THE HURRICANE
Tommy's spirits were sky high. While treating our situation seriously he
found in every phase of it some new sense of humor, whereas the
professor looked on with grim purpose. Gates occupied rather a neutral
ground, I think, perhaps alternately leaning one way and the other. But
I was gripped by a single idea, a deep and growing love for this
fugitive girl to whom I had never spoken, who I did not know, but had
sworn to rescue.
As we climbed back to the _Whim_ and summoned Gates it was understood
that haste meant everything. Yet we could not very well move before
knowing whither the outlaw crew had gone. That they made for Florida
was, of course, self-evident, but where upon that vast stretch of coast?
Would they entrench and wait? Were they even now watching with
binoculars from a pine tree top to discover our next move, or had they
set out at once for the security of the Everglades, the prairies, or the
forests? Any of those trackless vastnesses to the eastward might hide a
battalion of men for months; therefore, in case they had run, what hope
of finding them?
These and other facts I put before my friends while they listened in
glum silence--indeed, with hardly a move except the pipes carried
mechanically to their lips or down. Tommy's brier was empty, but his
teeth were tight upon the stem and I saw the muscles of his jaws
working, as though grinding up my conclusions.
"So that's how it stands," I said, at last. "Personally I lean to the
Ten Thousand Islands. Gates tells us the location is unexplored; it
offers ten thousand hiding places and, in the circumstances, they
couldn't ask for anything better."
Monsieur stretched back in his chair and blew out a volume of smoke,
adding:
"It is the Islands, of course. And I think there is little doubt what
they did after landing. They did not start inland. They feel secure
where they are, and there they will remain to watch us. It may also be
their lair, their home, for they must have a home ashore somewhere! _Mon
Capitaine_, you know with certainty there is not a channel deep enough
for our yacht?"
"I never heard of one," Gates answered. "Of course, there might be; only
I never heard of it."
"If there were, why did they abandon the _Orchid_?" Tommy asked.
"It will bear looking into," the professor mused. "Now, that paper with
the dots and rambling line! Could it represent a chart to their
stronghold?"
"From what I saw in it, as a sea-faring man," Gates answered, "the
bearings on that paper didn't tell enough. No one could sail in new
water without a plainer chart than that. No, sir, if it means anything
at all, I'd say it meant something else."
"We're wasting a lot of golden time here," I said. "What if there is a
channel, and what if the paper does mark the entrance to it! That
doesn't get us anywhere. How could we tell which were the right two
islands to go between, when there're thousands of 'em on the water and
less than fifty on the paper, and not even a landmark of any kind
indicated! As Gates says, it isn't plain enough."
Monsieur seemed to be unconvinced, and Tommy began to laugh at him,
saying:
"Gates would be an idiot to sail into a lot of treacherous oyster bars
guided by that poor excuse of a thing! Sylvia drew it for a subterfuge,
anyhow, not a chart. I've got the right dope, so listen: Those crooks
are ashore watching us right now--it's a cinch they are, because any of
us, placed in their position, would be doing the same. Now if we sail in
and push things, they'll run off and we couldn't find 'em
again--probably never. So let's divide our crew and sail both yachts
straight out across the Gulf--like we're going home. Then they'll think
we've given up the chase and be off their guard. But when we get over
the horizon we'll make a circle back, and after dark anchor in some cove
north of this island area--if Gates knows a good one. From that point,
being well hid and unsuspected, we'll conduct operations by land as we
think best. How about it?"
It was the most sensible thing I could see, and said so. The others
quite enthusiastically agreed, and in a few minutes the two yachts were
sailing prettily westward. Lower and lower sank the Ten Thousand
Islands, and sometime after we finished luncheon a sailor aloft reported
them gone. Then with a will we changed our course and began the big
circle back.
Gates had been making observations. His chart showed a cove about ten
miles north of the island area, but too shallow for the _Whim_. Yet ten
miles farther north of that was another inlet with fairly good water.
Some thought this would be the logical place to anchor, while others
insisted it was too far from operations.
"We might establish an outpost in the little cove," I said, at last,
"making a camp there and keeping the launch with us, while the _Whim_
stays in the larger cove as a base to fall back on in case of
necessity."
"The launch won't do," Tommy corrected. "In a quiet place like that its
put-put could be heard for miles. Paddles, oars or sails for these still
waters, Jack!"
He was right. Moreover, one of our small boats did have a center-board,
thwart and portable mast, so that obstacle was easily crossed.
