Читать книгу: «In Strange Company: A Story of Chili and the Southern Seas», страница 13

Once or twice my companion showed signs of returning consciousness, but it was only for a few seconds, and after each he inevitably sank back again into his former comatose condition. Seeing him so long in this state, I began to be alarmed for his life, and even seriously contemplated abandoning the flight and taking refuge somewhere, until I could bring trustworthy medical advice to his assistance. But this extreme measure was, after all, not necessary, for as we approached the port he opened his eyes.

"What's the matter?" he asked faintly, trying to lift his head up to look about him.

I explained as briefly as I could, and asked him how he felt.

"I don't know," he said; "somehow I seem to be dead below my waist. What happened to me? Oh, I remember, that cursed rope."

Turning his face to the driver he said something in Malay, to which the boy offered a vigorous reply.

"I have been asking him," said Veneda, "if he can get us anywhere near the docks without exciting attention, and he says he thinks he can. He declares there'll be the devil and all to pay for this night's work, which, all things considered, I don't think unlikely."

Then taking my hand, he continued, but in a different tone —

"I don't know what to say to you for what you've done for me. I'm afraid, though, you've had your trouble in vain; I'm in an awful state."

"I'm more than sorry to hear it," I replied; "but bite on the bullet, old man, we'll never say die."

"It's devilish good of you, Ramsay; but don't you think you'd better clear out without me? I shan't think a bit the worse of you for it, and it will only be spoiling your own chance to burden yourself with me."

I cannot remember what reply I made to this, but I believe it was to the effect that we were in the same boat, and must sink or swim together. Somehow my heart was more warmly disposed towards the poor fellow in his helplessness than it had ever been in his strength. Such a strange and wonderful thing is the responsibility of protection.

By this time we were close to the shore. I could smell the sea-breeze distinctly; and the first whiff of it put new life into me. It was the breath of freedom, and with that in my nostrils I felt there was nothing I could not do or dare. Like the old war-horse, whose courage rises and whose old deeds of derring-do come back to him with the ring of the trumpet-call, so all my powers and energies derived a fresh fillip from that glorious ozone.

When we reached a safe place the driver pulled up, and I lifted my companion out of the cab.

Only a wall separated us from the docks. With the Malay's assistance, and a vast deal of pain to the sufferer himself, whom I could hear grinding his teeth in his endeavour to prevent any cry escaping him, I got Veneda over it.

This accomplished, I gave the driver the sum I had promised him, and saw him start away on his journey back to the city. Then I rejoined Veneda, and taking him up in my arms, proceeded towards the wharf side. Laying him down, I started off in search of a boat.

On every side were numerous big craft, mail-steamers, men-of-war, etc., but further inland, towards the river, was the sort of vessel I wanted – a small native sailing boat of about two tons. The moon emerged from behind a cloud as I stepped on board her to investigate. Only one man was to be seen, and he lay asleep under a sort of thatch place aft. Without disturbing him, I crept off again and back along the wharf to Veneda. Taking him up, I carried him to the boat and aboard, placing him very gently under the shelter beside the sleeping man.

Just as I did so, three bells struck on a big steamer in the pool with alarming distinctness. The clang was taken up by some of the other boats round about, and it was well-nigh a minute before they'd all done chiming. To make sure of my defence I drew my revolver from my pocket and examined the chambers; they were all charged. Then, signing my intentions to Veneda, I placed my fingers round the sleeping man's throat and shook him back to consciousness. I must leave you to imagine his astonishment when he woke.

As soon as he was able to understand matters, Veneda explained in Malay that we wanted the loan of his boat for a day or two, and that it behoved him to go ashore quietly and peaceably, or he'd get into trouble. But a brilliant thought had struck me. The craft was too big for one man to manage, so, since Veneda was unable to assist, why shouldn't we take the man as well as his property? Besides husbanding our strength, this would prevent the authorities from obtaining any clue as to the manner of our departure from the island.

