THE VOICE IN THE AIR
Robert slept long and peacefully the night after his Christmas dinner,
and, when he rose the next morning, he felt more buoyant and hopeful
than for days past. The celebration had been a sort of anchor to his
spirit, keeping him firm against any tide of depression that in his
situation might well have swept him toward despair. As he recalled it
the day after, Tayoga, Willet and Grosvenor were very vivid figures at
his table, sitting opposite him, and to right and left. They had
responded to his toast, he had seen the flash in their eyes, and their
tones were resonant with hope and confidence. It was clear they had
meant to tell him that rescue was coming.
He accepted these voices out of the distance as definite and real. It
could not be long until he saw the hunter, the Onondaga and the young
Englishman once more. His lonely life caused him, despite himself, to
lend a greater belief to signs and omens. Tayoga was right when he
peopled the air with spirits, and most of the spirits on that island
must be good spirits, since all things, except escape, had been made
easy for him, house, clothes, food and safety.
The day itself was singularly crisp and bright, inciting to further
cheerfulness. It was also the coldest he had yet felt on the island,
having a northern tang that stirred his blood. He could shut his eyes
and see the great forests, not in winter, but as they were in autumn,
glowing in many colors, and with an air that was the very breath of
life. The sea also sang a pleasant song as it rolled in and broke on the
rocks, and Robert, looking around at his island, felt that he could have
fared far worse.
Rifle on shoulder he went off for a long and brisk walk, and his steps
unconsciously took him, as they often did, toward the high hill in the
center of the island, a crest that he used as a lookout. On his way he
passed his friend, the old bull, grazing in a meadow, and, watching his
herd, like the faithful guardian he was. Robert called to him
cheerfully. The big fellow looked up, shook his horns, not in hostile
fashion but in the manner of comrade saluting comrade, and then went
back, with a whole and confident heart, to his task of nipping the
grass. Robert was pleased. It was certain that the bull no longer
regarded him with either fear or apprehension, and he wanted to be
liked.
It was nearly noon when he reached his summit, and as he was warm from
exercise he sat down on a rock, staying there a long time and scouring
the horizon now and then through the glasses. The sea was a circle of
blazing blue, and the light wind sang from the southwest.
He had brought food with him and in the middle of the day he ate it.
With nothing in particular to do he thought he would spend the afternoon
there, and, making himself comfortable, he waited, still taking
occasional glances through the glasses. While he sat, idling more than
anything else, his mind became occupied with Tayoga's theory of spirits
in the air--less a theory however than the religious belief of the
Indians.
He wanted to believe that Tayoga was right, and his imagination was so
vivid and intense that what he wished to believe he usually ended by
believing. He shut his eyes and tested his power of evocation. He knew
that he could create feeling in any part of his body merely by
concentrating his mind upon that particular part of it and by continuing
to think of it. Physical sensation even came from will. So he would
imagine that he heard spirits in the air all about him, not anything
weird or hostile, but just kindly people of the clouds and winds, such
as those created by the old Greeks.
Fancying that he heard whispers about him and resolved to hear them, he
heard them. If a powerful imagination wanted to create whispers it could
create them. The spirits of the air, Tayoga's spirits, the spirits of
old Hellas, were singing in either ear, and the song, like that of the
sea, like the flavor breathed out by his Christmas celebration, was full
of courage, alive with hope.
He had kept his eyes closed a full half hour, because, with sight shut
off, the other senses became much more acute for the time. The power
that had been in the eyes was poured into their allies. Imagination, in
particular, leaped into a sudden luxuriant growth. It was true, of
course it was quite true, that those friendly spirits of the air were
singing all about him. They were singing in unison a gay and brilliant
song, very pleasant to hear, until he was startled by a new note that
came into it, a note not in harmony with the others, the voice of
Cassandra herself. He listened and he was sure. Beyond a doubt it was a
note of warning.
Robert opened his eyes and everything went away. There was the pleasant,
green island, and there was the deep blue sea all about it. He laughed
to himself. He was letting imagination go too far. One could make
believe too much. He sat idly a few minutes and then, putting the
glasses to his eyes, took another survey of the far horizon where blue
sky and blue water met. He moved the focus slowly around the circle, and
when he came to a point in the east he started violently, then sprang to
his feet, every pulse leaping.
