"WITH A FINAL PULL THEY HAULED TOMMY OVER THE BRINK.""WITH A FINAL PULL THEY HAULED TOMMY OVER THE BRINK."
"WITH A FINAL PULL THEY HAULED TOMMY OVER THE BRINK.""WITH A FINAL PULL THEY HAULED TOMMY OVER THE BRINK."
And then overwrought nerves gave way. Elizabeth ran to Tommy, clasped her in her arms, and burst into tears. A little later, when all three girls were sitting together weeping in sympathy, Elizabeth exclaimed—
"Well, we are a lot of babies. We ought to be shouting for joy. I'm quite ashamed of myself."
"I'm not," said Mary stoutly. "I think it's a blessing we can cry a little. It eases the nerves. Boys never cry, and what's the result? They get as crabby as two sticks."
"How am I to get you two poor invalids home?" said Elizabeth. "You have done wonders, Mary, but you would be utterly done up if you tried to walk back. And Tommy certainly can't walk. We shall have to stay here for the night; fortunately, it is fine."
"Oh, no, wemustget home, Bess," said Tommy earnestly. "I could not bear to stay here after seeing that face."
"But there can't be anything to harm us," persisted Elizabeth. "I have walked round and round, miles altogether, and haven't seen a single sign of people. You are quite sure it was a human face? Mayn't it have been a monkey or an owl?"
"No, I am sure of it. You never saw such eyes, they seemed to burn like fire."
"But didn't you see a body, too?"
"No, just a face. That was what frightened me so; just a face that seemed all eyes."
Elizabeth saw that Tommy had been too much scared to take real notice of anything, and decided that for the sake of her peace of mind it would be better to make an attempt to reach home.
"Very well, then, it's a case of pick-a-back. I'll carry you. Mary must get along as well as she can. It will take us an age, but we can rest on the way."
They started, Mary carrying Elizabeth's mat, and Elizabeth carrying Tommy. Slowly and with many halts they made their way down, reaching the hut about their usual tea-time. The two elder girls had taken precautions to fill their pockets with fruit as they skirted the orange grove. They had no other fruit in the hut except cocoanuts, and Elizabeth was too worn out to think of catching fish. They satisfied themselves with a meal of fruit.
Tommy was delighted with the behaviour of her parrot, Billy. Overjoyed at the return of its mistress, it hopped upon her shoulder, cocking its head and uttering cries loud but by no means sweet.
"A welcome home, Tommy," said Elizabeth, smiling. "We can't gush, Mary and I, but we are more glad than we can say, dear, and Billy says it for us as well as he can."
Then, after Tommy's ankle had been bathed and bound up, they threw themselves on their simple couches, and, all their present anxieties set at rest, slept heavily until the sun woke them to another day.
A few days' rest, and a steady improvement in the weather, restored the invalids to their former health. The daily round went on as before—fishing, gathering fruit, ascending the cliff to take their customary look over the sea. They often talked of the face Tommy had seen. It was more mysterious than ever. Elizabeth, while her sisters were still confined to the hut, made a visit by herself to the orange grove, and determined if she saw the face to discover once for all to whom it belonged. But though she looked in every tree and bush and scoured the neighbourhood thoroughly, she never once caught sight of the face with the two burning eyes. Once she heard a rustling amongst the bushes and dashed towards the sound, but there was nothing to be seen, and she returned thoroughly baffled.
One morning when Elizabeth was preparing breakfast she heard Mary, who had gone to the look-out, shouting in great excitement. The two other girls rushed to join her, and saw far away in the offing a three-masted ship under full sail. The breeze was light, and the vessel appeared to be moving very slowly. Mary had already waved her handkerchief: the others did the same, but they soon realized that the ship was too far away for their signals to be noticed.
"Let's go after her in the boat," suggested Tommy. "They might see that moving on the water."
As there seemed just a possibility of thus attracting attention, they ran down to the beach and launched the boat. Elizabeth, being the strongest, took the sculls and pulled as hard as she could towards the opening in the reef; while Tommy steered, and Mary from time to time rose in her place and waved her handkerchief. By the time they came into the open sea the ship was almost opposite to them, sailing due west. There was no sign that they had been observed; she held steadily to her course. They shouted; Tommy put her fingers to her lips and gave a shrill whistle, an accomplishment which some of her friends at home had condemned as unladylike. But the ship stood on her way. The girls' hearts sank as they saw the distance between it and them gradually widen; and Elizabeth, who had been pulling gallantly for half-an-hour or more, at last collapsed on her oars.
They were all too much upset to speak. To have seen a vessel at last, after so many weeks of waiting, and then to be passed by, was a terrible disappointment to them. They were distressed not merely at the loss of the chance of immediate rescue, but at the staggering thought that the same thing might happen again. It was evident that the island lay out of the usual track; no vessel could ever have a reason for visiting it; and lacking the power of making effective signals they might remain there for years and years without any one ever being aware of their existence.
The light boat rocked to the long Pacific swell, and the girls battled with their tears. They strained their eyes after the dwindling vessel, hoping against hope that even yet she might change her course and come back to them. But when there was nothing but a speck on the horizon, Elizabeth, her face full of despair, took up the sculls again and began to pull slowly in silence towards home.
As the boat's head turned they were aghast to find how far distant they were from the island. The high cliffs seemed little more than a low bank: clearly they were miles away. Elizabeth, knowing that her sculling powers could not wholly account for the great distance, suddenly remembered the current. From the time the boat passed the reef it had been subject to the full strength of the ocean stream that swept the shore. They would have to row back against it, and with the sun mounting higher, and no food or water on board, they realized that they must look forward to hours of discomfort, if not actual danger.
The boat made little headway against the current, and Elizabeth had worked so hard that now she was scarcely able to move the sculls.
"Tommy, can you take my place for a little while?" she said. "I will row again after a rest."