I explained my idea to Veneda, who fell in with the notion at once. It was a case of Hobson's choice for the nigger; he had no option but to submit. Giving Veneda the tiller, such as it was, I escorted the owner forward, and assisted him to get sail on her. Then, casting off, we began to tack slowly down the harbour, past the Singapore mail-boat, the Dutch gun-boat, and astern of the big mud-dredger, out into the open sea. Fortunately the wind was in our favour, and though the boat was not built on the latest yachting lines, yet it was astonishing what pace it was possible to get out of her. What most puzzled me was the course we ought to steer, for I hadn't the remotest acquaintance with these waters. I put the question to Veneda, who called the man aft and sounded him on the subject. A long jabbering ensued.

"He says it would be best for us to make further down the coast; but I don't cotton to that notion at any price."

"What do you think then?"

"Why, my idea is, one of the small islands off Sumatra. They're right in the way of ships. Then we'll get rid of this fellow and his boat, and wait our chance to be picked up and carried on to Singapore or Colombo, as the case may be."

"Very well," I said, "we'll just let her run her present course for an hour or two, and at the same time keep our eyes open for an island that will suit us."

Fortunately the boat was well provisioned, even to the extent of a small supply of arrack, or native spirit, which came in handy for Veneda, so we were not likely to want for food for some time to come.

As soon as we were clear of the land, I took my place by my poor friend's side, and endeavoured to discover in what way he had hurt himself. Save, however, for a few large bruises, and a cut or two, there was nothing to indicate the nature of his injuries. Advising him to try and obtain some sleep, which I felt sure would have a better effect than anything I could do for him, I took the tiller and prepared to stand the first watch. The Malay sulked forward, looking as if he'd like to stick his crease into the pair of us, which under the circumstances perhaps was not to be wondered at.

By this time it was hard upon sunrise, and such a sunrise too! The first sign that came to us was the paling of the larger stars in the east; this was followed by a long thin streak of silver-grey, just balanced on the edge of the horizon. As, bit by bit, this grey died out, its place was taken by a faint tint of salmon-pink, which in its turn again surrendered to all manner of other colours as the darkness drew off the remainder of the sky. Even the sea participated in the general glory. A wonderful hush overspread everything, and to me it seemed that an intense melancholy had assumed possession of the world. Like the man in the Ancient Mariner, we might have been the "first who had ever burst into that silent sea." The very ripple of the water under our squat bows, and the creaking of the boat's timbers, were subdued into harmony with the general effect. Gradually long shafts of light pierced the eastern heavens. Then, with almost startling suddenness, the sun leaped above the horizon, and the sea resumed its natural hue; as if by magic, the colours faded out of the sky, and day was born to us.

About seven o'clock Veneda woke, much refreshed by his sleep. Calling the Malay aft I gave him the helm, getting Veneda to instruct him as to the course I wanted steered. This done, I went forrard to prepare some rice for breakfast. Though he never allowed a sign of it to escape him, I knew Veneda's sufferings must be intense. As far as I could see I was powerless to alleviate them; and whenever I asked him how he felt, he only laughed grimly, and said —

"Get me to an island, that's all I want, get me to an island!"

All that day we sailed on and on. About midday the wind dropped, and the boat's progress was consequently very slow. It was monotonous work, but, as we both agreed, it was better than prison in Batavia. Towards evening the coast of Sumatra was just distinguishable, and this we followed up in the hope, before dark, of hitting an island that would suit us. We sighted several, but for some reason Veneda found an objection for them all. At last, just as I was beginning to think we should have to pass the night at sea, we came abreast of one of which he expressed his approval. It was very small, not more than a mile in length, but thickly timbered, and with a broad strip of sand running all round it.

Having decided on the best spot to land, I steered the boat in, and after a bit of manœuvring, beached her on a good sandy bottom towards the most northerly point. The first business was to discover if the island contained fresh water. And here arose a difficulty. I could not take Veneda ashore with me, and I dared not go myself and leave him at the mercy of the Malay. He divined what was passing in my mind, and solved the problem with his usual quickness.