He had seen a tiny black dot upon the water, one that broke the
continuity of the horizon line, and, for a little while, he was too
excited to look again. He stood, the glasses in his trembling fingers
and stared with naked eyes that he knew could not see. After a while he
put the glasses back and then followed the horizon. He was afraid that
it was an illusion, that his imagination had become too vivid, creating
for him the thing that was not, and now that he was a little calmer he
meant to put it to the proof.
He moved the glasses slowly from north to east, following the line where
sky and water met, and then the hands that held them trembled again.
There was the black spot, a trifle larger now, and, forcing his nerves
to be calm, he stared at it a long time, how long he never knew, but
long enough for him to see it grow and take form and shape, for the
infinitesimal but definite outline of mast, sails and hull to emerge,
and then for a complete ship to be disclosed.
The ship was coming toward the island. The increase in size told him
that. It was no will-o'-the-wisp on the water, appearing a moment, then
gone, foully cheating his hopes. If she kept her course, and there was
no reason why she should not, she would make the island. He had no doubt
from the first that a landing there was its definite purpose, most
likely for water.
When he took the glasses from his eyes the second time he gave way to
joy. Rescue was at hand. The ship, wherever she went, would take him to
some place where human beings lived, and he could go thence to his own
country. He would yet be in time to take part in the great campaign
against Quebec, sharing the dangers and glory with Willet, Tayoga,
Grosvenor and the others. The spirits in the air had sung to him a true
song, when his eyes were shut, and, in his leaping exultation, he forgot
the warning note that had appeared in their song, faint, almost buried,
but nevertheless there.
He put the glasses to his eyes a third time. The ship was tacking, but
that was necessary, and it was just as certain as ever that her
destination was the island. Owing to the shifts and flaws in the wind it
would be night before she arrived, but that did not matter to him.
Having waited months he could wait a few hours longer. Likely as not she
was an English ship out of the Barbadoes, bound for the Carolinas. He
must be somewhere near just such a course. Or, maybe she was a colonial
schooner, one of those bold craft from Boston. There was a certain
luxury in speculating on it, and in prolonging a doubt which would
certainly be solved by midnight, and to his satisfaction. It was not
often that in real life one looked at a play bound to develop within a
given time to a dramatic and satisfying finish.
He remained on the crest until late in the afternoon, watching the ship
as she tacked with the varying winds, but, in the end, always bearing
toward the island. He was quite sure now that her arrival would be after
dark. She would come through the opening in the reefs that he and the
slaver had made so hardly in the storm, but on the night bound to follow
such a day it would be as easy as entering a drawing room, with the
doors held open, and the guest made welcome. He would be there to give
the welcome.
He was able to see more of the ship now. As he had surmised, she was a
schooner, apparently very trim and handled well. Doubtless she was fast.
The faster the better, because he was eager to get back to the province
of New York.
Late in the afternoon, he left the hill and went swiftly back to his
house, where he ate an early supper in order that he might be on the
beach to give welcome to the guest, and perhaps lend some helpful advice
about making port. There was none better fitted than he. He was the
oldest resident of the island. Nobody could be jealous of his position
as adviser to the arriving vessel.
This was to be a great event in his life, and it must be carried out in
the proper manner with every attention to detail. He put on the uniform
of an English naval officer that he had found on the ship, and then
rifle on shoulder and small sword in belt went through the forest toward
the inlet.
The night was bright and beautiful, just fitted for a rescue, and an
escape from an island. All the stars had come out to see it, and, with
his head very high, he trod lightly as he passed among the trees,
approaching the quiet beach. Before he left the wood he saw the top of
the schooner's mast showing over a fringe of bushes. Evidently she had
anchored outside the reefs and was sending in a boat to look further.
Well, that was fit and proper, and his advice and assistance would be
most timely.
The wind rose a little and it sang a lilting melody among the leaves.
His imagination, alive and leaping, turned it into the song of a
troubadour, gay and welcoming. Tayoga's spirits were abroad again,
filling the air in the dusk, their favorite time, and he rejoiced, until
he suddenly heard once more that faint note of warning, buried under
the volume of the other, but nevertheless there.
