Читать книгу Tom Wallis: A Tale of the South Seas - Louis Becke - Страница 3

Restraining his desire to put his horse into a gallop, Tom went steadily along for the first eight or ten miles, riding as near as possible to the water's edge, where the sand was hard, though by this time the tide was rising, and he knew that in another hour he would have to leave the beach entirely and pick up a cattle-track, which ran through the thick scrub, a few hundred yards back from high-water mark. Although the sun was still very hot, a south-easterly breeze had sprung up, and its cooling breath fanned the boy's heated face, and gave an added zest to the happiness of his spirits, for he was happy enough in all conscience. Here was he, he thought, only thirteen years of age, and the participator in the rescue of a shipwrecked crew, the full tale of whose disaster had yet to be told. Where, he wondered, did the Bandolier sail from, and whither was she bound, when she ran ashore at Middleton Reef? Oh, how heavenly it would be to-morrow, when he, and his father, and Jack were back at home, listening to the story of the wreck! And what strange-looking, tattooed sailors were those with the reddish-brown skins, and the straight jet-black hair like Red Indians? South Sea Islanders, of course! but of what Islands? And how long would they stay at Port Kooringa? Oh, how beautiful it would be if they could not get away for a long time, so that he might make friends with them all! Perhaps some of the brown men with the tattooed arms and legs would teach him to talk their language, and tell him about their island homes, where the palm trees grew thickly on the beaches, and the canoes floated upon the deep blue waters of the reef-encircled lagoons! Perhaps Captain Casalle might take a liking to him, and-he bent over his saddle and flushed with pleasure at the mere thought-and take him away when he got another ship. Oh, he did so hope that his father and the captain would become friends; then it would be so much easier (the 'it' being his father's consent to his becoming a sailor).

And so with such thoughts as these chasing quickly through his imagination, he was at last recalled to the present by the sound of splashing about his horse's feet, as the spent rollers sent every now and then thin, clear sheets of water swashing gently up the sand.

'Come, Peter, old chap,' he said, patting his willing horse on the neck, 'we must get up out of this on to the track, it's getting too soft;' and jumping off, he led the animal straight up over the loose, yielding sand which lay between the water's edge and the fringe of the scrub. Taking a drink from his canvas water-bag as he reached the end of the sand, he mounted again, and was soon riding along the track, which ran through a forest of native apple, whose thick umbrageous canopies of dark green shut out the sunlight so effectually, that the sudden transition made it appear as if he had moved from light to semi-darkness. From the leafy crowns of the trees, and stretching across or hanging in giant loops upon the ground, or swinging high above, was a network of great snaky vines, black, brown, and mottled, and so full of water that, as Tom well knew, he had but to cut off a four-foot length to obtain a full quart of the clear though astringent liquid. Now and then, as his horse's shoeless feet disturbed the loose carpet of fallen leaves, a frightened wallaby would bound away with heavy thumping leaps into the still gloomier shadows on the left, or down towards the ocean, whose softened and lulling murmur sounded as if the shore on which its waves curled and broke were miles and miles away, instead of scarce more than a stone's throw; though now and then, when the sea breeze rustled the dome of green above, it sang its never-ending song in louder tone. Sometimes there came a whirr of wings, as with harsh screaming notes a flock of green and golden parrakeets, intent upon feeding on the ripe wild apples, would flash by, and their cries perhaps be answered by the long-drawn-out note of a stock-whip bird.

The end of the first belt of scrub at last, and Tom emerged out into the open again-a wide stretch of dried-up swamp, along the seaward margin of which the track led in a waving line of white, hardened clay. Far back on the other side were clumps of tall, melancholy swamp gums, and beyond these the thickly timbered spurs of the coast range, standing out clearly and sharply in the blaze of the sinking sun.

