On the following day the fiery sun again blazed down upon the guilty
ship out of a cloudless and windless sky. It seemed probable that one of
those oppressive calms that are so frequent on this portion of the ocean
would detain the barque for some days longer at her present anchorage.
In the early morning, when the west side of the island was still plunged
in shade, Carew approached the mate, who was enjoying his matutinal cup
of coffee and cigarette on the quarter-deck.
"Baptiste," he said, "I want a boat lowered; I am going on shore."
"Good, sir. How many of us do you wish to accompany you?"
"Thank you; I want none of you. Put the yacht's dinghy over the side.
She is the handiest boat on board; and I will pull off by myself."
"That will not be safe," objected Baptiste; "there is no place to beach
a boat yonder, and she would smash up if you left her banging about
alongside that rocky landing-place; we nearly lost the cutter in that
way last night. If you desire to take a solitary promenade on that
cheerful island, I will pull you off there myself in the dinghy, leave
you, and return for you at any hour you mention."
Carew assented to this proposal, and prepared himself for the journey by
placing his sheath-knife and loaded revolver in his belt. Baptiste
watched him curiously, and wondered whether this eccentric Englishman
had at last summoned up resolution, and was about to despatch the
prisoners outright, as being a more merciful proceeding than allowing
them to starve to death. Baptiste ventured no remark on the subject, for
he observed that his captain was in a taciturn and absent-minded mood;
and there was a peculiar, far-off look in his eyes that the Frenchman
could not understand, not knowing that Carew had been dosing himself for
the last few days with laudanum from his medicine chest, in the vain
hope that the drug might numb the tortures of his conscience.
The dinghy was got overboard, and while Carew sat in the sternsheets,
Baptiste took the oars and pulled leisurely across the smooth ocean
swell.
While they were yet half-way to the shore, the boat shot suddenly out of
the fervent sunshine into the cool dark shadow cast by the lofty
mountains.
Baptiste, feeling the rapid change, rested on his oars, and looked
round towards the pile of barren hills. "Ugh, what a horrid place!" he
cried. "I have a sensation as if I were passing into the mouth of a
tomb. I should not like to explore that island alone."
"Pull away!" said Carew impatiently. "Are you superstitious, like those
two Spanish brutes?"
"Superstition is not one of my failings, captain," replied the
Provencal, as he rowed on again; "but those dreadful cries we heard last
night seem to be still ringing in my ears. I wonder what they could have
been?"
"When you have put me on shore," said Carew, paying no heed to
Baptiste's words, "you can go back to the barque. I shall probably
remain on the island three or four hours. Then I will return to the
landing-place, and stand on the end of it till you come off for me. So
see that someone looks out for me with a telescope occasionally."
"We won't keep you waiting, for I know that you will soon have had
enough of Trinidad. But perhaps monsieur has a scientific mind, and
desires to study the botany, zoology, geology, and so forth, of the
island?"
Carew made no reply to this. They came alongside the promontory of black
coral, and found that the sea was not rolling in so heavily as on the
previous day. The Englishman landed without any difficulty.
"Good-bye, sir," Baptiste called out. "You will find the prisoners
behind the first big boulder up the ravine." Then he pulled lazily back
to the vessel.
Carew was now alone on the desert island with his captives. He looked to
his knife and pistol to see that they were ready to his hand, and
proceeded to clamber cautiously along the narrow, slippery ledge.
At the farther end he found a loathsome monster standing in his way,
seemingly quite indifferent to his approach; for it did not budge, but
remained quite still, its ungainly form spread across the causeway, so
that he had to step over it to pass by. Carew had never before seen one
of the species; but he recognised this as a tropical land-crab--one of a
hideous race of crustacea that swarm on this island, sharing the
possession of Trinidad with the sea-birds and the snakes. In his present
nervous state, Carew was startled by the sight of this repulsive-looking
creature. It must have extended two feet across from claw to claw. Its
colour was a bright saffron, and its grotesque features, which were
turned towards the man, seemed to be fixed in a cynical grin. Its
cruel-looking yellow pincers, hard as steel, could have bitten through
an inch board, and between them was clutched--Carew sickened when he
saw it--a fragment of the flesh of some animal.
