Chapter Ten.
A Discovery—and a Confession.
The statement that Dick Leslie that evening wrote ran as follows:—
“The finder of this document is earnestly requested to communicate its contents to Lloyds, the British Admiralty, the leading London newspapers, and Sir Ernest Trevor, K.C.M.G., Judge of Her Majesty’s Supreme Court, Bombay.
“On the — day of —, in the year 18—, the ship Golden Fleece, Captain Rainhill, sailed from London for Melbourne, having on board, among other passengers, Miss Flora Trevor, daughter of the above-named Sir Ernest Trevor, and Mr Richard Leslie.
“On the night of the — day of —, in the same year, the ship’s reckoning at noon on that day being Latitude 32 degrees 10 minutes North and Longitude 26 degrees 55 minutes West, the Golden Fleece was run into and sunk by an unknown steamer during a dense fog. The only known survivors of the wreck consisted of the above-named Flora Trevor, Richard Leslie, and a seaman named George Baker, belonging to the ship. These three persons were picked up and rescued on the following day by the brig Mermaid of London, James Potter, master, which sailed from the last-named port on the —th day of —, bound for Valparaiso.
“On the date of the rescue of the three above-named persons by the brig, Captain Potter met with an accident, from which he died on the —th day of —; and the mate, Thomas Purchas, succeeded to the command of the vessel. Then Purchas gave way to drink, and on the night of the —th day of — committed suicide by jumping overboard. Thereupon Mr Richard Leslie, who had at one time been an officer in the British navy, assumed command of the brig, with the intention of navigating her to Valparaiso. During the passage of Cape Horn, however, the Mermaid encountered contrary winds and very heavy weather, in which she was dismasted, with the loss of three of her crew. The brig was then put under jury rig, so far as the resources of the vessel permitted; but it was not of a sufficiently efficient character to permit of her being worked to windward, and a persistent succession of contrary winds drove her deep into the heart of the Pacific Ocean, where, during a gale that sprang up on the night of the —th of —, she was driven ashore, and became a total wreck on the outlying reef of an unknown island, not marked on the charts, but situate in Latitude 16 degrees 8 minutes South, Longitude 120 degrees 56 minutes West. During this gale the Mermaid was again dismasted, and Mr Leslie, who was at the wheel, was knocked down and injured on the head by the falling wreckage, in consequence of which he was conveyed below, where Miss Trevor remained in attendance upon him. He lay insensible for nearly thirty-six hours; and it was during this time that the brig struck on and was driven nearly the entire width of the reef, where she now lies. The only survivors of this disaster are Miss Trevor and Mr Leslie, who undoubtedly owe their lives to the fact that they were below when the brig struck. It is urgently requested that help be sent to them as quickly as possible, as the island upon which they have been wrecked lies quite out of the usual track of shipping, and their prospects of rescue by a passing vessel are consequently small.
”(Signed) Flora Trevor. Richard Leslie.
“Dated this — day of —, 18—.”
“There,” exclaimed Leslie, as he read over the completed document, “that ought to bring us help if the bottle happens to be picked up. But we must not count upon it, for it may drift about for years before it is found. However, we will do what we can to attract attention to it. A mere floating bottle is a very inconspicuous object, and may be passed within a hundred feet without being noticed; but I will pack it in a good big packing-case before sending it adrift. A floating case, especially if conspicuously marked, stands a hundred times as good a chance of being picked up as does a mere bottle.”
Accordingly, on the following day, the bottle, with the document hermetically sealed within it, was taken on board the brig and carefully packed away in the centre of a large packing-case filled with fine shavings from other cases; and then the entire exterior of the case was painted black and white in a bold chequer pattern, with the words “Please open” in bold red letters on each side, and as soon as the paint was dry Leslie put it on board the catamaran, and, running some three miles to leeward of the island, launched it overboard. The case, being light, floated high, and, with its bold chequer pattern, formed a conspicuous object, calculated to attract attention at any distance not exceeding a mile. Then he returned to the brig, and, with Flora’s assistance, resumed his task of breaking out cargo.
