Читать книгу Deluge - S. Fowler Wright - Страница 16

CHAPTER IX

Over these events which have been briefly told, and over others which there is no need for telling, Claire’s mind had wandered as she watched a calm sea wrinkle to a summer breeze; but as she found no issue, she resolved that she must play for time until she had contrived some plan by which she could play for safety, and that she would gain nothing by rousing the suspicion that she was not returning with the cows as usual, or by leaving the men to make common cause against her while she were absent. On her way back to the house the feeling of giddiness with which she had wakened returned, but more strongly, so that she staggered, and part of the milk was spilled. For some time she lay on the turf while the sky swayed above, and she felt as though the ground were sinking beneath her. But this passed, and she rose with a feeling of unaccustomed sickness.

She found the men together at their morning meal when at last she came in with the milk pail. She knew that they had been discussing her from a look which Norwood gave before his glance fell nervously beneath her own, but neither spoke, and it was her own policy to draw their thoughts to the day’s work, as though the incidents of the previous one were forgotten. Norwood’s face was not a pleasant sight, the forehead swollen and discoloured, and the left cheek caked with dirt and blood, which he had omitted to wash lest the bleeding should start afresh. But it was not a subject to which any of them was likely to allude. Jephson had other things on his mind, and was proceeding to explain his programme and to allot to each of them the task by which they could best assist it, when an event happened of the kind which so often shows the vanity of human forethought or apprehension.

Clare’s fears and Jephson’s plans went the same road when a thin stream of water from the yard outside hesitated for a moment on the sill and trickled down into the kitchen.

The kitchen was the oldest part of an old house, and was built at the time when floors were sunk, so that the strewn rushes should not be drawn out by careless feet. Probably it had then been the best room in the house, which had since decayed and been rebuilt around it. Its floor, now flagged, was several inches lower than the yard from which the water dripped so gently, yet with a quietly increasing volume.

Claire noticed it first, but did not speak, which was a measure of her mental aloofness, and it was a few seconds before she realised its significance. Jephson saw it next, and knew its cause in a moment, but he was a man of slow speech, and he stared silently while his mind grappled with the problem which it presented.

Norwood saw it last, and jumped up with an exclamation of vague astonishment. The next moment Jephson was leading the way to the yard, where a thin layer of water was spreading outward from the well-mouth.

It was clear that the sea had broken into the well and that the water would continue to rise until it found its own level. Claire, who had often noticed, as she had gained the crest of the ridge in her daily journey to the little bay, how much lower than the sea was the hollow in which the house was built, realised that it would rise until the house and all their possessions were submerged beneath it, unless it could be checked effectually.

Was there any possible means of so doing? It is not easy to stop the ocean, but it was evident that Jephson thought it worth attempting.

The slowness with which the water rose made it clear to his mind that the sea could only be percolating through very gradually. Surely this tendency could be checked if the well were filled?

He looked round for the quickest method of doing this, and the next minute they were all three heaving bricks from a pile of loose rubbish in the yard into the splashing mouth of the well. The well was at the side of the yard which was furthest from the house, covered by a wooden flap, against a low wall that divided the yard from the garden. As the heap of bricks and stones was rapidly diminishing, Jephson fetched a pick, and, with a few expert strokes, demolished the old side walls so that they also fell into the water. Soon there was a gap in the rear wall also, which had found the same sepulchre. Then he began to break up the yard itself, while the other two, having fetched spades to his instructions, were shovelling garden earth through the gap in the wall.

But the well seemed insatiable, and still the water rose. Claire and Norwood were above its level, for the garden was a foot or two higher than the yard, but Jephson was now working in six inches of water, and it was clear that, despite all their efforts, it was still rising, and more rapidly than before.

Jephson paused a moment, leaning on his pick, and called to Claire to ask when the tide would be at its highest. She had learnt to judge this, so that they should choose the best times for their salvage operations. She looked at the sun, and answered that it was nearly full. He asked her if she could tell whether it were higher than the upper storey of the house if she went to the edge of the ridge to look.

“I can tell you that without going,” she answered. “It would cover the house entirely.”

But Jephson would have her go and look again, and she went rather than argue, having already decided that their labour was a waste of effort.

Jephson knew it too, but he grasped at any hope, however feeble, and worked on doggedly. He had a wild thought of dragging their possessions to the upper floor and remaining there, and perhaps being able to sally out when the tides fell. He could build a house on higher ground, and they could gradually remove their property to it. But this would be useless if the whole house would be under water continually. In that case they had better commence to save what they could.

Claire went up the hillside quietly. When she reached the top she looked round in wonder, for the sea was but a short distance beneath her. The lower island had disappeared.

She realised after the first moment’s surprise that something was happening more serious than the flooding of the well, and that while they had toiled at their useless task, the whole island had been quietly sinking beneath them. After all, it was scarcely wonderful. Rather was it difficult to understand why this little space of land had remained uncovered when so much of higher ground had subsided. Anyway, it was not a time for theorising over the inexplicable. She had no doubt that the island was doomed, and in a moment her resolution was formed to take that desperate chance which she had debated in the earlier morning. She would swim for life, as she had done on the night when the floods came. To do this she should start from the north side of the island, which was nearly a mile away. It would be well to be clear of the land before the final subsidence. For her companions she could see no hope, and towards them she felt no obligation. She was disinclined to descend the hollow again. At the least, it was loss of time when time might be priceless. At the worst, if the sea should overflow while she were there, it might pour in from every side, making such a cauldron as would drown the strongest. She could not tell; she could only imagine.

Yet she felt she could not leave them unwarned, and so she went, reluctantly enough, back to the house, round which the water had risen several inches and had spread widely over the lower ground around it.

Jephson turned eagerly as she approached, and called to know if the whole house would be covered, and she could only shake her head in reply till she was near enough for explanation. Both men stopped their work and looked at her anxiously as she reached them. The water was pouring out from the well-mouth, and it was evident that their work had been ineffectual to check it. There must have been tragedy in her face which had alarmed them before she spoke, but when she did so it was very quietly.

“It is no use doing that. You must save yourselves if you can. I think the island is sinking.”

Norwood went white, and his jaw dropped as he heard her. He had the type of mind which was able to realise at once that she spoke the truth, but was incapable of making any fight against it.

Jephson was less receptive. He answered roughly, but not without a nervous note in his voice. “Nonsense, wench. You can’t tell me what’s wrong. It’s the sea’s in the well. That won’t drown us.”

“Mr. Jephson,” she said with a quiet intensity which vanquished his incredulity, “you can believe me or not, but the sea is almost level with the ridge above us. You can think where you’ll be when it pours over. I am going to save myself, if I can. I don’t know what you can do. Perhaps you could make a raft. But I should do it quickly.”

She had turned away and waded to the kitchen before he found an answer.

The pail of milk was still on the table, and she stooped to it and drank till she could drink no more.

Her mind was very clear, rising to the occasion with a curious feeling of exaltation. She was not troubled or afraid at all. Rather was she conscious of a great relief, as of one who has been released from impending tragedy by a supernatural power after all hope had ended.

When she came out of the kitchen the two men were running up the slope, Norwood far in advance. She turned away, and had nearly gained the higher ground on the inland side, when a roaring sound behind caused her to look round quickly. She saw a great spout of water shoot up from the well-mouth, flinging high into the air the bricks and earth with which they had endeavoured so laboriously to choke its passage.

She looked over to the further side, and saw Jephson waving furiously to her to join them. He shouted something which she could not hear. She thought the word “boat” was repeated, but could not be certain.

Anyway she was not going. She shook her head and turned away resolutely. She had done with them forever.