The day was still young when we reached our habitation, and both of us glad to return, especially my lady.
"For truly I do grow to love this home of ours," says she, and sets herself to sweeping out her three caves. As for me I was determined on making her an arm chair forthright; to the which end I took my saw and set out for Deliverance Sands, there to cut and select such timber as I needed from my store. But scarce was I come hither than I uttered a shout of joy, for there, cast up high upon these white sands, lay a great mast in a tangle of ropes and cordage.
Drawing near, I saw this for the mainmast of some noble ship but lately wrecked, wherefore I hasted along the beach and out upon the reef to see if haply any other wreckage had come ashore, but found nothing to reward my search. Returning to the mast I saw to my joy that this cordage was all new and sound, though woefully tangled. Howbeit I had soon unravelled some fifty yards of good stout twine, and abundance of more yet to hand together with the heavier ropes such as shrouds and back-stays. Taking this line I came to that rocky cleft where I had killed the goat, and clambering up the bush-grown cliff found it to be honey-combed with caves large and small and with abundant evidences of the animals I sought. Wherefore, choosing me a narrow, well-worn track I set there a trap formed of a running noose, and this did I in divers other places, which done I returned to my labours on the mast. At the which occupation my lady, finding me, must needs fall to work beside me, aiding as well as she might like the true comrade she was.
Thus by late afternoon I had coiled and stowed safely away more good hempen rope and cordage than I could ever want. This accomplished I found time to praise my companion's diligence; but finding her all wearied out with such rough and arduous labour, grew mighty vexed with my heedlessness, reproaching myself therewith; but she (and all toilworn as she was) laughed her weariness to scorn, as was ever her way:
"Why, Martin," says she, "labour is a good thing and noble since it giveth health and strength to both mind and body. And 'tis my joy to share in your labours when I may and a delight to see how, cast here destitute of all things, you have contrived so much already. The more I work and the harder, the more able am I for work, so trouble not if I do grow a little weary sometimes!" This comforted me somewhat until, chancing to see her hands, I caught them in mine and turning them saw these tender palms all red and blistered with the ropes; and grieving over them I would have kissed the poor little things had I dared (and indeed came mighty nigh doing it) as she perceived, I think, for she flushed and laughed and drew them from my hold.
"Nay, Martin," says she softly. "I would have you forget my sex—sometimes!"
"'Twere a thing impossible!" says I, whereat she, stealing a glance at me, flushed all the hotter.
"Why then," says she, "You must not coddle and cosset me because I am a woman—"
"Never," quoth I, "'tis not my nature to do so."
"And yet you do, Martin."
"As how?"
"O in many ways—these blisters now, why should your hands grow rough and hard and not mine? Nature hath formed me woman but Fate hath made me your comrade, Martin. And how may I be truly your comrade except I share your toil?"
Now when I would have answered I could not, and turning from her to stare away across the limitless ocean saw it a-gleam through a mist as it were.
"Surely," says I at last, "O surely never had man so sweet and true a comrade! And I so rude and unlovely—and in all ways so unworthy."
"But you are not, Martin, you are not!"
"Aye, but I am—beyond your guessing, you that are so pure, so saintly—"
"Saintly? O Martin!" and here she laughs albeit a little tremulously. "Surely I am a very human saint, for I do grow mighty hungry and yearn for my supper. So prithee let us go and eat."
But on our way we turned aside to see if we had any fortune with my snares; sure enough, coming nigh the place we heard a shuffling and snorting, and presently discovered a goat fast by the neck and half-choked, and beside her a little kid pitifully a-bleating.
"O Martin!" cries my lady, and falling on her knees began caressing and fondling the little creature whiles I secured the dam, and mighty joyful. The goat, for all its strangling, strove mightily, but lashing its fore and hind legs I contrived to get it upon my shoulders and thus burdened set off homewards, my lady carrying the kid clasped to her bosom, and it very content there and small wonder.
"'Tis sweet, pretty thing," says my lady, stroking its silky hair, "and shall soon grow tame."
"And here is the beginning of our flock: our cheese and butter shall not be long a-lacking now, comrade."
"You must fashion me a press, Martin."
"And a churn," says I.
"Nay I can manage well enough with one of our pipkins."
"But a churn would be easier for you, so a churn you shall have, of sorts."
This evening after supper, sitting by our fire, my lady (and despite her weariness) was merrier than her wont and very full of plans for the future, deciding for me what furniture I must construct next, as chairs (two) a cupboard with shelves, and where these should stand when made:
"And, Martin," says she, "now that we own goats I must have a dairy for my cheese-making, and my dairy shall be our larder, aye, and stillroom too, for I have been tending our garden lately and found growing many good herbs and simples. In time, Martin, these caves shall grow into a home indeed and all wrought by our own hands, and this is a sweet thought."
