FIRST MATE STARK
Upon the day that Thurg discovered Nadara he had come racing to the
foot of the cliff, roaring and bellowing like a mad bull. Upward he
clambered half the distance to the girl's lofty perch. Then a bit of
jagged rock, well aimed, had brought him to a sudden halt, spitting
blood and teeth from his injured mouth. He looked up at Nadara and
shrieked out his rage and his threats of vengeance. Nadara launched
another missile at him that caught him full upon one eye, dropping
him like a stone to the narrow ledge upon which he had been standing.
Quickly the girl started to descend to his side to finish the work she
had commenced, for she knew that there could be no peace or safety for
her, now that Thurg had discovered her hiding place, while the monster
lived.
But she had scarce more than lowered her sapling to the ledge beneath
her when the giant form of the man moved and Thurg sat up. Quickly
Nadara clambered back to her ledge, again drawing her sapling after
her. She was about to hurl another missile at the man when he spoke to
her.
"We are alone in the world," he said. "All your people and all my
people have been slain by the Great Nagoola. Come down. Let us live
together in peace. There is no other left in all the world."
Nadara laughed at him.
"Come down to you!" she cried, mockingly. "Live with you! I would
rather live with the pigs that root in the forest. Go away, or I will
finish what I have commenced, and kill you. I would not live with you
though I knew that you were the last human being on earth."
Thurg pleaded and threatened, but all to no avail. Again he tried
to clamber to her side, but again he was repulsed with well-aimed
missiles. At last he withdrew, growling and threatening.
For weeks he haunted the vicinity of the cliff. Nadara's meager food
supply was soon exhausted. She was forced to descend to replenish her
larder and fill her gourd, or die of starvation and thirst. She made
her trips to the forest at night, though black Nagoola prowled and the
menace of Thurg loomed through the darkness. At last the man discovered
her in one of these nocturnal expeditions and almost caught her before
she reached her ledge of safety.
For three days he kept her a close prisoner. Again her stock of
provisions was exhausted. She was desperate. Twice had Nagoola nearly
trapped her in the forest. She dared not again tempt fate in the
gloomy wood by night. There was nothing left but to risk all in one
last effort to elude Thurg by day and find another asylum in some far
distant corner of the island.
Carefully she watched her opportunity, and while the beast-man was
temporarily absent seeking food for himself the girl slid swiftly to
the base of the cliff and started through the tall grasses for the
opposite side of the valley.
Upon this day Thurg had fallen upon the spoor of deer as he had
searched the forest for certain berries that were in season and which
he particularly enjoyed. The trail led along the edge of the wood to
the opposite side of the valley, and over the hills into the region
beyond. All day Thurg followed the fleet animals, until at last not
having come up with them he was forced to give up the pursuit and
return to the cliffs, lest his more valuable quarry should escape.
Half-way between the hills and the cliff he came suddenly face to
face with Nadara. Not twenty paces separated them. With a howl of
satisfaction Thurg leaped to seize her, but she turned and fled before
he could lay his hand upon her. If Thurg had found his other quarry of
that day swift, so, too, he now found Nadara, for terror gave wings
to her flying feet. Lumbering after her came Thurg, and had the
distance been less he would have been left far behind, but it was a
long distance from the spot, where they had met, to Nadara's cliffs.
The girl could out-run the man for a short distance, but when victory
depended upon endurance the advantage was all upon the side of the
brute.
As they neared the goal Nadara realized that the lead she had gained
at first was rapidly being overcome by the horrid creature panting so
close behind her. She strained every nerve and muscle in a last mad
effort to distance the fate that was closing upon her. She reached
the cliff. Thurg was just behind her. Half spent, she stumbled upward
in, what seemed to her, pitiful slowness. At last her hand grasped
the sapling that led to the mouth of her cave--in another instant she
would be safe. But her new-born hope went out as she felt the sapling
slipping and glanced downward to see Thurg dragging it from its
position.
She shut her eyes that she might not see the depths below into which
she was about to be hurled, and then there smote upon her ears the most
terrific burst of sound that had ever assailed them, other than the
thunders that rolled down out of the heavens when the rains came. But
this sound did not come from above--it came from the valley beneath.
The ladder ceased to slip. She opened her eyes and glanced downward.