Reaching the rugged shore, he found it covered with these land-crabs.
They crawled over the rocks and the dead trees, and the air was full of
a multitudinous crackling noise, produced by the small particles of
stone dislodged by their motion--a sound as of a distant bonfire, or as
of an army of locusts settling on a field of maize.
On the evening before, when the men had landed, they had seen none of
these creatures; now there were thousands of them on the mountain-side.
But it is well known that land-crabs at certain periods of the year
migrate in immense hosts from one district to another.
Even on the previous afternoon, when the coast was illumined by the full
glory of the setting sun, Baptiste and the two Spaniards had been
impressed by the desolate aspect before them. But now that a dark shadow
was thrown over the chaotic masses of volcanic rock, the scenery was
inexpressibly dreary and forbidding. Had there been no signs of life on
the land, it would have appeared less terrible than with that ghastly
vegetation of dead trees and snake-like creepers, and the teeming
generation of silent crabs and foul sea-birds perpetually raising their
hoarse cries.
Carew looked round with the sense of vague terror that is experienced in
a nightmare. He felt all the influence of this stern nature so hostile
to the life of man. It seemed to him that at any moment some fearful
cataclysm of the earth, or some unexampled calamity of any sort, might
occur. It would not have appeared strange to him to behold a
fire-breathing dragon or gigantic snake--such as are supposed to live in
fable only--issue from that gloomy ravine. Nothing could have appeared
too strange to happen on this mysterious shore.
The prisoners could not be seen from the landing-place, as the clump of
trees to which they had been lashed was some little way up the ravine,
and a huge boulder of black rock stood in front of it. Carew heard no
sound of voices as he approached. He considered it very unlikely that
the men had succeeded in freeing themselves from their bonds; but,
prepared for any emergency, he held his revolver in his hand and walked
round the corner of the rock.
He looked towards the clump of dead brown trees.
His hand relaxed its grasp, and the revolver fell with a ringing sound
on the rocks. He was struck motionless with a great horror. He stood
fascinated, staring before him with wide-open eyes, unwincing. He would
have given worlds to have closed his lids and shut out what he saw, but
he could not. It was as if some irresistible power was holding him
there, compelling him to look until every horrible detail of the scene
should be burnt into his brain for ever.
It was only for a few seconds, and then the spell was broken. He covered
his face with his hands and staggered back. Then turning from the sight,
he rushed away, not caring whither, sobbing such sobs as the lost souls
in hell may sob in their despair--a dreadful sobbing, that told of a
hopeless agony too intense to be endured for long by weak human flesh.
Suddenly he stopped short, looked wildly round him, raised his hands
towards the skies, and, uttering shrill shriek upon shriek, threw
himself on the ground. He rolled down the steep incline for some way,
cutting his hands and face with the sharp rocks, and when at last a
projecting stone prevented his farther descent, he lay foaming at the
mouth and writhing convulsively in an epileptic fit.
* * * * *
The tragic spectacle the man had suddenly come upon might indeed well
have made him, the guilty cause of it, go mad with horror. The fearful
cries that had been heard from the vessel were now explained. The
voracious land-crabs had done his work. He had gazed upon his victims,
and he felt that his limbs were paralysed; but his brain was intensely,
unnaturally active. It seemed to him that a voice had said, "Look, and
grasp all that there is to see, and remember, before the relief of
madness is allowed to thee. Thou hast murdered sleep, and shalt never
know peace again. For ever, in the worlds to come, the picture of this
that thou hast done shall be branded on thy soul!"
And he had been forced to look; not a detail of the horror was spared
him. The surroundings of the scene, the weird black rocks, the gaunt
dead trees, everything about the accursed spot entered into his brain.
He even noticed with what callous indifference Nature seemed to
contemplate the hideous evidences of the crime. Quite heedless, the huge
crabs dragged their clumsy bodies slowly over the stones. The sea-birds
fought noisily with each other for morsels of fish among the skeleton
branches of the trees, careless of those ghastly relics of poor humanity
beneath them. He felt how fitting a scene for such a tragedy was this
doleful corner of the earth, this island that a malevolent fiend might
have created, where Nature had no beauty, no love, no pity, and where,
like some foul witch, she could only conceive forms of life cruel and
repulsive, and become a mother of monsters.