"Why so it is," says I, "in very truth—but—"
"But what, sir?" she questioned, lifting admonishing finger.
"There may come a day when we may weary of it, how then?"
"Nay we are too busy—"
"Can it—could it be"—says I, beginning to stammer—"that you might live here thus content to the end of your days?"
"The end of my days?" says she staring thoughtfully into the fire. "Why, Martin, this is a long way in the future I do pray, and our future is in the hands of God, so wherefore trouble?"
"Because I who have been stranger to Happiness hitherto, dread lest it may desert me and leave me the more woeful."
"Are you then happy at last—and so suddenly, Martin?"
Now this put me to no little heart-searching and perplexity, for casting back over the time since our landing on the island I knew that, despite my glooms and ill-humours, happiness had come to me in that hour I had found her alive.
"Why, I am no longer the miserable wretch I was," quoth I at last.
"Because of late you have forgot to grieve for yourself and past wrong and sorrows, Martin. Mayhap you shall one day forget them quite."
"Never!" quoth I.
"Yet so do I hope, Martin, with all my heart," says she and with a great sigh.
"Why then, fain would I forget an I might, but 'tis beyond me. The agony of the rowing-bench, the shame of stripes—the blood and bestiality of it all—these I may never forget."
"Why then, Martin—dear Martin," says she, all suddenly slipping from her stool to kneel before me and reach out her two hands. "I do pray our Heavenly Father, here and now before you, that you, remembering all this agony and shame, may make of it a crown of glory ennobling your manhood—that you, forgetting nothing, may yet put vengeance from you now and for ever and strive to forget—to forgive, Martin, and win thereby your manhood and a happiness undreamed—" here she stopped, her bosom heaving, her eyes all tender pleading; and I (O deaf and purblind fool!) hearing, heard not and seeing, saw nought but the witching beauty of her; and now, having her hands in mine, beholding her so near, I loosed her hands and turned away lest I should crush her to me.
"'Tis impossible!" I muttered. "I am a man and no angel—'tis impossible!" Hereupon she rose and stood some while looking down into the fire and never a word; suddenly she turned as to leave me, then, sitting on her stool, drew out her hairpins and shook down her shining hair that showed bronze-red where the light caught it. And beholding her thus, her lovely face offset by the curtain of her hair, her deep, long-lashed eyes, the vivid scarlet of her mouth, I knew the world might nowhere show me a maid so perfect in beauty nor so vitally a woman.
"Martin!" says she very softly, as she began braiding a thick tress of hair. "Have you ever truly loved any woman?"
"No," says I, "No!"
"Could you so love, I wonder?"
"No!" says I again and clenching my hands. "No—never!"
"Why, true," says she, more softly, "methinks in your heart is no room for poor Love, 'tis over-full of Hate, and hate is a disease incurable with you. Is't not so, Martin?"
"Yes—no! Nay, how should I know?" quoth I.
"Yet should love befall you upon a day, 'twould be love unworthy any good woman, Martin!"
"Why then," says I, "God keep me from the folly of love."
"Pray rather that Love, of its infinite wisdom, teach you the folly of hate, Martin!"
"'Tis a truth," says I bitterly, "a truth that hath become part of me! It hath been my companion in solitude, my comfort in my shameful misery, my hope, my very life or I had died else! And now—now you bid me forget it—as 'twere some mere whimsy, some idle fancy—this thought that hath made me strong to endure such shames and tribulations as few have been forced to suffer!"
"Aye, I do, I do!" she cried. "For your own sake, Martin, and for mine."
"No!" quoth I, "A thousand times! This thought hath been life to me, and only with life may I forego it!"
At this, the busy fingers faltered in their pretty labour, and, bowing her head upon her hand, she sat, her face hid from me, until I, not doubting that she wept, grew uneasy and questioned her at last.
"Nay, my lady—since this must be so—wherefore grieve?"
"Grieve?" says she lifting her head, and I saw her eyes all radiant and her red lips up-curving in a smile. "Nay, Martin, I do marvel how eloquent you grow upon your wrongs, indeed 'tis as though you feared you might forget them. Thus do you spur up slothful memory, which giveth me sure hope that one day 'twill sleep to wake no more."
And now, or ever I might find answer, she rose and giving me "Good-night" was gone, singing, to her bed; and I full of bewilderment. But suddenly as I sat thus, staring into the dying fire, she was back again.
