The Castaways

by Harry Collingwood

“Just so,” said I; “I see your position exactly. I will think the matter over, and see if I cannot devise some practicable scheme to get to windward of those scoundrels, and will then have another talk with you. Meanwhile, kindly keep your ears open; appear to fall in with the plans of the others, and let me know if any alterations are made—you will find it greatly to your advantage to do so.”

“Thank’ee, sir; I will,” answered the man as I wheeled round, directed a long, scrutinising glance at the canvas, stepped off the grating and squinted into the binnacle, and finally resumed my perambulation of the deck.

Now, here was a nice plot to face, and countermine! A plot that was only to be defeated by subtlety and strategy; for, at the most, there were but three of us, all told, against thirteen ruthless, treacherous men; and it was not to be forgotten that no dependence whatever was to be placed upon the man Harry; his scruples apparently drew the line at cold-blooded murder, but on the hither side of that, consideration for his own safety might tempt him to any conceivable lengths; in short, it needed but very little consideration to demonstrate that if I was to secure his active co-operation, I must make it perfectly clear to him that it would be distinctly to his interest to give it me. Then there was Miss Onslow. She was a woman of a delicate and refined nature, of a magnificent courage certainly, clever, and resourceful; and thus far capable, perhaps, of affording valuable suggestions, but by no means to be involved so tangibly in any scheme against the men as to expose her to their vengeful fury in the event of failure. The question whether I should mention this latest development to her at all was one of long and anxious mental debate with me; on the one hand I was intensely desirous to spare this poor girl any further terror and anxiety; while, on the other, I felt doubtful whether, in a matter that so vitally interested her, I ought not to afford her the opportunity of bringing her keen and clever woman’s wit to bear upon the problem that had now thrust itself upon us. I spent an anxious, sleepless night, revolving countless schemes in my head, and abandoning them, one after the other, either as impracticable, or else too dependent upon chance. The whole of the next day and the succeeding night was similarly spent by me; and when I sprang feverishly from my bunk, haggard and hollow-eyed with sleeplessness and worry, on the second morning after my conversation with the man Harry, I had come to the resolution that it was my duty to inform Miss Onslow how matters stood with us, and to afford her the opportunity to assist me with any suggestions that might occur to her.

An opportunity occurred shortly after breakfast. I had taken my sights for the brig’s longitude, worked them out, laid down the result upon the chart, and was abstractedly gazing at the latter as it lay spread out before me upon the cabin table, anxiously seeking inspiration from a study of the coasts, islands, and harbours delineated in miniature upon the white paper, when the young lady stepped out of her cabin and—first assuring herself that the steward was not within hearing—came to my side, and, laying her hand upon my shoulder, said:

“I want you to tell me what is the matter. There is something very seriously wrong, I know, for I was watching you all day yesterday, and it was impossible for me to avoid noticing that while, when in presence of the men you did your best to wear an unconcerned manner, the moment that you deemed yourself free from their observation you sank into a mood of gloomy abstraction and reverie, the meaning of which was not to be mistaken. And this morning you look absolutely ill with worry, your forehead is seamed with wrinkles of care and anxiety, and—positively you are turning grey about the temples.”

And as she spoke these last words her fingers lightly and—as it seemed to me—caressingly touched me on the temples. It was the first time that she had ever done such a thing, and her touch thrilled me through as with an electric shock, moving me to such an extent that I lost my self-control, and forthwith behaved with the recklessness of a madman. I seized her hand, threw my arm about her waist, and, drawing her to me, kissed her on the lips.

“It is your own fault,” I exclaimed wildly; “you should not have touched me so tenderly and caressingly. I love you, I tell you; I love you beyond all power of speech to describe, and I have been upon the point of telling you so over and over again, but have been deterred by the knowledge that, unless you can return my love—which you have never given me any reason to suppose is the case—such a confession on my part must necessarily render your situation infinitely more embarrassing than it is now. And hitherto I have contrived to remain master of myself; but when you touched my temples just now—”

“Poor fellow,” she interrupted, astounding me by nestling in my embrace, with flaming cheeks, but looking up at me with smiling eyes that shone like stars, as her arm stole up and twined itself about my neck—“is it indeed so bad as that with you? I knew, of course, that you loved me—the symptoms were quite unmistakable—but I scarcely dreamed of your passion being so violent as it appears to be. Well, never mind, Charlie dear; your very startling, unexpected, and vehement declaration will not produce the effect you seem to have feared, because, you see, it so happens that I return your love—how could it possibly be otherwise?”—her tone changing from tenderness to pride—“what woman whose heart is free could possibly fail to love a man whose devotion is what yours is, and has been, to me? Yes, dearest, I love you with my whole heart; and I am proud to think that, despite all my waywardness and shortcomings, you have contrived to discover in me something worth loving. But this is not what has been worrying you so terribly this last few days—tell me what it is; I have a right to know, now!”

“Yes,” I assented, “you certainly have; but it is terrible news, Florence, and I scarcely know in what words to communicate it to you. Yet, be assured of this, my sweet, that, with the new courage that you have just imparted to me, I will overcome this peril that looms ahead of us, deadly though it be!”

And therewith I related to my sweetheart all that had passed between Harry and myself, at the same time directing her attention to the fact that this grisly peril was still a long way ahead of us; that it was a far cry from where we were to the Horn; and that even after we had rounded that wild headland, practically the whole stretch of the eastern coast of South America would have to be traversed before the time would be ripe for the villains to carry out their devilish scheme of murder and destruction. And then I strove to comfort her by directing her attention to the chances of escape that might befall us, the ships we should be certain to encounter—with the possibility of being able to surreptitiously communicate with one or more of them, craving assistance—and of my determination—as a last resource—to cast away the ship and take our chance of being able to escape in one of the boats during the confusion, rather than tamely navigate her to the spot that should be selected by those fiends for the deed of destruction.