said, "no one find the way. You sleep, andto-morrow you signal ship to go down where I show. For me and mine,not so. This is my home; I am stranger in my own country. No oneremember Clair-de-Lune. Twelve years I live here--five times I sleepthe dreadful sleep which the island make--five times I live whereothers die. Why go home, messieurs, if you not have any? I not go;but you, you hasten because of the sleep."
We all pricked up our ears at this curious saying, and Dolly Venn, hewhipped out a question before I could--indeed, he spoke the Frenchtongue very prettily; and for about five minutes the two of them wentat it hammer and tongs like two old women at charring.
"What does he mean by sleep-time, lad?" I asked in between theirargument. "Why shouldn't a man sleep on Ken's Island? What nonsensewill he talk next?"
I'd forgotten that the old man spoke English too, but he turned upon mequickly to remind me of the fact.
"No nonsense, monsieur, as many a one has found--no nonsense at all,but very dreadful thing. Three, four time by the year it come; three,four time it go. All men sleep if they not go away--you sleep if younot go away. Ah, the good God send you to the ship before that day."
He did his best to put it clearly, but he might as well have talkedChinese. Dolly, who understood his lingo, made a brave attempt, but didnot get much farther.
"He says that this island is called by the Japanese the Island ofSleep. Two or three times every year there comes up from the marshes apoisonous fog which sends you into a trance from which you don'trecover, sometimes for months. It can't be true, sir, and yet that'swhat he says."
"True or untrue, Dolly," said I, in a low voice, "we'll not give it thechance. It's a fairy tale, of course, though it doesn't sound verypretty when you hear it."
"Nor is that music any more to my liking," exclaimed Peter Bligh, atthis point, meaning that we should listen to a couple of gunshotsfired, not in the woods far down below us, but somewhere, as it seemed,on the sea-beach we had failed to make.
"That would be Harry Doe warning us," cried I.
"And meaning that it was dangerous for us to go down."
"He'll have put off and saved the longboat, anyway. We'll hail him atdawn, and see where the ship is."
They heard me in silence. The tempest roaring in the peaks above thatweird, wild place; our knowledge of the men on the island below; theold Frenchman's strange talk--no wonder that our eyes were wide openand sleep far from them.
Dawn, indeed, we waited for as those who are passing through theterrible night. I think sometimes that, if we had known what was instore for us, we should have prayed to God that we might not see theday.
CHAPTER IX
WE LOOK OUT FOR THE SOUTHERN CROSS
The wind blew a hurricane all that night, and was still a full galewhen dawn broke. To say that no man among us slept is to put down avery obvious thing. The roaring of the breakers on the reefs below us,the showers of stones which the heights rained down, the dreadfulnoises like wild human voices in the hills, drove sleep far from anyman's eyes. And more than that, there was the ship to think of. Whathad become of the ship? Where did she lie? When should we see heragain? Aye, how often we asked each other that question when the blastthundered and the lightning seemed to open the very heavens, and thespindrift was blown clean over the heights to fall like a salt sprayupon our faces. Was it well with the ship or ill? Mister Jacob we knewto be a good seaman, none better. With him the decision lay to run forthe open water or to risk everything for our sakes. If he made up hismind that the safety of the Southern Cross demanded sea-room he wouldtake it, and let to-morrow look after itself. But I was anxious, nonethe less; for, if the ship were gone, "God help us on Ken's Island," Isaid.
Now, the old Frenchman was the first to be moving when the day came,and no sooner did all the higher peaks show us a glimmer of thedawn-light--very beautiful and awesome to look upon--than he set upthe ladder and began to show us the way to the mountain-top.
"You make signal; you fetch ship. Sailormen go down where landmanafraid. Little boat come in; shipmate go out. Old Clair-de-Lune heknow. Ah, messieurs, the wind is very dreadful to-day--what you callharriken. Other day, all quite easy plan--but this day not so, greatwater, all white--no go, no man."
