Night after night the Pleiades swung higher in the firmament; day after
day the sailor perfected his defences and anxiously scanned the ocean
for sign of friendly smoke or hostile sail. This respite would not have
been given to him, were it not for the lucky bullet which removed two
fingers and part of a third from the right hand of the Dyak chief.
Not even a healthy savage can afford to treat such a wound lightly, and ten
days elapsed before the maimed robber was able to move the injured limb
without a curse.
Meanwhile, each night Jenks slept less soundly; each day his face
became more careworn. He began to realize why the island had not been
visited already by the vessel which would certainly be deputed to
search for them--she was examining the great coast-line of China and
Siam.
It was his habit to mark the progress of time on the rudely made
sun-dial which sufficiently served their requirements as a clock. Iris
happened to watch him chipping the forty-fourth notch on the edge of
the horizontal block of wood.
"Have we really been forty-four days here?" she inquired, after
counting the marks with growing astonishment.
"I believe the reckoning is accurate," he said. "The Sirdar was
lost on the 18th of March, and I make this the 1st of May."
"May Day!"
"Yes. Shall we drive to Hurlingham this afternoon?"
"Looked at in that way it seems to be a tremendous time, though indeed,
in some respects, it figures in my mind like many years. That is when I
am thinking. Otherwise, when busy, the days fly like hours."
"It must be convenient to have such an elastic scale."
"Most useful. I strive to apply the quick rate when you are grumpy."
Iris placed her arms akimbo, planted her feet widely apart, and
surveyed Jenks with an expression that might almost be termed impudent.
They were great friends, these two, now. The incipient stage of
love-making had been dropped entirely, as ludicrously unsuited to their
environment.
When the urgent necessity for continuous labor no longer spurred them
to exertion during every moment of daylight, they tackled the box of
books and read, not volumes which appealed to them in common, but
quaint tomes in the use of which Jenks was tutor and Iris the scholar.
It became a fixed principle with the girl that she was very ignorant,
and she insisted that the sailor should teach her. For instance, among
the books he found a treatise on astronomy; it yielded a keen delight
to both to identify a constellation and learn all sorts of wonderful
things concerning it. But to work even the simplest problem required a
knowledge of algebra, and Iris had never gone beyond decimals. So the
stock of notebooks, instead of recording their experiences, became
covered with symbols showing how x plus y equaled x² minus 3,000,000.
As a variant, Jenks introduced a study of Hindustani. His method was to
write a short sentence and explain in detail its component parts. With
a certain awe Iris surveyed the intricacies of the Urdu compound verb,
but, about her fourth lesson, she broke out into exclamations of
extravagant joy.
"What on earth is the matter now?" demanded her surprised mentor.
"Don't you see?" she exclaimed, delightedly. "Of course you don't!
People who know a lot about a thing often miss its obvious points. I
have discovered how to write Kiplingese. All you have to do is to tell
your story in Urdu, translate it literally into English, and there you
are!"
"Quite so. Just do it as Kipling does, and the secret is laid bare. By
the same rule you can hit upon the Miltonic adjective."
Iris tossed her head.
"I don't know anything about the Miltonic adjective, but I am sure
about Kipling."
This ended the argument. She knitted her brows in the effort to master
the ridiculous complexities of a language which, instead of simply
saying "Take" or "Bring," compels one to say "Take-go" and "Take-come."
One problem defied solution--that of providing raiment for Iris. The
united skill of the sailor and herself would not induce unraveled
cordage to supply the need of thread. It was either too weak or too
knotty, and meanwhile the girl's clothes were falling to pieces. Jenks
tried the fibers of trees, the sinews of birds--every possible
expedient he could hit upon--and perhaps, after experiments covering
some weeks, he might have succeeded. But modern dress stuffs, weakened
by aniline dyes and stiffened with Chinese clay, permit of no such
exhaustive research. It must be remembered that the lady passengers on
board the Sirdar were dressed to suit the tropics, and the hard
usage given by Iris to her scanty stock was never contemplated by the
Manchester or Bradford looms responsible for the durability of the
material.