Alone, driven in upon himself for so many months, he was a creature of
mysticism that night. What he imagined he believed, and, obedient to the
warning, he drew back. All the caution of the northern wilderness
returned suddenly to him. He was no longer rushing forward to make a
welcome for guests awaited eagerly. He would see what manner of people
came before he opened the door. Putting the rifle in the hollow of his
arm he crept forward through the bushes.
A large boat was coming in from the schooner, and the bright moonlight
enabled him to see at first glance that the six men who sat in it were
not men of Boston. Nor were they men of England. They were too dark, and
three of them had rings in their ears.
Perhaps the schooner was a French privateer, wishing to make a secret
landing, and, if so, he had done well to hold back. He had no mind to be
taken a prisoner to France. The French were brave, and he would not be
ill-treated, but he had other things to do. He withdrew a little farther
into the undergrowth. The door of welcome was open now only a few
inches, and he was peering out at the crack, every faculty alive and
ready to take the alarm.
The boat drew closer, grounded on the beach, and the men, leaping out,
dragged it beyond the reach of the low waves that were coming in. Then,
in a close group, they walked toward the forest, looking about
curiously. They were armed heavily, and every one of them had a drawn
weapon in his hand, sword or pistol. Their actions seemed to Robert
those of men who expected a stranger, as a matter of course, to be an
enemy. Hence, they were men whose hands were against other men, and so
also against young Robert Lennox, who had been alone so long, and who
craved so much the companionship of his kind.
He drew yet deeper into the undergrowth and taking the rifle out of the
hollow of his arm held it in both hands, ready for instant use. The men
came nearer, looking along the edge of the forest, perhaps for water,
and, as he saw them better, he liked them less. The apparent leader was
a short, broad fellow of middle years, and sinister face, with huge gold
rings in his ears. All of them were seamed and scarred and to Robert
their looks were distinctly evil.
The door of welcome suddenly shut with a snap, and he meant to bar it on
the inside if he could. His instinct gave him an insistent warning.
These men must not penetrate the forest. They must not find his house
and treasures. Fortunately the dinghy was up the creek, hidden under
overhanging boughs. But the event depended upon chance. If they found
quickly the water for which they must be looking, they might take it and
leave with the schooner before morning. He devoutly hoped that it would
be so. The lad who had been so lonely and desolate an hour or two
before, longing for the arrival of human beings, was equally eager, now
that they had come, that they should go away.
The men began to talk in some foreign tongue, Spanish or Portuguese or a
Levantine jargon, perhaps, and searched assiduously along the edges of
the forest. Robert, lurking in the undergrowth, caught the word "aqua"
or "agua," which he knew meant water, and so he was right in his surmise
about their errand. There was a fine spring about two hundred yards
farther on, and he hoped they would soon stumble upon it.
All his skill as a trailer, though disused now for many months, came
back to him. He was able to steal through the grass and bushes without
making any noise and to creep near enough to hear the words they said.
They went half way to the spring, then stopped and began to talk. Robert
was in fear lest they turn back, and a wider search elsewhere would
surely take them to his house. But the men were now using English.
"There should be water ahead," said the swart leader. "We're going down
into a dip, and that's just the place where springs are found."
Another man, also short and dark, urged that they turn back, but the
leader prevailed.
"There must be water farther on," he said. "I was never on this island
before, neither were you, José, but it's not likely the trees and bushes
would grow so thick down there if plenty of water didn't soak their
roots."
He had his way and they went on, with Robert stalking them on a parallel
line in the undergrowth, and now he knew they would find the water. The
spirit of the island was watching over its own, and, by giving them what
they wanted at once, would send these evil characters away. The leader
uttered a shout of triumph when he saw the water gleaming through the
trees.
"I told you it was here, didn't I, José?" he said. "Trust me, a sailor
though I am, to read the lay of the land."
The spring as it ran from under a rock formed a little pool, and all of
the men knelt down, drinking with noise and gurglings. Then the leader
walked back toward the beach, and fired both shots from a
double-barreled pistol into the air. Robert judged that it was a signal,
probably to indicate that they had found water. Presently a second and
larger boat, containing at least a dozen men, put out from the schooner.
A third soon followed and both brought casks which were filled at the
spring and which they carried back to the ship.