'Come, Peter, my boy, it's getting cooler now, and you shall have a drink when we get to the Rocky Waterholes, behind Misty Head;' and Peter, tough old stock horse, to whom fifty miles, with such a light weight and easy-handed rider as was Tom, was a matter of no hardship, shook his clean-cut head, and giving an answering snort, set off at a steady swift canter, glad to be free of the curse of pestering flies, which in the sunlight hung about his nostrils, and crept into the corners of his big black eyes. An hour later, and just as the sun had sunk, a blazing ball of yellow, behind the purpling range, Tom drew rein at a spot known as the Rocky Waterholes-a series of small deep pools of limpid water at the back of a headland, whose high bold front rose stark from the sea. He had still five and twenty miles to ride before reaching the cattle-camp at Kooringa Cape, where he expected to find his father and Jack-unless, indeed, he met them returning driving the missing cattle, which was hardly likely, without they had met with them near a great fresh-water swamp at the back of Misty Head. Anyway, he thought, he would give Peter a bit of a spell for half an hour. If his father and Jack were already returning, they would be almost sure to stop at the Rocky Waterholes, and wait till the tide fell again-which would be towards dawn-instead of trying to drive the cattle along the track through the scrub in the darkness, and run the risk of some of them breaking away, and being lost.

Leading Peter up to one of the Waterholes, he let him drink his fill, and unbuckling the ends of the bridle, turned the animal adrift to feed upon the sweet grass and juicy 'pig-face' growing lower down. Then a sudden inspiration came to Tom. He would light a fire on the top of Misty Head; it would only take a few minutes, and if his father and Jack happened to be near, they would be sure to come and see who had lit it, and thus he could not possibly miss them.

The landward side of the head was mostly covered with a dense thicket, resembling the English privet, but as it did not reach higher than his waist, Tom forced his way through, and with some difficulty reached the summit-a little cleared space less than half an acre in extent, and free of scrub, but covered with coarse, dry grass about a foot high, swaying and rustling to the wind, which as the sun set had freshened. Lower down, on both sides, were a number of thick, stunted honeysuckles; and feeling his way very cautiously-for a slip meant a fall of two hundred feet or more into the sea below-Tom began to collect some of the dead branches, and then returned with them to the top. Once he had lit a fire, he would have light enough to show him where to find a thicker log or two, for there were many dead honeysuckles about, he knew, as the place was familiar to him. Pulling up some of the dried grass, and placing some twigs on the top, he struck a match and lit the heap. It blazed up crisply, and in a few minutes he could see his surroundings clearly.

'That's all right,' said Tom to himself; 'now for some big logs, and then I'll be off.'

Fifty feet away the gnarled and rugged branches of a dead and fallen honeysuckle stood revealed in the firelight, and he walked toward it. Taking hold of one of the largest branches, he began to drag it towards the fire, when he felt a smart puff of wind, and then heard an ominous crackle behind him, and then followed a sudden blaze of light-the long grass around the fire had caught, and a puff of wind had carried the flames to the scrub! Too late to avert the disaster, Tom dropped the log with a cry of terror, for he knew what a bush-fire at that dry time of the year meant; and, most of all, he dreaded the anger of his father for his carelessness. For a moment or two he stood gazing at the result of his folly; and then a cry of alarm broke from his lips as another eddying gust of wind came, and the flames answered with a roar as they swept through the scrub with a speed and fury that told Tom that in a few minutes they would be leaping and crashing into the timber on the other side of the Rocky Waterholes, and thence into the ranges beyond. And then, too, not only was his own retreat cut off, but the fire on the summit was eating its way to windward, and unless he could find some place of retreat on the sea-face or sides of the head, he stood a very good chance of becoming a victim to his own stupidity. As he looked about, undecided whether to try to get in advance of the flames by forcing his way through the dense jungle of the north side, down to the water, and then clambering along the rocks to where he had left his horse, or get over the edge of the cliff to a place of safety, there came another bursting roar, and a huge wall of flame sprang up and leapt and crashed through the gums and other lofty trees which grew close to the landward side of the Waterholes-the bush itself had caught. And as Tom gazed in guilty fear at the scene of devastation, he saw his horse break through the stunted herbage above the beach on the north side and gallop down to the water, where he stopped, terrified at the sudden rush of fire, and, no doubt, wondering what had become of his master.