As the days passed the position became irksome. It even threatened
complete callapse during some critical moment, and the two often
silently surveyed the large number of merely male garments in their
possession. Of course, in the matter of coats and waistcoats there was
no difficulty whatever. Iris had long been wearing those portions of
the doctor's uniform. But when it came to the rest--
At last, one memorable morning, she crossed the Rubicon. Jenks had
climbed, as usual, to the Summit Rock. He came back with the exciting
news that he thought--he could not be certain, but there were
indications inspiring hopefulness--that towards the west of the far-off
island he could discern the smoke of a steamer.
Though he had eyes for a faint cloud of vapor at least fifty miles
distant he saw nothing of a remarkable change effected nearer home.
Outwardly, Iris was attired in her wonted manner, but if her
companion's mind were not wholly monopolized by the bluish haze
detected on the horizon, he must have noticed the turned-up ends of a
pair of trousers beneath the hem of her tattered skirt.
It did occur to him that Iris received his momentous announcement with
an odd air of hauteur, and it was passing strange she did not offer to
accompany him when, after bolting his breakfast, he returned to the
observatory.
He came back in an hour, and the lines on his face were deeper than
before.
"A false alarm," he said curtly in response to her questioning look.
And that was all, though she nerved herself to walk steadily past him
on her way to the well. This was disconcerting, even annoying to a
positive young woman like Iris. Resolving to end the ordeal, she stood
rigidly before him.
"Well," she said, "I've done it!"
"Have you?" he exclaimed, blankly.
"Yes. They're a little too long, and I feel very awkward, but they're
better than--than my poor old dress unsupported."
She blushed furiously, to the sailor's complete bewilderment, but she
bravely persevered and stretched out an unwilling foot.
"Oh. I see!" he growled, and he too reddened.
"I can't help it, can I?" she demanded piteously. "It is not unlike a
riding-habit, is it?"
Then his ready wit helped him.
"An excellent compromise," he cried. "A process of evolution, in fact.
Now, do you know, Miss Deane, that would never have occurred to me."
And during the remainder of the day he did not once look at her feet.
Indeed, he had far more serious matters to distract his thoughts, for
Iris, feverishly anxious to be busy, suddenly suggested that it would
be a good thing were she able to use a rifle if a fight at close
quarters became necessary.
The recoil of the Lee-Metford is so slight that any woman can
manipulate the weapon with effect, provided she is not called upon to
fire from a standing position, in which case the weight is liable to
cause bad aiming. Though it came rather late in the day, Jenks caught
at the idea. He accustomed her in the first instance to the use of
blank cartridges. Then, when fairly proficient in holding and
sighting--a child can learn how to refill the clip and eject each empty
shell--she fired ten rounds of service ammunition. The target was a
white circle on a rock at eighty yards, and those of the ten shots that
missed the absolute mark would have made an enemy at the same distance
extremely uncomfortable.
Iris was much pleased with her proficiency. "Now," she cried, "instead
of being a hindrance to you I may be some help. In any case, the Dyaks
will think there are two men to face, and they have good reason to fear
one of us."
Then a new light dawned upon Jenks.
"Why did you not think of it before?" he demanded. "Don't you see, Miss
Deane, the possibility suggested by your words? I am sorry to be
compelled to speak plainly, but I feel sure that if those scoundrels do
attack us in force it will be more to secure you than to avenge the
loss of their fellow tribesmen. First and foremost, the sea-going Dyaks
are pirates and marauders. They prowl about the coast looking not so
much for a fight as for loot and women. Now, if they return, and
apparently find two well-armed men awaiting them, with no prospect of
plunder, there is a chance they may abandon the enterprise."
Iris did not flinch from the topic. She well knew its grave importance.
"In other words," she said, "I must be seen by them dressed only in
male clothing?"
"Yes, as a last resource, that is. I have some hope that they may not
discover our whereabouts owing to the precautions we have adopted.
Perched up there on the ledge we will be profoundly uncomfortable, but
that will be nothing if it secures our safety."
