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And now our troubles began in earnest, for the natives, while willing to help, had not the most hazy idea of what we were aiming to do, nor could we enlighten them, apparently, try as we would. Consequently mistakes were being continually made, and much of the work had to be undone and done over again. But, after nearly three weeks’ hard work we got our keel shaped, scarfed, planed up and erected in place, and I flattered myself that our most formidable difficulty was overcome, particularly since Wilkinson and Dartnell unexpectedly came forward and proffered their services.

The accession of these two seamen made a vast difference to us, both in our rate of progress and in rendering our work less arduous, for we soon discovered that constant association with the natives had enabled them to acquire a better knowledge of the language than either of us others could boast, and they were therefore valuable in the matter of giving directions. The attachment of the sternpost to the keel was a comparatively simple affair; then came the shaping, bolting together, and erection of the frames, and within four months of starting work the skeleton of the craft was complete and we were able to form some idea of what she would look like, while even the natives seemed at last to grasp the notion of our intentions.

Thus far, ever since the beginning of our ambitious enterprise, we had been favoured with glorious weather; but now, about the time when all the timbers were in position and we were attaching the deck beams, there came a day when the sun rose as a mere shapeless ball of light into a sky no longer brilliantly blue, but overspread with a thick veil of haze; the trade-wind failed to blow, and the atmosphere became so suffocatingly close and hot that even the natives were overcome by it and could scarcely be induced to make the slightest exertion. We white men persevered for a time; but at length, when the moment arrived for us to knock off for breakfast, Oldroyd suggested that we should treat ourselves to a day’s holiday, pointing out that it was scarcely worth while to incur the serious risk of sun-stroke for the sake of forwarding the work to the extent of only a few hours, so it was arranged that instead of resuming work we three should pay a visit to the ruins and see how the Doctor and the girls were faring—for now that we were so busily engaged at our shipyard we seldom saw them more often than once a week, namely, on Sundays, when we made a point of spending the day with them.

Accordingly we dismissed our native working party, and set out to walk the seven miles that lay between the scene of our labours and the tower.

Our progress was slow, for even walking threw us into a profuse perspiration, while so dead was the atmosphere that merely to breathe seemed difficult. True, it was all up-hill from the beach to the tunnel through which access was gained to that part of the island outside the boundaries of the Basin, as was also the passage through the tunnel itself, but we consoled ourselves with the assurance that, once in the tunnel, we should find it cooler, as was usually the case. On the present occasion, however, we were disappointed, for inside the tunnel it seemed hotter than in the open air.

Our emergence from the upper end of the tunnel was marked by a blinding flash of lightning, almost instantly succeeded by a deafening crash of thunder, and when we presently recovered sight and hearing we found that during our passage through the tunnel the atmosphere had thickened and darkened to such an extent that it was as dark as our brief, tropical dusk, while a cool—almost cold—wind from the westward had sprung up and was blowing in fitful gusts.

In cool wind we put on speed; but we had not left the tunnel ten minutes when there occurred another terrific flash of lightning, accompanied—not followed, this time—by an explosion of thunder that caused the island to tremble; and before its rumblings ceased down came the rain in cataracts, drenching us to the skin. For a quarter of an hour the lightning, thunder and rain flashed and bellowed and poured with the utmost violence, while the firmament continued to darken so that, tramping through the forest, as we now were, we were only able to make our way with the utmost difficulty. Then, all in a moment, the rain, the wind, and the lightning ceased, and there ensued a breathless pause, unbroken by any sound save that of the patter of water dripping from the trees to the ground, and the gurgling rush of innumerable little runnels formed by the rain. This intense silence continued for perhaps three minutes, when a low whining, moaning sound became audible, rapidly increasing in intensity until, with a weird, shrieking roar the hurricane burst upon the island; and in an instant we were being driven along at a run by the power of the wind, while the air became thick with whirling leaves, twigs and branches torn from the swaying, writhing trees.

“Get under the lee of the biggest tree you can find,” I shouted to my companions; “it is dangerous to remain in the open—”

At this point in my adjuration something smote me a terrific blow on the back of my head and for an instant I was conscious of reeling forward; then my senses left me.

The next thing of which I was conscious was a murmur of voices, which presently began to impress me as being vaguely familiar. Gradually the voices became recognisable as those of Doctor Shirley-Winthrop and his daughter; and I began to understand that they were discussing the condition of someone who had been hurt. Finally I realised that the discussed individual was none other than myself; that the Doctor was advancing with considerable emphasis the assurance that no complications were to be feared, and consequently there was no ground for undue anxiety; and that he was, with equal emphasis, protesting against what I gathered to have been an unreasonably protracted watch at my bedside, on his daughter’s part. He closed the discussion by remarking—

“And now, I’m going to get some hot water to bathe this young man’s broken head, and to re-dress it; after which I shall insist upon your going to bed, young woman. I’m not going to have two patients on my hands if I can help it.”

