CHAPTER III
AN UNAPPRECIATED BOUNTY
In the prime of his belligerent career the Pet of 'Frisco had undergonemany fierce contests and withstood some terrible punishments, but neverhad he undertaken a task calling for greater courage and power ofendurance than the one he had this night voluntarily assumed. Dashedabout by the seas, he yet managed to keep to the surface; minutes seemedto lengthen into eternity; many times he called out loudly. The armsabout his neck relaxed, but he held the child to him. Not for an instantdid the temptation come to him to release her that he might the moresurely save himself. Overwhelmed again and again by the waves, each timehe emerged with her tight against his breast; half-strangled, hecontinued to fight on. But at length even his dogged obstinacy anddetermination began to flag; he felt his strength going, when raisinghis eyes he saw one of the small craft from the lost vessel bearingdirectly down upon him.
The sight inspired new energy and effort; nearer, nearer, she drew; nowshe was but a few yards away. Then suddenly the sheet of the life-boatwent out and the little sail fluttered like a mad thing, while the menbent with might and main over their ash handles in the endeavor to obeythe commands of the chief mate in the stern. But despite skill andstrength she was not easy to steer; once she nearly capsized; then eagerhands reached over the side. The convict held up the child; a voice--thepolice agent's--called out that they "had her"; and then the mate brokein with harsh, warning yells.
"Pull port!--quick!--or we're over!" And at once the outreaching armsreturned quickly to their task; as the child was drawn in, oars draggedand tugged; the life-boat came slowly about, shipping several barrels ofwater. At the same time some one made the loosened sheet taut, thecanvas caught the gust and the craft gained sufficient headway to enableher to run over, and not be run down by the seas. As she careened andplunged, racing down a frothing dark billow, the convict, relieved ofhis burden, clung to the lower gunwale. By a desperate effort he drewhimself up, when a face vaguely remembered--as part of a baddream--looked into his, with a dash of surprise.
"Eh?--Gimme a hand--"
The asked-for hand swept suddenly under the one grasping the side of theboat, and shot up sharply. In the darkness and confusion no one saw theact. The convict disappeared, but his half-articulate curses followed.
"The fellow's let go," muttered Lord Ronsdale with a shiver.
At the steering oar the chief mate, hearing the cries of the man, cast aswift glance over his shoulder and hesitated. To bring the boat,half-filled with water, around now, meant inevitable disaster; oneexperiment of the sort had well-nigh ended in their all being drowned.He knew he was personally responsible for the lives in his charge; andwith but an instant in which to decide, he declined to repeat the risk.
"He's probably gone by this time, anyhow," he told himself, and droveon.
The convict, however, was not yet quite "gone"; as the boat recededrapidly from view, becoming smaller and smaller, he continuedmechanically to use his arms. But he had as little heart as littlestrength to go on with the uneven contest.
"He's done me! done me!" he repeated to himself. "And I ain't nevergoin' to git a chance to fix him," he thought, and looked despairinglyat the sky. The dark rushing clouds looked like black demons; the starsthey uncovered were bright gleaming dagger points. "Ain't never!--theslob!" And with a flood of almost sobbing invective he let himself go.
But as the waters closed over him and he sank, his hand, reachingblindly out to grip in imagination the foe, touched somethinground--like a serpent, or an eel. His fingers closed about it--it provedto be a line; he drew himself along, and to his surprise found himselfagain on the surface, and near a great fragment of wreckage. This hemight have discovered earlier, but for the anger and hatred that hadblinded him to all save the realization of his inability to wreakvengeance. Now, though he managed to reach the edge of the swaying massfrom which the line dangled, he was too weak to draw himself up on thefloating timbers. But he did pass a loop beneath his arms, and, thussustained, he waited for his strength to return. Finally, his mind in adaze, the convict clambered, after repeated efforts, upon the wreckage,fastened the line about him again, and, falling into a saucer-likehollow, he sank into unconsciousness.
The night wore on; he did not move. The sea began to subside; still helay as if dead. Dawn's rosy lips kissed away the black shadows, touchedtenderly the waves' tops, and at length the man stirred. He tried to situp, but at first could not. Finally he raised himself and looked abouthim.
No other sign of the vessel than that part of it which had served him sowell could he see; this fragment seemed rent from the bow; yes, therewas the yellow wooden mermaid bobbing to the waves; but not as of old!Poor cast-out trollop,--now the seas made sport of her who once had heldher head so high!
The convict continued to gaze out over the ocean. Far away, a darkfringe broke the sea-line--a suggestion of foliage--an island, or amirage? Tantalizing, it lay like a shadow, illusive, unattainable as the"forgotten isles." The man staggered to his feet; his garments weretorn; his hair hung over his brow. He shook his arms at theisland;--this phantasy, this vain, empty vision, he regarded it now assome savage creature might a bone just out of its reach; from his lipsvile words fell--to be suddenly hushed. Between him and what he gazedat, along the range of vision, an object on one of the projectingtimbers caught his eye. It was very small, but it gleamed like a sparksprung from the embers of the dawn.
