Chapter Thirteen.
The Drifting Raft.
Without losing an instant Leslie whipped out his knife, and with a few strokes of its keen blade freed the unfortunate girl from her bonds; then, without saying a word to her, or wasting time in asking questions, he raised her tenderly in his arms, and, hauling the canoe alongside the catamaran, carried her aboard the latter and gently laid her upon the mattress that he had brought along with him for her especial benefit. The girl was practically in a state of collapse from her protracted sufferings; but by pouring a little brandy between her lips, and gently chafing her limbs where they had been compressed by the tightly drawn bonds, and thus restoring the arrested circulation of the blood, he at length brought her back to a sense of her surroundings. And then, as might have been expected, as soon as she fully realised that she had been rescued, and that she had nothing further to fear from her late captors, her tensely strained nerves suddenly gave way and she broke into a passion of weeping so violent that it thoroughly alarmed Leslie, who, poor ignorant creature, knew not what to do. Therefore, in the extremity of his ignorance, he did the very best thing possible; that is to say, he took her into his arms and soothed her with many tender and loving words. And as soon as she was calm enough to eat and drink, he placed food and wine before her, and set her a good example by eating and drinking heartily himself, chattering trivialities all the time to divert her mind, so far as he could, from her recent terrible adventure. Then, when she had taken all that he could persuade her to swallow, he insisted that she must lie down and endeavour to sleep.
The rescue of Flora having been happily effected, Leslie was naturally anxious to get back to the island as quickly as possible; for he dreaded lest the fearful shock that the girl had sustained, the long hours of intense physical suffering and of even more intense mental agony that she had endured, should seriously affect her health, and it was only on the island itself that he could afford her the requisite care and attention to ward off or battle with such a result. He therefore at once hauled his wind, and, with the captured canoe in tow, headed the catamaran on her homeward journey.
And now it was that for the first time he fully realised how strongly the trade wind was really blowing, for, close-hauled as the catamaran was, she felt the full strength of the breeze. It piped through her scant rigging with the clamour of half a gale, and poured into her canvas with a savageness of spite that threatened to tear the cloths clean out of the bolt-ropes, while it careened the craft until the lee gunwale was completely buried in the hissing turmoil of foaming yeast that roared out from under her lee bow and swept away astern at a headlong speed that made Leslie giddy to look at. And so furiously did the over-pressed catamaran charge into the formidable seas that came rushing at her weather bow that she took green water in on deck at every plunge, that swept aft as far as her mast ere it poured off into the dizzy smother to leeward, while her foresail and mainsail were streaming with spray to half the height of their weather leeches. Leslie knew that he was not treating his craft fairly in driving her thus recklessly in a strong breeze against a heavy sea; but he had perfect faith in her; he had driven every bolt and nail in her with his own hands, and was confident that there was not a weak spot anywhere about her; and the excitement and tension of the last few hours had wrought him into a condition of desperate impatience that would brook nothing savouring of delay. And, being completely dominated by this spirit of impatience, it was a vexation to him to find that he would be unable to weather the island without making a board to the southward, for as he stood there at the tiller the whole island—or at least as much of it as showed above the horizon—loomed out as a misty grey blot against the star-lit heavens clear of the luff of his foresail.
Leaning forward, Leslie gently raised the corner of the tarpaulin with which he had covered Flora to protect her from the moon’s rays and the drenching spray, and found, to his intense relief, that she had fallen asleep, the sleep, probably, of complete exhaustion. Nor was he greatly surprised at this, for, as a matter of fact, now that the frightful danger was past and his excitement was subsiding, he also began to experience a sensation of weariness and a desire for sleep. But this it was of course quite impossible to indulge just then, so he lighted a pipe instead, and gave himself up to reverie, steering the craft mechanically, with his eye steadfastly fixed upon the luff of his mainsail, as a sailor will, although his thoughts may be thousands of miles away from his surroundings.
