The Red Derelict Part 38

"By Jove, but Wagram is a good chap!" exclaimed Clytie one day with characteristic outspokenness. "This is all his doing, of course. I tell you what it is, Delia, if you don't bring off my scheme within a reasonable time of his return I'm blest if I don't cut in myself."

"Why do you think it's his doing, Clytie?" had been the answer, ignoring the last threat.

"It wasn't for nothing he came down here pumping us that day. Well, he is one in a good many thousands, as I shall tell him some day when he's my bro--"

"Oh, shut up, Clytie. You know I hate that sort of chaff," interrupted Delia testily, for the remark jarred upon her hideously.

"Right oh!" cried the other, with a good-humoured laugh. "Keep your hair on, dear. You can, too, for it's all your own, and a jolly good lot of it too--that's where you dark ones score over us--though I don't come far behind. Let's shut up shop now and go for a bike ride. We shall skim over these frost-bound roads; only we'll get jolly red noses.

We can ride to Fulkston, and back through Hilversea--and adore the empty Court in the distance," she added slyly.

They made an attractive pair as they skimmed along, both sitting gracefully and well; the serene cla.s.sical features of the one, and the more rich and sparkling brunette beauty of the other, together with the well-formed, graceful figures of both, const.i.tuted a picture which caused more than one male head to come round in admiration as its owner half halted.

"The Calmour girls! oh yes, pretty--devilish pretty--but--" const.i.tuting the comment, either uttered or thought. But the fourteen-mile ride out, and rather more back, added to the glow of health which mantled each very attractive face.

"There's the old Court, all shut up," commented Clytie as the pile rose clear against its background of now naked trees in the bright frosty moonlight. "What a sin to own a place like that and leave it shut up.

I wouldn't."

"Wouldn't you! You'd vote it slow in a month, and start off for town, if I know anything of you," answered Delia, starting out of a brown study; for they were just pa.s.sing the very point in the road where Wagram had surprised her while having her fortune told by the gipsy. A little farther, and they came to the scene of the gnu incident. There was the white gate gleaming in the moonlight; but the slumbrous wealth of foliage had given place to bare boughs, forming a frosted network against the winter sky. And with that day there came back to her another--a golden, glowing August day--that Sunday, the last long day of interrupted suns.h.i.+ne--when they had surprised the mysterious stranger and trespa.s.ser. Somehow from that day the rising of the cloud had seemed to date, but of this she said nothing to Clytie.

On arrival home they were met by Bob, looking more than scared.

"About time you came," he grunted. "Don't know what's up with the old man."

"Oh dear. The usual thing," said Delia, not scornful now, for she had undergone something of a change in every way.

"No, it isn't," returned Bob quickly. "He's not 'fresh' this time, but he's devilish queer."

Old Calmour was lying on the sofa, breathing stertorously, and looking, as Bob had said, "devilish queer."

"Get on your bike, Bob, and go and fetch Thorpe," commanded Clytie the capable, at the same time loosening her father's s.h.i.+rt collar.

"Can't; it's punctured."

"Take mine, then. Only--go."

"Good Lord, Clytie! But it's not serious, eh?"

"Go--d'you hear, you jacka.s.s," she repeated, with a stamp of the foot.

"And bring him back with you. None of his--'look round directly.'

Bring him back with you."

The old man lay, staring up at them, his red and bloated face showing no sign of recognition; and on the prompt arrival of the doctor they were not long in learning that it never would again, for in less than an hour old Calmour was dead. Stroke, greatly accelerated by intemperate habits, was the medical verdict.

"What's to be done now, Delia?" remarked Clytie a day or two after the funeral, while she and her sister were holding a serious council of war--or rather of ways and means. "What the very devil is to be done?

We can't go on running Siege House at our rates of pay, and the poor old dad didn't leave a cent."

This was a fact. The sale of the furniture would not put them in funds to any great extent. Old Calmour's pension had died with him, and there were three boys to keep at school. Well, this, of course, was out of the question. Bob would have to live on the by no means princely salary he received from Pownall and Skreet, and very blue did the said Bob look over the prospect. One thing was certain: the household would have to be broken up.

