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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 37. How Mark Sought The Clue |
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_ CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN. HOW MARK SOUGHT THE CLUE Were you ever lost? Most probably not; and hence you will hardly be able to realise the strange sensation of loneliness, helplessness, and despair which comes over the spirit as the traveller finds that he missed his way and is probably beyond the reach of help in some wilderness, where he knows that he may go on tramping wearily until he lies down and dies. Mark Strong's case was not so bad, but he felt it painfully for many reasons. Among others there was the knowledge that he had utterly forgotten the injunction given to him to take care and not go too far; while another was the dread that though they had been nominally searching all day for the strange beast that had caused so much alarm, and seen nothing, now that he and his companion were helpless they might possibly stumble upon its cave. "Oh, Billy, what have we been doing?" he cried impatiently. "Well, Mr Mark, sir, I don't know as we've been doing o' hanything pertickler." "But we've lost our way." "Well, yes, sir, I s'pose we've lost that there; but it don't much matter--do it?" "Matter!--of course!" cried Mark angrily; and, as if born by nature to lead, he at once took the command and gave his orders. "Now, you climb to the top of that rock and see if you can make out the course we ought to take; and I'll climb that one yonder." "All right, Mr Mark, sir!" cried the little sailor, starting off. "And mind, we come back to this spot directly." "Right, sir! we will." "Then, off!" Mark slowly and painfully scaled the side of a steep sloped ravine, and when he reached the top, with the perspiration running down his cheeks, he looked round, to see trees, rocks, and the beautiful cone of the volcano. That was something; and he reasoned that if he turned his back to the mountain and walked straight down and onward, though he would not be able to join his party he would reach the shore. But no sooner had he arrived at this comforting assurance that he would have nothing to fear from starvation than all his hopes were dashed to the ground, as he realised the fact that, as soon as he descended from the giddy height at which he stood, he would lose sight of the mountain and have no guide; while to go straight on among the mighty moss-covered rocks, which were pitched helter-skelter all over the place, was as impossible as to go through the jungle without a gang of men with bill-hooks to hack a way among the dense undergrowth. Right, left, and before him he could see nothing that would suggest his having passed along there; and with his heart sinking he slowly climbed down part of the way, then reached a mossy stone which gave way beneath his feet and fell, while he followed, slipping down twenty feet, rolling another twenty; dropping sometimes into a thorny tangle of brambles, and dragging himself out, tattered, bleeding, and terribly out of temper, to walk slowly back to the spot from whence he and Billy Widgeon had started. "How thirsty I am!" he said to himself; and then he listened. All was horribly silent, and he called in a startled way, to be answered by a faint "Ahoy!" "This way, Billy!" There was again silence as Mark threw himself wearily on a mass of ferns; but after a time the rustling of boughs and breaking of twigs could be heard, and at last from apparently a long way off came Billy's voice again: "Mr Mark, ahoy!" "Ahoy! This way!" Another pause, with the rustling of leaves and twigs continued, and Billy's voice again: "Ahoy, my lad! Where are you?" "Here!" There was a low muttering as if Billy were talking to himself, and then another shout. "Here!" cried Mark again wearily. "Oh, there you are--are you?" cried the little sailor, struggling at last to his side. "I thought I was never going to get back. More you tries to find your way, more you loses it. I never see such a mess in my life! Why don't they keep a gardener?" Wretched as he was, hot, weary, and smarting and stinging from scratches and pricks, Mark could not help laughing at the little sailor's irritable manner. "Ah, you may laugh, my lad, a-lying all so comfortable there! but if you'd had such a slip as I did off a rock, and came down sitting on a thorn as big as a marlin'-spike, you wouldn't show your white teeth like that!" "But I did, Billy," cried Mark, going off into a wild roar of laughter; "and I'm horribly pricked and torn. But never mind that. Did you find the way back to them?" "Find your way back to 'em?--no. I never see such a muddle as the place is in. Every bit's like every other bit; and when you mark down one tree, meaning to come back to it, and do come back to it, why it's another tree just like the one you thought it was. I say, Mr Mark, sir, this place aren't 'chanted--is it?" "Enchanted!--no. Why?" "I d'know, only it's very queer like and puzzling. I can't make it out a bit." "Why, how do you mean?" "Mean as you can't seem to box the compass like, and don't know which way to steer, sir. I feels as if I should give it up." "Give it up! What nonsense! Let's rest a few minutes and start again." "Oh, I don't mind resting, sir; but I don't want to have to sleep out here. Why, we've got nothing to eat, and no lights, and--no, I sha'n't sit down, Mr Mark, sir. I don't want to disobey orders, but seems to me as we'd better get back to what you called Gutta-percha Road." "Now, look here, Billy, how can you be so stupid?" cried Mark pettishly. "You know I want to get back; but which way are we to go?" "Tell you what, sir, let's cooey," cried Billy, giving his leg a slap. "That's the proper thing to do when you're out in the woods." "Well, cooey, then," said Mark. "Go on." "No, sir; you'd better do it," said Billy modestly. "I aren't practysed it much." "Never mind; go on." "I'd a deal rather you would, Mr Mark, sir." "But I can't. I never did such a thing in my life." "Well, if it comes to that, sir, more didn't I." "And you said you hadn't practised much." "Well, sir, I haven't," said Billy coolly. "Billy, you're a sham," said Mark angrily. "All right, sir! I don't mind." "You get one into a muddle like this, and then are no use at all." "No, sir. That's about it," said Billy coolly, and all the time as serious as a judge. "I wish we'd got Jack here!" "What's the good of him?