THE CHIMNEY
Noiselessly the two spectators slipped away through the bushes.
Startled by the discovery of a white man, whose very stillness declared
him a prisoner in bonds among these dancing savages, they felt the need
of talking freely, unrestrained by precautions against being overheard.
They hurried along at the base of the cliffs until they were out of
earshot, then sat on a low rock where they could still see all that went
on around the fire.
'Can it be that planter fellow on the _Berenisa_? What was his name?'
said Trentham.
'You mean Grimshaw; he was the only man besides ourselves who wore
ducks. I don't know. Grimshaw was a small man; the prisoner seemed a
big fellow. I couldn't see his face.'
'Nor I. Whoever it is, I 'm afraid his number 's up.'
'I didn't take much stock of Grinson's yarns about cannibals, but it
appears he 's right. The niggers would hardly bring their prisoner down
the chimney for the fun of it, or the trouble of taking him up again.'
'Did you see a cooking-pot?'
'No, I was too busy watching the dancers to look around.'
'We 'll have to get him away.'
'Whew! That's a tall proposition, Trentham.'
'Confoundedly; but we can't stand off and see a white man cut up! Hang
it all, Hoole, it's too horrible to think about!'
'Ghastly. Yet remember where we are. We might get him loose, but what
then? They 'd hunt us over this strip of beach, and we 've proved pretty
well there 's nowhere to hide.'
'Our only chance is to get him up the chimney.'
'My dear man!'
'It may be out of the frying-pan into the fire, if there are more of the
savages on top, but down below his fate is certain, whereas----'
'But there 's the climbing. I 've done some in the Rockies, but I guess
you 're a tenderfoot at mountaineering, and as for the seamen----'
'If they can scramble up rigging, they ought to be able to manage that
chimney. I 'm sure I could. And really, there 's no time to lose. They
're still drumming and dancing, but who knows when they 'll feel hungry?
We had better bring up the others at once.'
They got up, and hastened towards their camping-place.
'It's the first step that costs,' remarked Hoole. 'How to get him away
with the firelight full on him. It's a ticklish stunt.'
'We can but try--we must try! Hullo! Here 's Grinson.'
The two seamen stepped towards them from the shelter of a bush.
'We came to meet you, sir,' Grinson began.
'Hush, Grinson!' said Trentham. 'Muffle that organ-pipe of yours. The
savages have got a white man.'
'Never!' exclaimed Meek, in husky astonishment.
'He 's lying tied to a bush there, apparently,' Trentham went on. 'A
man dressed in white.'
'Mr. Grimshaw! How did they get him?' said Grinson. 'He must have been
cast ashore.'
'We don't think it's he, but it may be. Anyhow, we must try to rescue
him.'
'Save us, sir! We 'll only go into the pot too. It will be like taking
a bone from a dog, only worse.'
'Worse ain't the word for it,' said Meek. 'And you 'd go first, Mr.
Grinson, being a man of flesh.'
'Tough, Ephraim--uncommon tough, me lad. Any nigger of sense would
rather have something young and juicy, like Mr. Trentham. I remember
once----'
'Not now, Grinson,' Trentham interposed. 'We must make up our minds;
there 's no time for recollections.'
'Plenty of time, sir. These 'ere cannibals never start cooking till the
moon 's high aloft, and she 's only just peeping above the skyline.'
'That's a relief, if you 're right----'
'I can bear him out, sir,' said Meek.
'It gives us more time to make our plans. Our idea is, Grinson, if we
get the prisoner away, to climb up that crack in the cliff; there's no
safety below. There may be danger above, of course; it's a choice
between two evils. We meant to try our luck to-morrow, you know; we
only anticipate by a few hours, and though climbing will be more
difficult in the darkness than it would be in the light, you and Meek
are used to clambering up the rigging at all hours and in all
weathers----'
'Say no more about that, sir. We 'd back ourselves against cats.'
'Or monkeys,' suggested Meek.
'You 've got no tail, Ephraim. 'Tis not the climbing as I 've any fear
about, sir; 'tis first the bonfire, second what's up top, third and
last--there ain't no third, now I come to think of it.'
'The second we 've agreed to chance. The first--well, the only thing is
to work round the savages and get between them and the chimney; then one
of us must creep or crawl as close to them as he can, and watch his
opportunity. There's no need for more than one.'
'That's my stunt,' said Hoole.