"Give me your revolver, and prop me up here. I'll watch him till you come back, never fear."

I did as he desired me, and then bidding him "good-bye," clambered over the side and waded ashore.

CHAPTER III
THE ISLAND

As I splashed my way ashore, I could not help a feeling of wonderment as to whether the whole circumstances preceding and attending our arrival at the island were not part of some horrible dream, from which I should presently awaken. In fact, my whole existence, from the day I left the Beretania at Port Adelaide up to the moment of my setting foot upon these sands, appeared almost too strange to be possible. With the dwelling of my mind upon the subject, all the events which had accompanied my chequered career rose before me like sheeted phantoms of a dead past. They embraced even my monotonous employment in the ship-chandler's office, my experience on the gold-fields, and my starvation and illness at Broken Hill; took in my life as a fireman, as a station store-keeper, as cook on a cattle camp, as a loafer in Brisbane, and a pearler in Torres Straits; included my love for Juanita, my introduction to the Albino, our voyage to the island, the hoax, my betrayal in Batavia, and my meeting with and participation in the escape of Veneda; his accident, and finally our arrival at the place where I now stood.

I must risk the charge of being called a Fatalist when I affirm that I honestly believe that everything in our lives, down to the most trifling circumstance, is mapped out for us beforehand by an all-wise Providence to bring about a certain pre-arranged result. If this is not so, why did I give up the sea? – why was I allowed to meet Juanita and the Albino? – and why was I brought to Batavia? Could it have been only chance that led me to rescue Veneda, and by so doing to work out my own ultimate – but there you must let me cry a halt; to go into it any further would be to anticipate the strange things I have yet to tell you.

Having reached the shore, I looked about me for the best point at which to strike into the undergrowth, for, as I have said, the island was densely covered from end to end with vegetation. A spot decided on, I threw a glance towards the boat, and plunged into the thicket.

From the beach the land rose abruptly till it reached a sandy plateau, something less than a hundred yards long. Round this on every side trees and shrubs throve luxuriantly, not only protecting it from the violence of the sea-breeze, but lending to it a picturesqueness that was like a glimpse of fairyland. What was more to my taste, however, I discovered at the further end a stream of purest water, bubbling its tiny torrent through the thicket down to the sea below, and here I determined to pitch our camp, if only I could manage to convey Veneda up to it.

Above the plateau rose another slight elevation, from the summit of which a splendid view of the sea might be obtained. Before returning to the boat I climbed to it, and searched the offing for a sail, but not a sign of such a thing was to be seen. The sun by this time was nearly down, so bestowing a hasty glance upon the other side of the island, I hastened back to the shore to fetch Veneda. Though I did not anticipate any danger, it was with a feeling of relief that I espied the boat lying just as I had left her, the Malay still seated forward, and my poor friend propped up in the shelter astern.

Very well satisfied with the success of my visit of inspection, I splashed out to his side and informed him of the result. But when I offered to carry him up to the plateau, he was quick to point out the difficulties of the climb, and to suggest a far safer and more comfortable means of transit.

Once more I waded ashore, this time to return with two stout saplings, to which I fastened a strong piece of sail-cloth, thus making a rude but comfortable litter.

At Veneda's command the Malay jumped overboard, and placed himself between the poles at the further end, leaving the after part resting on the gunwale of the boat. Raising the sick man carefully in my arms, I placed him on it, and then taking the other end myself, we were presently bearing him triumphantly ashore.

After pausing for a moment on the beach to recover our breath, we started on again through the thicket and across the stream, up to the spot I had marked out for our camping-place. There, under the shadow of a large rock, we set him down, and I returned with the Malay to secure some necessaries from the boat.

Ere this work was accomplished the sun had disappeared, and it was time for our evening meal. Our fare was necessarily simple, consisting of boiled rice and a small portion of dried fish; but while I partook of it greedily, Veneda could not be induced to touch a particle.

