Chapter 6. The Island

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_ CHAPTER VI. THE ISLAND

Robert came out of his benumbed state. It had all seemed a fantastic dream, but he had only to look around him to know that it was reality. Three or four battle lanterns were shining and they threw a ghostly light over the deck of the schooner, which was littered with spars and sails, and the bodies of men who had fallen before the fire of the sloop. Streams of blood flowed everywhere. He sickened and shuddered again and again.

The captain, a savage figure, stained with blood, showed ruthless energy. Driving the men who remained unwounded, he compelled them to cut away the wreckage and to throw the dead overboard. Garrulous, possessed by some demon, he boasted to them of many prizes they would yet take, and he pointed to the black flag which still floated overhead, unharmed through all the battle. He boasted of it as a good omen and succeeded in infusing into them some of his own spirit.

Robert was still unnoticed and at first he wandered about his strait territory. Then he lent a helping hand with the wreckage. His own life was at stake as well as theirs, and whether they wished it or not he could not continue to stand by an idler. Circumstance and the sea forced him into comradeship with men of evil, and as long as it lasted he must make the best of it. So he fell to with such a will that it drew the attention of the captain.

"Good boy, Peter!" he cried. "You'll be one of us yet in spite of yourself! Our good fortune is yours, too! You as well as we have escaped a merry hanging! I'll warrant you that the feel of the rope around the neck is not pleasant, and it's well to keep one's head out of the noose, eh, Peter?"

Robert did not answer, but tugged at a rope that two other men were trying to reeve. He knew now that while they had escaped the sloop of war their danger was yet great and imminent. The wind was still rising, and now it was a howling gale. The schooner had been raked heavily. Most of her rigging was gone, huge holes had been smashed in her hull, half of her crew had been killed and half of the rest were wounded, there were not enough men to work her even were she whole and the weather the best. As the crest of every wave passed she wallowed in the trough of the sea, and shipped water steadily. The exultant look passed from the captain's eyes.

"I'm afraid you're a lad of ill omen, Peter," he said to Robert. "I had you on board another ship once and she went to pieces. It looks now as if my good schooner were headed the same way."

A dark sailor standing near heard him, and nodded in approval, but Robert said:

"Blame the sloop of war, not me. You would lay her aboard, and see what has happened!"

The captain frowned and turned away. For a long time he paid no further attention to Robert, all his skill and energy concentrated upon the effort to save his ship. But it became evident even to Robert's inexperienced eye that the schooner was stricken mortally. The guns of the sloop had not raked and slashed her in vain. A pirate she had been, but a pirate she would be no more. She rolled more heavily all the time, and Robert noticed that she was deeper in the water. Beyond a doubt she was leaking fast.

The captain conferred with the second mate, a tall, thin man whom he called Stubbs. Then the two, standing together near the mast, watched the ship for a while and Robert, a little distance away, watched them. He was now keenly alive to his own fate. Young and vital, he did not want to die. He had never known a time when he was more anxious to live. He was not going to be sold into slavery on a West India plantation. Fortune had saved him from that fate, and it might save him from new perils. In a storm on a sinking vessel he was nevertheless instinct with hope. Somewhere beyond the clouds Tayoga's Tododaho on his great star was watching him. The captain spoke to him presently.

"Peter," he said, "I think it will be necessary for us to leave the ship soon. That cursed sloop has done for the staunchest schooner that ever sailed these seas. I left you on board a sinking vessel the other time, but as it seemed to bring you good luck then, I won't do it now. Besides, I'm tempted to keep you with me. You bore yourself bravely during the battle. I will say that for you."

"Thanks for taking me, and for the compliment, too," said Robert. "I've no mind to be left here alone in the middle of the ocean on a sinking ship."

"'Tis no pleasant prospect, nor have we an easy path before us in the boats, either. On the whole, the chances are against us. There's land not far away to starboard, but whether we'll make it in so rough a sea is another matter. Are you handy with an oar?"

"Fairly so. I've had experience on lakes and rivers, but none on the sea."

"'Twill serve. We'll launch three boats. Hooker, the boatswain, takes one, Stubbs has the other, and I command the last. You go with me."

"It would have been my choice."

"I'm flattered, Peter. I may get a chance yet to sell you to one of the plantations."

"I think not, Captain. The stars in their courses have said 'no.'"

