Читать книгу Lentala of the South Seas: The Romantic Tale of a Lost Colony - W. C. Morrow - Страница 8

Table of Contents

Accepting the Challenge. The Threat. What the Face Saw on the Bluff. A Mysterious Visitor. The Fan-Bearer’s Conspiracy.

CAPTAIN Mason and I occupied the same hut, but we held no converse that night before falling into heavy slumber. Christopher insisted on sleeping outside the door. If any of our party had thought it prudent to appoint a watchman, no suggestion to that effect was made; but there was no knowing what responsibilities Christopher assumed.

The sun was looking over the great wall when we assembled for breakfast. Every one had a brighter appearance. I had never seen men so terribly cowed as these since the storms had beaten them down. The women had looked beyond the hopelessness, and had tried to sustain the courage of the colony. Every man was now beginning to hold up his head.

Some of the despair had melted from Mr. Vancouver’s face; it was clear that the lion in him was feebly straining. Mr. Rawley was recovering his aplomb. Annabel, having in her bearing an added depth and sweetness, had undoubtedly done much to accomplish that result with the two men, for there was something pathetic in the tenacity with which they clung to her.

On the barkentine, before the elements became destructive, she had been aloof toward the other women and the children; but on the beach, at the feast, and on the weary march to the valley, she had given a cheering smile, word, or deed to those about. The promise thus made was meeting fulfilment this morning. She had assumed charge of the breakfast preparations, and, seeing that Christopher yearned to do kindly service, had made him her executive. I often caught her look of wonder at his unfailing intelligence, patience, and gentleness in doing her bidding.

After breakfast the men began to talk among themselves. Captain Mason went over and said something to Mr. Vancouver, who shook his head, and the captain returned to me.

“Now that the men are rousing,” he said, “it is time to organize. Mr. Vancouver declines to take the lead.”

“You are the one for that,” I declared.

“No. You have the military training and the tongue.”

“But you have wisdom and a longer experience in discipline. Let’s compromise. Take the leadership. I’ll do your talking.”

“Very well,” he said. “There’s no need to caution you, but the others ought to know; these trees may have ears We need organization for defense.”

At the end of a heartening address to the colony I called for the selection of a president. Mr. Vancouver named Captain Mason, who was elected. I was chosen his assistant, to Mr. Vancouver’s evident annoyance. Dr. Preston, a young physician, was made superintendent of the camp.

The men squared their shoulders; the women’s faces brightened. In a few words I urged against any restlessness, any plotting,—anything, in fine, that would have the faintest color of mistrust or disobedience toward the king. “Be patient. Hold together.” That was the watchword.

Gato, the interpreter, soon appeared with a crowd of natives, and indicated that Christopher and I, with twenty picked men, should follow him. A short distance down the stream we came upon cleared land, and were given our first lesson in farming. Our men winced under this and the indefinite term of imprisonment which it implied. But the word was passed round: “Wait. Be patient.” The one hundred and fifty intelligent American men of us would find a way to match any ten thousand heathen under the sun. Blessed be the American brag! It is the front of something good behind.

The lesson was concluded in the early afternoon, for the sun was growing hot. Gato led us down the stream a mile to a low ridge stretching across the valley. Not a break in the great wall enclosing the valley was visible, except the thin cleft which had given us ingress; but I reasoned that at the lower end there must be a gorge through which the stream issued, although no sign of it could be seen. Gato made us understand that this transverse ridge was the boundary of our freedom. He pointed out two landmarks springing from the walls and marking the terminals of the ridge.

The one on the far side of the river was a barren bluff; opposite it, and forming part of the wall behind, there suddenly appeared a hideous caricature of a human face, a ferocious gargoyle, rudely fashioned by nature from the upper front of the cliff, protruding from the rock, and leering down horribly. It must have been a hundred feet from forelock to chin.

