The sailor went after those monkeys in a mood of relentless severity.
Thus far, the regular denizens of Rainbow Island had dwelt together in
peace and mutual goodwill, but each diminutive wou-wou must be taught
not to pull any strings he found tied promiscuously to trees or stakes.
As a preliminary essay, Jenks resolved to try force combined with
artifice. Failing complete success, he would endeavor to kill every
monkey in the place, though he had in full measure the inherent dislike
of Anglo-India to the slaying of the tree-people.
This, then, is what he did. After filling a biscuit tin with good-sized
pebbles, he donned a Dyak hat, blouse, and belt, rubbed earth over his
face and hands, and proceeded to pelt the wou-wous mercilessly. For
more than an hour he made their lives miserable, until at the mere
sight of him they fled, shrieking and gurgling like a thousand
water-bottles. Finally he constructed several Dyak scarecrows and
erected one to guard each of his alarm-guns. The device was thoroughly
effective.
Thenceforth, when some adventurous monkey--swinging with
hands or tail among the treetops in the morning search for appetizing
nut or luscious plantain--saw one of those fearsome bogies, he raised
such a hubbub that all his companions scampered hastily from the
confines of the wood to the inner fastnesses.
In contriving these same scarecrows--which, by the way, he had vaguely
intended at first to erect on the beach in order to frighten the
invaders and induce them to fire a warning volley--the sailor paid
closer heed to the spoils gathered from the fallen. One, at least, of
the belts was made of human hair, and some among its long strands could
have come only from the flaxen-haired head of a European child. This
fact, though ghastly enough, confirmed him in his theory that it was
impossible to think of temporizing with these human fiends. Unhappily
such savage virtues as they possess do not include clemency to the weak
or hospitality to defenceless strangers. There was nothing for it but a
fight to a finish, with the law of the jungle to decide the terms of
conquest.
That morning, of course, he had not been able to visit Summit Rock
until after his cautious survey of the island. Once there, however, he
noticed that the gale two nights earlier had loosened two of the
supports of his sky sign. It was not a difficult or a long job to
repair the damage. With the invaluable axe he cut several wedges and
soon made all secure.
Now, during each of the two daily examinations of the horizon which he
never omitted, he minutely scrutinized the sea between Rainbow Island
and the distant group. It was, perhaps, a needless precaution. The
Dyaks would come at night. With a favorable wind they need not set sail
until dusk, and their fleet sampans would easily cover the intervening
forty miles in five hours.
He could not be positive that they were actual inhabitants of the
islands to the south. The China Sea swarms with wandering pirates, and
the tribe whose animosity he had earned might be equally noxious to
some peaceable fishing community on the coast. Again and again he
debated the advisability of constructing a seaworthy raft and
endeavoring to make the passage. But this would be risking all on a
frightful uncertainty, and the accidental discovery of the Eagle's Nest
had given him new hope. Here he could make a determined and prolonged
stand, and in the end help must come. So he dismissed the
navigation project, and devoted himself wholly to the perfecting of the
natural fortress in the rock.
That night they finished the rope-ladder. Indeed, Jenks was determined
not to retire to rest until it was placed in situ; he did not
care to try a second time to carry Iris to that elevated perch, and it
may be remarked that thenceforth the girl, before going to sleep,
simply changed one ragged dress for another.
One of the first things he contemplated was the destruction, if
possible, of the point on the opposite cliff which commanded the ledge.
This, however, was utterly impracticable with the appliances at his
command. The top of the rock sloped slightly towards the west, and
nothing short of dynamite or regular quarrying operations would render
it untenable by hostile marksmen.
During the day his Lee-Metfords, at ninety yards' range, might be
trusted to keep the place clear of intruders. But at night--that was
the difficulty. He partially solved it by fixing two rests on the ledge
to support a rifle in exact line with the center of the enemy's
supposed position, and as a variant, on the outer rest he marked lines
which corresponded with other sections of the entire front available to
the foe.