"Come! Come! Don't be Biblical here."

"The truth is the truth anywhere. But I'm glad enough to go with you."

One of the boats was launched with great difficulty, and the boatswain, Hooker, and six men, two of whom were wounded, were lowered into it. It capsized almost immediately, and all on board were lost. Those destined for the other two boats hung back a while, but it became increasingly necessary for them to make the trial, no matter what the risk. The schooner rolled and pitched terribly, and a sailor, sent to see, reported that the water was rising in her steadily.

The captain showed himself a true seaman and leader. He had been wounded in the shoulder, but the hurt had been bound up hastily and he saw to everything. Each of the boats contained kegs of water, arms, ammunition and food. A second was launched and Stubbs and his crew were lowered into it. A great wave caught it and carried it upon its crest, and Robert, watching, expected to see it turn over like the first, but the mate and the crew managed to restore the balance, and they disappeared in the darkness, still afloat.

"There, lads," exclaimed the captain, "you see it can be done. Now we'll go too, and the day will soon come when we'll have a new ship, and then, ho! once more for the rover's free and gorgeous life!"

The unwounded men raised a faint cheer. The long boat was launched with infinite care, and Robert lent a hand. The pressure of circumstances made his feeling of comradeship with these men return. For the time at least his life was bound up with theirs. Two wounded sailors were lowered first into the boat.

"Now, Peter, you go," said the captain. "As I told you, I may have a chance yet to sell you to a plantation, and I must preserve my property."

Robert slid down the rope. The captain and the others followed, and they cast loose. They were eight in the boat, three of whom were wounded, though not badly. The lad looked back at the schooner. He saw a dim hulk, with the black flag still floating over it, and then she passed from sight in the darkness and driving storm.

He took up an oar, resolved to do his best in the common struggle for life, and with the others fought the sea for a long time. The captain set their course south by west, apparently for some island of which he knew, and meanwhile the men strove not so much to make distance as to keep the boat right side up. Often Robert thought they were gone. They rode dizzily upon high waves, and they sloped at appalling angles, but always they righted and kept afloat. The water sprayed them continuously and the wind made it sting like small shot, but that was a trifle to men in their situation who were straining merely to keep the breath in their bodies.

After a while--Robert had no idea how long the time had been--the violence of the wind seemed to abate somewhat, and their immense peril of sinking decreased. Robert sought an easier position at the oar, and tried to see something reassuring, but it was still almost as dark as pitch, and there was only the black and terrible sea around them. But the captain seemed cheerful.

"We'll make it, lads, before morning," he said. "The storm is sinking, as you can see, and the island is there waiting for us."

In another hour the sea became so much calmer that there was no longer any danger of the boat overturning. Half of the men who had been rowing rested an hour, and then the other half took their turn. Robert was in the second relay, and when he put down his oar he realized for the first time that his hands were sore and his bones aching.

"You've done well, Peter," said the captain. "You've become one of us, whether or no, and we'll make you an honored inhabitant of our island when we come to it."

Robert said nothing, but lay back, drawing long breaths of relief. The danger of death by drowning had passed for the moment and he had a sense of triumph over nature. Despite his weariness and soreness, he was as anxious as ever to live, and he began to wonder about this island of which the captain spoke. It must be tropical, and hence in his imagination beautiful, but by whom was it peopled? He did not doubt that they would reach it, and that he, as usual, would escape all perils.

Always invincible, his greatest characteristic was flaming up within him. He seemed to have won, in a way, the regard of the captain, and he did not fear the men. They would be castaways together, and on the land opportunities to escape would come. On the whole he preferred the hazards of the land to those of the sea. He knew better how to deal with them. He was more at home in the wilderness than on salt water. Yet a brave heart was alike in either place.

"We'd better take it very easy, lads," said the captain. "Not much rowing now, and save our strength for the later hours of the night."

"Why?" asked Robert.

"Because the storm, although it has gone, is still hanging about in the south and may conclude to come back, assailing us again. A shift in the wind is going on now, and if it hit us before we reached the island, finding us worn out, we might go down before it."

It was a good enough reason and bye and bye only two men kept at the oars, the rest lying on the bottom of the boat or falling asleep in their seats. The captain kept a sharp watch for the other boat, which had gone away in the dark, but beheld no sign of it, although the moon and stars were now out, and they could see a long distance.

