The Cruise of the Make-Believes

He did not answer in words; he took her hand for a moment, and gripped it; when presently they moved off towards the others he still held that hand as she walked beside him. Only when they came in sight of those who waited for them did he drop the hand, and resume his ordinary attitude of walking with his own clasped behind his back.

"It's an island," said Simon Quarle. "We climbed up the rocks, and there's nothing but the sea beyond. Therefore we must make the best of it."

"Someone ought to be appointed to look after the provisions and things generally – a sort of temporary ruler," said Daniel Meggison. "As perhaps the oldest here I'm quite ready to take the post. It requires dignity – and all that sort of thing."

"I think we can leave the question of the provisions to Pringle," said Gilbert, "with the understanding that he is to be careful."

"Certainly, sir; most happy, sir," responded Pringle. "Sparing in all things, sir – and stimulants to be kept for medicinal purposes," he added.

"What the devil's the man winking at me for?" demanded Daniel Meggison fiercely as he turned away.

As the morning advanced the day grew very hot. There was no protection from the sun whatever on that side of the island, and it was presently arranged that one of the spare sails in the boat should be rigged up to form a species of shelter. There the women sat – a little removed from each other, so far as the Ewart-Cranes and Mrs. Stocker were concerned – and dozed at intervals; Bessie seemed to take her place naturally enough with Simon Quarle and Gilbert in the actual work that lay before them if they were to make any attempt to live at all.

Curiously enough, perhaps the most active of them all was that meek little man, Edward Stocker. Relieved for the first time in his married life from the thraldom of Mrs. Stocker, he was like a boy playing some great game; he entered into it with the zest of a child. He it was who, setting out to make some further exploration of the island, and being lost for an hour or so, was presently observed racing towards them with wildly waving arms, shouting something wholly unintelligible as he ran. Mr. Daniel Meggison seeing him, promptly got behind Simon Quarle, interposing that gentleman between himself and coming danger.

"He is pursued by some terrible beast – and we have no weapons!" he shrieked.

However, as Mr. Stocker drew nearer it was observed that his face was beaming with genuine pleasure, and that he was evidently very greatly excited. He bounded into their midst, and announced his great discovery.

"I say – gentlemen – everybody – I've found a building!"

"A building?" they echoed, staring at him.

"Up there – beyond that long hill you can see," panted Mr. Stocker, pointing. "It seems like a big sort of hut – but I didn't care to go in. Rather dilapidated – but unmistakably a hut."

"It is pretty obvious that someone has lived here before," said Jordan Tant. "More than that, it's not improbable that someone is living here now. Somebody had better go and look at the place," he added. "I'll stay here in case the ladies get alarmed."

Mr. Daniel Meggison also deciding to remain for the same gallant purpose, the rest of the party tramped off northwards, guided by Mr. Stocker, who was obviously not a little proud of himself. Skirting the foot of the low hills that seemed to lie in the very centre of the island, they presently came to a large hut, almost obscured by a tangle of trees and bushes, but in fairly good condition. After some little hesitation they ventured to thrust open the crazy door, and to peer inside; by the light which came streaming through an aperture near the roof they saw that the place was empty, and noticed with further satisfaction that it was dry and fairly clean. Whatever hermit had once inhabited it had long since departed, leaving behind him but few traces of his occupancy.

A few rough boards had been nailed together in one corner to form a sort of bed; and on this some old brushwood still lay. An empty barrel, with nothing upon it to indicate what it had once contained or from whence it had come, stood in one corner; and on a heavy flat stone just under the aperture in the wall stood an old battered cooking-pot, quite sound, and with the ashes of some ancient fire still surrounding it. The place had a ghostly look, even on that bright sunshiny day; but it was better than nothing.

"With a touch here and there, sir, this place could be made a palace," said Pringle. "It's a good sizeable place too; a bit primitive, perhaps, sir, but none the worse for that. At any rate we could get it ready for the ladies, sir, against to-night."

"Is it bein' suggested that the gentlemen of the party sleep in the open air?" asked Aubrey. "I've nothin' to say against it for myself, mind you – but I've not been used to it, and I don't quite see why it should be necessary, even under special circumstances. Of course I wouldn't wish – "

"The ladies will sleep here to-night," said Gilbert. He turned to Bessie, who had accompanied the party. "Do you think the ladies will object?" he asked.