As Leslie stood there, gazing abstractedly ahead and puffing meditatively at his pipe, he was startled back to a consciousness of his surroundings by a violent shock that thrilled through the catamaran and caused him to look anxiously over the stern, under the impression that the craft had struck and run over a piece of floating wreckage. He could see nothing, however, and was still staring and wondering when the same thing occurred a second time; and Dick now noticed that the wind had suddenly fallen almost calm, also that the surface of the ocean appeared to be strangely agitated, the regular run of the sea out from the south-east having in a moment given place to a most extraordinary and dangerous cross-sea that seemed to be coming from all directions at the same moment, the colliding seas meeting each other with a rush and causing long walls of water to leap into the air to a height of from twenty to thirty feet. These leaping walls or sheets of water were in a moment flying into the air all round the catamaran, and falling back in drenching showers of spray that instantly flooded her. They at once awoke Flora, who started up in affright, crying to Dick to tell her what fresh danger had arisen.
“Oh, nothing very serious this time,” answered Leslie; “It is quite a novel experience to me, I admit; but there can be only one possible explanation of it, and that is that we have just sustained a shock of earthquake. If I am right in my surmise, this extraordinary disturbance of the sea will subside almost as rapidly as it has arisen, and that will be an end of the whole business. But, by Jove, I am not so sure that it will be, after all,” he added in quite another tone of voice. “Just look at that!”
And he pointed toward the island, over the peak of which there hovered a faint glow, like the reflection upon smoke of a hidden fire.
“Why, what does that mean, Dick?” demanded Flora. “It looks as though our volcano had become active again; but that is hardly likely, is it, after remaining quiescent for so many years?”
“Well, as to that,” answered Dick, “its long period of quiescence constitutes no guarantee that it will not again break out into activity. And, as a matter of fact, it certainly has done so; that ruddy, luminous glow, hovering like a halo over the peak, can mean nothing else. So long, however, as it is no more actively violent than it now is, no very serious harm is likely to ensue; but, all the same, I would very much rather it had not happened. As it is, it is a hint to us to hurry up with our preparations and get away as quickly as may be from a region where such happenings are possible. And now, lie down, again dear, and get some more sleep, if you can. You need all that you can get. And it appears that the disturbance is all over, for the sea is smoothening down again, and here comes the wind, once more, back from its proper quarter.”
When dawn broke, Leslie found himself within some ten miles of his island, but to leeward of it, Point Richard, its most northerly extremity, then bearing a good two points on his weather bow; he therefore tacked and made a board to the southward, with the object of getting far enough to windward to weather the reef on the next tack. Being now close enough to the island to get a distinct view of its general outline, he scrutinised it most carefully in the endeavour to discover whether the earthquake had seriously affected it; and it was with some concern and anxiety that he thought he could detect certain slight alterations of shape, here and there. Not, of course, that it mattered to him, in the abstract, how much or how little the island had altered in shape, provided—but this was a very big proviso—that it had not so seriously affected his dockyard as to damage the cutter, or caused the treasure-cave to collapse to such an extent as to obliterate its situation, or bury the treasure beyond the possibility of recovery.
Anxious now to get back to the camp at the earliest possible moment, Leslie was alternately watching the island and the luff of his mainsail, impatiently waiting for the moment to arrive when it would be possible to again tack to the eastward, when his eye was attracted by the appearance of an object some distance to the eastward and broad on his lee bow. Looking at it intently, it had to him the appearance of a mast with a fragment of sail fluttering from it, and keen though he was upon reaching camp with as little delay as might be, it was impossible for him, as a sailor, to pass such an object without examination. With a little stamp of impatience, therefore, he put up his helm and bore away for it.
It was not very far distant—a couple of miles, perhaps: certainly not more; and to reach it therefore involved no very serious loss of time. It was not long ere he was close enough to it to enable him to make out that it was a raft of some sort, rigged with a boat’s oar, or a small spar, for a mast, upon which was hoisted the remains of what had once been a boat’s lug sail. He noticed also that it was occupied by a little group of recumbent figures, whose attitudes were grimly suggestive of an ocean tragedy. They were mostly lying prone upon the raft, with the water washing round them; but one figure was seated with his back supported against the little mast. They were evidently all insensible, for though the catamaran was by this time quite close to them there was no attempt made by any one of them to signal her; there was nothing indeed to indicate that life still lingered upon that forlorn little ocean waif.