"Stubbs knows where the island is," said the captain, "and if they've lived they'll make for it. We can't turn aside to search all over the sea for 'em."

Robert after a while fell asleep also in his seat, and despite his extraordinary situation slept soundly, though it was rather an unconsciousness that came from extreme exhaustion, both bodily and mental. He awoke some time later to find that the darkness had come back and that the wind was rising again.

"You can take a hand at the oar once more, Peter," said the captain. "I let you sleep because I knew that it would refresh you and we need the strength of everybody. The storm, as I predicted, is returning, not as strong as it was at first, perhaps, but strong enough."

He wakened the other men who were sleeping, and all took to the oars. The waves were running high, and the boat began to ship water. Several of the men, under instructions from the captain, dropped their oars and bailed it out with their caps or one or two small tin vessels that they had stored aboard.

"Luckily the wind is blowing in the right direction," said the captain. "It comes out of the northeast, and that carries us toward the island. Now, lads, all we have to do is to keep the boat steady, and not let it ship too much water. The wind itself will carry us on our way."

But the wind rose yet more, and it required intense labor and vigilance to fight the waves that threatened every moment to sink their craft. Robert pulled on the oar until his arms ached. Everybody toiled except the captain, who directed, and Robert saw that he had all the qualities to make him a leader of slavers or pirates. In extreme danger he was the boldest and most confident of them all, and he stood by his men. They could see that he would not desert them, that their fortune was his fortune. He was wounded, Robert did not yet know how badly, but he never yielded to his hurt. He was a figure of strength in the boat, and the men drew courage from him to struggle for life against the overmastering sea. Somehow, for the time at least, Robert looked upon him as his own leader, obeying his commands, willingly and without question.

He was drenched anew with the salt water, but as they were in warm seas he never thought of it. Now and then he rested from his oar and helped bail the water from the boat.

A pale dawn showed at last through the driving clouds, but it was not encouraging. The sea was running higher than ever, and there was no sign of land. One of the men, much worse wounded than they had thought, lay down in the bottom of the boat and died. They tossed his body unceremoniously overboard. Robert knew that it was necessary, but it horrified him just the same. Another man, made light of head by dangers and excessive hardships, insisted that there was no island, that either they would be drowned or would drift on in the boat until they died of thirst and starvation. The captain drew a pistol and looking him straight in the eye said:

"Another word of that kind from you, Waters, and you'll eat lead. You know me well enough to know that I keep my word."

The man cowered away and Robert saw that it was no vain threat. Waters devoted his whole attention to an oar, and did not speak again.

"We'll strike the island in two or three hours," the captain said with great confidence.

The dawn continued to struggle with the stormy sky, but its progress was not promising. It was only a sullen gray dome over a gray and ghastly sea, depressing to the last degree to men worn as they were. But in about two hours the captain, using glasses that he had taken from his coat, raised the cry:

"Land ho!"

He kept the glasses to his eyes a full two minutes, and when he took them down he repeated with certainty:

"Land ho! I can see it distinctly there under the horizon in the west, and it's the island we've been making for. Now, lads, keep her steady and we'll be there in an hour."

All the men were vitalized into new life, but the storm rose at the same time, and spray and foam dashed over them. All but two or three were compelled to work hard, keeping the water out of the boat, while the others steadied her with the oars. Robert saw the captain's face grow anxious, and he began to wonder if they would reach the island in time. He wondered also how they would land in case they reached it, as he knew from his reading and travelers' tales that most of the little islands in these warm seas were surrounded by reefs.

The wind drove them on and the island rose out of the ocean, a dark, low line, just a blur, but surely land, and the drooping men plucked up their spirits.

"We'll make it, lads! Don't be down-hearted!" cried the captain. "Keep the boat above water a half hour longer, and we'll tread the soil of mother earth again! Well done, Peter! You handle a good oar! You're the youngest in the boat, but you've set an example for the others! There's good stuff in you, Peter."

Robert, to his own surprise, found his spirit responding to this man's praise, slaver and pirate though he was, and he threw more strength into his swing. Soon they drew near to the island, and he heard such a roaring of the surf that he shuddered. He saw an unbroken line of white and he knew that behind it lay the cruel teeth of the rocks, ready to crunch any boat that came. Every one looked anxiously at the captain.

