The Wings of the Morning

The drifting smoke was still so dense that not even the floor of the

valley could be discerned. Jenks dared not leave Iris at such a moment.

He feared to bring her down the ladder lest another shell might be

fired. But something must be done to end their suspense.

He called to Mir Jan--

"Take off your turban and hold it above your head, if you think they

can see you from the warship."

"It is all right, sahib," came the cheering answer. "One boat is close

inshore. I think, from the uniforms, they are English sahibs, such as I

have seen at Garden Reach. The Dyaks have all gone."

Nevertheless Jenks waited. There was nothing to gain by being too

precipitate. A false step now might undo the achievements of many

weeks.

Mir Jan was dancing about beneath in a state of wild excitement.

"They have seen the Dyaks running to their sampans, sahib," he yelled,

"and the second boat is being pulled in that direction. Yet another has

just left the ship."

A translation made Iris excited, eager to go down and see these

wonders.

"Better wait here, dearest," he said. "The enemy may be driven back in

this direction, and I cannot expose you to further risk. The sailors

will soon land, and you can then descend in perfect safety."

The boom of a cannon came from the sea. Instinctively the girl ducked

for safety, though her companion smiled at her fears, for the shell

would have long preceded the report, had it traveled their way.

"One of the remaining sampans has got under way," he explained, "and

the warship is firing at her."

Two more guns were fired. The man-o'-war evidently meant business.

"Poor wretches!" murmured Iris. "Cannot the survivors be allowed to

escape?"

"Well, we are unable to interfere. Those caught on the island will

probably be taken to the mainland and hanged for their crimes, so the

manner of their end is not of much consequence."

To the girl's manifest relief there was no more firing, and Mir Jan

announced that a number of sailors were actually on shore. Then her

thoughts turned to a matter of concern to the feminine mind even in the

gravest moments of existence. She laved her face with water and sought

her discarded skirt!

Soon the steady tramp of boot-clad feet advancing at the double was

heard on the shingle, and an officer's voice, speaking the crude

Hindustani of the engine-room and forecastle, shouted to Mir Jan--

"Hi, you black fellow! Are there any white people here?"

Jenks sang out--

"Yes, two of us! Perched on the rock over your heads. We are coming

down."

He cast loose the rope-ladder. Iris was limp and trembling.

"Steady, sweetheart," he whispered. "Don't forget the slip between the

cup and the lip. Hold tight! But have no fear! I will be just beneath."

It was well he took this precaution. She was now so unnerved that an

unguarded movement might have led to an accident. But the knowledge

that her lover was near, the touch of his hand guiding her feet on to

the rungs of the ladder, sustained her. They had almost reached the

level when a loud exclamation and the crash of a heavy blow caused

Jenks to halt and look downwards.

A Dyak, lying at the foot of one of the scaling ladders, and severely

wounded by a shell splinter, witnessed their descent. In his left hand

he grasped a parang; his right arm was bandaged. Though unable to rise,

the vengeful pirate mustered his remaining strength to crawl towards

the swaying ladder. It was Taung S'Ali, inspired with the hate and

venom of the dying snake. Even yet he hoped to deal a mortal stroke at

the man who had defied him and all his cut-throat band. He might have

succeeded, as Jenks was so taken up with Iris, were it not for the

watchful eyes of Mir Jan. The Mahommedan sprang at him with an oath,

and gave him such a murderous whack with the butt of a rifle that the

Dyak chief collapsed and breathed out his fierce spirit in a groan.

At the first glance Jenks did not recognize Taung S'Ali, owing to his

change of costume. Through the thinner smoke he could see several

sailors running up.

"Look out, there!" he cried. "There is a lady here. If any Dyak moves,

knock him on the head!"

But, with the passing of the chief, their last peril had gone. The next

instant they were standing on the firm ground, and a British naval

lieutenant was saying eagerly--

"We seem to have turned up in the nick of time. Do you, by any chance,

belong to the Sirdar?"

