"What do you think of it?" Christobal asked Tollemache, as the latter appeared to be sauntering after the chief officer.
"Rot!" said Tollemache.
"But what can we do? He is committing suicide."
"One must do that occasionally. It"s rotten, but it can"t be helped."
Christobal threw out his hands in a despairing gesture. "I tried to stop him, but I failed," he cried.
"Courtenay is a hard man to stop," said Tollemache, vanishing down the companion. The Spaniard was left alone on the bridge. He paced to and fro, deep in thought. He scarce dared probe his own communings. So complex were they, such a queer amalgam of n.o.ble fear and base expectation, that he could have cried aloud in his anguish. Big drops of perspiration stood on his forehead when Courtenay came to him.
"For G.o.d"s sake, don"t go," said he hoa.r.s.ely. "Do you know you are placing me on the rack?"
"Your sufferings are of your own contriving, then. Why, man, there is no reason for all this agony. I have written to Elsie, briefly explaining matters. Here is the letter. Give it to her, if I don"t return. And now, pull yourself together. I want you to cheer her.
Above all things, don"t let her know I am leaving the ship. I"ll just swing myself overboard at the last moment. I can"t say good-by. I don"t think I could stand that."
CHAPTER XVII
A MAN"S METHOD--AND A WOMAN"S
Isobel"s drooping was of brief endurance. Elsie and Mrs. Somerville supported her to the stateroom, and there Elsie sat with her a little while, soothing her as one might comfort a child in pain. Once it seemed that the stricken girl was on the point of confiding in her friend, but the imminent words died away in a pa.s.sion of tears. Elsie besought her to rest, and strove to calm her with predictions of the joyous days they would pa.s.s together when the stress and terror of their present life should be a tale that is told.
Isobel, stupefied by some haunting knowledge which appeared to have a vague connection with the misfortunes of the _Kansas_, yielded to Elsie"s gentle compulsion, and endeavored to close her eyes. All was quiet in the cabin, save for the sufferer"s labored breathing, and an occasional sob, while her wondering nurse smoothed her luxuriant hair, and whispered those meaningless little phrases which have such magic influence on the distracted nerves of woman-kind. There was hardly a sound on the ship, beyond an unexplained creaking of pulleys, which soon ceased.
Mrs. Somerville had gone, in response to Elsie"s mute appeal. Somehow, from a piecing together of hints and half phrases, the girl feared a painful disclosure as the outcome of Isobel"s hysteria. She was glad it had been averted. If there were hidden scandals in her friend"s life in Chile, she prayed they might remain at rest. She had not forgotten Christobal"s guarded words. He probably knew far more than he chose to tell of the "summer hotel attachment" between Isobel and Ventana at which he had hinted. But, even crediting that pa.s.sing folly with a serious aspect, why should the daughter of the richest merchant in Valparaiso fall prostrate at the mere mention of the name of a disreputable loafer like Jose the Winebag? To state the fact was to refute it. Elsie dismissed the idea as preposterous. It was clear enough that Isobel"s break-down arose from some other cause; perhaps the relaxed tension of existence on board the _Kansas_, after the hardships borne on the island, supplied a simple explanation.
Through the open port she heard a man walk rapidly along the deck, and halt outside the door. She half rose from her knees to answer the expected knock, thinking that Mrs. Somerville had sent a steward to ascertain if Miss Baring needed anything. But the newcomer evidently changed his mind, and turned back. Then came Courtenay"s voice, low but compelling:
"One moment, M"sieu" de Poincilit. A word with you."
The French Count! During the whirl of the previous night, and by reason of the abiding joy of her morning"s reverie, she had failed to miss the dapper Frenchman. Once, indeed, she had mentioned him to Isobel, who offered a brief surmise that he might be ill, and keeping to his cabin. Yet, here he was on deck, and possibly on the point of seeking an interview with the lady to whom he had paid such close attention during the early days of the voyage. Perhaps Mrs. Somerville had told him of the fainting fit, and he was about to make a friendly inquiry when the captain accosted him. But Elsie"s ears, tuned to fine precision where her lover"s utterances were concerned, had caught the note of contemptuous command, and she was even more surprised by the Count"s flurried answer in French:
"Another time, M"sieu". I pray you pardon me now. I find I am not strong enough yet to venture on deck."
"Oh yes, you are, M"sieu". I want to give you the chance of your life.
Mr. Gray has told me of your behavior, and he charitably added that your cowardice and treachery might have arisen from ungovernable fear.
Now, if you wish to atone for your conduct, here is an opportunity. I am taking a boat ash.o.r.e to try to save some of my men who are imprisoned there. There is a fair risk in the venture. The outcome may be death. Will you volunteer to take an oar? That would whitewash your weather-marks."
"It is impossible. I am too feeble. I cannot row."
"Ah, you swine! Can it be possible that you are a Frenchman? What sort of countship is it you boast of?"
"Sir, I am a pa.s.senger on this ship--"
Courtenay"s voice was raised a little.
