Tollemache, having nothing to say, was not given to the use of unnecessary words. Elsie was conscious of a certain constraint in their talk.
“Please don’t mind me,” she said quietly. “I know all about the loss of the Emu. If we fall into the hands of the Alaculof tribe, we shall be not only killed but eaten.”
She was pouring out a second cup of tea for Walker when she made this remarkable statement. Her eyes were intent on exact quantities of tea, milk, and sugar, and she passed the cup to the engineer with a smile. Each of the men admired her coolness, but Tollemache, who had been quietly scrutinizing the nearer hills, gave painful emphasis to this gruesome topic by exclaiming:
“There they are now: smoke signals.”
Sure enough, thin columns of smoke were rising from several points on the land. It could not be doubted that these were caused by human agency. They were not visible when the party sat down to breakfast. The appearance of the ship was their obvious explanation, but not a canoe or a solitary figure could be seen, though Courtenay and others, at various times during the day, searched every part of the neighboring shore with field glasses and powerful telescopes.
After an all too brief burst of sunshine, the Land of Storms again justified its name. Giant clouds came rolling in from seaward. The mountains were lost in mist; the glaciers became sullen, rock-strewn masses of white-brown ice; the fresh greenery of the forests faded into somber belts of blackness. Though it was high summer in this desolate region, heavy showers of hail and sleet alternated with drenching rain. At low-water, though the Kansas floated securely in a depth of twenty fathoms, a yellow current sweeping past her starboard quarter showed how accurately Courtenay had read the tokens of the inlet. Many a swollen torrent, and, perhaps, one or two fair-sized streams at the head of the bay, contributed this flood of fresh water.
And, with the evening tide, there were not wanting indications that the gale without had developed a new fury. A solitary albatross, driven landward by stress of weather, rode in vast circles above the ship. There was no wealth of bird life in that place of gloom. Though fitted to rear untold millions of gulls and other sea birds, this secluded nook was almost deserted; generations of men had devoured all the eggs they could lay hands on.
To Elsie and the doctor were entrusted the daylight watch on deck and the care of the sick. For the latter there was not much to be done. The cook undertook to feed them, and Frascuelo, the wounded stevedore who had been discovered in a state of collapse, soon revived, and was practically able to look after himself. The others, under Walker’s directions, were hard at work in the engine-room and stoke-hold, for there alone lay the chance of ultimate escape.
The two sentinels conversed but little. The outer war of the elements was disturbing, and Christobal, though unfailingly optimistic in his speech, was nevertheless a prey to dark forebodings. Once, they were startled by the fall of an avalanche, which thundered down a mountain side on the farther shore, and tore a great gap in the belt of trees until it crashed into the water. It sent a four-foot wave across the bay, and the Kansas rocked so violently that the men toiling below raced up on deck to ascertain the cause of the disturbance.
This was the only exciting incident of a day that seemed to be unending. Elsie, worn out by the strain of the preceding twenty-four hours, and, notwithstanding her brief sleep in the morning, thoroughly exhausted for want of rest, was persuaded to retire early to her cabin. She lay down almost fully dressed. Somehow, it was impossible to think of a state of unpreparedness for any emergency.