Captain Trigger and a dozen men stood on the boat deck with guns and revolvers, facing several hundred sullen, determined men and women from the steerage. Night had not yet fallen; the shadow of the hills, however, was reaching half way across the oval pool; gloom impenetrable had settled on the wooded shores.
With the striking of the Doraine, nearly every one on board was hurled to the decks. As she heeled over five or six degrees in settling herself among the rocks, a panic ensued among the ignorant people of the steerage. They scrambled to their feet and made a rush for the boats, shouting and screaming in their terror. Other passengers were trampled under foot and sailors standing by the davits were hurled aside.
Captain Trigger, anticipating just such a stampede, rushed up with members of the gun crew. The gaunt, broken old master of the Doraine drove the horde back from the boats, but as he stood there haranguing them in good maritime English he could see plainly enough that they were not to be so easily subdued. The first panic was over, but they were crazed by the fear that had gripped them for days; they believed that the ship was soon to sink beneath their feet; safety lay not more than a hundred yards away,—and it was being denied them by this heartless, unfeeling despot.
They were mainly low-caste Portuguese bound for Rio and Bahia, and they had obeyed him through all those tortuous days out on the deep where he was the shepherd and they the flock. But now,—now they could well afford to turn upon and rend him, for he had brought them safe to land and they no longer owed him anything!
“My God, I don't want to shoot any of them,” groaned the Captain, steadying himself against the rail. “But they've got guns, and they're crazy. I—”
Some one touched his arm, and a firm, decisive voice spoke in his ear.
“I'm used to handling gangs like this, Captain Trigger. They don't understand you, but they'll damn soon understand me, if you'll turn the job over to me. I'm not trying to be officious, sir, and I'm not even hinting that you can't bring 'em to their senses. I know how to handle 'em and you don't, that's all. They're not sailors, you see. And it isn't mutiny. They need a boss, sir,—that's what they need. And they need him damned quick, so if you don't mind saying the word,—they're ready to make a rush, and if—”
“Go ahead, Percival,—if you can hold them—”
“Say no more!” shouted Percival, and stepped resolutely forward. His hands were bare,—swollen, red and ugly; his eyes were as cold as steel, his voice as sharp as a keen-edged sword. He spoke in Spanish to the wavering, threatening horde.
“You damned, sneaking, low-lived cowards! What sort of swine are you? Have you no thought for the women you've trampled upon and beaten out of your path,—your own women, as well as the others,—think of them and ask yourselves if you are men. I'm in command of this ship now, and, by God, I'm going to let you get into those boats and start for shore. Don't cheer! You don't know what's coming to you. I'm going to turn that cannon on you up there and blow every one of you to hell and gone before you get fifty feet from the side of this ship. You don't believe that, eh? Well, that's exactly what I'm going to do. Lieutenant Platt!” He called over his shoulder in English to the young commander of the gun's crew. “Get some of your men up there and train that gun so as to blow these boats to smithereens. Quick!” In a half-whisper to the Captain: “It's all right. I know what I'm talking about.” Then to the crowd: “We don't want you on board this ship a minute longer than we can help. We've got no room for dogs here among decent white men and women. Do you understand that? We don't want to have anything more to do with you, either here or on shore. I'm going to wipe you out, every damned one of you,—men women and children. You're not fit to live. You're going to climb into those boats now and get off this ship. You'll never realize how safe you are here till you get down there in the water and hear that gun go off. Come on! Get a move! We're through with you, now and for ever. Nobody's going to stop you. I'm even going to have the boats lowered for you, so as not to delay matters.” He shouted after Lieutenant Platt: “Be lively, please. You've got your orders. We'll make short work of this pack of wolves.” To Captain Trigger, authoritatively: “Withdraw your men, sir. I am going to let them leave the ship. At once, sir! Do you mean to disobey me, sir?” He gave the captain a sly wink.
Then as the bewildered master withdrew with his armed men, he turned once more to the mob. “Come on! Step lively, now! No rushing! Take your turn. Every blasted one of you, I mean. What the hell are you hanging back for,—you? You were so darned eager to go a little while ago, what's the matter with you now? No one's trying to stop you. Here are the boats. Put up your guns and knives, and pile in. You're absolutely free to go, you swine. We'll be damned good and rid of you, and that's all we're asking. It's a pity to waste powder and cannon-balls on you, when we may have use for all we've got later on, killing the lions and tigers and anacondas up there in the woods, but I'm going to do it.”