"What now?" I questioned.
"Our goat, Martin! I may not sleep until I know her safe—come let us go look!" and speaking, she reached me her hand. So I arose, and thus with her soft, warm fingers in mine we went amid the shadows where I had tethered the goat to a tree hard beside the murmurous rill and found the animal lying secure and placidly enough, the kid beside her. The which sight seemed to please my lady mightily.
"But 'tis shame the poor mother should go tied always thus. Could you not make a picket fence, Martin? And she should have some refuge against the storms," to the which I agreed. Thus as we went back we fell to making plans, one project begetting another, and we very blithe about it.
And now followed a season of much hard work, each day bringing its varied tasks and we right joyous in our labour, so that ofttimes I would hear her singing away in her sweet voice merry as any grig, or find myself whistling lustily to the tap of my hammer. And now indeed my saw (and all rusty though it was) served me faithfully and well, and my carpentry went forward apace. During this time also we added four goats and six kids to our flock, so that we had good store of milk, and having with my lady's help made our net with strands of cord knotted crosswise, we caught therewith great plenty of fish.
Remembering my adventure with the Indian I furnished myself with a good stout pike and a couple of javelins; moreover I set up divers marks, like rovers, and every day I would shoot at these with my bow, so that I soon became so dexterous I could bring down a bird on the wing six times out of seven, though in teaching myself this proficiency I lost four of my Indian arrows beyond recovery.
Thus sped the time all too quickly, but with each day came a greater understanding and a deeper amity betwixt my lady and me.
Now much and very much might I set down here concerning this my sweet comrade, her many noble qualities, and how, as our fellowship lengthened, I (that was a man selfish beyond thought) finding her unselfish always and uncomplaining, seeing her so brave in the face of adversity, and indomitable to overcome all difficulty, yet ever and always a woman gracious and tender, I, by my very reverence for her sweet womanhood, became in some sense a better man.
I might tell how, when my black moods took me, the mere sight of her, the sound of her voice, the touch of her hand, nay her very nearness was enough to dispel them.
I might paint to your imagination the way her hair curled at her temples, the trick she had of biting her nether lip when at all put out, of the jut of her pretty chin when angered. Then the sweet, vibrant softness of her voice, her laughter, the wonder of her changing moods—all these I would dilate upon if I might, since 'tis joy to me, but lest I prove wearisome I will hasten on to the finding of Black Bartlemy's Treasure, of all that led up to it and all those evils that followed after it. And this bringeth me to a time whenas we sat, she and I, eating our breakfast and the world all radiant with a young sun.
"To-night," says she, "if my calculations be right, should be a new moon. And I am glad, for I do love the moon."
"Aye, but how should you judge this?" says I, wondering.
"Because I have kept a record, Martin. A stroke for each day and a cross for every Sunday."
"Excellent!" quoth I. "Then you will know how long we have lived here?"
"Two months and five days, Martin."
"So long a time?" says I amazed.
"Hath it seemed so very long?" she questioned.
"No indeed!" says I. "No, and there's the marvel!"
"'Tis no marvel, Martin, you have been too full of business to heed time. Let us reckon up what we have achieved thus far. First of all a three-legged stool for me—"
"Hairpins!" says I.
"A spoon, Martin, and shoes for me—"
"Lamps and candles!" quoth I.
"A table, Martin—"
"A fishing line and two hooks."
"Two armchairs, Martin, a cupboard and a press."
"A churn!" says I.
"You are forgetting our five pipkins, Martin."
"True," says I, "and clumsy things they are!"
"But very useful, sir! Next a fishing-net, and a bed for me. Here is fine achievement, Martin! Are you not proud to have wrought so much and with so little?"
"But there is much yet to do!" quoth I.
"So much the better!" says she. "Thus far I am well content."
"And happy?" I demanded.
"Aye, Martin—are you?"
Now at this I fell to profound reverie and she also, and this the subject of my musings, viz.,
In every man and woman born into this world (as it doth seem to me) God putteth some of His infinite self whereby all things are possible in degree greater or smaller; for to the God within us all things are possible, 'tis our very humanity that limits our potentialities. Confidence in this power within us is a mighty aid to all endeavour whereby we, our coward flesh notwithstanding, may attempt great things, and though, being human, we ofttimes fail, yet this very effort strengthens and ennobles us.