"We are the sole survivors," answered the sailor.

"You two only?"

"Yes. She struck on the north-west reef of this island during a

typhoon. This lady, Miss Iris Deane, and I were flung ashore--"

"Miss Deane! Can it be possible? Let me congratulate you most heartily.

Sir Arthur Deane is on board the Orient at this moment."

"The Orient!"

Iris was dazed. The uniforms, the pleasant faces of the English

sailors, the strange sensation of hearing familiar words in tones other

than those of the man she loved, bewildered her.

"Yes," explained the officer, with a sympathetic smile. "That's our

ship, you know, in the offing there."

It was all too wonderful to be quite understood yet. She turned to

Robert--

"Do you hear? They say my father is not far away. Take me to him."

"No need for that, miss," interrupted a warrant officer. "Here he is

coming ashore. He wanted to come with us, but the captain would not

permit it, as there seemed to be some trouble ahead."

Sure enough, even the girl's swimming eyes could distinguish the

grey-bearded civilian seated beside an officer in the stern-sheets of a

small gig now threading a path through the broken reef beyond Turtle

Beach. In five minutes, father and daughter would meet.

Meanwhile the officer, intent on duty, addressed Jenks again.

"May I ask who you are?"

"My name is Anstruther--Robert Anstruther."

Iris, clinging to his arm, heard the reply.

So he had abandoned all pretence. He was ready to face the world at her

side. She stole a loving glance at him as she cried--

"Yes, Captain Anstruther, of the Indian Staff Corps. If he will not

tell you all that he has done, how he has saved my life twenty times,

how he has fought single-handed against eighty men, ask me!"

The naval officer did not need to look a second time at Iris's face to

lengthen the list of Captain Anstruther's achievements, by one more

item. He sighed. A good sailor always does sigh when a particularly

pretty girl is labeled "Engaged."

But he could be very polite.

"Captain Anstruther does not appear to have left much for us to do,

Miss Deane," he said. "Indeed," turning to Robert, "is there any way in

which my men will be useful?"

"I would recommend that they drag the green stuff off that fire and

stop the smoke. Then, a detachment should go round the north side of

the island and drive the remaining Dyaks into the hands of the party

you have landed, as I understand, at the further end of the south

beach. Mir Jan, the Mahommedan here, who has been a most faithful ally

during part of our siege, will act as guide."

The other man cast a comprehensive glance over the rock, with its

scaling ladders and dangling rope-ladder, the cave, the little groups

of dead or unconscious pirates--for every wounded man who could move a

limb had crawled away after the first shell burst--and drew a deep

breath.

"How long were you up there?" he asked.

"Over thirty hours."

"It was a great fight!"

"Somewhat worse than it looks," said Anstruther. "This is only the end

of it. Altogether, we have accounted for nearly two score of the poor

devils."

"Do you think you can make them prisoners, without killing any more of

them?" asked Iris.

"That depends entirely on themselves, Miss Deane. My men will not fire

a shot unless they encounter resistance."

Robert looked towards the approaching boat. She would not land yet for

a couple of minutes.

"By the way," he said, "will you tell me your name?"

"Playdon--Lieutenant Philip H. Playdon."

"Do you know to what nation this island belongs?"

"It is no-man's land, I think. It is marked 'uninhabited' on the

chart."

"Then," said Anstruther, "I call upon you, Lieutenant Playdon, and all

others here present, to witness that I, Robert Anstruther, late of the

Indian Army, acting on behalf of myself and Miss Iris Deane, declare

that we have taken possession of this island in the name of His

Britannic Majesty the King of England, that we are the joint occupiers

and owners thereof, and claim all property rights vested therein."

These formal phrases, coming at such a moment, amazed his hearers. Iris

alone had an inkling of the underlying motive.

"I don't suppose any one will dispute your title," said the naval

officer gravely. He unquestionably imagined that suffering and exposure

had slightly disturbed the other man's senses, yet he had seldom seen

any person who looked to be in more complete possession of his

faculties.

