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Strange Adventures of Eric Blackburn

<h3>Chapter Eighteen.</h3> <h4>A Tragic End to our Troubles.</h4> On a certain evening, some eight or ten days after that outburst on the part of the Finn in connection with his demand for weapons, Billy remarked to me, apropos of nothing in particular, as we sat together studying as usual: “That Dutchman is a queer chap and no mistake, Mr Blackburn. He will sit for hours, saying never a word but: ‘Billy, pass me that,’ or ‘Billy, take hold of this,’ and then all of a sudden he’ll begin to chatter like a parrot.” “Really!” said I. “And what does he chatter about?” “Oh, all sorts of things,” answered Billy, “chiefly about what he and Svorenssen went through before they joined us here. And he likes to hear how we managed, too, before we settled down on Eden. Do you know, I’m beginning to think he’s not such a bad sort of chap after all. He seems to admire you immensely.” “Does he, indeed?” I commented dryly. “In what particular way does he reveal his admiration?” “Well,” said Billy, “he thinks you are perfectly wonderful, every way. Wonderfully clever as a navigator, you know; clever to have been able to build the sailing boat; still more clever to have designed and very nearly built such a beautiful craft as the cutter; and most clever of all to have built this bungalow. He said that he could understand that a clever sailor like you might be able to build a boat; but he could not understand how any sailor—even you—could build such a fine house. He wanted to know how long it took us to build it, and how we set about it, whether you invented it as we went on, or whether you drew it out on paper beforehand; and when I said that you had drawn it all out before we began to build, he said that he’d dearly like to see the drawing, because it would give him some wrinkles if he should ever again be shipwrecked.” “And what did you say to that?” I asked. “Well,” said Billy, “you see, I thought it was perhaps his roundabout way of asking me to show him the plan, so I said I didn’t know where it was; that I rather thought you had destroyed it; and when I said that, the poor chap looked so disappointed that I showed him what it was like, by sketching it out on the ground with the point of a sail needle.” “That is very interesting,” I said. “Here is paper and a pencil. Just reproduce on it, as nearly as you can, the sketch you made on the ground.” The boy took the pencil and paper, and in a few minutes completed a rough but quite accurate plan of the bungalow, showing the relative positions of the several rooms in the front and rear portions of the house. I observed also that he indicated with scrupulous fidelity the position of every window and door, showing the possibility of passing from any one room to any other, through the passages and the living-room. “This sketch does you credit,” I said. “It gives an excellent idea of the general arrangement of the house; but I really do not see how the information it affords is in the least degree likely to be of use to Van Ryn, even should he be shipwrecked a dozen times over. To speak quite frankly, I would very much rather that you had not made that sketch on the ground for his information. Do you think he understood it?” “No,” confessed Billy, “I don’t believe he did, for he asked all sorts of silly questions about it that he wouldn’t have asked if he had understood the plan.” “Ah, indeed!” said I. “Do you happen to remember any of those questions?” “N–o, I don’t think I do,” replied Billy. “They were so awfully stupid that I didn’t pay much attention to them. I explained that those marks,”—pointing to the drawing—“represented doors; yet the silly ass couldn’t understand how the servants got from their room to the kitchen, nor how they brought our meals from the kitchen to the living-room without going outside and walking round the house. And he couldn’t understand how you and I got from our rooms to the living-room without going outside.” “That’s too bad,” said I. “It seems to reflect upon your powers of description, doesn’t it, Billy?” “It does, rather,” admitted the boy, “yet I did my best to make him understand. But he didn’t seem able to grasp that we were supposed to be looking down upon the bungalow, with the roof off. He persisted in thinking that we were looking square at it, and that the rooms in the rear were above those in the front of the house.” “Stupid fellow!” I commented. “And was the house the only thing he manifested curiosity about?” “Oh no,” answered Billy; “there were lots of other things he asked about. He wanted to know where we got Kit from, and how it is that he is so tame with us, and so savage with everybody else. He asked if we weren’t afraid that some day he would turn upon us and do us an injury. He said that if he was boss he’d shoot the beast right away; and he grumbled a bit because you wouldn’t give him and Svorenssen any firearms to defend themselves with, not only from the leopard but also from the natives, whom, he said, he didn’t trust a little bit, and who