"Who art thou," cries Flesh, "to adventure thing so great and above thy puny strength to perform? Who art thou?" "I am God!" answers Man-soul, "Since finite man am I only by reason of thee, base, coward Flesh." Thus (to my thinking) in every man is angel and demon, each striving 'gainst each for the soul of him; whereby he doeth evil or good according to the which of these twain he aideth to victory. Howbeit, thus it is with me, I being, despite my seeming slowness, of quick and passionate temper and of such desperate determination that once set on a course needs would I pursue it though it led to my own confounding and destruction. For now, indeed, I wrought that the which brought on my lady great sorrow and grievous peril, and on myself shame, bloodshed and a black despair, and this the manner of it.
"Are you not happy, Martin?" says she, "Happy and proud to have accomplished so much with so little?"
"No!" says I, and so bitterly-fierce that she blenched from me. "For look now," says I, clenching my fist, "here have we wrought and slaved together day in and day out—and to what end?"
"That we may live—to our comfort—" says she a little breathlessly.
"And to what end?" I demanded. "To what purpose have you cozened me to labour thus?"
"I? I don't understand you, Martin!" says she unsteadily.
"Here's you cast alone with me on this island. 'He is a man,' says you to yourself, 'and I a lonely woman. So must I keep him busy, his mind ever employed on some labour, no matter what, lest peradventure he make love to me—'"
"Stop!" cries she angrily, leaping up to her feet all in a moment. "For shame, Martin Conisby! You wrong me and yourself—I am your comrade—"
"Nay, you are a woman, very subtle, and quick-witted as you are beautiful. So have you kept me in ploy thus, yearning meanwhile for some ship—anything to bear you safe away from me! Often have I seen you staring seaward and praying for a sail."
"O you lie, Martin, you lie! Ah, have I not trusted you?"
"Aye, as one might a tiger, by humouring me and distracting my attention! All these weeks I have scarce touched you and kissed you never, nor had I thought to—but now by God—"
"Martin—O Martin, what would you—"
"Kiss you!" says I savagely, and caught her wrists.
"Nay, that you shall never do—with that look on your face!" cries she, and twisted so strongly as nigh broke my hold; but despite all her desperate striving, struggle how she might, I dragged her to me, pinning her arms in my cruel embrace; but still she withstood me and with such fury of strength that twice we staggered and came near falling, until all at once she yielded and lay all soft, her breath coming in little, pitiful, panting groans. So I kissed her as I would, her hair, her eyes, her parted lips, her cool, soft throat, until sun and trees and green grass seemed to spin and whirl dizzily about me, until my lips were wet with her salt tears.
"O God—O God!" she whispered, "O Martin that I trusted so, will you kill my faith and trust? Will you shame your comrade? You that I loved—"
"Loved!" says I, catching my breath and staring down at her tear-wet lashes, "Loved me—O Damaris—"
"Aye loved, and honoured you above all men until the beast broke loose."
"And now?" cried I hoarsely, "And now—what? Speak!"
"God's pity—loose me, Martin!"
"And now what—tell me. Is't hate now, scorn and contempt—as 'twas aboard ship?"
"O Martin—let me go!" she sobbed.
"Answer me, is it hate henceforth?"
"Yes!" she panted, "Yes!" and tore herself from my hold. But, as she turned to fly me, I caught her back to me and, madman that I was, bent her backward across my knee that I might look down into her eyes; and, meeting my look, she folded her hands upon her bosom and closing her eyes, spoke broken and humbled:
"Take—take your will of me—Black Bartlemy—I am not—brave enough to stab you as—she did—"
Now at this I shivered and must needs cast my gaze towards that great pimento tree that towered afar off. So, then, my hateful dream had come true, and now I knew myself for black a rogue as ever Bartlemy had been. So I loosed her and starting up, stood staring across the desolation of ocean.
"O Damaris!" says I at last, "Here in my belt was my knife to your hand, 'twere better you had stabbed me indeed and I, dying, would have kissed your feet after the manner of yon dead rogue. As it is I must live hating myself for having destroyed the best, the sweetest thing life could offer me and that, your trust. But, O my lady," says I, looking down where she knelt, her face bowed upon her hands, "I do love you reverently and beyond my life."
"Even greatly enough to forego your vengeance?" she questioned softly, and without glancing up.
"God help me!" cried I, "How may I forget the oath I swore on my father's grave?"
"You broke your oath to me!" says she, never stirring, "So do I know that true love hath not touched you."
"Think of me as you will," quoth I, "but—"
"I know!" says she, raising her head at last and looking up at me, "I am sure, Martin. Where hate is, true love can never be, and love howsoever vehement is gentle and reverent and, being of God, a very holy thing! But you have made of it a thing of passion, merciless and cruel—'tis love debased."
