The Lust of Hate by Guy Newell Boothby (digital book reader txt) 📕

CHAPTER VI. THE SALVAGES.

FOR some minutes we lay upon the bottom of the upturned boat too

exhausted to speak. I still held the unconscious form of little

Esther Bailey in my arms, and protected her, as well as I was able,

from the marauding seas. Though the waves about us upheld many

evidences of the terrible catastrophe, such as gratings, broken

spars, portions of boat gear, still, to my astonishment, I could

discover no signs of any bodies. Once, however, I was successful in

obtaining possession of something which I knew would be worth its

weight in gold to us: it was an oar, part of the equipment of one of

the quarter boats I imagined; half the blade was missing, but with

what remained it would still be possible for us to propel the boat on

which we had taken refuge.

What a terrible position was ours, lodged on the bottom of that

overturned lifeboat, icy seas breaking upon us every few seconds, the

knowledge of our gallant ship, with all our friends aboard, lying

fathoms deep below the surface of the waves, and the remembrance that

the same fate might be ours at any moment; no possible notion of

where we were, no provisions or means of sustaining life, and but

small chance of being picked up by any passing boat!

It was Miss Maybourne who spoke first, and, as usual, her

conversation was not about herself.

“Mr. Wrexford,” she said, and her teeth chattered as she spoke,

“at any risk something must be done for that poor child you hold in

your arms, she will die else. Do you think we could manage to get her

up further on to the boat and then try to chafe her back to

consciousness?”

“By all means let us try,” I answered, “though I fear it will

prove a difficult matter. She seems very far gone, poor little

mite.”

With the utmost care I clambered further up the boat till I sat

with my burden astride the keel. In the darkness we could scarcely

see each other, but once the child was placed between us we set to

work rubbing her face and hands and trying by every means in our

power to restore consciousness. Suddenly a great thought occurred to

me. I remembered the flask I had taken from the cabin where I had

found the clothes. In an instant I had dived my hand into my pocket

in search of it, almost trembling with fear lest by any chance it

should have slipped out when I had dived overboard, but to my delight

it was still there. I had pulled it out and unscrewed the stopper

before anyone could have counted a dozen, taking the precaution to

taste it in order to see that it was all right before I handed it to

Miss Maybourne. It was filled with the finest French brandy, and,

having discovered this, I bade her take a good drink at it. When she

had done so I put it to the child’s mouth and forced a small quantity

between her lips.

“Surely you are going to drink some yourself,” said my companion,

as she saw me screw on the top and replace it in my pocket.

But I was not going to do anything of the sort. I did not need it

so vitally as my charges, and I knew that there was not enough in the

bottle to justify me in wasting even a drop. I explained this and

then asked her if she felt any warmer.

“Much warmer,” she answered, “and I think Esther here feels better

too. Let us chafe her hands again.”

We did so, and in a few minutes had the satisfaction of hearing

the poor mite utter a little moan. In less than an hour she was

conscious once more, but so weak that it seemed as if the first

breath of wind that came our way would blow the life out of her tiny

body. Poor little soul, if it was such a terrible experience for us,

what must it have been for her?

What length of time elapsed from the time of our heading the boat

before daylight came to cheer us I cannot say, but, cramped up as we

were, the darkness seemed to last for centuries. For periods of

something like half an hour at a time we sat without speaking,

thinking of all that had happened since darkness had fallen the night

before, and remembering the rush and agony of those last few dreadful

minutes on board, and the awful fact that all those whom we had seen

so well and strong only a few hours before were now cold and lifeless

for ever. Twice I took out my flask and insisted on Miss Maybourne

and the child swallowing a portion of the spirit. Had I not brought

that with me, I really believe neither of them would have seen

another sunrise.

Suddenly Miss Maybourne turned to me.

“Listen, Air. Wrexford,” she cried. “What is that booming noise?

Is it thunder?”

I did as she commanded, but for some moments could hear nothing

save the splashing of the waves upon the boat’s planks. Then a dull,

sullen noise reached my ears that might very well have been mistaken

for the booming of thunder at a great distance. Thunder it certainly

was, but not of the kind my companion imagined. It was the thunder of

surf, and that being so, I knew there must be land at no great

distance from us. I told her my conjecture, and then we set ourselves

to wait, with what patience we could command, for daylight.