The funeral, as may be imagined, had not been largely attended; in fact, except the dead man's family, hardly anybody had been present One of these exceptions had been Haldane, and the circ.u.mstances had appealed to the girls with a very real sense of appreciation.

"I expect he turned up on your account, Delia," Clytie had remarked.

"But it was brickish of him, all the same. By the way, I suppose there's a sort of freemasonry among your people. If you hadn't joined them he wouldn't have shown up."

"I don't know about that; it may have been on account of our acquaintance. But it was just the sort of thing Mr Haldane would do,"

answered Delia.

Incidentally, we may remark that, whatever the motive, it was not the last thing that Haldane did for this unfortunate family, now reduced to real straits, after it had been decided to give up Ba.s.singham and remove to the metropolis--that universal, and frequently illusory, refuge for those who "have their way to make."

CHAPTER THIRTY.

CONCERNING A TERROR.

A dark, comparatively cool, and restful retreat--a blaze of outside suns.h.i.+ne glimpsed through the aperture of a low doorway. A sense of awaking to yet another phase of pa.s.sage through the shades; of a weird kaleidoscopic phantasmagoria which represents a wholly or partially suspended consciousness of days or even weeks; of the stirred, uneasy rest of supposed death--such were the first gropings of the mind of him who lay there.

Where was he? A recollection of the battered hulk, heaving to the oily swell; of hunger and thirst--especially thirst; of a furious sun pouring its rays down upon him in molten streams; of a fierce, maddening desire for shade--almost equal to that for cool, liquid drink; for blessed shade, to shut out, if even for one moment, that awful blinding glare-- these were the recollections that came upon his mind with the first glimmerings of returning consciousness.

Others followed--a sense of movement, of being borne helplessly onward, through mysterious tracts, to the accompaniment of strange, mysterious voices, and glimpses of weird, dark shapes. Then oblivion--again to be followed by fitful awakenings--but ever to sink again into the same lethargy, the same utter indifference to all things that ever had been, that ever would be--in short, to life itself. And now--and now--Where was he?

He stared upward. A large c.o.c.kroach dropped from the palmetto ceiling, and scurried away, almost over his face; but he heeded it not. He stared around. The circular wall of the place was uneven and rough. As his eyes grew accustomed to the light, or rather the gloom, he made out that it was the interior of a large hut constructed of gra.s.s and withes.

Two poles supported the centre, and on these were hung sundry implements of fantastic make and appearance--such as he had seen in museums and private collections representing barbaric trophies of far-off lands. A hum of voices--utterly unintelligible--came from without; and there was that in the very tones which savoured of the scarcely human--at any rate to one whose lines had been cast hitherto exclusively within those of civilisation.

He tried to rise, tottered, and then fell back. He was very weak, far too weak to rise unaided. Things grew dizzy around him. Then the sun strip which cut the gloom was darkened. Somebody had entered; and then he became aware of the presence of two beings--black, and of ferocious aspect, with wool standing out from their heads in stiff, rolled-out spikes, and the white of their eyeb.a.l.l.s glistened when the ray of light coming in through the low doorway fell upon it. They bent over him; and having peered into his face for a moment one of them raised his head with no gentle touch, while the other put a calabash to his lips and poured its contents into his mouth. This at any rate was not an unacceptable operation. The stuff was cool, and had a combination of sweet and acid taste. What it was he had no notion, but he drank gratefully.

"That's good," he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed faintly.

For answer they uttered a clucking sound, and grinned; but the grin was not a genial one--it was hideous, ghastly, showing rows of filed teeth.

It reminded him of the shark which had risen to seize him, and had seized the deck-chair instead. As they stood over him, watching him, he took them in--their appearance, their demeanour, their stature. The latter was tall and muscular. For the rest, they looked a pair of about the most ferocious and bloodthirsty savages the imagination could by any possibility conjure up. And yet--they had just been engaged in a distinct work of mercy.

