"Before mine eyes in opposition sits
Grim death."
--Milton.
He awoke to find the sun high in the heavens. Iris was preparing
breakfast; a fine fire was crackling cheerfully, and the presiding
goddess had so altered her appearance that the sailor surveyed her with
astonishment.
He noiselessly assumed a sitting posture, tucked his feet beneath him,
and blinked. The girl's face was not visible from where he sat, and for
a few seconds he thought he must surely be dreaming. She was attired in
a neat navy-blue dress and smart blouse. Her white canvas shoes were
replaced by strong leather boots. She was quite spick and span, this
island Hebe.
So soundly had he slept that his senses returned but slowly. At last he
guessed what had happened. She had risen with the dawn, and, conquering
her natural feeling of repulsion, selected from the store he
accumulated yesterday some more suitable garments than those in which
she escaped from the wreck.
He quietly took stock of his own tattered condition, and passed a
reflective hand over the stubble on his chin. In a few days his face
would resemble a scrubbing-brush. In that mournful moment he would have
exchanged even his pipe and tobacco-box--worth untold gold--for shaving
tackle. Who can say why his thoughts took such trend? Twenty-four hours
can effect great changes in the human mind if controlling influences
are active.
Then came a sharp revulsion of feeling. His name was Robert--a menial.
He reached for his boots, and Iris heard him.
"Good morning," she cried, smiling sweetly. "I thought you would never
awake. I suppose you were very, very tired. You were lying so still
that I ventured to peep at you a long time ago."
"Thus might Titania peep at an ogre," he said.
"You didn't look a bit like an ogre. You never do. You only try to talk
like one--sometimes."
"I claim a truce until after breakfast. If my rough compliment offends
you, let me depend upon a more gentle tongue than my own--
"'Her Angel's face
As the great eye of heaven, shyned bright,
And made a sunshine in the shady place.'
"Those lines are surely appropriate. They come from the Faerie
Queene."
"They are very nice, but please wash quickly. The eggs will be hard."
"Eggs!"
"Yes; I made a collection among the trees. I tasted one of a lot that
looked good. It was first-rate."
He had not the moral courage to begin the day with a rebuke. She was
irrepressible, but she really must not do these things. He smothered a
sigh in the improvised basin which was placed ready for him.
Miss Deane had prepared a capital meal. Of course the ham and biscuits
still bulked large in the bill of fare, but there were boiled eggs,
fried bananas and an elderly cocoanut. These things, supplemented by
clear cold water, were not so bad for a couple of castaways, hundreds
of miles from everywhere.
For the life of him the man could not refrain from displaying the
conversational art in which he excelled. Their talk dealt with Italy,
Egypt, India. He spoke with the ease of culture and enthusiasm. Once he
slipped into anecdote à propos of the helplessness of British
soldiers in any matter outside the scope of the King's Regulations.
"I remember," he said, "seeing a cavalry subaltern and the members of
an escort sitting, half starved, on a number of bags piled up in the
Suakin desert. And what do you think were in the bags?"
"I don't know," said Iris, keenly alert for deductions.
"Biscuits! They thought the bags contained patent fodder until I
enlightened them."
It was on the tip of her tongue to pounce on him with the comment:
"Then you have been an officer in the army." But she forbore. She had
guessed this earlier. Yet the mischievous light in her eyes defied
control. He was warned in time and pulled himself up short.
"You read my face like a book," she cried, with a delightful little
moue.
"No printed page was ever so--legible."
He was going to say "fascinating," but checked the impulse. He went on
with brisk affectation--
"Now, Miss Deane, we have gossiped too long. I am a laggard this
morning; but before starting work, I have a few serious remarks to
make."
"More digs?" she inquired saucily.
"I repudiate 'digs.' In the first place, you must not make any more
experiments in the matter of food. The eggs were a wonderful effort,
but, flattered by success, you may poison yourself."
"Secondly?"
"You must never pass out of my sight without carrying a revolver, not
so much for defence, but as a signal. Did you take one when you went
bird's-nesting?"
"No. Why?"
There was a troubled look in his eyes when he answered--
"It is best to tell you at once that before help reaches us we may be
visited by cruel and blood-thirsty savages. I would not even mention
this if it were a remote contingency. As matters stand, you ought to
know that such a thing may happen. Let us trust in God's goodness that
assistance may come soon. The island has seemingly been deserted for
many months, and therein lies our best chance of escape. But I am
obliged to warn you lest you should be taken unawares."