Even then he was not satisfied. When time permitted he made many
experiments with ropes reeved through the pulley and attached to a
rifle action. He might have succeeded in his main object had not his
thoughts taken a new line. His aim was to achieve some method of
opening and closing the breech-block by means of two ropes. The
difficulty was to secure the preliminary and final lateral movement of
the lever bolt, but it suddenly occurred to him that if he could manage
to convey the impression that Iris and he had left the island, the
Dyaks would go away after a fruitless search. The existence of ropes
along the face of the rock--an essential to his mechanical
scheme--would betray their whereabouts, or at any rate excite dangerous
curiosity. So he reluctantly abandoned his original design, though not
wholly, as will be seen in due course.
In pursuance of his latest idea he sedulously removed from the foot of
the cliff all traces of the clearance effected on the ledge, and,
although he provided supports for the tarpaulin covering, he did not
adjust it. Iris and he might lie perdu there for days without
their retreat being found out. This development suggested the necessity
of hiding their surplus stores and ammunition, and what spot could be
more suitable than the cave?
So Jenks began to dig once more in the interior, laboring manfully with
pick and shovel in the locality of the fault with its vein of antimony.
It was thus that he blundered upon the second great event of his life.
Rainbow Island had given him the one thing a man prizes above all
else--a pure yet passionate love for a woman beautiful alike in body
and mind. And now it was to endow him with riches that might stir the
pulse of even a South African magnate. For the sailor, unmindful of
purpose other than providing the requisite cache, shoveling and
delving with the energy peculiar to all his actions, suddenly struck a
deep vein of almost virgin gold.
To facilitate the disposal at a distance of the disturbed debris, he
threw each shovelful on to a canvas sheet, which he subsequently
dragged among the trees in order to dislodge its contents. After doing
this four times he noticed certain metallic specks in the fifth load
which recalled the presence of the antimony. But the appearance of the
sixth cargo was so remarkable when brought out into the sunlight that
it invited closer inspection. Though his knowledge of geology was
slight--the half-forgotten gleanings of a brief course at Eton--he was
forced to believe that the specimens he handled so dubiously contained
neither copper nor iron pyrites but glittering yellow gold. Their
weight, the distribution of the metal through quartz in a transition
state between an oxide and a telluride, compelled recognition.
Somewhat excited, yet half skeptical, he returned to the excavation and
scooped out yet another collection. This time there could be no
mistake. Nature's own alchemy had fashioned a veritable ingot. There
were small lumps in the ore which would need alloy at the mint before
they could be issued as sovereigns, so free from dross were they.
Iris had gone to Venus's Bath, and would be absent for some time. Jenks
sat down on a tree-stump. He held in his hand a small bit of ore worth
perhaps twenty pounds sterling. Slowly the conjectures already pieced
together in his mind during early days on the island came back to him.
The skeleton of an Englishman lying there among the bushes near the
well; the Golgotha of the poison-filled hollow; the mining tools, both
Chinese and European; the plan on the piece of tin--ah, the piece of
tin! Mechanically the sailor produced it from the breast-pocket of his
jersey. At last the mysterious sign "32/1" revealed its
significance. Measure thirty-two feet from the mouth of the tunnel, dig
one foot in depth, and you came upon the mother-lode of this
gold-bearing rock. This, then, was the secret of the cave.
The Chinese knew the richness of the deposit, and exploited its
treasures by quarrying from the other side of the hill. But their crass
ignorance of modern science led to their undoing. The accumulation of
liberated carbonic acid gas in the workings killed them in scores. They
probably fought this unseen demon with the tenacity of their race,
until the place became accursed and banned of all living things. Yet
had they dug a little ditch, and permitted the invisible terror to flow
quietly downwards until its potency was dissipated by sea and air, they
might have mined the whole cliff with impunity.
The unfortunate unknown, J.S.--he of the whitened bones--might have
done this thing too. But he only possessed the half-knowledge of the
working miner, and whilst shunning the plague-stricken quarry, adopted
the more laborious method of making an adit to strike the deposit. He
succeeded, to perish miserably in the hour when he saw himself a
millionaire.
Was this a portent of the fate about to overtake the latest comers?
Jenks, of course, stood up. He always, stood square on his feet when
the volcano within him fired his blood.
"No, by God!" he almost shouted. "I will break the spell. I am sent
here by Providence, not to search for gold but to save a woman's life,
and if all the devils of China and Malay are in league against me I
will beat them!"