"I don't know," she responded, with a half-smile, "but I should think they'd be glad. Don't you think, Mr. Byfield, that things are turning out rather well?"

"Splendidly!" he exclaimed, glad of that friendly word from her. "But I wonder who can have lived in this place – and lived alone; or so it seems, at least. Whoever it was must have been taken off, I suppose, by some passing vessel; but how many years ago – or under what circumstances – it's impossible to say."

"Whoever it was, we certainly hope and trust he was a gentleman," said Aubrey, as he moved away. "My word," he added from a safe distance, "if it wasn't for my sister I might have somethin' to say about this that would astonish people!"

That great discovery was duly communicated to the ladies; Mrs. Stocker, who had had visions of sleeping in the open air, guarded by Mr. Stocker, heaved a sigh of relief at the prospect of shelter. Mrs. Ewart-Crane, on the other hand, took Jordan Tant aside to speak of a vital matter.

"Island or no island, it is of course distinctly understood that I do not share the same sleeping accommodation with the Stocker woman, or with this girl. Kindly arrange that some other hut is discovered, or at all events that the present one be divided into two parts."

"Doesn't it strike you, ma, that we're rather lucky to get any place to sleep in at all – and that the girl, at any rate, isn't half a bad sort?" asked Enid good-naturedly.

"Silence, Enid; you do not seem to understand that certain social distinctions must be observed, even in such a place as this. In London I should not know the Stocker woman; why should I know her here? The island is large, I am informed; let her discover some other place for herself."

Even in that crisis the wonderful Pringle proved equal to the emergency. It being mentioned by Jordan Tant to Gilbert that there was a difficulty as to the sharing of that limited accommodation designed for the ladies, Gilbert in despair summoned his henchman; and Pringle smiled and suggested a way out.

"It's always the way with the ladies, sir – bless 'em!" he replied cheerfully. "My poor old mother never could get on with the next-door neighbour, sir – no matter whether we lived in a small and humble way – or whether we was in what you might call the mansions of the great; mother being a caretaker, sir, and rather a good caretaker at that. Of course it isn't to be expected that a lady of the stiffness of Mrs. Crane should wish to lay herself down in the presence of people she doesn't really know; so I'll rig a sail up, sir, across the middle, and they can toss for sides if they can't decide any other way, sir. Leave it to me, sir; if you'll excuse the liberty, sir, I may say I know their little failings – an' I know just how to humour them, sir."

So the sail was rigged up, and Mrs. Stocker and Bessie took possession of one side of the hut, while Mrs. Ewart-Crane and Enid occupied the other. Pringle had collected brushwood and dried grasses, and had made two very respectable beds; the moon, when it came to the hour for retiring, was fine and fair above them, and the night was warm.

But before that there had come another great surprise, in the form of an impromptu supper. Certain provisions had been served out during the day, in a promiscuous fashion, by Pringle; but now, when everyone was gathered about the hut, the final preparations were being made, and "good nights" being said, Pringle appeared with something of a flickering smile about his face, and made a startling announcement.

"Ladies and gentlemen – supper is served!"

"Look here, my man – a joke is a joke – but pray remember your place, and don't carry a joke too far," said Daniel Meggison sternly. "Remember who you are – and take yourself off."

"This way, if you please, sir," said Pringle, taking not the faintest notice of Daniel Meggison. "Not far, sir – just round the corner, as you might say."

He led the way, and the others followed wonderingly. Presently they came to a little clearing, sheltered by the hill that rose behind it; and in that clearing was a fire upon the ground, and over the fire was propped the old cooking-pot that had been discovered in the hut. Bessie was bending over the cooking-pot, and from it there wafted to the hungry little company an appetizing odour.

"By Jove! – this is capital," exclaimed Gilbert. "We can sit round here in gipsy fashion, and enjoy it. Pringle – this is really clever of you."

"I see no necessity for my daughter to be occupied in a menial office," said Mr. Daniel Meggison stiffly. "After all, there are certain decencies to be observed, even in this place."

