agree with you so fully, Mr. Boyle,” she whispered, “that I am going
to marry him.”
“I guessed as much,” he answered. “At any rate I fancied it wouldn’t be
for want of axing on his part.” He whirled off into a tempest of wrath
because a sailor beneath had failed to keep a guide-rope taut. The
occupants of the boats might have saved his life, but he would let them
know that he was still chief officer for all that.
At last he stooped and gave his hand to some one who emerged from the
darkness beneath.
“Glad to see you again, Miss Baring,” he said gruffly. “And you, Mrs.
Somerville. And you, sir,” to the missionary. “We thought you’d gone
under, an’ good folks are scarce enough as it is.”
It was a wan and broken-spirited Isobel whom Elsie led to her cabin,
but notwithstanding her wretched state, her eyes quickly took in the
orderly condition of the room.
“I left my clothes strewed all over the floor,” she said, with a
nervousness which Elsie attributed to the hardships she had undergone.
“Why did you trouble to pack them away?”
Then Elsie told her of her hunt for the poudrière, and was so obviously
unconcerned about any incident other than the adventures they had both
experienced since they parted, that Isobel questioned her no further. A
bath and a change of clothing worked marvels. Though thin and weak for
want of proper food, neither Isobel nor Mrs. Somerville had suffered in
health from the exposure and short fare involved by life on the island.
It was broad daylight ere they could be persuaded to retire to rest,
there was so much to tell and to hear.
Meanwhile, the meeting between Tollemache and Gray was full of racial
subtleties.
Tollemache, stepping forward to grasp Gray’s hand, felt it was
incumbent on him to utter the first word.
“Had a pretty rotten time of it, I expect?” said he.
“Poisonous. And you?”
“Oh, fair. Beastly close squeak when you turned up.”
Gray became more explicit when Courtenay met him in the chart-room,
where the table had to be cleared of debris before some glasses and a
couple of bottles of champagne could be staged.
“When those blackguards cast off from the ship,” he said, “we scudded
away in a sort of ocean mill-race which threatened to upset us at any
moment. In fact, we gave up hope for a time, but, as the boat kept
afloat, Mr. Malcolm and I managed to stir up the Chileans, and we got
them to steady her with the oars. Some time before daybreak we ran into
smooth water, and made out land on the port bow. In a few minutes we
were ashore on a pebbly beach, in a place alive with seals. When the
sun rose we found we were on a barren island, and, what was more, that
one of the ship’s life-boats had been upset on a reef which we just
missed, and had lost all her stores, though the men had scrambled into
safety. With the aid of our boat, and helped by fine weather, we raised
the life-boat, and recovered some of her fittings. The water-casks and
tins of food were hauled up by a chap who could dive well. We have been
on that lump of rock until today, when I finally persuaded the others
that unless we made for the land which we could see in the dim distance
the weather would break and our food give out. The trouble with the
Chileans was that they were afraid of the natives hereabouts, and
preferred to wait on the off chance of a ship showing up. At last they
saw that Malcolm and I were right, but we missed the full run of the
tide, and were some miles from the mainland, or whatever it is, when
night fell. We pushed along cautiously, found the entrance to the cove
we had made out before the light failed, and were about to lay to until
dawn, when we saw a rocket and heard the fog-horn. That woke us up, you
bet. The Chileans pulled like mad, but when we came near enough to
discover that the ship was being attacked by Indians, I had a fearful
job to get my heroes to butt in. That fellow Gomez is a brick. He
orated like a politician, and finally they got a move on. From what I
have seen since I came aboard, I guess you were hustling about that
time?”
“Yes,” said Courtenay, filling a glass with wine as he heard Boyle’s
step without. He handed the glass to the chief when he entered.
“How many?” he asked.
“Huh! We’ve slung fifty-three Indians an’ six of the crew overboard.
There’s fourteen wounded natives an’ five of our men in the doctor’s
hands. Two Alaculofs died of funk when they set eyes on the nigger who
turned up in the life-boat. They thought—well, here’s chin chin to
everybody. I’m thirsty.”