Chapter Fourteen.
The critical moment approaches.
I watched the tall, good-looking, well-spoken sailor, and the slim, willowy figure of his sweetheart gradually vanish amid the deep shadows of the bushes that bordered the path leading downward from the Head; and then, oblivious of the peril of rheumatism, seated myself upon the least dew-sodden boulder that I could find, and proceeded to think out the momentous communication that had just been made to me.
It was a glorious night. The full moon, some thirty degrees above the eastern horizon, flashed the whole sea beneath her, outside the reef, into a vast sheet of tumbling liquid silver, while her beams fell in a long line of tremulous radiance upon the placid waters of the lagoon, right up to the edge of the cliff upon which I sat. The sky was cloudless, and toward the zenith and away down in the west some of the larger stars beamed with that soft yet brilliant effulgence that is only to be seen within the tropics, but in her own neighbourhood the stronger light of the moon had eclipsed them all save the planet Venus that hung near her, glowing like a silver lamp. So brilliant were the moonbeams that even the ants, beetles, and other small creeping things that ran about my feet were distinctly visible, as were the tints of the flowers that bloomed everywhere, and some of which had the peculiarity of opening only at night. A soft and gentle breeze was blowing in from the sea, just strongly enough to stir and rustle the grasses and foliage about me, and to bring to my ears the deep and ceaseless thunder of the surf that beat everlastingly upon the distant reef.
The greater part of the Basin was still in shadow, including that where the Mercury lay, but the moon was high enough for her rays to reach the upper spars of the ship almost down to her topsail yards, and the dew-wetted spars and rigging gleamed as though inlaid with wires of silver. The settlement, temporarily built on the inner shore of the Basin, was almost as distinctly visible as though it were daylight, its scattered lights gleaming yellow through the gauze-like mistiness of the dew-laden atmosphere; and from it the slopes and undulations of the island delicately receded, until at the peak they assumed almost the ethereal softness of clouds. It was a glorious scene that the island presented, slumbering langorously under the brilliant rays of the tropical moon, more enchanting in some respects than when viewed in the garish light of the sun; and so strong was the enticement of its beauty upon me that, but for the dull cramping influence of the doctrines accepted by the settlers upon which to frame the guiding rules of their lives, I could without very much difficulty have reconciled myself to the idea of a sojourn there for the remainder of my days.
But I had already perceived unmistakable evidences of the blighting effect which was being steadily produced upon certain members of the community by the consciousness—which I think some of them were only now beginning to fully realise—that industry and individual effort were to count for nothing, and that the lazy, useless units were to live a life of inglorious ease at the expense of the hard workers. I foresaw that a time was coming when deadly strife would rage between the two sections; and the prospect was not enticing enough to induce me to throw in my lot with the rest. Yet, if I did not, my life would be in danger; for it scarcely needed Gurney’s communication of an hour before to impress upon me the conviction that, sooner or later, Wilde and his followers would insist upon my giving in my adhesion to them or—taking the consequences of refusal. And it did not need the gift of the seer to forecast the precise character of those consequences. I had scouted the idea of deliberate cold-blooded murder when Gurney had suggested it to me, yet I had not forgotten that I had already been threatened with death as the alternative to undertaking the navigation of the ship, during the quest for a suitable island upon which to settle; and I had very little doubt that they would have carried out their threat had I persisted in my refusal.
Now I was again threatened with it. There seemed to be but two alternatives—submission or flight; and it was but the work of a moment with me to decide that flight was the more acceptable of the two. But how to accomplish it? I thought of the longboat; but to fit her for a long voyage in the open ocean, with any hope of accomplishing it, would need an amount of preparation that could not possibly escape notice. And to be detected in the making of such preparations would be to arouse such suspicion as must inevitably result in the complete defeat of my plans, followed perhaps by other consequences of a still more serious character; while to neglect them and attempt flight in the boat, just as she was, would be madness—an expedient only to be resorted to under stress of the direst extremity. Hour after hour I sat there racking my brains in quest of some practicable plan offering a reasonable prospect of success; but could think of nothing; the scheme upon which I finally settled being only one degree less mad than that of venturing to sea in the unprepared longboat. Such as it was, however, I determined to submit it to Gurney’s consideration, and hear what he thought of it.
Accordingly, watching my opportunity, I contrived to get hold of Grace Hartley, on the following evening, after supper, and whispered to her that I intended to walk up to the Head again, and would be glad if she and Gurney would follow me to the spot where we had had our previous talk together. To which she replied that they would certainly do so; and half an hour later the pair joined me.