He stepped back. Not a man or woman moved. They stood transfixed, packed in a huddled mass along the deck. Then a woman cried out for mercy. The cry was taken up by other women. Percival halted and faced them once more.
“Get into those boats!” he roared savagely. “It won't do you a bit of good to whine and pray and squeal. I'm through with you. You've got to—Well?”
Several of the men edged forward, some of them trying to smile.
“Would you kill us when we are only trying to save our lives?” called out one of them, finding his courage and voice.
“I don't want to talk to you. Get in!”
“We have as much right to remain on this ship as anybody else,” shouted another. “We paid for our passage. We are honest, hard-working—”
“No use! I'll give you ten minutes to climb into those boats.”
There was a moment's silence. “And what will you do if we refuse to leave the ship?” cried one of the men.
“Be quiet!” he bawled at the whimpering women. “We cannot hear what the gentleman has to say.”
“You'll soon find out what I'll do, if you don't obey me inside of ten minutes,” replied Percival.
“But the ship is not going to sink any more,” protested another, looking over the rail timidly. “She is safe. We do not wish to leave now.”
Captain Trigger and Mr. Mott joined Percival. In an undertone he told them what he had said to the mob.
“And now, gentlemen,” he whispered in conclusion, “it's up to you to intercede in their behalf. They're as tame as rabbits now. They know the ship's all right, and they believe I intend to blow 'em to pieces if they once put off in the boats. Start in now, Captain, and argue with me. Plead for them. They know who I am. They know I come from the hills and they think I'm a bloodthirsty devil. They're like a lot of cattle. Most of them are simple, honest, God-fearing people,—and if we handle them properly now we'll not have much trouble with them in the future. And only the Good Lord knows what the future is going to bring.”
So the three of them argued, two against one. Finally Percival threw up his hands in a gesture of complete surrender.
“All right, Captain. I give in. Perhaps you are right. I suppose it would be butchery.”
There were a few in the crowd who understood English. These edged forward eagerly, hopefully. They called out protestations against the “slaughter.”
“Tell them you have reconsidered, Mr. Percival,” said the Captain. “They are to remain on board.”
Excited shouts went up from the few who understood, and then the word went among the others that they were to be spared. There were cries of relief, joy, gratitude, and not a few fell upon their knees!
Percival stood forth once more. Silence fell upon the throng.
“The Captain has put in a plea for you, and I have decided to grant it. You may remain on board. Now, listen to me! No one is to leave this ship until tomorrow morning. We are safe here. We are stuck fast on the bottom, and nothing can happen to us at present. Tomorrow we will see what is best to be done. Every man and woman here is to return to the task he was given by Mr. Mott at the beginning of our troubles. We've got to eat, and sleep, and—Wait a minute! Well, all right,—beat it, if you feel that way about it.”
He stood watching them as they excitedly withdrew toward the bow of the ship, breaking up into clattering groups, all of them talking at once.
Captain Trigger laid his hand on the young man's shoulder.
“If it had not been for you, Percival, this deck would now be red with blood,—and some of us would be dead. You saved a very ticklish situation. I take off my hat to you, and I say, with a full heart, that I shall never again doubt your ability to handle men. No one but an American could have tricked that mob as you did, my lad.”
From various points of vantage the foregoing scene had been witnessed by uneasy, alarmed persons from upper cabins. Overwhelmed and dismayed by the rush of the yelling mob, the elect had fled for safety, urged by a greater fear than any that had gone before,—the fear of rioting men.
A few of them, more daring and inquisitive than the rest, had ventured recklessly into the zone of danger. Among them were Ruth Clinton and Madame Olga Obosky, who, disregarding the command of Mr. Mott, were the only women to venture beyond the protecting corner of the deck building. They stood side by side, bracing themselves against the downward slope of the deck. Half-way forward were Trigger and the armed gunners, and beyond them the dense, irresolute mass of humanity. Percival, in rounding the corner to go to the assistance of Captain Trigger, observed with dismay the exposed position in which the two women had placed themselves. He paused to cry out to them sharply:
“What are you doing here? Get back to the other side. Can't you see there is likely to be shooting? Don't stand there like a couple of idiots! You're right in line if that gang begins to fire.”