Far below her lay the body of Thurg. She could see that he was quite
dead. He lay upon his face and from his back trickled two tiny streams
of blood from little holes.
Nadara clambered upward to her ledge, drawing her sapling after her,
and then she looked about for an explanation of the strange noise and
the sudden death of Thurg, for she could not but connect the one with
the other. Below, in the valley, she saw a number of men strangely
garbed. They were coming toward her cliff. She gathered her missiles
closely about her, ready to her hand. Now they were below and calling
up to her. Her eyes dilated in wonder--they spoke the strange tongue
that Thandar had tried to teach her. She called down to them in her own
tongue, but they shook their heads, motioning her to descend. She was
afraid. All her life she had been afraid of men, and with reason--of
all except her old foster father and Thandar. These, evidently, were
men. She could only expect from them the same treatment that Thurg
would have accorded her.
One of them had started up the face of the cliff. It was Stark. Nadara
seized a bit of rock and hurled it down upon him. He barely dodged
the missile, but he desisted in his attempt to ascend to her. Now
Burlinghame advanced, raising his hand, palm toward her in sign that
she should not assault him. She recalled some of the language that
Thandar had taught her--maybe they would understand it.
"Go-way!" she cried. "Go-way! Nadara kill bad-men."
A look of pleasure overspread Burlinghame's face--the girl spoke
English.
"We are not bad men," he called up to her. "We will not harm you."
"What you want?" asked Nadara, still unconvinced by mere words.
"We want to talk with you," replied Burlinghame. "We are looking for a
friend who was ship-wrecked upon this island. Come down. We will not
harm you. Have we not already proved our friendship by killing this
fellow who pursued you?"
This man spoke precisely the tongue of Thandar. Nadara could understand
every word, for Thandar had talked to her much in English. She could
understand it better than she could speak it. If they talked the same
tongue as Thandar they must be from the same country. Maybe they were
Thandar's friends. Anyway they were like him, and Thandar never harmed
women. She could trust them. Slowly she lowered her sapling and began
the descent. Several times she hesitated as though minded to return to
her ledge, but Burlinghame's kindly voice and encouragement at last
prevailed, and presently Nadara stood before them.
The officers and men of the _Priscilla_ crowded around the girl. They
were struck with her beauty, and the simple dignity of her manner and
her carriage. The great black panther skin that fell from her left
shoulder she wore with the majesty of a queen and with a naturalness
that cast no reflection upon her modesty, though it revealed quite
as much of her figure as it hid. William Stark, first officer of the
_Priscilla_, caught his breath--never, he was positive, had God made a
more lovely creature.
From the top of the cliff a shaggy man peered down upon the strange
scene. He blinked his little eyes, scratched his matted head, and once
he picked up a large stone that lay near him; but he did not hurl it
upon those below, for he had heard the loud report of the rifles,
seen the smoke belch from the muzzles, and witnessed the sudden and
miraculous collapse of Thurg.
Burlinghame was speaking to Nadara.
"Who are you?" he asked.
"Nadara," replied the girl.
"Where do you live?"
Nadara jerked her thumb over her shoulder toward the cliff at her back.
Burlinghame searched the rocky escarpment with his eyes, but saw no
sign of another living being there.
"Where are your people?"
"Dead."
"All of them?"
Nadara nodded affirmatively.
"How long have they been dead and what killed them?" continued
Burlinghame.
"Almost a moon. The Great Nagoola killed them."
In answer to other questions Nadara related all that had transpired
since the night of the earthquake. Her description of the catastrophe
convinced the Americans that a violent quake had recently occurred to
shake the island to its foundations.
"Ask her about Waldo," whispered Mr. Smith-Jones, himself dreading to
put the question.
"We are looking for a young man," said Burlinghame, "who was lost
overboard from a steamer on the west coast of this island. We know
that he reached the shore alive, for we have heard from him. Have
you ever seen or heard of this stranger? His name is Waldo Emerson
Smith-Jones--this gentleman is his father," indicating Mr. Smith-Jones.
Nadara looked with wide eyes at John Alden Smith-Jones. So this man was
Thandar's father. She felt very sorry for him, for she knew that he
loved Thandar--Thandar had often told her so. She did not know how to
tell him--she shrank from causing another the anguish and misery that
she had endured.
