The one chance for his life was to conceal what he had done, until the ship could be got out of the harbour, and then (if no harm had come to him in the interval) to rescue him after nightfall. It was decided to spread the report that he had really been taken ill, and that he was confined to his cabin. The chief’s son, whose heart the Captain’s kindness had won, could be trusted to do this, and to keep the secret faithfully for his good friend’s sake.
Towards noon, the next day, they attempted to take the ship to sea, and failed for want of wind. Hour by hour, the heat grew more oppressive. As the day declined, there were ominous appearances in the western heaven. The natives, who had given some trouble during the day by their anxiety to see the Captain, and by their curiosity to know the cause of the sudden preparations for the ship’s departure, all went ashore together, looking suspiciously at the sky, and re-appeared no more. Just at midnight, the ship (still in her snug berth inside the reef) suddenly trembled from her keel to her uppermost masts. Mr Duncalf, surrounded by the startled crew, shook his knotty fist at the island as if he could see it in the dark. ‘My lads, what did I tell you? That was a shock of earthquake.’
With the morning the threatening aspect of the weather unexpectedly disappeared. A faint hot breeze from the land, just enough to give the ship steerage-way, offered Mr Duncalf a chance of getting to sea. Slowly the Fortuna, with the mate himself at the wheel, half sailed, half drifted into the open ocean. At a distance of barely two miles from the island the breeze was felt no more, and the vessel lay becalmed for the rest of the day.
At night the men waited their orders, expecting to be sent after their Captain in one of the boats. The intense darkness, the airless heat, and a second shock of earthquake (faintly felt in the ship at her present distance from the land) warned the mate to be cautious. ‘I smell mischief in the air,’ said Mr Duncalf. ‘The Captain must wait till I am surer of the weather.’
Still no change came with the new day. The dead calm continued, and the airless heat.
As the day declined, another ominous appearance became visible. A thin line of smoke was discovered through the telescope, ascending from the topmost peak of the mountain on the main island. Was the volcano threatening an eruption? The mate, for one, entertained no doubt of it. ‘By the Lord, the place is going to burst up!’ said Mr Duncalf.
‘Come what may of it, we must find the Captain to-night!’
V
What was the lost Captain doing? and what chance had the crew of finding him that night?
He had committed himself to his desperate adventure, without forming any plan for the preservation of his own safety; without giving even a momentary consideration to the
consequences which might follow the risk that he had run. The charming figure that he had seen haunted him night and day. The image of the innocent creature, secluded from humanity in her island-solitude, was the one image that filled his mind. A man, passing a woman in the street, acts on the impulse to turn and follow her, and in that one thoughtless moment shapes the destiny of his future life. The Captain had acted on a similar impulse, when he took the first canoe he found on the beach, and shaped his reckless course for the tabooed island.
Reaching the shore while it was still dark, he did one sensible thing—he hid the canoe so that it might not betray him when the daylight came. That done, he waited for the morning on the outskirts of the forest.
The trembling light of dawn revealed the mysterious solitude around him. Following the outer limits of the trees, first in one direction, then in another, and finding no trace of any living creature, he decided on penetrating to the interior of the island. He entered the forest.
An hour of walking brought him to rising ground. Continuing the ascent, he got clear of the trees, and stood on the grassy top of a broad cliff which overlooked the sea. An open hut was on the cliff. He cautiously looked in, and discovered that it was empty. The few household utensils left about, and the simple bed of leaves in a corner, were covered with fine sandy dust. Night-birds flew blundering out of inner cavities in the roof, and took refuge in the shadows of the forest below. It was plain that the hut had not been inhabited for some time past.
