‘Marsh,’ he groaned, then raced to one side.
With much difficulty a very shaken Richard was hauled out of the treacherous mud.
‘It didn’t look dangerous,’ protested Richard as, coated with green slime, he followed Gasper.
They skirted the marsh and came to the end once more. But no strip of land confronted them, so they moved along to the North. After walking for a short space they came to a steep hill. On climbing it, they beheld the sea, and here they saw another causeway.
‘W–ell.’ Hesitatingly Gasper Liverwick looked across to the third island. The moon had gone behind a bank of clouds, and the island looked grey and sharp.
‘Come on,’ cried Richard. ‘Let’s cross at once.’
Gasper Liverwick followed reluctantly.
CHAPTER 27
Robert Straffordson lay in the bottom of the small boat, his useless legs flat out before him. Beside him sat his father, while, his hawk-like face set in a black scowl, Captain Trevelian crouched in the stern. Five members of the rough crew were rowing strongly, and over to their right the second boat could be seen. Robert wore a white-set expression, and his father was the same. Now and again the two cast contemptuous glances at the rascally captain. Trevelian was aware of these looks and inwardly he cursed savagely. Doubtless those men he had locked in the hold had drowned, but father and son were safe, weren’t they? Blast them. What did they think he was, a cushy owner of a luxury ship? He was responsible for his boat, and dammit but he’d get it when they reached land again – if we ever do, he thought, grimly gazing at the bleak outline of the unknown coast they were drawing nigh to. He shivered a little as he thought of the two poor devils locked behind in the hold. He huffed his shoulders. It wasn’t the first time men had disappeared at sea. He wasn’t caring, or was he?
They passed a finger of rocky land, and drew into a small bay. Stiffly Trevelian climbed onto the shingle and issued his orders. Two more boatfuls of men rowed in, and they moved off in a solid body inland. Rupert Bigarstaff found himself marching by Radenstone and son. He looked upward at the heavens and thought ‘Old Gasper’s getting his due, Lord.’ He chuckled, as Robert limped along beside him, his wooden peg stumps sinking into the white sand.
Trevelian called a halt shortly, and they made camp for the night. Once one of the deck hands tenderly enquired about food, but no one seemed disposed to wander about this grim, rocky little island. So, rolled on the sparse ground, they slept till morning.
When light invaded their slumber, Robert woke to see a barren rocky land about him. Unlike its brothers, this island was not covered in tall trees and vegetation. He saw Trevelian standing with a knot of his crew, talking and deliberating. Rupert Bigarstaff was not with them, but was sitting on a boulder staring with a fiendish grin on his face at the group.
His father was nowhere in sight and he struggled to get to his feet. Bigarstaff strolled over to him and stretched forth his hands, and with hesitation Robert took them. When he was half on his feet, Rupert let go suddenly and Robert fell sharply, to lie helplessly on his back. With a laugh Bigarstaff walked back to his old seat and seemed to forget everything immediately.
Foolishly, Robert scrambled gamely to his feet and walked away. He cursed himself for his disability, as he shambled on, and not for the first time fell to thinking on Jane Ledwhistle. Then he saw his father and he was carrying a flask of clear water and a bunch of carrots.
‘Good heavens,’ cried Robert. ‘Where on earth did you get those vegetables, Father?’
Radenstone smiled. ‘Over in a sandy patch in the North side,’ he provided. ‘You know, Rob, I can’t help thinking that someone was wrecked on this island like we are. Otherwise how are these –’ pointing to the large carrots, ‘– to be explained?’
‘Well,’ answered Robert, his eyes lighting, ‘whoever planted them is not here now. That means there’s hope for us.’
They had by this time reached a small cave and, sitting down, began their meal. Flat yet sharp land sloped before them to the sea, and Victor remarked thoughtfully, ‘You know, Rob, I have a feeling that I know this island, or at least by sight.’
His son gaped stupidly. ‘What?’
‘In China, some years ago,’ said Radenstone, ‘I met a man named Pertwee, Solomon Pertwee.’
Robert listened with interest.
