"I did not know it. I thought he liked me, but I had no idea it was as you say."
"He told me in confidence some time before I left. My heart bleeds as I recall that conversation. No girl could hope to be more fondly, more faithfully loved. When the 'Merry Andrew' left Gravesend, I said to myself, 'When I return, Minnie will be Dan's wife,' for I could not but believe that you would have learned to appreciate the worth of such a love as his. But it was not to be."
"No, it was not to be," says Minnie sadly. "If I had known, it could not have been; if I had remained at home, it could not have been. You, who knew Dan so well, do you not know something of me also? I understand the motive that impels you to speak to me of these things, and I honor you the more for it. It is another proof of your goodness and generosity" -
"Minnie, Minnie!" he cries, "do not speak to me like that!"
"I must; I cannot help myself. Have you so poor an opinion of me-do you know so little of me-as to think I would marry a man I did not love? Rather than that, I would choose for him I loved the bitterest lot that life can offer-misery, shame, humiliation-and be content. Dan is all that you say; but I did not love him, did not deceive him. If he told you so, he told you what is false."
"He did not tell me so, but said that from your manner to him sometimes, he hoped to win your love."
"Must I shame myself to justify myself?" she cries recklessly. "I was happy in his company because he was your friend, and because he loved you. I was happy in his company because he spoke of you, and because-Joshua, have pity on me and forgive me! O my heart, my heart!"
He catches her fainting form, for she is falling. Weeping, she turns her face from him and hides it in her hair. Soft breezes play among the branches of the trees, stirring them into worshipping motion, and the more-pork, with its sad-colored plumage, flits by on noiseless wings, uttering his melancholy note. Joshua waits until Minnie is more composed; presently her sobs grow fainter and she leaves the shelter of his arm, and stands a little apart from him, with her face still averted.
"I do pity you," he then says, "and forgive you. What I have said and what I have done springs from no feeling of unkindness to you, Minnie. God knows, in such a strait as ours, such a feeling would be worse than cruel. But there are certain things of which I am afraid you are ignorant, that I must speak of and that you must hear. Do you know that, before I left home, I was suspected of playing with your feelings-of making love to you clandestinely, and so betraying the friend whom I would have laid down my life to serve?"
"No, no Joshua, do not tell me that!"
"It is the truth; but I did not know it until after I had bidden good-by to mother and father and Dan, in Stepney. Where were you on that day?"
"I-I was not at home," she falters.
"You had left, then. I went to your father's room to wish you and him good-by. He refused to see me. I asked to see you, and Susan told me you were asleep. I was deeply grieved; and I can understand now what caused Susan to beg me imploringly to be true to Ellen. What a cowardly villain they must believe me to be! Your father suspected me; Susan suspected me. If I had died that Christmas night at mother's door, it would have been happier for me! Minnie I thanked you once for saving my life; but I cannot thank you now, for you have made me the unhappiest of men."
She does not answer him, but stands before him trembling and suffering, as before a judge, enduring her punishment and admitting the justice of it.
"It is part of my unhappiness," he continues, "that I have to speak thus to you; it is part of my unhappiness that I have to show you the consequences of your rash conduct. Listen: To-day I saw the Lascar; he came behind me stealthily, to kill me, I believe; but I turned and saw him in time. I could have shot him dead where he stood; indeed, some savage prompting urged me to do so, but I held my hand and was spared the crime. This man hates me, Minnie. In an encounter I had with him before I first went to sea, I struck him and hurt him. He has had a bitter revenge upon me. He saw you on board the 'Merry Andrew' before the pilot left the ship, and recognized you, despite your disguise."
Minnie holds her breath. She remembers how the Lascar whispered her name in her ear the first day she went aboard.
"He did a devilish thing then. He wrote a letter home, saying that I had run away with you, and that we were together on board the 'Merry Andrew.'"
She falls on her knees before him, and raises her bands supplicatingly, and begs him again to forgive her, and to believe that she knew nothing of this, and that if she had known-
"If you had known, Minnie," he says, gently raising her, "you would not have done what you have. But you did not stop to consider, poor child! You see the consequences of that letter, do you not? Suspecting me, your father told me the story of his life, to warn me not to betray you. Suspecting me, Susan implored me to be true to Ellen. Dan confided to me his love for you, and I listened to and sympathized with him. Well, what must he and all of them think, when they have learned that you and I are together on board the 'Merry Andrew'? And I have something to tell you more painful than all the rest."