“He is tearing off his bandages,” cried Ruth, as Percival hurried on.
Madame Obosky was silent, her gaze fixed intently on the brisk, aggressive figure of the man who had called them idiots. She understood every word he uttered to the Portuguese. Her eyes glistened with pride when he stepped forward to tackle the mob single-handed, and as he went on with his astonishing speech she actually broke into a soft giggle. Her companion looked at her in amazement.
“Why do you laugh?” she demanded hotly. “Those dreadful creatures may tear him to pieces. He is unarmed and defenceless. They could sweep him—”
“You would laugh also if you understood,” interrupted Olga, her eyes dancing. “Oh, what a grand—what do you call it?—bluff? What a magnificent bluff he is doing! It is beautiful. See,—they whisper among themselves,—they have back down completely. Wait! I will presently tell you what he have said to them.”
“I never dreamed any man could be so fearless. Look at the odds against him. There are scores of them,—and they—”
“Pooh! Do you suppose he would stand up and fight them if they rushed at him? Not he! He would turn and run as fast as he could. He is no fool, my dear. He is a very intelligent man. So he would run if they make a single move toward him.”
“I think this is rather a poor time to accuse him of cowardice, Madame Obosky, in view of what he—”
“Have I accused him of cowardice?”
“I'd like to know what you call it. You say he would run if they—”
“But that would not be cowardice. It would be the simplest kind of common sense. He is so very sure of himself. It is not courage. It is confidence. That is his strength. He would be a fool to stand in front of them empty-handed if they were to charge upon him. Maybe when you have known him as long as I have, you will realize he is not a fool,—about himself or any one else.”
Ruth stared at her. “Unless I am greatly mistaken, Madame Obosky, I have known Mr. Percival as long if not longer than you have.”
“You do not know him at all,” rejoined the Russian brusquely. “Be still, please! I must hear what he is saying to them now.” A little later she turned to the American girl and laid her hand on her arm. “For-give me, if I was rude to you. I am so very much older than you that I—how old are you, Miss Clinton?”
“I am twenty-five,” replied the other, surprised into replying.
“And I am twenty-six,” said Madame Obosky, as if she were at least twice the age of her companion. “See! They are dispersing. It's all over. Come! Let us go back to the other side.”
“I am not ready to go back to the other side,” protested the American girl, resisting the hand on her arm. “Why should we go back, now that the danger is over?”
“Because we must not let him catch us here,” urged Olga in some agitation.
“And why not, pray?”
The Russian looked at her in astonishment. “But surely you heard him tell us to go back to the other side. You heard him call us idiots, Miss Clinton?”
And Ruth Clinton suffered herself to be hurried incontinently around the corner of the deck building.
“Once, in Moscow, I saw a Grand Duke confront a mob of students who had gathered in the street near his house. They were armed and they had come to destroy this man himself. There were hundreds of them. He walked straight toward them, his head erect, his shoulders squared, and when they stopped he spoke to them as if they were dogs. When he had finished, he turned his back upon them and walked away. They might have filled him with bullets,—but they did not fire a shot. At the corner he entered his carriage and disappeared. And then what did he do? He fainted, that Grand Duke, he did. Fainted like a stupid, silly young girl. But while he was standing before zat—-that mob of terrorists he was the strongest man in Russia. Nevertheless, he was afraid of them. You have therefore the curious spectacle to perceive, Miss Clinton, of one man being afraid of hundreds, and of hundreds of men at the same time being afraid of one. Man, he is a queer animal, eh?”
It was not long before the doubts and fears of all on board the Doraine gave way to a strange, unnatural state of exhilaration. It represented joy without happiness, relief without security, exultation without conviction,—for, after all, there still remained unanswered the question that robbed every sensation of its thrill. While they were singing the hymns of thanksgiving in the saloon that night, and listening to the fervent prayers; while they ate, drank and were merry, their thoughts were not of the day but of the morrow. What of the morrow? In the eyes of every one who laughed and sang dwelt the unchanging shadow of anxiety; on every face was stamped an expression that spoke more plainly than words the doubts and misgivings that constituted the background of their jubilation. They had escaped the sea, but would they ever escape the land? Had God, in answer to their complaints and prayers, directed them to a land from which the hand of man would never rescue them? Were they isolated here in the untraversed southern seas, cast upon an island unknown to the rest of the world? Or were they, on the other hand, within reach of human agencies by which the world might be made acquainted with their plight?