They exchanged places, stooping low and moving very carefully. The boat lost many yards while the exchange was being made. Tommy had quite recovered her strength, and was able to take a long spell at the sculls. But progress was very slow. Elizabeth steered with the idea of getting under the shelter of the island. She noticed by and by that Tommy was tiring, and proposed to take the sculls again; but Mary pleaded to be allowed to share in the work. Thus relieving one another, they crept gradually towards the island, not daring to cease sculling altogether, and yet finding it more and more exhausting as the day grew hotter.
By almost imperceptible degrees the cliffs heightened and objects upon them became more distinct. The girl who was steering at the time encouraged the sculler by mentioning each new landmark as it became distinguishable. Recognizing that it would be hours before they could attain their own little harbour, Elizabeth decided to make for the nearest point of the shore in the hope of finding another landing-place. At last they began to benefit by the shelter of the island, and their progress became more rapid. But when, after exertions that had tried them all severely, they came out of the current into comparatively still water near the shore, they had to row for some distance before, in a cutting between the cliffs, they discovered a broad, sandy beach on which it was possible to land. Here they pulled the boat a few yards up the sand, and then hurried along the chine in search of fresh water to assuage their burning thirst.
Within a short distance of the beach the chine was covered with vegetation, among which they saw several cocoa-nut palms. To these they hastened in the hope of finding some nuts upon the ground. But there were none. Tommy looked longingly up into the trees, but it was impossible to climb them, and the girls hurried on again, expecting to find somewhere a rill trickling from the high ground to the sea.
When they had gone some distance the trees thinned, and they saw, some hundreds of yards in front of them, a sheer wall of rock, rising to a considerable height and dotted here and there with scrub.
"Do you know, I believe that's the end of the ridge," said Elizabeth, who had a shrewder eye than the others for country, and had a better notion as to the part of the island to which they had come.
"I don't care," cried Tommy; "that'swhat I want." She pointed to a sparkling waterfall that plunged over a ledge a good way to their left. They ran eagerly towards it, scrambling over impediments, and soon came to the stream which the waterfall fed. Then they threw themselves down, and gulped large draughts of the cold water. After resting for a while on the grassy bank, Elizabeth looked at her watch.
"It is past two," she said; "what a time we have been!"
"Without breakfast or dinner," said Tommy dolefully, "and no chance of supper either, as far as I can see, if we have to row back."
"Perhaps we had better walk it," suggested Elizabeth; "I've had enough rowing for one day."
"Can we find the way?" asked Mary.
"If we are near the end of the ridge, as I think we are," replied Elizabeth, "we can't go far wrong. It takes us half-an-hour or more from the ridge home, and I shouldn't think it would take us long to reach a place that we recognize."
"You mean the orange grove," said Tommy; "I won't go past it, I absolutely won't."
"Well, dear, I dare say we can go round about," said Elizabeth placably, "though I'm so tired and hungry, and I am sure you are too, that the shorter our walk the better. Let us rest a little longer until it's not quite so hot. But we mustn't stay too long, in case I am mistaken and we find ourselves lost in the dark."
About half-an-hour later they rose to make their way homeward. Elizabeth had resolved to follow up the stream until they reached the waterfall, then to strike to the left, skirting the precipice. She expected to come to the thick belt of woodland of which the orange grove was a part. Tommy did not go ahead as her custom was. Since her fright she had been a more sedate and sober Tommy.
They had gone but a short distance upstream though a fringe of trees, when all at once they halted and started back. The trees suddenly came to an end, and a few yards in front of them stood a tiny structure, which, ignorant as they were, they knew for a native hut. It was conical in shape, made apparently of grass and thatch, with a small opening only high enough to crawl through. It was placed at the foot of a slope, and the space before it had evidently been cleared by hand, for there were stumps of trees here and there.
The three girls, struck with consternation, slipped back within the shelter of the trees. Tommy clung to Elizabeth's hand. Here was confirmation of her story. It said much for her restraint, or perhaps for the renewal of her fears, that she did not turn upon Mary with a whispered "I told you so."
Elizabeth had determined if she should see a native to show a bold front and try to make friends with him. Now, though Tommy on one side and Mary on the other were pulling her back, she stood her ground, whispering, "Wait: perhaps it is deserted." But she had scarcely uttered the words when, from among the trees on the other side of the stream, about two hundred yards away, they caught sight of a native approaching. They were only aware that it was the figure of a man: all Elizabeth's bold resolutions evaporated. Without waiting to take in any details of the stranger's appearance they fled noiselessly among the trees, swerving to the left of the course they had intended to follow.
They ran until they were out of breath, glancing round fearfully every now and again. Had they been seen? Would the savage pursue them? There was no sign of pursuit, and when breathlessness forced them to walk, they stepped out quickly, not daring to speak.
They were in a part of the island utterly unfamiliar to them. Elizabeth had quite lost her bearings. The vegetation was very thick; even where it was not actual forest there were bushes in clumps, large tangled masses of creepers, and briers which, as they forced their way through, tore their clothes and scratched their hands and faces. They stumbled over obstacles at almost every step. Here and there the ground rose steeply, and the haste of their ascent made them pant for breath.
After a time Elizabeth, always quickest to recover her self-possession, began to reproach herself for giving way so easily to panic.
"What an idiot I was!" she said in a whisper. "The idea of running from a solitary creature!"
"But he was a cannibal!" said Mary.
"How do we know that? Was he the owner of your little brown face, Tommy?"
"Yes—no—I don't know," murmured Tommy. "I don't think so."
"I ought to have waited," continued Elizabeth. "We might at least have seen whether he was young or old. Why, for all we know he is a white man, cast away like ourselves."
"He had no coat on, I saw that," said Mary.
"He may be a native hermit, then. There are such people among the savages, I suppose."
"But there may be hundreds," said Tommy.
"Living in one little hut? Nonsense!"
"There may be other huts, we can't tell," said Mary. "The savage may have been coming from one of the others."
"That's true! It is more likely that the man has companions, I admit. Well, if I can't pluck up courage to go among them, we must simply take care to keep on our side of the island, and that means starvation in time. But where are we? The sun is getting low: it will be dark soon. Let us run again."