Robert, still and well hidden, watched everything, and he was glad that
he had obeyed his instinct not to trust them. He had never seen a crew
more sinister in looks, not even on the slaver, and they were probably
pirates. They were a jumble of all nations, and that increased his
suspicion. So mixed a company, in a time of war, could be brought
together only for evil purposes.
It was hard for him to tell who was the captain, but the leader who had
first come ashore seemed to have the most authority, although nearly all
did about as they pleased to the accompaniment of much talk and many
oaths. Still they worked well at filling the water casks, and Robert
hoped they would soon be gone. Near midnight, however, one of the boats
came back, loaded with food, and kegs and bottles of spirits. His heart
sank. They were going to have a feast or an orgie on the beach and the
day would be sure to find them there. Then they might conclude to
explore the island, or at least far enough to find his house.
They dragged up wood, lighted a fire, warmed their food and ate and
drank, talking much, and now and then singing wild songs. Robert knew
with absolute certainty that this was another pirate ship, a rover of
the Gulf or the Caribbean, hiding among the islands and preying upon
anything not strong enough to resist her.
The men filled him with horror and loathing. The light of the flames
fell on their faces and heightened the evil in them, if that were
possible. Several of them, drinking heavily of the spirits, were already
in a bestial state, and were quarreling with one another. The others
paid no attention to them. There was no discipline.
Apparently they were going to make a night of it, and Robert watched,
fascinated by the first sight of his own kind in many months, but
repelled by their savagery when they had come. Some of the men fell down
before the fires and went to sleep. The others did not awaken them,
which he took to be clear proof that they would remain until the next
day.
A drop of water fell on his face and he looked up. He had been there so
long, and he was so much absorbed in what was passing before his eyes
that he had not noted the great change in the nature of the night. Moon
and stars were gone. Heavy clouds were sailing low. Thunder muttered on
the western horizon, and there were flashes of distant lightning.
Hope sprang up in Robert's heart. Perhaps the fear of a storm would
drive them to the shelter of the ship, but they did not stir. Either
they did not dread rain, or they were more weatherwise than he. The
orgie deepened. Two of the men who were quarreling drew pistols, but the
swart leader struck them aside, and spoke to them so fiercely that they
put back their weapons, and, a minute later, Robert saw them drinking
together in friendship.
The storm did not break. The wind blew, and, now and then, drops of rain
fell, but it did not seem able to get beyond the stage of thunder and
lightning. Yet it tried hard, and it became, even to Robert, used to the
vagaries of nature, a grim and sinister night. The thunder, in its
steady growling, was full of menace, and the lightning, reddish in
color, smelled of sulphur. It pleased Robert to think that the island
was resenting the evil presence of the men from the schooner.
The ruffians, however, seemed to take no notice of the change. It was
likely that they had not been ashore for a long time before, and they
were making the most of it. They continued to eat and the bottles of
spirits were passed continuously from one to another. Robert had heard
many a dark tale of piracy on the Spanish Main and among the islands,
but he had never dreamed he would come into such close contact with it
as he was now doing for the second time.
He knew it was lucky for the men that the storm did not break. The
schooner in her position would be almost sure to drag her anchor and
then would drive on the rocks, but they seemed to have no apprehensions,
and, it was quite evident now, that they were not going back to the
vessel until the next day. The ghastly quality of the night increased,
however. The lightning flared so much and it was so red that it was
uncanny, it even had a supernatural tinge, and the sullen rumbling of
the distant thunder added to it.
The effect upon Robert, situated as he was and alone for many months,
was very great. Something weird, something wild and in touch with the
storm that threatened but did not break, crept into his own blood. He
was filled with hatred and contempt of the men who caroused there. He
wondered what crimes they had committed on those seas, and he had not
the least doubt that the list was long and terrible. He ought to be an
avenging spirit. He wished intensely that Tayoga was with him in the
bush. The Onondaga would be sure to devise some plan to punish them or
to fill them with fear. He felt at that moment as if he belonged to a
superior race or order, and would like to stretch forth his hand and
strike down those who disgraced their kind.
The swart leader at last took note of the skies and their sinister
aspect. Robert saw him walking back and forth and looking up. More than
half of his men were stretched full length, either asleep or in a
stupor, but some of the others stood, and glanced at the skies. Robert
thought he saw apprehension in their eyes, or at least his imagination
put it there.