"Now," he continued, "I approve of Jack's plan, and suggest that tonight
we slip into Big Cove--hereinafter to be so called--and anchor the
_Orchid_. Then with a whole crew we'll sail down outside of Little Cove,
land provisions, ammunition, and stuff like that for the scouting party.
After this the _Whim_ goes back and waits alongside the _Orchid_. The
thing now is to decide on signals. Who knows the Morse?"
Gates answered promptly that he did; but I did not, so Tommy wrote the
alphabet on a card, saying:
"You've this afternoon to memorize it, and tonight I'll drill you. It'll
do between ourselves, Jack, if we get separated. But how shall we reach
you, Gates? Have you any black powder for smoke balls?"
"Lor' bless you, sir, we've only what's in a few shells belonging to
Miss Nancy. It would take a fair sized keg to signal that far, sir!"
I will not recount the hours I walked back and forth along the deck,
with a flag in one hand and Tommy's card in the other, making what to
the uninitiated would have seemed a perfectly ridiculous spectacle. But
I had got quite well along, and was standing near the foremast
wig-wagging a message to an imaginary pair of violet eyes--for man can
be silly and serious at one and the same time--when a little puff of hot
air struck my face. It was the second puff of this kind I had noticed.
Gates now came up and joined me.
"There's a howl of something coming, sir," he said. "I've had suspicions
of it all day, but now the barometer's touched bottom."
"The sky's clear," I suggested.
He laughed, though without humor.
"A sky isn't always clear because there're no clouds in it, Mr. Jack."
"But what do you expect, Gates? We don't have storms at this season!"
"You're right, sir. But once in a long while there'll be a howler, and
that's what the barometer is trying to tell us now. As we have only harf
a crew on each yacht I think we'd better make a bee-line in. 'Twill take
us twenty miles north of where we were, and those fellows carn't see
us."
I never disputed conditions of weather with Gates, so the course was
changed and we started on our run to land, which he thought might be
reached by dark. In this he was right, for as the sun, like a strangely
weird greenish ball, touched the horizon our prow, leading the _Orchid_
by half a mile, entered the protecting waters of Big Cove.
Just at this moment Bilkins dashed up from the cabin, looking scared and
yelling:
"He won't stay quiet, sirs; I can't make him!"
We would have thought a delirium had seized the big black had not he
then appeared from the same doorway, regarding us with an air of
rationality. I have never seen a smile more broad, or more expressive of
relief. It simply radiated happiness, and Tommy, staring at him, began
to hum a song that had cheered us many a time in the trenches.
"By Jingo, Tommy," I cried, "we'll name him that!"
And thus he was christened Smiles--which, however, through some fatuous
process of fabrication so soon grew to Smilax, that as Smilax he shall
henceforth be known.
The frown of displeasure that had gathered on Monsieur's brow fled as
the fellow spoke. For he did speak, telling in his own style that the
concussion had been a mere bagatelle, that his faculties had returned
quite unimpaired after their brief absence, and that he was hungry but
ready to serve us. What he did actually say to express this--to which
the professor would have devoted five whole minutes of scientific
phrasing--was:
"Me well."
Monsieur sprang forward and imperiously commanded him to sit facing the
western glow. He then proceeded to squint closely into the patient
fellow's eyes, he felt of his head, his pulse, and looked at his tongue.
At last he stood back, pondering with an air of deep solemnity.
"It is true," he sighed. "The man is well."
"You look like we ought to put the flag at half-mast," I said. "What's
the objection to a little snicker?"
"I do not understand," he murmured, ignoring this flippancy, "how he got
well so soon."
"Of all the funereal old bugs!" Tommy began to laugh at him. "If you
ever doctored me, gezabo, and I happened to recover, darned if I
wouldn't turn around and die out of pity for you! Come here, Smilax, I
want to ask some questions!"
The result of Tommy's probing showed that late the previous afternoon,
while this negro was fishing sponges, the _Orchid_ deliberately ran him
down. She would not have stopped, but luckily he grasped the bowsprit
stays and climbed aboard of her. Here he was met and roundly cursed by
angry men who were, for a while, at least, in favor of throwing him
back. He had seen the _Whim_ following. No, he had not seen a lady. Yes,
he had heard strange music that, with our shooting at them, decided him
to swim off to us during the night.