They found themselves soon entering another patch of forest, and began to be seriously alarmed at the prospect of being overtaken by night before they reached home.
Elizabeth thought it best to keep straight on, for by so doing they must come in time to the shore. But it is difficult to judge direction in the forest, and when darkness descended upon them while they were still among the trees, Elizabeth was forced to the conclusion that they had been wandering round and round all the time.
"It's of no use, girls," she said; "we can never find our way in the dark. We shall have to stay here for the night."
They had been without food all day. Utterly worn out by hunger, exertion and alarm, they huddled together at the foot of a tree and fell into an uneasy sleep. Several times during the night they were disturbed by slight noises in the brushwood around them, or in the trees overhead. But nothing happened to alarm them, and when dawn glimmered through the trees they rose, a haggard and sorry trio, and set off once more to find a way home.
Only a few minutes' walk uphill brought them to the ridge, from which they could see the orange grove. They were so desperately hungry and thirsty that they were ready to face all hazards for the sake of some fruit. They hurried to the grove, snatched up a few oranges and bananas, and devoured them as they continued on their homeward way.
When they reached their hut, their feeling of security was alloyed by the distressing thought that they had lost their boat. The savages, whose settlement was near the cove at which they had landed, and who probably appropriated the fruits of the cocoa-nut palms there, would certainly discover the boat drawn up on the beach. The girls had always regarded it as a last refuge; they could always use it to row out to any ship that came reasonably near, if they failed to attract the attention of those on board in any other way. They felt that its disappearance very likely doomed them to a lifelong imprisonment on the island, and their hearts were heavy as lead. Not being without imagination, they had often in their secret thoughts looked into the future, and seen themselves growing older, falling ill, one or the other of them dying; and the possibility of being the last survivor, shut up in this ocean prison-house without human companionship, filled each of them with terror.
With the morning common-sense asserted itself.
"We shall be perfect ninnies if we don't try to get back our boat," said Elizabeth. "I've been thinking a good deal in the night, and the more I think the more convinced I am that there can't be many natives on the island. Why should they keep to themselves so? Why don't they ever come to this part? If only I could cease being a coward for five minutes I'd brave them. Anyhow we ought to walk back to the place we landed at yesterday and bring our boat away. It mayn't have been discovered yet."
"But suppose it has been discovered?" said Mary.
"They'd probably leave it on the shore. If we walk over there this evening and get there about dark, we might steal it away. It's our own property."
"I don't want to go near the place," said Tommy. "Besides, we might lose our way."
"Not if we walk over the cliffs," replied Elizabeth. "We have never tried that. The woods are thick, but we might find the walk easier than we think. At any rate, it would be shorter than going all round by the ridge. You see, Tommy, we need not go near the hut at all. Don't come if you feel nervous. Mary and I can row the boat back."
"No, I won't be left. If you go I go too. If we don't see the boat where we left it, you won't go any farther, will you?"
"I won't if it is not in sight," said Elizabeth, "but if it is anywhere within reach it would be silly not to try to get it. We want some fish badly. Let's go fishing this morning, and rest all the afternoon, so as to be fresh for our walk."
So it was arranged, but the plan had to be modified. While Tommy and Mary were fishing from the rocks, it occurred to Elizabeth to climb to the cliff top and see if the way she suggested was practicable. She was disappointed. Not only was the forest dense, and the undergrowth an almost impenetrable mass of thorny thicket, but the ground was much broken by fissures and small crevasses, so that, instead of being easier than the route across the island, this way promised to be longer and much more troublesome.
When she returned to her sisters she found them cheerful over a finer catch than usual. Taking advantage of their high spirits she told them the result of her expedition, and employed all her persuasiveness to induce them to attempt the route by the ridge. She overcame Tommy's reluctance, and then tactfully dropped the subject, hoping that the young girl's courage would not ooze away before it was time to start.
About four o'clock, after making a good meal, they set off, Tommy exacting a promise that Elizabeth would turn back at the least sign of danger. They walked quickly until they had crossed the ridge; then, avoiding the orange grove, they struck off more directly to the east, moving more slowly, and with many a cautious glance around.
"We ought to come above the waterfall by and by," said Elizabeth in a whisper.
Her sense of locality had not deceived her. In a few minutes they heard the musical plashing of the water. Keeping this sound on their right, they went on, guessing that the native hut must be at some distance below them, nearer the sea. As they went on, in silence, they came suddenly to what appeared to be the opening of a large cave in the face of the cliff. They shrank back, wondering if this was a dwelling of some of the inhabitants; but taking courage from the perfect stillness they ventured to pass the opening and continued their descent towards the sea.
Presently, round a bend of the cliff, they saw the native hut, nestling at the foot of the rocky precipice, two or three hundred yards away. The sun was very near its setting, and its last rays being intercepted by the high ground in the centre of the island, the light was already dim at the point at which they had arrived. To gain the cove they would have to descend a little lower and then cross through a clump of trees. As they approached this, Tommy, whose keen eyes were restlessly searching the neighbourhood, declared that she had caught sight of a small figure flitting among the trees beyond the hut. They all halted and gazed anxiously towards the spot she pointed out; but no form, human or otherwise, was now to be seen. There was the hut just as they had seen it before, but no person was visible, nor even the smoke of a fire.
Fearing that it would be quite dark before they reached the cove they hurried on. The remaining distance was greater than Elizabeth had supposed, and the clump of trees more extensive. As they passed through this, the hut now being hidden from sight, they were more circumspect than ever. At last they reached the end of it, and halting for another look round, they hastened on towards the sandy beach where they had left the boat.
It was not many minutes before they saw, with a pang of disappointment, that the boat was certainly not where it had been.
"Let's go back," whispered Tommy; "you know you promised."
"But there is no danger yet, child," replied Elizabeth somewhat impatiently. "We might at least see if it is anywhere about."
She went on in advance of the others, and almost shouted for joy when she caught sight of the boat drawn up in a snug little recess. She beckoned the girls to join her, and as they came up, pointed with some excitement to a small native canoe that lay a few feet beyond their own boat. Tommy gave a startled gasp.
