CHAPTER IX.
A DAMSEL IN DISTRESS.
"The storm is up, and all is on the hazard."
Julius Caesar.
Mr. Lisle had been out boating far beyond North Bay; but a sombre sultry afternoon, and the ominous silence that precedes a tropical storm, had warned him to steer homewards. He had heard of the awful tornadoes that occasionally churned these seas into white mountains, that dashed wrecks around the islands; that the storm god in torrid regions was a terrible sight when aroused, and that a sunny, sleepy afternoon had been known to develop into a howling hurricane in less than an hour. Moreover, that tragic tales of boats blown out to sea, or capsized with all hands, were but too well known at Port Blair.
The sky was now so inky black that it could scarcely look blacker, low muttering thunder was heard from behind the clouds, and an occasional red flash shot along the horizon. The breeze was rising steadily, and a quick cool ripple was on the water. On the whole, Mr. Lisle said to himself that there was every prospect of a very dirty night, and the sooner that he was under the lee of Ross the better. Passing a kind of cove in North Bay, he happened to notice a long white object in the now gathering dusk: it seemed to be near the shore, and was probably a blighted tree. Luckily, he looked again, and observed that it moved. Could it be a human figure, at that hour?—quite impossible! But although moments were precious, he resolved to give the thing, whatever it was, a chance; and to take a nearer view and to accomplish this, he was obliged to steer in closer to the land, which he did—to his boatmen's unconcealed uneasiness. Vainly did they scowl, and point expressively to the storm that was coming up so rapidly; he assured them that this delay would be but momentary; a few vigorous strokes, and they were sufficiently near to make out that the seemingly blighted tree was the figure of a European woman, in a white dress! In two or three seconds they had touched the beach, and Mr. Lisle sprang out of the boat, waded through the water, and another instant brought him to the side of a trembling, distracted girl, whom he had never seen before, but who nevertheless accorded him a half-frenzied, though silent welcome.
Helen, after she had seen the last of the war canoe, had once more ventured down to the shore. The dark thick tropical jungle seemed to stifle her, and, for all she knew, might be swarming with wild beasts! The solitude was something appalling, and the silence!—save for queer outlandish sounds in the forest every now and then, which caused her to tremble violently. Her position may not seem so very terrible to some people,—who will say, "She knew she was sure to be fetched in the morning;" but a night alone upon that savage coast, was enough to make even a stout-hearted man feel nervous, much less a girl like Helen, and by this time she was completely unhinged. As she sat staring into the gloom, she suddenly made out a boat, positively a European boat, with three people in it,—and for the first time her hopes rose. She waved her arms frantically, and she ran up and down the beach like a demented creature. She was seen, and they were coming. Oh, the relief of that moment! For the first time during these dreadful hours, tears rolled down her cheeks.
The boat came in as close as it could, and a man jumped out of it, and approached her rapidly. Stranger as she was, she rushed to him, seized his arm, and tried vainly to speak, but her whole frame was shaken with convulsive sobs.
"What is it? What does it mean?" he asked, as she clung to him, like a drowning person.
"It's a—pleasure party," she stammered out. "I was gathering flowers, and was left behind. Oh, take me with you! Take me home!"