Читать книгу Lentala of the South Seas: The Romantic Tale of a Lost Colony - W. C. Morrow - Страница 12

Table of Contents

A Dangerous Mood. Annabel’s Tangled Situation. Heroism in Humble Duties. The Miracle Worked by Gentleness. Traitors Are Threatened.

NOT a word was spoken after I had dressed and we were returning to camp, but Captain Mason’s walk lacked its usual firmness. What would he do? There is no accounting for the rashness of a man made suddenly desperate, and I remembered the temptation to strangle that had assailed me. Clearly, for the present, Christopher and I must not leave him alone for a moment. My imagination constructed this scene: Captain Mason, assembling the colony, telling them briefly that a man among them had been caught in the act of plotting to destroy us, turning upon Mr. Vancouver and pointing him out as the criminal, ordering me to tell off a squad and hang the knave in the presence of the crowd; and Annabel——Could Christopher and I stay the flood now while the dam was straining? I feared not; a finer hand was needed.

We went to our hut. Captain Mason seated himself on a stool. Christopher gave him some water, which was eagerly drunk. With a significant look at Christopher, I left the hut.

There was a good excuse for bringing Annabel now; I had promised Beelo that he should see her. It was necessary to secure Captain Mason’s assent, and I had no doubt that he would agree with me that a friendship between her and Lentala might go farther toward solving our problems than all our masculine wit and fighting ability.

I reflected on the extraordinary complications in which Annabel would be involved, and the softening pressure which she would assist in bringing upon Captain Mason. There was no immediate danger from Mr. Vancouver. He lay snugly in the hollow of my hand.

Annabel was busy about the camp.

“Where is Christopher?” she cheerily asked. “It is time for him to make the fire for supper.”

“Captain Mason has him,” I answered. “Won’t you come with me and call on our president?”

“I?” in surprise.

“Yes.”

A flush mottled her cheeks, but she hesitated only a moment.

“Father won’t care, I know,” she said, and started with me.

She was bareheaded, and the witcheries of the twilight drifted over her. In the distance sang the deep monotone of the waterfall. Drowsy twitterings announced that the busy little people of the trees were content after their day’s work. From the edges of the stream rose comfortable whispers between the water and the reeds. The lightly moving air swung odorous censers in the trees, and every flower poured out as perfume the sunshine which had filled its chalice. It was good to be thus again side by side with Annabel.

I explained tomorrow’s plan for her meeting with Beelo, and impressed upon her the importance of keeping it secret. She showed the glee of a quiet child in her acquiescence, but she must have wondered why her father was not to know.

“An adventure!” she exclaimed. “And mystery! It is delightful. Do you men with so much freedom know how depressing it is to be cooped up in this camp?”

I had not thought of it, and was surprised. Annabel had always been cheerful, and I had not observed the other women.

“Isn’t it life,” I asked, “for men to work and women to wait, for men to dare and women to endure?”

“Yes,” she answered, looking up at me with a smile, “but isn’t it a remnant of savagery?”

“Perhaps,” I returned. “Yet Lentala, the savage, appears in her independence to have solved some latter-day feminine problems. I hope you will meet her soon. Then you and she can formulate a code for your sex. We are going to see Captain Mason in order to secure his consent to your meeting her brother. So you must exercise your subtlest graces on our president.”

“I—I’m afraid of him,” she declared in some trepidation.

“Why?”

“Because he is stern and silent and cold and——”

“That is all on the surface. His sea-training has given it to him. Underneath he has a woman’s gentleness and kindness. Trust him. Look for the best in him and ignore the rest. Just now he is worried and needs all the sunshine that you know so well how to give.”

She smiled her thanks, but there was concern in her question:

“Worried! Has anything special happened?”

“Was anything special needed? His responsibilities are great.”

Annabel was silent,—not daring, I know, to ask more questions. She had unfolded to my comprehension what the women of our party had been suffering patiently and silently during the dreary weeks that they had been held in prison. Annabel must have borne more than any other; yet she had held up her heart and her head. Dread must have sat on her pillow through many a long hour of the night, but her soul walked forth with the sunrise.

