CHAPTER XXII.—A REPORT FROM THE SEA.
Jack was the first to break the silence that followed the spinning of the fateful coin. He rose, stretched himself, and, pointing to a ruddy glow that had begun to light up the eastern horizon, exclaimed in a voice of undisguised relief:
“Daybreak at last!”
“I only wish it would never come,” his companion rejoined gloomily, turning his gaze upon the unwelcome light—of which, however, he had caught scarce a glimpse ere he sprang to his feet in sudden excitement.
“That's no daybreak, Jack! It's more like the reflection of a fire.”
“I believe you're right,” assented Jack. “It certainly is a fire; but where can it be, that we see only the reflection? Behind Haunted Pagoda Hill?”
“No; this side of the hill, I should say.”
“Then it must be somewhere in the creek.”
At mention of the creek Don started violently, a suspicion of the truth flashing upon him. He began to sniff the air. An odour of smoke floated to them on the fresh morning breeze, faint but pungent. Jack, catching a whiff of it, fell to sniffing too.
“Well, what do you make of it?” Don inquired anxiously.
“Tar!” replied Jack, without hesitation.
“I thought so,” said Don, with a queer catch in his voice. “Jack, it's the cutter!”
With this he set off at a run towards that part of the Rock which overlooked the creek. Advancing as far as the rapidly-increasing slope of the declivity, made it prudent to venture, he came to a stand. The glow of the fire was now brighter, though its source still remained hidden from view; but by edging his way well to the right, he at length succeeded in reaching a point whence the ruddy light that had excited his fears could be seen as a leaping, swaying column of smoke and flame, terminating, far down amid the darkness of the creek, in a single point of lurid red.
“Just as I feared!” he cried, as Jack rejoined him. “The niggers have set fire to the Jolly Tar. I was afraid the rascals had smelt her out when I met the lascar in the creek the other morning. The old boat's done for, anyhow; so let me off my promise, Jack.”
“What for? I can't see that the burning of the cutter has anything to do with it. There are plenty of native boats to get away in.”
“Oh, it isn't the getting away! You don't suppose I'd go off and leave you in the lurch, I hope? It's the powder that troubles me. There wasn't much on board the cutter, it's true; just about enough to fight my way back here with—as I meant to do, please God, had this not happened. I planned the whole thing out while we sat mooning yonder, you see. But now!” and at thought of how this hope—the secret of his acquiescence in the outcome of that fatal toss—had vanished into thin air before his very eyes, Don's lips trembled and his voice choked.
“Never mind, old chap!” said Jack, deeply touched by this new proof of his friend's generosity; “I'll take the will for the deed. But, I say—you pledged me your word, you know; and at daybreak, if no way of anchoring the rope shows up, I shall expect you to go over the cliff like a man. We shan't have long to wait now. Look!”
He pointed to a deep roseate hue which tinged the sky just above the ocean rim. And even as they stood watching it, the light came leaping up from the sea, and outshone the stars, and set the whole east aglow. A flush of dawn, and it was day.
“Now,” said Jack, tightening his belt, “let's make the round of the Rock again. If there's a shadow of a flaw anywhere we're bound to find it in this light.”
“Heaven grant we may!” ejaculated Don, as they began the search.
The cliff forming the Elephant's left side was out of it altogether. The native town lay directly at its base, rendering escape in that direction impracticable. So, too, with that part of the Rock abutting on the creek; its formation was such that no human being, rope or no rope, could have made his way down its face. There remained only the Elephant's right flank—overlooking the jungly back of the island—and the loftier head parts facing the western sea. To these, then, the search was necessarily confined.
Again and yet again did they pace the dizzy heights, scanning every inch of the rocky surface for that crack or projection upon the existence of which Jack's life was staked. But, as before, the search ended in failure and despair. There was absolutely nothing—neither crevice, nor jutting point, nor friendly block of stone—in which, or to which, the rope's end could be made fast: nothing but Jack's body!
To secure the rope to the palms or the masonry of the temple was an utter impossibility. It was too short by half.
As a last hope Don approached the chasm in which lay the pool. But the hope was short-lived. The native guard had been trebled overnight. Hope—so far, at least, as Jack's life was concerned—stood on a par with the powder: not a grain was left.
As a matter of fact, Don had all along indulged a secret conviction that “something would turn Up.” Now, when the terrible truth was at last forced upon him in such a manner that he could no longer shut his eyes to it, his distress was pitiable to witness.
He had hazarded his friend's life on the toss of a coin—and lost! And now he must go over the cliff—over the cliff to safety and life—over the cliff by means of a rope, at the death-end of which stood his dearest friend. Given his choice, he would have taken that friend's place—oh, how gladly! But go he must, for his honour was-pledged, and the time was come!
Ay, the time was come—the supreme moment of Jack's heroic resolve. And Jack was glad of it, ready for it. The fever in his blood had abated, leaving him cool, collected, and more firm in his resolve than ever. He had chosen his-course and he would stick to it, anyhow!
“Come,” he said simply, laying a gentle hand on Don's shoulder, “it is time for us to go.”
“For us!” The words, though kindly meant stabbed Don to the heart.
Kicking the coil of rope before him like a ball, Jack approached the brink of the precipice. The blacks followed. There was little danger of their being missed by the native guard, unless the latter mounted the steps, and this they were not likely to do after the severe lesson they had received in the night. Last of all came Don—slowly, reluctantly. He looked and felt like one going to his execution.
Without a word Jack picked up the loose end of the rope and knotted it securely about his friend's chest, beneath his arms. When he had uncoiled the rope to its full length, he fastened the other end about his own waist. Then he held out his hand.
“Good-bye, old fellow,” he said, his voice shaking in spite of himself. “Good-bye, and God bless you! Be sure and cast the rope loose when you reach the ground.”
“Oh, Jack, Jack! Must I go—must I?” cried Don desperately, his voice full of agony.
With unfaltering step Jack led him to the extreme brink of the cliff, left him there with his face set towards liberty and life, turned back, and beckoning to the blacks—who had purposely been kept in ignorance of Jack's resolve—prepared to pay out the line.
“Over with you, old fellow! As gently as you can!”
The rope tightened. Wheeling where he stood, Don cast one last imploring look at his friend, who pointed upwards and then motioned him to go. He obeyed.
As the remorseless Rock closed above him, he let himself swing, neither seeing nor caring whither he was being lowered. The abyss below had no terrors for him—he even hoped that the rope might snap—why should he live since Jack must die? And when at last his feet touched earth, and he had flung the rope from him like a hated thing, he threw himself upon his face at the foot of the insurmountable cliff and burst into a passion of bitter, remorseful tears.
After a time a gentle thud on the back aroused him. He looked up. It was the rope again, but empty! What did it mean? Where was Spottie? Why had he not been sent down? What had happened? A dozen questions such as these flashed through his brain, and with them a sudden wild hope. He started to his feet.
A scrap of paper was secured to the rope by a half-knot. He snatched at it, drawing it to him with something of dread in the movement. It was a leaf from Jacks note-book, scrawled over with writing in Jack's familiar hand. His eyes devoured the words:—
“Good news! A wonderful thing has happened. Was just going to lower Spottie away when the report of a gun came booming up from the sea. The schooner—the governor's schooner—is at anchor off the front of the island! I'd signal her, only I have no powder. I'm all in a daze, anyhow; but you'll know what to do.”
An exclamation of intense gratitude to Heaven burst from Don's lips, and crushing the scrap of paper in his hand, he set off at a run along the base of the cliff, in the direction of the Elephant's head.