I tell you about him?That he is kind, cruel; that we love him, hate him? Every one knowsthat; every one has told you. He is the Governor and we are his peoplewho must obey: When he comes back he will ask you to obey him too, andyou must say 'yes.' That will be at the sleep-time: eight, nine, tendays. But why do you ask, Monsieur Captain? Has not Mme. Czerny said itbecause you are her friend? I know that you tease me. Sailors love totease little girls, and you are no better than the other ones."
She cast down her eyes at this, and looked for all the world the takinglittle coquette that she was. Her odd speech told me something, enoughat least to put a hundred questions into my head and as many uselessanswers. The Governor was away. The island alternately hated and fearedhim. The sleep-time, whatever it was, might be looked for in ten days'time. We must be away and on board the ship by then or somethingdreadful would happen to us. Ruth Bellenden's unhappiness was knowneven to these little girls, and they surmised, as the others hadsurmised, that we were on shore to help her. For the rest, the men onKen's Island, I imagined, would hunt us night and day until we weretaken. Nor was I mistaken in that. We'd scarcely finished our meal whenthere was the sound of a gunshot far down in the valley, and, oldClair-de-Lune jumping up at the report, we were all on our feet in aninstant to speak of the danger.
"Halloa, popguns," cries Peter Bligh, in his Irish way; "what for nowwould any man be firing popguns at this time of the morning?"
"It's to ask after your health, Peter," said I, when we'd listenedawhile, "what else should a man be firing after, unless he takes youfor a rabbit? Will you run down and thank him kindly?"
He hitched up his breeches and pulled out his briar-pipe.
"If this is track-running, take down my number. I'm through with it,gentlemen, being not so young as I was."
A gunshot, fired out at sea, cut short his talk. Old Clair-de-Lune,nipping up the ladder, bade us follow him, while to the girls he cried,"_Allez-vous en!_" All our quiet talk and content were gone in aninstant. I never answered little Dolly Venn when he asked me, "Do youthink there's danger, sir?" but, running up the hill after theFrenchman, I helped him to carry the ladder we'd dragged out of thepit, for I knew he'd need of it.
"What is it, Clair-de-Lune? Why are they firing?" I asked him, as heran.
"Governor home," was his answer--"Governor home. Great danger,_capitaine_."
CHAPTER X
WE ARE SURELY CAGED ON KEN'S ISLAND
We ran up the hill, I say, as men who raced for their lives. The littlegirls, snatching up their bags and baskets, exchanged a quick word withClair-de-Lune and then hurried off towards the bungalow. Our own pathlay over difficult rocks and steep slopes and chasms fearful to see. Ofthese our leader made nothing, and we went on, up and up, until at lastthe road carried us right round the highest peak, on whose very wallswe walked like chamois on a mountain crag. It was here, on a narrowledge high above the sea, that the Frenchman stopped for the firsttime.
"Shipmates," said he, when he had got his breath, "journey done, allfinish, you safe here, you rest. I go down to see Governor; but comeback again, come back again, messieurs, with bread and meat."
Well, I don't think one of us had the voice to answer him. The placeitself--the ledge above the sea and the little low, cramped cave behindit--occupied all our thoughts. Here, in truth, a man might lie safelyenough--yet in what a situation. The very door of the house opened uponan abyss a thousand feet above the rocks below. We had the sea beforeour eyes, the sea beneath us, the sea for our distant horizon. Day andnight the breakers thundered on the sword-fish reef; the wind moaned inthe mighty eaves of those tremendous crags. We were like men placedsuddenly on a steeple's side and left there to live or fall, as fortunewent.
I tell you this, plain and straightforwardly, because five days passedon that awful ledge, and, except for one day, there is nothing but aseaman's talk of question and answer and idle hope to set down on thesepages. If every hour of the day found one of us with eyes which yearnedfor our lost ship, with hearts grown heavy in waiting anddisappointment--that was his affair, and of no concern to others. Besure we didn't confess, one to the other, the thought in our heads orthe future we must live through. We had come to Ken's Island to helplittle Ruth Bellenden, and this fearful plight was the result ofit--ship gone, the island full of devils that would have cut ourthroats for nothing and thought themselves well paid--no knowledge,not the smallest, of any way of escape--food short and likely to beshorter. Friends we had, true friends. Night and morning Clair-de-Luneand the little girls found their way up to us with bread and meat andthe news that was passing. It was on the fifth day that they came nomore, and I, at least, knew that they would never come again.