"Did you know of him?" asked Burlinghame.
Nadara nodded her head.
"Where is he?" cried Waldo's father. "Where are the people with whom he
lived here?"
Nadara came close to John Alden Smith-Jones. There was no fear in her
innocent young heart for this man who was Thandar's father--who loved
Thandar--only a great compassion for him in the sorrow that she was
about to inflict. Gently she took his hand in hers, raising her sad
eyes to his.
"Where is he? Where is my boy?" whispered Mr. Smith-Jones.
"He is with his people, who were my people--the people of whom I have
just told you," replied Nadara softly-- "He is dead." And then she
dropped her face upon the man's hand and wept.
The shock staggered John Alden Smith-Jones. It seemed
incredible--impossible--that Waldo could have lived through all that he
must have lived through to perish at last but a few short weeks before
succor reached him. For a moment he forgot the girl. It was her hot
tears upon his hand that aroused him to a consciousness of the present.
"Why do you weep?" he cried almost roughly.
"For you," she replied, "who loved him, too."
"You loved Waldo?" asked the boy's father.
Nadara nodded her tumbled mass of raven hair. John Alden Smith-Jones
looked down upon the bent head of the sobbing girl in silence for
several minutes. Many things were racing through his patrician brain.
He was by training, environment and heredity narrow and Puritanical.
He saw the meager apparel of the girl--he saw her nut brown skin; but
he did not see her nakedness, for something in his heart told him that
sweet virtue clothed her more effectually than could silks and satins
without virtue. Gently he placed an arm about her, drawing her to him.
"My daughter," he said, and pressed his lips to her forehead.
It was a solemn and sorrow-ridden party that boarded the _Priscilla_
an hour later. Mrs. Smith-Jones had seen them coming. Some intuitive
sense may have warned her of the sorrow that lay in store for her upon
their return. At any rate she did not meet them at the rail as in the
past, instead she retired to her cabin to await her husband there.
When he joined her he brought with him a half-naked young woman. Mrs.
Smith-Jones looked upon the girl with ill concealed horror.
Waldo's mother met the shock of her husband's news with much greater
fortitude than he had expected. As a matter of fact she had been
prepared for this from the first. She had never really believed that
Waldo could survive for any considerable time far from the comforts and
luxuries of his Boston home and the watchful care of herself.
"And who is this--ah--person?" she asked coldly at last, holding her
pince-nez before her eyes as with elevated brows she cast a look of
disapproval upon Nadara.
The girl, reading more in the older woman's manner than her words, drew
herself up proudly. Mr. Smith-Jones coughed and colored. He stepped to
Nadara's side, placing his arm about her shoulders.
"She loved Waldo," he said simply.
"The brazen huzzy!" exclaimed Mrs. Smith-Jones. "To dare to love a
Smith-Jones!"
"Come, come, Louisa!" ejaculated her husband. "Remember that she too is
suffering--do not add to her sorrow. She loved our boy, and he returned
her love."
"How do you know that?"
"She has told me," replied the man.
"It is not true," cried Mrs. Smith-Jones. "It is not true! Waldo
Emerson would never stoop to love one out of his own high class. Who is
she, and what proof have you that Waldo loved her?"
"I am Nadara," said the girl proudly, answering for herself, "and this
is the proof that he loved me. He told me that this was the pledge
token between us until we could come to his land and be mated according
to the customs there." She held out her left hand, upon the third
finger of which sparkled a great solitaire--a solitaire which Mrs. John
Alden Smith-Jones recognized instantly.
"He gave you that?" she asked.
Then she turned toward her husband.
"What do you intend doing with this girl?" she asked.
"I shall take her back home," replied he. "She should be as a daughter
to us, for Waldo would have made her such had he lived. She cannot
remain upon the island. All her people were killed by the earthquake
that destroyed Waldo. She is in constant danger of attack by wild
beasts and wilder men. We cannot leave her here, and even if we could I
should not do so, for we owe a duty to our dead boy to care for her as
he would have cared for her--and we owe a greater duty to her."
"I must be alone," was all that Mrs. Smith-Jones replied. "Please take
her away, John. Give her the cabin next to this, and have Marie clothe
her properly--Marie's clothes should about fit her." There was more of
tired anguish in her voice now than of anger.