might come across any night and massacre us all in our sleep. Then he wanted to know how we are going to get the cutter into the water when she is ready for launching; and then—let me see—oh, yes, we got on about the natives again—and the apes. He said it was all very well for us who could bolt ourselves securely in the house at night; but what about him and Svorenssen if an ape should come across and surprise them in their tent some night? How were they to defend themselves without weapons of any kind? I laughed at that, and told him that there was so little likelihood of anything of that sort happening that we never closed our doors or windows, except when it rained. But he said that didn’t matter; we could defend ourselves if such a thing happened, because we had plenty of arms; and they ought to have some too. He said that, what with the leopard, the apes, and the savages, life was none too safe for unarmed men like him and the Finn.” “Did his terror seem quite real, or do you think it was at all exaggerated?” I asked. “Oh no,” asserted Billy, with conviction; “it was real enough, and it wasn’t exaggerated either; he was in a regular funk. You see, he and Svorenssen had a pretty bad time, one way and another, all the time they were on West Island; but it was the apes that frightened them worst of all.” “Yes,” I agreed, “I can quite understand that; but,”—as an idea suggested itself to me—“do you think Van Ryn suspects that you repeat these conversations of his to me?” “N–o, I don’t think so,” answered the boy. “Why should he. I don’t believe such a thought ever enters his head.” I did not feel by any means so sure of that as Billy seemed to be. If the man suspected that his remarks and questionings were repeated to me, his assumption of extreme stupidity might be explained as designed to disarm any suspicion aroused in my mind by the queer character of some of his questions. Take those relating to the arrangement of the house, for example. The pretence that the information would be valuable to him, should he ever again be cast away, was altogether too puerile for consideration; he required the information—and very cleverly extracted it from the unsuspecting Billy, too—for some entirely different reason. But what was that reason? I wondered. I was not long kept wondering. The second night after the above-recorded conversation between Billy and myself brought with it the threat of a change of weather. It had been exceptionally hot all day, with less wind than usual, and there was a languorous quality in the atmosphere that seemed to portend thunder, a portent that was strengthened toward nightfall when the wind died away to the merest zephyr, while a great bank of heavy, lowering cloud piled itself up slowly along the eastern horizon so that the rising full moon had no chance to show herself. As the evening progressed what little air of wind there was died completely away, and we were left, with all doors and windows flung wide open, gasping for breath, and sweltering as in a Turkish bath. I endured it as long as I could, and then, tossing aside the book I was attempting to read, announced my determination to go down to the cove and have a swim. Billy declared that he would like a swim too, if he could take a header off the veranda into deep water; but as to walking down to the cove in that heat—no; much as he would enjoy a dip he wasn’t prepared to undergo that amount of exertion to get it. As the gathering storm seemed unlikely to break suddenly, I did not unduly hurry over my dip, but remained in the water about an hour, emerging at last delightfully cool, and quite ready for bed. Upon my return to the house I found Billy still up and poring over a book; but he confessed to feeling sleepy, upon which I ordered the boy off to bed forthwith and, extinguishing the lamp in the living-room, retired to my own apartment and straightway turned in; being quickly lulled to sleep by the sound of pouring rain that began just as I stretched myself upon my bed. It seemed as though I had only just fallen asleep when I awoke with startling suddenness. The rain was pelting down on the roof in torrents, making quite noise enough to account for my sudden awakening, through which I could just hear poor Kit whining and fidgeting restlessly under the veranda, outside my French window. Imagining that it was these combined sounds that had awakened me, I rose, thinking: “I must fetch that animal indoors. I expect the poor beggar is getting pretty wet, hence his restlessness.” One of the doors of my room opened into the living-room, while the other gave on to the veranda, both of them being wide open. As I passed through the latter a vivid flash of lightning revealed the rain coming straight down in sheets and rebounding in glittering spray off the already streaming earth, with Kit straining at his leash, which Billy had made fast as usual to one of the veranda posts. The beast had withdrawn himself as far under the veranda as his leash would permit, and he did not appear to be very wet; but he seemed anxious to enjoy the more complete shelter