This statement had the desired effect; the room was cleared promptly, everybody beating a somewhat precipitate retreat but the engineer and Mrs Henderson, the latter quietly but firmly refusing to be removed, upon the double plea that it was no more dangerous for her than for Gaunt, and that, whether or no, her proper place was beside her husband. As for Gaunt, he acted with his usual decision, first dashing the window wide-open, and next stooping to raise his friend and convey him into a presumably more healthy atmosphere; and if any additional motive beyond solicitude for the sufferer were needed to impel him to this step he had it, first in the awful pallor which suddenly overspread Mrs Henderson’s features, and secondly in a curious sickly feeling of lassitude and languor which he felt stealing over himself. But, to his unspeakable surprise, no sooner did he approach Henderson than the latter shrank away from him with a cry of fear, beseeching him in a weak voice not to come near him. Gaunt, however, by no means saw matters in this light; if the atmosphere were deadly, or even deleterious, as his own increasingly unpleasant sensations made him perfectly ready to believe, then the sooner they three were out of it the better. So, disregarding the unfortunate doctor’s protestations and entreaties, he raised him in his arms and, notwithstanding the increasing sensation of feebleness and numbness which oppressed him, staggered with his burden into the outer air of the court-yard, closely followed of course by Mrs Henderson. But it was a most trying business altogether, for no sooner did Gaunt lay hands upon the sufferer, though he did it ever so gently, than the poor fellow rent the air with his screams, crying out between whiles that Gaunt was crushing him to death and that he was stripping the flesh off his bones. It was a most extraordinary affair altogether, for they could get no intelligible explanation from the patient even after they had with infinite trouble and care—seemingly at the cost of the acutest agony to Henderson—conveyed him to his own room and laid him on his bed. He could do nothing but shiver and moan and cower down among the coverings, and entreat that nobody—not even his wife or child—would go near him, or, least of all, touch him. The little party were almost beside themselves with anxiety and terror, which feelings were increased when poor Mrs Henderson exhibited symptoms of a similar character. As for Gaunt, he was thoroughly alarmed; for not only did the feeling of feebleness increase, but he also found himself gradually becoming the victim of a blind unreasoning terror for which the term “abject cowardice” afforded but a very inadequate description. And to this very unpleasant sensation was added that of a morbid sense of touch, so acute that even the very pressure of his clothes became almost unendurable. Fully alive, however, to the possibly critical state of affairs, he battled desperately against the influences at work upon him, and, with infinite patience, at length succeeded in extorting from Henderson a few suggestions toward the adoption of remedial measures, which he put in force first for the benefit of the doctor, next for Mrs Henderson—who had also succumbed to a similar though much milder attack—and lastly for himself. Nothing that was done, however, appeared to be of the slightest service, the symptoms continuing with unmitigated severity for fully eight hours, after which they gradually subsided. Gaunt was quite himself again by noon next day; Mrs Henderson recovered about eighteen hours later; but as for the doctor, it was fully a week before he entirely shook off the effects of the attack. But in less than twenty-four hours from his first seizure he had sufficiently recovered to give an explanation of the singular affair to the following effect. He had, it would seem, been investigating the nature of a hitherto unknown plant growing in considerable abundance upon the island, and had found it to possess several very remarkable qualities, some at least of which he believed might be rendered of the utmost value in medical practice. Anxious to make his researches thoroughly exhaustive he had, upon the day of the catastrophe, been distilling the essence of the plant; and, his task completed, he was in the act of bottling the extract for future examination when its peculiarly pleasing fragrance caused him to take several deep inhalations from the bottle. He had hardly done so when he felt his strength rapidly leaving him, and he had only time to deposit the phial, open, upon his table and stagger to a chair when something very like a fit of paralysis seized him. He at once cried out for help; but by the time that his cries had evoked a response his nerves had begun to give way, and in a very few minutes he was enduring such an agony of fear of everybody and everything as words utterly failed him to describe. And with this terrible fear came the equally terrible morbid sensitiveness of touch, which he found himself equally unable to describe. So excruciating was it, he said, that even the sound of an approaching footstep caused him more suffering than he had ever before experienced; and as to the moving of him from the laboratory and again into his own room—his silence and the convulsive shudder which shook him from head to foot were far more expressive than words. His first act when he was sufficiently recovered to move about once more was to secure the phial containing the liquid which had done all the mischief, and—with Nicholls to manage the punt—go right out to sea, where, hastily uncorking the bottle, he flung it as far from him to leeward as possible, at the same moment ordering his companion to give way for home again with all speed. This was done whilst the terror of his attack was still upon him; but it was not in the nature of a man of Henderson’s training to give way for long to so irrational a fear as that which prompted this action, and in less than a month afterwards he had, with the adoption of all proper precautions, secured another and far more liberal supply of the singular essence, with a view to future experiments and analysis.