"The dicky-bird!" His dried lips tried to laugh. "Ef it ain't thedicky-bird!" The bird looked at him. "Ef that doesn't beat--" but hecould not think what it "beat." The bird cocked its head. "Ain't yeafeard o' me?" It gave a feeble chirp. "Well, I'm damned!" said the man,and after this mild expression of his feelings, forgot to curse again.He even began to eye the island with a vague questioning wonder, as ifasking himself what means might be thought of that would enable him toreach it; but the problem seemed to be beyond solution. The wreckage,like a great lump, lay supinely on the surface of the water; he couldnot hope to move it.
The day slowly passed; the sun dried his clothes; once or twice the birdmade a sound--a plaintive little tone--and involuntarily the man movedwith care, thinking not to frighten it. But caution in that regardseemed unnecessary, for the bird appeared very tame and not at allaverse to company.
Toward noon the man began to suffer more acutely from thirst, anddrawing out a sailors' oilskin pouch, one of the few possessions he hadbeen allowed by the police to retain, he took from it a piece of tobaccowhich he began to chew. At the same time he eyed the rest of thecontents--half a ship's biscuit, some matches and a mariner's thimble.The biscuit he broke, and threw a few crumbs, where the timbers weredry, near the bird. For a long time it looked at the tiny white morsels;but finally, conquering shyness, hopped from its perch and tentativelyapproached the banquet. Hours went by; the man chewed; the bird pecked.
That night it rained in real, tropical earnest, and he made a watervessel of his shoe, drank many times, ate a few mouthfuls of biscuit,and then placed the filled receptacle where he had thrown the crumbs. Ashe did so he found himself wondering if the dawn would reveal his littlefeathered shipmate or whether it had been swept away by the violence ofthe rain. The early shafts of day showed him the bird on its perch; ithad apparently found shelter from the heavy down-pour beneath someout-jutting timber and seemed no worse for the experience. The man'ssecond glance was in the direction of the island; what he saw brought asudden exclamation to his lips. The land certainly seemed much nearer;some current was sweeping them toward it slowly, but irresistibly. The'Frisco Pet swore joyfully; his eyes shone. "I may do him yet!" hemuttered. The bird chirped; he looked at it. "Breakfast, eh?" he saidand tossed a few more crumbs near the shoe.
The second day on the floating bow, he brooded a great deal; the sharperpangs of hunger assailed him; he grew desperately impatient, thedistance to the island decreased so gradually. A breeze from the covetedshore fanned his cheek; he fancied it held them back, and fulminatedagainst it,--the
beneficent current,--the providential timbers! Afeeling of blind helplessness followed; the sun, beating down fiercely,made him light-headed. Hardly knowing what he did, he drew forth thelast little bit of the biscuit, ground it between his teeth and greedilyswallowed it. The act seemed to sober him; he raised his big hand to hisbrow and looked at "Dearie"; through the confusion of his thoughts hefelt he had done some despicable thing.
"That weren't fair play, were it now?" he said, looking at the bird."That ain't like a pal," he repeated. The bird remained silent; hefancied reproach in its bead-like eyes, they seemed to bore into him."And you such a small chap, too!" he muttered; then he turned his backon the island, and, with head resting on his elbow, uttered no furthercomplaint.
That second day on the raft seemed much longer than the first; thesecond night of infinitely greater duration than the preceding one; butdawn revealed the island very near, so near, indeed, the bird made upits mind to try to reach it. It looked at the man for a moment and thenflew away. Long he watched it, a little dark spot--now that he could nolonger see the ruby on its breast! At length it was lost to sight;swallowed up by the green blur.
The small winged creature gone, the man missed it. "'Peared like 'twasglad to leave such a pal!" he thought regretfully. The floating timbersbecame well-nigh intolerable; he kept asking himself if he could swim toland, but, knowing his weakness from long fasting, he curbed hisimpatience. His eyes grew tired with staring at the longed-for spot; hesuffered the torments of Tantalus, and finally could endure them nolonger. So making his clothes into a bundle, he tied them around hisneck and slipped into the water.
Half an hour later found him, prone and exhausted, on the yellow sands.Near-by, tall and stately trees nodded at him; close at hand a greatcrab regarded him with reflective interest, hesitating between prudenceand carnivorous desire. Gluttonous inclination to sample the goods thegods had provided prevailed over caution; it moved quickly forward, whenwhat it had considered only an unexpected and welcome _piece deresistance_ abruptly got up. The tables were turned; that which came todine was dined upon; a crushing blow demonstrated the law of thesurvival of the fittest; the weaker adorned the board. The man tore itto bits, ate it like the famished animal he was. More freely his bloodcoursed; he looked around; saw other creatures and laughed. There seemedlittle occasion for any one to starve here; the isle, a beautifulemerald on the breast of the sea, became a fair battle-ground; all heneeded was a club and he soon found that.
