The Lust of Hate by Guy Newell Boothby (digital book reader txt) 📕

if we

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,