Taking room for the manoeuvre, Leslie tacked at the right moment, and, with fore sheet to windward, slid gradually and with steadily decreasing way up to the lee side of the raft, which he reached just as, with the main sheet eased full off, the catamaran lost way altogether. And as he glided up alongside the helplessly drifting fabric there came to his nostrils a whiff of poisoned air that told its own tale only too clearly. Still, although death was so obviously present, it was possible that life might be there too; so taking a rope’s-end with him he sprang on to the little structure, and secured the two craft together. Then he rapidly examined the motionless figures, one after the other. There were five of them altogether, and of these five, three were undoubtedly dead; but in the case of the other two it seemed just possible that life was not quite extinct, and he therefore hurriedly removed them both to the catamaran, and as hurriedly cast the raft adrift again. Luckily Flora was once more asleep, and so escaped the dreadful sight presented by that little platform of broken planking and odds and ends of splintered timber, with its ghastly load, the empty water-breaker and entire absence of food on the raft telling at a glance the whole history of the tragedy.
The moment that the catamaran was again clear of the raft, Leslie turned his attention to the two pitifully emaciated and rag-clad objects that he had rescued, and commenced operations by administering a small quantity of brandy to each; his efforts being eventually rewarded by the discovery of signs of returning animation in both. Thus encouraged, he assiduously persevered, and presently one of them opened his eyes, and, staring vacantly about him, huskily murmured: “O God, have pity, and give me water—water!”
Leslie thereupon cautiously administered a further small quantity of the liquid, which the man eagerly swallowed, and at once asked for more; but gently laying him down on his back, with the promise that he should have more a little later on, Dick next turned his attention to the second man, and soon had the satisfaction of seeing him also restored to consciousness. Having achieved this much of success, Leslie now aroused Flora, and, briefly explaining to her the circumstances of the case, turned the two castaways over to her care, with instructions to give them, alternately and at brief intervals, small quantities of drink and food, while he devoted his attention to the catamaran and the task of navigating her back into the harbour. Meanwhile the little raft, with her ghastly cargo, went driving away to the northward and westward before the wind and the sea, and was soon lost to sight.
As the catamaran skirted close along the weather side of the reef, Leslie noticed that the brig had burnt herself out; for there was not the faintest whiff of smoke rising from the spot where she had lain. On the other hand, a thin pennant of light yellowish brown vapour was trailing away to leeward from the summit of the peak, showing that the eruption up there was still in progress. Dick was much comforted, however, to find that, even now, when he was so close in with the land, he could detect no evidences of disturbance by the earthquake on the southern slope of the mountain; and he began to cherish the hope that he would find the dockyard and camp uninjured. And this hope became a practical certainty when, upon passing through the entrance channel, the camp came into view, and he beheld not only the tent still standing as he had left it, but the framework of the cutter erect upon the stocks and apparently uninjured. Twenty minutes later the catamaran slid into her usual berth and gently grounded upon the sandy beach.
First assisting Flora to step ashore, and tenderly supporting her to the tent—to which he welcomed her back with a loving embrace—Dick next conducted the two rescued men to the hut that had originally been built and occupied by Sambo and Cuffy, into which he inducted them, with the intimation that they were to regard it as their future quarters. They were by this time so far recovered that both could walk, with a little assistance. Leslie therefore thought that he might now venture to give them a light meal, with a reasonable quantity of liquid to wash it down; and, this done, he recommended them to lie down and sleep for a while after they had refreshed themselves, and so left them.