"Thank you," replied Robert with equal composure, though he felt

inclined to laugh at Playdon's mystification. "I only wished to secure

a sufficient number of witnesses for a verbal declaration. When I have

a few minutes to spare I will affix a legal notice on the wall in front

of our cave."

Playdon bowed silently. There was something in the speaker's manner

that puzzled him. He detailed a small guard to accompany Robert and

Iris, who now walked towards the beach, and asked Mir Jan to pilot him

as suggested by Anstruther.

The boat was yet many yards from shore when Iris ran forward and

stretched out her arms to the man who was staring at her with wistful

despair.

"Father! Father!" she cried. "Don't you know me?"

Sir Arthur Deane was looking at the two strange figures on the sands,

and each moment his heart sank lower. This island held his final hope.

During many weary weeks, since the day when a kindly Admiral placed the

cruiser Orient at his disposal, he had scoured the China Sea,

the coasts of Borneo and Java, for some tidings of the ill-fated

Sirdar.

He met naught save blank nothingness, the silence of the great ocean

mausoleum. Not a boat, a spar, a lifebuoy, was cast up by the waves to

yield faintest trace of the lost steamer. Every naval man knew what had

happened. The vessel had met with some mishap to her machinery, struck

a derelict, or turned turtle, during that memorable typhoon of March 17

and 18. She had gone down with all hands. Her fate was a foregone

conclusion. No ship's boat could live in that sea, even if the crew

were able to launch one. It was another of ocean's tragedies, with the

fifth act left to the imagination.

To examine every sand patch and tree-covered shoal in the China Sea was

an impossible task. All the Orient could do was to visit the

principal islands and institute inquiries among the fishermen and small

traders. At last, the previous night, a Malay, tempted by hope of

reward, boarded the vessel when lying at anchor off the large island

away to the south, and told the captain a wondrous tale of a

devil-haunted place inhabited by two white spirits, a male and a

female, whither a local pirate named Taung S'Ali had gone by chance

with his men and suffered great loss. But Taung S'Ali was bewitched by

the female spirit, and had returned there, with a great force, swearing

to capture her or perish. The spirits, the Malay said, had dwelt upon

the island for many years. His father and grandfather knew the place

and feared it. Taung S'Ali would never be seen again.

This queer yarn was the first indication they received of the

whereabouts of any persons who might possibly be shipwrecked Europeans,

though not survivors from the Sirdar. Anyhow, the tiny dot lay

in the vessel's northward track, so a course was set to arrive off the

island soon after dawn.

Events on shore, as seen by the officer on watch, told their own tale.

Wherever Dyaks are fighting there is mischief on foot, so the

Orient took a hand in the proceedings.

But Sir Arthur Deane, after an agonized scrutiny of the weird-looking

persons escorted by the sailors to the water's edge, sadly acknowledged

that neither of these could be the daughter whom he sought. He bowed

his head in humble resignation, and he thought he was the victim of a

cruel hallucination when Iris's tremulous accents reached his ears--

"Father, father! Don't you know me?"

He stood up, amazed and trembling.

"Yes, father dear. It is I, your own little girl given back to you. Oh

dear! Oh dear! I cannot see you for my tears."

They had some difficulty to keep him in the boat, and the man pulling

stroke smashed a stout oar with the next wrench.

And so they met at last, and the sailors left them alone, to crowd

round Anstruther and ply him with a hundred questions. Although he fell

in with their humor, and gradually pieced together the stirring story

which was supplemented each instant by the arrival of disconsolate

Dyaks and the comments of the men who returned from cave and beach, his

soul was filled with the sight of Iris and her father, and the happy,

inconsequent demands with which each sought to ascertain and relieve

the extent of the other's anxiety.

Then Iris called to him--

"Robert, I want you."

The use of his Christian name created something akin to a sensation.

Sir Arthur Deane was startled, even in his immeasurable delight at

finding his child uninjured--the picture of rude health and happiness.