I withstood the shock badly, but was steadied by noting the deep satisfaction in Gato’s eyes as he observed me. Unmistakably it was one of malignant triumph, instantly gone, but almost as disconcerting as the awful face itself. I felt that the ghastly apparition on the wall held a significance reaching the very depths of our fate. It was the embodiment of all the silent and implacable menaces hovering over the lethal fairness that environed us.

It had the blackish color of the rock, with reeking perpendicular streaks of green alternating with dull red. The forehead and chin receded in a simian angle; bulging eyes leered; below high cheek bones were mummy-like recessions, and hungry shadows filled them; the nose was flat, and the nostrils spread bestially.

Gato, informing us that his men would be on hand the next morning, took himself away. It gave a creepy sensation to note the snaky smoothness with which these men could sink out of sight.

Our party started for camp. A heaviness sat on me, and I did not wish to talk. Christopher and I fell behind, and the others left us. I could not bear that any but Christopher should see my perturbation. Several times I glanced back to see the face on the wall. Its malignancy grew even more terrible through the hazing distance, and I was glad when the forest shut it out. If the spectacle affected me so deeply, what greater hold must it not have had on the natives? And there was the significant look that I had caught from Gato.

On top of the opposite wall I discovered near the edge what appeared to be a large stone table, or altar, and its position with reference to the face suggested a sinister purpose.

Now that the men were gone, hopelessness fell upon me. Never had anything like such heavy responsibilities crept into my life. A sense of my inadequacy grew unendurable; and, overcome by weariness of soul and body, I flung myself on the ground and buried my face in my arm.

Christopher presently stepped away with a sprightliness quite unusual, but I had not the spirit to look up. Even returning footsteps and a low murmur of voices failed to stir me. I was recalled by Christopher’s quiet remark:

“Some one to see you, sir.”

I sat up, and discovered a native lad with him. His loose dress of blouse, trousers, and straw hat was of the commonest material. He was as unlike the native men as I had observed the fan-bearer to be, but his manner was shy and timid, lacking the careless defiance of hers. With a finger on his lips he beckoned us to follow him.

In a secluded spot a little distance away, we sat down. My first surprise was when he began to talk. In a musical voice, he groped for words that I could understand, and in that way used a polyglot language, some words badly pronounced, and others spoken with surprising correctness.

First, he enjoined secrecy, for should the king learn that he had come——The lad finished with a grimace, and a swipe of the hand across his throat. He made me pledge the sun to burn me up, the moon to strike me a stark lunatic, and the stars to pierce me with their lances, should I betray his confidence,—all this solemnly, but with a twinkle in the back of his eye.

Second, he was Beelo, brother of the king’s fanbearer, Lentala, a good girl in a way, but——A droll shake of his head left her in the air. Lentala and he were protégés of the king and queen, and enjoyed uncommon privileges, having been members of the king’s household since childhood. The queen was very sweet and gentle, and they were fond of her. She had no children of her own.

And, third, Lentala wished Beelo to come surreptitiously to me in order to learn English. She had a special reason for that. Neither the king nor any of the other natives must know. That was all. Would I teach him, that he in turn might instruct her?

Our conversation, carried on in a mixture of languages, must be here given in English.

“Indeed, I will, and gladly, Beelo!” I exclaimed; “but why not bring Lentala, that I may teach you together?” I seized his hand in my joy of this heavensent opportunity. It was a small, delicate hand.

“She can’t come,” he answered.

“Why not?”

“Why—she’s a girl!”

“But she might come with you.” I was pleased with the discovery that the savage girl had the fine instinct which establishes self-guarding and self-respecting conventions.

“The distance is long. Girls have to wear skirts, you know, and girls are not as active as boys. Lentala, with her skirts, would be seen, and the king would find out. I can slip through anywhere.”

I nodded resignedly. Only with the greatest difficulty could I refrain from asking him many questions; but how did I know that he was not a spy? In establishing relations with him I was playing with every life in the colony. I observed Christopher. His air of listening to distant voices was not present, and I felt reassured for the moment.