As he walked from the hut down to the spot that he dignified with the name of The Dockyard, Leslie ruefully noted that the savages had played havoc with his belongings in their hurried search for booty; but as the havoc appeared to consist in a general capsizal of everything rather than in actual damage, and as the few matters that they had appropriated still remained aboard the captured canoe, he consoled himself with the assurance that, after all, there was not very much to worry about—excepting, of course, the terror and suffering to which Flora had been exposed, and the killing of poor Sailor, both of which filled him with bitter grief and anger.
As he passed on his way he detected evidences here and there of the fact that the island had not escaped altogether unscathed from the effects of the earthquake, small cracks in the ground showing here and there that had not heretofore existed; and when he reached the dockyard he found that two or three of his shores had been shaken down, leaving the cutter somewhat precariously supported; but to his infinite relief no actual damage had been done, and a couple of hours of hard work sufficed to put everything quite right once more. Then he returned to the tent, and, finding that Flora was lying down, he seized the opportunity to bury the body of the faithful dog out of her sight ere lying down himself to snatch an hour or two of much-needed sleep.
When he awoke, which he did of his own accord, the afternoon was well advanced; and upon emerging from the tent he discovered that not only was Flora up and stirring, but that she had routed out from their ample store of clothing a couple of suits to replace the rags in which the two castaways had been garbed when rescued; and that these two individuals, having washed and dressed, were now sitting in the sun, smoking—Flora having also supplied them with pipes and tobacco—and looking about them with mingled curiosity and surprise. As he approached them, with the view of eliciting from them the particulars of their story, they rose somewhat unsteadily to their feet, and while one lifted his cap in salute the other took his off altogether and lifted his finger to his forehead as he gave an awkward kick out astern with one leg, in true shellback style. That they were both English Dick had already ascertained; he therefore did not go through the formality of inquiring their nationality, but at once addressed them in his and their own language.
“Well, lads,” he exclaimed cheerfully, “I hope you are feeling better?”
“Thank you, sir,” answered the one who had lifted his cap, “yes, we are beginning to pull round again all right. And I am glad to have this early opportunity to thank you on behalf of myself and the bo’sun here for the service you’ve done us in taking us off the raft and bringing us ashore here. You’ve saved our lives, sir; there’s no mistake about that, and we’re both very much obliged to you, I’m sure.”
“Ay, ay; right ye are, Mr Nicholls; very much obliged indeed we are; and that’s puttin’ the matter in a nutshell,” supplemented the second man, with another sea-scrape of his foot.
Leslie was agreeably surprised at these men’s appearance, now that they had removed from their persons the most repulsive evidences of their late misfortune, for whereas when he had taken them off the raft they were a pair of perfect scarecrows, mere skeletons, dirty, and in rags, they now—although still of course thin, haggard, and cadaverous-looking—wore the semblance of thoroughly honest, trustworthy, and respectable seamen. One of them, indeed, the younger of the two, who had been addressed by his companion as “Mr Nicholls,” presented the appearance of a quite exceptionally smart young sailor, and Leslie at once put him down for—what he presently proved to be—the second mate of the lost ship. As for the other, Nicholls had spoken of him as “the bo’sun;” and he looked it—an elderly man, of burly build no doubt when in health, straightforward and honest as the day, and a prime seaman; “every finger a fish-hook, and every hair a ropeyarn.” Leslie felt delighted beyond measure at the acquisition of two such invaluable assistants as these men would certainly prove so soon as they had recovered their lost strength.
“Oh, that is all right,” said Dick, in response to their expressions of thanks; “I am, of course, very glad that it has fallen to my lot to render you such a service. And it was no doubt a lucky accident for you that I happened to be cruising outside the reef to-day. But for that circumstance I should certainly not have seen the raft, and in that case I am afraid there would have been no hope for you, for the raft would have passed some miles to the westward of the island, and your chance of being picked up would in that case have been remote in the extreme, for although I have now been here for some months I have not sighted a single sail since I arrived here. And now, if you have no objection, I should like to hear your yarn.”