There is no need to state in detail the contents of each case and bale that they hoisted on deck; suffice it to say that the cargo, being what is known as “general,” comprised almost every imaginable thing, much of it being of a character that would either conduce to their present comfort or be possibly useful to them in the future. Only a small proportion of the whole, therefore, went overboard; and since the remainder would in any case be irretrievably lost to its proper owners, Leslie had no scruples whatever in appropriating it to their own use.
The goods thus appropriated comprised an infinite variety of articles, among which may be enumerated enough lamps to illuminate a small village; a few pictures, with which they adorned the interior of their tent; household furniture of all kinds, such as bedsteads, with their bedding, wardrobes, dressing and other tables, chests of drawers, domestic utensils of every kind, cutlery, china and glass, carpets, a huge pier glass, and, to Flora’s infinite delight, a magnificent Kaps grand piano. Then there was more clothing—enough to last them both for the remainder of their lives—a case of repeating rifles and revolvers, another case containing ammunition for the same, and a quantity of valuable jewellery, watches, etcetera, cases of perfumery, handsome fans, bric-à-brac—in short, a sufficiency of everything to enable them to convert their humble tent into a most comfortable, elegant, and luxurious abode.
This, however, was not all, or even their most valuable find. There were cases containing picks, shovels, and other implements, some steel wheelbarrows, a case containing a large assortment of carpenters’ and joiners’ tools, cases of assorted nails and screws, and a very long packing-case, which, upon being opened, was found to contain a handsome and highly finished set of spars, evidently intended for a yacht of about fifteen tons measurement. Close to this was found another case, bearing the same marks as the first, and containing two complete sets of cotton canvas sails, clearly intended for the same craft. These valuable finds not only filled Leslie’s heart with immeasurable delight, but set him eagerly searching for further cases, similarly marked. Nor was he disappointed, for the next day’s search resulted in his finding a third case, the contents of which consisted of a complete set of gun-metal belaying-pins and other fittings, together with a number of patent blocks, single, double, and threefold, that he had no difficulty in identifying as intended for the same craft.
“Little woman,” he exclaimed, “this find is worth more than all the rest of them put together. These spars and sails will save me months of work, and shorten our term of imprisonment here by just that much. They are intended for a craft of about the size that I had in my mind, and now, of course, I shall design her of exactly such dimensions as they will fit. Are you not glad?”
“Of course I am, Dick,” she replied; “I am glad of anything that will ease your work for you, for indeed you have been making a perfect slave of yourself ever since we landed here. The discovery of these things has, I suppose, relieved your mind of a great deal of anxiety; and I hope that now you will be able to take matters more easily.”
“I am afraid,” said Dick, “there still remains a great deal to be done before I can think of ‘taking matters easily.’ I must complete my examination of this cargo, for one thing; and when that is done I must begin to pull the poor old brig herself to pieces for the sake of her timber, that being the only material available out of which to build our boat.”
“But surely there is no such very urgent need for hurry over all this work, is there, Dick?” remonstrated Flora.
“Oh yes, there is,” insisted Dick; “for the reason that, if another gale were to spring up, the brig would most probably go to pieces, and then everything in her would be lost, excepting, of course, such matters as might be washed ashore. And the timber of which she is built would be more or less smashed up and generally made less fit for use than it will be if I am afforded time to break her up carefully.”
“I see,” assented Flora, thoughtfully. “In that case I suppose we had better go to work again, hadn’t we?”
So they resumed operations; Dick descending into the hold and slinging the cases, one by one, and then coming on deck and taking the tackle fall to the winch, and heaving the package on deck while Flora hung on to the tail-end of the rope to prevent it slipping round the winch barrel. It was easy work for the girl, and such as she could do without becoming greatly fatigued; but for the man it was hard labour indeed, and such as sent him back to the island at night almost too weary to eat.