He puts Ellen's portrait into her hand. "Do you know who this is?"
Her eyes are blurred by tears, and she sees Ellen's sweet face through the sorrowful mist.
"It is Ellen's," she says.
"It is my wife!"
As Joshua utters these words, earth and heaven fade in Minnie's sight; nothing is visible, nothing is palpable to her senses, but the knowledge that flashes upon her, that her love, instead of being her glory, is now her shame. "There is no earthly sacrifice that love will not sanctify," her father had said. Could love sanctify such a sacrifice as she had made-a sacrifice that had brought disgrace and dishonor upon the man she loved? For the first time some slight consciousness of her error breaks upon her, and she looks upon herself as a shameful thing. As Joshua, witnessing her agony, moves a step nearer to her, she cries, "No, no, do not touch me!" and with a wild shudder sinks upon the ground. He, animated by sincerest compassion, throws himself by her side, lays his hand upon her head, and raises her face to his. She bows her head upon his shoulder, and sobs her grief out there. By every means in his power-by gentle speech, by tender act-he strives to soothe her, and succeeds. And then, true to his purpose, he finishes his story-tells her what occurred between him and the Old Sailor at Gravesend; how surprised he was to find that the good old man, and even his own mother, had seen Minnie's fancy for him, and had devised the cure for it; and how, prompted by duty and by his love for Ellen (he dwelt much on that), he had married her quietly at Gravesend, and had spent there the three happiest days of his life. And when his story is finished, and she has learned all, they sit hand in hand, very quiet and sore-smitten, until Minnie, in a singularly-subdued voice, asks what she shall do: as if, having committed this fault, and brought such terrible suspicion upon him, he has only to tell her how to atone for it, and she will straightway do it. Sadly he replies, "What can you do, Minnie? Nothing-nothing but wait. There is, to my mind, not the barest chance of escape. We shall make our graves in this wild forest; but we must live so-you and I, my dear-that upon my deathbed I shall be able to think that I have been true to my wife, true to my friend. Life is not the end of all things."
Meekly she assents. He calls her "Sister," and kisses her; and then they rejoin their companions, who are seated by the gunyahs, cooking turtles' eggs found by Rough-and-Ready, the discoverer.
CHAPTER XXXV
SURPRISED BY SAVAGES
The wisdom of Rough-and-Ready's plan of action was soon proved. One night, thunder awoke them from sleep. The thunder that breaks over the housetops, and the lightning that flashes in at the window-panes of a populous city, are very different from what are heard and seen in mountain ranges and great wastes of forests. Nature seems to be toned down in the city; in the forests and mountains she is grandly beautiful in repose, terrifically beautiful in travail. The thunder-peals were so loud and awful, that the women and child lay clasping each other in speechless fear. Like savage Titans the sound swept down upon them, and rushed through the forests and over the mountains and into them in search of echoes. The lightning darted upon the trees, and ran along the branches, and leaped through the woods into the bowels of the earth. Every thing that lived in stream and woodland, in rocky range and dark lagoon, sought shelter from the storm, of which Sound was but the herald. Presently it came, the swift rush of waters, like a second deluge, filling the creeks and rivers, and flooding all the land. Great torrents rushed down the mountainside into the low land, sweeping all before them. The storm raged the whole night through, abating slightly when morning dawned. It was well for the castaways that they had a little food stored by, for they could not go out in search of any. The second night the women begged the men to stay with them; so they all occupied the women's gunyah, lying side by side in the dark, and whispering to each other little words of comfort. All but Rachel Homebush, who was struck dumb by fear. The second night's storm was more terrific than the first, and about midnight so tremendous a peal of thunder broke over them, that they started up in dread.
"Who screamed?" asked Rough-and Ready. But his voice was not heard; and swift upon the heels of the thunder another vivid lightning-flash, instantly followed by a terrific burst of thunder, darted through the gunyah, and struck them blind for many moments. Then, during a slight lull, Rough-and-Ready asked again, -
"Who screamed?"
"Not I," said Joshua.
