THE AMAZING PRINGLE
JUST so surely as had come about the division of the little company
into its several parts, socially speaking--that necessary "drawing
of the line" insisted upon in all things by Mr. Jordan Tant--so did
it come about that the party he represented withdrew itself more and
more from the rest of the islanders. It might have been thought that
their common difficulties would have drawn them together; but the fact
remains that the shabbier Mrs. Ewart-Crane and her daughter became
the more urgent was it that their real position in the greater world
should be firmly impressed upon those with whom they had been thrown in
contact.
Much tramping about over sand and rocks, and the necessity for sleeping
on a bed of dry leaves and brushwood, to say nothing of a night
journey in an open boat, had brought Mrs. Ewart-Crane's one dress to a
condition of which a London charwoman would have been ashamed; while
Enid was in no better plight. But although Mrs. Ewart-Crane was well
aware that Mrs. Stocker was in the same lamentable condition, she
resolutely declined to make common ground of complaint with her on that
score; in other words, Mrs. Ewart-Crane wore her shabbiness with an
air.
The same condition of things ruled with the men. Mr. Jordan Tant had
hitherto been a slave to nice detail concerning collars and ties, and
neat shoes and socks; but those details, in his present case, were
things to blush at. The neat suit he usually wore in the mornings, and
in which he had taken that mad journey to the yacht, was creased and
soiled and stained; his hat had been flung to the laughing waves by a
wind more boisterous than discreet; and he had been compelled perforce
to grow a beard, which he felt did not suit his type of face. True,
there were improvements in the man, in the sense of an added colour in
his cheeks, and more alert movements in his limbs; but such things he
scorned.
Mr. Daniel Meggison, in a moment of forgetfulness, had gone to his
improvised couch with his silk hat on his head, and thereafter had
grown careless in regard to its appearance; it had become a mere
dilapidated head covering, with no dignity about it at all. Contact
with thorns and brambles had made shipwreck of the immaculate
frock-coat; his linen was non-apparent. In fact, to put the matter
shortly, the little company had suffered from the fact that they had
at the beginning but one suit of clothing apiece, and no means of
replenishing it.
The difficulty about food had been overcome by a sheer gift from
Providence. There had come a night when they had sat about their fire,
and when with discretion, and yet firmness, Gilbert Byfield had told
them of the condition of the larder. The matter had to be broached
somehow, because Aubrey Meggison had picked up his small portion of
food from his tin plate disdainfully, and had muttered something about
"stinginess."
"I think the time has come," said Gilbert solemnly, "when we should
understand clearly--all of us--the exact position. We have been
remarkably careful with the few things we were able to bring away--but
we have found nothing on the island----"
"Beggin' your pardon, sir--except water," said Pringle, with deference.
"I had forgotten the water," replied Gilbert, with a smile. "Our case
would indeed have been hopeless had we not been fortunate enough to
find the spring. But our tinned provisions have gone, and we have no
means of replacing them; and even with the utmost care we have had to
go on short rations for the last day or two. To-morrow's breakfast is
provided; after that we face starvation."
"Do you mean to suggest, my dear Gilbert, that we are to look at each
other with the certain knowledge that we are to shrink day by day, with
no hope of relief?" demanded Mrs. Ewart-Crane.
"In the name of the ladies under my charge, I protest," said Mr. Jordan
Tant. "It was not by our wish that we were brought to this place at
all; it will certainly not be by our wish that we starve here. I enter
a solemn protest against it."
"I have been shuttle-cocked about from one place to another--despite my
protests," said Daniel Meggison. "I make the common demand that each
man has a right to make; I insist upon being fed. Look to it, someone,
that the matter receives attention before to-morrow. My position in
the world has hitherto been framed upon that common and ordinary basis;
being in the world, I demand to be fed."
"Seems to me that the real point is--what is generally done in these
cases?" demanded Aubrey. "There must be a rule about these matters--a
law, or something of that sort. I've read the newspapers pretty
consistently since I've moved about the world; what's the exact
procedure? I should like to say that my father--(with whom, mind you,
I'm not going to say that I generally agree)--my father has voiced my
opinion to what I might call a T. To put it simply: what happens?"
"I should imagine, for my own part, that one member of our pleasant
little party will be missing after to-morrow--and the rest will feed
sumptuously," said Simon Quarle, with a perfectly serious face.
Mrs. Ewart-Crane rose, and stretched out a hand for her daughter.
"Enid," she said, in accents of considerable dignity--"I desire that we
withdraw. There are certain questions which cannot be discussed in this
public manner, if one has any desire to retain one's natural feelings
of delicacy. And I should like to add," she went on, waving Mr. Tant
to his feet with an imperious movement of her hand--"I should really
like to add that in the event of any casting of lots, or any other
such barbarous procedure, Mr. Tant will be our protector, and will not
hesitate to sell his life dearly. Mr. Tant--Enid--let us go, before I
feel called upon to express myself more strongly."