of the living-room, so I stepped out and cast him adrift. To my amazement, the instant that I released him from his leash, he tore himself away from my hold upon his collar and, with a savage snarl, bounded through the living-room door. The next instant there issued from the interior of the room a yell of consternation, immediately followed by a shriek of terror, the fall of a heavy body on the floor, screams, execrations, and the dreadful sound of Kit worrying somebody or something; and before I could draw another breath the figure of a yelling, screaming, frantic man dashed from the room, cleared the veranda steps at a bound, landed heavily on the ground some five feet below, and, still screaming, disappeared through the curtain of pouring rain. But the sounds from the living-room still continued with increasing violence, augmented now by cries from Billy, whose form I dimly descried outlined against the dark background of the open door; and a perception of what had happened, and was still happening, leapt to my brain with sudden enlightenment. “Bring a light, Billy, quick!” I shouted, as I sprang through into the living-room and, instinctively avoiding the table that stood in the middle of the room, flung myself upon the struggling group on the floor. My hands at once came into contact with Kit’s hairy hide, and slid along it until they closed upon the collar round his neck, when, exerting all my strength, I dragged the beast, still savagely snarling and resisting, off the writhing and groaning form at my feet. Somehow—to this day I know not how—I managed to drag the fiercely struggling creature out of the room and back to the veranda, where I securely tied him up again. Then I returned to the living-room as Billy entered it with a lighted lamp. I took the lamp from him and said: “Light the lamp in my room, boy, and then lend me a hand to put this man on my bed.” I next turned to the writhing, groaning figure on the floor and saw that, as I had already surmised, it was that of—Svorenssen! He was dressed only in shirt and trousers, both of which, rain-sodden and drenched with blood, were torn to rags by the teeth and claws of the leopard, which was still raving outside and doing his utmost to break adrift from his moorings. The man’s injuries, especially about the throat, shoulders, arms, and chest, were shocking; and I felt that, with the limited appliances at our command, there was but very small hope of saving his life. He still grasped in his right hand a formidable bludgeon, and a similar weapon lay on the floor near him. I had only time to take in these details when Billy returned, and between us we contrived to half carry, half drag the writhing and groaning Finn into my room and deposit him on my bed. I then sent Billy to the natives’ room, the occupants of which had been roused by the disturbance, bidding him set them to work providing warm water and such other matters as I thought I might require. Guided by the book of instructions attached to the medicine-chest, I did the best I could for the injured man; but his wounds were of so ghastly a nature, and his suffering so acute, that I recognised from the very outset, not only that it was impossible he should recover, but that death must ensue in a very few hours. And it was dreadful to sit there by his side, listening to his moans, liberally interspersed with curses of the leopard, of me, and not infrequently of mankind in general, and to reflect that that flood of blasphemy was issuing from the lips of a man hovering on the brink of eternity! At length I could endure it no longer, and I said to him, rather sharply, I am afraid: “Stop that blasphemy, Svorenssen, for pity’s sake, and rather turn your thoughts to prayer—if you know how to pray. I fear that your life has been a deplorably misspent one, and it can last but a few hours longer. Before to-morrow’s sun sets you will be face to face with God! Therefore I urge you to devote the few remaining hours at your disposal to making your peace with Him, instead of cursing those who have never knowingly wronged you.” “What—d’ye—mean?” he gaspingly demanded. “I—ain’t goin’—to—die—am I?” “Yes,” I said, “you are; and it is well that you should know it. Therefore, forget all your wrongs, real or imaginary, and—” But here I was interrupted by an outburst of such vile and savage profanity that it literally rendered me speechless. It lasted, I suppose, fully ten minutes, and left its utterer gasping and in a state of collapse. I administered stimulant, and at length the colour came slowly back to the sufferer’s cheeks and lips, and he opened his eyes. For several minutes he lay there gazing up at me steadfastly, questioningly; then he muttered: “Thank ’e, Mister. If it hadn’t been for you I’d have slipped my cable that time. And so you think I’m goin’ to die? Well, I’m beginnin’ to think so myself now. My God! it’s awful to think that a few hours more and I shall be face to face with my Maker, and bein’ called to account for a whole lifetime of wickedness. And there’s no way out!” “Oh, but there is,” I said eagerly, and