The Lust of Hate - Guy Newell Boothby (english love story books txt) 📗
- Author: Guy Newell Boothby
- Performer: -
Book online «The Lust of Hate - Guy Newell Boothby (english love story books txt) 📗». Author Guy Newell Boothby
continue in this direction and keep our ears open for the sound of
the surf, there can be no doubt as to our being able to make our way
back to the bay.”
“How thick the fog is,” she continued, “and how quickly it has
come up! It makes me feel more nervous than even the thought of that
ship forsaking us.”
I stared at her in complete surprise. To think of Miss Maybourne,
whom I had always found so cool and collected in moments of danger,
talking of feeling nervous! I rallied her on the subject as I pulled
along, and in a few moments she had forgotten her fear.
While I pulled along I tried to figure out what distance we could
be from the island. When we discovered that the vessel had turned her
back on us I had been rowing for something like half an hour.
At the rate we had been travelling that would have carried us
about a couple of miles from the shore. After we had noticed the
change in her course we had probably pulled another four at most.
That being so, we should now be between five and six miles from
land—two hours’ hard work in my present condition. To add to the
unpleasantness of our position, the fog by this time had completely
enveloped us, and to enable you to judge how dense it was I may say
that I could only just distinguish my companion sitting in the stern
of the boat. Still, however, I pulled on, pausing every now and again
to listen for the noise of the surf breaking on the shore.
The silence was intense; the only sound we could hear was the
tinkling of the water as it dripped off the ends of the oars. There
was something indescribably awful about the utter absence of noise.
It was like the peace which precedes some great calamity. It
stretched the nerves to breaking pitch. Indeed, once when I allowed
myself to think what our fate would be if by any chance we should
miss the island, I had such a shock as almost deprived me of my power
of thinking for some minutes.
For at least an hour and a half I pulled on, keeping her head as
nearly as possible in the same direction, and expecting every moment
to hear the roar of the breakers ahead. The fog still remained as
thick as ever, and each time I paused in my work to listen the same
dead silence greeted me as before. Once more I turned to my work, and
pulled on without stopping for another quarter of an hour. Still no
sound of the kind we hoped to hear came to us. The island seemed as
difficult to find in that fog as the proverbial needle in the bundle
of hay.
The agony of mind I suffered was enough to turn a man’s brain. If
only the fog would lift and let us have a glimpse of where we were,
it would have been a different matter, but no such luck. It continued
as thick as ever, wreathing and circling about us like the smoke from
the infernal regions. At last I drew in my oars and arranged them by
my side. Under the circumstances it was no use wasting what remained
of my strength by useless exertion.
From that time forward—that is to say for at least six hours—we
drifted on and on, the fog remaining as dense as when we had first
encountered it. Throughout that time we kept our ears continually
strained for a sound that might guide us, but always without success.
By this time it must have been considerably past three in the
afternoon, and for all we knew to the contrary we might still be
miles and miles out of our reckoning. All through this agonizing
period, however, Miss Maybourne did not once complain, but bore
herself with a quiet bravery that would have shamed the veriest
coward into at least an affectation of courage. How bitterly I now
reproached myself for having left the island to pursue that vessel I
must leave you to imagine. But for that suicidal act of folly we
might now be on dry land, if not perhaps as luxuriously housed as we
should have liked, at least safer than we were now. The
responsibility for that act of madness rested entirely upon my
shoulders, and the burden of that knowledge was my continual
punishment.
At last I was roused from my bitter thoughts by my companion
exclaiming that she thought the fog was lifting a little in one
particular quarter. I looked in the direction indicated and had to
admit that the atmosphere certainly seemed to be clearer there than
elsewhere. Still, however, there was no noise of breakers to be
heard.
The light in the quarter pointed out by my companion was destined
to be the signal for the fog’s departure, and in less than a quarter
of an hour, starting from the time of our first observing it, the
whole expanse of sea, from horizon to horizon, stood revealed to us.
We sprang to our feet almost simultaneously, and searched the ocean
for the island. But to our horror it was not to be seen. We were
alone on the open sea without either water or food, any real
knowledge of where we were, or without being able to tell from which
quarter we might expect assistance to come. A more dreadful
situation could scarcely be imagined, and when I considered the sex
and weakness of my companion, and reflected what such a fate would
mean for her, I could have cursed myself for the stupidity which had
brought it all about.
