Читать книгу Into the Primitive - Robert Ames Bennet - Страница 4

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A wail from Miss Leslie roused the Englishman out of a dream in which he had been swimming for life across a sea of boiling oil. He sat up and gazed about him, half dazed. The cyclone had been followed by a dead calm, and the sun, already well above the horizon, was blazing upon them over the glassy surfaces of the dying swells with fierce heat.

Winthrope felt about for his hat. It had been blown off when, at the striking of the steamer, he had rushed up on deck. As he remembered, he straightened, and looked at his companions. Blake lay snoring where he had first outstretched himself, sleeping the sleep of the just–and of the drunkard. The girl, however, was already awake. She sat with her hands clasped in her lap, while the tears rolled slowly down her cheeks.

“My–ah–dear Miss Genevieve, what is the matter?” exclaimed Winthrope.

“Matter? Do you ask, when we are here on this wretched coast, and may not get away for weeks? Oh, I did so count on the London season this year! Lady Bayrose promised that I should be among those presented.”

“Well, I–ah–fancy, Lady Bayrose will do no more presenting–unless it may be to the heavenly choir, you know.”

“Why, what do you mean, Mr. Winthrope? You told me that she and the maids had been put in the largest boat–”

“My dear Miss Genevieve, you must remember that I am a diplomat. It was all quite sufficiently harrowing, I assure you. They were, indeed, put into the largest boat–Beastly muddle!–While they waited for the mate to fetch you, the boat was crushed alongside, and all in it drowned.”

“Drowned!–drowned! Oh, dear Lady Bayrose! And she’d travelled so much–oh, oh, it is horrible! Why did she persuade me to visit the Cape? It was only to be with her–And then for us to start off for India, when we might have sailed straight to England! Oh, it is horrible! horrible! And my maid, and all–It cannot be possible!”

“Pray, do not excite yourself, my dear Miss Genevieve. Their troubles are all over. Er–Gawd has taken them to Him, you know.”

“But the pity of it! To be drowned–so far from home!”

“Ah, if that’s all you’re worrying about!–I must say I’d like to know how we’ll get a snack for breakfast. I’m hungry as a–er–groom.”

“Eating! How can you think of eating, Mr. Winthrope–and all the others drowned? This sun is becoming dreadfully hot. It is unbearable! Can you not put up some kind of an awning?”

“Well, now, I must say, I was never much of a hand at such things, and really I can’t imagine what one could rig up. There might have been a bit of sail in the boat, but one can’t see a sign of it. I fancy it was smashed.”

Miss Leslie ventured a glance at Blake. Though still lying as he had sprawled in his drunkenness, there was a comforting suggestion of power in his broad shoulders and square jaw.

“Is he still–in that condition?”

“Must have slept it off by this time, and there’s no more in the flask,” answered Winthrope. Reaching over with his foot, he pushed against Blake’s back.

“Huh! All right,” grunted the sleeper, and sat up, as had Winthrope, half dazed. Then he stared around him, and rose to his feet. “Well, what in hell! Say, this is damn cheerful!”

“I fancy we are in a nasty fix. But I say, my man, there is a woman present, and your language, you know–”

Blake turned and fixed the Englishman with a cold stare.

“Look here, you bloomin’ lud,” he said, “there’s just one thing you’re going to understand, right here and now. I’m not your man, and we’re not going to have any of that kind of blatter. Any fool can see we’re in a tight hole, and we’re like to keep company for a while–probably long as we last.”

“What–ah–may I ask, do you mean by that?”

Blake laughed harshly, and pointed from the reef-strewn sea to the vast stretches of desolate marsh. Far inland, across miles of brackish lagoons and reedy mud-flats, could be seen groups of scrubby, half-leafless trees; ten or twelve miles to the southward a rocky headland jutted out into the water; otherwise there was nothing in sight but sea and swamp. If it could not properly be termed a sea-view, it was at least a very wet landscape.