"So will I get hence," says I, "for since I have destroyed your faith how shall you ever sleep again and know yourself secure and such rogue as I near you. I'll go, Damaris, I'll away and take your fears along with me."
Then, the while she watched me dumbly, I slung my bow and quiver of arrows about me, set the hatchet in my girdle and, taking my pike, turned to go; but, checking my haste, went into the cave (she following me silent always) and taking the pistol from where it hung, examined flint and priming and charge and laid it on the table.
"Should you need me at any time, shoot off this pistol and I will come" says I, "so good-bye, my lady!" But scarce was I without the cave than she comes to me with my chain-shirt in her hands, and when I would have none of it, grew the more insistent.
"Put it on," says she gently, "who can tell what may befall you, so put it on I pray!" Thus in the end I donned it, though with ill grace; which done, I took my pike across my shoulder and strode away. And when I had gone some distance I glanced back and saw her standing where I had left her, watching me and with her hands clasped tight together.
"Good-bye, Martin!" says she. "O good-bye!" and vanished into the gloom of the cave.
As for me I strode on at speed and careless of direction, for my mind was a whirl of conflicting thoughts and a bitter rage against myself. Thus went I a goodish while and all-unheeding, and so at last found myself lost amidst mazy thickets and my eight-foot pike very troublesome. Howbeit I presently gained more open ways and went at speed, though whither, I cared not. The sun was westering when, coming out from the denser woods, I saw before me that high hill whose rocky summit dominated the island, and bent my steps thitherward; and then all in a moment my heart gave a great leap and I stood still, for borne to me on the soft air came a sudden, sharp sound, and though faint with distance I knew it for the report of a firearm. At this thrice-blessed sound an overwhelming great joy and gratitude surged within me since thus, of her infinite mercy my lady had summoned me back; and now as I retraced my steps full of thankfulness, I marvelled to find my eyes a-watering and myself all trembling eagerness to behold her loveliness again, to hear her voice, mayhap to touch her hand; indeed I felt as we had been parted a year rather than a brief hour. And now I got me to dreaming how I should meet her and how she would greet me. She should find a new Martin, I told myself. Suddenly these deluding dreams were shivered to horrible fear and myself brought, sweating, to a standstill by another sound that smote me like a blow, for I knew this for the deep-toned report of a musket. For a moment I stood leaning on my pike as one dazed, then the hateful truth of it seized me and I began to run like any madman. Headlong I went, bursting my way through tangled vines and undergrowth, heedless of the thorns that gashed me, cursing such obstacles as stayed me; now o'erleaping thorny tangles, now pausing to beat me a way with my pikestaff, running at breathless speed whenever I might until (having taken a wrong direction in my frenzy) I came out amid those vines and bushes that bordered the lake of the waterfall, and right over against the great rock I have mentioned. But from where I was (the place being high) I could see over and beyond this rock; and as I stood panting and well-nigh spent, mighty distraught and my gaze bent thitherward, I shivered (despite the sweat that streamed from me) with sudden awful chill, for from those greeny depths I heard a scream, wild and heartrending, and knowing this voice grew sick and faint and sank weakly to my knees; and now I heard vile laughter, then hoarse shouts, and forth of the underbrush opposite broke a wild, piteous figure all rent and torn yet running very fleetly; as I watched, cursing my helplessness, she tripped and fell, but was up again all in a moment, yet too late, for then I saw her struggling in the clasp of a ragged, black-bearded fellow and with divers other men running towards them.
And now madness seized me indeed, for between us was the lake, and, though my bow was strung and ready, I dared not shoot lest I harm her. Thus as I watched in an agony at my impotence, my lady broke her captor's hold and came running, and he and his fellows hard after her. Straight for the rock she came, and being there stood a moment to stare about her like the piteous, hunted creature she was:
"Martin!" she cried, "O Martin!" and uttering this dolorous cry (and or ever I might answer) she tossed wild arms to heaven and plunged over and down. I saw her body strike the water in a clean dive and vanish into those dark and troubled deeps, and with breath in check and glaring eyes, waited for her to reappear; I heard vague shouts and cries where her pursuers watched for her likewise, but I heeded them nothing, staring ever and waiting—waiting. But these gloomy waters gave no sign, and so at last my breath burst from me in a bitter, sobbing groan. One by one the minutes dragged by until I thought my brain must crack, for nowhere was sign of that beloved shape. And then—all at once, I knew she must be dead; this sweet innocent slain thus before my eyes, snatched out of life and lost forever to me for all time, lost to me beyond recovery.