Anstruther advanced.

"This is my father," she cried, shrill with joy. "And, father darling,

this is Captain Robert Anstruther, to whom alone, under God's will, I

owe my life, many, many times since the moment the Sirdar was

lost."

It was no time for questioning. Sir Arthur Deane took off his hat and

held out his hand--

"Captain Anstruther," he said, "as I owe you my daughter's life, I owe

you that which I can never repay. And I owe you my own life, too, for I

could not have survived the knowledge that she was dead."

Robert took the proffered hand--

"I think, Sir Arthur, that, of the two, I am the more deeply indebted.

There are some privileges whose value cannot be measured, and among

them the privilege of restoring your daughter to your arms takes the

highest place."

Then, being much more self-possessed than the older man, who was

naturally in a state of agitation that was almost painful, he turned to

Iris.

"I think," he said, "that your father should take you on board the

Orient, Iris. There you may, perhaps, find some suitable

clothing, eat something, and recover from the exciting events of the

morning. Afterwards, you must bring Sir Arthur ashore again, and we

will guide him over the island. I am sure you will find much to tell

him meanwhile."

The baronet could not fail to note the manner in which these two

addressed each other, the fearless love which leaped from eye to eye,

the calm acceptance of a relationship not be questioned or gainsaid.

Robert and Iris, without spoken word on the subject, had tactily agreed

to avoid the slightest semblance of subterfuge as unworthy alike of

their achievements and their love. Yet what could Sir Arthur Deane do?

To frame a suitable protest at such a moment was not to be dreamed of.

As yet he was too shaken to collect his thoughts. Anstruther's

proposal, however, helped him to blurt out what he intuitively felt to

be a disagreeable fact. Yet something must be said, for his brain

reeled.

"Your suggestion is admirable," he cried, striving desperately to

affect a careless complaisance. "The ship's stores may provide Iris

with some sort of rig-out, and an old friend of hers is on board at

this moment, little expecting her presence. Lord Ventnor has

accompanied me in my search. He will, of course, be delighted--"

Anstruther flushed a deep bronze, but Iris broke in--

"Father, why did he come with you?"

Sir Arthur, driven into this sudden squall of explanation, became

dignified.

"Well, you see, my dear, under the circumstances, he felt an anxiety

almost commensurate with my own."

"But why, why?"

Iris was quite calm. With Robert near, she was courageous. Even the

perturbed baronet experienced a new sensation as his troubled glance

fell before her searching eyes. His daughter had left him a joyous,

heedless girl. He found her a woman, strong, self-reliant, purposeful.

Yet he kept on, choosing the most straightforward means as the only

honorable way of clearing a course so beset with unsuspected obstacles.

"It is only reasonable, Iris, that your affianced husband should suffer

an agony of apprehension on your account, and do all that was possible

to effect your rescue."

"My--affianced--husband?"

"Well, my dear girl, perhaps that is hardly the correct phrase from

your point of view. Yet you cannot fail to remember that Lord

Ventnor--"

"Father, dear," said Iris solemnly, but in a voice free from all

uncertainty, "my affianced husband stands here! We plighted our troth

at the very gate of death. It was ratified in the presence of God, and

has been blessed by Him. I have made no compact with Lord Ventnor. He

is a base and unworthy man. Did you but know the truth concerning him

you would not mention his name in the same breath with mine. Would he,

Robert?"

Never was man so perplexed as the unfortunate shipowner. In the instant

that his beloved daughter was restored to him out of the very depths of

the sea, he was asked either to undertake the rôle of a disappointed

and unforgiving parent, or sanction her marriage to a truculent-looking

person of most forbidding if otherwise manly appearance, who had

certainly saved her from death in ways not presently clear to him, but

who could not be regarded as a suitable son-in-law solely on that

account.

What could he do, what could he say, to make the position less

intolerable?

Anstruther, quicker than Iris to appreciate Sir Arthur Deane's dilemma,

gallantly helped him. He placed a loving hand on the girl's shoulder.

