On the poop she found Boyle, Christobal, Gray and Walker. A number of Chileans were leaning over the rails of the main deck. All the men were talking earnestly. It was ominous that they should cease their conversation the instant she appeared. One man may conceal his fears, but twenty cannot. Their studied unconcern, their covert glances under lowered eye-lids, told her that they believed the occupants of the life-boat were in gravest peril.
She brushed away the tears determinedly, and looked at the boat, already a white speck on the green carpet of the bay. She could see Courtenay distinctly; some magnetic impulse must have gone out from her, because she had not been watching him longer than a couple of seconds when he turned and waved his hand. She replied instantly, fluttering a handkerchief, poor girl, long after it became impossible for her to distinguish whether or not he returned her signals. In the calm glory of the sunlit estuary, he might have been bent on a pleasant picnic. It was outrageous to think of Good Hope Inlet as a place of skulls; yet she knew that the sea floor beneath the ship was already littered with bodies of the dead. Women would wait in vain for their men to return; why should she be spared?
At last she appealed to Mr. Boyle, who was nearest to her.
“Who is sitting next to Captain Courtenay?” she asked, and she had a fleeting impression that he was anxious for her to speak, so quickly did he answer.
“Tollemache. He shinned down the ladder as the first volunteer; the skipper ordered him to get out, but he said he was deaf. Anyhow, I’m glad he is there. Courtenay ought to have one sure enough white man by his side.”
“And what are they attempting?”
“Huh, it’s a bold plan, an’ I’m not goin’ to condemn it on that account. Have you heard this morning’s news—how Suarez found out from the Indians that eleven of our crew are hiding in a cave on Guanaco Hill?”
“Something of it, not all. But why—why has Captain Courtenay gone off in such a hurry?”
“Well, Miss Elsie, he figures that an open effort by daylight is the only way to rescue them. They will have seen our signals, and they can hardly fail to sight the boat. When he is close inshore they are sure to make a dash for it, and he hopes to get them off before the Indians wake up to the game he is playing. There are eight men in the boat, and, with eleven others to help, there shouldn’t be much difficulty in keepin’ the savages at a proper distance.”
“How soon—will he—reach the landing-place?”