But a day or two later he met with a find that more than rewarded him for all his toil, and rendered a further continuance of it unnecessary. Among the first cases that he came upon was a long and heavy one, marked like those containing the spars and sails, that, upon being opened, was found to contain copper sheathing, already cut to shape and carefully marked. There was also, in the same case, a small, light, flat box, containing two drawings to scale; one being a sheer, half-deck, and body plan of a very smart, handsome, and wholesome-looking cutter, thirty-five feet long on the water-line, and ten feet beam; while the other was a drawing similarly marked to the copper sheathing, showing exactly where and how every sheet ought to be applied. Near this case was another, similarly marked, a very large case as to length and breadth, but of no great depth. Wondering what this could possibly contain, Leslie eagerly opened it and found in it the complete set of steel frames for the cutter, packed one inside the other, and each marked and figured in accordance with the sheet of plans. And finally, not to dwell at undue length upon this discovery, important though it was, he also found the keel, stem and stern-posts, rudder and trunk, deck-beams, wales, stringers, skin and deck-planking—in short, every scrap and item of material and fittings required for the little vessel; so that nothing remained but to put the whole together. A more fortunate find could by no possibility be conceived for two people circumstanced as he and his companion were.
It goes without saying that the whole of this valuable material was most carefully and promptly transferred to the beach; and as the last item of it was unloaded from the catamaran Leslie flung himself down upon the sand and exclaimed, in accents of infinite relief—
“There, that is a good job well done; and I care not now though the old hooker should go to pieces to-morrow!”
“And now,” returned Flora, “you will be able to give yourself a little holiday, and take some much-needed rest, will you not? Promise me that you will, Dick, please. You have been looking very anxious and worried of late, and have been toiling the whole day through, day after day, in the hot sun. I am sure such arduous work is not good for you; and indeed I have more than once been tempted to refuse to help you, because I knew that, if I did, you would be compelled to desist. But when I saw how eager you were I thought it would be cruel; and I could not bring myself to be that, even though I felt that it would be for your good.”
“You have been infinitely good to me, Flora,” answered Leslie, with deep feeling—“infinitely good, and infinitely patient; while I have been impatient and exacting. In my impatience—I can see it now—I have worked you cruelly hard—”
The girl put her hand over his mouth. “You shall not say another word until you talk sensibly,” she declared. “The idea of saying that you ‘worked me hard’! Why, what I did was child’s play; a girl of fifteen could have done it without being distressed. Please do not let me hear you say such things again!” she insisted, imperiously; immediately adding, “Now, you will promise to take a day’s rest to-morrow, will you not, Dick?”
“Certainly, if you wish it,” assented Leslie. “We will both take a day’s holiday, and go fishing along the inner edge of the reef, shall we?”
“By all means,” agreed Flora. “I have often thought that I should like a little fish, as a change of diet; I am getting most horribly tired of salt beef and pork and tinned meats. But you have been so feverishly busy that I did not like to ask you.”
“Then,” said Leslie, with severity, “please do not do it again. How many times must I tell you that you have only to express a wish, to have it gratified, if I can do it, before you will believe me?”
“I do believe you, Dick; indeed I do,” she answered softly. “I know that there is nothing I could ask you that you would not willingly and gladly do for me if you could. You are the kindest, most generous, most chivalrous gentleman that I ever met—”
“Stop, please!” exclaimed Leslie, with a sudden fierceness of energy that frightened the girl; “you must not say such things as that, or I shall some day forget myself and— But you have not yet heard my story; I must tell it you some day, Flora; yes, the time is drawing near when it will be imperatively necessary for me to tell you my story. Then we shall see what your opinion of me will be.”
“So you really have a history?” remarked the girl. “The people on board the Golden Fleece suspected as much, and freely said so; and as I have watched you from time to time, and have observed your sudden fits of melancholy, I have often thought that they must have been right in their surmise. Yes; you shall tell me your story, Dick; I shall be profoundly interested in it, I am certain; and if it is a sad one—as I more than half suspect—you shall have my whole-hearted sympathy. But, whatever you may have to tell me, it will never alter my opinion of you; you may have met with misfortune, or suffered grievous wrong, but nothing will ever persuade me that such a man as you have shown yourself to be can ever have done anything of which you or your friends need be ashamed. Tell it me now, Dick, if you will.”
