Syd Belton Part 69

It seemed too late as Syd rose to his feet, tottered to the looped-back opening of the hut, and crawled out with his eyes starting, his dry mouth open, and every breath drawn with a wheezing, harsh sound that was horrible to hear.

Before he had gone far down the slope toward where the men were lying beneath the rock, and the rope-ladder hung over the rocky wall below the lower gun, he stopped short panting, with the sinking sun scorching his brain and everything swimming round. He looked backward, and had some idea that the boatswain was crawling after him, bringing a vessel that rattled on the loose stones as he came.

But Syd could think of but one thing as he made his way toward the rope-ladder, and that one thing was the fluid which should give them all back their life. He crawled on slowly and painfully, and then a black cloud came over his brain, and everything was gone for the time.

Then the recollection came back, and he knew why he was there. Water-- he knew where there was water if he could keep on recollecting till he reached the place. And could he reach it? His hands and arms gave way, and he lay p.r.o.ne, sobbing hoa.r.s.ely in his misery and despair. There was water, plenty of water, if he could reach it--if his mind would only hold out, and his strength last till he had taken one long deep draught of the cool, sweet drink. And he could reach it and bury his face in the gus.h.i.+ng flood, he could save everybody who lay dying there. But he could go no farther, only lie down moaning on that hot rock.

"Master Syd!--the water--where?"

There was a hot breath upon his face, a great hand was grasping his arm, and he turned to look wildly at the boatswain, and tried to speak, but there was only a harsh inarticulate sound from his parched throat.

"Master Syd. Where--the water?"

He tried again, but no words would come. The few minutes lying there, though, had given him strength to crawl on again till he was abreast of the men, only one of whom close by unclosed his wild eyes to stare at the couple crawling toward the edge of the rock wall.

Syd stopped again panting, and once more all seemed over, for the black cloud had settled down over his understanding; and though he could see the men lying only partly in shadow now, for the sinking sun was scorching them, he did not know why he had struggled so far till the hot breath was upon his cheek again, and the harsh high-pitched voice cried--

"Master Syd!--water--where?--the water?"

"Water!"

It was another voice uttered that word, and without knowing how or why, Syd was aware that the young sailor who had been so much mixed up with his adventures--Rogers--was gripping his hand. Syd stared at him wildly as with a fierce harsh cry the man tore at him as if he were holding the precious fluid back. A hoa.r.s.e groan escaped from Syd's throat, and he struggled hard to think of what it all meant, while the mental confusion and insensibility grew upon him as he lay face downward on the burning rock, staring at that imaginary black cloud.

"Water--water!" Who said water? It was not Strake, but this wild-eyed, fierce man, whose fingers were pressed into his arm.

Yes, he knew that now, and the burning sun shone through the black cloud again. Water--yes, he had come to get the water, and he began once more to crawl on toward the rope-ladder below the gun, with the boatswain and Rogers hunting him, and nearly as feeble as he, pursuing him with their harsh repet.i.tion of that one word--_water_!

At last close to the edge of the rocky platform with the gun above him on his right, straight before and below him the rope-ladder fixed to a great ma.s.s of rock, and down there the natural pier, with the beautiful clear blue sea flooding it, and looking so calm and tempting. If he could reach that and lie and let the waves flow over him, how pleasant and refres.h.i.+ng it would be! No more pain or suffering, only rest and sleep.

He felt a thrill of horror run through him like a spasm of pain, and he shrank away, for there above the clear water was gliding the triangular back fin of a shark--two--three, and one monster's long, black, rounded muzzle rose up; the creature curved over and dived down under one of its fellows, showing its soft white under-parts, and telling the miserable being on the rock above that it was no peaceful sleep he would find there, but an end of unutterable horror.

That spasm of dread seemed to clear Syd's mind for the moment, as he drew himself back a little just as Strake gripped his shoulder again, and Rogers uttered the one word in a harsh snarl--

"Water!"

For the moment Syd's head was clear, and he knew why he was there. His lips parted to speak, but only a harsh sound came, and the black cloud began to loom over him. But he had the momentary strength which enabled him to fight it back, and raising his left arm he pointed along the ridge of tumbled rocks full of rifts and hollows toward where on the day of the accident he had been struggling back, when Rogers had climbed up to his side.

"Water!" gasped the man, showing his teeth like some savage beast, and his eyes glared wild and bloodshot at his young officer.

Again Syd tried to speak, but only that harsh sound came; and he pointed still at the rugged backbone of the islet which ran from the natural citadel, and descended slowly toward the far end by the sea. The young sailor stared back, then turned his head in the direction pointed, but no answering look of intelligence came. But Syd's finger still pointed, and the man turned his head and stared again.

"Water!" he snarled; "dying--water."

The hand was still extended toward the furrowed ridge with its chaos of tumbled rocks; and after gazing in the direction once more, the man uttered a harsh groan, and crawled to the very edge of the rocky platform, lowered himself over as he clung to the rope-ladder, and would have fallen headlong had not his hands been cramped now so that the fingers were hooked, and he descended half-way before his strength failed, and he fell ten or a dozen feet, rolled over, and struck against one of the two buckets that lay there close up, as the men had left them after dipping for sea-water to bathe with, as they could not venture in.

