Chapter Sixteen.
Perishing of Hunger and Thirst.
It was a night of great discomfort, a storm of wind and rain arising, and the day which followed was little if any better, the same weather conditions prevailing throughout. I continued to scull the boat at intervals all through the day, but it was horribly distressing work, the distress being aggravated by the knowledge that it was all for so small a result, since I estimated that by the end of the day we had accomplished little more than six miles of progress.
It was about four o’clock that afternoon when my fast-failing energies received a fresh stimulus. I had been wearily toiling at the oar for about an hour, facing west so that I might be guided in my course by the pale blotch of light which represented the position of the sun, when a cry from Julius, who was the only alert member of the party, caused me to turn my head. I saw him pointing eagerly toward the north-eastern quarter.
“Aren’t those the masts of a ship over yonder, Mr Leigh?” the boy asked, and looking in the direction of his pointing finger I caught sight, as the boat lifted over a swell, of two microscopic objects which I at once recognised as a vessel’s mast-heads. They stood out fairly clear against the gloomy background of lowering sky, and after a prolonged scrutiny of them I came to the conclusion that they belonged to a small schooner, some fifteen miles distant—probably one of the craft that make a business of trading among the islands of the western and southern Pacific.
“You are right, Julius, they are,” I cried eagerly. “Do you feel equal to handling an oar for an hour or two?”
“You bet I do,” answered the lad with equal eagerness. “I am equal to doing anything that will help us to get out of this beastly boat and on to a ship once more.”
“Right!” I exclaimed. “Come along, then, and let us see what we can do. That craft is only about fifteen miles off, and if this calm will last long enough we are bound to fetch her,” and I hastened to adjust the rowlocks into position for using both oars.
Meanwhile, our remarks had stirred the rest of the party from listlessness into action—they all sat up and looked eagerly at the two tiny pin-points on the horizon; and Mrs Vansittart, climbing down into the cockpit, exclaimed:
“Yes, I guess that is a ship, all right, and we’ve got to reach her. I’ll help you, Jule; your strength and mine together ought to be equal to Walter’s, so between us we shall keep the boat going straight.”
But the stewardesses, good plucky girls, would not agree to this. With one voice they declared that they were not going to sit still and let their mistress work; so the end of it was that they arranged to take one oar, both working at it at once, while Julius volunteered to help me. Presently we had the two mast-heads bearing straight ahead, and the boat moving through the water at the rate of about three miles an hour, the two girls, being perfectly fresh, doing quite as much work as Julius and myself.
Strenuously we toiled, and when at length the light failed us we had risen the craft sufficiently to determine that she was a fore-and-aft schooner. Then our difficulties began, for there were no stars, and within ten minutes of the time of sunset it fell pitch-dark, from which moment our course was largely a matter of guesswork. The two girls and Julius declared that they were so tired and their hands were so raw that they could do no more; whereupon Mrs Vansittart and Anthea took one oar, while I laboured on at the other. But by this time I, too, was weak and trembling with exhaustion to such an extent that I could scarcely lift the blade of my oar out of the water, while my thirst was so intolerable that at length I was fairly driven to the proposal that we should all risk the indulgence in an extra ration of water.
Even this revived me but for a few minutes, and finally I had to confess to a feeling of such dizziness and confusion that I could no longer be responsible for the course of the boat, and had to beg Mrs Vansittart to assume that duty. The next hour was one of absolute torment to me. My arms felt as though they were about to drop out of their sockets, my back ached intolerably, every breath I drew was like a knife piercing my lungs, my head throbbed as though it would burst, and my eyes were sightless. Then there came a small four-knot breeze out from about North-North-West, which was too shy a wind for us with our unadjustable substitute for a sail; and with the knowledge that unless the schooner happened to be bound in our direction we should miss her, and all our efforts would be thrown away, I dropped insensible in the cockpit and so remained for a full hour or more, despite the efforts of the others to revive me.
When at length I came to myself, a brisk westerly breeze was blowing, and the boat was scudding before it, with Mrs Vansittart at the steering oar. The moon was just rising, but so little of her light as yet came filtering through the veil of cloud which overspread the sky that it was impossible to see anything more than the faint sheen of her light upon the briskly rippling surface of the sea; and although we scanned the whole visible horizon in search of a light that should indicate the position of the schooner, our search was unrewarded.
To be brief, we saw no more of that schooner. As the night progressed the wind increased until by morning it was blowing so strongly that we could do nothing but run before it. Luckily, our craft proved to be an unexpectedly good sea boat, and scudded dry, although her behaviour was at times so unlike that of the boat of normal model that we were somewhat puzzled as to what was going to happen next. We scudded all that day, and the whole of the succeeding night, by which time the wind had raised what was, to us, such a formidable sea that we deemed it wise to heave to, lest some heavier sea than usual should break aboard and swamp us. With great difficulty and considerable danger to ourselves, we therefore lowered the arrangement of planks that served us as mast and sail combined, and, bending our painter to them, rode to them as to a sea anchor.