The sound of his own voice startled him. He had no notion that he was
so hysterical. Promptly his British phlegm throttled the demonstration.
He was rather ashamed of it.
What was all the fuss about? With a barrow-load of gold he could not
buy an instant's safety for Iris, not to mention himself. The language
difficulty was insuperable. Were it otherwise, the Dyaks would simply
humbug him until he revealed the source of his wealth, and then murder
him as an effective safeguard against foreign interference.
Iris! Not once since she was hurled ashore in his arms had Jenks so
long forgotten her existence. Should he tell her? They were partners in
everything appertaining to the island--why keep this marvelous
intelligence from her?
Yet was he tempted, not ignobly, but by reason of his love for her.
Once, years ago, when his arduous professional studies were distracted
by a momentary infatuation for a fair face, a woman had proved fickle
when tempted by greater wealth than he possessed. For long he was a
confirmed misogynist, to his great and lasting gain as a leader of men.
But with more equable judgment came a fixed resolution not to marry
unless his prospective bride cared only for him and not for his
position. To a Staff Corps officer, even one with a small private
income, this was no unattainable ideal. Then he met with his
débâcle in the shame and agony of the court-martial. Whilst his
soul still quivered under the lash of that terrible downfall, Iris came
into his life. He knew not what might happen if they were rescued. The
time would quickly pass until the old order was resumed, she to go back
to her position in society, he to become again a disgraced ex-officer,
apparently working out a mere existence before the mast or handing
plates in a saloon.
Would it not be a sweet defiance of adversity were he able, even under
such conditions, to win her love, and then disclose to her the
potentialities of the island? Perchance he might fail. Though rich as
Croesus he would still be under the social ban meted out to a cashiered
officer. She was a girl who could command the gift of coronets. With
restoration to her father and home, gratitude to her preserver would
assuredly remain, but, alas! love might vanish like a mirage. Then he
would act honorably. Half of the stored wealth would be hers to do as
she chose with it.
Yes, this was a possible alternative. In case of accident to himself,
and her ultimate escape, he must immediately write full details of his
discovery, and entrust the document to her, to be opened only after his
death or six months after their release.
The idea possessed him so thoroughly that he could brook no delay. He
searched for one of the note-books taken from the dead officers of the
Sirdar, and scribbled the following letter:
"DEAR MISS DEANE:
"Whether I am living or dead when you read these words, you will
know that I love you. Could I repeat that avowal a million times,
in as many varied forms, I should find no better phrase to express
the dream I have cherished since a happy fate permitted me to
snatch you from death. So I simply say, 'I love you.' I will
continue to love you whilst life lasts, and it is my dearest hope
that in the life beyond the grave I may still be able to voice my
love for you.
"But perhaps I am not destined to be loved by you. Therefore, in
the event of my death before you leave the island, I wish to give
you instructions how to find a gold mine of great value which is
hidden in the rock containing the cave. You remember the sign on
the piece of tin which we could not understand. The figure 32
denotes the utmost depth of the excavation, and the 1 signifies
that one foot below the surface, on reaching the face of the rock,
there is a rich vein of gold. The hollow on the other side of the
cliff became filled with anhydrate gas, and this stopped the
operations of the Chinese, who evidently knew of the existence of
the mine. This is all the information the experts employed by Sir
Arthur Deane will need. The facts are unquestionable.
"Assuming that I am alive, we will, of course, be co-partners in
the mine. If I am dead, I wish one-sixth share to be given to my
uncle, William Anstruther, Crossthwaite Manor, Northallerton,
Yorkshire, as a recompense for his kindness to me during my early
life. The remainder is to be yours absolutely.
"ROBERT ANSTRUTHER."
He read this remarkable document twice through to make sure that it
exactly recorded his sentiments. He even smiled sarcastically at the
endowment of the uncle who disinherited him. Then, satisfied with the
perusal, he tore out the two leaves covered by the letter and began to
devise a means of protecting it securely whilst in Iris's possession.
At that moment he looked up and saw her coming towards him across the
beach, brightly flushed after her bath, walking like a nymph clothed in
tattered garments. Perceiving that he was watching her, she waved her
hand and instinctively quickened her pace. Even now, when they were
thrown together by the exigencies of each hour, she disliked to be long
separated from him.