She did not reply at once. Then she said musingly--"Forty-four days!
Surely there has been ample time to scour the China Sea from end to end
in search of us? My father would never abandon hope until he had the
most positive knowledge that the Sirdar was lost with all on
board."
The sailor, through long schooling, was prepared with an answer--"Each
day makes the prospect of escape brighter. Though I was naturally
disappointed this morning, I must state quite emphatically that our
rescue may come any hour."
Iris looked at him steadily.
"You wear a solemn face for one who speaks so cheerfully," she said.
"You should not attach too great significance to appearances. The owl,
a very stupid bird, is noted for its philosophical expression."
"Then we will strive to find wisdom in words. Do you remember, Mr.
Jenks, that soon after the wreck you told me we might have to remain
here many months?"
"That was a pardonable exaggeration."
"No, no. It was the truth. You are seeking now to buoy me up with false
hope. It is sixteen hundred miles from Hong Kong to Singapore, and half
as much from Siam to Borneo. The Sirdar might have been driven
anywhere in the typhoon. Didn't you say so, Mr. Jenks?"
He wavered under this merciless cross-examination.
"I had no idea your memory was so good," he said, weakly.
"Excellent, I assure you. Moreover, during our forty-four days
together, you have taught me to think. Why do you adopt subterfuge with
me? We are partners in all else. Why cannot I share your despair as
well as your toil?"
She blazed out in sudden wrath, and he understood that she would not be
denied the full extent of his secret fear. He bowed reverently before
her, as a mortal paying homage to an angry goddess.
"I can only admit that you are right," he murmured. "We must pray that
God will direct our friends to this island. Otherwise we may not be
found for a year, as unhappily the fishermen who once came here now
avoid the place. They have been frightened by the contents of the
hollow behind the cliff. I am glad you have solved the difficulty
unaided, Miss Deane. I have striven at times to be coarse, even brutal,
towards you, but my heart flinched from the task of telling you the
possible period of your imprisonment."
Then Iris, for the first time in many days, wept bitterly, and Jenks,
blind to the true cause of her emotion, picked up a rifle to which, in
spare moments, he had affixed a curious device, and walked slowly
across Prospect Park towards the half-obliterated road leading to the
Valley of Death.
The girl watched him disappear among the trees. Through her tears shone
a sorrowful little smile.
"He thinks only of me, never of himself," she communed. "If it pleases
Providence to spare us from these savages, what does it matter to me
how long we remain here? I have never been so happy before in my life.
I fear I never will be again. If it were not for my father's terrible
anxiety I would not have a care in the world. I only wish to get away,
so that one brave soul at least may be rid of needless tortures. All
his worry is on my account, none on his own."
That was what tearful Miss Iris thought, or tried to persuade herself
to think. Perhaps her cogitations would not bear strict analysis.
Perhaps she harbored a sweet hope that the future might yet contain
bright hours for herself and the man who was so devoted to her. She
refused to believe that Robert Anstruther, strong of arm and clear of
brain, a Knight of the Round Table in all that was noble and chivalric,
would permit his name to bear an unwarrantable stigma when--and she
blushed like a June rose--he came to tell her that which he had
written.
The sailor returned hastily, with the manner of one hurrying to perform
a neglected task. Without any explanation to Iris he climbed several
times to the ledge, carrying arm-loads of grass roots which he planted
in full view. Then he entered the cave, and, although he was furnished
only with the dim light that penetrated through the distant exit, she
heard him hewing manfully at the rock for a couple of hours. At last he
emerged, grimy with dust and perspiration, just in time to pay a last
visit to Summit Rock before the sun sank to rest. He asked the girl to
delay somewhat the preparations for their evening meal, as he wished to
take a bath, so it was quite dark when they sat down to eat.
Iris had long recovered her usual state of high spirits.
"Why were you burrowing in the cavern again?" she inquired. "Are you in
a hurry to get rich?"
"I was following an air-shaft, not a lode," he replied. "I am
occasionally troubled with after wit, and this is an instance. Do you
remember how the flame of the lamp flickered whilst we were opening up
our mine?"