The sight of the horse standing there on the beach in full glare of the flames, which now were lighting up the sea and hiding the land beyond in dense volumes of blood-red smoke, as the wind carried them inland, filled the boy's heart with a new fear-for his father and Jack. Perhaps at that moment they were between Misty Head and the range. If so, then they were in imminent danger, for he knew that, unless they were near the beach, they would be cut off and perish, for now the wind, as if to aid in the work of destruction, was blowing strongly. A prayer that they might be far away at Kooringa Cape rose to his lips, and then, as he saw Peter still standing and looking about in expectancy, he, like a brave lad, pulled himself together. He would climb down the north side of the head, before the fire, which was steadily working downward to the water, cut him off from the mainland altogether, and kept him there until morning. Force his way down through the close scrub he could not, for the rapidly creeping flames, feeding upon the dried leaves and undergrowth, would overtake him before he was halfway down; but there was, he knew, a break in the density of the scrub, caused by a zigzag and narrow cleft in the side of the head, reaching from near the summit to the boulders of blacktrap rock at the foot. A few minutes' search showed him the most suitable spot from where to begin the descent, and guided by the light of the fire-which revealed every leaf and stone as clearly as if it were broad daylight-he soon reached the top of the cleft, which for the first fifty or sixty feet ran eastwards towards the beach, and then made a sudden and downward turn to the sea. The sides, though terribly rugged, afforded him excellent facilities for descent, as, besides the jutting stones which protruded out of the soil, tough vines and short strong shrubs gave him good support.

'Easier than I imagined,' said Tom to himself, thinking of the pride he would have in relating his feat to Jack in the morning; 'now here's the beginning of the straight up-and-down part.' Grasping the thin stem of a small stumpy tree, with prickly leaves, known to the boys as 'bandy-leg,' he peered over. Suddenly he felt that the tree was yielding at the roots; he flung out his left hand for further support, and clutched a vine about as thick as a lead pencil. It broke, and, with a gasp of terror, poor Tom pitched headlong down, bounding from side to side, and crashing through the stunted herbage, till he struck the bottom, where he lay stunned and helpless, and bleeding from a jagged cut on the back of his head.

For some time he lay thus, and then, as returning consciousness came, he groaned in agony; for, besides the wound on his head, the fingers of his left hand were crushed, and he felt as if the arm were half torn from the socket. Wiping the dust and rubble, with which he was nearly blinded, from his face, he drew himself up into a sitting position, and began to feel his left arm from the shoulder down, fearing from the intense pain that one or more bones were broken; but in a few moments he found he could bend it. Groping about carefully-for the spot where he had fallen was in darkness, though he could discern the sea, not far below, still gleaming dully from the light of the fire-he found that the soil and rocks about him were quite dry and warm to the touch; evidently, therefore, he was some distance from the base of the head and above high-water mark. Slowly and painfully he crawled towards the opening, and discovered that he was about twenty feet over the water, just at the point where all vegetation ceased and bare rock began.

Already he was feeling thirst, and had he been able to use his left arm, he would have climbed down to the sea and swum round to the beach, where he felt sure that Peter was still awaiting him, with the water-bag hanging to the saddle dees. He leant his back against a rock, for now a deadly sickness came over him, and he went off into a long faint.

* * * * *

Ten miles away, and camped near a grassy headland known as the Green Bluff, was a party of eleven men, three of whom were watching the red glow of Misty Head; the rest were lying upon the grass, sleeping the sleep of exhausted nature. The three who watched were Mr. Wallis, Jack, and the black stockman, Wellington; those who slept were the first mate and seven of a boat's crew of the Bandolier. Only a few hours previously the latter had made the coast at the mouth of a small fresh-water creek, running into the sea at the Green Bluff, and were discovered there by Jack, who was tailing some cows and calves on the bank, whilst his father and Wellington were looking for the rest of the missing cattle further up the creek. The moment Jack heard the officer's story, he ran to the pack-horse, which was quietly standing under the shade of a mimosa, unshipped the packs (containing cooked beef, damper, and tea and sugar) and lit a fire, whilst one of the sailors filled the big six-quart billy with water from the creek. Then, picking up his father's shot-gun which was carried on the pack-horse, he loaded it with ball, jumped on his horse again, cut off a cow with a year-old calf from the rest of the mob, drove them a little apart from the others, and sent a bullet into the calf's head. Without wasting time to skin the animal, the half-famished seamen set about cutting up and cooking it (having first devoured the piece of cooked beef and damper). Then waving his hand to the officer, and telling him that he would be back with his father in an hour or less, Jack set of at a gallop in search of him. The officer, a tall, hatchet-faced New Englander, nodded his head-his mouth being too full to speak-and then turned his hollow eyes with a look of intense satisfaction and solicitude upon the frizzling and blood-stained masses of veal.