Mr. Smith-Jones led Nadara out and summoned Marie, but Nadara upset his
plans by announcing that she wished to return to shore.
"She does not like me," she said, nodding toward Mrs. Smith-Jones's
cabin, "and I will not stay."
It took John Alden Smith-Jones a long time to persuade the girl to
change her mind. He pointed out that his wife was greatly over-wrought
by the shock of the news of Waldo's death. He assured Nadara that at
heart she was a kindly woman, and that eventually she would regret
her attitude toward the girl. And at last Nadara consented to remain
aboard the _Priscilla_. But when Marie would have clothed her in the
garments of civilization she absolutely refused--scorning the hideous
and uncomfortable clothing.
It was two days before Mrs. Smith-Jones sent for her. When she entered
that lady's cabin the latter exclaimed at once against her barbarous
attire.
"I gave instructions that Marie should dress you properly," she said.
"You are not decently clothed--that bear skin is shocking."
Nadara tossed her head, and her eyes flashed fire.
"I shall never wear your silly clothes," she cried. "This, Thandar gave
me--he slew Nagoola, the black panther, with his own hands, and gave
the skin to me who was to be his mate--do you think I would exchange
it for such foolish garments as those?" and she waved a contemptuous
gesture toward Mrs. Smith-Jones's expensive morning gown.
The elder woman forgot her outraged dignity in the suggestion the girl
had given her for an excuse to be rid of her at the first opportunity.
She had mentioned a party named Thandar. She had brazenly boasted that
this Thandar had killed the beast whose pelt she wore and given her
the thing for a garment. She had admitted that she was to become this
person's "mate." Mrs. Smith-Jones shuddered at the primitive word. At
this moment Mr. Smith-Jones entered the cabin. He smiled pleasantly at
Nadara, and then, seeing in the attitudes of the two women that he had
stepped within a theater of war, he looked questioningly at his wife.
"Now what, Louisa?" he asked, somewhat sharply.
"Sufficient, John," exclaimed that lady, "to bear out my original
contention that it was a very unwise move to bring this woman with
us--she has just admitted that she was the promised 'mate' of a person
she calls Thandar. She is brazen--I refuse to permit her to enter
my home; nor shall she remain upon the _Priscilla_ longer than is
necessary to land her at the first civilized port."
Mr. Smith-Jones looked questioningly at Nadara. The girl had guessed
the erroneous reasoning that had caused Mrs. Smith-Jones's excitement.
She had forgotten that they did not know that Waldo and Thandar were
one. Now she could scarce repress a smile of amusement nor resist the
temptation to take advantage of Mrs. Smith-Jones's ignorance to bait
her further.
"You had another lover beside Waldo?" asked Mr. Smith-Jones.
"I loved Thandar," she replied. "Thandar was king of my people. He
loved me. He slew Nagoola for me and gave me his skin. He slew Korth
and Flatfoot, also. They wanted me, but Thandar slew them. And Big Fist
he slew, and Sag the Killer--oh, Thandar was a mighty fighter. Can you
wonder that I loved him?"
"He was a hideous murderer!" cried Mrs. Smith-Jones, "and to think that
my poor Waldo; poor, timid, gentle Waldo, was condemned to live among
such savage brutes. Oh, it is too terrible!"
Nadara's eyes went wide. It was her turn to suffer a shock. "Poor,
timid, gentle Waldo!" Had she heard aright? Could it be that they were
describing the same man? There must be some mistake.
"Did Waldo know that you loved Thandar?" asked Mr. Smith-Jones.
"Thandar was Waldo," she replied. "Thandar is the name I gave him--it
means the Brave One. He was very brave," she cried. "He was not
'timid,' and he was only 'gentle' with women and children."
Mrs. Smith-Jones had never been so shocked in all her life. She sprang
to her feet.
"Leave my cabin!" she cried. "I see through your shallow deception.
You thoughtlessly betrayed yourself and your vulgar immoralities, and
now you try to hide behind a base calumny that pictures my dear, dead
boy as one with your hideous, brutal chief. You shall not deceive me
longer. Leave my cabin, please!"