Iris was serious enough now.
"How do you know that such danger threatens us?" she demanded.
He countered readily. "Because I happen to have read a good deal about
the China Sea and its frequenters," he said. "I am the last man in the
world to alarm you needlessly. All I mean to convey is that certain
precautions should be taken against a risk that is possible, not
probable. No more."
She could not repress a shudder. The aspect of nature was so beneficent
that evil deeds seemed to be out of place in that fair isle. Birds were
singing around them. The sun was mounting into a cloudless sky. The
gale had passed away into a pleasant breeze, and the sea was now
rippling against the distant reef with peaceful melody.
The sailor wanted to tell her that he would defend her against a host
of savages if he were endowed with many lives, but he was perforce
tongue-tied. He even reviled himself for having spoken, but she saw the
anguish in his face, and her woman's heart acknowledged him as her
protector, her shield.
"Mr. Jenks," she said simply, "we are in God's hands. I put my trust in
Him, and in you. I am hopeful, nay more, confident. I thank you for
what you have done, for all that you will do. If you cannot preserve me
from threatening perils no man could, for you are as brave and gallant
a gentleman as lives on the earth today."
Now, the strange feature of this extraordinary and unexpected outburst
of pent-up emotion was that the girl pronounced his name with the
slightly emphasized accentuation of one who knew it to be a mere
disguise. The man was so taken aback by her declaration of faith that
the minor incident, though it did not escape him, was smothered in a
tumult of feeling.
He could not trust himself to speak. He rose hastily and seized the axe
to deliver a murderous assault upon a sago palm that stood close at
hand.
Iris was the first to recover a degree of self-possession. For a moment
she had bared her soul. With reaction came a sensitive shrinking. Her
British temperament, no less than her delicate nature, disapproved
these sentimental displays. She wanted to box her own ears.
With innate tact she took a keen interest in the felling of the tree.
"What do you want it for?" she inquired, when the sturdy trunk creaked
and fell.
Jenks felt better now.
"This is a change of diet," he explained. "No; we don't boil the leaves
or nibble the bark. When I split this palm open you will find that the
interior is full of pith. I will cut it out for you, and then it will
be your task to knead it with water after well washing it, pick out all
the fiber, and finally permit the water to evaporate. In a couple of
days the residuum will become a white powder, which, when boiled, is
sago."
"Good gracious!" said Iris.
"The story sounds unconvincing, but I believe I am correct. It is worth
a trial."
"I should have imagined that sago grew on a stalk like rice or wheat."
"Or Topsy!"
She laughed. A difficult situation had passed without undue effort.
Unhappily the man reopened it. Whilst using a crowbar as a wedge he
endeavored to put matters on a straightforward footing.
"A little while ago," he said, "you seemed to imply that I had assumed
the name of Jenks."
But Miss Deane's confidential mood had gone. "Nothing of the kind," she
said, coldly. "I think Jenks is an excellent name."
She regretted the words even as they fell from her lips. The sailor
gave a mighty wrench with the bar, splitting the log to its clustering
leaves.
"You are right," he said. "It is distinctive, brief, dogmatic. I cling
to it passionately."
Soon afterwards, leaving Iris to the manufacture of sago, he went to
the leeward side of the island, a search for turtles being his
ostensible object. When the trees hid him he quickened his pace and
turned to the left, in order to explore the cavity marked on the tin
with a skull and cross-bones. To his surprise he hit upon the remnants
of a roadway--that is, a line through the wood where there were no
well-grown trees, where the ground bore traces of humanity in the shape
of a wrinkled and mildewed pair of Chinese boots, a wooden sandal, even
the decayed remains of a palki, or litter.
At last he reached the edge of the pit, and the sight that met his eyes
held him spellbound.
The labor of many hands had torn a chasm, a quarry, out of the side of
the hill. Roughly circular in shape, it had a diameter of perhaps a
hundred feet, and at its deepest part, towards the cliff, it ran to a
depth of forty feet. On the lower side, where the sailor stood, it
descended rapidly for some fifteen feet.
Grasses, shrubs, plants of every variety, grew in profusion down the
steep slopes, wherever seeds could find precarious nurture, until a
point was reached about ten or eleven feet from the bottom. There all
vegetation ceased as if forbidden to cross a magic circle.