* * * * *
The sun was low in the heaven, and Carew woke out of a profound slumber,
weak, parched with thirst, his mind dazed. He raised himself on his
elbow, and, looking round him, he found that he was lying on a beach of
beautiful golden sand that fringed an extensive bay. From the sands
there sloped up to a great height domes of loose stones of red volcanic
formation, of all shapes and sizes, the debris of shattered mountains,
and from the summits of these slopes there rose what the earthquakes had
still left of the solid hills--dark red pinnacles: some squared like
gigantic towers, others pointed like pyramids. The bay was enclosed by
two huge buttresses of rock that stretched as rugged promontories far
out into the ocean. There was no vegetation, not even a blade of grass,
visible anywhere on this savage coast. Looking seawards he saw that a
vast number of black rocks, among which raged a furious surf, bordered
the shore. Beyond these were the outer reefs on which the sea broke
heavily. And still farther out, on the horizon, rose three rocky islands
of considerable size, glowing red as the sun's rays fell full upon them.
Carew could not imagine where he was and how he had reached this place.
He tried to think. By degrees he called to mind the dreadful sight he
had seen in the ravine; but he could remember nothing that had occurred
since then. As the sun was to the back of the hills, he fancied that it
was still early in the forenoon, and that he had wandered a short
distance only from South West Bay; though the presence of the distant
islands and the different character of the coast perplexed him.
But he could think of nothing at that moment except the satisfaction of
the fearful thirst that was tormenting him.
He rose to his feet, eager to reach the cascade as soon as possible. He
felt that he should die if he could not procure water soon.
But in which direction had he to go--to the left or to the right? He
could not tell.
Then he saw his footprints on the soft sand, showing the way that he had
come. He had but to follow them.
Dizzy and faint, and often stumbling, he wearily retraced his steps. The
footprints led him along the shore to that extremity of the bay which
would have been on the left hand of one looking seaward. Reaching the
promontory of rock he clambered to the summit of it; and then, to his
dismay, he looked down upon another extensive bay, at the farther end of
which was a mountain of square shape falling perpendicularly into the
surf, and preventing all further progress in that direction. An ocean
current must be perpetually setting into this bay, for he perceived that
the shore was strewn with a prodigious quantity of wreckage. The spars
and barrels were heaped up together in places. There were vessels lying
crushed among the sharp rocks; others were sunk in the sand, their
skeleton ribs alone showing; there were vessels of all sizes, and some
of very antique construction--relics of disaster that had been
collecting gradually on this desert coast unvisited by man through all
the ages since European keels first clove the southern seas: a
melancholy record of much suffering and the loss of many gallant men.
Then Carew began to suspect the truth, and a great dread fell on him.
Lying down he placed a small stone on the edge of a shadow cast by a
pointed rock, and watched it with a breathless suspense.
Yes, it was as he had feared. _The shadow was slowly lengthening!_ He
laid his face on the ground and wept hysterically in his despair.
The shadow was lengthening, therefore the sun was setting. It was
setting inland over the mountains, and thus the sea was to the east of
him. So--unconsciously, by what road he knew not--he must have traversed
the whole island, and he was now on the coast the most remote from South
West Bay. The cascade, the water he was dying for, was miles away,
beyond those great hills. He could never reach it in his present state.
He was on the weather side of Trinidad.
Those heavy breakers on the reefs were caused by the high swell of the
south-east trades, and there on the horizon were the three islands of
Martin Vas, twenty-five miles away.
So he despaired and lay down on the rocks, and longed for the release of
death. Then he became delirious, and fancied that he was in Fleet
Street again, and was going into a tavern with some comrades to drink a
glass of wine. But once more the agony of thirst woke him to a
consciousness of his position. He staggered to his feet, and ran on
blindly a few yards; then he stumbled, and fell to his knees.
Ah! what was that gleaming so temptingly before him?--an illusion only
to mock him into madness with its lying promise. He stretched his hand
to it--touched it. He plunged his face into it.