“No,” answered Leslie, resolutely, though he longed for her promised sympathy more intensely than he had ever longed for anything else in his life; “no; I will not tell you now; the time is not yet ripe. But it will be ere long; and then I will tell you.”
“So be it,” agreed Flora. “Until then I can wait. And now let us go to dinner, for I see by the appearance of the cooking-stove that it is ready, and I am sure you must need it.”
On the following morning, in accordance with their over-night arrangement, they got on board the catamaran after breakfast and, sailing out to the reef, anchored on its inner edge, and started to fish. They appeared, however, to have chanced upon an unfavourable spot to start with, for after about half an hour their efforts were rewarded by the capture of only four fish, so small as to be quite worthless, except for bait; Leslie therefore tripped his anchor and, setting his canvas, determined to try his luck somewhat further to the north-eastward, and nearer the entrance channel.
They had been under way some ten minutes, slipping along over the very inner edge of the reef, with the deep-water of the lagoon on their port hand, when Flora, who was peering abstractedly down into this deep, pellucid water, suddenly cried out—
“Oh, look, Dick, look; what is that huge object over there? Is it another wreck?”
“Where away?” asked Leslie, gazing out over the reef.
“Down there in the water,” answered the girl, pointing to a spot over the port quarter. “I cannot see it now, because of the light on the water; but I saw it most distinctly a moment ago. We sailed almost directly over it.”
“And you thought it looked like a sunken wreck?” asked Leslie.
“Yes,” answered the girl; “I certainly did. It was as large as a ship, and had somewhat the appearance of one.”
“Well, we will go back and have a look at it,” said Leslie; and, bearing up for a moment and then putting his helm down, he tacked, bringing the catamaran round in such a manner as to pass back over practically the same ground as before. And presently they both sighted the same object again—a huge something that certainly bore some resemblance to the hull of a ship, lying submerged upon the sandy bottom of the lagoon, about fifty fathoms from the inner edge of the reef. They were too far away from it, however, to distinguish it clearly, the light reflected from the surface of the water rendering their view of it indistinct; Leslie therefore this time wore the catamaran round, and, lowering her sails, allowed her to drift gently forward with the way that she still had on her. And this time they passed right over the object, when, as soon as the catamaran was fairly clear of it, he let go his anchor and allowed his craft to drive astern again until she floated fair and square over the mysterious thing. Then, lying down flat upon the deck of the catamaran, he peered straight down into the crystal-clear water, in the shadow of the craft, and saw beneath him what was unquestionably the weed-grown hull of a ship of antiquated model, of some four hundred tons measurement. She was heading straight for the reef, with her stern pointing toward the island. And as Leslie lay there intently studying her every detail, he presently made out a stout rope cable leading from her starboard hawse-pipe toward the reef, the end of it being buried in the sand. Her posture was such as to suggest to the experienced eye of the sailor that she had driven over the reef, somewhat in the same way as the Mermaid had done; but, unlike the latter craft, had cleared it altogether and had there been brought to an anchor, subsequently sinking where she lay. She seemed to have been a three-masted ship, for Leslie could see the stumps of the fore and main masts, and believed he could make out the stump of the mizzenmast broken close off at the deck. She had the appearance of a craft of somewhere about the Elizabethan period; being built with an excessive amount of sheer and a very high-peaked narrow poop, upon the after end of which the remains of what were probably three poop-lanterns could still be distinguished. She had a slight list to starboard, and had, in the course of her long submergence, either settled or become buried in the sand to the extent of about half the depth of her hull. What her nationality may have been it was of course impossible to tell, clothed as she was in a rankly luxuriant growth of weed. Leslie carefully noted in his pocket-book the exact bearings of the wreck; and then, lifting his anchor, they resumed their fishing, their efforts being rewarded with an excellent day’s sport.
Leslie now set to work with earnestness and enthusiasm upon his great task of putting together the cutter, the component parts of which had so fortunately happened to form a part of the Mermaid’s cargo. And the first thing he did was to name the prospective craft the Flora, as a compliment to his companion.