"There are savages," she whispered; "oh, do let us go. I know we shall be caught."
"We won't go without the boat," said Elizabeth fiercely. "Quick! It's bound to make a scraping sound as we drag it down; but it's very near the water, and before any one can reach us from the hut we shall be afloat."
With nervous energy they drew the boat down to the water, sprang into it, and, in a state of fearful joy, Elizabeth began to pull from the shore.
"Steer close in, Tommy," she said, "or we shall be in the current. There's only half-an-hour of daylight left, but if I pull hard we shall be home almost as soon as it is dark. Mind the rocks."
Mary, the only unoccupied member of the party, kept her eyes fixed on the shore.
"I see some one," she called suddenly; "there, just by those cocoa-nuts."
Tommy turned quickly. In the gathering dusk she was unable at first to see the object to which Mary pointed; but presently she distinguished, peeping round the stem of a palm not fifty yards away, a little brown face surmounted by a mop of very black hair.
"There it is," she cried, "the same that I saw before. Pull hard, Bess; they'll be after us in their canoe."
Elizabeth suspected that the native craft would be much speedier than their own little tub, and, fearful of pursuit, plied her sculls lustily. As the boat drew away, the head moved; a shoulder appeared; then a complete body, which came slowly down to the edge of the shore.
"I believe it's a girl!" exclaimed Mary.
But in the fading light it was impossible to see distinctly, and they had no temptation to delay, even though Mary's exclamation had aroused their curiosity. The figure was soon completely out of sight. Tommy had to keep all her attention fixed on the task of steering, for they had never rowed along this part of the shore, which was much broken by projecting rocks.
"Are you sure it was not the man we saw before?" asked Elizabeth.
"I don't think it was," said Mary. "It seemed smaller. I wonder if it was a girl?"
"We are making surprising discoveries," said Elizabeth. "No one is chasing us, at any rate. Can we have been scared all this time by a girl?"
Tommy said nothing. The figure had appeared to be about her own height. Was it possible that the little brown face which had so much frightened her, and which she had seen with horror in her dreams, belonged to a young girl like herself? She felt a strange longing to know.
The improvement in the weather was only temporary, and for several days the girls were kept at home by the heavy rains. They talked a good deal about their discovery. There appeared to be at least two natives on the island; how many more they were unable to guess. Having themselves been seen, they felt that they could no longer owe their safety to the ignorance of the inhabitants; but the bad weather might discourage any attempt to seek them out. Whether they would escape attack when the rain ceased was a problem that caused much anxiety.
Early one morning a hurricane swept over the island, not so devastating as its predecessor, but violent enough to make them fear for the safety of their hut. This time, however, the wind blew from a different quarter, and the girls' frail dwelling, being sheltered by the high ground behind, escaped damage. The storm lasted a few hours, and was then succeeded by a day of brilliant sunshine. The girls took advantage of this to replenish their larder. While Tommy and Elizabeth were fishing, Mary posted herself as sentry to give the alarm if the natives appeared. They feared that the precaution would avail them little if they were really attacked, for they had no means of defence; but it might at least give them time to escape for the moment by launching the boat. They were undisturbed, however: and when the day closed they rejoiced in one more respite.
Next morning Tommy, on going down to the beach, was surprised to see a canoe, apparently empty, drifting past the reef. It flashed upon her that this might be the canoe they had seen up the coast, and that it had been washed away, like their own boat, by the recent storm.
She ran up to the hut to tell her sisters what she had seen, and all three hurried down to the shore.
"Let's row out and catch it," cried Tommy excitedly. "I should love to learn to paddle a native canoe, and I dare say in time we could make it go along faster than our own dinghy."
"You want to capture an enemy's ship," said Elizabeth, with a smile. "I don't see any reason why we shouldn't. But we'll take some food and water this time. After our last adventure I don't care about voyaging without provisions."
Tommy ran back to the hut for some fruit and cold fish, while Mary filled their water-pots at the stream. Having placed them in the boat they rowed out towards the reef. By the time they were afloat the canoe had drifted out into the main current, and was being carried rapidly away. The sea was calm, and Elizabeth's vigorous strokes brought the boat in twenty minutes or so within a few yards of the canoe.
Suddenly Mary, who had been keeping a look-out in the boat, uttered a startled exclamation.
"Bess, I believe there's some one lying in it."
Elizabeth at once lay on her oars.
"Row back!" whispered Tommy. "It's one of the savages. He's hiding to decoy us, or something."
Elizabeth's common-sense asserted itself.
"That's not likely," she said. "How would he suppose that we should row out? and we couldn't get away now if we tried if he has a paddle. If he hasn't he can't do us much harm. Now's the best chance we have of making friends."
"Don't, Bess!" whispered Tommy anxiously, as Elizabeth dipped the oars again.
But Elizabeth was firm, and with a few strokes brought the boat alongside the canoe. Not a sound had come from it.
"It's a girl!" exclaimed Mary, now that she could see more clearly the bottom of the canoe.
Tommy gave a gasp. Was she to behold the owner of the little brown face at last? Elizabeth no longer hesitated. She drew close to the canoe, shipped oars, and laid a hand on the side.
The girls looked down with a sort of awed curiosity. In the bottom of the boat lay a native girl—a brown-skinned pretty little creature, with a string of what looked like teeth around her neck, and a yellow kerchief about her waist. She was perfectly still; her eyes were closed.
"She's dead!" whispered Tommy, whose eyes were dilated with excitement.
Elizabeth leant over and placed her hand under the child's breast.
"No, she is alive," she said, "but her heart is beating very faintly. Some water, Mary—quick!"
It was impossible, placed as she was, to pour any water into the girl's mouth; but Elizabeth sprinkled a little on her head. After a time the girl stirred, opened her eyes and moved her lips, but no sound came from them, and in a moment her eyelids again drooped.
"She's absolutely done," said Elizabeth. "We'll tow the canoe home. Tommy, fasten the painter. The poor child's very bad."