In truth, I was beginning to be more and more alarmed about him, for instead of improving, his condition was growing perceptibly worse. His face, always thin, was now pinched and contracted almost out of recognition; only his great eyes burned like live coals in his head. His fortitude was marvellous. In place of the hasty, ill-tempered man Juanita had always described him to be, I found him patient, long-suffering, and even hopeful to an extraordinary degree. It was a piteous sight to see one hitherto so strong lying like a log, unable even to turn himself without assistance.

As soon as our meal was eaten I set to work to construct a rough sort of shelter for him with saplings and branches of trees, pressing the Malay into my service. When it was completed it was not much to look at, but it answered my purpose very well. The Malay then left us to return to his boat, a proceeding for which I was not sorry, having no desire for his company on that lonely spot all night.

You will notice that I had quite constituted myself Veneda's protector. And what a strange and wonderful thing it is, that responsibility of protection! Take for instance the man who is playing a lone hand in the Game of Life. When he has only his own safety to consider he is careless of danger to an extraordinary degree; on the other hand, give him but the slightest control over, or the right to protect any one weaker than himself, and he begins at once to discover all sorts of dangers in the very things which hitherto he has most vehemently despised. It is the same feeling which makes the strong man tremble when, in the first flush of his golden love-dream, he catches the ominous word infection, and remembers that even his great love is insufficient to protect his dear one from the insidious inroads of disease.

After the sun had been down about an hour the moon rose like a ball of gold above the farthest point of the island, revealing the waste of sea, the coral sands, the tree-tops just rocking in the evening breeze, and the dim stretch of land on either side of us. The soft ripple of the wavelets on the shore sounded like faintest music in the intense stillness, and the crooning of some belated sea-bird came like a cry across the waters. Our fire burnt merrily, and when we had sat for some time gazing into it, occupied with our own thoughts, which I can promise you were none of the happiest, Veneda said he should like to tell me his history.

Thinking it might distract his thoughts from his unhappy position, I professed myself delighted to listen, and giving the fire a final armful of fuel, stretched myself beside him.

It was then that I learnt the queer story which my Cousin Luke has told you in the first part of this book, only saving the fact that Veneda made no mention of the amount of his treasure, in what manner he had obtained it, where it was hidden away, or how another person might procure it. Even in the hour of his extremity his habitual caution did not desert him; and though he must have known himself to be little better than a dead man, he was not going to share his secret with any one else until convinced that it was impossible for him to enjoy the fruits of it himself.

Another strange point about this remarkable man was the affection he displayed for small matters connected with his boyhood. He would linger with the fondest remembrances on the most insignificant trifles. For instance, on a certain tiny trout stream in which he had been in the habit of fishing; on the different names scratched upon the pews in his school chapel; on the various natures of his boyish pets, and particularly on the vagaries of a certain one-eyed fox terrier, for whom he seemed to have cherished a singular regard. I have often noticed this peculiarity in men of his stamp, but never before in such a marked degree.

While his mind was recalling these ancient recollections his face wore an expression of unaccustomed gentleness but a moment or two later, when the name of the Albino happened to occur, the look that accompanied the utterance of it was almost diabolical in its malignity. Wrecked though he was, it would have been an ill moment for the dwarf had he ventured within the reach of those muscular brown hands.

One subject I was surprised to hear him touch upon, and that was his dismissal from the service of a London bank on a suspicion of forgery. This charge he contended, with considerable earnestness, was altogether false. He was innocent; some one else had committed the crime, and had saddled it upon him, convinced that his reckless conduct, bad reputation, and proverbial want of money would supply sufficient motives for the deed.

"Ramsay," he asserted vigorously, "it was just that false accusation which sent me to the devil. I was on the brink before, but that fairly toppled me over. And, as God is my witness, whatever sins I have committed since that time must be laid to the charge of that real thief, whoever he may have been."