Now, the Flora, when completed, would be a craft of very respectable dimensions; far too bulky, indeed, to be launched by the simple process of pushing her off the beach into the water, as one would launch a small boat. The method of launching, therefore, was a matter requiring consideration, and would have to be arranged for before a stroke of work was done upon the boat herself. Leslie thought the matter over carefully, and at length arrived at the conclusion that there was nothing for it but to build the boat upon properly constructed launching ways. And for these he would require a considerable quantity of good stout timber properly squared; the provision of which involved a task of very considerable labour and difficulty. Trees there were in plenty on the island, of ample dimensions for his purpose; but how was he, single-handed, to get them down upon the beach, even after they had been trimmed and squared? And how was he to square them without a sawpit. The pit-saw itself he had, having found several among the other tools that formed part of the brig’s cargo; but to work such a tool single-handed was an impossibility. Weighing all these difficulties in his mind, Dick at length came to the conclusion that there was no alternative but to draw upon the brig for the necessary material; and he accordingly went, rather reluctantly, to work upon the task of breaking up the poor old Mermaid. He decided that the deck-beams of the brig would be the most suitable for his purpose; and to obtain these it was necessary to break up the deck—a long and arduous job, only to be accomplished with hard labour and the assistance of an elaborate system of tackles.
It was while he was thus employed that the first break occurred in the fine weather that had prevailed ever since their arrival at the island. It began with the gradual dying away of the trade wind, followed by a heavy banking-up of dark thundery-looking clouds along the western horizon. With the cessation of the wind the temperature rose to such a pitch that work became an impossibility, and Dick was at length reluctantly compelled to knock-off and return to the shore, much to Flora’s satisfaction—for she was continually in dread lest the untiring and feverish energy with which he laboured should result in his suffering a serious breakdown.
As it was too hot even to walk about, the pair were perforce compelled to remain inactive all the afternoon; and Flora inwardly decided that this would be a good opportunity for Dick to relate to her his promised story. It needed a very considerable amount of persuasion and coaxing to induce him to do so; but eventually he yielded and told her the whole miserable history from beginning to end, winding up with the words—
“And thus you find me here to-day, a disgraced and ruined man, under an assumed name, without prospects or hope of any description, with only a hundred pounds wherewith to begin a new career in an alien land, and no possibility whatever, so far as I can see, of ever being able to establish my innocence and so win reconciliation with my poor, proud, heart-broken father. Were it not for the fact that you are here, and must be restored to your friends with as little delay as may be, I could be well content to end my days here on this unknown island, alone and forgotten by all. Indeed, I think it more than likely that as soon as I have discharged my duty to you I shall return here.”
“My poor Dick,” exclaimed Flora, in tones of profound sympathy; “how you must have suffered! I am no longer surprised at your frequent fits of depression and melancholy; the wonder to me is that you did not go mad, or die of shame, in that horrible prison. But now that you have told me all you must put everything that is past behind you, and try to forget it; I believe your story implicitly; you could not be the man you have proved yourself to be to me, and be guilty of so mean an act as theft; oh no, nothing save your own admission could ever make me believe that of you. And you have all the sympathy of my heart, Dick; all my sympathy; all my esteem; all—oh, the thought of what you have been compelled to endure is terrible—terrible!”
And, to Leslie’s unspeakable consternation, the girl suddenly buried her face in her hands and sobbed as though her heart would break. The expression of her whole-hearted sympathy and perfect faith in him touched him profoundly.
“Don’t cry, darling, please don’t; I cannot bear it—and I am not worth it,” he protested. “I ought never to have told you. I was a selfish brute to extort your sympathy by the miserable recital of my own misfortunes; I have basely worked upon your feelings.”