To Tommy's further questioning we learned that he knew nothing of the
Ten Thousand Islands except through hearsay. As to his wound the recital
was brief: he had been put to work wrapping up many things in old sails;
two men came into the galley and stood by while he finished the last
bundle, then one of them who wore a cap like--he pointed to
Gates--stepped behind him, something crashed upon his head, and that was
all.
Tommy drew in his breath with a sharp hiss, saying:
"That's a cold blooded bunch!"
"They're on those islands, sir," Gates cried. "I just feel it!"
The mate and his half of the crew had come aboard after making the
_Orchid_ snug for whatever weather the increasing sultriness portended,
while Tommy took Smilax forward to coach him in the manipulation of an
automatic revolver--for this modern arm puzzled the big negro who was,
however, nicely skilled in the use of older models.
That something brewed in the way of a storm did not require a barometer
or the eye of a seaman to determine, so I insisted upon speeding up
preparations for the landing force. This met the approval of all, since
the skipper thought it likely that we could be put ashore and the _Whim_
get well on her way back to Big Cove before the disturbance came.
While we ate a hasty supper, therefore, Bilkins saw that the things we
should want were stored in the small boat: food, ammunition, canvas for
a lean-to, matches, utensils of sundry kinds--in fact, the necessaries.
He had attended to my camping outfits before, and possessed a genius for
knowing what to include. Only when this was under way, and the mate had
thrice assured Gates of his ability to navigate the _Whim_ on her
ticklish course down the coast, did the old captain feel satisfied to
join us at table.
He brought with him a large chart that he pinned to the wall and,
nodding to it as he tucked a napkin under his chin, said:
"You should take that, sir. It shows scarce more'n the shore line, but
the shore's where you'll be, and not far inland. Here's Little Cove," he
touched the spot with his fork. "In harf an hour we'll lay outside it,
not being able to get in, and there we'll anchor to put you off. Who'll
you be taking with you, sir?"
"Tommy and I thought we'd make a sort of reconnoissance first, and
Bilkins says he wants to go as cook," I answered. "In a day or two,
weather permitting, we'll sail the small boat up to Big Cove for a
council of war."
"Well, sir," he said, shaking his head, "just go slow, that's all I
arsk. Don't start anything. There's no use two young fellows kicking up
a racket without their friends, that's what I say. So just poke around,
but keep out of sight; learn all you want, but don't start anything. If
you carn't learn it all, be satisfied with harf; then the rest of us
will take that and make a whole of it in no time. Am I right,
Professor?"
"You are right, _mon Capitaine_, if they will mind you. But will they? A
chance comes for to--what my boy Tommy calls plug--that old sinner, and
so they will jump to a fight. Fight! Bah! How many fools give a life for
one who cannot give a reason!"
"There's reason enough here," Tommy laughed. "But we'll promise to be
careful, if that satisfies you."
When at last we dropped anchor half a mile outside the entrance of
Little Cove our deck became active. I went off first with the supplies
to choose a spot where they should be stored, although in such a black
night this might have been left haphazard to the men. But one never
believes, on occasions so momentous as pitching camp, that others know a
jot about it but oneself--to this there are practically no exceptions.
While being rowed shoreward I noticed that the wind had quite died down,
leaving a suffocation in the air that is difficult to explain; but I've
felt something like it on a sultry summer day when the sky is black with
slowly advancing clouds, when the birds have become too awed to chirp
and every leaf in the trees hangs motionless. It is in these suspenses
of unpleasant expectation, when at any moment the heavens will open with
a hissing smash of fire and nature be turned to fury, that one breathes
heavily. There is no other feeling like it, except the drag of torturing
minutes before being called to make a speech, or to be whistled over the
top into No Man's Land.
Our prow grated on the sand and in silence we began to unload. Back from
the sloping beach grew a fringe of small machineel trees and palms; the
beach and they, as well as I could judge, forming a kind of
amphitheater to the water.
My men wanted to raise the canvas into a make-shift tent before
returning for the second load, but I thought better of this and had them
leave it as it was, wrapped about our guns and stowed with the other
things beneath the palms. Until daylight showed how well our position
might be screened from the islands, it were a short sighted business to
stretch a tell-tale piece of white duck that could be seen for miles.
Already there were eerie whisperings of some disturbance in the sky.
From the black forest far behind us could be detected faint restless
noises, as if a myriad agitated spirits were scurrying hither and
thither whipping their wings against the branches. Something more than
an ordinary man's size blow was coming out of the southeast, so I
tumbled the crew into their boat, charging them to pull right heartily
and bring back Tommy, at least, before too late.