‘You see,’ continued his father, ‘being a missionary I met all sorts of people, and it was at a local function of other men in the same calling as myself that I met this man. He was small, very bald, and he wore no wig of any sort. I became very friendly with him, and he with me. During our friendship he told me of his life, and when he died he left me a small map of a group of islands. He said that on the third island to the extreme north he made a valuable oil discovery. His greatest ambition, he said, was to return to the island and stake his claim, thereby giving him the money which would bring relief to the people he devoted himself to. He said he wished me one day to journey there in his place. Ah, he was a good man –’ this with a wistful note creeping into his voice.
‘But Father,’ interposed Robert excitedly, ‘if this is the island, where is the oil? Have you the map?’
‘Steady on, my boy.’ But Radenstone himself found he was being carried away. ‘Unfortunately it was in my cabin when we took to the boats,’ he cried, and his voice sank to a mere whisper. ‘It’s gone below with those other two poor devils.’
Before they could say more there was a sound of lusty bellowing, and turning they faced Trevelian and his crew. Of Bigarstaff there was no sign.
The captain strode up with a bloated and annoyed countenance, and cried angrily enough, ‘Look here, Mr Radenstone, Sir, you can’t be going and slipping away like this. Mebbe you’re a gentleman of quality and all, but on an island, God knows where, we’re all alike, and must act as such. Now see this, Mr Radenstone, I’m the captain, and you takes orders from me along with the rest o’ them.’
He rounded this off with such a superior and brutal air that Radenstone flushed and could barely suppress striking the man.
Robert looked shrewdly at the bully seaman. He wondered just how much had been overheard. He looked past at the crew, and at one man in particular. He was an ordinary deckhand, an old man with clouded eyes, and crinkled lips. His round arms were bare to the elbow, a ruddy brown and freckled all over. The rough shirt displayed a broad expanse of chest, deep and muscular and covered in fine hair. There was a look of disdain on his face as he looked at his captain. With a final sneer on his countenance Trevelian turned. His crew followed him, but the sailor made no effort to move.
‘Mr Radenstone, sir,’ he said hoarsely, and he spoke with a rich Scottish accent.
Robert waited expectantly and he was not disappointed.
‘I’m very much afraid that Trevelian plans to do you harm, sir,’ said the deckhand.
Radenstone paled.
‘I feared as much,’ he answered. ‘What is your name?’
‘John Pearson, Sir.’
‘Well, Mr Pearson, would you be so good as to tell me and my son what you know, for I do not think you also wish us ill.’
‘Indeed I do not,’ protested John Pearson, his honest face worried. ‘You see, we were all listening when you were telling young Mr Radenstone about the map and the oil. Captain Trevelian plans to get your map and find the oil for himself and he’s promised the lads a share if we help him.’
‘But I haven’t –’
Before he could continue, Robert cut into his father’s sentence. ‘He won’t get it in a hurry, I can assure you, John Pearson. Father will keep a good hold on it. But how do they plan to get it?’
Pearson shrugged his shoulders and under his tan he whitened. ‘I wouldna like to say, but he’ll stick at nothing.’
There was a sudden roar from the other direction.
‘Captain wants me, no doubt,’ he said.
Father and son watched him walk briskly away.
‘Why did you not want
him to know about the map?’ asked Radenstone, when the burly form was lost from sight.
‘Listen, Papa,’ Robert said. ‘If they think we have the map they won’t start pumping for the oil just yet. We can stave them off for the time being with words, and also begin looking for the stuff ourselves. Look, Father, you’ve got to use your memory. What spot was the oil marked at?’
‘But Robert,’ gasped Radenstone. ‘Don’t you see what will happen to us? Even if we did strike the oil, how could we get off the island? We’ve no ship, we don’t know even where we are, and we’re hopelessly outnumbered.’
‘Think, Papa, think,’ urged Robert. ‘Where did the oil mark come on the island? You’ve got to think. We must find the oil before them. They’ll want to get off the island as much as we, so they’ll make provisions. Now think. Think.’
CHAPTER 28
Radenstone looked anxiously at Robert Straffordson.
‘Robert,’ he said in a whisper, ‘I don’t like the look of it at all. I don’t like it at all.’
Captain Trevelian and his roughened crew were seated on one side of a roaring fire. The faces glowed blackly and the shadows flickered and leapt on their countenances. They muttered and talked to each other. Rupert Bigarstaff looked on, a queer smile on his fiendish face, and Straffordson and Radenstone felt very uneasy. They had been on the island two days and a night and the men had grown increasingly restless as the hours had passed.