It was water--fresh water; a small pool left in a hollow of a rock by
the last rains. It was nauseous to the taste, and heated by the tropical
sun; but it was water, and infinitely more precious to him at that
moment than all the gold quartz in his vessel's hold. He drank fiercely
and long, before his craving was assuaged; then his senses returned to
him, and, though still very weak, he felt capable of making an effort to
save his life.
He descended the farther side of the buttress of rock that divides the
two bays, and again followed his footprints, which led him across the
wreck-strewn sands to the entrance of a ravine that clove the mountains,
and seemed to afford the only practicable pass across them.
He looked upwards, and wondered how he could have possibly found his way
with safety down that perilous place; for he supposed that he must have
been in a trance-like condition when he made that journey, of which he
was now so entirely oblivious.
With great pain and labour he accomplished the difficult ascent. This
ravine had the same character as most of those in Trinidad. The bottom
of it was encumbered with masses of fallen rock, among which stood the
mysterious dead trees. Here the foul sea-birds were very numerous. The
air stank with the fish on which they fed; and as it was now the
breeding season, the mothers were very fierce, and attacked Carew with
their wings and beaks as he advanced, so that he had to arm himself with
a piece of wood, and fight his way through them.
After much weary climbing, often in places where a false step would have
meant death, he reached an elevated plateau covered with tree-ferns--the
only vegetation on the island which was fair to the eye.
Crossing this plateau, he found himself on the summit of a precipitous
cliff, and he looked down upon the ocean into which the sun was just
setting. At his feet, far below, the barque lay at anchor.
Proceeding along the edge of the precipice, he came to the head of a
ravine, which he knew must be the one from which the cascade falls into
the sea. After clambering down a little way, he reached the source of
the stream. The cool clear water rushed out with a pleasant sound from
a hole in the rocks. Here he lay down and drank greedily, for his throat
was again parched with fever.
Feeling too exhausted to make any further exertion, and knowing that the
darkness would soon render it impossible to continue the descent down
those perilous slopes, he determined to pass the night where he was.
Lying on a narrow ledge of rock he fell into a profound sleep.
After a while he dreamt a frightful dream. He thought that his victims
had come to life again, and, having surprised him in his sleep, were
holding him by his arms with a grip of iron, and were about to put him
to the torture.
He awoke with a start, and for a moment fancied that he saw their
skeleton forms leaning over him in the starlight.
But was it all a dream? What was that sensation of pain in his right
arm, as if a vice were tightening upon it?
He sprang to his feet, and with his arm dragged up a heavy weight that
was clinging to it.
Shuddering with horror, he shook it violently from him, and a large
land-crab fell with a crash on the stones.
The wretched man looked round, and could distinguish in the dim light
that the rocks were covered with the brutes. They had come out of their
holes at sunset, and were about to devour him alive.
He seized a large stone, and hurled it at one of them. It broke through
the creature's armour and killed it. But the others paid no heed to the
death of their fellow, and crawled on with a deliberate slowness. He
pulled a branch off one of the dead trees, and with this he was able to
thrust them away as they approached. He was obliged to keep watch and
defend himself thus through all that long night. Once or twice he
dropped off asleep in sheer exhaustion, only to be awakened again a
moment afterwards by the closing of sharp pincers on some portion of his
body. It was a night the realities of which equalled in horror the worst
illusions of a nightmare. Several times he thought of throwing himself
off the cliffs and putting an end to his misery, but still he clung to
life, and fought for it, as men who value it the least always will when
in the presence of a merely physical danger.
At daybreak Carew, his eyes bloodshot, his limbs shaking, having the
appearance of one who is recovering from an attack of delirium tremens,
descended the ravine as hastily as his weak condition permitted. He
turned his head aside as he passed the fatal clump of trees. He reached
the landing-place, and there found Baptiste and El Chico awaiting him
with the cutter.
Carew stepped into the boat without saying a word.
Baptiste glanced at the haggard face of the captain, but made no remark
on his altered appearance. He merely said, "We were anxious about you,
so have been off here since daybreak waiting for you."
Carew looked inquiringly into the mate's face, but did not dare to utter
the question that was on his lips.
Baptiste understood. "Yes, I have seen it," he said, in a low voice.
Even that callous villain had been awed by the sight at the foot of the
ravine.