"Be advised by me, Sir Arthur, and you too, Iris," he said. "This is no

hour for such explanations. Leave me to deal with Lord Ventnor. I am

content to trust the ultimate verdict to you, Sir Arthur. You will

learn in due course all that has happened. Go on board, Iris. Meet Lord

Ventnor as you would meet any other friend. You will not marry him, I

know. I can trust you." He said this with a smile that robbed the words

of serious purport. "Believe me, you two can find plenty to occupy your

minds today without troubling yourselves about Lord Ventnor."

"I am very much obliged to you," murmured the baronet, who,

notwithstanding his worry, was far too experienced a man of the world

not to acknowledge the good sense of this advice, no matter how

ruffianly might be the guise of the strange person who gave it.

"That is settled, then," said Robert, laughing good-naturedly, for he

well knew what a weird spectacle he must present to the bewildered old

gentleman.

Even Sir Arthur Deane was fascinated by the ragged and hairy giant who

carried himself so masterfully and helped everybody over the stile at

the right moment He tried to develop the change in the conversation.

"By the way," he said, "how came you to be on the Sirdar? I have

a list of all the passengers and crew, and your name does not appear

therein."

"Oh, that is easily accounted for. I shipped as a steward, in the name

of Robert Jenks."

"Robert Jenks! A steward!"

This was worse than ever. The unhappy shipowner thought the sky must

have fallen.

"Yes. That forms some part of the promised explanation."

Iris rapidly gathered the drift of her lover's wishes. "Come, father,"

she cried merrily. "I am aching to see what the ship's stores, which

you and Robert pin your faith to, can do for me in the shape of

garments. I have the utmost belief in the British navy, and even a

skeptic should be convinced of its infallibility if H.M.S.

Orient is able to provide a lady's outfit."

Sir Arthur Deane gladly availed himself of the proffered compromise. He

assisted Iris into the boat, though that active young person was far

better able to support him, and a word to the officer in command sent

the gig flying back to the ship. Anstruther, during a momentary delay,

made a small request on his own account. Lieutenant Playdon, nearly as

big a man as Robert, despatched a note to his servant, and the gig

speedily returned with a complete assortment of clothing and linen. The

man also brought a dressing case, with the result that a dip in the

bath, and ten minutes in the hands of an expert valet, made Anstruther

a new man.

Acting under his advice, the bodies of the dead were thrown into the

lagoon, the wounded were collected in the hut to be attended to by the

ship's surgeon, and the prisoners were paraded in front of Mir Jan, who

identified every man, and found, by counting heads, that none was

missing.

Robert did not forget to write out a formal notice and fasten it to the

rock. This proceeding further mystified the officers of the

Orient, who had gradually formed a connected idea of the great

fight made by the shipwrecked pair, though Anstruther squirmed inwardly

when he thought of the manner in which Iris would picture the scene. As

it was, he had the first innings, and he did not fail to use the

opportunity. In the few terse words which the militant Briton best

understands, he described the girl's fortitude, her unflagging

cheerfulness, her uncomplaining readiness to do and dare.

Little was said by his auditors, save to interpolate an occasional

question as to why such and such a thing was necessary, or how some

particular drawback had been surmounted. Standing near the well, it was

not necessary to move to explain to them the chief features of the

island, and point out the measures he had adopted.

When he ended, the first lieutenant, who commanded the boats sent in

pursuit of the flying Dyaks--the Orient sank both sampans as

soon as they were launched--summed up the general verdict--

"You do not need our admiration, Captain Anstruther. Each man of us

envies you from the bottom of his soul."

"I do, I know--from the very bilge," exclaimed a stout midshipman, one

of those who had seen Iris.

Robert waited until the laugh died away.

"There is an error about my rank," he said. "I did once hold a

commission in the Indian army, but I was court-marshaled and cashiered

in Hong Kong six months ago. I was unjustly convicted on a grave

charge, and I hope some day to clear myself. Meanwhile I am a mere

civilian. It was only Miss Deane's generous sympathy which led her to

mention my former rank, Mr. Playdon."