"Nor I," said the sailmaker.
The women did not speak. Joshua's heart beat with a new fear as he whispered, -
"Minnie! Minnie! speak to me. You are not hurt?"
And tears of thankfulness came into his eyes as Minnie answered in a trembling voice, -
"No Joshua; I am only frightened. Let me hold your hand."
"Where's the child?" he asked.
"Rachel has her. Rachel! Rachel!"
No voice replied. Thoroughly alarmed, they called to her again and again, and to the child, but could not rouse them. They were in the deepest darkness.
Presently Rough-and-Ready said, "Hush! we must wait for the light."
They waited for the light, and by the first faint glimmer they saw Rachel and the child lying down peacefully, the woman with the child folded in her arms. Light had come to them before the others!
Rough-and-Ready, who was the first to discover it, turned to his companions, with the tears streaming down his face and beard.
"Comfort her," he said to Joshua, pointing to Minnie.
Joshua put his arm round Minnie and turned her face from where the woman and child lay.
"Poor Rachel! Poor Little Emma!" he said. "Be brave, Minnie, my dear. Do not give way, for my sake."
He knew what words to utter to give her strength to bear the shock, and he made use of his power with a wise compassion.
Her poor white lips trembled as she said to him, -
"Pray for one thing for me, Joshua. Pray that I may not die before I have made atonement."
"Hush, hush, my dear!" he replied; "there is none to make. It is I who rather should have to make it, for my hardness to you. Be comforted, my dear."
The words came from his heart. He would have been unfeeling indeed if he had not learned to appreciate the beautiful unselfishness of Minnie's love; her meekness, her faithfulness, her devotion, her unmurmuring submission, could not fail to have a powerful effect upon such a nature as his.
The men went into their gunyah, and before night came again had made a rough coffin of bark. The next morning they dug a grave and stood round it bareheaded while the rain was falling. They kissed the child's face and poor Rachel's also before the cover was put on the rude coffin. Amid deep sobs-the men were not ashamed of their tears-Joshua read prayers; some vine-creepers were thrown into the grave; the earth was piled up into a mound: and they went back sadly to their tent. The loss of some one very near and dear to them could not have been more severely felt. From that time forth it became a practice for Joshua to read a chapter out of the Bible every morning and evening.
The rainy season lasted for three weeks, and during this time they lived very miserably. Minnie thrived, however-perhaps because Joshua was tender to her. The hot weather came and they were able to go in search of food. But Minnie was never left alone. Joshua and she were waiting one evening for the return of Rough-and-Ready and the sailmaker, but Rough-and-Ready came back without his companion. He looked round in some anxiety.
"Hasn't the sailmaker returned?"
"No," said Joshua; "you went out together."
"I know; but I missed him a couple of hours ago, and although I have searched for him and coo-ēēd for him everywhere, I haven't been able to find him."
The sailmaker did not make his appearance. To the surprise of his companions, Rough-and-Ready, after dark, fired half a dozen shots from his pistol into the air.
"You look surprised," he said; "well, now" (to Minnie), "can you bear a shock? Will you promise to be brave if I tell you something?"
She nodded.
"It is only something that I have been expecting. I think that the sailmaker is with the natives."
"Why do you think so?" asked Joshua.
"For good reasons. I saw some tracks of them when I was hunting for Tom. Perhaps they have captured him."
"He had his pistols."
"Frightened to use them, perhaps; or perhaps there were a lot of the Blacks, and he thought it would be foolish and useless. Besides he is new to them. He's all right, though; they won't hurt him for he's a plucky fellow. Now, mind. When you first see the natives, and indeed always after that, show no fear of them. What I am going to say is to my mind a most foolish thing; but there's the faintest chance in the world that, making friends with them, you might make your way down south, from one tribe to another, in a few months, and come upon some cattle station. But, lord! there's one chance for you, and a hundred against you."
"Why do you say 'you'?" asked Minnie. "'We,' rather."
"No, my dear," said Rough-and-Ready with a blush. "I have two reasons for saying you and not we. The first reason is not a reason-it is a presentiment. I shall die in the bush. The second reason is a plainer one. It wouldn't be pleasant for me to get into civilized company in New South Wales."
"Why?"