“Well, sir,” answered Nicholls, “I don’t know that there’s very much to tell; but, such as it is, you’re welcome to it. We belonged to a very tidy little barque—the Wanderer, of Liverpool—and sailed from Otago—which, as I suppose you know, sir, is in New Zealand—for London on—what’s to-day?”
Leslie gave him the date.
“The dickens it is,” ejaculated Nicholls; “then I’ve lost a day of my reckoning! Must have been a day longer on that raft than I thought. Well, anyhow, if what you say, sir, be true—and I’m sure I don’t doubt your word—it’s just a month ago, this blessed day, that we sailed from Otago, bound, as I say, for London, with orders to call at Callao on our way home. We sailed with a regular westerly roarer astern of us, to which the ‘old man’—I mean the capt’n, sir,—showed every rag that would draw, up to to’gallant stunsails, and the skipper kept well to the south’ard, hoping to make all the easting that he wanted out of that westerly wind. And I reckon that he did, too, for we carried that same breeze with us to longitude 115 degrees, when we hauled up to the nor’ard and east’ard. Then about two days later—wasn’t it, Bob?”
“Ay,” answered the boatswain, who seemed to know exactly to what Nicholls was referring, “just two days a’terwards, Mr Nicholls.”
“Yes,” resumed Nicholls, “two days later we got a shift of wind, the breeze coming out at about east-north-east, and we broke off to about due north, which was disappointing, as we hoped to pick up the south-east trades just where we then were. But we held all on, hoping that the wind would gradually haul round. It didn’t, however; on the contrary, it came on to blow hard and heavy, until we were hove-to under close-reefed topsails, and the sea—well I never saw anything like it in all my born days; the Wanderer was mostly a very comfortable little hooker when she was hove-to, but this time she rolled so frightfully—being in light trim, you must understand, sir—that I, for one, expected any minute to see her roll her masts over the side. And after we had been hove-to for twenty-six hours she scared the skipper so badly that he decided to up-helm and try whether she wouldn’t do better at running before it. Well, we watched for a ‘smooth,’ but it didn’t seem to come; and then, while we were still waiting, a sea came bearing down upon us that looked as big as a mountain. The skipper sang out for all hands to hold on for their lives, and some of us managed to get a grip, but others didn’t. Down it came upon us, looking like a wall that was toppling over, and the next second it was aboard of us! I had took to the mizzen rigging, and was about ten feet above the level of the rail when that sea came aboard, and I tell you, sir—what I’m saying is the petrified truth—for half a minute that barque was so completely buried that there wasn’t an inch of her hull to be seen, from stem to starn; nothing but her three masts standing up out of a boiling smother of foam. I made up my mind that the poor old hooker was done for, that she’d never come up again. But she did, at last, with every inch of bulwarks gone, fore and aft, the cook’s galley swept away, every one of our boats smashed, and five of the hands missing—one of them being the chief mate.
“Well, as soon as she had cleared herself, the skipper sang out for the carpenter to sound the well; and when Chips drew up the rod he reported four feet of water in the hold! Of course all hands went at once to the pumps; but by the time that we’d been working at them for an hour we found it was no good, the water was gaining upon us hand over hand, and the craft was settling down under our feet. So we knocked off pumping and, our boats being all gone, went to work to put a raft together. But, our decks having been swept clean of everything, we hadn’t much stuff left to work up, and it took us a couple of hours to knock together the few odds and ends that you took us off of this morning. We hadn’t stuff to make anything bigger, and we hadn’t the time, even if we’d had the stuff, for by the time that we had finished our raft the poor old hooker had settled so low in the water that we expected her to sink under us any minute.
“Then we got to work to scrape together such provisions as we could lay our hands on; but by this time the lazarette was flooded and not to be got at, while everything in the steward’s pantry was spoiled, the pantry having been swamped by the sea that had broken aboard and done all the mischief. But it was the grub from the pantry, or nothing; so we took it—and there wasn’t very much of it either—and also a small breaker of fresh water that the steward managed to fill for us, and then it was high time for us to be off.