"How did you manage to get out of it?" I asked.

"Simply because my uncle, Sir Benjamin Plowden – a pious, New Jerusalem patriarch of East India Avenue – not caring to have the family name figuring in the police reports, took the matter in hand, and used his influence to square it."

"Sir Benjamin Plowden!" I gasped. "You don't mean to tell me Sir Benjamin is your uncle?"

"He was my father's brother. My real name is Plowden. But, good gracious, man, you don't surely know him?"

"Know him! Why, I should rather think I do! Wasn't I in his office for years? And wasn't I engaged to his daughter Maud until I was blackguard enough to think her false to me?"

Veneda was silent. After a while he said, as I thought, rather sadly —

"What a rat-trap of a world it is, after all! Ramsay, this is too much of a coincidence; there's fatality in it. Fate must have willed that we should meet!.. And so you were engaged to little Maud! By Jove! how well I remember her – a tiny slip of a thing in a white frock, tied up with blue ribbons. She came into her father's study one day when I was waiting for him, pretended she came for a book, but I believe myself it was just to steal a look at wicked Cousin Marmaduke, whom the women-folk had piously permitted to figure in her mind as a sort of cross between Giant Blunderbore and the devil. Perhaps Cousin Satan was not quite so ugly as she had expected him to be, for when Sir Benjamin entered later, he found us seated side by side on the hearthrug, making paper boats. I can see his face now! And so – she's a grown woman! – and I – well, I'm just a derelict on the ocean of life, useless to myself, and harmful to my fellow-men. But there, I can't complain; I've made my bed, and I suppose I must lie on it. Ramsay, shall I tell you what I was going to do if I had reached home?"

"What?"

"I should have been a rich man, remember. And I had figured it that I would purchase an estate in a county where nobody would know my past, marry some nice quiet English girl, and settle down to bring up my children, if I had any, to be as honest as their father was crooked, to do good to my neighbours, and when I went down to my grave, to have lived so that somebody should be able to say, 'There's an English gentleman gone to his rest!' An English gentleman, mark you, and there's no prouder title under the sun than that. As it is, I shall peg out here, cut off from all who knew me, and – as somebody has it – going into my grave 'unwept, unhonoured, and unsung!' A grand end, isn't it?"

Not knowing how to comfort him, I held my tongue. He continued —

"Somehow I've been an outcast all my life, and I shall certainly die one. After my first slip I was never given a chance, but was badgered from pillar to post, until I was driven out of England, the victim of what we may call uncivilized Christianity. It was rough on me, deuced rough."

After this our conversation dropped off bit by bit, till it ceased altogether. I made him as comfortable as I could, and then sought my own couch on the other side of the fire. Hours passed before sleep came to me, my brain was full of the thoughts his words had conjured up. Strangely enough, it was not of Juanita I had thought within the last few days. She seemed almost to have passed out of my life. It was on another and a purer love I pondered. "Oh, Maud, Maud, my own lost love," I moaned, "if only I could live those fatal days again!" But it was impossible. Like Dryden, I must cry henceforth —

 
"Not heaven itself upon the past has power;
But what has been, has been, and I have had my hour."
 

Next morning I discovered that Veneda had not slept at all. It needed but little medical knowledge to tell that his condition was worse than on the previous night. His face was fast losing even the faint colour it had hitherto possessed. His forehead was covered with a clammy sweat, and at times he moaned softly and wandered in his talk. I was more distressed about him than I can say. But what could I do? To carry him elsewhere in search of help would have been useless, had it even been possible; besides, it would only have hastened his death to have moved him. In addition to this, I found the Malay had taken advantage of the opportunity to clear out, and his boat was already a dim speck upon the horizon. There was nothing for it but to make Veneda as comfortable as I could, and to patiently await the end.

In his moments of consciousness I think he must have been aware that he had not much longer to live; indeed, he hinted as much to me when I asked if I could do anything to relieve his pain. His patience was marvellous. He uttered no sign of complaint, but met his fate with a fortitude that was inexpressibly touching.