"There's a rift in the rocks to the right," he said, "and when we pass through it we'll find calm water inside. Now, lads, all of you to the oars and take heed that you do as I say on the instant or we'll be on the reef!"

They swung to the right, and so powerful were wind and wave that it seemed to Robert they fairly flew toward the island. The roaring of the surf grew and the long white line rose before them like a wall. He saw no opening, but the captain showed no signs of fear and gave quick, sharp commands. The boat drove with increased speed toward the island, rising on the crests of great waves, then sinking with sickening speed into the trough of the sea, to rise dizzily on another wave. Robert saw the rocks, black, sharp and cruel, reaching out their long, savage teeth, and the roar of wind and surf together was now so loud that he could no longer hear the captain's commands. He was conscious that the boat was nearly full of water, and when he was not blinded by the flying surf he saw looks of despair on the faces of the men.

An opening in the line of reefs disclosed itself, and the boat shot toward it. He heard the captain shout, but did not understand what he said, then they were wrenched violently to the left by a powerful current. He saw the black rocks frowning directly over him, and felt the boat scrape against them. The whole side of it was cut away, and they were all hurled into the sea.

Robert was not conscious of what he did. He acted wholly from impulse and the instinctive love of life that is in every one. He felt the water pour over him, and fill eye, ear and nostril, but he was not hurled against rock. He struck out violently, but was borne swiftly away, not knowing in which direction he was taken.

He became conscious presently that the force driving him on was not so great and he cleared the water from his eyes enough to see that he had been carried through the opening and toward a sandy beach. His mind became active and strong in an instant. Chance had brought him life, if he only had the presence of mind to take it. He struck out for the land with all his vigor, hoping to reach it before he could be carried back by a returning wave.

The wave caught him, but it was not as powerful as he had feared, and, when he had yielded a little, he was able to go forward again. Then he saw a head bobbing upon the crest of the next retreating wave and being carried out to sea. It was the captain, and reaching out a strong arm Robert seized him. The shock caused him to thrust down his feet, and to his surprise he touched bottom. Grasping the captain with both hands he dragged him with all his might and ran inland.

It was partly an instinctive impulse to save and partly genuine feeling that caused him to seize the slaver when he was being swept helpless out to sea. The man, even though in a malicious, jeering way, had done him some kindnesses on the schooner and in the boat, and he could not see him drown before his eyes. So he settled his grasp upon his collar, held his head above the water and strove with all his might to get beyond the reach of the cruel sea. Had he been alone he could have reached the land with ease, but the slaver pulled upon him almost a dead weight.

Another returning wave caught him and made him stagger, but he settled his feet firmly in the sand, held on to the unconscious man, and when it had passed made a great effort to get beyond the reach of any other. He was forced half to lift, half to drag the slaver's body, but he caught the crest of the next incoming wave, one of unusual height and strength, and the two were carried far up the beach. When it died in foam and spray he lifted the man wholly and ran until he fell exhausted on the sand. When another wave roared inland it did not reach him, and no others came near. As if knowing they were baffled, they gave up a useless pursuit.

Robert lay a full half hour, supine, completely relaxed, only half conscious. Yet he was devoutly thankful. The precious gift of life had been saved, the life that was so young, so strong and so buoyant in him. The sea, immense, immeasurable and savage might leap for him, but it could no longer reach him. He was aware of that emotion, and he was thankful too that an Infinite Hand had been stretched out to save him in his moment of direst peril.

He came out of his cataleptic state, which was both a mental and physical effect, and stood up. The air was still dim with heavy clouds and the wind continuously whistled its anger. He noticed for the first time that it was raining, but it was a trifle to him, as he had already been thoroughly soaked by the sea.

The sea itself was as wild as ever. Wave after wave roared upon the land to break there, and then rush back in masses of foam. As far as Robert could see the surface of the water, lashed by the storm, was wild and desolate to the last degree. It was almost as if he had been cast away on another planet. A feeling of irrepressible, awful loneliness overpowered him.

"Well, Peter, we're here."

It was a feeble voice, but it was a human one, the voice of one of his own kind, and, in that dreary wilderness of the ocean, it gave welcome relief as it struck upon his ear. He looked down. The slaver, returned to consciousness, had drawn himself into a sitting position and was looking out at the gray waters.