--to send up the trees after cocoa-nuts?" "Now, now, now, Mr Mark, sir, don't be hard on a fellow! I did think as he'd send some down; and I believe now as he wouldn't because I give him a cuff o' the head that morning for sucking the end o' my hankychy." "Here, come along, and let's keep together." "All right, sir!" "Let's get up to the top of that rock first. I think that's where we came down." "Nay, nay, Mr Mark, sir. I'm sure as that wasn't the way. It was up that one." "I'm certain it was not, Billy. It was this. Come along." "All right, Mr Mark, sir! If you says that's right, it's quite enough for me. I'll go anywheres you likes to lead; and I can't say fairer than that--can I?" "No, Billy," said Mark; "so come along." He led the way, and they climbed by the help of the bushes and aerial roots of the trees right to the top of the rugged bank of rock he had marked down in his mind's eye as being the way; and as soon as they were there they stopped and listened. "Perhaps they're looking for us," he said. "Shouldn't wonder, Mr Mark, sir." But though they listened there was no shout, no distant sound to suggest that a search was being made. "You talk about Jack," said Mark; "I wish we had got poor old Bruff here! He would find the way home." "But you see, Mr Mark, sir, it aren't no use to wish. Lawk a me! sir, the number o' things I've wished for in my life--'bacco, knives, a silver watch, silk hankychies, lots o' things, but I never got 'em." "Never mind them now. Let's shout." "With a will, then, sir, and put your back into it. One, two, three, and ahoy!" The peculiar duet rang out over the trees--a loud and piercing cry--and as it died away, Billy caught at Mark's arm, and gripped it tightly; his eyes staring wildly, with the pupils dilating, as from some little distance off on one side there came a mocking "Ha--ha--ha!" and from the other direction a peculiar hoarse barking croak, which can best be expressed by the word "Wauck!" "Let's get away from here, Mr Mark, sir," whispered Billy. "I don't like this." "Get away?" "Yes, sir; they're a-making fun of us." "Who are?" "Oh, I don't know who they are, sir, but it's something. Let's get away, sir, fast as we can." "Which way?" "I d'know, sir, anyways as aren't near them." "Why, it was a couple of birds of some kind." "What! them snorky bill birds?" said Billy, alluding to the hornbills. "Yes, I expect it was one of them, or a kingfisher." "Birds!" said Billy in tones of disgust. "I never heerd no bird laugh at you when you was in trouble. I'm thinking as there's things in this here place as it wouldn't be nice to meet." "I daresay there are, Billy; but these were birds." "Birds! Hark at him! Would a bird shout to you to walk?" "It didn't. It was a sort of croak." "If we stops here I shall feel as if I'm going to croak, Mr Mark, sir. Why, them things made me feel cold all down my back." "Nonsense! Come, shout again!" Billy shook his head. "Shout, I tell you. We don't want to stop here all night." "No, Mr Mark, sir; don't, please don't. It's like showing 'em exactly where we are." "Well, that's what we want to do." "No, sir, I don't mean them. I mean _them_." "What! the birds?" "Them warn't birds, Mr Mark, sir," said Billy in a solemn whisper. "Don't you believe it." "What were they, then?" "Things as lives in woods, and never shows theirselves till people lies down and dies, and then they eats 'em." "What do you mean? Vultures?" "No, no; not them. I know what a wultur is. These is different things to them. Let's get away, sir, do." "What do you mean, then?" persisted Mark. "Do you think there are goblins in the wood?" "Something o' that sort, sir, but don't speak out loud. They might hear, and not like it." "But goblins out here wouldn't understand English," said Mark laughing; but all the same it was rather a forced laugh, for the little sailor's evident dread was infectious. "I wouldn't laugh if I was you, Mr Mark, sir. Come along." "Shout," cried Mark, ashamed of the shadow of cowardice which had begun to envelop him, and he gave forth a loud "Ahoy!" Ha--ha--ha! Wauck! The same two responses, but decidedly closer; and as Billy gripped the lad's arm again they heard from out of the darkest part of the jungle close by a peculiar chuckling, as if some one were thoroughly enjoying their predicament. "Did yer hear that?" whispered Billy, whose sun-tanned visage was now quite pallid and mottled with muddy grey. "Yes, I heard it, of course," said Mark, fighting hard with his growing alarm, "Ahoy!" Ha--ha--ha! Wauck! And then the same peculiar low chuckle. "Mr Mark, sir, this is hard on a man," whispered Billy. "I want to run away, sir, but--" "Ugh! You coward!" "No, sir, I aren't a coward. If I was I should run, but I can't run and leave you alone, and that's why it's so hard." "I tell you it's the birds, Billy. Let's shout together." "That aren't no birds, sir. It's things as it's best not to talk about. Now, look ye here, Mr Mark, sir: I'll run away with you, and fight for you, or do anything you like, sir, or I stands by you till I drops, so don't say I'm a coward." "You are, to be afraid of birds. Ahoy!" Ha--ha--ha! Wauck! Chuckle--chuckle--chuckle! A regular gurgle in a hoarse throat. "I won't stand it. You come on," cried Billy, seizing Mark by the hand. "This way." Mark did not resist, and the little sailor hurried him along as fast as the nature of the ground would allow; and with the full intention of going right towards where they had left the others, at the end of the bitumen river, he went right in the opposite direction, and farther and farther into the wildest recesses of the jungle. _ |
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