“You shall not say it,” she answered, laying her hand upon his mouth; “I will not have you abuse yourself, you who have already suffered such unspeakable cruelty at the hands of others. You are not selfish; you are not base; you are nothing that is bad and everything that is good; you are a very king among men! Oh, Dick,” she continued, taking his hand in hers, “do not think me forward or unmaidenly in speaking thus to you, dear; I am not. But do you think I do not know what your feeling is toward me; do you think I do not know that you love me? You poor, simple-hearted fellow, you are far too honest and straightforward ever to be able to deceive a woman, especially in such a matter as that; you may have thought that you were very successfully concealing your feelings from me, but I have known the truth—oh, ever since we have been on this island.”
“It is true; God help me, it is true!” exclaimed Dick, smiting his forehead. “But it is also true that I never intended you to know. For what right have I, a disgraced and ruined man, to seek the love of any woman? And if I may not seek her love in return, why should I tell her that I love her?”
“You are looking at the matter with jaundiced eyes, Dick,” answered Flora, still retaining his hand in hers. “I cannot wonder that you feel your humiliation cruelly; but the humiliation is really not yours; it is that of those who so shamefully plotted to ruin you. You are guiltless of this horrible charge—I am as sure of that as I am that I am a living woman. Besides, who is to know that Richard Leslie is one and the same man with him who stood in the dock charged with that shameful crime, and was pronounced guilty upon the strength of cunningly devised and manufactured evidence? No one, of course, except my father; he must know; because, Dick dear, it is my fixed determination that he shall help you in this matter; you will accompany me to Bombay, and personally deliver me over into my father’s care. Then I shall tell him all that you have done for me, and been to me; and you will tell him your whole story, just as you have told it to me. And I am sure that, if only for the sake of his daughter, he will take up the matter and bring the truth to light. And, Dick, I am not going to allow your morbid feelings, or even maidenly reserve, to stand in the way of my happiness; you have confessed that you love me, and I know it to be true, for your eyes and your actions have told me so daily, for months past. It cannot be unmaidenly, therefore, in me to confess that I return your love with all my heart and soul.”
“Oh, Flora, my love, my heart’s darling, are you sure of this?” demanded Dick, laying his hands upon her shoulders and gazing into her eyes as though he would read her very soul. “Are you sure that you are not mistaking mere gratitude for a warmer feeling?”
“Yes, Dick,” she answered, “I am quite, quite sure. My gratitude you won long ago; it was yours when we first stood on the deck of the Mermaid together, dripping from our long night’s immersion in the sea—for had you not, even then, saved my life? And it grew even deeper as I noted day by day your thoughtful care and anxiety for my welfare. But gratitude and love are two very different feelings; and while I should of course have always been profoundly grateful to you for your unceasing care, I am sure that I should never have learned to love you had I not first seen that you loved me.”
“Then God be praised for His unspeakable mercy in bestowing upon me this pricelessly precious gift of your dear love!” exclaimed Dick, fervently. “I will accept it, ay and I will moreover prove myself worthy of it. This blessed day marks a turning-point in my life; from this moment I leave my wretched past behind me; there shall be no more useless fretting and grieving for me. My work, now, is first to restore you to your father; next to free myself—by his help, if he will give it me, but anyway, to free myself—from the undeserved stigma that attaches to my true name; and, finally, to win for you such a home and position as you deserve. And, God helping me, I will do it!”
This was the second time within a few minutes that Dick Leslie had spoken the name of the Deity, and nothing could more clearly have indicated the change wrought in him by the knowledge of Flora’s love. Hitherto he had felt himself to be an outcast, cruelly and unjustly deserted by his Creator; despised and condemned by his fellow-men; but now everything was different; he firmly believed that God had at last relented and had given him this girl’s love to comfort and encourage him in his great trouble and humiliation; and he once more took hope into his heart. If God had relented, everything, he felt convinced, would yet be well with him.