Below this belt the place was a charnel-house. The bones of men and
animals mingled in weird confusion. Most were mere skeletons. A few
bodies--nine the sailor counted--yet preserved some resemblance of
humanity. These latter were scattered among the older relics. They wore
the clothes of Dyaks. Characteristic hats and weapons denoted their
nationality. The others, the first harvest of this modern Golgotha,
might have been Chinese coolies. When the sailor's fascinated vision
could register details he distinguished yokes, baskets, odd-looking
spades and picks strewed amidst the bones. The animals were all of one
type, small, lanky, with long pointed skulls. At last he spied a
withered hoof. They were pigs.
Over all lay a thick coating of fine sand, deposited from the eddying
winds that could never reach the silent depths. The place was gruesome,
horribly depressing. Jenks broke out into a clammy perspiration. He
seemed to be looking at the secrets of the grave.
At last his superior intelligence asserted itself. His brain became
clearer, recovered its power of analysis. He began to criticize,
reflect, and this is the theory he evolved--
Some one, long ago, had discovered valuable minerals in the volcanic
rock. Mining operations were in full blast when the extinct volcano
took its revenge upon the human ants gnawing at its vitals and
smothered them by a deadly outpouring of carbonic acid gas, the
bottled-up poison of the ages. A horde of pigs, running wild over the
island--placed there, no doubt, by Chinese fishers--had met the same
fate whilst intent on dreadful orgy.
Then there came a European, who knew how the anhydrate gas, being
heavier than the surrounding air, settled like water in that terrible
hollow. He, too, had striven to wrest the treasure from the stone by
driving a tunnel into the cliff. He had partly succeeded and had gone
away, perhaps to obtain help, after crudely registering his knowledge
on the lid of a tin canister. This, again, probably fell into the hands
of another man, who, curious but unconvinced, caused himself to be set
ashore on this desolate spot, with a few inadequate stores. Possibly he
had arranged to be taken off within a fixed time.
But a sampan, laden with Dyak pirates, came first, and the intrepid
explorer's bones rested near the well, whilst his head had gone to
decorate the hut of some fierce village chief. The murderers, after
burying their own dead--for the white man fought hard, witness the
empty cartridges--searched the island. Some of them, ignorantly
inquisitive, descended into the hollow. They remained there. The
others, superstitious barbarians, fled for their lives, embarking so
hastily that they took from the cave neither tools nor oil, though they
would greatly prize these articles.
Such was the tragic web he spun, a compound of fact and fancy. It
explained all perplexities save one. What did "32 divided by 1" mean?
Was there yet another fearsome riddle awaiting solution?
And then his thoughts flew to Iris. Happen what might, her bright
picture was seldom absent from his brain. Suppose, egg-hunting, she had
stumbled across this Valley of Death! How could he hope to keep it
hidden from her? Was not the ghastly knowledge better than the horror
of a chance ramble through the wood and the shock of discovery, nay,
indeed, the risk of a catastrophe?
He was a man who relieved his surcharged feelings with strong
language--a habit of recent acquisition. He indulged in it now and felt
better. He rushed back through the trees until he caught sight of Iris
industriously kneading the sago pith in one of those most useful
dish-covers.
He called to her, led her wondering to the track, and pointed out the
fatal quarry, but in such wise that she could not look inside it.
"You remember that round hole we saw from the summit rock?" he said.
"Well, it is full of carbonic acid gas, to breathe which means
unconsciousness and death. It gives no warning to the inexperienced. It
is rather pleasant than otherwise. Promise me you will never come near
this place again."
Now, Iris, too, had been thinking deeply. Robert Jenks bulked large in
her day-dreams. Her nerves were not yet quite normal. There was a catch
in her throat as she answered--
"I don't want to die. Of course I will keep away. What a horrid island
this is! Yet it might be a paradise."
She bit her lip to suppress her tears, but, being the Eve in this
garden, she continued--
"How did you find out? Is there anything--nasty--in there?"
"Yes, the remains of animals, and other things. I would not have told
you were it not imperative."
"Are you keeping other secrets from me?"
"Oh, quite a number."
He managed to conjure up a smile, and the ruse was effective. She
applied the words to his past history.
"I hope they will not be revealed so dramatically," she said.
"You never can tell," he answered. They were in prophetic vein that
morning. They returned in silence to the cave.
"I wish to go inside, with a lamp. May I?" he asked.
"Certainly. Why not?"
He had an odd trick of blushing, this bronzed man with a gnarled soul.