'Not at all. It's between you and me; we 're younger and quicker on our
pins than the others; but why you should have the most risky part of the
job----'
'The reason 's as clear as daylight. The quickest climber ought to go
last. I allow that Grinson and Meek are probably more spry than I am in
climbing; but in any case they 're ruled out. You 've never climbed a
chimney--I have. I think that fixes it.'
'But the prisoner. It's unlikely he can climb quickly, and the last man
couldn't go faster than he.'
'You ought to have been a lawyer, Trentham. But I have you yet. The
last man may have to hold the savages off while the prisoner, slow by
hypothesis, does his climb. Then speed will be vital when he climbs
himself--see?'
'Axing your pardon, sir, and speaking like a father, as you may say,'
said Grinson, 'there 's only one way of settling a little difference so
's to satisfy both parties. I 've seed many a quarrel nipped in the
bud----'
'A quarrel, you juggins!' cried Trentham. 'There 's no quarrel!'
'Just so, sir--that's what I said. It's a difference, and a difference
can't never grow to be a quarrel if you just toss for it.'
'There 's our Solomon!' said Hoole. 'Spin up, Trentham!'
The rising moon gave light enough. Trentham spun a shilling.
'Heads!' Hoole called.
'Tails it is! That's settled!'
''Tis fate: you can't go agen it,' murmured Meek.
'Those fellows must be pretty tired, drumming away like that,' said
Trentham. 'But we had better make a start, Grinson. I think we ought
to take our biscuits and water: they 'll last us a day or two, and we
don't know what chances of getting food there 'll be on the cliff. You
and Meek fetch them along. We 'll wait for you here.'
'They took it well,' said Hoole, when the men had gone. 'I was afraid
Meek would jib.'
'Meek 's all right,' responded Trentham. 'The British sailor-man has his
weak points, but he 's not a funk.'
He began to stride up and down with his hands in his pockets. Hoole
watched him for half a minute or so, then said:
'You 'd better take my revolver.'
'Why in the world?' said Trentham, swinging round on him.
'It may be useful--last resource, you know.'
'If we can't do without that---- Why, man, a shot would absolutely dish
us, would be heard for miles, and bring up every cannibal there is.
This job has got to be done quietly.'
'I reckon there 'll be a pretty big row when they miss their supper.
Well, if you won't take it, remember I 've got it, anyway.'
Some fifteen minutes later the four men, in single file, were stealing
along the inner edge of the beach, close against the cliffs. Trentham,
who was leading, took a zigzag course for the sake of cover from the
scattered rocks and patches of vegetation. The seamen in the rear had
slung the provisions about their shoulders with lashings from the boat,
and on their account Trentham set a slower pace than his anxiety to be
in time would otherwise have commended. The fire was burning more
brightly, whiffs of acrid smoke were borne on the breeze, and the moon,
about ten days old, appeared to have reached its greatest altitude, and
was accentuating every irregularity on the face of the cliffs.
As they drew nearer to the fire, Trentham moved still more slowly,
picking his way with care. Now and then some small animal, with a whisk
and a rustle, scurried away in the undergrowth. Once Meek, who bore the
keg, tripped over what he declared was a monster crab, and fell forward,
the keg hitting a rock with a sharp crack. The rest halted and held
their breath; had the sound been heard by the savages? The monotonous
drumming continued unbroken, and they went on.
Between the fire and the cleft that was their destination, grew the
tangled vegetation in which Hoole had discovered the track of footsteps.
It grew higher than their heads, and they were able to enter it without
much risk of being observed. A few whispered words were exchanged
between Trentham and Hoole, then the latter led the seamen towards the
chimney, which stretched upwards like a black streak in the moonlit
precipice, while Trentham struck to the left, and crept cautiously
towards the outer edge of the bushes, where he could look out upon the
festive scene.
His heart seemed to be making more noise than the drums. His lips were
dry. The skin of his face felt tight. 'Nerves!' he thought, with angry
impatience. It was strange how, without the slightest consciousness of
fear, his mental realisation of all that was at stake thus affected his
body. Taking a grip of himself, he went forward and peered through the
stiff crinkled foliage. For a few moments he saw nothing but the glare
of the fire; then, as he gathered self-command, he was able to take in
details which he had missed at his view a short while before.
The dancers were still swaying to and fro. At one side, crouched on the
sand, were two men holding in one hand an object like a huge dice-box,
and with the other beating a skin, as he supposed, stretched across the
circular end. At the other side, near the fire, stood two iron
cooking-pots. Beyond, in the same place, lay the motionless white
figure. Everything was clearly illuminated by the flames, and Trentham
wondered, with a feeling of despair, how it would be possible to
approach the prisoner unseen.