A wild and fantastic impulse seized him. These men were children of the
sea, superstitious, firm believers in omens, and witchcraft, ready to
see the ghosts of the slain, all the more so because they were stained
with every crime, then committed so freely under the black flag. He had
many advantages, too. He was a master of woodcraft, only their
wilderness was that of the waters.
He gave forth the long, melancholy hoot of the owl, and he did it so
well that he was surprised at his own skill. The note, full of
desolation and menace, seemed to come back in many echoes. He saw the
swart leader and the men with him start and look fearfully toward the
forest that curved so near. Then he saw them talking together and gazing
at the point from which the sound had come. Perhaps they were trying to
persuade themselves the note was only fancy.
Robert laughed softly to himself. He was pleased, immensely pleased with
his experiment. His fantastic mood grew. He was a spirit of the woods
himself; one of those old fauns of the Greeks, and he was really there
to punish the evil invaders of his island. His body seemed to grow light
with his spirit and he slid away among the trees with astonishing ease,
as sure of foot and as noiseless as Tayoga himself. Then the owl gave
forth his long, lonely cry with increased volume and fervor. It was a
note filled with complaint and mourning, and it told of the desolation
that overspread a desolate world.
Robert knew now that the leader and his men were disturbed. He could
tell it by the anxious way in which they watched the woods, and, gliding
farther around the circle, he sent forth the cry a third time. He was
quite sure that he had made a further increase in its desolation and
menace, and he saw the swart leader and his men draw together as if they
were afraid.
The owl was not the only trick in Robert's trade. His ambition took a
wide sweep and fancy was fertile. He had aroused in these men the fear
of the supernatural, a dread that the ghosts of those whom they had
murdered had come back to haunt or punish them. He had been an apt pupil
of Tayoga before the slaver came to Albany, and now he meant to show the
ruffians that the owl was not the only spirit of fate hovering over
them.
The deep growl of a bear came from the thicket, not the growl of an
ordinary black bear, comedian of the forest, but the angry rumble of
some great ursine beast of which the black bear was only a dwarf cousin.
Then he moved swiftly to another point and repeated it.
He heard the leader cursing and trying to calm the fears of the men
while it was evident that his own too were aroused. The fellow suddenly
drew a pistol and fired a bullet into the forest. Robert heard it
cutting the leaves near him. But he merely lay down and laughed. His
fantastic impulse was succeeding in more brilliant fashion than he had
hoped.
Imitating their leader, six or eight of the men snatched out pistols and
fired at random into the woods. The cry of a panther, drawn out, long,
full of ferocity and woe, plaintive on its last note, like the haunting
lament of a woman, was their answer. He heard a gasp of fear from the
men, but the leader, of stauncher stuff, cowed them with his curses.
Robert moved back on his course, and then gave forth the shrill, fierce
yelp of the hungry wolf, dying into an angry snarl. It was, perhaps, a
more menacing note than that of the larger animals, and he plainly saw
the ruffians shiver. He was creating in them the state of mind that he
wanted, and his spirits flamed yet higher. All things seemed possible to
him in his present mood.
He moved once more and then lay flat in the dense bushes. He fancied
that the pirates would presently fire another volley into the shadows,
and, in a moment of desperate courage, might even come into the forest.
His first thought was correct, as the leader told off the steadier men,
and, walking up and down in front of the forest, they raked it for a
considerable distance with pistol shots. All of them, of course, passed
well over Robert's head, and as soon as they finished he went back to
his beginnings, giving forth the owl's lament.
He heard the leader curse more fiercely than ever before, and he saw
several of the men who had been pulling trigger retreat to the fire. It
was evident to him that the terror of the thing was entering their
souls. The night itself, as if admiring his plan, was lending him the
greatest possible aid. The crimson lightning never ceased to quiver and
the sullen rumble of the distant thunder was increasing. It was easy
enough for men, a natural prey to superstition, and, with the memories
of many crimes, to believe that the island was haunted, that the ghosts
of those they had slain were riding the lightning, and that demons,
taking the forms of animals, were waiting for them in the bushes.