The boat's head was turned, and Elizabeth rowed as hard as she could against the current. Fortunately, they had not come very far beyond the gap in the reef. When the boat reached the still water it travelled much faster, and within an hour of leaving they regained the shore. During this time Tommy had thrown an occasional glance over her shoulder at the prostrate girl. Once she caught the child's eyes fixed upon her, and felt a thrill as she recognized them; they were the same as she had seen peering at her out of the bush. She felt no fear now, but a longing to help the little stranger and know more about her.
When they had landed and drawn the boat up, they lifted the girl and carried her among them to the hut. Her eyes opened during the journey, and she shivered; but she did not speak or struggle, and indeed hung so limply in their arms that they feared she was past help.
"On my bed, please," said Tommy, when they reached the hut.
They laid her gently down, and Elizabeth poured a little cocoa-nut milk between her lips. She now gave signs of animation, swallowed the juice greedily, and looked with the eyes of a timid fawn from one to another of the three girls. Presently she murmured a few words; her voice was plaintive and pleading.
"Don't be frightened," said Elizabeth soothingly.
The words seemed to startle the child. She tried to rise, but was too weak to move.
"She must have been adrift a long time to be in this terrible state," said Elizabeth. "I wonder how it happened?"
"Poor thing," murmured Tommy. "What a sweet little face she has!"
"Hush!" said Elizabeth, "our voices frighten her. Of course she doesn't understand what we say. I think you had better leave her to me for a little while. I'll feed her, and she'll see by and by that we mean her no harm."
Tommy's face wore for an instant a look of defiance, but she got the better of her inclination to rebel, and with Mary left the hut. Elizabeth remained with the little stranger, feeding her at frequent intervals, bathing her head, occasionally murmuring a word of encouragement. Her gentleness was effective. Presently the look of fright vanished from the brown girl's eyes—large, liquid eyes that Elizabeth found wonderfully attractive. Once she timidly stroked Elizabeth's strong firm hand, and at last, with a faint smile, she dropped off to sleep.
"She's asleep," said Elizabeth, quietly going forth to join her sisters. "What an extraordinary thing to happen!"
"Look here, Bess," said Tommy fiercely, "if you think you're going to keep her to yourself you are jolly well mistaken. I saw her first; you wouldn't believe me; and now I'm going to look after her, so there!"
"Instead of the parrot?" Mary could not help saying.
Elizabeth frowned at her.
"Very well, dear," she said pleasantly. "She's a little younger than you, I should think, but I dare say she will like you to mother her. But what will happen? Won't her friends come and look for her?"
"And if they do, and find we have treated her kindly, they'll just love us," said Tommy.
The other girls were amazed at Tommy's complete change of attitude. Her fearfulness seemed to have been quite swallowed up in another emotion. The discovery that the native of whom she had been so needlessly frightened was a girl more helpless than herself filled her with a kind of rapture. She stepped softly into the hut, and seeing that the child was still asleep, placed a peeled orange beside her mat, where it must be seen as soon as she awoke.
"I wonder if we ought to go to the native hut and try to explain to her people that the girl is safe," said Elizabeth, as they sat on the grass eating their dinner.
"Certainly not," said Tommy decisively. "I dare say they were cruel to her, and the poor thing was glad to get away."
"What an imagination you have!" said Elizabeth, smiling. "For all you know, her mother may be broken-hearted."
"I don't believe it. Anyhow, she's too weak to go home, and we shall soon see if she wants to. I'll talk to her by and by, and I know she'll be quite pleased to stay with us."
Remembering Tommy's ill-success with the parrot, the elder girls were amused at her confident belief that she would make the child talk, and understand what she said. Indeed, when, later in the day, the girl awoke, and Tommy went to attend to her, the first attempt at opening communications was a complete failure. By way of putting the little patient at her ease, Tommy grinned at her, patted her head, nodded, pointed to herself and said "Me Tommy," with the result that the child shrank away from her as if scared. When she realized that she had nothing to fear, she gazed upon the white girl with wide-open eyes and the same wondering look as may be seen on the face of a child watching a conjurer.
The ravenous way in which she ate the food given to her confirmed the girls' belief that she was half-starved. She rapidly gained strength, and it became clear that her weakness was due to hunger and not to illness. She began to talk, pouring out her words in liquid tones that fell pleasantly on the English ears. When she saw how puzzled the girls were she laughed; then, with a sober look of reflection, pointed to herself and said "Me Tommee" so drolly that the girls screamed with laughter.
Just before sunset, when the girls came into the hut for the night, they sat eating their supper and talking about their dusky guest. She knew by instinct that she was the subject of their conversation, and looked timidly from one to another, watching their lips, her features reflecting every expression on their faces.
Tommy gave her some baked fish for supper, and then prepared to "tuck her up," as she said, with her own wraps; but the girl rejected the covering and coiled herself up like a dog.
Next morning she got up and followed them when they went down to the shore for their usual bath. She seemed to be astonished at the whiteness of their skin, and amused them very much by scrubbing herself with sand, to see if she could make her brown body resemble theirs. She watched every detail of their toilet with intense interest, and when she saw them comb their hair she held out her hand for the comb.
"Don't give it to her, Tommy," said Mary, looking with distaste at the girl's greasy mop.
"Rubbish!" said Tommy. "We can wash it afterwards."
But even Tommy regretted her generosity when, after being vigorously tugged through the thick matted hair, the comb was restored to her with several of its teeth missing.
"My word!" she exclaimed. "Fancy breaking wooden teeth! My poor old pony's mane was nothing to her thatch."
After breakfast the girl followed them about like a dog. They noticed that she looked about her eagerly, as though searching for some recognizable landmark. But she evinced no desire to leave them, and indeed soon became tired; her strength was not yet equal to much exertion. The girls all sat on the grass with the child in the midst.
"Let's try to find out her name," suggested Mary.
"Let me try," said Tommy. Pointing to Elizabeth, she said "Bess," repeating the name several times. Then she touched Mary, pronouncing her name, and lastly herself.