Simon Quarle and Gilbert walked long upon the shore that night, talking
earnestly. Gilbert was disposed to be hopeful; a ship might heave in
sight at any moment--or all sorts of things might happen that then
seemed improbable. Simon Quarle pointed out that no ship had yet been
seen, and that nothing else was likely to happen; incidentally he
mentioned the one course open to them.
"We must launch the boat to-morrow, and start off in the hope of
finding some other land near at hand," he said. "If those who go in the
boat don't come back, then the others must starve, or find a way out
for themselves; in any case there's nothing else to be done. Let's get
to sleep, and forget our troubles for one night at least."
After all, it was Pringle who was the direct agent of Providence. I
would not have you think that in that respect Providence passed over
better men; in all probability it was because Pringle had a habit of
getting up early in the morning, and lighting that open-air fire, and
generally preparing what food there was for the early meal. And in that
way it came about that Pringle brought deliverance to the islanders in
a quite miraculous fashion.
Gilbert Byfield had not slept during that anxious night; in a sense he
felt that, by reason of the mad impulse that had started him on that
wild journey from Newhaven, he was responsible for the lives of those
concerned with him in the venture. Dawn was breaking, with the promise
of a perfect day to follow, when he stepped over the legs of the
sleeping Jordan Tant, and went down the hill to find Simon Quarle.
Simon was sleeping peacefully in his self-appointed quarters in the
boat; he roused himself sleepily when Gilbert laid a hand on his
shoulder. "Oh--you needn't remind me," he said, with a grim nod; "I've
been dreaming that I was a starving loafer in the streets of London,
and that all the workhouses and casual wards were shut. I believe we
have breakfast--don't we?"
"And a meagre one at that," replied Gilbert, sitting on the edge of the
boat. "And after that a council of war, and a decision as to what is to
be done."
"You're not the only one that's awake early, my friend," said Simon
Quarle, pointing in the direction of the north of the island. "Who's
that coming in the distance?"
"It looks like Pringle," said Gilbert--"and he's carrying something."
They waited while the unconscious Pringle drew nearer. As a matter of
fact he was staggering under a load poised upon his shoulders; as he
came within hail of them it seemed that the load was a heavy square
packing-case. Evidently he had not expected anyone to be awake at that
hour; as he trudged through the sand he was humming a jaunty tune
jerkily to himself as though to encourage himself in his efforts. Being
hailed suddenly by the deep voice of Simon Quarle, he stopped, and
stared, and then let the packing-case down plump into the sand. And it
must be confessed that at that moment he wore a curiously guilty air.
"Why--what have you got there, Pringle?" demanded Gilbert, advancing
towards him. "Where did you get that from?"
"This, sir," asked the innocent Pringle. "Oh--this, sir? Washed ashore,
sir."
"Washed ashore!" exclaimed Simon Quarle, looking at the case curiously.
"Do you know what's in it?"
"Not the least notion in the world, sir," said Pringle, sitting upon
the case, and looking down at it between his legs. "Out for an early
morning stroll, sir, there it was, knockin' about just on the shore;
in fact while I was lookin' at it--stupid like, you'll understand,
sir--the sea give it a shove, and pushed it up at my very feet. I
shouldn't be surprised, sir, if it didn't hold food."
"Do you think it's come from the yacht?" asked Gilbert.
"I should think so, sir," said Pringle. "Now I come to think of it,
sir, there was one or two cases on board the very identical of this.
Food, sir, I should think--and perhaps other things. Washed ashore,
sir--that's what this was."
"It doesn't seem to have been knocked about much," said Gilbert,
walking round it curiously. "It's a frail sort of case to have been
tossing about in the sea for so long a time. I hope the contents are
not damaged."
"We'll hope not, sir," replied Pringle cheerfully, as he stooped to
pick up the case. "Bit of luck I call this, sir," he added, as with the
assistance of Simon Quarle he got it onto his shoulders. "Not that I'll
promise anything about the contents, sir; it might be almost anything."
"Where exactly did it come ashore?" demanded Quarle.
"Just by the rocks, sir," said Pringle. "It was lucky, in a way, that I
happened to be there, sir; what you might call a yard or two further
on it would have missed the island altogether, and missed us. Great bit
of luck, sir."
The case, on being wrenched open, was found to contain a considerable
quantity of tinned food, together with some that was not tinned, and
that was remarkably fresh. There were tins of biscuits; there was tea
and sugar and other things, as wonderful in that place as they were
unexpected. Pringle, for his part, was very modest about it all; he
described again and again to the wondering people who presently seated
themselves about the fire exactly how the considerate sea had tossed
the case at his very feet, and how he had picked it up.