Standing at the open doorway and considering what he should do next, the Captain saw a bird flying towards him out of the forest. It was a turtle-dove, so tame that it fluttered close up to him. At the same moment the sound of sweet laughter became audible among the trees. His heart beat fast; he advanced a few steps and stopped. In a moment more the nymph of the island appeared, in her white robe, ascending the cliff in pursuit of her truant bird. She saw the strange man, and suddenly stood still; struck motionless by the amazing discovery that had burst upon her. The Captain approached, smiling and holding out his hand. She never moved; she stood before him in helpless wonderment—her lovely black eyes fixed spell-bound on his face; her dusky bosom palpitating above the fallen folds of her robe; her rich red lips parted in mute astonishment. Feasting his eyes on her beauty in silence, the Captain after a while ventured to speak to her in the language of the main island. The sound of his voice, addressing her in the words that she understood, roused the lovely creature to action. She started, stepped close up to him, and dropped on her knees at his feet.
‘My father worships invisible deities,’ she said softly. ‘Are you a visible deity? Has my mother sent you?’ She pointed as she spoke to the deserted hut behind them. ‘You appear,’ she went on, ‘in the place where my mother died. Is it for her sake that you show yourself to her child? Beautiful deity, come to the Temple—come to my father!’
The Captain gently raised her from the ground. If her father saw him, he was a doomed man.
Infatuated as he was, he had sense enough left to announce himself plainly in his own character, as a mortal creature arriving from a distant land. The girl instantly drew back from him with a look of terror.
‘He is not like my father,’ she said to herself, ‘he is not like me. Is he the lying demon of the prophecy? Is he the predestined destroyer of our island?’
The Captain’s experience of the sex showed him the only sure way out of the awkward position in which he was now placed. He appealed to his personal appearance.
‘Do I look like a demon?’ he asked.
Her eyes met his eyes; a faint smile trembled on her lips. He ventured on asking what she meant by the predestined destruction of the island. She held up her hand solemnly, and repeated the prophecy.
The Holy Island was threatened with destruction by an evil being, who would one day appear on its shores. To avert the fatality the place had been sanctified and set apart, under the protection of the gods and their priest. Here was the reason for the taboo, and for the extraordinary rigour with which it was enforced. Listening to her with the deepest interest, the Captain took her hand and pressed it gently.
‘Do I feel like a demon?’ he whispered.
Her slim brown fingers closed frankly on his hand. ‘You feel soft and friendly,’ she said with the fearless candour of a child. ‘Squeeze me again. I like it!’
The next moment she snatched her hand away from him; the sense of his danger had suddenly forced itself on her mind. ‘If my father sees you,’ she said, ‘he will light the signal fire at the Temple, and the people from the other island will come here and put you to death. Where is your canoe? No! It is daylight. My father may see you on the water.’
She considered a little, and, approaching him, laid her hands on his shoulders. ‘Stay here till nightfall,’ she resumed. ‘My father never comes this way. The sight of the place where my mother died is horrible to him. You are safe here. Promise to stay where you are till night-time.’
The Captain gave his promise.
Freed from anxiety so far, the girl’s mobile temperament recovered its native cheerfulness, its sweet gaiety and spirit. She admired the beautiful stranger as she might have admired a new bird that had flown to her to be fondled with the rest. She patted his fair white skin, and wished she had a
skin like it. She lifted the great glossy folds of her long black hair, and compared it with the Captain s bright curly locks, and longed to change colours with him from the bottom of her heart. His dress was a wonder to her; his watch was a new revelation. She rested her head on his shoulder to listen delightedly to the ticking, as he held the watch to her ear. Her fragrant breath played on his face, her warm supple figure rested against him softly. The Captain’s arm stole round her waist, and the Captain’s lips gently touched her cheek. She lifted her head with a look of pleased surprise. ‘Thank you,’ said the child of nature simply. ‘Kiss me again; I like it.
May I kiss you?’ The tame turtle-dove perched on her shoulder as she gave the Captain her first kiss, and diverted her thoughts to the pets that she had left, in pursuit of the truant dove. ‘Come,’ she said, ‘and see my birds. I keep them on this side of the forest.