And what is to be said of Flora; is any excuse needed for the extreme step that she took in forcing a confession of love from Leslie? Well, possibly there is; it may be that there are people who would assert that, despite her disclaimer, she was unmaidenly. If such there be, and if excuse for her be needed, then let it be found for her in the following facts. In the first place Leslie, despite his utmost caution, had betrayed his intense love for her in a thousand different ways, until the fact had become clear, unmistakable, and indisputable; a thing not to be doubted or gainsaid. And, in the next place, she saw that, for some unknown reason, he never intended to declare his love if he could possibly help it. A dozen times the declaration had trembled on his lips, yet he had resolutely withheld it. Why? Clearly for some reason that he deemed all-sufficient, and which, she fancied, must be intimately associated with those oft-recurring fits of gloom and depression from which she could not help seeing that he suffered. Finally, she loved him, and believed that—he also loving her—the knowledge of this fact might go far toward restoring his lost happiness. And when she had heard his story—told with all the bitterness and grief and indignation that had been eating into his soul and destroying his faith in God and man for over seven interminable years of suffering—she knew that she was right; that there was but one remedy for his misery; and, conscious of the nobility of her own motives, she fearlessly administered it. Who can or will blame her?
Meanwhile the brooding storm was slowly gathering its forces together for an outburst; the bank of cloud had piled itself so high above the western horizon that it had long ago obscured the sun; a weird twilight had fallen upon the scene; the stagnant air had grown even more oppressively hot than at first; not a bird uttered a single note; not an insect raised a chirp; not a leaf stirred; and in the profound silence the roar of the surf on the reef became thunderous in its resonance. They dined somewhat earlier than usual that night, and while they sat over their meal the darkness fell and they lighted the lamps. Then Leslie went out to see to the security of the catamaran, making her fast to the shore with additional moorings; and upon his return Flora insisted that he should lie down on the sofa while she sang and played to him. Then Leslie, in his turn, his heart lightened with returning hope and happiness, lifted up his voice, and for the first time since that terrible and memorable day, nearly eight years ago, broke into song. And finally they began to sing duets together, his clear, rich, mellow tenor blending well with Flora’s sweet, sympathetic soprano.
The concert was interrupted by the distant muttering of thunder and the fitful flickering of lightning; and they went out together down to the shore to watch the gathering storm. It was a long time in coming, but by-and-by, as they stood together close to the water’s edge, a sudden swishing sound, like that of wind stirring leaves, became audible, and in another moment the blast was upon them and tearing across the glassy surface of the lagoon, darkening its surface and lashing it into foam. Then, a minute or two later, down came the rain in sheets, and they had to beat a precipitate retreat to the tent, getting a thorough drenching on the journey, though it occupied them but a minute. The gale raged all through the night and up to nearly noon on the following day, when it broke, the sky cleared, and the wind gradually dropped to a moderate breeze, veering all the time round by north to east until the south-east trade wind was once more blowing, but very much more gently than usual. Upon going out, the next day, Leslie was delighted to find that the gale had done no damage whatever anywhere, all stores and materials having been effectually protected from the rain, while the direction of the gale had been such that it could not possibly harm the brig.
Although the gale actually broke—as has been said—shortly before noon, it moderated so gradually throughout the afternoon that it was not until the next day that the sea had gone down sufficiently to permit of the catamaran being taken alongside the brig without danger. As soon, however, as this was the case, Leslie went off again, accompanied by Flora, and resumed his task of breaking up the brig’s deck. It was about the middle of the afternoon when Flora, who had been allowing her gaze to wander out over the sea to the southward and westward, called her companion’s attention to a small object floating at a distance of about a mile in the offing. Leslie, ever on the alert, at once brought the telescope to bear upon the object, which appeared to be drifting helplessly before wind and sea toward the surf beating on the weather side of the reef, and immediately pronounced it to be a small canoe, apparently empty.
“We must have that craft; she will be very useful to us,” he exclaimed, dropping the telescope and preparing to cast off the catamaran. “Will you come with me, sweetheart? You can be useful to me by taking the tiller, when we come alongside her, while I jump aboard and make fast a rope. But we must be smart or she will be among the breakers before we can reach her.”