“Fine prospect,” remarked Blake, dryly. “We’ll be in luck if the fever don’t get the last of us inside a month; and as for you two, you’d have as much show of lasting a month as a toad with a rattlesnake, if it wasn’t for Tom Blake,–that’s my name–Tom Blake,–and as long as this shindy lasts, you’re welcome to call me Tom or Blake, whichever suits. But understand, we’re not going to have any more of your bloody, bloomin’ English condescension. Aboard ship you had the drop on me, and could pile on dog till the cows came home. Here I’m Blake, and you’re Winthrope.”

“Believe me, Mr. Blake, I quite appreciate the–ah–situation. And now, I fancy that, instead of wasting time–”

“It’s about time you introduced me to the lady,” interrupted Blake, and he stared at them half defiantly, yet with a twinkle in his eyes.

Miss Leslie flushed. Winthrope swore softly, and bit his lip. Aboard ship, backed by Lady Bayrose and the captain, he had goaded the American at pleasure. Now, however, the situation was reversed. Both title and authority had been swept away by the storm, and he was left to shift for himself against the man who had every reason to hate him for his overbearing insolence. Worse still, both he and Miss Leslie were now dependent upon the American, in all probability for life itself. It was a bitter pill and hard to swallow.

Blake was not slow to observe the Englishman’s hesitancy. He grinned.

“Every dog has his day, and I guess this is mine,” he said. “Take your time, if it comes hard. I can imagine it’s a pretty stiff dose for your ludship. But why in–why in frozen hades an American lady should object to an introduction to a countryman who’s going to do his level best to save her pretty little self from the hyenas–well, it beats me.”

Winthrope flushed redder than the girl.

“Miss Leslie, Mr. Blake,” he murmured, hoping to put an end to the situation.

But yet Blake persisted. He bowed, openly exultant.

“You see, Miss,” he said, “I know the correct thing quite as much as your swells. I knew all along you were Jenny Leslie. I ran a survey for your dear papa when he was manipulating the Q. T. Railroad, and he did me out of my pay.”

“Oh, but Mr. Blake, I am sure it must be a mistake; I am sure that if it is explained to papa–”

“Yes; we’ll cable papa to-night. Meantime, we’ve something else to do. Suppose you two get a hustle on yourselves, and scrape up something to eat. I’m going out to see what’s left of that blamed old tub.”

“Surely you’ll not venture to swim out so far!” protested Winthrope. “I saw the steamer sink as we cast off.”

“Looks like a mast sticking up out there. Maybe some of the rigging is loose.”

“But the sharks! These waters swarm with the vile creatures. You must not risk your life!”

“’Cause why? If I do, the babes in the woods will be left without even the robins to cover them, poor things! But cheer up!–maybe the mud-hens will do it with lovely water-lilies.”

“Please, Mr. Blake, do not be so cruel!” sobbed Miss Leslie, her tears starting afresh. “The sun makes my head ache dreadfully, and I have no hat or shade, and I’m becoming so thirsty!”

“And you think you’ve only to wait, and half a dozen stewards will come running with parasols and ice water. Neither you nor Winthrope seem to ’ve got your eyes open. Just suppose you get busy and do something. Winthrope, chase yourself over the mud, and get together a mess of fish that are not too dead. Must be dozens, after the blow. As for you, Miss Jenny, I guess you can pick up some reeds, and rig a headgear out of this handkerchief– Wait a moment. Put on my coat, if you don’t want to be broiled alive through the holes of that peek-a-boo.”

“But I say, Blake–” began Winthrope.

“Don’t say–do!” rejoined Blake; and he started down the muddy shore.

Though the tide was at flood, there was now no cyclone to drive the sea above the beach, and Blake walked a quarter of a mile before he reached the water’s edge. There was little surf, and he paused only a few moments to peer out across the low swells before he commenced to strip.