"Me Tommee," said the girl, laughing delightedly.
"Tommy," said her instructor, "not 'me,' just Tommy."
"Me Tommee," repeated the girl; then after a moment pointed to Mary, saying "Mailee," and to Elizabeth, calling her "Bess," with a long sibilant.
"Now you," said Tommy, pointing to the girl herself.
She at once recognized what was required and said, "Fangati."
"What a pretty name!" said Elizabeth.
"I wonder how she spells it," remarked Mary.
At this Tommy shrieked.
"She doesn't spell at all, you goose!" she said; "of course she never learnt her letters."
And then the laugh was on Mary's side, for Fangati, as if thoroughly enjoying the fun, touched Tommy's hand, saying "Me Tommee," over and over again.
"You'll be 'Me Tommee' always now," said Elizabeth. "You should have used correct English, my dear."
"I don't care," said Tommy philosophically. "Anyhow, she can't say Mary. Try again, Fangati," she added, pointing to her sister.
"Mailee," cried the child, showing her teeth in a pretty smile. "Bess, Mailee, Me Tommee."
To make quite sure that they had her name correctly, Tommy walked to a little distance until she was out of sight among the trees, and then called "Fangati!" in her shrill treble. The girl instantly jumped to her feet, and ran after her.
"Well done," said Tommy, patting her. "You are a perfect dear, and I'm going to be very fond of you."
The girls were much surprised that Fangati seemed perfectly content to remain with them, and showed no disposition to return to her friends. At first they put this down to lack of strength, thinking that the child had the prudence not to attempt to cross the island until there was no risk of breaking down. But in a few days, when Fangati was as vigorous and lively as a healthy young animal, this explanation was no longer tenable.
They were almost equally surprised that, so far as they could tell, no search had been made for her. For some days they kept pretty close to the neighbourhood of the hut, in some fear that their possession of Fangati might turn to their disadvantage if the natives discovered her. To be suspected of kidnapping her might bring down upon them the wrath of her friends. But when everything went on as before, they lost their timidity, and made longer and longer excursions from the hut.
Fangati accompanied them everywhere. They had taught her a few words, and could make her understand by signs or otherwise what they wanted her to do. Their life was so simple that there were few ways in which she could help them. She laughed when she saw their manner of fishing, but did not offer to show them the native method. She was content with things as they were.
One day when she had gone with them into the woodland to fetch food, she gathered a number of large yellowish-green fruits which they girls had often looked at longingly but which they had never ventured to eat for fear of poison. She handed the fruit to them, and made signs to them to eat. Seeing their hesitation, she dug her strong teeth into the hard rind, quickly pulled it off, and showing the juicy pulp, bright yellow in colour, began to suck it with enjoyment. At this the girls followed her example.
"It is delicious," cried Tommy, the juice dripping from her lips. "What donkeys we were not to try it before! The bother is, there isn't enough of it; there's a monstrous big stone in the middle. I wonder what it is?"
The fruit was the mango, which they had known hitherto only in the bottles of chutney which their uncle had brought from India. Their pleasure at the discovery of a new fruit impelled Fangati to make further additions to their menu. As they passed through the woodland on their way home, she stopped among some creepers trailing along the ground, seized a stick, and began to dig with it. The girls watched her curiously. After a little she turned up some tubers that looked something like potatoes, and lifted them, chattering incomprehensibly, and pointing to her mouth.
"I believe they are yams," said Mary; "they are very good to eat."
"Then we'll boil some for dinner," said Elizabeth. "What a useful little thing Fangati is turning out!"
They took home a few of the roots, and came back in the afternoon with the boat-hook, with which, however, they dug up the roots no faster than Fangati with the stick.
Another day, when they went for cocoanuts and failed to find any on the ground, Fangati pointed to some nuts clustering among the foliage fifty feet above the ground, and made signs to them to climb up for them. They shook their heads, whereupon she laughed, ran to one of the trees, clasped her hands about the slender stem, and began, as it seemed to the girls, to walk up it. They held their breath as she nimbly mounted, and were not easy in mind until, after throwing down several nuts, she slid to the ground again, laughing with glee.
"Her backbone must be made of india-rubber," declared Tommy. "I must try that way."
"No, I won't allow it," said Elizabeth firmly. "It's not worth while to risk a broken back. Fangati can get us all we want."
Fangati introduced them to several other edible plants, of which they never learnt the English names. The greater variety of food was very acceptable, and though their health had been good, except for Mary's touch of fever, they all declared that they felt better than ever since Fangati came. No doubt they owed as much to their new interest in life as to their change of food.
They had not of late walked to the ridge. But one day when the oranges near them had given out, they decided to make an excursion to the orange grove where Tommy had first seen Fangati. When they came near the crest a sudden change in Fangati's demeanour astonished them. Hitherto she had been as merry as possible, finding cause for laughter in everything. But all at once she stopped dead, gave a cry, uttered the word "tapu," and fled away with every sign of terror.
The girls were amazed at her alarm, and looked about for some explanation of it, half expecting to see some hideous savage approaching with uplifted club. But all that was in sight were the unvarying features of the landscape, and the row of posts with their rags of pennants.
They hurried after Fangati, and tried with the little stock of native words she had taught them, and the few English words she had learnt, to elicit the explanation of her terror. She explained fluently enough, but the only word they caught, because of its constant repetition, was "tapu."
"That's the same as taboo, I think," said Mary. "It means something sacred, but I can't make out what could be sacred there. It's so strange, too, because we were quite near the orange grove, and she was not frightened then—unless she was frightened of you, Tommy."
"I dare say she was," said Tommy; "we were both frightened, but we are good friends now, aren't we, Fangati?"
"Me Tommee plend," said the girl.
"Are we going back without any oranges?" asked Elizabeth.
"Why should we?" exclaimed Tommy. "Come along, Fangati."
She led the way towards the ridge again, but Fangati stood and waved her arms, crying "tapu" again and again.
"Evidently she won't cross the ridge," said Elizabeth; "but we can get to the orange grove by going round. Perhaps she will come with us then."