A few minutes after his arrival, the dance and the drumming came to an
abrupt end. In the ensuing silence he heard the wash of the waves beyond
the wreck, and a strange squealing grunt which, until then, had been
drowned by the deep tones of the drums and the barking cries of the men.
One of the savages, who wore a tall feathered headdress, glanced up at
the moon, and said a few words to the others. All of them squatted on
the sand except two, who went to the bush, some twenty yards away, to
which the prisoner was bound. Trentham's blood ran cold. He wished he
had brought Hoole's revolver, for it seemed that nothing else could save
the helpless man, and he was on the point of shouting for Hoole, when a
piercing squeal, such as no human being ever uttered, gave him at once a
shock and a sense of relief. Next moment the savages returned towards
the fire, one of them carrying the body of a small pig.
Trentham almost laughed as the tension of the last few moments was
relaxed. The men were not cannibals after all! He looked on as in a
dream while one of the men cut up the animal, and the other raked over
the fire with a spear. But with reflection his former anxiety came
back. Why had the savages brought their prisoner here? To leave him to
be drowned? But he was far above high-water mark. Were they reserving
him as the _bonne bouche_ of their feast?
One of the cooking-pots was placed over the fire, and the dismembered
pig was thrown into it. Beyond, the savages squatted in a half-circle,
talking. Their leader raised an arm towards the moon, and then jerked
it in the direction of the prisoner. The gestures made things clear to
Trentham. The moon had not gained an altitude which cannibal
superstition required for the slaying of a man.
Trentham felt himself flush with hope. The savages had their faces
towards him, their backs towards the prisoner. The raking of the fire
had dulled the flames, and the cooking-pot partly obscured the glowing
embers. There was still time.
He crept through the bushes until he had almost encircled the space upon
which the savages had built their fire. Then, however, a gap of clear
sand, twenty or thirty yards wide, separated him from the bush where the
prisoner lay. Was it possible to cross that gap undiscovered? No
friendly cloud obscured the moon; if one of the savages chanced to turn,
he could not fail to see the moving figure.
Trentham looked around him. There was no cover on that stretch of
sand--no bush, no bank of seaweed, no wave-cast log. But the surface
was a little uneven; the winds had blown up slight mounds and hollowed
shallow troughs. White-clad as he was, the white was stained and toned
by water and exposure, he might perhaps crawl through the depressions
without attracting attention. But it must be at a snail's pace, inch by
inch, flat as a worm.
He lay on all-fours, waited a moment or two, then started on his
laborious progress. The mounds seemed higher, the troughs deeper, now
that he was on their level, and the yielding sand helped to cover him,
though at the same time it made movement difficult. Inch by inch he
crawled on, stopping at every yard to listen; he dared not raise his
head to look. The savages were still jabbering. Every now and then the
dull glow of the fire was brightened by a flicker, at which he lay still
as a log, moving on again when the transient flame had died down.
Thus, after exertion more exhausting than if he had run a mile, he came
round to the rear of the bush to which the prisoner was bound. The
foliage was thin and withered. Raising himself on his knees, he saw that
he could easily reach through the branches and cut the man's bonds.
Would his sudden action alarm the prisoner--perhaps cause him to cry
out? The man, as he could see now, had been placed face downwards, and
was tied to the central stem. He was very still. Perhaps rescue was
already too late. But no! As Trentham gazed, he discerned a slight
movement of the head; it was as though the prisoner sought easier
breathing. The moonlight revealed a bald crown and heavily bearded
cheeks; it was certainly not Grimshaw, the planter who had been
Trentham's fellow-passenger on the _Berenisa_.
Trentham was still undecided whether to risk a preliminary warning, when
the movements of the savages showed that the critical moment had come.
The cooking-pot had been removed from the embers and set before the
leader, who plunged his hand into it, took out a small joint, and with a
hollow, wailing cry flung it into the air in the direction of the moon,
the other men chanting a weird chorus. Then they sprang up, gathered
about the pot, and began to eat, with horrid sounds of gobbling.
'Now 's the time!' thought Trentham. Stretching forward the hand in
which he held his open knife, he cut through the tendrils about the
prisoner's arms and feet, and the longer strands which attached him to
the bush, whispering a single word of caution. For a few moments the man
lay almost as still as before, but Trentham saw that he was stretching
his limbs and raising his head to look towards the fire, from which
there came now only the faintest gleam. Then slowly, almost
imperceptibly, he crawled backward through the bush. Trentham rose to
his feet. When the man reached him, he took him by the hand and helped
him to rise, then led him with cautious steps, under cover of the bush,
down the beach towards the spot where the wreck in its sandy bed stood
up slightly from its surroundings.