Winthrope and Miss Leslie had been watching his movements; now the girl rose in a little flurry of haste, and set to gathering reeds. Winthrope would have spoken, but, seeing her embarrassment, smiled to himself, and began strolling about in search of fish.

It was no difficult search. The marshy ground was strewn with dead sea-creatures, many of which were already shrivelling and drying in the sun. Some of the fish had a familiar look, and Winthrope turned them over with the tip of his shoe. He even went so far as to stoop to pick up a large mullet; but shrank back, repulsed by its stiffness and the unnatural shape into which the sun was warping it.

He found himself near the beach, and stood for half an hour or more watching the black dot far out in the water,–all that was to be seen of Blake. The American, after wading off-shore another quarter of a mile, had reached swimming depth, and was heading out among the reefs with steady, vigorous strokes. Half a mile or so beyond him Winthrope could now make out the goal for which he was aiming,–the one remaining topmast of the steamer.

“By Jove, these waters are full of sharks!” murmured Winthrope, staring at the steadily receding dot until it disappeared behind the wall of surf which spumed up over one of the outer reefs.

A call from Miss Leslie interrupted his watch, and he hastened to rejoin her. After several failures, she had contrived to knot Blake’s handkerchief to three or four reeds in the form of a little sunshade. Her shoulders were protected by Blake’s coat. It made a heavy wrap, but it shut out the blistering sun-rays, which, as Blake had foreseen, had quickly begun to burn the girl’s delicate skin through her open-work bodice.

Thus protected, she was fairly safe from the sun. But the sun was by no means the worst feature of the situation. While Winthrope was yet several yards distant, the girl began to complain to him. “I’m so thirsty, Mr. Winthrope! Where is there any water? Please get me a drink at once, Mr. Winthrope!”

“But, my dear Miss Leslie, there is no water. These pools are all sea-water. I must say, I’m deuced dry myself. I can’t see why that cad should go off and leave us like this, when we need him most.”

“Indeed, it is a shame–Oh, I’m so thirsty! Do you think it would help if we ate something?”

“Make it all the worse. Besides, how could we cook anything? All these reeds are green, or at least water-soaked.”

“But Mr, Blake said to gather some fish. Had you not best–”

“He can pick up all he wants. I shall not touch the beastly things.”

“Then I suppose there is nothing to do but wait for him.”

“Yes, if the sharks do not get him.”

Miss Leslie uttered a little moan, and Winthrope, seeing that she was on the verge of tears, hastened to reassure her. “Don’t worry about him, Miss Genevieve! He’ll soon return, with nothing worse than a blistered back. Fellows of that sort are born to hang, you know.”

“But if he should be–if anything should happen to him!”

Winthrope shrugged his shoulders, and drew out his silver cigarette case. It was more than half full, and he was highly gratified to find that neither the cigarettes nor the vesta matches in the cover had been reached by the wet.

“By Jove, here’s luck!” he exclaimed, and he bowed to Miss Leslie. “Pardon me, but if you have no objections–”

The girl nodded as a matter of form, and Winthrope hastened to light the cigarette already in his fingers. The smoke by no means tended to lessen the dryness of his mouth; yet it put him in a reflective mood, and in thinking over what he had read of shipwrecked parties, he remembered that a pebble held in the mouth is supposed to ease one’s thirst.

To be sure, there was not a sign of a pebble within miles of where they sat; but after some reflection, it occurred to him that one of his steel keys might do as well. At first Miss Leslie was reluctant to try the experiment, and only the increasing dryness of her mouth forced her to seek the promised relief. Though it failed to quench her thirst, she was agreeably surprised to find that the little flat bar of metal eased her craving to a marked degree.

Winthrope now thought to rig a shade as Miss Leslie had done, out of reeds and his handkerchief, for the sun was scorching his unprotected head. Thus sheltered, the two crouched as comfortably as they could upon the half-dried crest of the hummock, and waited impatiently for the return of Blake.