But the swart leader was a man of courage and he still held his ruffians
together. He cursed them fiercely, told them to stand firm, to reload
their pistols and to be ready for any danger. Those who still slumbered
by the fire were kicked until they awoke, and, with something of a
commander's skill, the man drew up his besotted band against the mystic
dangers that threatened so closely.
But Robert produced a new menace. He was like one inspired that night.
The dramatic always appealed to him and his success stimulated him to
new histrionic efforts. He had planted in their minds the terror of
animals, now he would sow the yet greater terror of human beings,
knowing well that man's worst and most dreaded enemy was man.
He uttered a deep groan, a penetrating, terrible groan, the wail of a
soul condemned to wander between the here and the hereafter, a cry from
one who had been murdered, a cry that would doubtless appeal to every
one of the ruffians as the cry of his own particular victim. The effect
was startling. The men uttered a yell of fright, and started in a panic
run for the boats, but the leader threatened them with his leveled
pistol and stopped them, although the frightful groan came a second
time.
"There's nothing in the bush!" Robert heard him say. "There can't be!
The place has no people and we know there are no big wild animals on the
islands in these seas! It's some freak of the wind playing tricks with
us!"
He held his men, though they were still frightened, and to encourage
them and to prove that no enemy, natural or supernatural, was near, he
plunged suddenly into the bushes to see the origin of the terrifying
sounds. His action was wholly unexpected, and chance brought him to the
very point where Robert was. The lad leaped to his feet and the pirate
sprang back aghast, thinking perhaps that he had come face to face with
a ghost. Then with a snarl of malignant anger he leveled the pistol that
he held in his hand. But Robert struck instantly with his clubbed
rifle, and his instinctive impulse was so great that he smote with
tremendous force. The man was caught full and fair on the head, and,
reeling back from the edge of the bushes in which they stood, fell dead
in the open, where all his men could see.
It was enough. The demons, the ghosts that haunted them for their
crimes, were not very vocal, but they struck with fearful power. They
had smitten down the man who tried to keep them on their island, and
they were not going to stay one second longer. There was a combined yell
of horror, the rush of frightened feet, and, reaching their boats, they
rowed with all speed for the schooner, leaving behind them the body of
their dead comrade.
Robert, awed a little by his own success in demonology, watched until
they climbed on board the ship, drawing the boats after them. Then they
hoisted the anchor, made sail, and presently he saw the schooner tacking
in the wind, obviously intending to leave in all haste that terrible
place.
She became a ghost ship, a companion to the _Flying Dutchman_, outlined
in red by the crimson lightning that still played at swift intervals.
Now she turned to the color of blood, and the sea on which she swam was
a sea of blood. Robert watched her until at last, a dim, red haze, she
passed out of sight. Then he turned and looked at the body of the man
whom he had slain.
He shuddered. He had never intended to take the leader's life. Five
minutes before it occurred he would have said such a thing was
impossible. It was merely the powerful impulse of self-protection that
had caused him to strike with such deadly effect, and he was sorry. The
man, beyond all doubt, was a robber and murderer who had forfeited his
life a dozen times, and still he was sorry. It was a tragedy to him to
take the life of any one, no matter how evil the fallen might be.
He went back to the house, brought a shovel, one of the numerous ship's
stores, and buried the body at once high up the beach where the greatest
waves could not reach it and wash it away. He did his task to the rumble
of thunder and the flash of lightning, but, when he finished it, dawn
came and then the storm that had threatened but that had never burst
passed away. He felt, though, that it had not menaced him. To him it was
a good storm, kindly and protecting, and giving sufficient help in his
purpose that had succeeded so well.
It was a beautiful day, the air crisp with as much winter as the island
ever knew, and shot with the beams from a brilliant sun, but Robert was
exhausted. He had passed through a night of intense emotions, various,
every one of them poignant, and he had made physical and mental efforts
of his own that fairly consumed the nerves. He felt as if he could lie
down and sleep for a year, that it would take at least that long to
build up his body and mind as they were yesterday.
He dragged himself through the woods, forced his unwilling muscles to
cook a breakfast which he ate. Then he laid himself down on his bed, his
nerves now quiet, and fell asleep at once. When he awoke it was night
and he lay giving thanks for his great escape until he slept again. When
he awoke a second time day had returned, and, rising, he went about his
usual tasks with a light heart.