For some moments after we had made our terrible discovery, neither
of us spoke. Then our glances met and we read our terror in each
other’s eyes.
“What are we to do? What can we do?” cried Miss Maybourne, running
her eyes round the horizon and then meeting my gaze again.
I shook my head and tried to think before I answered her.
“For the moment I am as powerless as yourself to say,” I replied.
“Even if we could fix the direction, goodness only knows how far we
are from the island. We may be only distant ten miles or so, or we
may be twenty. It must be nearly four o’clock by this time, and in
another four hours at most darkness will be falling; under cover of
the night we may miss it again. On the other hand we cannot exist
here without food or water. Oh, Miss Maybourne, to what straits have
I brought you through my stupidity. If we had stayed on the island
instead of putting off on this fool’s chase you would be safe
now.”
“You must not blame yourself, Mr. Wrexford,” she answered. “Indeed
you must not! It is not just, for I was quite as anxious as yourself
to try and intercept the vessel. That we did not succeed is not our
fault, and in any case I will not let you reproach yourself.”
“Alas! I cannot help it,” I replied. “And your generosity only
makes me do so the more.”
“In that case I shall cease to be generous,” she said. “We will see
how that plan works. Come, come, my friend, let us look our situation
in the face and see what is best to be done. Believe me, I have no
fear. God will protect us in the future as He has done in the
past.”
I looked at the noble girl as she said this, and took heart from
the smile upon her face. If she could be so brave, surely I, who
called myself a man, must not prove myself a coward. I pulled myself
together and prepared to discuss the question as she desired. But it
was the knowledge of our utter helplessness that discounted every
hope. We had no food, we had no water. True, we might pull on; but if
we did, in which direction should we proceed? To go east would be to
find ourselves, if we lived so long—the chances against which were a
thousand to one—on the most unhealthy part of the long coast line of
Africa. To pull west would only be to get further out into mid-ocean,
where, if we were not picked up within forty-eight hours, assistance
would no longer be of any use to us. The Canary Islands, I knew, lay
somewhere, say a hundred miles, to the southward, but we could not
pall that distance without food or water, and even if we had a
favourable breeze, we had no sail to take advantage of it. To make
matters worse, the fishing line and hook I had manufactured for
myself out of my scarf-pin, had been left on the island. Surely any
man or woman might be excused for feeling melancholy under the
pressure of such overwhelming misfortunes.
While we were thus considering our position the sun was sinking
lower and lower to his rest, and would soon be below the horizon
altogether. The sea was still as calm as a millpond, not a breath of
air disturbed its placid surface. We sat just as we had done all day:
Miss Maybourne in the stern, myself amidships. The oars lay on either
side of me, useless as the rudder, the yoke lines had scarcely been
touched since the ship had turned her back on us. When I look back on
that awful time now, every detail of the boat, from the rowlocks to
the grating on the bottom, seems impressed on my memory with a
faithfulness that is almost a pain. I can see Miss Maybourne sitting
motionless in the stern, her elbows on her knees and her face buried
in her hands.
At last to rouse her and take her out of herself, I began to talk.
What I said I cannot recollect, nor can I even recall the subject of
my conversation. I know, however, that I continued to talk and
insisted upon her answering me. In this way we passed the time until
darkness fell and the stars came out. For the past hour I had been
suffering agonies of thirst, and I knew, instinctively, that my
companion must be doing the same. I followed her example and dabbled
my hands in the water alongside. The coolness, however, while proving
infinitely refreshing to my parched skin, only helped to intensify my
desire for something to drink. I searched the heavens in the hope of
discovering a cloud that might bring us rain, but without
success.
“Courage,” said Miss Maybourne again, as she noticed me drop my
head on to my hands in my despair. “As I said just now, we are in
God’s hands; and I feel certain we shall be saved at last.”
As if in mockery of her faith I noticed that her voice had lost
its usually clear ring, and that it was lower than I had ever
hitherto heard it. But there was a note of conviction in it that
showed me how firm her belief was. For my own part I must confess
that I had long since given up all hope. In the face of so many
calamitous circumstances it seemed impossible that we could be saved.
My obvious duty there was to endeavour by every means in my power to
make death as easy as possible for the woman I loved.
In the same tedious fashion hour after hour went by and still we
remained as we were, floating idly upon the bosom of the deep. Twice
I tried to persuade Miss Maybourne to lie down at the bottom of the
boat and attempt to obtain some sleep,
Comments (0)