"Mr. Boyle," he said, "give orders that if this skunk shows his nose inside the saloon again he is to be kicked out. He can eat his meals in his stateroom, or in the forecabin with the other savages."
Elsie heard every word. She fancied, too, that Isobel was listening, though she gave no sign. But the unknown cause of the captain"s anger was as naught compared with the statement that he was about to leave the ship. That stabbed her with a nameless fear. "Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind;" she saw her idyl destroyed, her sweet dreaming roused into cruel reality. Her understanding heart told her that Courtenay meant to go without bidding her farewell. She had heard the lowering of the boat without heeding; he was already climbing down the ship"s side. Soon he would be far from her, perhaps never to return. For he was not one to paint imaginary ills, and had he not told de Poincilit what the outcome of the undertaking might be? Was it his wish that she should remain in seeming ignorance of his mission until it was too late for a parting word? Did he dread the ordeal of telling her his errand? Even he, so strong and resolute, who had so often smiled grim death out of countenance, feared the kiss which might wean him from the narrow way. And she must prove herself worthy of him. She must suffer in silence, trusting the All-powerful to bring him back to her arms.
And then she found Isobel looking at her with frightened eyes.
"Did you hear?" came the tense whisper.
"Yes."
"And you are content to let him go?"
"Ah, G.o.d! Yes, content."
"But it is folly. He is the captain. He should not go. We have risked enough already. Who are these men for whose sake he leaves you, and all of us?"
"I know not, nor do I greatly care, may Heaven help me and them."
"Then you should appeal to him to abandon this mad undertaking. It is not fair to you. It is more than unfair to those who have entrusted their lives to his keeping."
Isobel would have risen in her excitement, had not Elsie leaped to her feet.
"Oh, Isobel," she cried, all a-quiver with disdain, "can you not for once conquer the self that is destroying your very soul? Neither by word nor act shall you interfere between Arthur Courtenay and his duty.
Would you have him cling ign.o.bly to life like that poor dandy whom he has sent to herd with savages? Be sure he has not forgotten those who are beholden to him. We are his first care. Let it be mine to leave him unhindered in the task he has undertaken!"
Isobel was cowed into silence. Elsie"s hero-worship had reached a height beyond her comprehension. She would never understand how a woman who loved a man could send him voluntarily to his death, and her shallow mind did not contemplate the possibility of Courtenay"s refusing to be swayed by any other consideration than that which his conscience told him was right.
Thus, at arm"s length as it were, they waited until they caught the sharp command "Give way there!" and the plash of oars told them that the boat had really started on its journey sh.o.r.ewards. Then Isobel, glancing furtively at her companion, saw the tears stealing down her cheeks, and the situation came back from the transcendental to that which was intelligible to her lower ideals.
"I am sorry," she whispered, catching Elsie"s hand timidly. "I said what I thought was for the best. At any rate, it is too late now."
Too late! The other girl groped blindly for the door. She felt that she would yield to the strain if she did not go on deck and catch a parting glimpse of the man who had become dearer to her than life itself. As she made her way forward, Joey ran to meet her. He was whining anxiously. He seemed to be demanding that sympathy which she alone could give him. In his half-human way, he was asking:
"Why has my master gone away in that boat? And why did he not take me with him? When my master goes ash.o.r.e he never leaves me on board; what is the reason of to-day"s exception?"
On the p.o.o.p she found Boyle, Christobal, Gray and Walker. A number of Chileans were leaning over the rails of the main deck. All the men were talking earnestly. It was ominous that they should cease their conversation the instant she appeared. One man may conceal his fears, but twenty cannot. Their studied unconcern, their covert glances under lowered eye-lids, told her that they believed the occupants of the life-boat were in gravest peril.
She brushed away the tears determinedly, and looked at the boat, already a white speck on the green carpet of the bay. She could see Courtenay distinctly; some magnetic impulse must have gone out from her, because she had not been watching him longer than a couple of seconds when he turned and waved his hand. She replied instantly, fluttering a handkerchief, poor girl, long after it became impossible for her to distinguish whether or not he returned her signals. In the calm glory of the sunlit estuary, he might have been bent on a pleasant picnic. It was outrageous to think of Good Hope Inlet as a place of skulls; yet she knew that the sea floor beneath the ship was already littered with bodies of the dead. Women would wait in vain for their men to return; why should she be spared?
At last she appealed to Mr. Boyle, who was nearest to her.
"Who is sitting next to Captain Courtenay?" she asked, and she had a fleeting impression that he was anxious for her to speak, so quickly did he answer.
"Tollemache. He shinned down the ladder as the first volunteer; the skipper ordered him to get out, but he said he was deaf. Anyhow, I"m glad he is there. Courtenay ought to have one sure enough white man by his side."
"And what are they attempting?"
"Huh, it"s a bold plan, an" I"m not goin" to condemn it on that account. Have you heard this morning"s news--how Suarez found out from the Indians that eleven of our crew are hiding in a cave on Guanaco Hill?"