"Not me, sir – nothing to do with me, sir," said Pringle, answering Gilbert Byfield. "I certainly did gather the sticks for the fire – but that's about all, sir. The cooking idea wasn't mine at all; I doubt if I could have done it. Miss Meggison, sir, is the lady who's saved our lives, as you might say, sir, to-night."

"It is certainly well to be experienced in these matters," said Mrs. Ewart-Crane, lowering herself to the ground.

"It was quite easy," said Bessie, busying herself with the pot. "When Pringle and I came to look into things, we found that there were preserved meats and preserved vegetables; so it seemed to me that we might have a sort of stew. It's a little mixed – but I think it's nice. Pringle – the plates, please."

"Certainly, Miss," responded Pringle, and instantly produced, as if from the result of a conjuring trick, half a dozen battered old tin plates.

"This is wonderful – and most comfortable," said Mr. Edward Stocker.

"They took a bit of cleanin', sir," explained Pringle. "I found 'em under some of the rubbish in the hut – likewise a knife and fork and a big spoon. The big spoon's in the pot – and the knife and fork I suppose ought to be handed to one of the ladies."

"I have never eaten with my fingers yet – not even in the matter of asparagus," said Mrs. Ewart-Crane instantly.

"Then it's no use your makin' a start at this time of day – is it, ma'am?" responded Pringle, handing over the knife and fork to her with much politeness. "It's a three-pronger, ma'am – but still a fork's a fork."

The steaming food was handed out – Pringle deftly holding the battered tin plates to be filled. The little company was so ravenously hungry that even with that limited number of plates there was not much waiting, nor did it seem to be considered necessary that the plates should be washed for a newcomer. Mrs. Ewart-Crane ate with some elegance, and in a grim silence; the others used their fingers, and laughed a little among themselves at the strange meal. Then, when it was all over, and Pringle had collected the plates, and had taken away the cooking-pot, the men gathered about the fire – or what was left of it – and sat there on the ground, sharing what tobacco they had, contentedly enough. Mr. Tant did not smoke; he sat in a glum silence, staring into the dying fire.

Gradually the fire burnt itself out; but by that time the men had made their several arrangements for sleep. Mr. Tant and Daniel Meggison and Simon Quarle lay down near the hut in a sheltered place, and seemed to fall asleep in a few minutes; Gilbert and Stocker and Aubrey remained by the fire. Presently they too stretched themselves for slumber; at the last, Gilbert Byfield, hearing the murmur of the waves in the distance, thought sleepily how strange it was that he should have been brought to this place, and in such company; wondered, without any real uneasiness, what was to become of them all. A figure stealing towards him in the darkness roused him; and he raised himself on one elbow, to find Pringle bending respectfully over him.

"Anything I can do for you, sir?" asked Pringle, in a whisper.

"Nothing, thank you. Good night."

"Good night to you, sir," responded Pringle. "If I might take the liberty of laying myself down, sir, near to you – "

"By all means," said Gilbert.

"Much obliged, sir," said Pringle, dropping to the ground. "I just gave a last look at the hut as I came past – and everything seemed very quiet. A snore or two, sir – but that only suggests peace. Good night, sir!"

CHAPTER XV

THE SIMPLE LIFE

IT must not be imagined for a moment that a person of the quality and the dignity of Mrs. Ewart-Crane could long sustain life under the conditions imposed upon her on that first night on the island. This promiscuous mixing with people in a very different sphere of life was not at all to her taste; she set about to remedy matters at the earliest possible opportunity.

Her slumbers during that night in the hut had been spoiled, as she declared, by the persistent snoring of Mrs. Stocker; Mrs. Stocker was equally emphatic that she had not snored at all, but that Mrs. Ewart-Crane, on the other hand, had been no quiet neighbour. To add to the good woman's troubles, her daughter Enid appeared to have struck up a sort of friendship with Bessie Meggison; there was much dodging to and fro from one compartment of the hut to the other, and a dragging aside in consequence of the improvised screen. More than that, Mrs. Ewart-Crane was conscious that after a night during which she had tossed about restlessly on what she designated as "leaves and twigs and prickles" she did not look her best. It seemed, too, that until something was devised ablutions were impossible.

