HOW SOME OF US GOT TO THE ISLAND
But between our need for watchfulness and the drunkenness of many of the
crew the time slipped away without our doing as much as we should have
done under happier conditions. Thanks to the confusion that their
wantonness had caused, we did but make three trips in all to the island
in that day, in which three trips we managed to send over about fifty
persons, with some twenty barrels of bread and a few casks of water. Had
we been wiser we should have sent more water, for we could not tell how
distressed we might become for want of it on the shore if we did not
find any spring of fair water on the island. However, I am recording
what we did, and not what we ought to have done, and I can assure my
friends that if ever they find themselves in such straits as we were in
that night and day they will have reason to be thankful if they manage
to keep all their wits about them, and to conduct their affairs with
the same wisdom that they, as I make no doubt, display in less pressing
hours. For myself, my wits were still wool-gathering, still were
striving to remember something which for the life of me I could not
manage to remember.
It was well-nigh evening, and twilight was making the distant land
indistinct, when Hatchett came back from the last of those three voyages
with very unpleasant tidings--that it was no use for us to send over any
more provisions to the island, as those who had been disembarked there
were only wasting that which they had already received. Indeed, Hatchett
painted a gloomy picture of the conduct of those colonists who were now
on shore, declaring that they had cast all discipline and decorum to the
winds, and that they needed stern treatment if they were to be prevented
from breaking out into open mutiny.
There were, of course, a great variety of folk among our colonists, and
many of them were weak and foolish creatures enough, as there always
will be weak and foolish creatures in any community of human beings
until the human race grows into perfection, as some philosophers
maintain that it will. Now, it certainly was precisely this element in
our little society that had been shipped off to the island, for, with
the women and children, it was the men who were most womanlike in their
noise, or most childlike in their fears, whose safety we had first
ensured. From what our Captain knew of these people, well-meaning enough
under ordinary conditions, but timorous and foolish under conditions
such as we now were in, he guessed that disorganisation and disturbance
might be likely enough. Therefore he resolved, and his resolve was
approved both by Hatchett and by Jensen, that he would go over himself
to the island and restore order among the malcontents.
Now I will confess that when I heard of this my heart sank, for I took
it for granted that Marjorie would go with Captain Marmaduke, and indeed
it seemed only right that she should go rather than remain upon the
Royal Christopher with only a parcel of rough men aboard her, and those
rough men sorely divided in purpose, and each division mistrustful of
the other. All through those long hours of shipwreck sorrow my spirits
had been cheered by the sight of her beauty and the example of her calm.
She weathered the calamity with the bravest temper; never cast down,
never assuming a false elation, but bearing herself in all just as a
true man would like the woman he loved to bear herself in stress and
peril. I have read of a maid in France ages back who raised armies to
drive my ancestors out of her fatherland and I think that maid must have
looked as my maid did and had the same blessed grace to inspire courage
and love and service.
So when I thought that Marjorie was about to quit the ship I felt such a
sudden wrench at my heart as made me feel sick and dizzy, like a man
about to faint. The water came into my eyes with the saltness of the
sea, and words without meaning--words of pain, and grief, and
longing--seemed to seek a form at my lips and then to perish without a
breath. But at last, with an effort, I shook myself free of my stupor. I
might never see her again, I told myself; this might be our latest
parting, there on that wretched deck, in that crowd of faces painted
with fear and fury, with the sullen sea about us which would so soon
divide us. Come what might come of it, I swore that I would say my say
and not carry the regret of a fool's silence to my grave. For though my
heart seemed to beat like the drums of a dozen garrisons, I made my way
across the slippery deck to where the girl stood, for the moment alone,
with the wind flapping her hair about and blowing her gown against her.
She was looking out at the island when I came close, and there was so
much noise aboard and beyond that she did not hear my coming till I
stood beside her, and called her name into her ear. Then she turned her
pale face to me, and small blame to her to look pale in those terrors;
but her eyes had all their brightness, and there was no sign of fear in
them or on her lips. I thought her more beautiful than ever as she stood
there, so calm in all that savage scene of ruin, so brave at a time when
stout men shook with fear.
'Marjorie,' I said, 'I want to tell you something. I hope in God's mercy
that we may meet again, but God alone knows if we ever shall. And so I
want to tell you that, whatever happens to me, sick or well, in danger
or out of it, I am your servant, and that your name will be in my heart
to the end.'