Uppermost in every mind was the sickening recollection, however, that for days they had ranged the sea without sighting a single craft. They were far from the travelled lanes, they were out of the worth-while world. Hope rested solely on the possibility that the hills and forests hid from view the houses and wharves of a desolate little sea-town set up by the far-reaching people of the British Isles.
The story of Percival's achievement was not long in going the rounds. It went through the customary process of elaboration. By the time it reached his ears,—through the instrumentality of Mr. Morris Shine, the motion picture magnate,—it had assumed sufficient magnitude to draw from that enterprising gentleman a bona fide offer of quite a large sum for the film rights in case Mr. Percival would agree to re-enact the thrilling scene later on. In fact, Mr. Shine, having recovered his astuteness and his courage simultaneously, was already working at the preliminary details of the most “stupendous” picture ever conceived by man. His deepest lament now was that he had neglected to bring a good camera man down from New York, so that on the day of the explosion he could have “got” the people actually jumping overboard, and drowning in plain sight—(although he did not see them because of the trouble he was having to get a seat in one of the life-boats),—and the wounded scattered over the decks, the fire, the devastation, the departure and return of the boats, the storm and all that followed, including himself in certain judiciously preserved scenes, and the whole production could have been made at practically no cost at all. There never had been such an opportunity, complained Mr. Shine the moment he felt absolutely certain that the opportunity was a thing of the past.
“No wonder he got away with it,” said Mr. Landover to a group of rejuvenated satellites. “He is hand in glove with them, that fellow is. I wouldn't trust him around the corner. Why, it's perfectly plain to anybody with a grain of intelligence that he's the leader of that gang of anarchists. All he had to do was to speak to them,—in their own language, mind you,—and back they slunk to their quarters. They obeyed him because he is their chosen leader, and that's all there is to this—What say, Fitts?”
Mr. Fitts, who was not a satellite but a very irritating Christian gentleman, cleared his throat and said:
“I didn't speak, Mr. Landover. I always make a noise like that when I yawn. It's an awfully middle-class habit I've gotten into. Still, don't you think one obtains a little more—shall we say enjoyment?—a little more enjoyment out of a yawn if he lets go and puts his whole soul into it? Of course, it isn't really necessary to utter the 'hi-ho-hum!' quite so vociferously as I do,—in fact, it might even be better to omit it altogether,—if possible,—when some one else is speaking. There are, I grant you, other ways of expressing one's complete mastery of the art of yawning, such as a prolonged but audible sigh, or a sort of muffled howl, or even a series of blissful little shrieks peculiar to the feminine of the species,—any one of these, I admit, is a trifle more elegant and up-to-date, but they all lack the splendid resonance,—you might even say grandiloquence,—of the old-fashioned 'hi-ho-hum!' to which I am addicted. Now, if you will consider—”
“My God!” exclaimed the banker, with a positively venomous emphasis on the name of the Deity. “Who wants to know anything about yawns?”
Mr. Fitts looked hurt. “I am sorry. My mistake. I thought you were trying to change the subject when you interrupted my yawn.”
“That fellow's a damn' fool,” said the banker, as Fitts strolled off to join another group.
“Try one of these cigars, Mr. Landover,” said Mr. Nicklestick persuasively. “Of course, they're nothing like the kind you smoke, but—”
“Is mine out? So it is. No, thank you. I'll take a match, however, if you have one about you.”
Four boxes were hastily thrust upon the great financier.
“Haf you noticed how poor the matches are lately, Mr. Landover?” complained Mr. Block.
“As for this vagabond being superintendent of a mining concession up in Bolivia,” continued Landover, absentmindedly sticking Mr. Nicklestick's precious, box of matches into his own pocket, “that's all poppycock. He's an out-and-out adventurer. You can't fool me. I've handled too many men in my time. I sized him up right from the start. But the devil of it is, he's got all the officers on this boat hypnotized. And most of the women too. I made it a point to speak to Mrs. Spofford and her niece about him this morning,—and the poor girl has been making quite a fool of herself over him, you may have observed. Mrs. Spofford owns quite a block of stock in our institution, so I considered it my duty to put a flea in her ear, if you see what I mean.”