Christopher was sitting on a bench outside the hut.

“Christopher!” she cried, “the fire isn’t made yet;” but there was no chiding in her rosy smile.

“No, ma’am,” he answered, rising, but standing still.

“Go and make it now, please,” she said.

“All well, Christopher?” I asked, low.

His slow nod held a doubt. There was always in Christopher’s manner a suggestion that speech was largely a silly indulgence, and that animals other than human beings made themselves intelligible without it.

He fetched a delicious drink which he had made from wild fruit, and served Annabel with quite an air. Her voice carried music in its thanks.

Annabel bubbled with raillery and chatter. Presently my anxious ear heard a stir within. I knew that the man nursing his hurt in the dusk was aware of the invasion, and that he understood and resented my ruse in bringing Annabel to disarm him.

“Christopher,” she said, handing him the calabash from which she had drunk, “please go and make the fire and start the supper. After that, find father; ask him to come here for me.”

Christopher mutely interrogated me, and I nodded. He shambled away.

“Come out and join us, Captain Mason!” I called.

It left him no choice. The darkness kindly falling veiled the grayness of his face. A touch of decrepitude lay on him as he stepped without and greeted Annabel with a stiff and stately courtesy, for he was shy with women of the higher world. The unsteadiness in his manner surprised Annabel, whose sympathies were keen and quick. I had prepared her, and, shocked though she evidently was, she met the situation bravely.

After some general talk, which was directed by me to show Annabel’s suffering, her courage and helpfulness, I saw that Captain Mason was softened. I then placed before him the plan concerning Annabel and Beelo. It took the breath out of his body, and he peered at me in amazement through the gloom. The perfect assurance with which I asked for his concurrence, a hint that her discretion might be trusted, and a casual remark that Christopher approved the idea, had effect. Annabel impulsively rose, seized both his hands, and pleaded:

“Please let me go, Captain Mason. Who knows what good may not come of it?”

I don’t think she noticed the catch in his throat. It was the final breaking up of the ice.

“Yes, you may go. But you’ll do nothing except as Mr. Tudor approves?”

“Nothing whatever, Captain Mason. Thank you.”

She released his hands and turned a beaming face to me. Pity for her welled within me. That she and her father, between whom there was so strong an attachment, should thus secretly proceed in opposite directions, each deceiving the other, was a terrible thing. No human perception could foresee the outcome, and, it gave me an uneasiness that she must have dimly seen.

“You don’t look glad!” she said in astonishment.

“I am too happy for mere gladness, my friend,” I replied; “and may all the good angels help you—and shield you!”

She heard the note of solemnity, and turned to Captain Mason.

“Is our situation so serious?” she asked him, a slight quaver in her voice.

“Life can have no serious dangers for so brave a heart as yours,” he answered.

Mr. Vancouver came up. I could feel a tigerish stealth in him. All danger from an immediate clash between him and Captain Mason had been banished by Annabel, but I knew that the future held dangers. I was glad that she and I had become partners in the secrets and exactions of defense. With such an ally as Christopher, and such a director as Captain Mason, we would give an account of ourselves.

The captain hardened when Mr. Vancouver came. That gentleman playfully scolded Annabel for running away, and was somewhat too affable toward the silent, unresponsive sailor. Soon he tucked Annabel’s hand under his arm and was leaving.

“Just a word, Mr. Vancouver,” said Captain Mason in a tone that stopped my breathing.

“Well?”

“I unintentionally witnessed a scene this morning that I didn’t like. I wish you to hear the order that I’ll give Mr. Tudor.” His voice was ominously quiet.

“Mr. Tudor,” he resumed, “order Rawley to fall in with the field squad tomorrow. If he shows the slightest hesitation, clap him in irons and send for me. There’s a rope for the neck of any man who undermines the discipline of this colony.”

Annabel started, and reeled where she stood. Her father’s nostrils were spreading with a sneering smile; but, seeing her state, he seized her arm, steadied her with a word, and in silence led her away.