A bird of passage

by B. M. Croker

"Of course you will tell him all I have said," exclaimed Lizzie, with a hysterical smile.

"Oh, of course," ironically.

Miss Caggett was filled with a horrible fear that she had overshot her mark (which had been merely to blacken Mr. Quentin to Helen, to arouse her ire, and take advantage of the ensuing quarrel and coolness, and once more ingratiate herself with her late adorer). But who would have expected Miss Denis to be supremely ironical and scornful, and to have taken the news in this very strange way, for Lizzie believed that no girl living could be indifferent to James Quentin? Instead of tearing her hair and weeping and denouncing him, she was quite unmoved. She had even spurned his letters! hateful, cold-blooded thing!

"Shall you tell him all I have said about him?" she reiterated defiantly.

"Your suggestion is of course prompted by what you would do yourself under similar circumstances," returned her companion in a cutting tone.

"Do you pretend that you don't like him?" demanded Miss Caggett; "that you never told me you thought him handsome? Do you pretend that you are not in love with him and have lured him away from me?"

"I pretend nothing; I do not even pretend to be his friend before his face, and then abuse him unmercifully behind his back! And now," pointing with the tip of her shoe, "there are your letters. I advise you not to leave them here for the amusement of some picnic party. And I request that you will never speak to me in such a way again, nor mention the name of your friend Mr. Quentin."

So saying, Helen picked up her basket, turned her back on Lizzie, and walked off into the jungle in a rather stately fashion, never once looking back at the little figure on the log. If she had done so, she would have seen that little figure shaking a tiny menacing fist in her direction; but ignorance was bliss, and she rambled on mechanically, her mind not a little disturbed by the recent "scene." Lizzie Caggett was not a nice girl—not a lady—and as to Mr. Quentin, she had never quite trusted his dreamy blue eyes. Now she came to ponder over the subject, his stories were often a bad fit—one tale did not exactly match another—he forgot what he had said previously, and although he had angrily disowned Miss Caggett, yet she had noticed one mezzo soprano song among his music, on which was scribbled in pencil, "Lizzie, with J.'s love." Deeply occupied in unravelling various new ideas, the young lady strayed further and further into the wood, occasionally stopping to cull some too tempting flower or fern—and pondering as she plucked. She was extremely reluctant to go back to the company and to face Miss Caggett after their late conversation, but a sudden cessation of birds' notes, a duskiness, and a little chill wind, warned her that it was really time to retrace her steps. She had come further than she imagined, and it was fully half an hour ere she had extricated herself from among the trees and once more gained the open space looking down upon the shore. But what was this? To her astonishment the beach was deserted. There was no sign of living creature to be seen (save the dying embers of the gipsy fire), and, did her eyes deceive her, or did she really behold two heavily laden boats steadily rowing back to Ross? Indeed, one was already a mere speck on the water, and she had been left behind! At first she could not realize her position; she, the chief guest—in whose honour the party had been given—she forgotten and abandoned to pass the night on that terrible, desolate mainland alone! She ran to a rock jutting out far into the water and waved her parasol, and screamed, and called, but the boats were far beyond earshot, and the awnings were up.

She stood looking after them like a modern Dido, with strange, fixed, despairing eyes, then turned and gazed behind her at the thick, black, and now forbidding-looking forest, that loomed all round her, and encompassed the shore. She sat down on the rock, locked her arms round her knees, and watched the two heartless boats till they were quite out of sight. This operation lasted for some time, and when there was nothing further to be seen in the direction of Ross, she turned her face towards the open sea, and beheld, to her horror, a large canoe coming rapidly in her direction! It was still at some distance, but she knew that the build of the boat was not European, nor did Europeans go out boating in tall hats. She did not wait for a closer inspection; she fled—fled for dear life—right up into the much-dreaded forest, and dashed among the underwood like a mad creature; in a certain thick covert she threw herself down, and there she lay panting like a hunted hare. From her hiding-place, she could see the savages; they paddled close into the shore, attracted by the smoke of the fire that had boiled Mrs. Home's mild domestic kettle! They came in a big red war canoe, and were about fifty in number; one or two remained in the canoe, the rest sprang over the side, and waded to land—followed by a whole legion of dogs. They swarmed round the fire, and found but little to repay their visit, beyond a box of matches, which was evidently a great prize. There were several monster fish caught by Mrs. Creery's boatmen,—and left behind as worthless—these they tore to pieces, and devoured raw. A tin of Swiss milk and half a loaf of bread were also discovered and shared. Whilst they sat round the embers in a circle, and greedily discussed these rarities and the fish, Helen, with every nerve in her body throbbing, and her heart nearly bounding out of her bosom, was presented by her own vivid memory with that scene in Robinson Crusoe, where he sees the savages sitting round a fire, and feasting on their human victims! Supposing they were to discover her, and kill her, and eat her? At this moment she nearly shrieked aloud, for a large red dog, a kind of pariah (who, unknown to her, had been sniffing among the underwood), now suddenly thrust up his head close to hers, and gazed at her in amazement for some seconds; luckily for Helen, instead of breaking at once into a loud "bay," and triumphantly announcing his "find," he was evidently one of the barrack curs whom the General had colonized; he had seen a European before,—and probably understood English! At first, when she whispered in a faltering voice, "Oh, Toby, Toby, like a dear, good dog, go away, and don't betray me," he took no notice, but merely stood staring with his round yellow eyes. However, when emboldened by desperation, she said, "Hoosh! be off!" and made a movement as though to pick up a stone—he fled!

But what if a less educated animal were to discover her? If he did, she was lost. She lay in her hiding-place scarcely daring to breathe, the very sound of her own heart seemed appalling; indeed, it stood quite still for some seconds, when—the fish being despatched—the aborigines stood up and sauntered back to their canoe, and several of them pointing at the jungle, seemingly suggested a ramble in that direction! But these enterprising spirits had no weight, and Helen, although fainting with terror, noticed that a fat old man, in a huge cocked hat (evidently a person of much authority), waved his hands with decision towards the horizon; and making gestures at the big bank of clouds that were gathering there, peremptorily collected all his party, who immediately swarmed out into the canoe, followed by their pack of dogs, and paddled away as swiftly and as suddenly as they had come—and Helen breathed a deep sigh of relief, when she was once more left upon the mainland, entirely alone!