The Isle of Seven Moons/Chapter 35
CHAPTER XXXV
A TRICK OF FATE
All on the island felt those tremors,—the frightened thieves on guard in the camp and those who had departed northward on their mysterious mission, Larone on his solitary search in the heart of the island, and the three women and the sailors on the North Star and the Alice.
Like the swell of the flood-tide in the full o' the moon, only with far greater violence and swiftness, the waters of Rainbow Bay were sucked from the coral lips of the strand full forty feet, racing back again to forty more above high water mark, until they laved the trees of the grove around the hut. Three times they rose and ebbed, reaching their climax at the second rumble, while the yards of the ship danced merrily, and the helmsman worked frantically at the wheel.
"It's a young tidal wave, sir," cried Benson, for they had returned to the ship, for reinforcements.
"Yes, and worse to follow, I'm afraid," replied the Captain. He scanned the rising terraces with his glass—no sight of Ben and the searching party. "Rayer," he hailed the mate, "arm Crow, Slathers, and Yorke. I'll head the second party myself. We've no time to lose."
"What's that, sir, by that clump o' cocoas—that bit o' rag?"
The captain raised his glasses again. A handkerchief, knotted on a stick, was wigwagging from the shore.
"None o' my men. It's the leader of the blackguards. The rogues are asking for a parley. Man the longboat!"
The gambler did not trust his own precious person to the sailors, and when they reached the shore they found only the handkerchief and the stick, and in its prongs a missive, which the captain hastily read.
"Are you willing to exchange the yacht for the girl? If so, anchor the Alice in South Bay and beach the tender this p.m.
If you agree to this, answer here ...................... (signing your name). Will you also grant us safe conduct, agreeing not to attack?
(signed) Captain of the Alice."
"We can't risk any thing on her account, Benson. I'll sign."
He looked at his watch, reflected for a moment, then on the note he wrote
"We will beach the tender here. Produce the girl at four o'clock unharmed or " —the dash was more eloquent than any threat. At the bottom he signed his name.
They rowed back to the yacht, and, when a furlong offshore, saw the two figures by the white flag waving assent to the conditions.
Like all hardened rascals who live but for the lust of the moment, Old Man Veldmann had a gutta-percha disposition, and so, on the swift rebound, he quite forgot the warnings after the rumblings ceased. Of all that good gold was he thinking, and he chuckled at a little idea just hatched under the eaves of his grizzled old thatch.
"You be good and stay here, girl," he said to Sally who had recovered from her swoon. "I'll be back in a shake of a lamb's tail."
To make sure of her obedience, he bound her hands and feet, then started back along the sea-wall.
Larone, from an eyrie on Cone mountain, was watching the manœuvres on the shore of Rainbow Bay when he saw the bow-legged, bent old figure walk along the gorge and then pass over the divide to the southern slope.
"It is the cavern," he said to himself, and hurried after the retreating figure, only to lose sight of it in the forest.
So he turned to the house on the mountain, passed through the doorway and the wide hall, searched for a candle, descended to the cellar, lifted a trap-door, and lighting the wax, went down another flight of stone-steps into a gloomy dungeon.
Meanwhile the old figure toiled on through the woods, still chuckling to himself over his plan, until he reached the glen, to find only "the Swede" still on guard, Pete having gone on some errand to the shore.
Cunningly the old rascal addressed the pink-complexioned one.
"Say, Pink, that's a hell uv a lot of gold."
The dull eyes of the Swede gleamed with the glint of the treasure itself.
"Ay, she make us all rich for life."
"Now, Swedie, don't get no such notion in your thick head, the chief's as glib with promisin' as a wench that's atter yer roll."
"Yu tank he go back on us—double cross us, you say?"
"Well, now I wouldn't swear as to that. But what's to prevent him? Ye can't reef canvas after the ship's sunk. Now I've a little idee, an' it's a good one."
Looking around cautiously to see that the place was quite as solitary as it seemed, the plotter proceeded to drill the "little idee" into the tow head. It seemed to register, and soon these two untied the clanking chains, and began a queer series of manæuvres of their own with the chest, the sacks, and stones.
•••••••
And all the while the girl sat alone in the deserted cavern above the sea.
"I must not give up, I must not give up," she repeated over and over and over to herself. How her bones ached from the contact with the rocky floor!
It was all so still up here. Not even the roar of the breakers below ascended to this height; there was only the shriek of some gull, or the moan of the wind wandering through the hollow chambers, as lonely and forlorn as the captive maiden. She looked back into the darkness. It was impenetrable, not even relieved by flickering shadows now.
For company she had only the skull at her feet. She almost screamed as she glanced at the eyeless sockets, but courageously she stifled the cry and edged away from it, as best her body could, towards that irregular circle of blue. She must keep her eyes on that.
Why didn't they come! Where was Ben! Would the old man return after all, or was that only a lie. Almost she hoped that he wouldn't, that she could roll over the brink into the white foam. There would be rest there for a child of the sea.
But youth ran strongly in the slender body, so she waited and prayed, and prayed and waited, the long morning through.