At last I turned my haggard, burning eyes upon her murderers—four of them there were and all staring into those cruel, black waters below and not a word betwixt them. Suddenly the black-bearded man snapped his fingers and laughed even as my bowstring twanged; then I saw him leap backwards, screaming with pain, his shoulder transfixed by my arrow. Immediately (and ere I might shoot again) his fellows dragged him down, and lying prone on their bellies let fly wildly in my direction with petronel and musquetoon. And now, had I been near enough, I would have leaped upon them to slay and be slain, since life was become a hateful thing. As it was, crouched there 'mid the leaves, I watched them crawl from the rock dragging their hurt comrade with them. Then, seeing them stealing off thus, a mighty rage filled me, ousting all other emotion, and (my bow in one hand and pike in the other) I started running in pursuit. But my great pike proving over-cumbersome, I cast it away that I might go the faster, trusting rather to my five arrows and the long-bladed knife in my girdle, and the thought of this knife and its deadly work at close quarters heartened me mightily as I ran; yet in a while, the passion of my anger subsiding, grief took its place again and a hopeless desolation beyond words. So ran I, blinded by scalding tears and my heart breaking within me, and thus came I to a place of rocks, and looking not to my feet it chanced that I fell and, striking my head against a rock, knew no more; and lost in a blessed unconsciousness, forgot awhile the anguish of my breaking heart.
When at last I opened my eyes I found myself in a place of gloom and very stiff and sore; therefore I lay where I was nor sought to move. Little by little, as I lay thus 'twixt sleep and wake, I was aware of a pallid glow all about me, and lifting heavy head, saw the moon low down in the sky like a great golden sickle. And staring up at this, of a sudden back rushed memory (and with it my hopeless misery) for now I remembered how, but a few short hours since, my dear lady had prophesied this new moon. Hereupon, crouching there, my aching head bowed upon my hands, I gave myself up to my despair and a corroding grief beyond all comforting.
From where I crouched I might look down upon this accursed lake, a misty horror of gloomy waters, and beholding this, I knew that my gentle, patient comrade was gone from me, that somewhere within those black and awful depths her tender body was lying. She was dead, her sweet voice for ever hushed, she that had been so vitally alive! And remembering all her pretty ways I grew suddenly all blind with tears and, casting myself down, lay a great while sobbing and groaning until I could weep no more.
At last, sitting up, I wondered to find my head so painful, and putting up my hand found my face all wet and sticky with blood that flowed from a gash in my hair. And remembering how I had fallen and the reason of my haste I started up and forthwith began seeking my knife and hatchet, and presently found them hard by where I had tripped. Now standing thus, knife in one hand and hatchet in the other, I turned to look down upon these dark and evil waters.
"Goodbye, my lady!" says I, "Fare thee well, sweet comrade! Before to-morrow dawn we will meet again, I pray, and shalt know me for truer man and better than I seemed!" So, turning my back on the lake I went to seek my vengeance on her destroyers and death at their hands an it might be so.
In a while I came to that torrent where the water flowed out from the lake, its bed strewn with tumbled rocks and easy enough to cross, the water being less in volume by reason of the dry weather. All at once I stopped, for amid these rocks and boulders I saw caught all manner of drift, as sticks and bushes, branches and the like, washed down by the current and which, all tangled and twisted together, choked this narrow defile, forming a kind of barrier against the current. Now as I gazed at this, my eyes (as if directed by the finger of God) beheld something caught in this barrier, something small and piteous to see but which set me all a-trembling and sent me clambering down these rocks; and reaching out shaking hand I took up that same three-pronged pin I had carved and wrought for her hair. Thus stood I to view this through my blinding tears and to kiss and kiss it many times over because it had known her better than I. But all at once I thrust this precious relic into my bosom and stared about me with new and awful expectation, for the current which had brought this thing would bring more. So I began to seek among these rocks where the stream ran fast and in each pool and shallow, and once, sweating and shivering, stooped to peer at something that gleamed white from a watery hollow, and gasped my relief to find it was no more than a stone. None the less sought I with a prayer on my lips, dreading to find that white and tender body mangled by the cruel rocks, yet searching feverishly none the less. Long I stayed there, until the moon, high-risen, sent down her tender beam as though to aid me. But of this time I will write no more, since even now it is a misery to recall.