"Lads," I said, "one of two things has happened. Either they've beenwatched and followed, or the time of which they made mention has come.I trust the old Frenchman as I would trust my own brother. He knows howit will fare with five men left on a lonely rock without food or drink.If he doesn't come up here today, it's because he daren't come orbecause he's ordered elsewhere."
They turned it over in their minds, and Dolly Venn spoke next.
"Last night in my watch I heard a bell ringing, sir. At first I thoughtit was fancy--the sea beating on the rocks or the wind moaning in thehills; but I got the ladder and went down the hill, and then I heard itdistinctly, and saw lights burning brightly on the reef far out to thenorth. There were boats passing, I'm sure, and what was so wonderfulthat I didn't like to speak about it, the whole of the sea about thereef shone yellow as though a great lantern were burning far down belowits heart. I could make out the figures of men walking on the rocks,and when the moon shone the figures disappeared as though they wentstraight down into the solid rock. You may not believe it, captain,but I'm quite sure of what I say, and if Clair-de-Lune does not cometo-night, I ask you to go down the hillside with me and to see foryourself."
Now, the lad spoke in a kind of wonder-dream, and knowing how far fromhis true nature such a thing was, it did not surprise me that theothers listened to him with that ready ear which seamen are quick tolend to any fairy tale. Superstitious they were, or sailors they neverwould have been; and here was the very stuff to set them all ears, likechildren about a bogey. Nor will I deny that Dolly Venn's tale wasmarvellous enough to make a fable. Had it been told to me under anyother circumstances, my reply would have been: "Dolly, my lad, sincewhen have you taken to sleep-walking?" But I said nothing of the kind,for I had that in my pocket which told me it was true; and what I knewI deemed it right that the others should know also.
"When a man sees something which strikes him as extraordinary," said I,"he must first ask himself if it is Nature or otherwise. There are lotsof things in this world beyond our experience, but true for all that.Ken's Island may be rated as one of them. The old Frenchman speaks of asleep-time and a sun-time. Lads, I do believe he tells the truth. Ifyou ask me why--well, the why is here, in these papers Ruth Bellendengave me five days ago."
I took the packet from my pocket, and turned the pages of them again asI had turned them--aye, fifty times--in the days which had passed.Thumbed and dirty as they were (for a seaman's pocket isn't lined withsilk); thumbed and dirty, I say, and crumpled out of shape, they werethe first bit of Ruth Bellenden's writing that ever I called my own,and precious to me beyond any book.
"Yes," I went on, "this is the story of Ken's Island, and RuthBellenden wrote it. Ten months almost from this day she landed here.What has passed between Edmond Czerny and her in that time God aloneknows! She isn't one to make complaint, be sure of it. She has sufferedmuch, as a good woman always must suffer when she is linked to a badman. If these papers do not say so plainly, they say it by implication.And, concerning that, I'll ask you a question. What is Edmond Czernyhere for? The answer's in a word. He is here for the money he gets outof the wreckage of ships!"
It was no great surprise to them, I venture, though surprise I meant itto be. They had guessed something the night we came ashore, and seamenaren't as stupid as some take the
m for. Nevertheless, they picked uptheir ears at my words, and Peter Bligh, filling his pipe, slowly,said, after a bit:
"Yes, it wouldn't be for parlour games, captain!"
The others were too curious to put in their word, and so I went on:
"He's here for wreckage and the money it brings him. I'll leave it toyou to say what's done to those that sailed the ships. There are wordsin this paper which make a man's blood run cold. If they are to berepeated, they shall be spoken where Edmond Czerny can hear them,and those that judge him. What we are concerned about at this momentis Ken's Island and its story. You've heard the old Frenchman,Clair-de-Lune, speak
The House Under the Sea: A Romance Page 14