thereupon I began to expound, with all the earnestness at my command, and as lucidly as I could, the wonderful story of man’s redemption. I got my Bible and read passage after passage suited to the dying man’s needs, until the expression of terror and anxiety gradually faded from his features, and ultimately his eyes closed and he seemed to fall asleep. Then the day dawned and Billy, entering softly, took my place as watcher while I snatched a brief hour or two of sleep on his bed. I was aroused by the clatter of crockery in the living-room, where the native women were making ready to serve breakfast—for even when the shadow of Death hovers over a house its inmates must needs eat and drink; and then one of the natives who every day came over to help with the work on the cutter, brought the news that the sailing boat had disappeared, the inference being that Van Ryn had taken her. Nevertheless, I gave orders that Eden should be thoroughly searched for him; but he was never found, nor was the boat, and that was the end of him so far as we were concerned, for we never again heard of him. When breakfast was ready I tiptoed to the door of my bedroom and beckoned Billy, who crept softly out, closing the door behind him. “He is asleep again now,” the boy whispered; “but he is dying in peace; and he wants to see you, Mr Blackburn, before he passes away, that he may repeat to you the terrible confession that he has made to me.” We took breakfast in silence, for our minds were full of thoughts too deep for utterance; and when we had finished I resumed my post beside the dying man’s bed. Svorenssen was still asleep—the sleep of utter exhaustion; but he was very uneasy, and moaning occasionally. About half an hour later, however, he awoke and, after I had again given him a stimulant, he stammered and gasped the confession he desired to make. There is no need to repeat it here word for word. In substance it was to the effect that Van Ryn had proposed, and he had agreed, that they two, obtaining entry through the back of the house, should murder me—in my sleep if possible—arm themselves from the arms chest, and thereafter impose their will upon poor Billy. The cutter was to be completed and launched, the treasure shipped aboard her, and the conspirators, with Billy as forced navigator, were to make their way to some civilised port, arrived in sight of which, Billy was to be knocked on the head and hove overboard—exactly as I had suspected—while the two men were to divide the treasure equally between them. It was a dreadful confession for a man to make; and I found it bitterly hard to utter the words of forgiveness that were so piteously pleaded for, but I forced myself to do so at last; and shortly after noon of that day the man, happy now and, I believe, at peace with his Maker, passed away. We buried his body an hour or two later. With the death of one, and the disappearance of the other of the two men who had come into our lives, only to act as a disturbing element from almost the first moment of our acquaintance with them, all my worries and anxieties passed away like the memory of an evil dream; and upon the day following that of Svorenssen’s death I turned with renewed zest to the completion of the cutter. The hull was by this time practically finished; her deck was laid, her companion and tiny self-emptying cockpit completed, and all that was now needed was to run a low bulwark around her, rig and step the completed mast and bowsprit, bend the sails, ballast and launch her, get the stores, water, and treasure aboard; and up anchor and away. Taken as it stands, that list of work still remaining to be done looks simple enough; yet it took me a full month to complete it, for the greater part of it was of so technical a character that the natives were of little assistance to me, and I had to do most of it with my own hands. Also, I found that Van Ryn had by no means completed the task he had undertaken to perform; the two topsails—square-header and jib-header—still needed roping, as did the jib; and that work cost me several days’ labour to complete to my satisfaction. Then there were the launching ways and the cradle to be built; and this task taxed my ingenuity to its utmost limit; but at length all was done, except the actual launching of the boat. The finishing touches to my final preparations were completed too late in the afternoon for us to do anything more that day. Immediately after breakfast on the following morning, therefore, Billy and I climbed aboard the cutter, hoisted the Yorkshire Lass’s ensign to her topmast head, suspended a bottle of wine—one of the very few that we had left—from her stem head, and then, leaving Billy aboard, I descended to the ground, removing the ladder by which we had ascended. The wedging-up having already been accomplished, I next took a maul and, shouting to Billy to “stand by”, proceeded to knock away the spur shores. There was now a moment’s hesitation on the part of the cutter, of which I took advantage to jump clear; and then she began to move, slowly at first but with rapidly