There is no danger, so long as you don’t show yourself on the other side. My name is Aimata. Aimata will take care of you. Oh, what a beautiful white neck you have!’ She put her arm admiringly round his neck. The Captain’s arm held her tenderly to him. Slowly the two descended the cliff, and were lost in the leafy solitudes of the forest. And the tame dove fluttered before them, a winged messenger of love, cooing to his mate.
VI
The night had come, and the Captain had not left the island.
Aimata’s resolution to send him away in the darkness was a forgotten resolution already. She had let him persuade her that he was in no danger, so long as he remained in the hut on the cliff and she had promised, at parting, to return to him while the Priest was still sleeping, at the dawn of day.
He was alone in the hut. The thought of the innocent creature whom he loved was sorrowfully as well as tenderly present to his mind. He almost regretted his rash visit to the island. ‘I will take her with me to England,’ he said to himself. ‘What does a sailor care for the opinion of the world? Aimata shall be my wife.’
The intense heat oppressed him. He stepped out on the cliff, towards midnight, in search of a breath of air.
At that moment, the first shock of earthquake (felt in the ship while she was inside the reef) shook the ground he stood on. He instantly thought of the volcano on the main island. Had he been mistaken in supposing the crater to be extinct? Was the shock that he had just felt a warning from the volcano, communicated through a submarine connection between the two islands? He waited and watched through the hours of darkness, with a vague sense of apprehension, which was not to be reasoned away. With the first light of daybreak he descended into the forest, and saw the lovely being whose safety was already precious to him as his own, hurrying to meet him through the trees.
She waved her hand distractedly, as she approached him. ‘Go!’ she cried; ‘go away in your canoe before our island is destroyed!’
He did his best to quiet her alarm. Was it the shock of earthquake that had frightened her? No: it was more than the shock of earthquake—it was something terrible which had followed the shock. There was a lake near the Temple, the waters of which were supposed to be heated by subterranean fires. The lake had risen with the earthquake, had bubbled furiously, and had then melted away into the earth and been lost. Her father, viewing the portent with horror, had gone to the cape to watch the volcano on the main island, and to implore by prayers and sacrifices the protection of the gods. Hearing this, the Captain entreated Aimata to let him see the emptied lake, in the absence of the Priest.
She hesitated; but his influence was all-powerful. He prevailed on her to turn back with him through the forest.
Reaching the farthest limit of the trees, they came out upon open rocky ground which sloped gently downward towards the centre of the island. Having crossed this space, they arrived at a natural amphitheatre of rock. On one side of it, the Temple appeared, partly excavated, partly formed by a natural cavern. In one of the lateral branches of the cavern was the dwelling of the Priest and his daughter. The mouth of it looked out on the rocky basin of the lake. Stooping over the edge, the Captain discovered, far down in the empty depths, a light cloud of steam. Not a drop of water was visible, look where he might.
Aimata pointed to the abyss, and hid her face on his bosom. ‘My father says,’ she whispered, ‘that it is your doing.’
The Captain started. ‘Does your father know that I am on the island?’
She looked up at him with a quick glance of reproach. ‘Do you think I would tell him, and put your life in peril?’ she asked. ‘My father felt the destroyer of the island in the earthquake; my father saw the coming destruction in the disappearance of the lake.’ Her eyes rested on him with a loving languor. ‘Are you indeed the demon of the prophecy?’
she said, winding his hair round her finger. ‘I am not afraid of you, if you are. I am a
creature bewitched; I love the demon.’ She kissed him passionately. ‘I don’t care if I die,’
she whispered between the kisses, ‘if I only die with you!’
The Captain made no attempt to reason with her. He took the wiser way—he appealed to her feelings.
‘You will come and live with me happily in my own country,’ he said. ‘My ship is waiting for us. I will take you home with me, and you shall be my wife.’
She clapped her hands for joy. Then she thought of her father, and drew back from him in tears.
The Captain understood her. ‘Let us leave this dreary place,’ he suggested. ‘We will talk about it in the cool glades of the forest, where you first said you loved me.’
