It seemed too late as Syd rose to his feet, tottered to the looped-back
opening of the hut, and crawled out with his eyes starting, his dry
mouth open, and every breath drawn with a wheezing, harsh sound that was
horrible to hear.
Before he had gone far down the slope toward where the men were lying
beneath the rock, and the rope-ladder hung over the rocky wall below the
lower gun, he stopped short panting, with the sinking sun scorching his
brain and everything swimming round. He looked backward, and had some
idea that the boatswain was crawling after him, bringing a vessel that
rattled on the loose stones as he came.
But Syd could think of but one thing as he made his way toward the
rope-ladder, and that one thing was the fluid which should give them all
back their life. He crawled on slowly and painfully, and then a black
cloud came over his brain, and everything was gone for the time.
Then the recollection came back, and he knew why he was there. Water--
he knew where there was water if he could keep on recollecting till he
reached the place. And could he reach it? His hands and arms gave way,
and he lay prone, sobbing hoarsely in his misery and despair. There was
water, plenty of water, if he could reach it--if his mind would only
hold out, and his strength last till he had taken one long deep draught
of the cool, sweet drink. And he could reach it and bury his face in
the gushing flood, he could save everybody who lay dying there. But he
could go no farther, only lie down moaning on that hot rock.
"Master Syd!--the water--where?"
There was a hot breath upon his face, a great hand was grasping his arm,
and he turned to look wildly at the boatswain, and tried to speak, but
there was only a harsh inarticulate sound from his parched throat.
"Master Syd. Where--the water?"
He tried again, but no words would come. The few minutes lying there,
though, had given him strength to crawl on again till he was abreast of
the men, only one of whom close by unclosed his wild eyes to stare at
the couple crawling toward the edge of the rock wall.
Syd stopped again panting, and once more all seemed over, for the black
cloud had settled down over his understanding; and though he could see
the men lying only partly in shadow now, for the sinking sun was
scorching them, he did not know why he had struggled so far till the hot
breath was upon his cheek again, and the harsh high-pitched voice
cried--
"Master Syd!--water--where?--the water?"
"Water!"
It was another voice uttered that word, and without knowing how or why,
Syd was aware that the young sailor who had been so much mixed up with
his adventures--Rogers--was gripping his hand. Syd stared at him wildly
as with a fierce harsh cry the man tore at him as if he were holding the
precious fluid back. A hoarse groan escaped from Syd's throat, and he
struggled hard to think of what it all meant, while the mental confusion
and insensibility grew upon him as he lay face downward on the burning
rock, staring at that imaginary black cloud.
"Water--water!" Who said water? It was not Strake, but this wild-eyed,
fierce man, whose fingers were pressed into his arm.
Yes, he knew that now, and the burning sun shone through the black cloud
again. Water--yes, he had come to get the water, and he began once more
to crawl on toward the rope-ladder below the gun, with the boatswain and
Rogers hunting him, and nearly as feeble as he, pursuing him with their
harsh repetition of that one word--_water_!
At last close to the edge of the rocky platform with the gun above him
on his right, straight before and below him the rope-ladder fixed to a
great mass of rock, and down there the natural pier, with the beautiful
clear blue sea flooding it, and looking so calm and tempting. If he
could reach that and lie and let the waves flow over him, how pleasant
and refreshing it would be! No more pain or suffering, only rest and
sleep.
He felt a thrill of horror run through him like a spasm of pain, and he
shrank away, for there above the clear water was gliding the triangular
back fin of a shark--two--three, and one monster's long, black, rounded
muzzle rose up; the creature curved over and dived down under one of its
fellows, showing its soft white under-parts, and telling the miserable
being on the rock above that it was no peaceful sleep he would find
there, but an end of unutterable horror.
That spasm of dread seemed to clear Syd's mind for the moment, as he
drew himself back a little just as Strake gripped his shoulder again,
and Rogers uttered the one word in a harsh snarl--
"Water!"
For the moment Syd's head was clear, and he knew why he was there. His
lips parted to speak, but only a harsh sound came, and the black cloud
began to loom over him. But he had the momentary strength which enabled
him to fight it back, and raising his left arm he pointed along the
ridge of tumbled rocks full of rifts and hollows toward where on the day
of the accident he had been struggling back, when Rogers had climbed up
to his side.
"Water!" gasped the man, showing his teeth like some savage beast, and
his eyes glared wild and bloodshot at his young officer.
Again Syd tried to speak, but only that harsh sound came; and he pointed
still at the rugged backbone of the islet which ran from the natural
citadel, and descended slowly toward the far end by the sea. The young
sailor stared back, then turned his head in the direction pointed, but
no answering look of intelligence came. But Syd's finger still pointed,
and the man turned his head and stared again.