Striking off at an angle with the ridge, they found that Fangati accompanied them willingly. She soon recovered her wonted high spirits. They made their way through the undergrowth, and presently came to an open glade, beyond which lay the orange grove.
Here they were again surprised to see signs of great excitement in Fangati's face. The girl stood still for a few moments, looking about her eagerly; then, uttering a little cry, she darted away, and in a second or two was lost to view.
"Now what's that mean?" cried Mary.
"There's only one explanation," said Elizabeth. "She recognizes the place as being near her home, and she has run away to her friends."
"Oh! what idiots we are!" cried Tommy. "This was the last place we should have brought her to. Now we've lost her!"
"Well, dear," said Elizabeth, "I have often wondered whether we were right in keeping her. She belongs to her own people, you know, and not to us."
"But she didn't want to leave us. And they don't care a dump about her, or they'd have come for her long before this. I'm sure she was much happier with us than with nasty savages."
"Yet she has left us now," remarked Mary. "They can't be dreadfully horrid to her."
"Couldn't you fetch her back, Bess?" asked Tommy.
"I shouldn't much care about it," replied Elizabeth. "After all, we don't know what trouble we might be running into. Perhaps she will come back to us herself."
After taking some oranges they returned to their own side of the island by way of the ridge. Tommy was disconsolate. All the sisters had become fond of Fangati, but there was a special tie between her and Tommy, and she was more often with Tommy than with the others.
For the next two days they talked about little else than Fangati's defection. They walked up to the orange grove, in the hope that she would reappear, but returned without a sight of the little brown face they had learned to love. Her departure had left a strange blank; they felt that something had gone out of their life. Until then they had not realized how much she had added to their happiness.
On the third morning after breakfast they were "washing-up" outside the hut—so they called the clearing away of banana skins, fish bones, and pieces of shell—when they suddenly caught sight of two figures moving among the trees some little distance away. They sprang to their feet in alarm. A second glance told them that the figures were those of natives; and, struck with the idea, that the savages were stealthily approaching to attack them, they began to run up-stream toward a patch of thick undergrowth where they could hide.
But they had only taken a few paces when there was a shrill cry of "Me Tommee!" They halted hesitatingly, to see Fangati flying towards them, and her companion standing still at the edge of the woodland.
When Fangati was within a few yards, Tommy, able to restrain herself no longer, rushed forward and clasped the brown girl in her arms, kissing her again and again. Fangati laughed; she laughed at everything; then, hand in hand with Tommy, ran to the other girls, chattering excitedly. She pointed to the solitary native, who had not moved, smiled, patted her own head, threw herself down and clasped Elizabeth's feet, ran a little way, and then came back looking behind her.
"I think she wants to know if she may bring this other one," said Mary.
"And she wants to make us understand that we shan't be harmed," said Tommy. "Let her go, Bess."
"We gain nothing by refusing, so she may as well," said Elizabeth.
She waved her hands toward the second native, and Fangati, who had been watching her wistfully, bounded off with a gay laugh.
The girls awaited her return with mixed feelings. They were glad to see Fangati again, but they did not much desire the acquaintance of a strange native. They did not yet know whether it was a man or woman. This doubt, however, was resolved in a few minutes. Scanning the approaching couple anxiously, they saw that Fangati's companion was a grey, shrunken old man, apparently feeble, for he moved slowly and leant on the girl for support.
"I believe it's the man we saw at the native hut," said Mary.
"Not much to be afraid of, after all," said Tommy. "He looks hardly strong enough to kill a fly."
"How shall we speak to him?" said Elizabeth.
"It will be rather a pantomime," rejoined Tommy. "Be very grave and dignified, Bess. Impress him with your importance, Queen Bess, monarch of all she surveys."
"Don't be ridiculous, Tommy," said Elizabeth, feeling it was no time for jesting. The old man certainly looked harmless enough, but she was by no means easy in mind.
After what seemed a long time, Fangati led the man up to the girls.
"Bess, Mailee, Me Tommee," she said, pointing to each in turn.
The old man made a salutation, and the girls looked at him with interest. His face and every visible part of his body was hideously tattooed, his thin bare legs looking as if they were covered with indigo-blue stockings. A stick was thrust cross-wise through his mop of grizzled hair. Certainly he was not a prepossessing object.
The girls were wondering what they ought to do, when they were surprised to hear the man address them.
"I speak Inglis," he said; "I Maku. Good-day all-same velly much."
Tommy turned aside so that her smile should not irritate or offend.
Elizabeth, with admirable composure, said—
"How do you do, Mr. Maku! Fangati is your granddaughter, I suppose?"
It was at once clear that Maku's English was not very abundant. The word grand-daughter puzzled him. He looked at Fangati dully; then his eyes suddenly brightened.
"Fangati, he my son chile," he said. "He velly good chile. He get plenty piecee me eat. To-mollow he go; I velly solly, eh! eh! I cly."
Elizabeth in her turn was puzzled, and it was Mary who first saw the old man's meaning.
"He says that Fangati got him plenty to eat, but disappeared one day, and he was very sorry, and cried."
"No wonder, poor old man!" cried Tommy. "He looks half-starved. There's no one else living in their hut, then?"
"Have you wife, children, friends?" asked Elizabeth.
The old man shook his head.
"Wife he dead long-timey. Chil'en big long way." He waved his arm to indicate distance. "Plen: ah! mikinaly he plen; he all-same gone away; eh! eh! all-same dead."
From this Mary made out that he had a missionary friend who had gone away and might now be dead.
A few more questions satisfied the girls that, as far as he knew, there were no more natives on the island except himself and his granddaughter. Intensely relieved on this score, they were ready to be hospitable, and to Fangati's delight, invited the man to come towards their hut and talk to them.
Seated on the ground in front of the hut with the girls in the entrance, the old man related a story of which they understood little at the time. It was some few days before Mary, thinking over what he had said, and puzzling about it, arrived at something like a coherent narrative. Even then she was only partially successful. What he had tried to explain in his scanty English was as follows.