Meanwhile, the work at the ship-yard was pushed forward with all possible energy, and to such good purpose that in an incredibly short time, all things considered, the timbers for the new boat were raised into position and secured, the planking carried up to the gunwale, the deck laid and caulked, the joiners’ work advanced, and the spars put in hand. Everybody was in the highest possible spirits, for they saw the end of their labours rapidly approaching; they were, moreover, not only pleased but absolutely proud of their work, for, though of course only amateurs, they had wrought so carefully and conscientiously that everything was finished off not only as strongly but also as neatly as if they had every one served an apprenticeship to the handicraft. Then the little vessel herself was a perfect beauty; graceful in shape, notwithstanding her extreme breadth of beam; powerful, yet buoyant; and with lines so cunningly moulded that, whilst it would doubtless require a good strong breeze to show her off to the utmost advantage, Nicholls and Manners—who might both be expected to know a good hull when they saw it—confidently predicted that she would prove very nimble even in light airs. And so confident were they of her sea-going powers that they averred, again and again, they would not be afraid to face in her even such a hurricane as that which had robbed them of poor Captain Blyth; indeed, they even went the length of volunteering to take her home to England after she should have accomplished the primary mission of her existence in conveying the party to a civilised port. Matters were in this satisfactory state, the work having reached such a stage of advancement that the rigging of the Petrel—as they had decided to name the little cutter—had already been begun, and some talk was being indulged in of hopes that the launch might be accomplished within the following week, when, on a bright Sunday afternoon, Gaunt left Fay Island for the main, taking the two children with him, the object of the little party being to gather a few of the strangely-shaped and exceedingly beautiful shells to be found on the sea-beach, as mementoes of their long sojourn on the island. The ladies preferred to remain at home, deciding that the day was far too hot for walking exercise; and the doctor remained with them for company. It was getting on toward sunset—indeed, the sun had already disappeared behind the high ground to the westward of the fort—and the doctor with his two fair companions had ascended to the flat, rampart-like roof of the building to enjoy the cool, refreshing breeze and watch for the return of the shell-gatherers, when the sound of a musket-shot, quickly followed by some five or six others, broke upon the air with startling effect, and immediately afterwards the head of a lofty triangular sail glided into view from behind some tall bushes which had hitherto concealed its approach. That a strange craft of some sort was in the river was the first idea which presented itself to Henderson’s mind; that Gaunt—who was unarmed—and the children were but too probably at that moment crossing from the main, and consequently in full view from the deck of the strange craft, was the next; and that the firing must necessarily have proceeded from the unlooked-for visitor and be an indication of hostility, possibly directed against Gaunt and the youngsters, was the third—the three ideas following each other with the rapidity of a lightning flash. To these succeeded a fourth—the Malays! So long a time had elapsed since poor Blyth had arrived with his alarming intelligence respecting the propinquity of these rascals and his disquieting suggestions as to a possible visit from them, that, though an anxious watch had been for some time maintained, the uninterrupted absence of any alarming indications had at length resulted in so complete a relaxation of vigilance that even the very existence of these pests of the Eastern seas had been forgotten. What if the wretches were upon them now? It seemed only too probable. As these thoughts darted through Henderson’s brain, and with them the frightful suggestion that those three—the unarmed man and the two helpless children, one of them his—might at that moment be beset by a cruel and bloodthirsty foe, a cold shudder went through his frame, and, hurriedly speaking to his companions a few words which he intended should be reassuring, but which his manner rendered quite the reverse, he dashed down the inner stairway to the court-yard, and seizing Gaunt’s repeating rifle, which he knew to be loaded, and directing Manners and Nicholls—who had rushed out of their room at the sound of the firing—to arm themselves and follow him, he rushed up to the roof again, and descending to the ground by the outer ladder, hurried away off in the direction of the creek. He had not advanced in this direction much beyond a hundred yards, along the pathway through the bush, when a child’s screams—little Lucille’s—smote upon his distracted ear, and, darting forward in a very frenzy of apprehension, as he sprang round a bend in the path the poor child, her head uncovered and her long fair hair streaming behind her, her sweet eyes wild with terror, and her little hands outstretched, rushed up to him and with an inarticulate cry of joy sank exhausted and almost lifeless at his feet. Behind her, not a dozen yards distant, followed a fierce-looking Malay, his parted lips revealing the white teeth clenched in the eagerness of pursuit, his cruel black eyes gleaming with the ferocious joy of anticipated success, and with a murderous-looking creese with a long wavy blade uplifted in readiness to strike the moment he should have brought the poor innocent little victim within reach of his lean muscular arm.
To spring over the prostrate form of his darling child, thus placing himself between her and her pursuer, whilst he raised his rifle to his shoulder, was an act of such lightning-like rapidity with Henderson that he and his foe were almost within striking distance before either could check his career. The next instant the crack of his rifle rang out sharp and clear, and the Malay, with a convulsive bound, crashed face downward at his feet dead, with the bullet through his brain.
Breathless with excitement and the exertion of his short run, his teeth clenched, and the fierce eagerness for battle suddenly awakened to full activity within him, the doctor stood waiting impatiently for the next foe to present himself. But none came; only Manners and Nicholls now appeared upon the scene with their rifles in their hands, and eager questions in their eyes and on their lips for an explanation of the sudden and tragic turn of affairs. To them in a few terse words Henderson stated what had already taken place, adding an expression of his apprehension that Gaunt and little Percy had fallen into the hands of the enemy, and finally directing the two men to advance with caution as far as possible with the view of ascertaining the whereabouts of the missing ones, and of affording them help if help were indeed still possible, and, when they had done all that they could, to the best of their judgment, to return to the fort with intelligence. Having thus dismissed his companions, the doctor tenderly raised the now insensible Lucille in his arms, and, pressing her to his breast with a sob of inarticulate gratitude to God for her preservation, he wended his way back to the fort with a heavy, grief-stricken heart, wondering meanwhile how he could best meet the anxious inquiries which he knew would be made by poor Mrs Gaunt.
Chapter Eighteen.
An anxious night at the fort.
As Henderson approached the fort he saw the two ladies watching for him; and anxious not to unduly alarm them, he cried out—referring to Lucille—as soon as he had approached within shouting distance:
“It is all right; she is not hurt, only frightened a little. Get her bed ready.”