Mr. Smith-Jones stood as one paralyzed. He could not believe in the
perfidy of the girl--it seemed impossible that she could have so
deceived him--nor yet could he question the integrity of his own ears.
It was, of course, too far beyond the pale of reason to attempt to
believe that Waldo Emerson and the terrible Thandar were one and the
same. The girl had gone too far, and yet he could not believe that she
was bad. There must be some explanation.
In the meantime Nadara had left the room, her little chin high in air.
Never again, she determined, would she subject herself to the insults
of Thandar's mother. She went on deck. She had found it difficult
to remain below during the day. She craved the fresh air, and the
excitement to be found above. The officers had been very nice to
her. Stark was much with her. The man had fallen desperately in love
with the half-savage girl. As she reached the deck after leaving Mrs.
Smith-Jones's cabin Stark was the first she chanced to meet. She would
have preferred being alone with her sorrow and her anger, but the man
joined her. Together they stood by the rail watching the approach
of heavy clouds. A storm was about to break over them that had been
brewing for several days.
Stark knew nothing of what had taken place below, but he saw that the
girl was unhappy. He attempted to cheer her. At last he took her hand
and stroked it caressingly as he talked with her. Before she could
guess his intention he was pouring words of love and passion into her
ears. Nadara drew away. A puzzled frown contracted her brows.
"Do not talk so to Nadara," she said. "She does not love you." And then
she moved away and went to her cabin.
Stark looked after her as she departed. He was thoroughly aroused. Who
was this savage girl, to repulse him? What would have been her fate but
for his well-directed shot? Was not the man who had been pursuing her
but acting after the customs of her wild people? He would have taken
her by force. That was the only way she would have been taken had she
been left upon her own island. That was the only kind of betrothal she
knew. It was what she expected. He had been a fool to approach her with
the soft words of civilization. They had made her despise him. She
would have understood force, and loved him for it. Well, he would show
her that he could be as primitive as any of her savage lovers.
The storm broke. The wind became a hurricane. The _Priscilla_ was
forced to turn and flee before the anger of the elements, so that she
retraced her course of the past two days and then was blown to the
north.
Stark saw nothing of Nadara during this period. At the end of
thirty-six hours the wind had died and the sea was settling to its
normal quiet. It was the first evening after the storm. The deck of the
_Priscilla_ was almost deserted. The yacht was moving slowly along not
far off the shore of one of the many islands that dot that part of the
south seas.
Nadara came on deck for a walk before retiring. Stark and two sailors
were on watch. At sight of the girl the first officer approached
her. He spoke pleasantly as though nothing had occurred to mar their
friendly relations. He talked of the storm and pointed out the black
outlines of the nearby shore, and as he talked he led her toward the
stern, out of sight of the sailors forward.
Suddenly he turned upon her and grasped her in his arms. With brutal
force he crushed her to him, covering her face with kisses. She fought
to free herself, but Stark was a strong man. Slowly he forced her to
the deck. She beat him in the face and upon the breast, and at last, in
the extreme of desperation, she screamed for help. Instantly he struck
her a heavy blow upon the jaw. The slender form of the girl relaxed
upon the deck in unconsciousness.
Now Stark came to a sudden realization of the gravity of the thing he
had done. He knew that when Nadara regained consciousness his perfidy
would come to the attention of Captain Burlinghame, and he feared the
quiet, ex-naval officer more than he did the devil. He looked over the
rail. It would be an easy thing to dispose of the girl. He had only to
drop her unconscious body into the still waters below. He raised her in
his arms and bore her to the rail. The moon shone down upon her face.
He looked out over the water and saw the shore so close at hand.
There would be a thorough investigation and the sailors, who had no
love for him, as he well knew, would lose no time in reporting that he
had been the last to be seen with the girl. Evidently he was in for
it, one way or the other.
Again he looked down into Nadara's face. She was very beautiful. He
wanted her badly. Slowly his glance wandered to the calm waters of the
ocean and on to the quiet shore line. Then back to the girl. For a
moment he stood irresolute. Then he stepped to the side of the cabin
where hung a life preserver to which was attached a long line.
He put the life preserver about Nadara. Then he lowered her into the
ocean. The moment he felt her weight transferred from the lowering rope
to the life preserver he vaulted over the yacht's rail into the dark
waters beneath her stern.