Mrs. Ewart-Crane, relieved from the fear that her life might be in
danger, made some advances to Mrs. Stocker, and even consented to
listen with gravity to an account by that lady of the difficulties of
rearing chickens in the neighbourhood of Clapham; "there was something
in the air," according to Mrs. Stocker.
In a sense it may be said that among some of them at least a better
feeling of comradeship sprang up. The fear of actual starvation was
gone; the weather was superb, and they were all in excellent bodily
health. It grew to be a sort of great picnic on the island, and those
who had been at first inclined to grumble were now in a minority, and
began to feel that for their own sakes they had best take what the gods
sent them with an approach to smiling faces. Perhaps for the change
Bessie Meggison was in a sense directly responsible; because that
new happiness that had come to her had painted even this small and
uncomfortable world in rosy colours.
There grew to be a sort of competition among them as to who should
discover the next bit of wreckage to be cast ashore. Mr. Meggison
visited the neighbourhood of the rocks more than once, and peered
frowningly out to sea; but he never discovered anything. Aubrey
Meggison listlessly wandered round the shore--perhaps in the hope of
finding something of actual use to himself; but he was as unsuccessful
as his father. It came at last to this: that the only one of them all
to do any real salvage work was Pringle. At intervals Pringle was able
to bring to them the most astonishing things that had been washed
ashore conveniently for his picking up.
Strangely, too, the things he found were always useful. It was no mere
matter of broken woodwork, such as might be expected to come from the
wrecked yacht; again and again he discovered in the most miraculous way
articles for which a wish had actually been expressed by some member
of the community. Food tumbled upon the shore almost in abundance; and
always food that was wanted. The various articles that had been in use
on the yacht must have been curiously packed; for tinned foods actually
arrived more than once accompanied by articles of clothing that were
distinctly useful to the shipwrecked party.
Thus it happened one day that some coarse strong flannel shirts were
flung at the feet of Pringle in the early morning, and were distributed
to the male members of the party soon afterwards. Gilbert examined one
of them with a thoughtful frown, and then took Pringle aside.
"I can't understand this, Pringle," he said, looking at the garment.
"No, sir?"
"No. I don't see how these things could have been on board the yacht;
who could possibly have bought them."
"You're forgettin' the crew, sir. Sailors ain't as delicate in their
feelings as gentlemen, sir; take my word for it, I shouldn't be a bit
surprised if they hadn't belonged somehow to the crew."
So the shirts were accepted, and worn with gratitude; even Pringle
admitted how astonishing it was that they should have been flung on
to the island just when they were most wanted. Emboldened by his
success, he smilingly predicted that he shouldn't be a bit surprised if
something else equally useful turned up within a day or two; and sure
enough a considerable quantity of cheap strong print, with a pleasing
design of pink rosebuds upon it, arrived one morning, and was brought
in triumph to the ladies. On this occasion it seemed that the box in
which the material had been contained had burst upon the shore, and the
wood had been carried out to sea. The print was a little damp in one
place; but Pringle seemed to have been amazingly clever in snatching it
out of the reach of the waves.
The making of dresses for the ladies was left to a large extent to
Bessie, with the assistance of Mrs. Stocker. Bessie--careful little
soul!--had needles and cottons and a tiny pair of scissors and other
necessary things in a little case in her pocket; and although Mrs.
Ewart-Crane at first expressed herself strongly as to why print of a
superior pattern had not been found for her daughter and herself, she
ultimately accepted, even with some show of gratitude, the uniform
provided for her. It was a curious sight at first to see them all
arrayed alike; but that created some laughter, and was not in the end
really resented.
The packages arrived in no particular order; it was always possible
that when they sat down to their open-air breakfast Pringle would
have a surprise for them--or, on the other hand, it was possible that
he would respectfully shake his head, as a sign that the sea had not
been kindly disposed. Now and then some of the things flung up seemed
to require some explanation; but Pringle always evaded any direct
reference to them, and murmured something about being grateful to
Providence. It was only when the new timber arrived, and was smilingly
announced by Pringle as he handed round the tea, that Gilbert Byfield
and Simon Quarle stared at the man, open-mouthed and wondering.
"I can't quite understand it myself, sir," said Pringle, keeping his
eyes fixed upon the cup he was holding. "Nice clean boards, sir--and
all about the same length. Rather handy, I should think, sir, for
building an extra shelter for the ladies."
In a solemn silence Gilbert and Quarle walked down to the shore, with
Pringle a step or two behind. There lay a pile of boards stacked neatly
out of the reach of the sea; Pringle scratched his chin thoughtfully as
he looked at them.