Instantly the scales fell from his mental vision. What! Distrust Iris!
Imagine for one second that riches or poverty, good repute or ill,
would affect that loyal heart when its virginal font was filled with
the love that once in her life comes to every true woman! Perish the
thought! What evil spirit had power to so blind his perception of all
that was strong and beautiful in her character. Brave, uncomplaining
Iris! Iris of the crystal soul! Iris, whose innocence and candor were
mirrored in her blue eyes and breathed through her dear lips! Here was
Othello acting as his own tempter, with not an Iago within a thousand
miles.
Laughing at his fantastic folly, Jenks tore the letter into little
pieces. It might have been wiser to throw the sheets into the embers of
the fire close at hand, but for the nonce he was overpowered by the
great awakening that had come to him, and he unconsciously murmured the
musical lines of Tennyson's "Maud":
"She is coming, my own, my sweet;
Were it ever so airy a tread.
My heart would hear her and beat
Were it earth in an earthy bed;
My dust would hear her and beat,
Had I lain for a century dead,
Would start and tremble under her feet,
And blossom in purple and red."
"Good gracious! Don't gaze at me in that fashion. I don't look like a
ghost, do I?" cried Iris, when near enough to note his rapt expression.
"You would not object if I called you a vision?" he inquired quietly,
averting his eyes lest they should speak more plainly than his tongue.
"Not if you meant it nicely. But I fear that 'specter' would be a more
appropriate word. V'la ma meilleure robe de sortie!"
She spread out the front widths of her skirt, and certainly the
prospect was lamentable. The dress was so patched and mended, yet so
full of fresh rents, that a respectable housemaid would hesitate before
using it to clean fire-irons.
"Is that really your best dress?" he said.
"Yes. This is my blue serge. The brown cloth did not survive the
soaking it received in salt water. After a few days it simply crumbled.
The others are muslin or cotton, and have been--er--adapted."
"There is plenty of men's clothing," he began.
"Unfortunately there isn't another island," she said, severely.
"No. I meant that it might be possible to--er--contrive some sort of
rig that will serve all purposes."
"But all my thread is gone. I have barely a needleful left."
"In that case we must fall back on our supply of hemp."
"I suppose that might be made to serve," she said. "You are never at a
loss for an expedient."
"It will be a poor one, I fear. But you can make up for it by buying
some nice gowns at Doucet's or Worth's."
She laughed delightedly. "Perhaps in his joy at my reappearance my dear
old dad may let me run riot in Paris on our way home. But that will not
last. We are fairly well off, but I cannot afford ten thousand a year
for dress alone."
"If any woman can afford such a sum for the purpose, you are at least
her equal."
Iris looked puzzled. "Is that your way of telling me that fine feathers
would make me a fine bird?" she asked.
"No. I intend my words to be understood in their ordinary sense. You
are very, very rich, Miss Deane--an extravagantly wealthy young
person."
"Of course you know you are talking nonsense. Why, only the other day
my father said--"
"Excuse me. What is the average price of a walking-dress from a leading
Paris house?"
"Thirty pounds."
"And an evening dress?"
"Oh, anything, from fifty upwards."
He picked up a few pieces of quartz from the canvas sheet.
"Here is your walking-dress," he said, handing her a lump weighing
about a pound. "With the balance in the heap there you can stagger the
best-dressed woman you meet at your first dinner in England."
"Do you mean by pelting her?" she inquired, mischievously.
"Far worse. By wearing a more expensive costume."
His manner was so earnest that he compelled seriousness. Iris took the
proffered specimen and looked at it.
"From the cave, I suppose? I thought you said antimony was not very
valuable?"
"That is not antimony. It is gold. By chance I have hit upon an
extremely rich lode of gold. At the most modest computation it is worth
hundreds of thousands of pounds. You and I are quite wealthy people,
Miss Deane."
Iris opened her blue eyes very wide at this intelligence. It took her
breath away. But her first words betokened her innate sense of fair
dealing.
"You and I! Wealthy!" she gasped. "I am so glad for your sake, but tell
me, pray, Mr. Jenks, what have I got to do with it?"
"You!" he repeated. "Are we not partners in this island? By squatter's
right, if by no better title, we own land, minerals, wood, game, and
even such weird belongings as ancient lights and fishing privileges."