At last, I (that knew myself a man about to die) turned me towards our habitation, those rocks she had called "home," and reaching the plateau I stood still, swept alternately by grief and passion, to see this our refuge all desecrated by vile hands, our poor furniture scattered without the cave. And presently I espied her three-legged stool standing where she had been wont to sit to watch and cheer me at my labour; coming thither I fell on my knees, and laying my head thereon wetted this unlovely thing with my tears and kissed it many times. As I lay thus, much that she had done and said (little things forgot till now) rushed upon my memory; her sweet, calm presence seemed all about me soothing away the passion of my grief. And in this hour that was to end my miserable life, I knew at last that I had loved her purely and truly from the first, and with such love as might have lifted me to heaven. And kneeling thus, I spake aloud to this her sweet presence that seemed to hover about me:
"O Damaris, beloved—as thou, to 'scape shame, hast chosen death—in death I'll follow thee—trusting to a merciful God that I may find thee again!" Then uprising from my knees, I came out from the shadows, and standing in the moon's radiance, looked heedfully to the edge of my axe, and with it gripped in my hand, went out to find death.
Beyond Deliverance Sands I saw the glow of their fire, and drawing thither knew them camped in the shadow of that great pimento tree and within that rocky gorge the which had afforded my dear lady and me our first night's shelter. Being come thither, I sat me down and took counsel how best to attack them that I might slay as many as possible ere they gave me the death I hungered for; and the end of it was I began to scale the cliff, my goatskin buskins soundless and very sure amid the rocks.
As I mounted I heard the hoarse murmur of their voices and knew by their very intonation (since I could hear no words as yet) that they were speaking English. Reaching the summit, and mighty cautious, I came where I might look down into the cleft.
They lay sprawled about their fire, four grim-looking fellows, ragged and unkempt, three of them talking together and one who lay groaning ever and anon.
"Be damned, t'ye, Joel for a lily-livered dog!" growled a great, bony fellow, "Here's good an island as man can want—"
"And full of bloody Indians—eh, Humphrey?" says a black-jowled fellow, turning on the wounded man. "Us do know the Indians, don't us Humphrey? Inca, Aztec, Mosquito and Cimaroon, we know 'em and their devil's ways, don't us, Humphrey?"
"Aye—aye!" groaned the wounded man. "They tortured me once and they've done for me at last, by God! My shoulder's afire—"
"And the shaft as took ye, Humphrey, were a Indian shaft—a Indian shaft, weren't it, lad? And all trimmed wi' gold, aren't it? Here, ye may see for yourselves! 'Sequently I do know it for the shaft of a chief or cacique and where a cacique is there's Indians wi' him—O thick as thieves—I know and Humphrey knows! I say this curst island be full of Indians, thick as fleas, curse 'em! And they'll have us soon or late and torment us. So what I says is, let's away at the flood and stand away for the Main—the sea may be bad now and then, but Indians be worse—always and ever!"
"Why, as to that, Ned, the Indians ha' left us alone—"
"Aye!" cried the bony man, "And what o' the wench—her was no Indian, I lay! A fine, dainty piece she was, by hooky! And handsome, ah—handsome! But for Humphrey's bungling—"
Here the man Humphrey groaned and cursed the speaker bitterly.
"Howbeit—'twas an Indian arrer!" says Ned. "And that means Indians, and Indians means death to all on us—ask Humphrey! Death—eh, Humphrey?"
"Aye—death!" groaned Humphrey, "Death's got his grapples aboard me now. I'm a-dying, mates—dying! Get me aboard, death will come easier in open water."
"Why, if ye must die, Humphrey," growled the bony man, "die, lad, die and get done wi' it, the sooner the better. As to Indians I wait till I see 'em, and as for Death—"
"Death?" gasped Humphrey, "Here's for you first!" and whipping out a knife he made a fierce thrust at the speaker; but the others closed with him. Then as they strove together panting and cursing I rose to come at them; but the wounded man, chancing to lift his head, saw me where I stood, the moonlight on my bloody face, and uttered a hoarse scream.
"Death!" cries he, "'Tis on us mates—look, look yonder! Death and wounds—yonder he comes for all of us—O mates look! Yon's death—for all on us!"