What a strange and, I might almost say, weird dawn that was! It

was like the beginning of a new life under strangely altered

conditions. The first shafts of light found us still clinging to the

keel of the overturned boat, gazing hopelessly about us. When it was

light enough to discern our features, we two elder ones looked at

each other, and were horrified to observe the change which the

terrible sufferings of the night had wrought in our countenances.

Miss Maybourne’s face was white and drawn, and she looked years older

than her real age. I could see by the way she glanced at me that I

also was changed. The poor little girl Esther hardly noticed either

of us, but lay curled up as close as possible to her sister in

misfortune.

As the light widened, the breeze, which had been just perceptible

all night, died away, and the sea became as calm as a mill pond. I

looked about me for something to explain the noise of breakers we had

heard, but at first could see nothing. When, however, I turned my

head to the west I almost shouted in my surprise, for, scarcely a

mile distant from us, was a comparatively large island, surrounded by

three or four reef-like smaller ones. On the larger island a peak

rose ragged and rough to a height of something like five hundred

feet, and upon the shore, on all sides, I could plainly discern the

surf breaking upon the rocks. As soon as I saw it I turned excitedly

to Miss Maybourne.

“We’re saved!” I cried, pointing in the direction of the island;

“look there—look there!”

She turned round on the boat as well as she was able and when she

saw the land, stared at it for some moments in silence. Then with a

cry, “Thank God!” she dropped her head on to her hands and I could

see her shoulders shaken by convulsive sobs. I did my best to console

her, but she soon recovered of her own accord, and addressed herself

to me again.

“These must be the Salvage Islands of which the Captain was

speaking at dinner last night,” she said. “How can we reach the

shore? Whatever happens, we must not drift past them.”

“Have no fear,” I answered; “I will not let that happen, come what

may.”

So saying, I shifted my position to get a better purchase of the

water, and then using the broken oar began to paddle in the direction

of the biggest island. It was terribly hard work, and a very few

moments showed me that after all the horrors of the night I was as

weak as a kitten. But by patience and perseverance I at last got the

boat’s head round and began to lessen the distance that separated us.

At the end of nearly half an hour we were within an hundred yards of

the shore. By this time I had decided on a landing-place. It was a

little bit of open sandy beach, perhaps sixty yards long, without

rocks, and boasting less surf than any other part of the island I

could see. In addition to these advantages it was nearer, and I noted

that that particular side of the island looked more sheltered than

the others.

Towards this haven of refuge I accordingly made my way, hoping

that I should not find any unexpected danger lurking there when I

should be too close in to be able to get out again. It was most

necessary for every reason that we should save the boat from damage,

for by her aid alone could we hope to make our way out to passing

ships, or, if the worst came, to strike out on our own account for

the Canary Islands. That the rocks we were now making were the

Salvage Group, as Miss Maybourne had said, I had no doubt in my own

mind, though how the skipper came to be steering such a course was

more than I could tell.

At last we were so close that I could see the sandy bottom quite

distinctly only a fathom or so below us. A better landing-place no

man could have wished for. When we were near enough to make it safe I

slid off the boat into the water, which was just up to my hips, and

began to push her in before me. Having grounded her I took Miss

Maybourne in my arms and carried her out of the water up on to the

beach and then went back for the child. My heart was so full of

gratitude at being on dry land again and having saved the two lives

entrusted to my care that I could have burst into tears on the least

encouragement.

Having got my charges safely ashore, I waded into the water again

to have a look at the boat and, if possible, to discover what had

made her capsize. She was so precious to us that I dared not leave

her for an instant. To my. delight she looked as sound as the day she

had been turned out of the shipwright’s yard, and I felt if once I

could turn her over she would carry us as well as any boat ever

built. But how to do that, full of water as she was, was a problem I

could not for the life of me solve. Miss Maybourne’s wits, however,

were sharper than mine and helped me out of the difficulty.

“There is a rope in her bows, Mr. Wrexford,” she cried; “why not

drive the oar into the sand and fasten her to that? then when the

tide goes out—you see it is nearly full now—she will be left high

and dry, the water will have run out of her, and then you will be

able to do whatever you please to her.”

“You’ve solved the difficulty for me in a very simple fashion,” I

answered. “What a duffer I was not to have thought of that.”

“The mouse can help the lion sometimes, you see,” she replied,