A minute later they were under way and slipping along toward the entrance channel, upon clearing which Leslie at once hauled his wind, standing to the eastward for about a mile, which took him far enough to windward to enable him to fetch the canoe on the next tack. He then hove about without a moment’s delay, for the little craft was by this time perilously close to the surf, and it was questionable whether they would reach her in time to save her from being caught and dashed to pieces in it. So close, indeed, was she that Leslie began to seriously ask himself whether he was justified in taking the catamaran into a situation of such danger for the mere sake of an insignificant canoe; but reflecting that she was evidently light enough to enable Flora to paddle about in her without much exertion, and that it would afford the girl pleasure to do so; also that the little craft would be very useful for fishing and other purposes, he decided to risk it; and accordingly steered to shave just past her to windward. Then, when they were drawing close up to her, he handed over the tiller to Flora—who was by this time quite an expert helmswoman—instructing her to tack to the eastward the moment that he sprang into the canoe. Then, taking the end of a rope in his hand, he stood by to jump into the canoe as the catamaran shaved past her. Another moment and they were alongside the little craft, into which Dick nimbly leaped, with the rope’s-end in his hand, crying, as he did so—
“Down helm, dear, and put her round!” A moment later he added, under his breath, “Hillo! here is a complication; a couple of naked savages in her! I wonder whether the beggars are dead!”
That, however, was not the moment in which to enter upon an investigation of the matter, for the two craft were on the very edge of the surf, and if by any chance the catamaran should miss stays nothing could save them. So Dick, with lightning-like rapidity, took a turn with his rope and made it fast to a sort of broad thwart in the centre of the canoe, and then, hauling quickly up alongside again, he regained the deck of the catamaran just as she was paying-off on the right tack.
As Leslie took the helm from her, Flora exclaimed—
“Oh, Dick, what does it mean? How came those two men—I suppose they are men?—in the canoe; and where have they come from?”
“From one of those islands, away out there to the westward, that we saw from the summit, without a doubt,” answered Dick. “I suspect that they were caught unawares and blown out to sea by that gale of the day before yesterday. Once blown fairly away out of the lee of their own island they would have no choice but to keep their cockle-shell of a canoe dead before the sea, and to paddle for all they were worth, to avoid being swamped. I take it that they paddled until they were absolutely exhausted and could do no more, and then flung themselves down in the bottom of the canoe and dropped into a kind of lethargy.”
“You think that they are still alive, then?” asked Flora.
“I have very little doubt of it,” answered Dick. “These South Sea savages are pretty tough, I believe; and even were they not, it would take something more than, say, forty hours’ exposure, in this climate, to kill them. Oh yes; they are alive, all right.”
“And how will their presence on our island affect us, Dick?” asked the girl.
That was precisely the question that was worrying Leslie at that moment. He had no personal knowledge of the native inhabitants of the islands of the Southern Pacific, but had a vague recollection of having either heard or read that, while some of them were very gentle and inoffensive, others were extremely treacherous and ferocious; some of them even being addicted to cannibalism. He was not, however, going to alarm his companion unnecessarily, or say anything needlessly to raise her apprehensions; so he answered, with a great show of cheerfulness—
“Why, I hope it will very materially shorten the period of our sojourn here, sweetheart. They have the appearance of being good sturdy fellows; and I shall set them on to help me with my heavy work. It has gone to my heart to be compelled to ask you to do even the light work that you have hitherto done for me; although I could not have got on at all without your assistance. Now, however, with their help I shall be able to get on swimmingly, while you can amuse yourself in any way that you please. Now I am going to tack; look out for your head, dear; I cannot afford to have you knocked overboard by the main-boom. Helm’s a-lee!”
Instead of returning to the brig, Leslie proceeded direct to the island where, having landed Flora, he proceeded, with some difficulty, to rouse the savages, and supply them with food and drink. They proved to be, as Leslie had said, a pair of fine, well-made men, naked, save for a kind of breech-clout round their loins, of sturdy physique, and apparently but little the worse for their adventure. Nor were they especially unprepossessing in appearance, although there was a certain character of ruthlessness in the expression of their eyes and about their mouths and chins that caused Leslie to determine that he would keep a very wary eye upon them, at all events until he had learned a little more about their character and disposition.