“It wasn’t a very difficult matter to launch the raft, for by this time every sea that came along swept over our decks, and the job for us was to avoid being washed overboard. Well, we got afloat; but, as luck would have it, a heavy sea swept over us just as we were launching and made a clean sweep of all the provisions that we’d got together, except one small parcel, and of course, once afloat, it was impossible for us to get back to the barque, even if there had been any use in our going back—which there wasn’t.
“We had managed to find one oar and the jolly-boat’s lug sail, and this we rigged up—as much by way of a signal as anything else, for of course we could do nothing but drive dead before the wind. And we hadn’t left the barque above ten minutes when down she went, stern foremost, and there we were left adrift and as helpless as a lot of babies in that raging sea. There were ten of us altogether, and a pretty tight fit we found it on that bit of a raft, all awash as she was. It was within half an hour of sunset when we left the barque, and as darkness settled down upon us it came on to blow harder than ever, while the seas washed us to that extent that we could do nothing but hold on like grim death.
“The misery and the horror of that first night on the raft won’t bear talking about; and if they would it would need a more clever man than I am to describe ’em. All I can remember is that I sat there the whole night through, in the black darkness, holding on for my life with both hands, with the sea washing over me, sometimes up to my neck, speaking to nobody, and nobody speaking to me.
“The gale broke about an hour before dawn; and when the sun rose he showed us a sky full of clouds that looked like tattered bunting of every imaginable colour one could think of, all scurrying across the sky in a westerly direction. And then we found that the wind had veered round and was coming out from about east-south-east. As soon as it was light enough to make out things, I took a look round to see how the rest of us had weathered out the night; and I tell you, sir, it nearly broke my heart to find that we mustered three less than we were when we left the barque, the poor old skipper being one of the missing. They had been washed off and drowned during the night; at least that’s how I accounted for their loss.
“Then we opened our little stock of provisions—consisting mostly of cabin biscuit—that we had wrapped up in a bit of tarpaulin, intending to put a bit of food into ourselves and so get a little strength and encouragement. But when we came to open the bundle we found it full of salt water—and no wonder, seeing what clean breaches the sea had been making over us all night—so that our bread was just reduced to pulp, and no more fit to eat than if it was so much putty. And our water was pretty nearly as bad; the sea had got at it, too, and made it that brackish that it tasted more like physic than water. However, we took a drink all round, and tried to persuade one another that it wouldn’t be so very long before something would come along and pick us up.
“The sea took a long time to quiet down; but by sunset it had smoothened so far that it only just kept the raft awash and the water up to our waists as we sat; so, as we had by this time got pretty well used to being wet through, we were feeling fairly comfortable, or should have been if only we had had a morsel of something to stay our hunger, and a drain of sweet water to quench our thirst—for we soon found that the more water we drank out of our breaker, the thirstier we grew.
“That night the steward went crazy, and started singing. First of all he began with the sort of songs that a sailor-man sings on the forecastle during the second dog-watch on a fine night; and from that he branched off into hymns. Then he fancied that he was at home once more, talking to his wife and the chicks, and it made my heart fairly bleed to listen to him. Then, after he had been yarning away in that style for more than an hour, he quieted down, and I thought he was getting better. But when daylight broke he was gone—slipped quietly overboard during the night, I reckoned.
“The next day was a terrible one. Our sufferings from hunger and thirst were awful; and about midday one of the men—an A.B. named Tom Bridges—went raving mad, and swore that he didn’t intend to starve any more; said that one of us must die for the good of the rest; and presently set upon me, saying that I was in better condition than any of the rest, and that therefore I was the proper one to be sacrificed. He was a big, powerful man, and proved a match for the other five of us. We must have fought for a good twenty minutes, I should think, when he suddenly took hold of me round the waist and, lifting me off my feet as easily as if I was a baby, made to jump overboard with me in his arms. But another man tripped him up; and although we both went overboard, poor Tom struck his head as he fell, and must have been stunned, for I felt his grip slacken as we struck the water, and presently I managed to free myself and swim to the raft. But Tom went down like a stone, and we never saw him again.