"I don't see that at all. You find a gold mine, and coolly tell me that
I am a half owner of it because you dragged me out of the sea, fed me,
housed me, saved my life from pirates, and generally acted like a
devoted nursemaid in charge of a baby. Really, Mr. Jenks--"
"Really, Miss Deane, you will annoy me seriously if you say another
word. I absolutely refuse to listen to such an argument."
Her outrageously unbusiness-like utterances, treading fast on the heels
of his own melodramatic and written views concerning their property,
nettled him greatly. Each downright syllable was a sting to his
conscience, but of this Iris was blissfully unaware, else she would not
have applied caustic to the rankling wound caused by his momentary
distrust of her.
For some time they stood in silence, until the sailor commenced to
reproach himself for his rough protest. Perhaps he had hurt her
sensitive feelings. What a brute he was, to be sure! She was only a
child in ordinary affairs, and he ought to have explained things more
lucidly and with greater command over his temper. And all this time
Iris's face was dimpling with amusement, for she understood him so well
that had he threatened to kill her she would have laughed at him.
"Would you mind getting the lamp?" he said softly, surprised to catch
her expression of saucy humor.
"Oh, please may I speak?" she inquired. "I don't want to annoy you, but
I am simply dying to talk."
He had forgotten his own injunction.
"Let us first examine our mine," he said. "If you bring the lamp we can
have a good look at it."
Close scrutiny of the work already done merely confirmed the accuracy
of his first impressions. Whilst Iris held the light he opened up the
seam with a few strokes of the pick. Each few inches it broadened into
a noteworthy volcanic dyke, now yellow in its absolute purity, at times
a bluish black when fused with other metals. The additional labor
involved caused him to follow up the line of the fault. Suddenly the
flame of the lamp began to flicker in a draught. There was an
air-passage between cave and ledge.
"I am sorry," cried Jenks, desisting from further efforts, "that I have
not recently read one of Bret Harte's novels, or I would speak to you
in the language of the mining camp. But in plain Cockney, Miss Deane,
we are on to a good thing if only we can keep it."
They came back into the external glare. Iris was now so serious that
she forgot to extinguish the little lamp. She stood with outstretched
hand.
"There is a lot of money in there," she said.
"Tons of it."
"No need to quarrel about division. There is enough for both of us."
"Quite enough. We can even spare some for our friends."
He took so readily to this definition of their partnership that Iris
suddenly became frigid. Then she saw the ridiculous gleam of the tiny
wick and blew it out.
"I mean," she said, stiffly, "that if you and I do agree to go shares
we will each be very rich."
"Exactly. I applied your words to the mine alone, of course."
A slight thing will shatter a daydream. This sufficed. The sailor
resumed his task of burying the stores.
"Poor little lamp!" he thought. "When it came into the greater world
how soon it was snuffed out."
But Iris said to herself, "What a silly slip that was of mine! Enough
for both of us, indeed! Does he expect me to propose to him? I wonder
what the letter was about which he destroyed as I came back after my
bath. It must have been meant for me. Why did he write it? Why did he
tear it up?"
The hour drew near when Jenks climbed to the Summit Rock. He shouldered
axe and rifle and set forth. Iris heard him rustling upwards through
the trees. She set some water to boil for tea, and, whilst bringing a
fresh supply of fuel, passed the spot where the torn scraps of paper
littered the sand.
She was the soul of honor, for a woman, but there was never a woman yet
who could take her eyes off a written document which confronted her.
She could not help seeing that one small morsel contained her own name.
Though mutilated it had clearly read--Miss Deane."
"So it was intended for me!" she cried, throwing down her bundle
and dropping to her knees. She secured that particular slip and
examined it earnestly. Not for worlds would she pick up all the scraps
and endeavor to sort them. Yet they had a fascination for her, and at
this closer range she saw another which bore the legend--"I love you!"
Somehow the two seemed to fit together very nicely.
Yet a third carried the same words--"I love you!" They were still quite
coherent. She did not want to look any further. She did not even turn
over such of the torn pieces as had fluttered to earth face downwards.