"Yes."
"I was so absorbed in contemplating our prospective wealth that I
failed to pay heed to the true significance of that incident. It meant
the existence of an upward current of air. Now, where the current goes
there must be a passage, and whilst I was busy this afternoon among the
trees over there,"--he pointed towards the Valley of Death--"it came to
me like an inspiration that possibly a few hours' hewing and delving
might open a shaft to the ledge. I have been well rewarded for the
effort. The stuff in the vault is so eaten away by water that it is no
more solid than hard mud for the most part. Already I have scooped out
a chimney twelve feet high."
"What good can that be?"
"At present we have only a front door--up the face of the rock. When my
work is completed, before tomorrow night I hope, we shall have a back
door also. Of course I may encounter unforeseen obstacles as I advance.
A twist in the fault would be nearly fatal, but I am praying that it
may continue straight to the ledge."
"I still don't see the great advantage to us."
"The advantages are many, believe me. The more points of attack
presented by the enemy the more effective will be our resistance. I
doubt if they would ever be able to rush the cave were we to hold it,
whereas I can go up and down our back staircase whenever I choose. If
you don't mind being left in the dark I will resume work now, by the
light of your lamp."
But Iris protested against this arrangement. She felt lonely. The long
hours of silence had been distasteful to her. She wanted to talk.
"I agree," said Jenks, "provided you do not pin me down to something I
told you a month ago."
"I promise. You can tell me as much or as little as you think fit. The
subject for discussion is your court-martial."
He could not see the tender light in her eyes, but the quiet sympathy
of her voice restrained the protest prompt on his lips. Yet he blurted
out, after a slight pause--
"That is a very unsavory subject."
"Is it? I do not think so. I am a friend, Mr. Jenks, not an old one, I
admit, but during the past six weeks we have bridged an ordinary
acquaintanceship of as many years. Can you not trust me?"
Trust her? He laughed softly. Then, choosing his words with great
deliberation, he answered--"Yes, I can trust you. I intended to tell
you the story some day. Why not tonight?"
Unseen in the darkness Iris's hand sought and clasped the gold locket
suspended from her neck. She already knew some portion of the story he
would tell. The remainder was of minor importance.
"It is odd," he continued, "that you should have alluded to six years a
moment ago. It is exactly six years, almost to a day, since the trouble
began."
"With Lord Ventnor?" The name slipped out involuntarily.
"Yes. I was then a Staff Corps subaltern, and my proficiency in native
languages attracted the attention of a friend in Simla, who advised me
to apply for an appointment on the political side of the Government of
India. I did so. He supported the application, and I was assured of the
next vacancy in a native state, provided that I got married."
He drawled out the concluding words with exasperating slowness. Iris,
astounded by the stipulation, dropped her locket and leaned forward
into the red light of the log fire. The sailor's quick eye caught the
glitter of the ornament.
"By the way," he interrupted, "what is that thing shining on your
breast?"
She instantly clasped the trinket again. "It is my sole remaining
adornment," she said; "a present from my father on my tenth birthday.
Pray go on!"
"I was not a marrying man, Miss Deane, and the requisite qualification
nearly staggered me. But I looked around the station, and came to the
conclusion that the Commissioner's niece would make a suitable wife. I
regarded her 'points,' so to speak, and they filled the bill. She was
smart, good-looking, lively, understood the art of entertaining, was
first-rate in sports and had excellent teeth. Indeed, if a man selected
a wife as he does a horse, she--"
"Don't be horrid. Was she really pretty?"
"I believe so. People said she was."
"But what did you think?"
"At the time my opinion was biased. I have seen her since, and she
wears badly. She is married now, and after thirty grew very fat."
Artful Jenks! Iris settled herself comfortably to listen.
"I have jumped that fence with a lot in hand," he thought.
"We became engaged," he said aloud.
"She threw herself at him," communed Iris.
"Her name was Elizabeth--Elizabeth Morris." The young lieutenant of
those days called her "Bessie," but no matter.
