Instead of returning to our hut, we went to the summit of the wall enclosing our valley. Clearly Christopher required no explanation to understand my purpose. With slow, sure caution we took an eastwardly course, parallel with the brink of the precipice and at a safe distance from any men that might be patrolling it. From time to time we would stop, creep nearer the edge, make a careful inspection, return in silence, and go on. The violence of the storm abated somewhat, thus making our progress swifter, but more risky.
With true instinct Christopher went straight to what we had been seeking,—the opening in the forest on the top of the wall fronting the Face. The clear space was smooth, level rock. One segment of the nearly circular opening was cut off by the sheer drop of the precipice. Near that edge was an exquisitely built circular stone platform some four feet high and ten in diameter. As we worked round for a nearer view, we discovered on its top old marks of fire which the rains had not washed off. I recognized it as the object that I had seen from the valley, opposite the Face. There was a moon, but only a faint glow from it filtered through the clouds; occasional flashes of lightning gave us clearer seeing. The air was stifling.
We edged nearer to the cliff, and stood peering across the valley as we waited for light. It came, and revealed the Face. The sodden, sordid, worse than bestial mask, more repulsive than ever in the gloom of the storm, held its gaze fixed upon us. We were upon the scene of the unthinkable tragedy awaiting Mr. Vancouver.
We circled the eastern edge of the clearing. Soon we found a squat structure of thatch, half hidden in the edge of the forest. It was filled with neatly piled firewood. No surprise showed in Christopher’s face.
After further exploration of the vicinity, and satisfied that the place was unguarded, we loaded ourselves with wood from the hut, and plunged into the thicket. A short distance away I had discovered a deep cleft. We threw our loads into it; the fall was long before the sound came from the bottom. Thus, after many trips, we disposed of all the fuel, and hastened back to our hut for sleep. The night was far gone.
The storm broke afresh, and I lay sleepless, and listened to the elemental furies at play. Every nerve ached, and sleep was a sore need. Contingencies riding the hurricane would likely offer still heavier work for tomorrow. Whatever innocent pranks Beela might indulge, her profound seriousness and her appreciation of the dangerous risks in this undertaking were genuine.
With the swirl and dash of the rain came the roar of the tearing wind and the mighty bellow of thunder. Flash, peal, and boom rended the firmament. Our cabin braced itself and strained under the tug, as though digging its claws into the ground to hold firm. Large trees on the slope behind us fell crashing.
This was more than a hurricane: it was a tornado; perhaps worse yet, a typhoon. Many ships ride out the worst of these; but mentally I saw brown men being told off to man the promontories of the bight, and to watch for staggering, heart-broken specks on the sea as the wind following the hurricane urged them on slowly to a pleasant beach, five hundred swordsmen, an oily savage king and a feast, and a march over the mountain to a guarded paradise; thence to be “sent away” to their homes—their eternal homes—one at a time! one at a time! So far as civilization had reached, it had strangled an unspeakable practice in these seas.
Not even the churn of the storm in my veins could check the cold that ran in my blood. Was the father of Annabel to be only the first? Were we waiting as fattening hogs, instead of being out and afield, fighting a way to liberty, and dying, if we must, as men should?...
I found myself off the pallet and rolling on the floor.