Opening the front of her bodice she brought to light a small gold
locket containing miniatures of her father and mother. Inside this
receptacle she carefully placed the three really material portions of
the sailor's letter. When Jenks walked down the hill again he heard her
singing long before he caught sight of her, sedulously tending the
fire.
As he came near he perceived the remains of his useless document. He
stooped and gathered them up, forthwith throwing them among the glowing
logs.
"By the way, what were you writing whilst I had my bath?" inquired
Iris, demurely.
"Some information about the mine. On second thoughts, however, I saw it
was unnecessary."
"Oh, was that all?"
"Practically all."
"Then some part was impracticable?"
He glanced sharply at her, but she was merely talking at random.
"Well, you see," he explained, "one can do so little without the
requisite plant. This sort of ore requires a crushing-mill, a smelting
furnace, perhaps big tanks filled with cyanide of potassium."
"And, of course, although you can do wonders, you cannot provide all
those things, can you?"
Jenks deemed this query to be unanswerable.
They were busy again until night fell. Sitting down for a little while
before retiring to rest, they discussed, for the hundredth time, the
probabilities of speedy succor. This led them to the topic of available
supplies, and the sailor told Iris the dispositions he had made.
"Did you bury the box of books?" she asked.
"Yes, but not in the cave. They are at the foot of the cinchona over
there. Why? Do you want any?"
"I have a Bible in my room, but there was a Tennyson among the others
which I glanced at in spare moments."
The sailor thanked the darkness that concealed the deep bronze of face
and neck caused by this chance remark. He vaguely recollected the
manner in which the lines from "Maud" came to his lips after the
episode of the letter. Was it possible that he had unknowingly uttered
them aloud and Iris was now slily poking fun at him? He glowed with
embarrassment.
"It is odd that you should mention Tennyson," he managed to say calmly.
"Only today I was thinking of a favorite passage."
Iris, of course, was quite innocent this time.
"Oh, do tell me. Was it from 'Enoch Arden'?"
He gave a sigh of relief. "No. Anything but that," he answered.
"What then?"
"'Maud.'"
"Oh, 'Maud.' It is very beautiful, but I could never imagine why the
poet gave such a sad ending to an idyllic love story."
"They too often end that way. Moreover, 'Enoch Arden' is not what you
might call exhilarating."
"No. It is sad. I have often thought he had the 'Sonata Pathétique' in
his mind when he wrote it. But the note is mournful all through. There
is no promise of happiness as in 'Maud.'"
"Then it is my turn to ask questions. Why did you hit upon that poem
among so many?"
"Because it contains an exact description of our position here. Don't
you remember how the poor fellow
"'Sat often in the seaward-gazing gorge,
A shipwrecked sailor, waiting for a sail.'
"I am sure Tennyson saw our island with poetic eye, for he goes on--
"'No sail from day to day, but every day
The sunrise broken into scarlet shafts
Among the palms and ferns and precipices;
The blaze upon the waters to the east;
The blaze upon his island overhead;
The blaze upon the waters to the west;
Then the great stars that globed themselves in Heaven,
The hollower-bellowing ocean, and again
The scarlet shafts of sunrise--but no sail."
She declaimed the melodious verse with a subtle skill that amazed her
hearer. Profoundly moved, Jenks dared not trust himself to speak.
"I read the whole poem the other day," she said after a silence of some
minutes. "Sorrowful as it is, it comforted me by comparison. How
different will be our fate to his when 'another ship stays by this
isle'!"
Yet neither of them knew that one line she had recited was more
singularly applicable to their case than that which they paid heed to.
"The great stars that globed themselves in Heaven," were shining clear
and bright in the vast arch above. Resplendent amidst the throng rose
the Pleiades, the mythological seven hailed by the Greeks as an augury
of safe navigation. And the Dyaks--one of the few remaining savage
races of the world--share the superstition of the people who fashioned
all the arts and most of the sciences.
The Pleiades form the Dyak tutelary genius. Some among a bloodthirsty
and vengeful horde were even then pointing to the clustering stars that
promised quick voyage to the isle where their kinsmen had been struck
down by a white man who rescued a maid. Nevertheless, Grecian romance
and Dyak lore alike relegate the influence of the Pleiades to the sea.
Other stars are needed to foster enterprise ashore.