"Well, you didn't marry her, anyhow," commented Iris, a trifle sharply.
And now the sailor was on level ground again.
"Thank Heaven, no," he said, earnestly. "We had barely become engaged
when she went with her uncle to Simla for the hot weather. There she
met Lord Ventnor, who was on the Viceroy's staff, and--if you don't
mind, we will skip a portion of the narrative--I discovered then why
men in India usually go to England for their wives. Whilst in Simla on
ten days' leave I had a foolish row with Lord Ventnor in the United
Service Club--hammered him, in fact, in defence of a worthless woman,
and was only saved from a severe reprimand because I had been badly
treated. Nevertheless, my hopes of a political appointment vanished,
and I returned to my regiment to learn, after due reflection, what a
very lucky person I was."
"Concerning Miss Morris, you mean?"
"Exactly. And now exit Elizabeth. Not being cut out for matrimonial
enterprise I tried to become a good officer. A year ago, when
Government asked for volunteers to form Chinese regiments, I sent in my
name and was accepted. I had the good fortune to serve under an old
friend, Colonel Costobell; but some malign star sent Lord Ventnor to
the Far East, this time in an important civil capacity. I met him
occasionally, and we found we did not like each other any better. My
horse beat his for the Pagoda Hurdle Handicap--poor old Sultan! I
wonder where he is now."
"Was your horse called 'Sultan'?"
"Yes. I bought him in Meerut, trained him myself, and ferried him all
the way to China. I loved him next to the British Army."
This was quite satisfactory. There was genuine feeling in his voice
now. Iris became even more interested.
"Colonel Costobell fell ill, and the command of the regiment devolved
upon me, our only major being absent in the interior. The Colonel's
wife unhappily chose that moment to flirt, as people say, with Lord
Ventnor. Not having learnt the advisability of minding my own business,
I remonstrated with her, thus making her my deadly enemy. Lord Ventnor
contrived an official mission to a neighboring town and detailed me for
the military charge. I sent a junior officer. Then Mrs. Costobell and
he deliberately concocted a plot to ruin me--he, for the sake of his
old animosity--you remember that I had also crossed his path in
Egypt--she, because she feared I would speak to her husband. On
pretence of seeking my advice, she inveigled me at night into a
deserted corner of the Club grounds at Hong Kong. Lord Ventnor
appeared, and as the upshot of their vile statements, which created an
immediate uproar, I--well, Miss Deane, I nearly killed him."
Iris vividly recalled the anguish he betrayed when this topic was
inadvertently broached one day early in their acquaintance. Now he was
reciting his painful history with the air of a man far more concerned
to be scrupulously accurate than aroused in his deepest passions by the
memory of past wrongs. What had happened in the interim to blunt these
bygone sufferings? Iris clasped her locket. She thought she knew.
"The remainder may be told in a sentence," he said. "Of what avail were
my frenzied statements against the definite proofs adduced by Lord
Ventnor and his unfortunate ally? Even her husband believed her and
became my bitter foe. Poor woman! I have it in my heart to pity her.
Well, that is all. I am here!"
"Can a man be ruined so easily?" murmured the girl, her exquisite tact
leading her to avoid any direct expression of sympathy.
"It seems so. But I have had my reward. If ever I meet Mrs. Costobell
again I will thank her for a great service."
Iris suddenly became confused. Her brow and neck tingled with a quick
access of color.
"Why do you say that?" she asked; and Jenks, who was rising, either did
not hear, or pretended not to hear, the tremor in her tone.
"Because you once told me you would never marry Lord Ventnor, and after
what I have told you now I am quite sure you will not."
"Ah, then you do trust me?" she almost whispered.
He forced back the words trembling for utterance. He even strove weakly
to assume an air of good-humored badinage.
"See how you have tempted me from work, Miss Deane," he cried. "We have
gossiped here until the fire grew tired of our company. To bed, please,
at once."
Iris caught him by the arm.
"I will pray tonight, and every night," she said solemnly, "that your
good name may be cleared in the eyes of all men as it is in mine. And I
am sure my prayer will be answered."