Had another of the Orient's 12-pounder shells suddenly burst in

the midst of the group of officers, it would have created less dismay

than this unexpected avowal. Court-martialed! Cashiered! None but a

service man can grasp the awful significance of those words to the

commissioned ranks of the army and navy.

Anstruther well knew what he was doing. Somehow, he found nothing hard

in the performance of these penances now. Of course, the ugly truth

must be revealed the moment Lord Ventnor heard his name. It was not

fair to the good fellows crowding around him, and offering every

attention that the frank hospitality of the British sailor could

suggest, to permit them to adopt the tone of friendly equality which

rigid discipline, if nothing else, would not allow them to maintain.

The first lieutenant, by reason of his rank, was compelled to say

something--

"That is a devilish bad job, Mr. Anstruther," he blurted out.

"Well, you know, I had to tell you."

He smiled unaffectedly at the wondering circle. He, too, was an

officer, and appreciated their sentiments. They were unfeignedly sorry

for him, a man so brave and modest, such a splendid type of the soldier

and gentleman, yet, by their common law, an outcast. Nor could they

wholly understand his demeanor. There was a noble dignity in his

candor, a conscious innocence that disdained to shield itself under a

partial truth. He spoke, not as a wrong-doer, but as one who addresses

those who have been and will be once more his peers.

The first lieutenant again phrased the thoughts of his juniors--

"I, and every other man in the ship, cannot help but sympathize with

you. But whatever may be your record--if you were an escaped convict,

Mr. Anstruther--no one could withhold from you the praise deserved for

your magnificent stand against overwhelming odds. Our duty is plain. We

will bring you to Singapore, where the others will no doubt wish to go

immediately. I will tell the Captain what you have been good enough to

acquaint us with. Meanwhile we will give you every assistance,

and--er--attention in our power."

A murmur of approbation ran through the little circle. Robert's face

paled somewhat. What first-rate chaps they were, to be sure!

"I can only thank you," he said unsteadily. "Your kindness is more

trying than adversity."

A rustle of silk, the intrusion into the intent knot of men of a young

lady in a Paris gown, a Paris hat, carrying a Trouville parasol, and

most exquisitely gloved and booted, made every one gasp.

"Oh, Robert dear, how could you? I actually didn't know you!"

Thus Iris, bewitchingly attired, and gazing now with provoking

admiration at Robert, who certainly offered almost as great a contrast

to his former state as did the girl herself. He returned her look with

interest.

"Would any man believe," he laughed, "that clothes would do so much for

a woman?"

"What a left-handed compliment! But come, dearest, Captain Fitzroy and

Lord Ventnor have come ashore with father and me. They want us to show

them everything! You will excuse him, won't you?" she added, with a

seraphic smile to the others.

They walked off together.

"Jimmy!" gasped the fat midshipman to a lanky youth. "She's got on your

togs!"

Meaning that Iris had ransacked the Orient's theatrical

wardrobe, and pounced on the swell outfit of the principal female

impersonator in the ship's company.

Lieutenant Playdon bit the chin strap of his pith helmet, for the

landing party wore the regulation uniform for service ashore in the

tropics. He muttered to his chief--

"Damme if I've got the hang of this business yet."

"Neither have I. Anstruther looks a decent sort of fellow, and the girl

is a stunner. Yet, d'ye know, Playdon, right through the cruise I've

always understood that she was the fiancée of that cad, Ventnor."

"Anstruther appears to have arranged matters differently. Wonder what

pa will say when that Johnnie owns up about the court-martial."

"Give it up, which is more than the girl will do, or I'm much mistaken.

Funny thing, you know, but I've a sort of hazy recollection of

Anstruther's name being mixed up with that of a Colonel's wife at Hong

Kong. Fancy Ventnor was in it too, as a witness. Stand by, and we'll

see something before we unload at Singapore."