Rough-and-Ready looked at her with admiration, and said, very inappropriately, as she thought, -
"Do you know that you have made me a better man?"
"A better man!" she exclaimed. "Why, you are a good man, and a brave man, too."
"You think so. So let it be," he said, half seriously, half gayly. "I'm not going to spoil your delusion just yet."
They saw no signs of the savages that night. They did not retire until late, and Rough-and-Ready went many times short distances in different directions to look for the natives, but they did not appear. Joshua took out his accordion and played. Rough-and-Ready listened thoughtfully, and when Joshua had finished an air, he said, -
"I told you, when we first came ashore here, that there is no surer way to frighten the blacks than through their superstitious fears. Your playing to-night, connected with the near presence of the savages, brings that remark back to me; and I'll tell you why. That music of yours may possibly be a great power with them. They have never heard any thing like it. If you don't lose your self-possession when you get among them-and you must take care not to, for Minnie's sake; her life may depend upon your courage-you may obtain an influence over them by means of your accordion. Sound for which they cannot account has a wonderful effect upon them. Here you have it. Don't forget what I say. Come, now, I can hear no sign of the black devils. You take some rest. I'll wake you in a couple of hours."
So they watched in turns during the night.
"What is the best thing to do," asked Joshua the following evening, "when the savages come? – to make friends with them, or try to frighten them?"
"There are too few of us to fight," answered Rough-and-Ready. "We might frighten them for a time, but they would be sure to come back in larger numbers. Then we haven't too much powder and shot left. No; the best and wisest course will be to be friendly with them, if possible. I have heard of white men living with them for many years. I saw an Englishman myself once who had been with them for five years. He was glad enough to get away from them; but they treated him kindly, he said. One man, whom I never saw, lived with them for thirty years. His name is Buckley, and he is living now."
"Do you know any thing of his story?"
"I'll tell you what little I know. He was a bricklayer in Cheshire-came from Macclesfield, I've heard. A great big hulking lazy fellow he was-brick-making was too hard work for him, so he enlisted as a grenadier. A fine grenadier he must have looked-he was six feet six inches in his stockings. But grenadiering didn't satisfy his wants. He was a natural vagabond like myself, and he got into trouble, and was sentenced to transportation. So he and three or four hundred other natural and unnatural vagabonds, being deemed fine material for the purpose, were sent out to form a colony. Buckley and his mates were put ashore at Port Phillip; but the governor, whose name was Collins, liked the place as little as the convicts, and he moved them off to Van Dieman's Land. Then they began to talk of escaping. They didn't know any thing of the interior of the country; but they thought, perhaps, that any thing was better than the devil's life they led as convicts. Buckley got away with two mates, of whom nothing more was ever heard. About twelve months after he escaped, he fell in with the natives, and lived with them for more than thirty years. During the whole of that time he never saw a white man. At length he heard from the tribe he was living with, that some men with skins the same color as his had been seen within a few miles of the native camp. They belonged to a band of explorers headed by a man named Batman. Buckley went in search of them, and presented himself to them. You can imagine what a sensation he created; a white giant, who had forgotten how to speak English, with native weapons hung round his body, and a kangaroo-skin rug his only clothing. He soon picked up a bit of English, and was taken to a white settlement, where he was made a pet and a wonder of. He might have done good service for the white people with the natives, for they say he has great influence with them. But my opinion of him is, that he is a lazy, skulking thief, and that living with the savages, where he hadn't to work for his food, just suited him. I expect that some part of his influence over them was produced by his tremendous height and big limbs. However, he is among the whites again, with a free pardon granted him, I've heard, and earning his living as he has earned it all his life-by doing nothing."
During the recital of this story, which Rough-and-Ready declared was veracious, every word of it, he was busy baking a fresh-water turtle, which he had caught that day while he was fishing in a lagoon. The turtle was baked in its shell, and they made a delicious supper off it. They had arranged to fish for eels that night, and Rough-and-Ready said, -
"Come along; it's of no use being frightened by thinking of the natives; we must get accustomed to them. We shall soon see them, and Tom with them."