She passed into her chamber, but her angelic influence remained. In his
very soul the man thanked God for the tribulation which brought this
woman into his life. He had traversed the wilderness to find an oasis
of rare beauty. What might lie beyond he neither knew nor cared.
Through the remainder of his existence, be it a day or many a year, he
would be glorified by the knowledge that in one incomparable heart he
reigned supreme, unchallenged, if only for the hour. Fatigue, anxiety,
bitter recollection and present danger, were overwhelmed and forgotten
in the nearness, the intangible presence of Iris. He looked up to the
starry vault, and, yielding to the spell, he, too, prayed.
It was a beautiful night. After a baking hot day the rocks were
radiating their stored-up heat, but the pleasant south-westerly breeze
that generally set in at sunset tempered the atmosphere and made sleep
refreshing. Jenks could not settle down to rest for a little while
after Iris left him. She did not bring forth her lamp, and, unwilling
to disturb her, he picked up a resinous branch, lit it in the dying
fire, and went into the cave.
He wanted to survey the work already done, and to determine whether it
would be better to resume operations in the morning from inside the
excavation or from the ledge. Owing to the difficulty of constructing a
vertical upward shaft, and the danger of a sudden fall of heavy
material, he decided in favor of the latter course, although it
entailed lifting all the refuse out of the hole. To save time,
therefore, he carried his mining tools into the open, placed in
position the cheval de frise long since constructed for the
defence of the entrance, and poured water over the remains of the fire.
This was his final care each night before stretching his weary limbs on
his couch of branches. It caused delay in the morning, but he neglected
no precaution, and there was a possible chance of the Dyaks failing to
discover the Eagle's Nest if they were persuaded by other indications
that the island was deserted.
He entered the hut and was in the act of pulling off his boots, when a
distant shot rang sharply through the air. It was magnified tenfold by
the intense silence. For a few seconds that seemed to be minutes he
listened, cherishing the quick thought that perhaps a turtle, wandering
far beyond accustomed limits, had disturbed one of the spring-gun
communications on the sands. A sputtering volley, which his trained ear
recognized as the firing of muzzle-loaders, sounded the death-knell of
his last hope.
The Dyaks had landed! Coming silently and mysteriously in the dead of
night, they were themselves the victims of a stratagem they designed to
employ. Instead of taking the occupants of Rainbow Island unawares they
were startled at being greeted by a shot the moment they landed. The
alarmed savages at once retaliated by firing their antiquated weapons
point-blank at the trees, thus giving warning enough to wake the Seven
Sleepers.
Iris, fully dressed, was out in a moment.
"They have come!" she whispered.
"Yes," was the cheery answer, for Jenks face to face with danger was a
very different man to Jenks wrestling with the insidious attacks of
Cupid. "Up the ladder! Be lively! They will not be here for half an
hour if they kick up such a row at the first difficulty. Still, we will
take no risks. Cast down those spare lines when you reach the top and
haul away when I say 'Ready!' You will find everything to hand up
there."
He held the bottom of the ladder to steady it for the girl's climb.
Soon her voice fell, like a message from a star--
"All right! Please join me soon!"
The coiled-up ropes dropped along the face of the rock. Clothes, pick,
hatchet, hammer, crowbars, and other useful odds and ends were swung
away into the darkness, for the moon as yet did not illumine the crag.
The sailor darted into Belle Vue Castle and kicked their leafy beds
about the floor. Then he slung all the rifles, now five in number, over
his shoulders, and mounted the rope-ladder, which, with the spare
cords, he drew up and coiled with careful method.
"By the way," he suddenly asked, "have you your sou'wester?"
"Yes."
"And your Bible?"
"Yes. It rests beneath my head every night. I even brought our
Tennyson."
"Ah," he growled fiercely, "this is where the reality differs from the
romance. Our troubles are only beginning now."
"They will end the sooner. For my part, I have utter faith in you. If
it be God's will, we will escape; and no man is more worthy than you to
be His agent."