She gave him her hand. ‘Where I first said I loved you!’ she repeated, smiling tenderly as she looked at him. They left the lake together.
VII
The darkness had fallen again; and the ship was still becalmed at sea.
Mr Duncalf came on deck after his supper. The thin line of smoke, seen rising from the peak of the mountain that evening, was now succeeded by ominous flashes of fire from the same quarter, intermittently visible. The faint hot breeze from the land was felt once more. ‘There’s just an air of wind,’ Mr Duncalf remarked. ‘I’ll try for the Captain while I have the chance.’
One of the boats was lowered into the water—under command of the second mate, who had already taken the bearings of the tabooed island by daylight. Four of the men were to go with him, and they were all to be well-armed. Mr Duncalf addressed his final instructions to the officer in the boat.
‘You will keep a look-out, sir, with a lantern in the bows. If the natives annoy you, you know what to do. Always shoot natives. When you get anigh the island, you will fire a gun and sing out for the Captain.’
‘Quite needless,’ interposed a voice from the sea. ‘The Captain is here!’
Without taking the slightest notice of the astonishment that he had caused, the commander of the Fortuna paddled his canoe to the side of the ship. Instead of ascending to the deck, he stepped into the boat, waiting alongside. ‘Lend me your pistols,’ he said quietly to the second officer, ‘and oblige me by taking your men back to their duties on board.’ He looked up at Mr Duncalf and gave some further directions. ‘If there is any change in the weather, keep the ship standing off and on, at a safe distance from the land, and throw up a rocket from time to time to show your position. Expect me on board again by sunrise.’
‘What!’ cried the mate. ‘Do you mean to say you are going back to the island—in that boat—all by yourself?’
‘I am going back to the island,’ answered the Captain, as quietly as ever; in this boat—
all by myself.’ He pushed off from the ship, and hoisted the sail as he spoke.
‘You’re deserting your duty!’ the old sea-dog shouted, with one of his loudest oaths.
‘Attend to my directions,’ the Captain shouted back, as he drifted away into the darkness.
Mr
Duncalf—violently
agitated for the first time in his life—took leave of his superior officer, with a singular mixture of solemnity and politeness, in these
words:
‘The Lord have mercy on your soul! I wish you good-evening.’
VIII
Alone in the boat, the Captain looked with a misgiving mind at the flashing of the volcano on the main island.
If events had favoured him, he would have removed Aimata to the shelter of the ship on the day when he saw the emptied basin of the lake. But the smoke of the Priest’s sacrifice had been discovered by the chief; and he had despatched two canoes with instructions to make inquiries. One of the canoes had returned; the other was kept in waiting off the cape, to place a means of communicating with the main island at the disposal of the Priest. The second shock of earthquake had naturally increased the alarm of the chief. He had sent messages to the Priest, entreating him to leave the island, and other messages to
Aimata suggesting that she should exert her influence over her father, if he hesitated. The Priest refused to leave the Temple. He trusted in his gods and his sacrifices—he believed they might avert the fatality that threatened his sanctuary.
Yielding to the holy man, the chief sent reinforcements of canoes to take their turn at keeping watch off the headland. Assisted by torches, the islanders were on the alert (in superstitious terror of the demon of the prophecy) by night as well as by day. The Captain had no alternative but to keep in hiding, and to watch his opportunity of approaching the place in which he had concealed his canoe. It was only after Aimata had left him as usual, to return to her father at the close of evening, that the chances declared themselves in his favour. The fire-flashes from the mountain, visible when the night came, had struck terror into the hearts of the men on the watch. They thought of their wives, their children, and their possessions on the main island, and they one and all deserted their Priest. The Captain seized the opportunity of communicating with the ship, and of exchanging a frail canoe which he was ill able to manage, for a swift-sailing boat capable of keeping the sea in the event of stormy weather.
Mr. Captain and the Nymph Page 2