“That adventure just about finished us all, I think; I know it finished me, for it completely took out of me what little strength I had left, and although I remember it falling dark that night, and also have a confused recollection of getting up once or twice during the next day to take a look round, I know nothing of what happened after that until I came back to my senses on the deck of that queer-looking craft of yours, and tasted the brandy that you were trying to pour down my throat.”
“Well,” remarked Leslie, “it has been a terrible adventure for you both, and one that you will doubtless remember for the remainder of your lives. But your time of suffering is now past, and what you have to do is to get well and strong as soon as possible. Yet, even here, although you run scant risk of perishing of hunger or thirst, and are in as little danger of drowning, there is another peril, namely, that of savages, to which we are all equally exposed; although I rather hope that certain action that I felt it incumbent upon me to take yesterday and last night may have averted it for a time at least. But perhaps, having heard your story, I had better tell you mine, and you will then understand our precise position—yours as well as Miss Trevor’s and my own.”
To this speech Nicholls replied in effect that, having already seen a great deal to excite his surprise and curiosity, it would afford him much pleasure to listen to anything in the way of explanation that Leslie might be pleased to tell them; a remark that Simpson cordially but briefly endorsed by adding—
“Same here, sir.”
Now, it has been said that no man can do two things well if he attempts to do them both at one and the same time; but Leslie proved himself an exception to the rule. For he not only listened attentively to Nicholls’ story of the loss of the Wanderer, but he at the same time succeeded in accomplishing the much more difficult feat of effecting a very careful appraisement of the characters of the two men whom he had rescued from the raft. And the result was to him thoroughly satisfactory; for ere Nicholls had arrived at the end of his yarn, Leslie had come to the conclusion that his new companions were thoroughly genuine, honest, steady, and straightforward men, upon whom he could absolutely rely, and whom he could take into his confidence with perfect safety. He therefore unhesitatingly told them the whole history of the loss of the Golden Fleece, and what had followed it, up to the moment of their meeting, judiciously reserving, however, for the present, all mention of the discovery of the treasure.
“Now,” he said, by way of conclusion, “you see exactly how we are all situated here. I tell you frankly that I do not believe there is very much prospect of your getting away from here until the cutter is finished; although, should an opportunity occur, you will of course be at full liberty to leave the island, if you so please. But, so far as Miss Trevor and I are concerned, we shall now, in any case, stay here until the cutter is ready, and sail at least part of the way home in her. Now, it is for you to say whether you will throw in your lot with us, and remain until we are ready to go; or whether you will avail yourselves of any prior opportunity that may occur for you to escape. Whichever way you may decide, there is an ample supply of provisions and clothing—in fact, all the actual necessaries of life—for us all, to a due share of which you will be most heartily welcome. But, since I have made free use of the brig and her cargo, I shall of course feel myself bound to make good the loss to the underwriters upon my return to England; and I presume, therefore, that so long as you may remain upon the island, you will be willing to assist me in my work of completing the cutter, in return for your subsistence. Am I right in this assumption?”
“You certainly are, so far as I’m concerned, Mr Leslie,” answered Nicholls. “I am not the man to loaf about here in idleness, and watch a gentleman like yourself working hard all day. I’d a precious sight sooner be doing a good honest day’s work for my grub, than take all and give nothing in return. What say you, Bob?”
“Same here, Mr Nicholls—and Mr Leslie,” answered Simpson.
“Very well,” said Leslie; “then we will consider that matter as settled. You will not, of course, be in a fit state to turn-to for a few days; but as soon as you feel strong enough, let me know, and I shall be more than glad to have your assistance. Meanwhile, if there is anything that you require, you have only to say what it is, and if the resources of the island are equal to it, your wants shall be supplied.”
It appeared, however, that all their immediate requirements had been met; so Leslie returned to the tent, where he found Flora awaiting him.