Sometimes for relief, on that circle of sky as on a heavenly screen she tried to picture other places and things, to visualize old memories,—the trees, the orchards, and flowers, of her old home; the cheerful hustle of Preble Square; the old neighbours; the spick and span lighthouse, eternally guarding the deep; and Ben, telling the old, old story under the moon.
And then, in her fancies she saw the face of the stranger, the eyes, now with that quizzical expression as he read her through and through, now with the brave, pathetic look that went straight to her heart. Again she wondered. If his home had been in Salthaven, instead of on some strange shore—just where it was he had never told her—perhaps everywhere—but if it had been—why then—but, no, that could never be. Honest, blue-eyed Ben was hers, her boy. But why didn't he come!
Overcome by fatigue, her head drooped against the wall of the cavern, and she slept. When she awoke it was to look at the impenetrable darkness behind her. A nightmare? Where was she? Then, with a dull feeling of despair, she realized her plight again. Her shoulders and neck were shot through and through with agonizing pains, and she couldn't help sobbing—long, racking sobs.
At last she grew quiet. What time was it? She looked at the patch of sunlight that splashed through the opening. By its angle, sharply cut from the shadow, she confusedly reckoned that it must be considerably past noon.
She looked down at her feet, and discovered that the knot so carelessly tied by the old man in his absorption over "that little idee," had become loose while she struggled in her slumbers. There was sufficient leeway to work the toe of one slipper against the heel of the other. It came off, the other followed, and bending over, with her bound hands she pushed the rope down over her slender ankles and feet. The knot on her hands was secure. She rose and stretched herself, trying to relieve the ache a little, and walked towards the sea.
What was that noise? It sounded like voices—out there on the sea-wall. They were coming! Or was it the sound of the gulls—the mocking wind?
They were human voices, calling to each other as their owners crept along the path above the sea.
More fearful of them than the darkness within, she turned and hurried into the cavern, circled the elbow, and threaded the gloom, feeling her way against the cold walls. Remembering vividly the other mound near the stone chart, she tried to avoid it, and so ran plumb against the wall at the end.
Shaking in every nerve, she sank on the floor, her hand falling on the flat tablet of the chart.
As her fingers groped along its surface, she felt it move. The earth was trembling again. Nature, as well as humanity, was arrayed against her. But the rest of the place was silent, motionless. Only the stone, unevenly balanced, rocked a little, then rose again, as if struggling shoulders below were trying to force it upward. What arms could there be there in the bowels of the mountain.
She rose and recoiled. She had reached the ultimate depths of terror. Accustomed now to the darkness, her fascinated gaze was bent on that stone. One inch it rose, then fell back again, gained two, and so was forced up slowly, higher and higher.
Those voices sounded louder, shouting through the cavern.
Should she stay here to face this unknown terror, or flee to the known? They echoed again—those voices behind her, and one had the sharp ring of the tall man's voice.
"Here are her slippers."
Then the angry command:
"Come out of there."
And still that stone was rising inch by inch. Now, even in the darkness, she could see the gleam of a white arm, but the owner of it had uttered no sound.
Then, as if some mighty force were behind it, the stone fell back crashing against the walls, waking a thousand new voices of the cavern. She did not faint, but strangely she felt that now she knew what the end, what Death, must be like.
The human voices were coming nearer, and around the elbow, the flickering flame of a torch illumined the walls of the curving passage with a ghostly light.
A shadowy form leaped up from the hole, uncovered by the stone when it fell. The form was at her side. It, too, had a voice, and her heart started beating again, as she heard the musical accent.
"You are safe—thank God!"
"Quick, they are coming!" She managed to gasp out the whisper.
He seized her around the waist.
"Look out, there are steps there," and he drew her down into the dark passage, infinitely more cheerful than the gloom above, for he was with her, and, far away, flickered a little light, a taper set in its own wax, in a stone orifice.
Leaping up the steps again, with surprising strength the Frenchman pulled the tablet of stone over the opening into place again. They paused, listening to the muffled footsteps and the raging voice of the gambler.
"Gone by ! We're done for."
Through the dark passage, one of Nature's natural tunnels extended by the old owners of the place, he guided her towards the little light.
As they went, the rumblings sounded again, faint and far away.
"The Sleeping Giant is turning over in his dreams. But he's sure to wake at any moment. You must tell your guardian to sail away, this very day."
She did not hear him, for she had swooned again, and he had to bear her and the light too, crouching under the low walls, to the dungeon, deep under the foundations of the house. They emerged into the sub-cellar, then, depositing his precious burden, he raised the trap-door, picked up the girl again, bore her up three flights, and placed her tenderly on the bed where the little exquisite old lady had lain with the flowers.
For a few long heart-beats he gazed on her face as she lay so still, knowing that he would never hold her in his arms again, and striving to impress the pure features forever in his memory.
As she stirred, a tiny object dropped to the floor. He picked it up and smiled. It was so typically American,—the little pennant-shaped pin of sterling silver and cheap enamel. The significance of the letters S. H. S. he could not read, but he slipped it in his pocket.
It was a fair exchange for a chest of gold.
Then he bent over and kissed her on the forehead—once, very gently, and finding that her eyes did not open, hurried down the stairway for water from the spring.
And the girl knew that he had kissed her.