He could not frame a satisfactory reply, but busied himself in
refilling the lamp.
"May I come too?" she demanded.
He flung aside the temptation to answer her in kind, merely assenting,
with an explanation of his design. When the lamp was in order he held
it close to the wall and conducted a systematic survey. The geological
fault which favored the construction of the tunnel seemed to diverge to
the left at the further end. The "face" of the rock exhibited the marks
of persistent labor. The stone had been hewn away by main force when
the dislocation of strata ceased to be helpful.
His knowledge was limited on the subject, yet Jenks believed that the
material here was a hard limestone rather than the external basalt.
Searching each inch with the feeble light, he paused once, with an
exclamation.
"What is it?" cried Iris.
"I cannot be certain," he said, doubtfully. "Would you mind holding the
lamp whilst I use a crowbar?"
In the stone was visible a thin vein, bluish white in color. He managed
to break off a fair-sized lump containing a well-defined specimen of
the foreign metal.
They hurried into the open air and examined the fragment with curious
eyes. The sailor picked it with his knife, and the substance in the
vein came off in laminated layers, small, brittle scales.
"Is it silver?" Iris was almost excited.
"I do not think so. I am no expert, but I have a vague idea--I have
seen----"
He wrinkled his brows and pressed away the furrows with his hand, that
physical habit of his when perplexed.
"I have it," he cried. "It is antimony."
Miss Deane pursed her lips in disdain. Antimony! What was antimony?
"So much fuss for nothing," she said.
"It is used in alloys and medicines," he explained. "To us it is
useless."
He threw the piece of rock contemptuously among the bushes. But, being
thorough in all that he undertook, he returned to the cave and again
conducted an inquisition. The silver-hued vein became more strongly
marked at the point where it disappeared downwards into a collection of
rubble and sand. That was all. Did men give their toil, their lives,
for this? So it would appear. Be that as it might, he had a more
pressing work. If the cave still held a secret it must remain there.
Iris had gone back to her sago-kneading. Necessity had made the lady a
bread-maid.
"Fifteen hundred years of philology bridged by circumstance," mused
Jenks. "How Max Müller would have reveled in the incident!"
Shouldering the axe he walked to the beach. The tide was low and the
circular sweep of the reef showed up irregularly, its black outlines
sticking out of the vividly green water like jagged teeth.
Much débris from the steamer was lying high and dry. It was an easy
task for an athletic man to reach the palm tree, yet the sailor
hesitated, with almost imperceptible qualms.
"A baited rat-trap," he muttered. Then he quickened his pace. With the
first active spring from rock to rock his unacknowledged doubts
vanished. He might find stores of priceless utility. The reflection
inspired him. Jumping and climbing like a cat, in two minutes he was
near the tree.
He could now see the true explanation of its growth in a seemingly
impossible place. Here the bed of the sea bulged upwards in a small
sand cay, which silted round the base of a limestone rock, so different
in color and formation from the coral reef. Nature, whose engineering
contrivances can force springs to mountain tops, managed to deliver to
this isolated refuge a sufficient supply of water to nourish the palm,
and the roots, firmly lodged in deep crevices, were well protected from
the waves.
Between the sailor and the tree intervened a small stretch of shallow
water. Landward this submerged saddle shelved steeply into the lagoon.
Although the water in the cove was twenty fathoms in depth, its crystal
clearness was remarkable. The bottom, composed of marvelously white
sand and broken coral, rendered other objects conspicuous. He could see
plenty of fish, but not a single shark, whilst on the inner slope of
the reef was plainly visible the destroyed fore part of the
Sirdar, which had struck beyond the tree, relatively to his
present standpoint. He had wondered why no boats were cast ashore. Now
he saw the reason. Three of them were still fastened to the davits and
carried down with the hull.
Seaward the water was not so clear. The waves created patches of foam,
and long submarine plants swayed gently in the undercurrent.
To reach Palm-tree Rock--anticipating its subsequent name--he must
cross a space of some thirty feet and wade up to his waist.
He made the passage with ease.
Pitched against the hole of the tree was a long narrow case, very
heavy, iron-clamped; and marked with letters in black triangles and the
broad arrow of the British Government.
"Rifles, by all the gods!" shouted the sailor. They were really by the
Enfield Small Arms Manufactory, but his glee at this stroke of luck
might be held to excuse a verbal inaccuracy.
