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Mother Carey's Chicken: Her Voyage to the Unknown Isle, a fiction by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 24. How Mark Strong Passed A Bad Night |
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_ CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR. HOW MARK STRONG PASSED A BAD NIGHT The sand made a comfortable bed, and Mark had not lain down very close to one end of the little tent before he became aware that he had two companions in the shape of Bruff and Jacko, who just at dusk had come stealing back out of the jungle, and kept close to him and out of Billy Widgeon's reach. Weary as he was, Mark found it a difficult task to go to sleep. Nothing could have been more comfortable than his bed, the soft dry sand fitting in to his shape so as to give rest to his tired muscles, and the pleasantly cool night breeze that floated through the leaves of the tall palms breathed upon his sun-scorched cheeks. Now and then there was the hum of mosquitoes, but they did not molest him; and as he lay listening to the distant boom of the surf and watched the great twinkling stars he now and then nearly lost consciousness, and the tall columns of the cocoa-nut trees took the shape to him of the supports of the old four-post bedstead at home. Then he would start into wakefulness again and listen, fancying that he heard rustling sounds from the jungle inland, and as he raised his head he fully expected to hear the awful roar of the uncouth beast as it came down toward the grove. But all was silent, and he was obliged to confess that it was fancy as he turned over, and with his back to the sea and its murmuring boom as in slow pulsation the billows curved over and broke, he now lay looking inland. The cocoa-nut trees formed quite a narrow belt, so narrow that where he lay he could see between their trunks the starlit sky over the sea on the one side and the darker sky over the mountain a few miles away. The stars shone very brightly here, too, and every now and then there was the nicker of lightning, generally so slight that it was but pale; but now and then there was a flash which seemed as if the sky opened and displayed the shapes of the clouds, and these were like mountains, or might be the mountains themselves as far as he could tell. Still sleep would not come, and he turned again and again till he grew more hot and weary, and began to think at last how delightful it would be to go down to the edge of the sea, undress, and bathe in the cool sparkling water. Very nice, but there were drawbacks. He did not know what strange creatures might be roaming about in search of prey, and he had often read that the lagoons about the tropic islands were infested with sharks. Then he began to think over their future in this strange place, not with any feeling of dread, for there was a delightful novelty in the idea of exploring this unknown island; of building their own houses, making their own gardens, and fishing, hunting, and leading a life of adventure. All this seemed delightful, for he would not be alone. At times he thought of how pleasant it would have been if there were a companion of his own age; but on the whole the prospect was fascinating, and even the sensation of dread did not master the satisfaction. There would be journeys into the interior; the burning mountain to ascend; strange birds, butterflies, and reptiles to discover, and perhaps mines of precious stones and gold. Plenty to see, plenty to find, especially wild fruits, such as were written of in the tropics. Everything with its spice of danger was tempting, till the recollection of that appalling roar came again, and with it a sensation of dampness about his forehead. At last, just as Mark had decided that he would get up and go and join Mr Gregory and Small, to sit and talk to them, he dropped off fast asleep, and started into wakefulness again listening, for he fancied he had heard that appalling roar. All still save the sigh of some sleeper, and once more he lay down hot, weary, and uncomfortable, for sleeping in his clothes seemed to be a horrible mistake. He had never before realised how many buttons he had about him; for, if he lay on one side, a brass button seemed to be thinking that it was a seal, and his ribs were wax. On the other side it was just as bad. If he turned over on his face, as if about to swim in the soft sand, the sensation was horrible from his throat downwards; while, if, in despair, he lay flat on his back, he felt as if a couple of holes were being bored into his waist, working their way on slowly till he told himself he could bear no more. Just then Captain Strong came to the front of the bed, stepping on to his legs, walking right up him, and sitting down upon his chest, telling him he was a disobedient son for not going down into the hold of the ship to dig out the stowaway with the old blue earthenware shell that lay in the tea-caddy at home, a measure which, when filled three times, was considered sufficient for the pot. After that Mrs Strong came and looked at him reproachfully for feeling dissatisfied with his father's proceedings. She told him he had no business to consider the captain heavy, for he had often carried him when a little boy, while now it was his duty to carry his father. The position seemed painful and tiresome to Mark, for the captain was so unreasonable; he kept on scolding him in a gruff voice for not getting up to dig out the stowaway, who by some singular arrangement was deep down in the hold below the packages of cargo, and at the same time standing at the foot of the bed with a handkerchief tied round his head, looking wistfully at him, as if appealing to him to come and use the caddy-spoon, and yet the captain would not get up. It was a terrible trouble to Mark, for his reason told him that his father's conduct in sitting upon him was absurd and bad for his chest, and yet all the while he felt that his father must know best. But then there was the little brittle caddy-spoon. He wanted to think it was correct; but his reason told him it was absurd to attempt to dig up a man with such a pitiful tool. If his father would only have got off his chest and reasoned with him he would not have cared; but here he was, a big heavy man, squatted just upon the top button of his waistcoat, his legs drawn up, his knees at his chin, and his face staring right into Mark's. It was no wonder that the lad felt in a perspiration, and was ready to reproach his mother for not assisting him in what was minute by minute growing a more painful position; but Mrs Strong did not stir; the captain kept up in constant repetition his scolding apostrophe, and the stowaway looked more dismal than ever. Mark tried to change his position a little so as to get ease, for the heels of the captain's boots were very hard, but to move was impossible, try how he would. He wanted to speak, but the words would not come; the oppression on his chest grew more terrible; and at last, unable to bear it any longer, he took hold of his father's thick, short, curly whiskers with both hands as he tried to thrust him away. For response the captain uttered a low deep remonstrant growl, and Mark awoke, to find himself on his back holding Bruff's coat in his hands, and the dog protesting, for he found Mark's chest a comfortable place. Jack had agreed with him, and the pair were cuddled up together in a sort of knot which rolled off on to the sand as the lad threw himself upon his side. Mark lay panting and hot for some time, and then once more oblivion came over him, this time with no painful nightmare full of absurdities, but a deep heavy dreamless sleep, from which he started up in horror with that appalling roar ringing in his ears and dying away in the distance. This was no delusion, for Bruff was standing beside him whining and shivering with terror, the monkey was grovelling in the sand, and all around there were eager voices inquiring: "What was that?" _ |
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