It was queer talk, and we might have laughed at him if we'd haveforgotten that he saved our lives last night and was waiting to savethem again this morning. But you don't laugh at a friend, talk as hemay, and for that matter we were all too excited to think of any suchthing, and we made haste to scramble up out of the pit and to followhim to the heights where the truth should be known--the best of it orthe worst. For the path or its dangerous places we cared nothing now.The rocks, upstanding all about us, shut in the view as some greatbasin cut in the mountain's heart. You could see the black sky aboveand the bottomless chasms below--but of the water nothing. Imagine,then, how we raced for the summit: now up on our feet, now on all-fourslike dogs; now calling, man to man, to hasten; now saying that hastewouldn't help us. And no wonder--no wonder our hearts beat high and ourhands were unsteady, for beyond the basin we should find the sea, andthe view might show us life or death.
Old Clair-de-Lune was the first to be up, but I was close upon hisheels, and Dolly Venn not far behind me. Who spoke the first word Idon't rightly recollect; but I hadn't been on the heights more than tenseconds when I knew why it was spoken, and what the true meaning of itmight be.
The ship was gone!
All the eyes in the wide world could not have found her on that angrysea below us, or anywhere on the black and looming horizon beyond. Thenight had taken her. The ship was gone. Hope as we might, speak up aswe might, tell each other this story or tell each other that--the onesure fact remained that the Southern Cross had steamed away from Ken'sIsland and left us to our fates.
"He'll be running for sea-room, and come in when the gale falls," saidPeter Bligh, when we had stood all together a little while, ascrestfallen a lot as the Pacific Ocean could show that day; "trustMister Jacob to be cautious--he's a Scotchman, and would think first ofthe ship. A precious lot of good his wages would do him if the shipwere down in sixty fathoms and he inside her!"
"That's true," cried Dolly Venn, "though your poor old father didn'tsay it, Mister Bligh. The ship's gone, but she'll come back again." Andthen to me he said, very earnestly, "Oh, she must come back, captain."
"Aye, lad," said I, "let her ride out the gale, and she'll put backright enough. Mister Jacob isn't the one to desert friends. He'll havelearned from Harry Doe how it stands with us, and he'll just say,''Bout ship'; that's what Mr. Jacob will say. I've no fear of it atall. I'm only wondering what sort of shore-play is to keep us amuseduntil we sight the ship again."
Well, they looked doleful enough; but not a man among them complained.'Tis that way with seamen all the world over. Put them face to facewith death and some will laugh, and some will curse, and some talknonsense; but never a man wears his heart upon his sleeve or tells youthat he's afraid. And so it was that morning. They understood, I dobelieve, as well as I did, what the consequences of the gale might be.They were no fools, to imagine that a man could get from Ken's Islandto San Francisco in any cockleshell the beach might show him. But noneof them talked about it; none charged me with it; they just put theirhands in their pockets like brave fellows who had made up their mindsalready to a very bad job; and be sure I was not the one to give adifferent turn to it. The ship had gone; the Lord only knew when shewould come back again. It was not for me to be crying like a child forthat which neither I nor any man could make good.
"Well," said I, "the ship's gone, sure enough, and hard words won'tbring her back again. What Mister Jacob can do for his friends, that, Iknow, will be done. We must leave it to him and look after ourselvesfar as this place is concerned. You won't forget that the crewdownstairs will be ready enough to ask after our health and spirits ifwe give them a look in, and my word is for lying-to here until nightcomes or the ship is sighted. It must be a matter of hours, anyway. Thegale's abating; a landsman would k
now as much as that."
They said, "Aye, aye," to it, and Peter Bligh put in a word of hishumour.
"The ship's gone, sure enough," said he; "but that's more than you cansay for my appetite! Bear or dog, I'm not particular, captain; but agood steak of something would come handy, and the sooner the better.'Twere enough to bring tears to a man's eyes to think of all the goodgrub that's gone aboard with Harry Doe. Aye, 'tis a wonderful thing ishunger, and the gift of the Lord along with good roast beef and porksausages. May-be you find yourself a bit peckish, captain?"
I answered "Yes," though that was far