Towards sunset, Mr. Wallis, Jack, and Wellington came cantering down along the bank of the creek, and the genial, kind-hearted squatter, though the advent of the shipwrecked men meant the abandonment of his search for the rest of the cattle, and the loss of much valuable time, sprang from his horse, and shook hands warmly with the officer, as he congratulated him upon his safe arrival.

'You must camp here with us to-night,' he said, 'and perhaps to-morrow as well, or at least until such time as you and your men are sufficiently recovered to walk to Port Kooringa. In the morning, however, I shall send my black boy on in advance, and he will meet us with some more provisions. For the present we can manage-the creek is alive with fish, fresh beef is in plenty'-pointing to the grazing mob of cows and calves, – 'and you and your men, above all things, need rest. Now, tell me, do you smoke?'

'Smoke, mister?' and the man's voice shook; 'ef I get a smoke I'll just be in heaven. But I can't do it here, with those poor men a-looking at me. Every one of them is as good a man as me, although I did hev ter belt the life out of them sometimes.'

Mr. Wallis slipped his pipe, tobacco pouch, and a box of matches into the officer's hand. 'Go down to the creek and lie down there and smoke,' he said with a smile; 'I wish I had more tobacco for your men.'

As the mate crept away like a criminal, clutching the precious pipe and tobacco in his gaunt, sun-baked hand, Wellington cried out, and pointed towards Misty Head-

'Hallo! look over there! Big feller fire alonga Misty Head.'

Mr. Wallis turned and watched, and as he saw the lurid flames and huge volumes of smoke rise, and then sweep quickly down the incline of the head, toward the dark line of bush beyond, he could not repress a groan of vexation and anger, for he knew that, with such a strong breeze, the whole coast would be aflame in a few hours, and hundreds of miles of country on Kooringa Run be swept in its devastating course, and cause him to lose some thousands of pounds. Then in addition to this, and of more importance to his generous mind-for money itself held no sway on a nature such as his-was the fact that he and the shipwrecked seamen would have to make their way to Port Kooringa along the beach as the tide served, for they could not for some days traverse the burnt-out country at the back of the many headlands and capes, as the ground would be a furnace covered with ashes.

Towards midnight, Wellington, who was on watch, roused his master, and reported that the fire was rapidly travelling towards the Green Bluff, and would be upon them in an hour. This was serious, for there was no beach to which they could retreat on either side of the bluff for many miles, and the country on the opposite side of the little creek was, though free from scrub, clothed in long grass, which a single flying spark would set ablaze.

Awakening the officer, he explained the situation to him, and suggested a way of escaping from the danger which menaced them by taking to the boat, putting to sea, and making direct for Port Kooringa at once.

Tired as were the mate and his men, they at once acquiesced. The cattle and horses were driven across the creek, and left to take care of themselves, the boat's water-breaker filled, and the saddles and other gear were placed in the boat, only just in time, for already the heat of the flames was getting oppressive. There was but little surf at the mouth of the creek, and the instant the boat had passed through it, the ragged sail was set, and she slipped through the water.

'Don't go too close to Misty Head,' said Mr. Wallis to the officer; 'there is always a strong tide-rip there.'

The officer altered the boat's course.

Poor Tom, just as the daylight broke, saw her sail pass about a mile off. He stood up and shouted till he was hoarse; and then, when he realized that she was too far off for him to be heard, or even seen in such a position, sat down and wept, forgetting his bodily pain in his anguish of spirit.

But, as the sun rose, his thirst became overpowering, and rising to his feet with a prayer for strength upon his lips, he began to make his way along the foot of the rocks. His arm was less painful now, but three of his fingers were black, swollen, and useless, and the wound in his head every now and then made him faint. When half-way to the beach, he saw that the water was sufficiently shallow for him to wade ashore on the clear, sandy bottom, instead of toiling over the rocks, so getting down at a spot where it was not over his knees, he first immersed his whole body and then bathed his head and face. The stinging, smarting sensation caused him fresh pain, but he set his teeth and bore it manfully, knowing that the salt water would do the cut on his head more good than harm, even though it made it bleed afresh.