"I've a notion, Peter," he said, "that you've saved my life. The last I remember was being engulfed in a very large and very angry ocean. It was kind of you, Peter, after I kidnapped you away from your friends, meaning to sell you into slavery on a West India plantation."

"I couldn't let you drown before my eyes."

"Most men in your place would have let me go, and even would have helped me along."

"Perhaps I felt the need of company. 'Twould have been terrible to be alone here."

"There may be something in that. But at any rate, you saved me. I'm thinking that you and I are all that's left. I was a fool, Peter, ever to have mixed in your business. I can see it now. When I carried you away from New York I lost my ship. I kidnap you away again from Albany, and I lose my ship and all my crew. I would have lost my own life, too, if it had not been for you. It was never intended by the fates that I should have been successful in my attempts on you. The first time should have been enough. That was a warning. Well, I've paid the price of my folly. All fools do."

He tried to stand up, but fresh blood came from his shoulder and he quickly sat down again. It was obvious that he was very weak.

"I'll do the best I can for us both," said Robert, "but I don't know the nature of this land upon which we're cast. I suppose it's an island, of course. I can see trees inland, but that's all I can discover at present."

"I know a deal more," said the slaver. "That's why I had the boat steered for this point, hoping to make the little bay into which the opening through the reefs leads. It's an island, as you say, seven or eight miles long, half as broad and covered thickly with trees and brush. There's a hut about half a mile inland, and if you help me there we'll both find shelter. I'll show the way. As trying too steadily to do you evil brought me bad luck I'll now try to do you good. You can put it down to logic, and not to any sudden piety in me."

Yet Robert in his heart did not ascribe it wholly to logic. He was willing to believe in a kindly impulse or two in everybody, there was a little good hidden somewhere deep down even in Tandakora, though it might have to struggle uncommonly hard for expression. He promptly put his arm under the man's and helped him to his feet.

"Give me the direction," he said, "and I'll see that we reach the hut."

"Bear toward the high hill ahead and to the right. And between you and me, Peter, I'm glad it's inland. I've had enough of the sea for a while and I don't want to look at it. How is it behaving now?"

Robert, looking back, saw a great wave rushing upon the beach as if it thought it could overtake them, and it gave him an actual thrill of delight to know the effort would be in vain.

"It's as wild, as desolate and as angry as ever," he said, "and we're well away from it for the present."

"Then go on. I fear I shall have to lean upon you rather hard. A bit of grape shot from that cursed sloop has bitten pretty deep into my shoulder. I've been doubly a fool, Peter, in kidnapping you a second time after the first warning, and in allowing myself to be tolled up under the broadside of that sloop. It's the last that hurts me most. I behaved like any youngster on his first cruise."

Robert said nothing, but did his best to support the wounded man, who was now bearing upon him very heavily. His own strength was largely factitious, coming from the hope that they would soon find shelter and a real place in which to rest, but such as it was it was sufficient for the time being.

He did not look back again. Like the slaver, he wanted to shut out the sea for the present. It was a raging, cruel element, and he felt better with it unseen. But he became conscious, instead, of the rain which was driving hard. He suddenly realized that he was cold, and he shivered so violently that the slaver noticed it.

"Never mind, Peter," he said. "We're going to a palace, or at least 'twill seem a palace by power of contrast. There you'll be snug and warm."

"And you can bind up your wound again and get back your strength."

"Aye, we can bind it up again, but it's not so sure about my getting back my strength. I tell you again, lad, that the grape bit deep. It hurts me all the time to think I was lured under those guns by a silly old fiddler and a couple of silly sailors dancing to his silly tune. You're a good lad, Peter, I give you credit for it, and since, beside myself, only one on board the schooner was saved, I'm glad it was you and not a member of the crew."

"We don't know that others were not saved. We haven't had time yet to see."

"I know they weren't. It's only a miracle that we two came through the reefs. Miracles may happen, Peter, but they don't happen often. Nobody else will appear on the island. Keep steering for the hill. I'll be glad when we get there, because, between you and me, Peter, it will be just about as far as I can go and I'll need a long, long rest."

He bore so heavily upon Robert now that their progress was very slow, and the lad himself began to grow weak. It was impossible for any one, no matter how hardy of body and soul, to endure long, after going through what he had suffered. He too staggered.