“Certainly, certainly,” said Mr. Nicklestick.
“She should have been very grateful,” said Mr. Block.
Mr. Landover frowned. “I'm going to speak to her again as soon as she has regained her strength and composure. Nerves all shot to pieces, you understand. Everything distorted,—er—shot to pieces, as I say. I dare say I should have had more sense than to—er—ahem!—two or three days' rest, that's what she needs, poor thing.”
“Absolutely,” said Mr. Nicklestick.
“You can't tell a woman anything when she's upset,” said Mr. Block, feelingly.
“Miss Clinton is a very charming young lady,” said Mr. Nicklestick, giving his moustache a slight twist. “I should hate to see her lose her head over a fellow like him.”
“She is a splendid girl,” said Landover warmly. “One of the oldest families in New York. She deserves nothing but the best.”
“That's right, that's right,” assented Mr. Nicklestick. “I don't know when I've met a more charming young lady, Mr. Landover.”
“I didn't know you had met her,” observed the banker coldly.
“Oh, yes,” replied Mr. Nicklestick. “We were in the same lifeboat, Mr. Landover, you know,—all night, you know, Mr. Landover.”
Early the next morning, Percival turned out long before there were any sounds from the galley or dining-room. The sun had not yet cleared the tree-tops to the east; the decks of the Doraine were still wet with dew. A few sailors were abroad; a dull-eyed junior officer moodily picked his way through the debris on the forward deck. Birds were singing and chattering in the trees that lined the shore; down at the water's edge, like sentinels on duty, with an eye always upon the strange, gigantic intruder, strutted a number of stately, bright-plumaged birds of the flamingo variety—(doubtless they were flamingoes); the blue surface of the basin was sprinkled with the myriad white, gleaming backs of winged fishermen, diving, flapping, swirling; on high, far above the hills, soared two or three huge birds with wings outspread and rigid, monarchs of all that they surveyed. The stowaway leaned on the port rail and fixed his gaze upon the crest of the severed hill, apparently the tallest of the half dozen or so that were visible from his position.
With powerful glasses he studied the wooded slope. This hill was probably twelve or fourteen hundred feet high. He thought of it as a hill, for he had lived long in the heart of the towering Andes. Behind him lay the belt of woodland that separated the basin from the open sea, a scant league away. The cleft through the hill lay almost directly ahead. It's walls apparently were perpendicular; a hundred feet or less from the pinnacle, the opening spread out considerably, indicating landslides at some remote period, the natural sloughing off of earth and stone in the formation of this narrow, unnatural passage through the very centre of the little mountain. For at least a thousand feet, however, the sides of the passage rose as straight as a wall. That the mountain was of solid rock could not be doubted after a single glance at those sturdy, unflinching walls, black and sheer.
“Well, what do you make of it?” inquired a voice at his elbow. He turned to find Mr. Mott standing beside him.
“Earthquake,” he replied. “Thousands of years ago, of course. Split the island completely in two.”
“Sounds plausible,” mused the First Officer. “But if that is the case, how do you account for the shallowness of the water in the passage and out here in the basin? An earthquake violent enough to split that hill would make a crack in the earth a thousand fathoms deep.”
“I have an idea that if we took soundings in this basin we'd find a section twenty or thirty feet wide in the centre of it where we couldn't touch bottom. The same would be true of the passage if we plumbed the middle. When we came through it the ship scraped bottom time and again. As a matter of fact,—the way I figure it out,—she was simply bumping against the upper edges of a crevice that reaches down God knows how far. We took no soundings, you will remember, until we swung out into this pool. I'll bet my head that that cut through the hill yonder is a mile deep. Earthquake fissures seldom go deeper than that, I've heard. Generally they are mere surface cracks, a hundred feet deep at the outside. But this one,—My God, it gives me the creeps, that crack in the earth does.”
“Umph!” said Mr. Mott, his elbows on the rail beside the young man, his chin in his hands. He was looking down at the water. “Captain Trigger is planning to send a couple of boats outside to survey the coast. I dare say he'll be asking you to go out in one of them. You're a civil engineer and so he feels—”
“Excuse me, Mr. Mott, but what's the sense of sending boats out to explore the coast before we find out how big the island is?”