increasing velocity, while I dashed the bottle of wine against the craft’s cut-water, and named her the Dolphin, in accordance with Billy’s earnestly expressed wish. Two seconds later the craft took the water, plunging deeply with the foam brimming to her taffrail; then, rising buoyantly, she shot far out toward the middle of the cove until, in obedience to my hail, Billy let go her anchor and brought her up. I then saw that I had underestimated the amount of ballast required, and that she needed about half a ton more, and a slight readjustment of it to put her in correct trim. That, however, was an error that could be easily rectified; and meanwhile I was highly gratified by the graceful appearance she presented, now that she was afloat. Next in order came a “cold collation” that I had caused to be prepared for the delectation of Bowata and his petty chiefs, the whole of whom I had invited over to Eden to witness the launch, and—Billy having been brought ashore in the islanders’ boat—we forthwith fell to, all hands doing full justice to the feast. At its conclusion I formally presented the bungalow and all that we were leaving in it to Bowata, with a strict injunction to him and his to show the utmost kindness to any shipwrecked persons who might hereafter be so unfortunate as to be cast away on the group, an injunction which they all promised to obey most faithfully. Then followed our mutual farewells, to the accompaniment of much howling and weeping on the part of our black friends; after which the remainder of the day was devoted to the completion of the ballasting of the cutter and its correct adjustment. There was but one other duty now to be done before we started for home, and that was the disposal of Kit, the leopard. Since the night when he so fearfully mauled Svorenssen the nature of the beast had undergone a material change for the worse. He had developed an uncertainty and ferocity of temper that rendered him distinctly unsafe and altogether unsuitable as a pet for anyone. With grief and many tears poor Billy was obliged to admit that such was the case; therefore it was at length agreed that he should be transported to West Island, where he could hurt no one, and where he would find ample prey for his sustenance; accordingly, on the following morning we weighed anchor and bade a final good-bye to our Pacific Eden, sailing through the East and North Island Channels to West Island, where, without mishap, we landed Kit and turned him adrift to shift for himself, not by any means without regret, for the beast had stood us in good stead on one memorable occasion. Then, sailing up North-west Channel, we entered the lagoon and, heading to the northward, passed through the wide gap in the reef, abreast of Shark Bay, and once more found ourselves riding buoyantly on the long swell of the open Pacific. Of course I had long ago given most careful consideration to the question of where I should steer for, in the event of the cutter’s completion, and after much study of the charts at my command I had decided to shape a course for Sydney, Australia. It meant a voyage of some two thousand three hundred and fifty miles across the open ocean in a ten-ton cutter, but I felt sure the Dolphin could do it, especially as we should have the south-east trade wind and the prospect of reasonably fine weather with us nearly all the way. Accordingly, as soon as we were fairly clear of the reef, I bore up and headed away to the southward, along the west side of the group, of which we finally lost sight about an hour before sunset. To say that our voyage was unadventurous would be untrue; on the contrary, we had many thrilling adventures and several hair-breadth escapes from destruction, but lack of space forbids more than the bare mention of them here. Let it suffice to say that, after a voyage packed with sufficiently exciting incidents, we arrived safely in Sydney harbour on the twenty-third day after our departure from the group. Arrived there, my first business was to negotiate with a firm of bankers for the exchange of some of the gold coinage, which formed part of our treasure, for a sufficient number of British sovereigns to carry both of us comfortably home, and, this done, we set about providing ourselves with outfits suitable for the voyage. It was, of course, impossible for us to keep our adventures entirely secret; a hint of them somehow got abroad, possibly from the people in the hotel at which we put up, and the enterprising reporters of the Sydney papers did the rest; one result of which was that I soon got from a local yachtsman so advantageous an offer for the Dolphin that I unhesitatingly accepted it. We spent a very pleasant fortnight in Sydney, many of its leading citizens vying with each other to show us hospitality; finally, on a certain day in the month of April we both embarked for England in an Orient liner, which, after a most delightful voyage, landed us in London on a glorious day in the month of May. <hr> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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