By this time I was feeling really ill. Hard work and exhaustion were telling upon me with increasing severity almost hourly, and now upon the top of these came bitter anxiety.
My heart ached for my companions, especially the women folk. They did their utmost to seem cheerful, but it was pitiable to see the dreadful languor of their movements, their hollow cheeks, the dark markings under their eyes and, above all, the terrible look of suffering and despair that was beginning to reveal itself in the eyes themselves. Yet not a word of discouragement or complaint passed their black and cracking lips; they simply lay about, moving as little as possible, and endured silently. As for me, I could think of nothing, do nothing to help them. It was horrible!
That gale lasted four interminable days before it blew itself out, which it did later in the afternoon; and about sunset of the same day we consumed the last scrap of food that remained to us. Then, with moans of utter despair, those poor dear women crawled into their lair beneath the deck—to die, as they and I verily believed. As for Julius, he was nearly as bad as they were, but those last days in the wreck and the nine days in the boat had wrought a miracle in him. All the perversity and selfishness of character that had before distinguished him had gone, and he had come out of the fires of adversity and suffering purged, a new and a right gallant, manly boy—how manly I did not know until some time afterward, when it came out that, watching me and observing that I took a trifle less food and water than I served out to others, he had surreptitiously returned a portion of his own meagre allowance. Poor boy! so far as usefulness was concerned, he was already as good as dead, for he could do nothing but just lie where he had flung himself down, utterly exhausted, and moan piteously.
Being naturally robust, I still retained a small modicum of strength. This I utilised by hauling in the sea anchor, and, with superhuman exertion, setting it up in place again, not so much with any hope that it would blow us to land, as that it might attract attention aboard some passing ship and lead them to bear down upon and rescue us. This last bit of exertion finished me off, too, and I had not enough strength left even to stagger aft to the cockpit; I simply collapsed on the deck and knew no more.
I must have lain thus all through the night, for when at length consciousness returned it was broad day, with the sun about an hour high in a sky of exquisite stainless blue. The long hours of unconsciousness or sleep—perhaps it partook of both—had somewhat restored me, and I sat up, staring about me.
Merciful heaven! were my eyes deceiving me? Had I gone crazy, or was what I beheld real? I stared and stared with eyes that seemed to be starting out of my head, but the vision—if vision it was—remained stable. There lay a fair island, with trees that seemed to wave gently in the brisk morning breeze, and a hill that might almost be termed a mountain nearly in its centre. That island was dead to leeward of us, and all that we had to do was to run down to it and land upon it, if God would only be merciful enough to allow the fair breeze to last.
With a queer kind of croaking shriek, the memory of which disturbs my sleep even now occasionally, but which I intended to be a yell of rejoicing, I staggered to my feet, stumbled aft to the cockpit, and half leaped, half tumbled into it. I shipped the rowlock in the after cleat, got out the steering oar, and, with labour that made me groan and pant, contrived to head the boat toward that glorious vision of an island, for we had been drifting toward it broadside on. Then I bent down to where the lad Julius lay unconscious at my feet, and, shaking him roughly by the shoulder, called on him to awake, for there was land in sight not more than four miles away. For some time the poor boy made no response to my efforts to arouse him, and I began to think that he was dead, when suddenly he opened his eyes and whispered:
“Land? Land? Who talks of land?”
“I do, my hearty!” I replied. “I—Walter Leigh. Wake up, old chap, and see for yourself!”
“I—I—don’t—think—I can,” the poor boy gasped. “I—don’t seem—to—to—. Can you—help—me—Mr—?”
“Oh, hang the Mister!” I exclaimed. “That’s done with, long ago. Here, give me your hand, old man. That’s it! Now—heave with a will. That’s right—steady, boy!—grip the coaming. There you are! Now then, look straight ahead and tell me what you see.”
The boy stared out over the boat’s bows for a long minute or more, and never shall I forget the look of exquisite rapture that gradually grew in his glassy eyes as he stared. Then suddenly down he dropped again into the bottom of the boat and covered his poor emaciated face with his hands, as he gave vent to a storm of dry, choking sobs.
I stooped and patted him on the shoulder encouragingly.
“There!” I exclaimed soothingly, “that’s all right, old man. Cry if you want to; but when you’ve done, slip in and see if you can make your mother and sister understand that there’s land in sight, and that we shall reach it in about two hours.”
“Yes, yes, I will,” whispered the boy. “It was of them I was thinking.”
He got upon his hands and knees and crawled in under the deck, where he remained about five minutes or thereabout. Then he reappeared, his eyes wide with horror.
“Walter,” he gasped, “Walter, I can’t rouse them. I—I—guess they’re dead!”
“Dead!” I croaked. “Oh, no, surely not! It would be too cruel that they should have endured so much, only to perish when all that we need is within sight. Take the dipper—there is still a little water left—and see if you can get them to swallow a drop or two; then, if they will take any at all, give them a good drink—half a dipper each, but no more, mind you. Tell them that in two hours we shall be ashore on the fairest island God’s sun ever shone upon. Go at once, old boy; a few minutes may make all the difference between life and death. I would go myself, but I am afraid you are too weak to stand and steer.”