They must have got close to the _Whim_ when a force, as sudden as it was
at the moment unexpected, almost lifted me off my feet. Indeed, had I
not possessed the presence of mind to fall flat upon the beach I should
have gone kittering. In half a second the heavens were cluttered not
only with screaming and tumbling winds but branches of large trees
driven along as straws. I dug my toes and fingers into the sand,
flattening out for dear life. Close upon the head of this hurricane came
the deluge of rain, cloudburst after cloudburst. Then lightning was
unchained, veritable shocks of fire, and no thunder out of hell could
have been more appalling.
For perhaps a minute I had not been given a chance to think of the small
boat, or the _Whim_, but struggling to raise my head I stared through
the inky space eagerly awaiting the next flash. It came almost at once,
bringing into image the Cove as if a million green calcium lights were
focused there. This was but for an instant, yet such is the peculiar
effect of lightning that in the following blackness each detail of the
scene remained photographed upon my retinae. I saw the turbulent waters
apparently sweeping, as a mill race, out to sea; I saw a lone palm, that
had formerly stood in dignified solitude upon a nearby point of land,
now bent in the wildest agony, its leafy top resembling an umbrella
turned inside out. I saw the _Whim_, greenish white in a greenish foam,
heeled over till her masts were all but on the waves and her mainsail,
half torn from its boom, snapping in the wind. In this fashion she was
being driven at breakneck speed across the Gulf. I thought--I tried to
think--that I had seen a small boat being dragged behind. Surely my men
had reached her!
But another flash, and still another, brought no greater assurance of
this. Each showed the yacht farther away, more blurred by rain, until
the distance became too great for me to make her out at all.
And then another sky-splitting flame photographed a sight that made my
blood congeal. I got but an instantaneous glimpse of it from the corner
of my eye before the world became wrapped again in darkness--but
something had been there, some huge, horrible monster was rising out of
the water and waddling toward me. I had seen two long dripping arms, or
feelers, extending in my direction. Crouched, with my nerves on fire, I
waited. The rifles and revolvers were wrapped in the canvas and could
not be reached in time; there was nothing to do but wait till this
thing touched me.
It seemed an age before the heavens split again, and then I gave a yell
wilder than the lashing rain, a yell of joy; for, staggering up the
beach was Smilax, true to his name with a grin so broad that the
greenish glare flickered on his teeth.
His sense of direction was either extremely acute or he possessed the
eyes of a cat, for in the following darkness I felt a hand grasp my
shoulder and push me toward the trees. Obediently I yielded. Then above
the storm I heard him tearing leaves from the smaller palms until, by
overlapping them against some bushes so they would be held by the wind,
he constructed a lean-to--in the circumstances a most creditable
achievement--beneath which I crawled.
The rain drumming upon this shelter made conversation an effort, but in
half an hour the storm had all but blown itself to pieces and then I let
fly a string of questions--the first being of our small boat.
He told me, in his taciturn way, that her crew had made safe just in
time. As they scrambled aboard the hurricane struck. The mate, knowing
with laudatory foresight that the masts were in danger of destruction,
had rushed forward and chopped the anchor cable. Even that had not saved
the mainsail from being torn away.
As to the fate of our yacht neither he nor I felt much concern. I knew
her to be a staunch craft, handled by able seamen, and felt that she
would come out on top even if upon the coast of Mexico. Then, with a
simplicity that deeply touched me, he added that as she was about to be
blown off for an absence of, perhaps, some days, and he realized that I
would be in need of help, he dived overboard.
"But," I cried, remembering the anger of that seething water, "you took
your life in your hands!"
"Me swim all over," came his quiet reply; but whether he meant all over
the world, or all over as might apply to his personal self, was left in
doubt.
Anyway, I do not believe there is another man living who could have
breasted that hurricane-lashed sea for such a distance. I could judge
something of what it cost him by the way he had gasped for breath--and
since then I have seen him finish a fifteen-mile run, breathing little
faster than normally. This gives an idea of his task that night, and the
risk he took--and the indifference with which he took it; yet about his
stupendous strength I can not write, but only marvel.
Wet clothes are not conducive to sleep, but I was thoroughly tired,
healthily drowsy. There were more questions to be asked, plans to be
discussed, but my gods descended; and, lo, when I looked again the sun
was shining in all its glory.