Rogers lay there for a few minutes half-stunned, and with his brow cut, and bleeding freely. Then he rose to his hands and knees to begin climbing up to the left, while Syd and Strake, with hot staring eyes, watched him as he went up slowly and painfully foot by foot.

What for? Syd found himself thinking. Was it to fight back that black cloud of confusion which would keep coming and going, as now clearly, now as through a mist, he could see the young sailor climb and crawl higher and higher, and further away; now he was behind some great rock, now he was in sight again; now he descended into one of the crevices of the slope which looked red-hot in the glow of the setting sun. Then there came a blank, of how long Syd could not tell, for the black cloud was over him. But his eyes opened wildly again, and he saw that Rogers was somewhere close by the edge of the great rift where he had stood and listened, and then it seemed that the man had fallen, for he disappeared suddenly, and Strake uttered a low harsh groan.

Was it a dream, or was it really the young sailor coming back? He could not tell; he did not even know that the hoa.r.s.e, harsh, rattling sound came from the boatswain who lay by his side; but in an indistinct way he saw the man coming down quickly till he was where the two buckets stood, and he shouted something to him whose sound fell like a blow upon his brain.

All was blank again, and he saw no more till hands were touching him, and he felt himself lifted up till his chest was reaching over the edge of something hard, and directly after there was cold delicious water at his lips, water that he tried to drink, but which only entered by his nostrils, and he gasped and choked, as it seemed suddenly to have turned to boiling lead.

But the water was at his lips again, and this time, though it was almost agony, he drew in one great draught of the cool, sweet fluid, and then felt himself lifted and thrown roughly aside, to lie panting on the rock, and watching, with his senses returning fast, the acts of the man by him, who was bending over Strake, where the boatswain lay staring, and with his black lips apart, apparently dead.

The man was Rogers--he recognised him now--and he saw him dip one hollowed hand into the bucket and let the water he scooped out trickle slowly between the boatswain's parted lips. Then he stopped quickly, and took a quick deep draught himself--a draught which gave him strength to go on trickling more of the fluid between the apparently dead man's lips before turning to Sydney.

"I'll help you, sir," he whispered, faintly. "Drink again."

Hah! Water, delicious cold pure water; a long deep draught that sent life fluttering through Syd's veins once more, and he half lay there, watching as some more water was trickled between the boatswain's lips.

"I spilt--a lot," said Rogers. "More down there."

The power to act came back to Syd with his senses, and he loosened the handkerchief the boatswain wore from about his neck, plunged it into the bucket, and drew it out full of water to hold over Strake's mouth, and let the water drip down as the poor fellow kept on making spasmodic, choking efforts to swallow.

There was an intense desire on Syd's part to drink again, but he could think now, and he pointed up the gap toward the hut, where he knew that his brother officers and the boy lay dying.

"Can you carry this up--to them?" whispered Rogers. "I'll go down and get the rest. There's quarter of a bucketful below here."

Syd nodded.

"I'll try and get it up. Give him some more, and take the rest to my mates."

Syd looked his a.s.sent and tried to get up, but fell down. His second effort was more successful, and he took the bucket, which contained nearly a quart of water, and reeled and staggered up the gap, past the men who lay apparently dead to his right, and then on with his strength returning, and with an intense desire to kneel down and drink the precious fluid to the last drop.

It was a hard fight, but he conquered, and staggered on to where the opening into the hut gaped before him, ruddy in the last rays of the setting sun.

Were the inmates dead, and was he bringing that which would have saved them, too late?

He tottered in and he shuddered as he gazed at their wildly distorted faces. Dallas lay gazing up, and Roylance was on the left, perfectly motionless, but Pan was lying on his back, rolling his head slowly from side to side.

There was a tin pannikin, the one that had held the last drops of the water, on the floor close to the case which had served as a table, and as Syd stooped to reach it, a horrible dizziness seized him, and he nearly fell and scattered the precious burden.

But he saved himself by s.n.a.t.c.hing at the stone wall, and brought down one of the little blocks of which it was composed. Then dipping about a tablespoonful of the water with the pannikin, he let a few drops fall in Roylance's mouth, then in the lieutenant's, and lastly in Pan's, and as the water was absorbed, for neither seemed to have the power to swallow, he repeated this twice, his own powers returning more and more, and bringing that intense desire to drink in a way that was terrible.

But he controlled it successfully, and went on giving a few drops of the precious life, as it were, to each, and setting his heart throbbing and a hysterical feeling rising in his throat, as he found that he was not too late.

He wanted to drink the last drops himself, then he wanted to sit on the floor and weep and sob like a child. Then he felt that he must cry out and yell and kick like a mad creature, and all these desires had to be fought down, so that he could go on now trickling slowly the cold water between the white and blackened lips, over which he pa.s.sed his wet finger from time to time, jealously careful lest a drop should be lost, till the whole quart was gone, and the last drop drained from the bucket into the tin.

"More, more!" panted Syd, as he looked wildly from one to the other of the sufferers, whom he found making spasmodic efforts to swallow, and taking pannikin and bucket, he went feebly out and down the gap to where he had left Rogers and Strake.

The sun had gone down and the short twilight would soon be pa.s.sed. They must get more water before it was too dark.

"No," he thought, "it can never be too dark for that;" and he went on to find Rogers bending over Strake.

"That's the last drop, sir," said the young sailor. "I've give all of it to 'em."

"And will they all live?" faltered Syd.