Chapter Twenty Seven.
Ready for the Worst.
Nature must be satisfied at whatever cost, and, as soon as possible, the provisions were unpacked, while a fire, which had been lit with the scraps of wood collected as they returned, burned brightly, the smoke drawing farther into the cavern, and being rapidly dispersed. Then, as soon as the kettle, suspended by an iron rod over the flames, began to boil, a very small handful of tea was thrown in, and the tin lifted off and laid aside.
Only some very wooden cake bread, and some very dry tough beef, with a strong flavour of being imperfectly sun-cured; but how delicious it was when washed down by the warm, unsweetened, milkless tea!
They sat on the stones a little way inside the entrance, where the cool dampness of the cave was relieved by the soft, warm, sunny air which floated in from the gorge; and a sharp lookout was kept for the Indians, but not a sign betrayed their presence. A short exploration of the interior, too, was made, but there was not a sound to be heard, save an impatient stamp or two from the mules; and, concluding that the enemy had all left the place, the colonel returned to where he had left the boys on guard, but only to find them both fast asleep, and John Manning walking up and down slowly by the stream, with his gun over his shoulder.
“Don’t wake ’em, sir,” said the man appealingly: “they tried very hard to hold up, but it warn’t to be done; and if I hadn’t got up and taken to marching here on sentry-go, I should have been fast asleep too.”
“Poor fellows,” said the colonel sadly, “it was too much to expect after what they have gone through. There, lie down for a couple of hours, and then I’ll wake you to relieve me.”
“Begging your pardon, sir, if you’d take first turn,” began the old soldier, but he was cut short directly by a sharp gesture, and, without a word, he lay down with his piece in his hand, and was asleep directly. The colonel took his place, and then began to walk slowly to and fro, now right out where the sinking sun glistened upon the surface of the stream, now back inward, with the walk growing darker, till it was quite black.
And as he marched to and fro, the colonel reflected upon the hopelessness of their position. As he approached the open sunshine, he felt lighter-hearted; but as he turned and walked inward toward the cold and darkness, his spirits sank once more, and he saw no way out of their difficulties save the giving up of that for which he had come all those many thousand miles. Then he stopped short, for Cyril had suddenly sprung to his feet, looking horribly guilty and ashamed.
“I am so sorry, sir,” he faltered. “I did not mean to go to sleep.”
“You could not help it, my lad,” said the colonel, laying his hand upon the boy’s shoulder. “You had reached the limit of human endurance. But, Cyril, my lad, you are being sharply punished for your mad escapade.”
“Yes, sir,” said the boy sadly, “and I suppose I deserve it. I should mind all this much less if we had arranged with my father that I should come.”
“Well done, young philosopher,” said the colonel, as he kept his hand on the lad’s shoulder, and marched him to and fro. “Come, as you can think so well, give me your advice. You know why I have come—to obtain this seed to place in the hands of those who will cultivate it, and make the world independent of the one source of supply.”
“Yes, sir,” said Cyril wonderingly.
“And you see the position to which I am reduced.”
“Yes, sir. Will the Indians kill us?”
“Not without paying dearly for it,” said the colonel sternly. Then changing his manner: “No, my lad. These people are only half-savage, and look upon what they are doing as a duty. I do not think they will kill us if they can get possession of all our baggage. They might keep us in captivity until means are taken to free us; but I don’t know—I hardly feel that our lives are safe.”
“Not very, sir,” said Cyril grimly, “if they rolled big stones. It might have been us instead of the mules this morning.”
“Yes, we have had some narrow escapes; but what shall I do now—give up and own that I am beaten?”
“And let them have the kina seed, sir? No, that I wouldn’t; I’d fight for it first,” cried Cyril excitedly.
“Do you know what you are talking about?” said the colonel excitedly.
“Yes, sir,” cried Cyril, “I was very much down a while ago; but I’ve had something to eat now, and a sleep and—What! give up to a pack of savages, and let them rob you of all we have worked so hard to get? That I wouldn’t while there was a charge of powder left.”
“Humph!” ejaculated the colonel, looking at the boy searchingly.
“That’s what my father would say if he were here. I wish he were.”
“To thrash you for leaving home in that cowardly way?”
“No, sir,” said Cyril quietly. “My father never thrashed me, and he never would. He always said it was degrading a boy to beat him, and that he was a poor parent who could not rule his children without blows. He told me he thought he could hurt me a good deal more by his words, and so he always could.”
“Perhaps so, sir,” said the colonel sternly; “but see what a mistake he has made, and what a miserable young dog you have turned out.”
Cyril was silent for a few moments.
“I hope I’m not all bad, sir,” he said. “I’m sure I’ve bitterly repented what I have done.”
“And been severely punished, too, my lad,” said the colonel kindly. “Your father is quite right, and when I tell him how you have behaved—as, please God, I hope I shall—if he is the man I believe him to be, he will shake hands with you as I do now, and say, ‘Let’s forget the past!’”
“Colonel Campion!” cried Cyril, snatching at the hand extended to him.
He could say no more, for something seemed to rise in his throat and choke him, while the colonel rested his arm affectionately upon his shoulder once more, and walked him up and down toward the light and back again.
“So you’d fight for it and stand out, eh?” said the colonel at last.
“Yes, sir, that I would,” cried Cyril excitedly, “and I’m sure Perry will say the same.”
The colonel was silent for a few moments, gazing straight before him into the darkness, and he asked himself whether he would be justified in running all these risks. He shook his head, and they turned and marched down again toward the light, where the rippling stream looked rosy in the evening, and the rocks on the other side of the gorge were all aglow. And there was so much in the brightness and hope and prospect of success that the feelings of dread, the shrinking from a terrible ordeal, and all hesitation fled away.
“Yes,” he said firmly as he stopped short; “a civilian might hesitate and give up, but I cannot, my lad. I determined to carry out this task, believing that by it I should vastly benefit suffering humanity at large, and Heaven helping me, I will achieve my aims.”
“And you will fight it out, sir?” cried Cyril.
“I will, my boy, to the bitter end. I made the Indians fear me, and if they attack us now, they shall fear me more, for I have our lives to save as well. Now, go and lie down.”
“No, sir, I don’t feel sleepy; let me watch with you.”
“You are a soldier for the time being, my lad, and if we are to succeed, discipline must be observed. In an hour’s time I rouse up John Manning to relieve me, and toward morning, when you are rested and refreshed, you shall be called to take your watch.”
Cyril lay down without a word, meaning to think out all that had been said, and feeling happier than he had since he left home. But he did not think, for in a few seconds after he had stretched his weary limbs upon the rocky floor, all the corners and points of his bed became soft as eider-down, and he dropped into a deep dreamless sleep, leaving the colonel seated on a rock, leaning forward with his gun between his legs, and his form looking black against the soft glowing light at the entrance of the cave.