“What's the sense? Why, how are we to find out how big the island is unless we make the circuit of it? And how in thunder are we to find out that there isn't a village or some sort of trading port on it—What are you pointing up there for?”
Percival's finger was levelled at the top of the higher half of the bisected mountain.
“See that hill, Mr. Mott? Well, unless we're on a darned sight bigger island than I think we are, we can see from one end of it to the other from the top of that hill. It isn't much of a climb. A few huskies with axes to cut a path through the underbrush, and we might get up there in a few hours. I've been figuring it out. That's why I got up so early. Had it on my mind all night. The sensible thing to do is to send a gang of us up there to have a look around. Strange Captain Trigger never thought of it. I suppose it's because he's an old sea-dog and not a landlubber.”
Mr. Mott coughed. “I fancy he would have thought of it in good time.”
“Well, in case he doesn't think of it in time, you might suggest it to him, Mr. Mott.”
The result of this conversation was the formation of a party of explorers to ascend the mountain. They were sent ashore soon after breakfast, well-armed, equipped with axes and other implements, boat-hooks, surveying instruments, and the most powerful glasses on board. Percival was in command. The party was made up of a dozen men, half of them from the gun crew, with an additional complement of laborers from the steerage.
Ruth Clinton, as soon as she learned of the proposed expedition, sought out Percival and insisted upon re-bandaging his hands.
“You must not go into all that tangle of brushwood with your hands unprotected,” she declared, obstinately shaking her head in response to his objections. “Don't be foolish, Mr. Percival. It won't take me five minutes to wrap them up. Sit down,—I insist. You are still one of my patients. Hold out your hand!”
“They are ever so much better,” he protested, but he obeyed her.
“Of course they are,” she agreed, in a matter-of-fact tone. “You did not give me a chance last night to tell you how splendid you were in tackling that crazy mob. I witnessed it all, you know. Madame Obosky and I.”
“Then, you didn't beat it when I told you to, eh?”
“Certainly not. What are you going to do about it?”
“What can I do? I can only say this: I'm glad Captain Trigger's opinion of me is based on my ability to reason with an ignorant mob and not on my power to intimidate a couple of very intelligent young women.”
“I wouldn't have missed it for worlds,” she said coolly. She looked up into his eyes, a slight frown puckering her brow. “Do you know, Madame Obosky had the impertinence to say that you would have turned tail and fled if those people had shown fight.”
He grinned. “She's an amazing person, isn't she? Wonderful faculty for sizing the most of us up.”
“You would have run?”
“Like a rabbit,” he answered, unabashed. “That's a little too tight, I think, Miss Clinton. Would you mind loosening it up a bit?”
“Oh, I'm sorry. Is that better? Now the other one, please.”
“Yes, I'm an awful coward,” he said, after a long silence.
She looked up quickly. Something in his eyes brought a faint flush to her cheek. For a second or two she met his gaze steadily and then her eyes fell, but not before he had caught the shy, wondering expression that suddenly filled them. He experienced an almost uncontrollable desire to lay his clumsy hand upon the soft, smooth brown hair. Through his mind flashed a queer rush of comparison. He recalled the dark, knowing eyes of the Russian dancer, mysterious and seductive,—man-reading eyes from which nothing was concealed,—and contrasted them with the clear, honest, blue-grey orbs that still could fall in sweet confusion. His heart began to pound furiously, he felt a queer tightening of the throat. He was afraid to trust his voice. How white and soft and gentle were her hands,—and how beautiful they were.
Suddenly she stroked the bandaged hand,—as an amiable manicurist might have done—and arose.
“There!” she said, composedly. Her cheek was cool and unflushed, her eyes serene and smiling. “Now you may go, Mr. Percival. Good luck! Bring back good news to us. I dreamed last night that we were marooned, that we would have to stay here for ever.”
“All of us?” he asked, a trifle thickly.
“Certainly,” she replied, after the moment required for comprehension. Her eyes were suddenly cold and uncompromising.
“If I never come back,” he began, somewhat dashed, “I'd like you to remember always, Miss Clinton, that I—well, that I am the most grateful dog alive. You've been corking.”
“But it isn't possible you won't come back,” she cried, and he was happy to see a flicker of alarm in her eyes. “What—what could happen to you? It isn't—”
“Oh, all sorts of things,” he broke in, much in the same spirit as that which dominates the boy who wishes he could die in order to punish his parents for correcting him.