Wagram's brain power began to return. How he had got off--or been got off--the derelict he had not the faintest conception; but obviously he had, since here he was. Then came back to him the captain's p.r.o.nouncement as to what would happen to anybody unfortunate enough to be stranded on the coast they were then off. "We'd very likely be eaten," had been the dictum. So this "work of mercy" was, in reality, nothing of the sort. It was equivalent to that of doctoring an ailing ox or sheep. He was being brought back into fitting condition for butchery. He was to supply the material for a cannibal feast. And these two ruffians looked the part--every inch.

They had squatted down on the floor, and were watching him, keeping up the while a subdued conversation in a kind of guttural hum. One carried a formidable-looking native axe, and both had big, broad-bladed knives, with a curious crook inward, on the edge side, towards the point. The demoniacal aspect of the pair--the hungry expression of their revolting countenances, as they sat like a pair of evil beasts watching their expected prey--was too much for Wagram's nerves, all defenceless as he was, and absolutely in their power. He tried asking them questions, but, of course, they did not understand one word he said. They did not even shake their heads, but sat staring at him as before. So he gave it up, and made signs that he wanted to go to sleep. This seemed intelligible, and they rose, and with an evil, snarling chuckle left the place.

This was a relief at any rate. Where was he? speculated the castaway.

Where was he, and how far from the sea-coast? What would be his fate-- alone, unarmed, helpless, in the power of such as these? Even if he were not to be butchered immediately--all sorts of visions rose before his mind, of lifelong slavery in the interior, or figuring prominently in some ghastly and hideous human sacrifice on a gigantic scale. Heaven help him! And then Heaven did help him to this extent. Whether due to the effects of the potion that had been administered to him, or to the weakness following upon all that he had gone through, a la.s.situde came over him, and, forgetful of surroundings--of present or future peril--he fell fast asleep.

While he slept, in another part of the native town things were happening. The two who had entered the hut were haranguing others of their kind--all of similarly hideous aspect; but, on the other hand, it might have been observed that this race, whatever it was, Nature had exceptionally favoured in thews and stature. Low howls, and beast-like, of savage delight greeted the words, echoed more shrilly by women hanging on to the outskirts of the gathering. These began to produce knives and examine the edges; then the whole rout moved with one consent towards a hut rather larger and more important-looking than the rest on the outskirts of the town. Into this one of the number entered--one of the two, it may be remarked, who had just come away from "tending"

Wagram on his awaking to consciousness.

But if he entered he could not have remained there long, and his method of egress must have been artificially hastened, for in a moment he shot forth again, half stumbling, half running. Behind him, beneath the low verandah, now appeared another man.

From this man's lips there rolled forth thick and fast a very torrent of imprecation, and that in about six of the different dialects understood in those parts. Anyhow, it was intelligible to these, for they shrank back for the moment quiet and abashed. And, in truth, this was not without justification, for there was something in the man's aspect that was absolutely terrific as he stood there confronting the savage mob with the aspect of a slave-master, whip in hand, standing over a mob of cowering slaves. Yet these were not cowering, far from it. He was very tall and athletic. His face, strong and hawk-like, half covered by a heavy beard, was working with pa.s.sion; but it was in his eyes, bright and piercing beneath the s.h.a.ggy brows, that the charm seemed to lie.

They were absolutely snake-like in their flash of demoniacal cruelty-- eyes of one who delighted to look upon all that against which human nature revolts; eyes that, when moved to wrath, blasted; eyes of a very fiend, in short. Yet among those who crowded before him were eyes every whit as cruel, among those before him were frames every whit as sinewy and athletic--and all these were armed, and he to all appearance was not. But--he was a white man.

They stood sullenly while he invoked every mysterious and terrible imprecation of sorcery upon themselves and their fathers and mothers, upon their children unto the third and fourth generations--dooming them to awful and mysterious forms of dissolution for daring to invade his privacy and disturb his rest. They waited through it all; for quite a new and unwonted form of hideous enjoyment lay now before them. Then their clamour broke forth afresh.

This white stranger they had taken from the water, whom they had borne carefully over this weary distance in order to bring to life again. He was alive again, and could see and hear and talk. Him now they must have. The feast to which they had been looking forward must now begin.