They took all their fire-arms. Minnie had two pistols in her belt, and Joshua and Rough-and-Ready, besides pistols, had guns slung across their shoulders. Each of them wore a cap made of the beautiful fur of the sugar-squirrel. They walked through the quiet wood, looking sharply about them as they went along, but neither heard nor saw any signs of the natives. When they came to the lagoon, Rough-and-Ready told them he was going to show them a fine way of catching eels without trouble. He had his fire-sticks with him, and in half an hour he had a great fire blazing by the side of the lagoon. Attracted by the light, the eels came swarming towards them; and in a very short time they caught as many as they desired. Loaded with their spoil, they made their way back to their gunyahs; and as they got near them, they saw a dark figure glide swiftly away from the spot into the bush.
"A native," said Rough-and-Ready. "We must look out to-night."
"Or Scadbolt, or the Lascar, do you think?" suggested Joshua, supporting Minnie, who was clinging to him in alarm.
"No; a white man couldn't move away with such a cat-like motion. I fancy I saw his dark skin."
Thereupon Rough-and-Ready, for the purpose of familiarizing Minnie with the idea of living with the savages, and so lessening her fears, commenced talking of them, and continued talking for a couple of hours. By which time Minnie's fears really were lessened.
"What a number of stars have fallen the last few nights remarked Joshua.
"Ah, you have noticed that!" said Rough-and-Ready. "And if you observe, they have fallen immediately over this spot, in the direction of the sea. Well, those shooting-stars may have brought the natives here; for although some tribes believe that danger lies where stars fall, or that they indicate the direction of hostile tribes, others have a kind of belief that a great and good spirit may be seen where they fall. They believe that there is a new sun every day and a new moon every night, One tribe throws up the sun at daybreak, and another tribe catches it at sunset."
Here they were interrupted by cries of fear, and by the running towards them of some person who fell at their feet trembling and grovelling. It was the Lascar, who was evidently in a state of horrible fright. He looked more like a wild beast than a man. What few clothes he had on were torn and tattered, his nails were long, and his disordered hair and grovelling fears deprived his features of any likeness to humanity.
"The savages, the savages," he cried.
He had chosen what he considered the lesser of two evils; his white foes were preferable to black cannibals. Rough-and-Ready looked down upon him contemptuously and touched him with his foot.
"The cowardly ruffian!" he said. "I'd sooner trust the Blacks than such as he. Where's his rascally mate, I wonder-Get up!" he cried, and administered so smart a kick to the prostrate wretch that he jumped up on the instant, imploring mercy.
"Be silent, you chattering imp of darkness!" roared Rough-and-Ready; "be silent, and answer me. You've seen the Blacks, I suppose?"
The Lascar muttered an affirmative.
"Well, what are you frightened at? Why don't you go and make friends with them? They haven't much the advantage of you in color, and you are more of a wild beast than they are. Frightened of being eaten, eh? Faugh! they'd spear you and throw you away; you're not good enough even for them." The Lascar trembled the more at this; he was a true coward. "What d'ye think of mutineering now, eh? Answer me, you copper-colored devil, or I'll make an end of you-where's your mate, Scadbolt?"
"I don't know; I haven't seen him for days.
"Ah, two of a trade never agree. I thought you'd be cutting each other's throats. Captain Marvel, here's one of your crew who tried to raise a mutiny. As if that was not enough, he has murdered his mate." (It is a fact that Scadbolt was never heard of again, nor was any thing ever known of his fate.) "Now then, you, as captain of the 'Merry Andrew,' pronounce judgment-death, nothing less-and I'll take him away and execute it, as truly as I'm a living man!"
There was something so determined in Rough-and-Ready's speech, and something so threatening in his action, that the Lascar leaped away in mortal fear. Whereat Rough-and-Ready laughed loud and long, and fired a shot in the air to frighten the Lascar the more.
In the morning, while they were at breakfast, two savages suddenly made their appearance, about twenty yards from where they were sitting. They appeared so suddenly, that they seemed to have started out of the ground.
"Now, Minnie," said Rough-and-Ready quietly, "don't scream out, and don't show any alarm. By the look of those fellows they are friendly, and do not mean to harm us."