[Illustration: 'NOW 'S THE TIME!']
Edging round this, the two men crouched below the level of the savages'
heads, and in silence, one step at a time, moved along parallel with the
sea-line, until they arrived at the outlying edge of the bushes which
stretched up towards the foot of the chimney. Here they rose erect and
quickened their pace. They were half-way to the cliffs when there was a
sound of crackling. Looking over his shoulder, Trentham saw one of the
savages in the act of throwing more fuel upon the fire, which suddenly
broke into a bright flame. Immediately afterwards the air rang with a
blood-curdling yell, and the whole troop of savages rushed towards the
bush where they had left their prisoner, and swept round it in the
direction of the sea.
Trentham hurried on. Panting heavily, the prisoner followed on his
heels. At the foot of the chimney Hoole was waiting.
'The men are up--all's clear,' he said, flashing a look at the stranger,
whose face was pallid and ghastly in the moonlight. 'Guess he 's about
done,' he thought, and wondered whether his strength would hold out.
'You go first, Trentham; I 'll cover the rear.'
Trentham entered the narrow fissure, set a foot in the lowest notch,
and, levering his back against the opposite wall, began to climb. The
stranger, who had spoken no word, followed with nervous haste, so
quickly that at the second step his head touched Trentham's boot.
'Steady! Steady!' Hoole called up in a loud whisper. 'One slip, and
you 're done!'
The man paid no heed. He seemed to feel that he was on the verge of
exhaustion, and must attain that giddy height while there was yet time.
Hoole watched him anxiously; it would hardly be safe to follow until the
man had reached the top, yet the savages were returning. He heard their
yells of rage, and presently caught sight of them running up the beach
in a scattered line. A few moments later a ferocious shriek proclaimed
that one of them at least had espied the men climbing.
'I must chance it,' thought Hoole. 'He 's a heavy chap--if he falls.'
With the speed acquired in mountaineering, he was soon on the heels of
the rescued prisoner, whose quick pants alarmed him. About sixty feet
from the base the man gave a long gasp and stopped. Hoole stuck his
feet firmly, bent his head, and presented an arched back. At that
moment he heard a sharp whizzing sound. The man grunted, and began to
climb again. Hoole followed. Something flew with a hiss past his ear,
and clicked against the wall.
'Arrows!' he thought. 'I wonder what their range is.'
Up and up, foot by foot, arrows whizzing and clicking, the savages
yelling with ever-increasing fury, and audible through it all the
laboured breathing of the man above. Then the shooting suddenly ceased;
one tremendous yell, then silence. Hoole guessed that the savages had
begun to climb. But he was now a hundred feet above them; if the
stranger's strength held out, they would never recover the start. Their
bare feet made no sound as they clambered up; the fissure was too narrow
for him to see them. Once more the stranger stopped for breath, and when
Hoole stopped also, a shout of triumph, immensely loud in the narrow
passage, announced that the savages were gaining. The sound seemed to
give their victim new strength; he clambered more quickly than before.
Presently Hoole heard Trentham's voice quietly giving encouragement.
Then, looking up, he saw the man hauled over the edge, and five seconds
later his shoulders were grasped by Grinson's brawny hands, and he lay
among thick grass.
[Illustration: UP AND UP, FOOT BY FOOT, ARROWS WHIZZING AND CLICKING.]
'Just saved your bacon, mister,' he said to the man beside him.
The stranger brushed the sweat from his pallid brow with his sleeve,
uttered an inarticulate grunt, then fell backwards fainting.
'Batten down, Ephraim, me lad!' cried Grinson.
The seamen had turned to good account the hour they had spent alone on
the cliff top. With ready resource they had cut down pliant branches
from the surrounding trees, torn up saplings by the roots, and begun to
construct a hurdle large enough to cover the opening. It was
unfinished, but as soon as Hoole had reached the top they threw it
across the gap, and hastily piled upon it the material still unused.
The leading native, arriving half a minute later, found his egress
blocked by this criss-cross of trunks and branches, which yielded only
slightly to the butting of his head. Meanwhile, Hoole and Trentham were
tearing down more branches, and casting them upon the heap, which
quickly grew to such a size that Goliath himself could not have raised
it.
From beneath it rose the muffled cries of the savages. Then all was
silent.