He had been chief of a small island a day's paddling to the eastward. It was remote from the usual trade-tracks, and for this reason had remained longer in heathendom and cannibalism than most of the Pacific Islands. But a white missionary had at last come and taken up his abode on the island, by whose skill in medicine, earnest teaching, and noble character, Maku and some of his sons had been won over.
There were certain soothsayers among the people, who hated the new teacher when they found their influence with the chief gone. Working on the superstitions of the islanders, they secretly stirred up a revolt. But for the quickness of Fangati he would have been attacked and killed. She discovered what was going on, informed her grandfather, and persuaded him to put to sea by night in a canoe, with the intention of paddling to an island to the southward, where Maku would find friends. Forced out of their course by wind and current, they were nearly exhausted when by good fortune they found themselves on the shore of this island. They landed, erected a hut, and had since lived there, not caring to risk another voyage, and finding abundance of food.
Maku could not say how long he had been on the island, nor were the girls able to discover whether his arrival had preceded or succeeded theirs. He told them that one day Fangati, who had been to gather fruit, reported that she had seen white people. Though he thought she must be mistaken, he bade her run away at once if she saw any one again, white or brown. He did not like white people. Since they came to the Pacific the brown people had not been happy. They had been forced to work; some had been taken from their own islands and carried away to toil on distant plantations; new diseases had been brought among them. He had one friend among the white people—the "mikinaly"; he was a good man and did good things. He had taught Maku English.
True, Fangati had said that the strangers she had seen were women; but Maku could not believe that white women could have come to this island without white men. And he was desperately afraid of being betrayed to the ill-disposed mystery men among his own people; for before he had been long on the island he discovered that it was the scene of certain ceremonies conducted by these mystery men. At long intervals, before he became a Christian, he had himself accompanied his people in solemn expeditions to the island. The accession of a new chief was celebrated with special rites; years and years before, in his heathen days, his own accession had been marked by a great cannibal feast. He was much afraid that white people might sell him to his revolted tribesmen, who would make him a victim.
When Fangati disappeared he was convinced that she had been captured by the white people, and he would never see her again. He missed her very much, for, being old and infirm, he depended almost entirely on her for his food. But when she suddenly returned and told him how she had been carried out to sea while fishing, and how the white women had rescued her and treated her kindly, he felt that he must make his presence known to them, and especially warn them of their danger.
At this Elizabeth asked anxiously what danger was likely to assail them. The man hesitated. Now that it had come to the point he seemed to be unwilling to say more. But at length he explained that the spot at which they had landed was the usual landing-place of his people when they came to visit the island, and all the ground between it and the ridge was tapu. He struggled with his imperfect English in trying to make clear to the girls what that meant. They understood at last that their side of the island was sacred; its grounds were only to be trodden when the people came to hold their ceremonies, and anybody trespassing upon it would incur the wrath of the mystery men, and bring down upon themselves a terrible punishment. The forbidden ground was marked off from the rest of the island by a line of poles set upon the ridge. Maku confessed that he himself felt very uneasy at having violated the tapu; and Elizabeth, questioning him, found that beneath his recently assumed Christianity there lay a deep stratum of superstition. When the "mikinaly" was with him tapu had no horrors for him; but the missionary had left his island some time before the rising took place, and with the removal of his influence the chief had relapsed to some extent into the superstitions of his early manhood.
The girls were not at first much alarmed at what he told them. But when he added that his people would certainly choose another chief in his place, and come to the island for the usual inaugural ceremonies, the thought of being discovered by the savages at such a time filled them with dread. Their hut lay in the direct path of the procession to the ridge; it could not escape detection, and they trembled at the idea of falling into the hands of people who might be worked up to religious frenzy by their mystery men. To violate the tapu would be bad enough for a brown man; it would be worse for white people.
Maku made a suggestion. Let them dismantle the hut, he said, destroy all traces of their occupation, and remove to the other side of the island, where at least they would not have to reckon with the anger of the mystery men at finding them on forbidden ground. The girls discussed the suggestion earnestly, and decided to follow his advice. It gave them a pang to pull down the little home to which they had become accustomed: but they lost no time in setting about it, carrying the material down to the boat. Meanwhile, the old man and Fangati scattered the stones of their oven, and tried to obliterate the signs of habitation. Maku shook his head when he saw the bleached grass on what had been the floor of the hut. Even in this land of quick growth it must take some time before so tell-tale an evidence was done away.
It was decided that Elizabeth and Mary should row the boat round to Maku's landing-place with the canoe in tow, while Tommy walked with the old man across the island. The chief did not follow the long route up the stream by which the girls had reached the ridge, but took a more slanting course through a wild and rugged region which they had never explored. As they were crossing the ridge he pointed out to Tommy in the distance the entrance to the great cave in which the ceremonies of his tribe were conducted. Tommy shivered; the thought of wild men engaged in mysterious rites terrified her imagination. Choosing a steep path that wound down the eastern side of the ridge, Maku led the two young girls to the open space near the waterfall, and in a few minutes reached his hut. He and Fangati at once began to rig up near by a temporary shelter for the English girls, and it was almost finished by the time Elizabeth and Mary arrived.
The girls were provided by their new friends with an excellent meal of fish, breadfruit and other fruits, some of which were strange to them. Immediately afterwards, Maku and his granddaughter set to work to build them a hut in the native fashion. Elizabeth doubted whether they would like a house which must be inevitably close and stuffy with a doorway only high enough to crawl through. Their own hut had been fresh and breezy. But it seemed better to let the natives have their way. They would build much faster than the English girls; and if strange natives should make their appearance in this part of the island, they would not be rendered suspicious as they might be if they saw a hut so different from what they were accustomed to.
The girls slept in their temporary shelter that night. They had lost their fear of savage neighbours, but this had been replaced by a new fear of possible visitors from beyond. Tommy had asked Maku during their walk whether there was any chance of a ship coming to the island.
"No ship," he answered. "No come this side. Melican ship come one time, my place; mikinaly come in Melican ship; all-same, no mo'e."