“Are—are you really in earnest?”
“Would you care—very much?”
She hesitated. “Haven't I wished you good luck, Mr. Percival?”
“Would you mind answering my question?”
“Of course I should care,—very much indeed,” she replied calmly. “I am sure that everybody would be terribly grieved if anything were to happen to you out there.”
“Well,—good-bye, Miss Clinton. I guess they're waiting for me.”
“Good-bye! Oh, how I wish I were in your place! Just to put my foot on the blessed, green earth once more. Good-bye! And—and good luck, again.”
“If you will take a pair of glasses and watch the top of that hill,—there is a bare knob up there, you see,—you will know long before we come back whether this island is inhabited or not. I am taking an American flag with me. If we do not see another flag floating anywhere on this island, I intend to plant the Stars and Stripes on that hill,—just for luck!”
She walked a few steps at his side, their bodies aslant against the slope of the deck.
“And if you do not raise the flag, we shall know at once that—that there are other people here?” she said, her voice eager with suppressed excitement. “It will mean that ships—” Her voice failed her.
“It will mean home,—some day,” he returned solemnly.
The one remaining port-side boat was lowered a few minutes later and to the accompaniment of cheers from the throng that lined the rails, the men pulled away, heading for a tiny cove on the far side of the basin. The shore at that point was sloping and practically clear of undergrowth.
It was while Percival was waiting to take his place in the boat that Olga Obosky hurried up to him.
“I have brought my luck piece for you,” she said, and revealed in her open palm a small gold coin, worn smooth with age and handling. “Carry it, my friend. Nothing will happen to you while it is in your possession. It was given me by the son of a Grand Duke. It was his lucky piece. It brought me luck, for he was killed zat very same day, and so I was saved from him. Keep it in your pocket till you come safely back and then—then you shall return it to me, because I would not be without my luck, no.” She slipped her hand deep into his trousers pocket. “There is no hole. That is good. I have place it there. It is safe. Au revoir! You will have good luck, my friend.”
Withdrawing her warm hand from his pocket she turned and walked swiftly away.
The throng on board the Doraine watched the party land; hats and handkerchiefs were waved as the adventurers turned for a last look behind, before they disappeared into the forest.
Hours passed,—long interminable hours for those who were not engaged in the active preparations for the landing of people and stores. Captain Trigger was making ready to transfer the passengers from the ship at the earliest possible moment. He was far from certain that the Doraine would maintain its rather precarious balance on the rocks. With safety not much more than a stone's throw away, he was determined to take no further risk.
At last a shout went up from some one on the forecastle deck. It was taken up by eager voices. Out upon the bald crest of the mountain straggled the first of the explorers to reach the goal. They were plainly visible. One after another the rest of the party appeared. The illusion was startling. It was as if they had actually emerged from the tree-tops. With straining eyes the observers below watched the group of figures outlined against the sky. They spoke in subdued tones. As time went on and the flag was not unfurled, they took hope; eyes brightened, the hushed tones increased to a cheerful, excited clatter, the tenseness that had held them rigid for so long gave way before the growing conviction that another flag already fluttered somewhere beyond the screening hills.
And then, when hope was highest, the Stars and Stripes went up!
Captain Trigger assembled the ship's company on the forward deck later in the day. The landing party returned about three o'clock. Acting on advance instructions, they made their report in private to the Captain, denying all information to the clamorous passengers. A brief conference of officers, to which a number of men from the first cabin were invited, was held immediately after Percival's return. A course of action was discussed and agreed upon, and then all on board were summoned to the open deck to hear the result of the expedition.
Percival reported the following facts and conclusions:
1. The island was approximately fifteen miles long and six or seven miles wide in the centre. The basin in which the Doraine rested was about midway between the extreme points, and about two miles inland from the northern shore. The southern slope of the range descended to a flat plain, or perhaps moor, some two miles across at its broadest point and ran in varying width from one end of the island to the other. It was green and almost entirely devoid of timber. The central eminence from which the observations were taken was the loftiest of a range of ten or twelve diminishing hills that formed what might actually be described as the backbone of the island. The eastern extremity tapered off to a long, level, low-lying promontory that ended in a point so sharp and wedge-like that it bore a singular resemblance to the forward deck and prow of a huge ironclad. The hills, as they approached the plateau, terminated altogether a couple of miles from the tip of land. The western half of the island (strictly speaking, it was a separate bit of land, cut off from its neighbour by the ribbon-like channel), was of a more rugged character, the hills, in fact, extending to the sea, forming, no doubt, steep and precipitous cliffs, rising directly from the water's edge.