“No, no, I’m not,” he protested. “I can steer all right. And I’d ever so much rather that you went in there than I. You will manage better than I could. And—and, Walter, I’m afraid—afraid that I—that they wouldn’t wake for me.”
I thought I saw what was the matter with the lad; he feared that his mother and sister were dead, and shrank from converting that fear into certainty. I therefore surrendered the steering oar to him, and, drawing a small quantity of water from the almost empty cask, crept in under the deck, where I found the four women lying, each by herself, as far apart from the others as possible, all of them apparently dead. Yet although the place smelt close and stuffy enough, I could detect no trace of the taint which, in a hot climate, so quickly betrays the presence of death, and with renewed hope I proceeded to my task.
I happened to turn to Miss Anthea first, and although the light in there was too subdued to enable me to distinguish very clearly the ravages wrought by slow starvation, the ease with which I, feeble as I was, raised her poor emaciated form into a semi-sitting posture was eloquent enough. She lay, with closed eyes, quite inanimate in my arms; but upon bending over her I thought I could detect that she still breathed, although I was by no means certain. I dipped my finger in the pannikin of water which I had brought with me, and moistened her dry, cracked lips, repeating the operation two or three times. Presently I distinctly heard her sigh, and saw that she was making a feeble effort to lick her lips, whereupon I held the pannikin to them and allowed a little water to trickle into her mouth. This she endeavoured to swallow, but the effort was so painful as to extort a low groan from her. Then she opened her eyes and looked about her vacantly, as though she did not recognise her surroundings; but when she found me bending over her she smiled faintly—a smile which strangely gladdened my heart.
“You are feeling better?” I whispered. “Try to swallow a little more of this water; but hold it in your mouth for a moment or two first, then I will give you more. Listen: there is land in sight, a most lovely island embowered in richest verdure, where I am sure we shall be able to get all the food we need. It is quite near, so near that we shall be there in about two hours from now. Surely you can hold out two hours longer if I give you enough water to quench your thirst?”
She smiled again. “Land, do you say?” she whispered. “Land—and food? Oh, yes, I am sure I can; the mere thought of it will sustain me. But are you sure, Walter—quite sure?”
“Absolutely certain,” I answered. “Julius has seen it, too, and is steering the boat straight for it. Now, drink a little more water, and then let me help you to get into the fresh air. You will feel ever so much better out there on deck.”
She drank again, this time avidly, almost savagely, her small teeth clenching on the rim of the pannikin and her poor thin fingers grasping it tightly when I attempted to remove it from her lips. When, knowing that, in her condition, to drink freely would be hurtful to her, I forcibly removed the pannikin, the poor girl cried pitifully, and whispered that I was cruel; but I presently pacified her with the promise of a little more as soon as she was outside. At last, with less difficulty than I had anticipated, I got her out on deck, where, after the administration of about a quarter of a pint of water, with just a suspicion of brandy in it, she revived in the most marvellous manner.
Then I went below again, and, pursuing the same tactics with the others, eventually had the happiness to restore them all to animation and get them out on deck, where they sat feasting their eyes upon the glorious prospect that was gradually unfolding itself before them. To achieve this result I had to expend the very last drop of water that could be coaxed from the breaker; and as I did so I realised to the full what the torments of Tantalus must have been. Not a drop had passed my own lips during the previous twelve hours, and to witness the ecstasy with which the others absorbed the precious liquid was almost more than I could endure in my then weak state.
As we crept slowly in toward the island we naturally obtained a more distinct view of its characteristics. Let me try to describe them. From north to south I judged the island to measure a little over eight miles long. At about a third of its length from the north end there occurred a sort of peak, to which the land sloped in every direction from its extremities, which seemed to consist of rocky cliffs ranging from about forty to perhaps two hundred feet in height, except towards the north, where the soil sloped gently down to a white sandy beach about half a mile in length. Within about a mile and a half of the southern extremity there was another elevation, a sort of knoll, and about a mile further south another knoll, about half the height of its neighbour. The cliffs were almost black in colour; but above them there were glimpses of most inviting grassy slopes peeping coyly out from between great masses of umbrageous trees, among which I felt it would be strange if we did not find fruit trees of some sort. Indeed, I detected certain palms that I was morally certain were coconut palms, while, unless my eyes deceived me, I believed I could also descry foliage that strongly suggested the idea of plantain or banana trees. About a hundred yards from the southern extremity of the island, and quite detached from it, there towered out of the sea a great vertical column of black rock, like a rugged pillar with a rounded top, which looked quite inaccessible.
Naturally I headed the boat, in the first instance, for the only bit of beach in sight. But when we had arrived within about a mile of the shore I detected a break in the cliffs which seemed to hint at the existence of a small harbour near the southern part of the island, between the two knolls recently mentioned, and I at once headed the boat for this spot, finding the wind just free enough to permit us to reach it.