However, Pringle had been early astir, and there was something at least in the shape of breakfast, with a fire to warm the early morning air. They gathered about it, and made the best of a bad situation, according to their moods – Mr. Tant declaring wheezily that he had caught the worst cold he had ever had in his life – and Daniel Meggison stating that but for an absurd prejudice on the part of Pringle to allowing him an early morning draught of strong waters to keep out the cold, this was in reality the very life for which Daniel Meggison had been pining throughout his existence.

The finding of a little spring of pure clear water in the side of the hill above the wood to the west led to the unfortunate episode of the barrel. There had, of course, been a barrel containing water, and the contents had been jealously guarded; but the finding of the spring supply caused the barrel to be regarded by Pringle as an ordinary article for domestic use. Whether or not he felt that Mrs. Stocker looked more dilapidated than Mrs. Ewart-Crane will never be known; certain it is that he approached the former lady smilingly, with the vessel partly filled with water, and delicately suggested that she might use it for her ablutions in the privacy of the hut. Mrs. Stocker was gratefully accepting this boon, forgetful of the fact that the rigged-up sail, while it concealed her from the people on the other side of it, did not mask her voice, when Mrs. Ewart-Crane swept it aside, and stood indignant before the abashed Pringle and Mrs. Stocker.

"Is there no one in this community to whom I can appeal?" demanded Mrs. Ewart-Crane. "Is it not sufficient that I am kept awake for the greater part of one extremely long night, but that now, in the morning, I am to be ousted from the position Society has never yet denied to me? Who is this person, that she should be given precedence over me in such a matter?"

"I'm very sorry, ma'am," said Pringle, scratching his chin – "but I thought perhaps this lady" – he indicated Mrs. Stocker, who was standing with folded arms on guard over the barrel – "I thought perhaps – "

"Well – what did you think?" demanded Mrs. Stocker.

Pringle had been on the very point of saying, as delicately as possible, that he thought she needed it the most; but cowering under her gaze he abjectly said – "Nothing, ma'am"; and pretended to hear a voice calling him in the distance.

Mrs. Stocker held to her rights, and Mrs. Ewart-Crane went unwashed. But the matter, of course, could not end there; and before nightfall it was known that some other arrangement must be made, or Mrs. Ewart-Crane at least would take her repose in the night air. Simon Quarle was disposed to let her do it; Gilbert looked hopeless; but Jordan Tant was firm about the matter, and said that another place must be found. Accordingly a further search of the island was begun, Pringle throwing himself into the matter with ardour, and with the utmost cheerfulness.

It was, after all, but an anticipating of after events. A little to the south of those miniature hills which rose in the centre of the island a sort of cave was discovered, going back some dozen feet into the hill itself; and over the front of this the wonderful Pringle arranged a sort of screen with the other sail, so that it might be lifted during the day, and form a pleasant shelter under which to sit, and might be lowered discreetly at night. To this place Mrs. Ewart-Crane and Enid were duly escorted; and over them during the day Mr. Jordan Tant kept watch and ward – extending that service even into the night, when he lay down outside the screen to sleep.

So far as the larger hut was concerned, the screen which divided it into two was kept in its place; Mrs. Stocker and Bessie occupied one side, and Daniel Meggison and Aubrey, with Mr. Edward Stocker, the other. They would have been willing to make arrangements for taking in Simon Quarle (though this was somewhat against the wishes of Daniel Meggison), but Simon settled the matter in characteristic fashion by wrapping himself up in a great overcoat he wore, and sleeping in the boat upon the shore.

Guessing, perhaps, something concerning the difficulty in which his master found himself with these uninvited guests, Pringle had even arranged a separate sleeping place for Gilbert Byfield. On the top of the hill, just above the spring – the highest point in the island – Pringle laced branches, dragged from the trees, firmly together between the trunks of some young saplings growing in a bunch; and after roofing them over in the same way, contrived a very comfortable sort of hut for his master. For his own part, he preferred the freedom of the open air on these warm nights, despite Gilbert's protests; more than that, the moon still proving bright, he devoted some portion of the night to keeping watch, in the hope that some passing vessel might cross the wide track of silver that lay upon the waters.