(Since his return, Percival had painted on a large piece of canvas a fairly accurate outline map of the bisected island as it had appeared to him from the top of the mountain. This crude map was hung up in full view of the spectators, and served him well in an effort to make clear his deductions. His original sketch is reproduced later on in this chronicle.)
2. There was no visible sign of past or present human habitation. Absolutely nothing appeared to indicate that man had ever attempted to claim or occupy this virgin land.
3. The channel through the mountain was less than one hundred feet wide. The walls of this gorge at one point were fully seven hundred feet high, absolutely perpendicular, and of solid rock. It was as if the hill had been split wide open with one blow of a tremendous broad-ax. Beyond the elevation the channel spread out fan-fashion, creating a funnel-like bay or inlet from the sea.
4. There was no other land in sight. As far as the eye could reach with the aid of lenses there was nothing but water, a mighty waste of water.
5. The wind, which had veered around to the south, was cold and dry.
6. A curving beach of almost snowy whiteness extended for a mile or so along the northern shore, about half way between the entrance to the channel and the eastern point of land. Inside the fringe of trees that lined this beach stretched what appeared to be a long strip of rolling meadow-land, reaching far up the hillsides.
7. Monkeys, parrots and snakes abounded in the forest. An occasional gay-plumaged bird of the toucan variety, but larger than the ordinary South American species, was seen, while large numbers of plump birds of the tinamou family went drumming off through the forest at the approach of the party. Penguins strutted in complete “full dress” among the rocks of the southern shore. A dead armadillo of extraordinary dimensions was found near the foot of the slope. It was at least thrice the size of the common South American mammal. The same could be said of the single iguana encountered. This large lizard, which was alive, must have been fully ten feet from head to tail, and gave rise to the belief that the supposedly extinct iguanodon, described by the scientists as attaining a length of thirty feet, might any day be discovered in the fastnesses of this unexplored land. The mere existence of this rather amiable, unfrightened monster was of the greatest significance. If it were known to man, why had it never been reported in zoological or natural history journals?
8. The trees on the mountain-side were thick and stunted, with interlocking limbs that created a sort of endless canopy which the sun was unable to penetrate. The cool, dry wind that swept the slope would account, however, for the surprising absence of moisture in soil and vegetation in the dense shade of the trees. Oak, elm, spruce, even walnut, and other trees of a sturdy character indigenous to the temperate zone were identified. What appeared to be a clump of cypress trees, fantastic, misshapen objects that seemed to, shrink back in terror from the assaulting breakers, stood out in bold relief upon a rocky point to the south and west of the observation hill. Their gaunt, twisted trunks leaned backward from the sea; their shorn limbs, racked by gales, were raised as if in supplication to the sombre forest behind them. Trunks of enormous trees that had fallen perhaps a century ago were found half-buried in the earth, while scattered along the northern base of the range, overlooking the downs, a few of their gigantic counterparts, alive and flourishing, raised their lofty heads far above the surrounding forest, and stood like sentinels, guarding the plain.
9. A small river wound its devious way, with serpentine crooks and curves, through the downs and across the meadow, emptying into the ocean some distance east of the gleaming beach. That its source was far up in the secretive hills was not a matter of conjecture, however; the incessant hiss and roar of a cataract was plainly heard by the investigators.
Here is the crude, hastily sketched map of the island as made by Percival:
1. Position of stranded vessel in basin.
2. Entrance to channel from the north.
3. Entrance to channel from the south.
4. Narrow strip of woodland from channel almost to river's mouth.
5. Strip of meadow-land clear of trees.
6. River.
7. Stretch of lowland leading down to the water.
8. Crest of hill from which observations were taken with range extending east and west.
9. Point of rocks with cypress trees.
10. Buttress-like west end of island.
11. Dense forest reaching to channel.
12. Rocky cape.
13. Level plateau, without trees.
14. Beach.
15. Penguins.