Beelo was anxious to begin; and he had his first lesson. Never had I found so eager and sweet-tempered a pupil, and his quickness was extraordinary. I drilled him first in the names of familiar objects.

“What is your name?” he plumped at me.

“Tudor.”

“Tudor.” He caught it with a snap, as though it were a ball. “You have another name?”

“Yes—Joseph.”

He began a comical struggle with the J, laboriously twisting his tongue and lips as he pronounced the first syllable Cho as the Chinese, Yo as the German, Zho as the French, and Ho as the Spanish; but the English eluded him, and he gave it up, laughing sweetly. Often during the lesson I saw in his handsome deep-blue eyes—which were maturer than the rest of him—a dash of the mischief, the teasing, and the challenge that gave Lentala her sparkle.

“What is your name?” he demanded of Christopher, and pronounced it perfectly.

Christopher was gravely regarding the lad, who appeared disconcerted under the scrutiny. That disturbed me; but if the boy was seeking our undoing he would have to reckon with Christopher.

He was curious about Annabel, and sent her affectionate messages from Lentala.

“Beelo,” I demanded, “where did you learn all those words from foreign languages?”

Taken by surprise, he was confused and a little frightened, and had the look of a child preparing a fib.

“Other people have been shipwrecked here,” he answered, peering at me from under his brows. “I learned from them.”

“What became of them?” I asked.

He raised his head, and answered, “The king said he sent them away.”

“Did you visit them secretly?”

“N—o.” He began to play with twigs on the ground.

“Were they herded in this valley?”

“No.” His answer was firmer. “There was never more than one or a very few at a time.”

I sat silent so long that he looked up, and showed alarm.

“Tell me the truth, lad,” I insisted, holding his eyes. “Where did you learn those words?” A startling suspicion suddenly came. “The gold in your hair, the blue in your eyes, the fine lines of your face,———”

He began to edge away, and I saw flight in him; but I caught his wrist.

“Tell me the truth,” I repeated.

He gazed at me in fear and pleading, but found no yielding, and with provoking indifference shrugged his shoulders and settled down with a pouting, martyr-like resignation.

“You are hurting my wrist,” he remarked.

“Answer me,” I demanded, tightening my grip. “Hasn’t white blood mingled with some of the native blood here?”

His lips were compressed under the pain of my clasp, and an angry resentment steadied his gaze.

“Yes!” he answered, and a sudden change lit his face, as I unprisoned the wrist. “Don’t scare me that way again,” he said, half impudently shaking his head at me.

It seemed best to desist from pressing the matter further, and pleasant relations were soon re-established between us; but the matter seated itself in a corner of my mind.

Our lesson was delightful, and time escaped more smoothly than we knew. Beelo glanced at the sky, and sprang to his feet. He sweetly smiled his thanks, seized one of Christopher’s great paws and vigorously shook it, asked me and Christopher to meet him at the same spot tomorrow at the same hour, and was darting away. I called him back, and led him to an opening through which the face on the cliff was visible.

“What is that?” I asked, pointing to it.

He caught his breath, stood rigid, and slowly turned his face up to mine.

“That on the cliff? It is nothing—only stone.”

“It is more,” I insisted. “It sits there, it looks down threateningly on the valley; it says as plainly as speech——”

“No, no!” cried Beelo, seizing my arm with both hands, and gazing up into my eyes. “It is one of the gods. The people invoke it—you may see the altar fire on the opposite cliff some night when there is a great storm and the sea is raging. The god brings fish to the king’s net.”

He broke off abruptly, and with alarm clapped his palm to his mouth. I put my hand on his shoulder and smiled reassuringly. His manner grew composed, and he darted away and disappeared.

On returning to camp I told Captain Mason of the adventure. He was deeply interested, and sat in thought.

“You’ve struck a lead,” he said. “Follow it—cautiously.”