“Well, little woman,” he remarked, greeting her genially, “have you had a good rest? Upon my word you are looking but little, if anything, the worse for your adventure. How are you feeling?”
“As well as ever, thank you, Dick,” she replied, “excepting that my poor wrists and ankles still feel rather sore from the pressure of the ropes with which those wretches bound me. I have had a good rest, and although my sleep was disturbed at the outset by terrifying dreams, they passed off at last, and now I feel, as you say, really none the worse. But oh, Dick, it was an awful experience, and I expect I shall often see those dreadful savages’ faces in my sleep for some time to come.”
“Yes,” assented Dick, “I fear you will. But you must try as hard as you can to forget your terror, dear; remembering that we are now two good men stronger than we were before, and that after the lesson I have given the natives they are not very likely to repeat their experiment in a hurry. And now, if you think you can bear to talk about it, I should like to learn just what happened after I left you.”
“Well,” said Flora, “there really is not very much to tell. I stood on the beach and watched you until you passed out through the channel, and disappeared behind the wall of surf; and then, accompanied by dear old Sailor—by the way, Dick, what has become of the dear old dog? I have not seen him since I returned; and I am afraid the poor fellow was hurt.”
“Sweetheart,” answered Dick, gently, “he did the utmost that a faithful friend can do; he died in your defence, and I have buried him.”
“Dear old Sailor!” exclaimed the girl, the tears springing to her eyes at the intelligence of his death, “he fought bravely. I shall never forget him.” She sat silent for a while, with her handkerchief to her eyes, and presently resumed—
“As I was saying, I walked back toward the tent, Sailor, as usual, keeping close beside me. I was within half a dozen yards of the tent when the dog suddenly stopped dead, growling savagely. ‘Why, what is the matter, Sailor?’ I said, patting him. He looked up at me for an instant, still growling, and his coat bristling with anger; then, with a quick yelp of fury he dashed off and darted behind the tent, and the next instant there was a dreadful outcry, mingled with the fierce barking and snarling of the dog. I was absolutely petrified with terror, for you were away, and already far beyond the reach of any sound or signal that I could make, while I was left alone on the island with I knew not who or what. Then the thought came to me to make a dash for the tent, and get the pistol that you gave me to practise with; but before I could carry out my idea, a perfect swarm of blacks, headed by Sambo and Cuffy, rushed out from behind the tent—with Sailor in the midst of them, fighting furiously; and in an instant I turned and ran for the beach, with them in pursuit.
“I have not the faintest idea what I intended to do; my one thought was to keep out of their clutches as long as possible; but, of course, I was almost instantly overtaken and seized, and my hands held behind me by Sambo, while Cuffy stood before me threatening me with a spear. Then, while some of the natives went off to the stack of stores and began to ‘overhaul’ them, as you call it, others disappeared in the direction of Mermaid Head.
“It was a horrible sensation, and made me deadly sick to feel myself actually in the clutches of those dreadful natives, and to see the look in Cuffy’s eyes as he stood before me brandishing his spear in my face; but worse was yet to come, for presently one of the wretches came up with some pieces of rope in his hand, and then they bound my hands and feet together, rendering me absolutely helpless, as you found me.
“I suppose it would be about a quarter of an hour after this—although it seemed very much longer—when the second party of natives returned with a canoe, into which they flung me most unceremoniously; and then they all went off together, leaving me alone and so tightly bound that I was soon enduring agonies of torment. I bore the pain for perhaps an hour, and then I must have swooned, for I knew no more until I recovered my senses in your dear arms, and knew that you had saved me. Oh, Dick—”
Then she suddenly broke down again, and sobbed so violently and clung to Leslie in such a frantic paroxysm of terror that poor Dick became thoroughly alarmed, and, in his distraction, could do nothing but soothe her as he would a frightened child. This simple treatment, however, sufficed, for the sobs gradually diminished in violence, and at length ceased altogether; and presently Flora arose, declaring that she was herself again, and denouncing herself as a poor, weak, silly little mortal, who ought to be ashamed of herself.