The Sirdar carried a consignment of arms and ammunition from
Hong Kong to Singapore. Providence had decreed that a practically
inexhaustible store of cartridges should be hurled across the lagoon to
the island. And here were Lee-Metfords enough to equip half a company.
He would not risk the precious axe in an attempt to open the case. He
must go back for a crowbar.
What else was there in this storehouse, thrust by Neptune from the
ocean bed? A chest of tea, seemingly undamaged. Three barrels of flour,
utterly ruined. A saloon chair, smashed from its pivot. A battered
chronometer. For the rest, fragments of timber intermingled with
pulverized coral and broken crockery.
A little further on, the deep-water entrance to the lagoon curved
between sunken rocks. On one of them rested the Sirdar's huge
funnel. The north-west section of the reef was bare. Among the wreckage
he found a coil of stout rope and a pulley. He instantly conceived the
idea of constructing an aerial line to ferry the chest of tea across
the channel he had forded.
He threaded the pulley with the rope and climbed the tree, adding a
touch of artistic completeness to the ruin of his trousers by the
operation. He had fastened the pulley high up the trunk before he
realized how much more simple it would be to break open the chest where
it lay and transport its contents in small parcels.
He laughed lightly. "I am becoming addleheaded," he said to himself.
"Anyhow, now the job is done I may as well make use of it."
Recoiling the rope-ends, he cast them across to the reef. In such small
ways do men throw invisible dice with death. With those two lines he
would, within a few fleeting seconds, drag himself back from eternity.
Picking up the axe, he carelessly stepped into the water, not knowing
that Iris, having welded the incipient sago into a flat pancake, had
strolled to the beach and was watching him.
The water was hardly above his knees when there came a swirling rush
from the seaweed. A long tentacle shot out like a lasso and gripped his
right leg. Another coiled round his waist.
"My God!" he gurgled, as a horrid sucker closed over his mouth and
nose. He was in the grip of a devil-fish.
A deadly sensation of nausea almost overpowered him, but the love of
life came to his aid, and he tore the suffocating feeler from his face.
Then the axe whirled, and one of the eight arms of the octopus lost
some of its length. Yet a fourth flung itself around his left ankle. A
few feet away, out of range of the axe, and lifting itself bodily out
of the water, was the dread form of the cuttle, apparently all head,
with distended gills and monstrous eyes.
The sailor's feet were planted wide apart. With frenzied effort he
hacked at the murderous tentacles, but the water hindered him, and he
was forced to lean back, in superhuman strain, to avoid losing his
balance. If once this terrible assailant got him down he knew he was
lost. The very need to keep his feet prevented him from attempting to
deal a mortal blow.
The cuttle was anchored by three of its tentacles. Its remaining arm
darted with sinuous activity to again clutch the man's face or neck.
With the axe he smote madly at the curling feeler, diverting its aim
time and again, but failing to deliver an effective stroke.
With agonized prescience the sailor knew that he was yielding. Were the
devil-fish a giant of its tribe he could not have held out so long. As
it was, the creature could afford to wait, strengthening its grasp,
tightening its coils, pulling and pumping at its prey with remorseless
certainty.
He was nearly spent. In a paroxysm of despair he resolved to give way,
and with one mad effort seek to bury the axe in the monster's brain.
But ere he could execute this fatal project--for the cuttle would have
instantly swept him into the trailing weeds--five revolver shots rang
out in quick succession. Iris had reached the nearest rock.
The third bullet gave the octopus cause to reflect. It squirted forth a
torrent of dark-colored fluid. Instantly the water became black,
opaque. The tentacle flourishing in air thrashed the surface with
impotent fury; that around Jenks's waist grew taut and rigid. The axe
flashed with the inspiration of hope. Another arm was severed; the huge
dismembered coil slackened and fell away.
Yet was he anchored immovably. He turned to look at Iris. She never
forgot the fleeting expression of his face. So might Lazarus have
looked from the tomb.
"The rope!" she screamed, dropping the revolver and seizing the loose
ends lying at her feet.
She drew them tight and leaned back, pulling with all her strength. The
sailor flung the axe to the rocks and grasped the two ropes. He raised
himself and plunged wildly. He was free. With two convulsive strides he
was at the girl's side.
He stumbled to a boulder and dropped in complete collapse. After a time
he felt Iris's hand placed timidly on his shoulder. He raised his head
and saw her eyes shining.
"Thank you," he said. "We are quits now."