For a week nothing of moment interrupted the even tenor of hisexistence; he led the life of a savage and found it to his liking,pounced upon turtles and cooked them, kept his fire going because he hadbut few matches. Lying before the blaze at night, near a little spring,he told himself that this was better than being behind prison bars;true, he lacked company, but he had known worse solitude--the"solitary." In it, he had lain on the hard stones; here he had softmoss. If only he could reach out and touch those he hated--the unknownenemy whose face had bent over him a fleeting instant ere he had struckhis hand from the gunwale; Dandy Joe and the police agent--if only they,too, were here, the place would have been world enough for him. Butthen, he felt, the time for the reckoning must come,--it lay somewherein the certain future. Unconscious fatalist, he nourished the convictionas he nourished the coals of his fire.
Other means to enhance his physical comfort chance afforded him; thefleshpots were supplemented with a beverage, stronger and more welcomethan that which bubbled and trickled so musically at his feet. One day abox was washed ashore; a message from the civilized centers to the fieldof primitive man! On its cover were the words, "Via sailing vessel,_Lord Nelson_" followed by the address. The convict pried the boardsapart and gave a shout. Rum!--and plenty of it!--bottle after bottle, inan overcoat of straw, nestling lovingly one upon another. The man lickedhis lips; knocked off a neck, drank deep, and then, stopping many times,carried his treasure to his bower.
Day after day turned its page, merged into the past; sometimes,perforce, he got up, and, not a pleasant thing to look at, staggered tothe beach with his club. There he would slay some crawling thing fromthe sea, return with his prize to mingle eating with drinking, untilsated with both, he would fall back unconscious among the flowers. Butthe prolonged indulgence began to have a marked effect on his store;bottle after bottle was tossed off; the empty shells flung aside to thedaisies. At length the day came when only two bottles remained in thecase, one full pair, sole survivors of the lot. The man took them out,set them up and regarded them; a sense of impending disaster, ofimminent tragedy, shivered through his dulled consciousness. He reachedfor the bottles and fondled them, started to knock the head from one andput it down. Resisting desire, he told himself he would have a look atthe beach; the ocean had generously cast one box of well-primed bottlesat his feet; perhaps it would repeat its hospitable action and make himonce more the recipient of its bounty. The thought buoyed him to theshore; the sea lapped the sand with Lydian whispers, and there, beyondthe edge of the soft singing ripples, he saw something that made him rubhis dazed eyes.
A box!--a big box!--a box as tall as he was! No paltry dozen or two thistime! Perhaps there was whisky, too; and the bubbling stuff thelong-necked lords had sometimes pressed upon him in the past, when hehad "ousted" his man and put quids in their pockets; or some of thatfiery _vin_--something he had once indulged in with a Johnny Frenchmanbefore he took to the tunnel, when he had been free to swagger throughold Leicester Square. Anyhow, he would soon find out, and, rushingthrough the water, he laid a proprietary hand on the box. But to hisdisappointment, he could not move it; strong though he was, its greatweight defied him. Ingenuity came to his aid, for, after a moment'spondering, he left the box to the sea and made his way back to theforest. When he returned he bore on his shoulder a straight, stout limbwhich he had wrenched from a tree, and in his hand he carried a greatstone. The former became a lever, the latter, a fulcrum; and, by patientexercise of one of the simple principles of physics, he managed, atlength, to transfer the large box from ocean to land.
To break it open was his next problem, and no easy one, for the boardswere thick, the nails many and formidable. A long time he battered andbattered in vain with his rocks, but, after an hour or so, he succeededin splintering his way through the tough pine. His exertions did not endhere; an inner sheeting of tin caused him to frown; more furiously heattacked this with sharp bits of coral, cutting and bruising his hands.Unmindful of pain, he was enabled at length to pull back a portion ofthe protecting metal and reveal the contents of the packing-case. In hisbefuddled, half-crazed condition, he had thought only of bottles; whathe found proved a different sort of merchandise.
Maddened, he tossed and scattered the contents of the box on the beach.The ocean had deceived him, laughed at him, cheated him. He turned fromthe shore unsteadily, walked back to his camp and knocked the neck fromone of the two remaining bottles. A few hours later, sodden, sottish, helay without motion, face to the sky. And as he breathed thickly, onebleeding hand still holding the empty bottle, a bird from an overhangingbranch looked down upon him: a tiny bird, little bigger than his thumb,that carried a bright, beautiful spot of red on its breast, cocked itshead questioningly.
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Half A Chance Page 3