She had heard me in quiet, but there was a wonder in her face as she
listened to the words I stumbled over. In fear to be misunderstood, I
spoke again in an agony.
'Marjorie,' I said, 'dear Marjorie, I should never have dared to tell
you but for this hour. But I may never see you again, and I love you.'
And then I lost command of myself and my words, and begged her
incoherently to forgive me, and to think kind thoughts of me if this
were indeed farewell. She was silent for a moment, and there came no
change over her face. Then she said softly:
'Why do you tell me this now? Is there some new danger?'
I stared at her in wonder.
'Marjorie,' I cried, 'Marjorie, are you not going to leave the ship?'
She shook her head.
'I stay with Lancelot,' she answered quietly. 'It is an old promise
between us. Where he is I abide. That is our compact.'
I cannot find any words for the fulness of joy that flooded my heart as
Marjorie spoke. I would still be near her; the ruined ship remain a
sacred dwelling. But in my error I had blundered, overbold, and I tried
to explain confusedly.
'Marjorie,' I said, 'I thought you were going and I dared to tell you
the truth. It is the truth indeed, but I should not have told it.'
She held out her hand to me with a kind smile as I clasped it.
'We are good friends,' she said. 'You and I and Lancelot. Let us
remember nothing but that, that we are good friends, we three. I always
think well of you; always deserve that I shall think well of you. Be
always brave and good and God bless you!'
She let go my hand as she spoke and I turned away and left her, stirred
by a thousand joys and fears and wonders.
By this time Captain Amber had made all his preparations, albeit with no
small reluctance, to quit the ship. He picked out some ten of his men
from those that had served him of old and that were now equipped as men
of war. Then he formally entrusted to Lancelot the ship and the lives of
all aboard her. Marjorie, who now came to him, he kissed very tenderly,
making no attempt to urge her to accompany him. He knew the two so well
and their love and loyalty each to the other. Then he took me by the
hand and bade me serve Lancelot as I would serve him, which I faithfully
and gladly promised to do, and so he went over the side into the skiff,
with his men and Hatchett, and the sailors that were handling the skiff,
and made his way towards the island.
It was now that a thing came to pass which relieved my mind of a care
only to increase our anxieties. When the skiff was a little way from the
ship my Captain, looking back to where we lay, drew from his pocket his
kerchief, which was a big and brightly-coloured kerchief, such as men
love who follow the sea, and waved it in our direction as a signal of
farewell, and, no doubt, of encouragement. Now, I cannot quite tell the
train of thought which the sight of that action aroused in my mind, but
I think that it was something after this fashion. The waving of that
kerchief reminded me of the waving of a flag, and the moment that the
word flag came into my mind I suddenly remembered what it was that I had
been trying to remember through all those weary hours. As in a mirror I
saw again the interior of Jensen's cabin and the beautiful face of
Barbara, smiling as she stooped over her hideous standard. I saw again
that vile black flag, and as the picture painted itself upon my brain
the consciousness of our peril came upon me in all its strength.
Without a doubt, the first thing to do was to tell Lancelot what I knew.
It was too late now to tell the Captain. Even if he were not too far to
see and understand such signals as we might make to him to return, it
would not do to let Jensen and the rest of the crew know that we had
fathomed their treachery. So I argued the matter to myself. It was
certain that Jensen had no notion that I was any sharer in his dark
secret, for though I could read in his face his dislike, I could see
there no distrust of us. The first thing to be done was to break the bad
news to Lancelot.
I drew Lancelot aside and told him what I had seen. At first he was
amazed and incredulous; amazed because I had not warned Captain Amber
before, and incredulous because, when I explained my forgetfulness
through my fall and the hurt to my head, he would needs have it that I
imagined the whole matter. But I was so confident in my tale that I
shook his disbelief--at least, so far that he declared himself willing
to take all possible precautions.
As matters stood we seemed to be in the better case. We had
well-trained, well-armed men on our side; we had the supply of arms and
ammunition in our care and under our guard; if the sailors were more
numerous than we, they were practically unarmed. It was clear to both
Lancelot and myself that the shipwreck, which had seemed so great a
misfortune, was really the means of averting a more terrible calamity.
We could not doubt that the intention of Jensen and his accomplices had
been to seize the ship suddenly, taking us unawares when we were asleep,
cutting most of our throats, very likely, and, after seizing upon the
supply of arms, overawing such of the colonists and others as should be
unwilling to convert the noble Royal Christopher into a pirate ship.