But in this moment I leaped down upon them from above, sending one man sprawling and scattering their fire, and 'mid whirling sparks and smoke, within this dim rock-cleft we fought with a merciless fury and desperation beyond words. A pistol flashed and roared and then another as I leapt with whirling axe and darting knife. I remember a wild hurly-burly of random blows, voices that shouted hoarse blasphemies, screams and groans, a whirl of vicious arms, of hands that clutched; once I reeled to hard-driven sword-thrust, a knife flashed and stabbed beneath my arm, but twice I got home with my knife and once a man sobbed and went down beneath my hatchet—and then they were running and I after them. But I had taken a scathe in my leg and twice I fell; thus they reached their boat with some hundred yards to spare, and I saw their frantic struggles to launch it as I staggered after them; but ere I could reach them they had it afloat and tumbled aboard pell-mell. Then came I, panting curses, and plunged into the sea, wading after them up to my middle and so near that, aiming a blow at one of them, I cut a great chip from the gunwale, but, reeling from the blow of an oar, sank to my knees, and a wave breaking over me bore me backward, choking. Thus when I found my feet again they were well away and plying their oars lustily, whiles I, roaring and shouting, stood to watch them until the boat was lost in the distance. Now as I stood thus, raging bitterly at my impotence, I bethought me that I had seen but three men run and, turning about, hasted back to deal with the fourth. Reaching the scene of the struggle, I came on the man Humphrey outstretched upon his back in the moonlight and his face well-nigh shorn asunder. Seeing him thus so horribly dead, I went aside and fell to scrubbing my hatchet, blade and haft, with the cleanly sand.
Then came I, and grasping this thing had been named Humphrey, I dragged it a-down the sands and hove it forthwith into the sea, standing thereafter to watch it borne out on the receding tide. Now as I watched thus, came a wave that lifted the thing so that this dead man seemed to rise up and wave an arm to me ere he vanished.
This done (and I yet alive!) I took to wandering aimlessly hither and thither, and chancing into the rocky cleft found lying three muskets and four pistols with bandoliers full-charged, together with a knife and a couple of swords; these I set orderly together and so wandered away again.
All this night I rambled about thus, and dawn found me seated 'neath Bartlemy's tree staring at the ocean yet seeing it not.
So God had refused my appeal! It seemed I could not die. And presently, chancing to look down at myself in the growing light I understood the reason, for here was I armed in my shirt of mail (forgotten till now) and scowling down at this, I saw its fine, steel links scratched and scored by many blows and bedaubed here and there with blood. So then (thinks I) 'twas she had saved me alive, and in this thought found me some small solace. Hereupon I arose and went down to the sea, limping by reason of my hurt (an ugly gash above my knee) being minded to wash from me the grime and smears that fouled me. But or ever I reached the water I stopped, for there, more hateful in sun than moonlight, lay that ghastly thing that had been Humphrey. There he lay, cast up by the tide, and now, with every wave that broke, he stirred gently and moved arms and legs in wanton, silly fashion, and nodding with his shattered head as in mockery of me. So I went and, seizing hold upon the thing, swung it upon my back and, thus burdened, climbed out upon the reef (and with mighty trouble, for my strength seemed oozing out of me). Reaching a place at last where the water ran deep I paused, and with sudden, painful effort whirled the thing above my head and hove it far out, where, splashing, it fell with sullen plunge and vanished from my sight. But even so I was possessed of sudden, uneasy feeling that the thing had turned on me and was swimming back to shore, so that, drawing my knife, I must needs sit there awhile to watch if this were so indeed. At last I arose, but being come to Deliverance Sands, whirled suddenly about, expectant to behold that dead thing uprising from the surge to flap derisive arms at me. And this did I many times, being haunted thus all that day, and for many weary hours thereafter, by this dead man Humphrey. Presently, as I went heedless of all direction and the sun very hot, I began to stagger in my gait and to mutter her name to myself and presently to shouting it, until the cliffs gave back my cries and the hollow caves murmured, "Damaris! O Damaris!"
And now was a mist all about me wherein dim forms moved mocking me, and ever and anon methought to behold my lady, but dim and very far removed from me, so that sometimes I ran and oft-times I fell to moaning and shedding weak and impotent tears. Truly a black and evil day for me this, whereof I have but a vague memory save only of pain, a hopeless weariness and intolerable thirst. Thus it was sunset when I found myself once more upon that grassy plateau, creeping on hands and knees, though how I came thither I knew not. I remember drinking from the little rill and staggering within the cave, there to fall and lie filling the place with my lamentations and oft-repeated cry of "Damaris! O Damaris!" I remember a patch of silver light, a radiance that crept across the gloom, and of dreaming my lady beside me as of old, and of babbling of love and forgiveness, of pain and heartbreak, whiles I watched the beam of light creeping nigh me upon the floor; until, sobbing and moaning, yet gazing ever upon this light, I saw grow upon it a sudden dark shape that moved, heard a rustle behind me, a footstep—a cry! And knowing this for the man Humphrey come upon me at last in my weakness, I strove to rise, to turn and face him, but finding this vain, cried out upon him for murderer. "'Twas you killed her—my love—the very soul of me—'twas you, Humphrey, that are dead—come, that I may slay you again!" Then feeling his hands upon me I strove to draw my knife, but could not and groaned, and so knowledge passed from me.