"Water!" he snarled; "dying--water."
The hand was still extended toward the furrowed ridge with its chaos of
tumbled rocks; and after gazing in the direction once more, the man
uttered a harsh groan, and crawled to the very edge of the rocky
platform, lowered himself over as he clung to the rope-ladder, and would
have fallen headlong had not his hands been cramped now so that the
fingers were hooked, and he descended half-way before his strength
failed, and he fell ten or a dozen feet, rolled over, and struck against
one of the two buckets that lay there close up, as the men had left them
after dipping for sea-water to bathe with, as they could not venture in.
Rogers lay there for a few minutes half-stunned, and with his brow cut,
and bleeding freely. Then he rose to his hands and knees to begin
climbing up to the left, while Syd and Strake, with hot staring eyes,
watched him as he went up slowly and painfully foot by foot.
What for? Syd found himself thinking. Was it to fight back that black
cloud of confusion which would keep coming and going, as now clearly,
now as through a mist, he could see the young sailor climb and crawl
higher and higher, and further away; now he was behind some great rock,
now he was in sight again; now he descended into one of the crevices of
the slope which looked red-hot in the glow of the setting sun. Then
there came a blank, of how long Syd could not tell, for the black cloud
was over him. But his eyes opened wildly again, and he saw that Rogers
was somewhere close by the edge of the great rift where he had stood and
listened, and then it seemed that the man had fallen, for he disappeared
suddenly, and Strake uttered a low harsh groan.
Was it a dream, or was it really the young sailor coming back? He could
not tell; he did not even know that the hoarse, harsh, rattling sound
came from the boatswain who lay by his side; but in an indistinct way he
saw the man coming down quickly till he was where the two buckets stood,
and he shouted something to him whose sound fell like a blow upon his
brain.
All was blank again, and he saw no more till hands were touching him,
and he felt himself lifted up till his chest was reaching over the edge
of something hard, and directly after there was cold delicious water at
his lips, water that he tried to drink, but which only entered by his
nostrils, and he gasped and choked, as it seemed suddenly to have turned
to boiling lead.
But the water was at his lips again, and this time, though it was almost
agony, he drew in one great draught of the cool, sweet fluid, and then
felt himself lifted and thrown roughly aside, to lie panting on the
rock, and watching, with his senses returning fast, the acts of the man
by him, who was bending over Strake, where the boatswain lay staring,
and with his black lips apart, apparently dead.
The man was Rogers--he recognised him now--and he saw him dip one
hollowed hand into the bucket and let the water he scooped out trickle
slowly between the boatswain's parted lips. Then he stopped quickly,
and took a quick deep draught himself--a draught which gave him strength
to go on trickling more of the fluid between the apparently dead man's
lips before turning to Sydney.
"I'll help you, sir," he whispered, faintly. "Drink again."
Hah! Water, delicious cold pure water; a long deep draught that sent
life fluttering through Syd's veins once more, and he half lay there,
watching as some more water was trickled between the boatswain's lips.
"I spilt--a lot," said Rogers. "More down there."
The power to act came back to Syd with his senses, and he loosened the
handkerchief the boatswain wore from about his neck, plunged it into the
bucket, and drew it out full of water to hold over Strake's mouth, and
let the water drip down as the poor fellow kept on making spasmodic,
choking efforts to swallow.
There was an intense desire on Syd's part to drink again, but he could
think now, and he pointed up the gap toward the hut, where he knew that
his brother officers and the boy lay dying.
"Can you carry this up--to them?" whispered Rogers. "I'll go down and
get the rest. There's quarter of a bucketful below here."
Syd nodded.
"I'll try and get it up. Give him some more, and take the rest to my
mates."
Syd looked his assent and tried to get up, but fell down. His second
effort was more successful, and he took the bucket, which contained
nearly a quart of water, and reeled and staggered up the gap, past the
men who lay apparently dead to his right, and then on with his strength
returning, and with an intense desire to kneel down and drink the
precious fluid to the last drop.
It was a hard fight, but he conquered, and staggered on to where the
opening into the hut gaped before him, ruddy in the last rays of the
setting sun.
Were the inmates dead, and was he bringing that which would have saved
them, too late?
He tottered in and he shuddered as he gazed at their wildly distorted
faces. Dallas lay gazing up, and Roylance was on the left, perfectly
motionless, but Pan was lying on his back, rolling his head slowly from
side to side.
There was a tin pannikin, the one that had held the last drops of the
water, on the floor close to the case which had served as a table, and
as Syd stooped to reach it, a horrible dizziness seized him, and he
nearly fell and scattered the precious burden.