Suddenly there was a fierce shout from a look-out, and a sound of shouts. Trevelian sprang to his feet and looked wildly round, brandishing his sword. Through the darkness and into the firelight blundered two men in the grip of three stalwart deckhands.
‘Gasper, my lad,’ said Rupert softly, without the slightest surprise in his voice.
‘Martin Andromikey,’ gasped Radenstone.
‘God in Heaven,’ swore Trevelian with an oath. ‘You?’
Gasper looked round and his eyes fell on Rupert Bigarstaff. Something pulled at his mouth, and it twitched uncontrollably. His head seemed to jerk back on his spine, and he shuddered as he caught the smouldering carnal green light in those eyes.
Richard Soleway switched himself forward and stuck his head out. ‘You devil,’ he hissed, ‘you devil.’
Trevelian fell back a pace. He flourished his sword and began his blustering. The three stalwarts gripped Richard’s arms and twisted them behind his back brutally.
Richard did not wince, though his eyes grew pinched. ‘You devilish swine,’ he said between clenched teeth.
This time he had cause to scream, and fell prostrate.
Straffordson stumbled forward. ‘Leave him alone,’ he shouted.
At that moment of tenseness anything could have happened. Then Rupert Bigarstaff the orator stepped forward and nothing did.
‘Now, now,’ he said, his voice a sea of velvet, ‘don’t let’s be hasty.’
On and on he droned, and soon everyone was sullenly quiet. For the life of them they could not think how this small man had the power to rule over their wills.
When he had finished, Rupert Bigarstaff strolled away, and watched the great black clouds swirl above him. Radenstone pressed Richard’s arm eagerly, and tried to forget that this one boy had been the cause of Old Andrew Ledwhistle’s death.
‘How on earth,’ he cried, ‘did you cross to here?’
Gasper pulled a bedraggled paper from his pocket. ‘’Ere’s how we got across,’ he said. ‘We found this map in your cabin, Sir.’ Robert staggered inwardly. Too late. There was a savage cry from Trevelian and the crew as they fell onto them, with guttural oaths.
Desperately they fought, but to no avail. Ropes were knotted round them, and they lay helpless on the ground, while Captain Trevelian grasped the chart with trembling fingers.
‘Ah,’ he cried, ‘at last. We must begin work at once. We will cross to the other islands, and see if there are any materials for making picks and swords.’
Trevelian led his men over the causeways, and finally landed on the first isle.
Here in due course the old ship was sighted.
‘We must repair her at once,’ cried Trevelian. ‘Now make yourselves useful.’
So in the light of the moon they began their task.
By dawn the animals were all out of the ship, and rope, pistols and the like had been carefully sorted. The Captain straightened his back thankfully.
‘We can go back now,’ he said. ‘Those four will be getting restless.’
Talking and laughing, he led the men over the land. But the sea was not obligingly parted as before.
‘By Heaven,’ thundered Trevelian, ‘we’re trapped.’ He grew steadier. ‘It must be the tides,’ he said wildly. ‘You, Carson, stand post, and call us if the strip appears.’
Moodily they were marched back, and the unrelenting Captain kept them hard at it all day. A young bullock was roasted and torn asunder in greedy haste.
‘By heck,’ ejaculated Trevelian, ‘but these dead animals are useful. But we must salt them, for already the flesh is rotting.’
‘It’s no wonder, is it, lads,’ cried one Timothy Birney, the thin first mate, ‘that those two dogs didn’t go hungry.’
‘Look here, Captain,’ said another. ‘How are we to know the oil be there?’
‘We won’t, till we’ve dug up every bit of the island,’ answered Trevelian curtly. ‘And look here, me lads. If you’ll stick by me, I’ll stand by you.’
‘Aye, we will, Cappen, we will,’ assented his crew.
Aye, poor devils, they can hardly refuse.
‘When do you think the boat’ll be fit for the sea, me lads?’ asked Trevelian shortly.
He turned round and looked at the tossed black-timbered hulk.