Thus it came about that only Jordan Tant, in his devotion, was left outside; and even he succumbed after a night or two, and crept up the hill, and craved shelter from Gilbert.

"Personally, I should be glad if I might be permitted to share this place with you – at night, I mean," said Mr. Jordan Tant. "Technically, of course, we are rivals, and that is a point upon which I shall never give way. I shudder to think what might have happened had Enid come to this place without that constant reminder of my devotion which my mere presence here affords. Nevertheless, even those claims must be waived when one is cold, and – and lonely."

"Come in, by all means," said Gilbert, smiling. "If it comes to that, I'm a little lonely myself – and a little bit afraid concerning the future. Frankly, I don't know what is to become of us."

"You alarm me," exclaimed Mr. Tant, seating himself on the ground, and staring at his friend.

"You see, we might stay here for months – and I haven't the ghost of a notion what we're to get to eat," went on Gilbert. "I don't care to alarm the ladies about the matter, and I've said nothing to anyone yet, except Pringle. But he tells me that the tinned foods are almost gone, and even his ingenuity hasn't been sufficient to enable him to catch any fish. In other words, my dear Tant, we're on the verge of starvation."

"We may see a vessel," said Mr. Tant, with a gloomy face.

"And that vessel may not see us," retorted Gilbert. "In any case, we don't seem to have been noticed yet, and the position is a desperate one. If nothing happens within the next twenty-four hours we must have a volunteer party for the boat, and that party must start off in the hope of discovering some other land comparatively near."

"I suppose you've no idea where we are?" asked Tant.

Gilbert Byfield shook his head. "Not the least in the world," he said. "I paid no heed to the direction in which the vessel was going during those few days of our voyage, nor do I even know at what rate we went, nor how far. There's one curious thing about this island, by the way."

"What's that?" asked the other.

"Why, that the vegetation is not tropical, nor, for the matter of that, is the climate. I am more puzzled than I can say; but all the puzzling in the world won't help us. Food we must have, and clothing; the ladies especially are at a serious inconvenience, in having nothing but what they stand up in."

"Personally, of course, I should like to do something of an apparently brave nature – something in the way of a rescue – just to impress Enid," said Mr. Tant thoughtfully. "But I expect that when it comes to the pinch that sort of thing will fall to your share, and I shall have to stand aside and look on. And she admires brave men; she's rather rubbed that point in once or twice."

"I'll promise you that if anything does happen that calls for bravery, you shall have the first chance, Tant," said Gilbert.

"I wasn't exactly suggesting that; there's nothing selfish about me, I hope," retorted Tant.

Presently he leaned back against the trunk of a tree, and fell into an uneasy slumber. Anxiety kept Byfield awake, and presently also urged him to leave the rough little hut, and to set off on a ramble in the moonlight. Pringle, sleeping like a dog with one eye open, stirred and sat up; then, reassured, lay down to sleep again. Gilbert picked his way down the hillside into the wood, hearing more and more distinctly as he moved the murmur of the sea. And most of all now, in the silence of the night, he thought of Bessie – Bessie who had never complained; Bessie who worked hard, even here, for others; Bessie who had been, in her love and her innocence, so shamefully treated. He knew that he had brought ruin upon her, in the sense that she would never accept from him any help in the future, even should it happen that they were rescued from that place. He knew that she must start in some other Arcadia Street that old sordid battle of life he had but interrupted. He remembered bitterly enough how she had avoided him almost completely in this place; he knew that she felt that everyone about her knew now in what way she had lived, and on whose charity; he understood that she raged fiercely within herself at the thought of uncharitable eyes that watched her, and uncharitable lips that whispered about her.

He went down through the wood, and came out upon the shore at the western side of the island. And there, standing startlingly enough in that deserted place, was a woman at the very margin of the sea, her figure showing dark against the moonlit water and the sky. He went forward wonderingly, and yet with a vague feeling in his mind that he knew who it was; and so came to her, and spoke her name.

"Bessie!"

"I couldn't sleep; I came out into the silence and the moonlight; I wanted to think," she said; and in that solemn hour it seemed as though the barrier she had raised between them had gone down again, and could not ever again separate them. She seemed to look at him with the old friendliness; she let her hands rest in his, while they stood together, with only the sea and the moon for company.