With renewed courage-for the cool water had revived him wonderfully-he waded along cheerfully, his thoughts now turning to his father and Jack, for whom he was not at all alarmed, knowing that both of them were too good bushmen to be caught by a bush fire, no matter how suddenly it had come upon them. If they were camped at Kooringa Cape, there was no danger for them at all, as a few miles this side of it there was a wide tidal river, and if they had been anywhere near the Rocky Waterholes when the fire started they would have sought safety on one of the small islands in the Big Swamp. Anyway he would be home to-morrow, or the next day, if he had to keep to the beach-and no doubt would meet some one coming to look for him; for unless Peter had met his father's party, the animal was bound to make for home, and be seen by some person. Then that boat! Of course it must have been the missing boat from the Bandolier-no other boat would be coming down the coast, surely! Oh, if he were only home to know! But a drink first before he decided what to do.

Stepping out of the water on to the hard dry sand, Tom ascended the bank, and then a cry of dismay escaped from him-the Rocky Waterholes were surrounded by a belt of blazing logs, and it was impossible for him to approach within a hundred yards, and the holes themselves were not to be seen!

Tom returned to the beach to consider. He must get a drink, and there was none to be had on the way back home, except from the thick vines in the scrub through which he had ridden the previous morning. But was there any scrub left? As far as he could see to the southward, the coast was still burning, and even if the scrub where the vines grew had escaped, he could not cut one, for he had lost his knife when he fell. Well, he must try and get along the beach and round the cliffs, further on, to the creek at the Green Bluff. There was always deep running water there; and now he began to think of nothing else-he must get a drink, or he could never attempt to walk all the way to Port Kooringa. Oh, if he could but get to the creek quickly! he thought, as, taking off his boots and socks, which were filled with coarse gritty sand, he tied them together with the laces, and set out along the hard beach. If it were only five miles of such easy walking as the first two, he would soon reach there; but the remaining three were the trouble-three miles of rocky shore, under a blazing sun, and with his head making him feel strange and faint.

Never once halting, the lad kept steadily on, trying hard not to lose courage, for every minute he felt his strength failing him, and a strange buzzing noise was in his ears, and the yellow sand seemed to dance and twist about and sink away from his feet. Oh for a drink, a drink! A long drink would set him right again, he kept repeating to himself; there was nothing really much the matter with him except his head.

At last he came to the end of the beach, put on his boots, and began to climb over the first point of rocks. This took him much longer than he anticipated, and he slipped and fell heavily once or twice. Then came a succession of small deep bays, the shores of which were covered with smooth loose pebbles, giving way to every step, and terribly exhausting to walk over. Then again another point-a flat reef of rocks running out some distance into the sea, dangerous, slippery, and covered with a greasy green weed, and awash at high water. Tom had never before walked along this part of the coast, and at any other time its wild loneliness would have pleased his Nature-loving imagination-now it appalled and terrified the poor boy, who, though he did not know it, was rapidly becoming physically exhausted from the injury to his head, which was more serious than he imagined.

Once over the wide stretch of smooth rocks, he took heart again; Green Bluff, now black and smoking, seemed quite near. Another little bay, and then another, and panting and half frantic with excitement and thirst, Tom stumbled blindly over the loose stones and gravel, which were heaped up in ridges on the narrow foreshore. Surely, he asked himself, there could not be many more of these dreadful stony winding bays, backed up by steep walls of rock. Once more a high point obstructed him; and now an insensate rage took possession of him. With blazing eyes, and parched and cracking lips, he sprang at the great boulders, slipping and falling again and again, to rise with bleeding hands and face, a dazed determination in his whirling brain to get to the water at the Green Bluff in spite of everything. Trembling in every limb, he succeeded in getting round-and then stopped, his face white with horror: on the opposite side of the bay a long stretch of cliff rose sheer up from the deep blue water at its base. And then a sudden blackness shut out the world, and he sank down upon the shingle in despair.