Towards the middle of the morning I struggled up the hill to scour the offing for a sail. But no sign of a ship was to be seen, only the blue expanse of water, other islands peeping up to right and left of us, and the dim outline of the Sumatra coast away to the westward. Round my head white sea-gulls wheeled with discordant cries, while from the farther side of the island the boom of surf sounded like mimic thunder. What would I not have given for a sail, or anything that could have brought relief to my dying companion! But it was no use wishing, so as soon as I had satisfied myself that no assistance was forthcoming, I descended to the plateau and anxiously approached Veneda.

I found him in an excited condition, his face flushed and his eyes brighter than when I had left him half an hour before. He was talking in the wildest fashion, and at the same time endeavoring to raise himself from the ground.

Hastening to his side, I tried by every means in my power to soothe him, but it was useless. He imagined himself back in Chili, and for some time his utterances were in the Spanish tongue. For nearly two hours he remained in this state, eventually falling into a heavy sleep which lasted until about three o'clock. When he awoke his delirium had left him, but he was much weaker; his voice, when he tried to speak, was hardly louder than a whisper. I could see that the end was only a matter of a short time now.

"Ramsay," he managed to say, "I know all about it; I'm down and done for. It seems like a joke, old man, but Marcos Veneda's played out."

As he mentioned his assumed name a faint but bitter smile flickered across his face. I knelt by his side, and, thinking it might afford him relief, raised his head, but he bade me let it lie.

"I shan't be able to talk much longer," he said, and his voice was even weaker than before. "Feel round my neck; you'll find a locket there – the famous locket – take it off."

I did so, placing it in his hand.

"You've been very good to me, Ramsay, one of the only men in the world who ever was, and in return I want to do something for you. Take this locket, it's all I have to leave you, but, as the others knew, it's the key to my fortune. It will make you a rich man."

He paused to regain his strength.

"As soon as you get away from here work your way home to London. And when you have been there a month —swear you will not do so before, I have the best of reasons for asking it – open it."

I swore that I would respect his wishes, and he continued —

"You will find in the locket a small slip of paper on which is written a name and address. Go to the address, show the paper just as you have it there, and demand from the man Two Hundred Thousand Pounds. When he sees that slip of paper in your possession he will pay it without demur. And may you be as happy with the money as I intended to be. Above all things steer clear of John Macklin, for if he dreams that you have the locket he'll stick at nothing to get it from you."

"But is there nothing I can do for you?" I asked, thinking he might like to send some message to the old land he appeared to love so well.

He only shook his head sadly, intimating that there was no one there who would be either glad or sorry for his death.

After this for a long while he remained silent, till I began to think that perhaps the end had come. At last, without opening his eyes, he said slowly —

"Little Maud – she was the only one of that set who ever trusted me. Somehow I'd like her to have a share of that money. Ramsay, I know you love her still; you must marry her after all."

"It's too late," I groaned; "too late."

"No, no, I have a conviction that you will win her yet. Try. Swear you will!"

I swore!

For a minute or two only the sighing of the wind through the trees and the crackling of the fire was to be heard. Then that weary voice began again —

"Ramsay, it's a strange request for a man like me to make, but d'you know, if you could manage to scramble out some sort of a prayer I believe I should die easier."

Like a flash my memory flew back across the waste of years, and once more I was a tiny chap worshipping at my mother's knee. With a great awe upon me I knelt and commenced the Lord's Prayer. When I had finished he slowly repeated the last few words, "For ever and ever, Amen."

Then a wonderful thing happened. He raised his head, and, as he did so, his eyes, which had hitherto been shut, opened wide, and his voice came from him quite clear and strong. It was a grander and a nobler voice than I had ever expected to hear. He said —

"My Lord, I urge nothing in my own defence; I simply throw myself upon the mercy of the Court."

Then with a little sigh his head fell back again. Marcos Veneda was dead!