"I'm leaning hard on you, Peter," said the slaver. "I know it, but I can't help it. What a difference a whiff of grapeshot makes!"

Robert steadied himself, made a mighty effort, and they went on. The wind shifted now and the rain drove directly in his face. It was cold to him, but it seemed to whip a little increase of vigor and strength into his blood, and he was able to go somewhat faster. As he pulled along with his burden he looked curiously at the region through which he was traveling. The ground was rough, often with layers of coral, and he saw on all sides of him dense groves of bushes, among which he recognized the banana by the fruit. It gave him a thrill of relief. At all events here was food of a kind, and they would not starve to death. It was the first time he had thought of food. Hitherto he had been occupied wholly with the struggle for immediate life.

A belt of tall trees shut out the hill toward which he had been steering, and he was uncertain. But the man gave him guidance.

"More to the right, Peter," he said. "I won't let you go astray, and it's full lucky for us both that I know this island."

A half hour of painful struggle and Robert saw the dark shape of a small house in the lee of a hill.

"It's the hut, Peter," said the slaver, "and you've done well to bring us here. You're not only a good lad, but you're strong and brave, too. You needn't knock at the door. No one will answer. Push it open and enter. It really belongs to me."

Robert obeyed while the man steadied himself sufficiently to stand alone. He thrust his hand against the door, which swung inward, revealing a dark interior. A musty odor entered his nostrils, but the hut, whatever its character, was dry. That was evident, and so it was welcome. He went in, helping the wounded man along with him, and standing there a moment or two everything became clear.

It was more than a hut. He was in a room of some size, containing articles of furniture, obviously brought across the sea, and clothing hanging from the wall on hooks. A couch was beside one wall, and two doors seemed to lead to larger chambers or to small closets. The captain staggered across the room and lay down on the couch.

"Well, how do you like it, Peter?" he asked. "'Twill serve in a storm, will it not?"

"It will serve grandly," replied Robert. "How does it come to be here?"

"I had it built. The islands all the way from the Bahamas to South America and the waters around them are the great hunting ground for people in my trade, and naturally we need places of refuge, secluded little harbors, so to speak, where we can commune with ourselves and refresh our minds and bodies. Even rovers must have periods of relaxation, and you'll find a lot of such places scattered about the islands, or, rather, you won't find 'em because they're too well hidden. I had this built myself, but I never dreamed that I should come back to it in the way I have."

"It's a palace just now," said Robert, "yes, it's more than a palace, it's a home. I see clothing here on the wall, and, by your leave, I'll change you and then myself into some of those dry garments."

"You're lord of the manor, Peter, by right of strength. I'm in no condition to resist you, even had I the wish, which I haven't."

Assisted by the man himself, he removed the captain's garments and put him in dry clothing, first looking at the wound in his shoulder, which his experience told him was very serious. The piece of grapeshot had gone entirely through, but the loss of blood had been large, and there was inflammation.

"I must bathe that with fresh water a little later and devise some kind of dressing," said Robert. "I've had much experience in the wilderness with wounds."

"You're a good lad, Peter," said the slaver. "I've told you that before, but I repeat it now."

Robert then arrayed himself in dry garments. He was strangely and wonderfully attired in a shirt of fine linen with lace ruffles, a short, embroidered jacket of purple velvet, purple velvet knee-breeches, silk stockings and pumps, or low shoes, with large silver buckles. It was very gorgeous, and, just then, very comfortable.

"You look the dandy to the full, Peter," said the slaver. "The clothes have hung here more than a year. They came from a young Spaniard who had the misfortune to resist too much when we took the ship that carried him. They've come to a good use again."

Robert shuddered, but in a moment or two he forgot the origin of his new raiment. He had become too much inured to deadly peril to be excessively fastidious. Besides, he was feeling far better. Warmth returned to his body and the beat of the rain outside the house increased the comfort within.

"I think, Peter," said the slaver, "that you'd better go to sleep. You've been through a lot, and you don't realize how near exhaustion you are."

Without giving a thought to the question of food, which must present itself before long, Robert lay down on the floor and fell almost at once into a sound slumber. _

Read next: Chapter 7. The Pirate's Warning

Read previous: Chapter 5. Music In The Moonlight

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