‘I shouldn’t be surprised if we could have it ready in little over a week,’ said the second mate. ‘There’s lots of new boards needed, and a mast, as well as a sail. Reckon her stern be stove in, but there’s plenty of timber about, so it can’t be such a job.’
‘What about the money from the oil, Cappen?’
‘What about that, eh?’ put in another, his eyes glittering. ‘You’re sure you’ll go halves with us?’
‘Sure. You heard me give me word before,’ thundered Trevelian. ‘Now be content, and stir yourselves there. Come on. There’s work to be done.’
CHAPTER 29
It is a fortnight later. In a rudely constructed hut lie four men – our four unfortunates.
The air was very close and hot, and not a breath of wind stirred. Overhead black clouds were gathering, and all was still and hushed, as if waiting for something.
‘If only they’d make their move,’ cried Richard at last, his brow furrowed with the heat.
The others made no reply but sat moodily brooding over their captivity. There was rustling outside and Johnny Pearson crept in. The others started hopefully.
‘Now listen carefully,’ cried the deckhand. ‘The oil has been struck down to the south of the island. The boat’s finished, and they intend to leave tonight.’
‘But what about us?’ gasped Radenstone weakly.
‘You are to be disposed of,’ was the grim answer. ‘But listen. When it is dark I will come and let you loose. No more canna do. You must board the ship if you can without their knowledge.’
‘But where is the boat?’ hissed Gasper. ‘Tell us that, John Pearson.’
‘It’s moored in a bay on the southern coast on the first island. They reckon it’ll be safer to start from there, for the rocks round here are pretty treacherous. But there’s one thing – once I cut you free, you’re on your own. It’s more than I can risk to aid you farther.’
‘Thank you, thank you,’ cried Radenstone. ‘I promise that if we get to England safely, you’ll benefit by it.’
‘I dinna want no riches,’ was the rough answer. ‘All I want is my neck. Ye understand.’ He cast a scared glance behind him, and the next moment had gone.
‘Do you think we’ll manage it,’ asked R
obert eagerly. ‘How can we get food?’
Thus they talked in excited whispers, and mostly about their chances and about the oil. Darkness increased and the four could hear the shouts of the captain and his crew on the shore. Through the gloom crept Pearson. In his hand he clasped a large knife, and it was the work of a moment for the ropes to be sliced.
As he cut, he whispered, ‘I was sent to kill you. If Trevelian finds you on board, your throats and mine will surely be slit. For God’s sake, be careful.’
Then, hurrying away, he left them to themselves.
‘Follow me,’ cried Richard, as he led the way. The white moon sailed supreme, and caught a bright metallic glitter in the water. The sea lay dangerously passive and gave hardly a ripple as they crept over the rocky ground.
They came to the causeway and padded over. Suddenly, a sound of curses broke the stillness, and looking back they glimpsed black silhouettes leaping over the beach. With dismay they began to run, but Robert Straffordson was a great handicap. Before they reached the other side of the sandy strip the figures were some 200 yards behind them. Panting, Gasper reached the side strip and helped the stumbling Robert. Over the causeway came the crew, led by Trevelian. Richard, grunting, his breath coming in great tearing gasps, raced along. The sharp thuds that came from his feet landing on the hard grass of the second island went in rhythm with the beats of his heart, which seemed to be swimming in a sea of red heat. There were more shouts, that rang out very clear in the tropical night, and their pursuers were very close.
‘The bog,’ screamed Gasper. ‘Let them outrun you.’
For a split-second Richard just let his legs carry him. Then he realised what was meant by that statement. Catching the hobbling Robert and his father by the shoulders, he jerked to a stop. Past them went Trevelian and his men. Into that luscious green they went. Trevelian’s guttural bass rose to a gurgling treble as he sank to his knees. Struggling, he began to scream. By his side fought John Pearson. With a savage shriek Trevelian brought his knife up and stabbed it into the breast of the deckhand. Richard felt his stomach lurch as the moon shone on the rich red blood that flowed like wine from the gash. With one last agonised curse, the rascally captain sank from sight. Richard had the impression of a quiet bubbling stretch of mud. Then he was running again. Behind four men strode, the only remnants of the crew to escape such a terrifying end. Through the trees the chase went on. Down a hill and over the second causeway. Far behind came the oaths of their pursuers.
Collected Stories Page 25