"These haven't come from the yacht," said Gilbert. "There was no loose
timber there."
"No, sir,--of course not, sir," said Pringle. "Some unfortunate timber
ship, I should think, sir. P'r'aps I ought to say, sir, that it didn't
come all at once--just a board or two at a time. I didn't think
anything of the first one; I only mentioned it this morning because I
thought it might come in useful, sir. Such a lot of things have washed
on shore that I haven't noticed very much about them."
"It seems rather a pity that we haven't a hammer and nails," said Simon
Quarle, after a pause.
"Oh--didn't I tell you, sir?" Pringle looked round innocently at his
master. "There was a few tools came in the last package, sir--and some
nails and things. I dare say some building work might be managed, sir."
"You certainly didn't mention it," said Gilbert, staring at him.
"Very careless of me, sir," said Pringle.
So a fresh hut was built, with trees for its main support; and into
this Mrs. Ewart-Crane and her daughter were induced to go. Mrs.
Ewart-Crane, indeed, seemed quite pleased with her new abode, and was
almost on the point of giving herself airs again in regard to it. Simon
Quarle also was induced at last to leave the boat, and to take up his
quarters in the cave-like place vacated by the ladies; this he shared
with Mr. Jordan Tant. The supplies that had so miraculously come to
them had given them confidence, and they had practically ceased to
think of the future, or of what it might hold for them, beyond that
place to which they had been so strangely brought.
Nor did those supplies cease; from time to time other packages
arrived--always to be discovered by the industrious Pringle; so that
in time the wonder of the thing ceased, and it never occurred to any
one of them to ask from whence the things came, or how long the yacht
was to take in breaking up and in delivering itself of the many useful
things it evidently contained. The weeks went by, and it was altogether
a very happy and contented little band of people, albeit queerly
dressed.
The inevitable discovery was made one morning quite early by Gilbert.
The beauty of the morning had tempted him, and he had come out to taste
the pure air, and to feel the warmth of the coming day. He found that
Pringle, as usual, had been early astir; but he took no notice of that.
Pringle was ever an early riser, and there was much to be done each day
before the little company gathered round the fire for breakfast.
Gilbert strode away down the hill until he came to the eastern shore
of the island; waited there a moment, as though undecided in which
direction to turn. Then suddenly he became aware of a figure marching
steadily towards the rocks at the north of the island; and, gazing more
intently, discovered that figure to be Pringle, moving steadily and as
though with a set purpose.
"What's the fellow up to now?" Gilbert asked himself, inwardly amused.
He decided to follow; and, keeping a safe distance between his servant
and himself, presently saw that servant come to the great line of rocks
which bounded the island to the north. But strangely enough Pringle
did not stop there; in the mist of the morning he stepped as it seemed
straight out into the sea, and disappeared.
Greatly amazed, Gilbert broke into a run, and did not stop until he had
come to the very edge of the rocks where, as he had seen them before,
they jutted into the sea. But now there was a clean, clear stretch of
sand round the base of them, and it was along this stretch of sand that
Pringle had gone. Without a moment's hesitation Gilbert Byfield ran
round the high wall of rock--and so stepped at once into the heart of
the mystery.
Pringle was hurrying ahead of him--not into a watery grave, but
straight along a little spit of land that had been left dry by the
receding tide. As in a dream, Byfield followed; and presently found
himself climbing a path on to another land, and seeing before him as
he went evidences of civilization, in the shape of cultivated fields,
and decent stone walls and gates. And still Pringle went ahead, looking
neither to right nor left nor backwards.
It was only when Gilbert had topped the rise, and had come to a little
old-fashioned bridge, that he stopped and let Pringle go ahead, and
looked about him. Below lay a prosperous-looking little village, with
already early morning smoke rising from many chimneys; about him in all
directions were cultivated fields. He seated himself on the parapet of
the bridge, and watched the hurrying figure of Pringle dipping down
into civilization; and then all in a moment he understood for the first
time the fraud that had been practised upon him. To his credit be it
said he sat upon the bridge, looking after Pringle (now a mere dot
upon the landscape), and shouted with laughter.
He sat there for a long time, until presently the black dot appeared
again out of the intricacies of the village, and began to climb the
hill. When presently Pringle reappeared, he bore upon his shoulders yet
another of those mysterious packages with which he had so thoughtfully
provided the islanders. Toiling up the hill, singing cheerfully to
himself, he stopped only when the long shadow of Gilbert fell across
his path; paused for a moment to look at this surprising stranger
watching him; and dropped his burden in the dust of the road.
"Morning, sir," said Pringle, a little nervously. And then, looking at
the packing-case that lay between them, he added more nervously still,
and yet with a dawning smile about his lips--"Washed ashore, sir!"