Minnie conquered her fears bravely, although her heart was beating fast, and by the direction of Rough-and-Ready they went on with their breakfast, to all appearance quite unconcerned, and as if the presence of the savages was the most natural thing in the world. The two men who stood gazing at them were naked, with the exception of a girdle of emeu-feathers round their waists; their color was pale black; they were tall, with thin limbs and fine chests, and their hair was thick and curly. They had spears in their hands, about seven feet long, made from the stem of the tea-tree.
Seeing that they stood quite quiet, Rough-and-Ready held up part of an eel towards them, and smiled, and nodded his head gently. Whereupon the two savages looked at each other, said a few words, and disappeared. Both Joshua and Minnie drew a long breath of relief, for which Rough-and-Ready was inclined to be cross with them.
"They will be back presently," he said, "in company."
They had not long to wait. In less than half an hour the two who had first presented themselves returned with nearly a score of others. To the joy of the castaways, they saw Tom the sailmaker in the rear, and they nodded and smiled at him. Seeing that the savages, who had been jabbering among themselves, made signs to the sailmaker; and after the display of much pantomime, he came towards his mates. They shook hands with him, and Rough-and-Ready asked him how he was.
"Jolly," he replied. He told them in crisp sentences, all of them in answer to Rough-and-Ready's questions, that the natives seemed disposed to be friendly, and that they were not half so bad as they looked.
Rough-and-Ready, accompanied by Tom, then walked half a dozen yards in the direction of the savages, and held out his hands to them. Tom looked at the savages, touched Rough-and-Ready on the breast, and then himself, with sufficiently expressive pantomime, to denote, "We two are one." Minnie and Joshua stood in the background, side by side, with linked arms. The savages, coming a little nearer, pointed to them, and jabbered unintelligibly, as much as to say, "What do you do here? Who are you?" Joshua, observing the success of Rough-and-Ready's pantomime, touched Minnie on the breast, and then himself, conveying the same meaning, "We two are one."
Here it must be told that Minnie had regained her naturally fair complexion, and that her hair, also fair, had grown to a great length. Tall and well-formed, with bare arms beautifully shaped, with pure complexion; with dreamy eyes, with long hair hanging loosely down, and with the charm and grace of youth upon her, she stood before them in her strange dress of civilized cotton and woodland fur; and her singularly-beautiful appearance had a powerful effect on the savages. They approached Rough-and-Ready, and felt his clothes, and made friends with him in their primitive fashion; but they kept some distance from Joshua and Minnie, regarding, her with looks of reverence and astonishment. Presently, after much grimacing and flashing of hands and fingers, Rough-and-Ready came towards Minnie, and, to her surprise, bowed low before her, and stood in an attitude of respectful worship. The savages, who were watching him attentively, saw only his back; but if they had seen the merry twinkle in his eyes, they would have been as puzzled as Minnie was.
"I've heard say that every woman is an actress," he said, smiling. "Prove yourself one now, for all our sakes, by not moving, and by listening to me attentively. Your conduct may decide our fate. I have told you what significance the natives attach to shooting-stars, and how they either avoid the direction in which they fall or are impelled there by some powerful superstition. Fortune has favored us. I don't understand a single word these savages utter; but I understand from their actions that they are so amazed at your appearance as to entertain a belief that you are not quite mortal-that, in fact, you are a superior spirit. If they can be kept in this belief (supposing they entertain it), it will be of immense service to us. If you are brave enough not to show fear, they will almost be certain not to attempt to harm us."
No better speech could have been spoken to Minnie to inspire her with confidence and courage. But she turned to Joshua first, and asked, "Shall I do this?"
"Yes," he answered; "I think it will be well, if you can nerve yourself to it."
Smiling at the "if" she said softly, "For your sake, Joshua," and then, with queenly motion, walked towards the savages, conquering her disgust at their appearance. They awaited her approach; and when she was within a few steps of them, an old graybeard came forward, and held out his hands, saying some words expressive of respectful welcome. Minnie understood as much by his expressive action. She touched his hands, and waved hers, bidding them welcome, and beckoning to Joshua, touched him on the breast, and placed her hand upon his shoulder. Then, smiling placidly upon the dusky group, she walked away with Joshua, and sat down in the shade of the gunyah. Whatever meaning her pantomime had conveyed, it evidently excited great interest among the savages. They conversed earnestly and excitedly, and pointed to the sky and to the earth, describing, by their motions the action of a star falling gently to the ground.