But he saved himself by snatching at the stone wall, and brought down
one of the little blocks of which it was composed. Then dipping about a
tablespoonful of the water with the pannikin, he let a few drops fall in
Roylance's mouth, then in the lieutenant's, and lastly in Pan's, and as
the water was absorbed, for neither seemed to have the power to swallow,
he repeated this twice, his own powers returning more and more, and
bringing that intense desire to drink in a way that was terrible.
But he controlled it successfully, and went on giving a few drops of the
precious life, as it were, to each, and setting his heart throbbing and
a hysterical feeling rising in his throat, as he found that he was not
too late.
He wanted to drink the last drops himself, then he wanted to sit on the
floor and weep and sob like a child. Then he felt that he must cry out
and yell and kick like a mad creature, and all these desires had to be
fought down, so that he could go on now trickling slowly the cold water
between the white and blackened lips, over which he passed his wet
finger from time to time, jealously careful lest a drop should be lost,
till the whole quart was gone, and the last drop drained from the bucket
into the tin.
"More, more!" panted Syd, as he looked wildly from one to the other of
the sufferers, whom he found making spasmodic efforts to swallow, and
taking pannikin and bucket, he went feebly out and down the gap to where
he had left Rogers and Strake.
The sun had gone down and the short twilight would soon be passed. They
must get more water before it was too dark.
"No," he thought, "it can never be too dark for that;" and he went on to
find Rogers bending over Strake.
"That's the last drop, sir," said the young sailor. "I've give all of
it to 'em."
"And will they all live?" faltered Syd.
"Dunno yet, sir. It was a near toucher. Now you stop with him, and
I'll get some more.--No," he added; "I can't go without a light."
"How did you find it? I could not tell you where to look."
"Don't quite know, sir. I was off my head. But I recollect you pynted,
and I climbed up and up to where I found you t'other day, and then I
tumbled, 'most cut to pieces with they rocks. And when I tried to get
up I could hear the water gurgling, and went mad to get to it and drink
it. Look here, sir--no: feel, sir; wet through with slipping in. But,
oh!"
He drew a long deep breath, and then caught up the bucket.
"Let's go and drink as long as we can, sir; but we shall want the
lanthorn now."
It was quite true, for the darkness which falls so rapidly in the
tropics was quickly coming in.
"Didn't think I was going to do this no more, sir," said Rogers, as the
pair struggled up to the quarters, and with trembling hands managed to
strike a light and set the lanthorn candle burning.
"Quick!" whispered Syd, as there came a low moaning from the hospital.
"If I go in they'll be expecting water."
"Which they shall have, sir, before long," replied the sailor, and going
back down the gap, they picked up the buckets, Syd stopping to speak to
Strake.
"Yes, sir; coming round, sir, I think," he said, hoarsely. "Is there a
drop more water?"
"There'll be plenty soon. Only wait."
"Now, sir, you take the lanthorn; I'll take the buckets. Lor', how
swimmy I do feel. Not from having so much water, is it?"
The man's words jarred on Syd. They sounded so careless from one who
but a short time back was dying. But with a sailor, as soon as the
danger is past, he is careless again, and the man was all eagerness now
to help his messmates.
Syd did not find it easy to descend the rope-ladder, but he got down in
safety, and then the difficult ascent of the rocks began.
It was now dark, and he trembled lest they should miss their way and be
wandering about for hours, while the poor creatures they had left were
still in agony.
But after one or two false slips they hit upon the right gap, as they
thought, and were about to descend when Syd stopped short.
"This can't be the place," he said; "I don't hear the water gurgling."
"That's what I've been thinking, sir," said Rogers. "Let's try again."
Weak and weary as he was, Syd's heart sank, but their next attempt was
successful, the faint sound of water trickling far below acting as their
guide, and they found the place, descended carefully, not seeing their
danger, to where the water gurgled musically from the rock into a little
pool some five feet long.
Here both drank long and deeply of the delicious draught, after filling
their buckets, finding it no easy task to climb back with them to where
they stood in the bright, clear star-shine, and begin their journey back
down to the bottom of the rope-ladder, where Rogers set down his pail,
climbed up, lowered down a rope, and hauled both the buckets up without
spilling a drop. Then while he attended to the men with one, Syd
hurried up to the little hospital with the other, to find his patients
sufficiently recovered to drink with avidity as much water as he would
let them have.
There was no sleep that night, but many a prayer of thankfulness was
sent up from the darkness of that black gap toward where, in all their
tropic splendour, the great stars twinkled brightly.
"And we shall see the light of another day," said Syd, aloud, "and--
Roylance--Roy, are you awake?"
"Yes. I was listening to what you said."
"We've forgotten poor Terry."