The words reached my consciousness without at first conveying any definite meaning, as though it were the continuation of a confused dream—which indeed I at first believed it to be, for I was still hovering upon the border line of unconsciousness; so near it, indeed, that I did not for the moment recognise that I was myself the subject under discussion. But as the conversation proceeded recognition gradually came to me and I strove to shake off the lethargy which held me; but the effort was too much, and I lapsed into unconsciousness again.

A painful, smarting sensation at the back of my head, accompanied by a feeling of warmth and wetness, and a gentle patting of some soft material on the seat of my discomfort aroused me from my condition of oblivion, and I opened my eyes, wondering where I was and what had happened to me. The first thing of which I became aware was that it was night, for there was a lamp burning, partially illuminating the more distant portions of the apartment in which I found myself. I was in a sitting position on a bed of some sort, supported by someone against whom I was leaning and who was industriously engaged in bathing my smarting head with warm water from a basin held by Anthea.

As my gaze wandered to her and the light of recognition dawned in my eyes, ’Thea uttered a little cry of delight, and exclaimed—

“Oh, pop, his eyes are open, and I believe he knows me! You do know me, don’t you, Jack?”

“Yes,” I mumbled; “you are Anthea. I’ve been dreaming about you.”

“You have? Oh, Jack, please tell me what your dream was.”

“Certainly not!” came the Doctor’s voice, authoritatively. “He must not be allowed to talk—not yet a while, anyway, excepting to answer my questions. How do you feel, Massey? Am I hurting you?”

“No, thanks,” I answered. “What has happened?”

“An accident, my boy; that’s all,” replied the Doctor. “Nothing serious; just knocked the senses out of you for a time; you will soon be all right again.”

The dressing of my wounded head was rapidly proceeded with, Anthea taking the Doctor’s place and supporting me while her father deftly applied lint and secured it in place with a bandage. Meanwhile I was vainly striving to remember how I had come to be in my present condition, but memory just then refused to respond, and presently I said—

“But, Doctor, I want to know what has happened to me. Please tell me in as few words as you will, but please tell me.”

“You are in competent hands, and that is all that you need know at present. What you have to do is to get well as quickly as possible, and to take your food and medicine like a good boy. And, by the bye, Anthea, speaking of food, I want you to go to Lucy and see if that broth is ready. If it is, bring about a quarter of a pint and give it to him. Then sleep will be the best medicine for him—and for you, too.”

The broth—I learned later—was the first nourishment I had taken since my accident. Feeling strangely weak and exhausted, I sank into a dreamless, refreshing sleep.

* * *

* * *

Chapter Sixteen: A Midnight Scare.

From that moment my progress was rapid, thanks—in part, so I was told—to my vigorous constitution and perfect state of health, but chiefly, I know now, to the skill and care of the Doctor and to the devotion of his daughter.

For three days after my return to consciousness no one was allowed to see me; on the fourth this restriction was removed, and Oldroyd and Mason were admitted for a few minutes. They were delighted to see me again, and to hear of the progress I was making; and they briefly recounted the circumstances of my accident. My memory of everything up to that moment had by this time returned; I distinctly recollected the gale that had sprung up, and the blow upon the back of my head, which I now learned had been inflicted by the fall of a heavy branch torn from a tree by the wind. For the moment my two companions, buffeted by the furious wind, and drenched by the rain, had failed to notice I was no longer with them; but upon discovering my absence they had fought their way back and found me prostrate, bleeding profusely from a wound in the head. To carry me from that point to the ruins—a distance of three miles or more—must have been a task of almost Herculean difficulty to those two devoted men, harassed as they were by the force of the gale; but they managed it somehow, and turned me over to the Doctor. This story Oldroyd and Mason had jointly told me in a somewhat hurried manner, persistently ignoring several attempts on my part to interrupt them, for I was anxious to know how matters were going at the shipyard. It was not until nearly a week later that I was permitted to learn that the hurricane had played havoc down in the Basin, unroofing and at least partially wrecking nearly half the houses in the village, driving the hulk upon the beach almost high and dry, and—worst of all—demolishing our work upon the new cutter so completely that most of it would need to be done again! Had I learnt this a few days earlier, the disappointment of it would have retarded my recovery, but, thanks to the watchfulness of the Doctor and his daughter, the intelligence was not permitted to reach me until I was strong enough to battle with the feeling of depression occasioned by it. Even so, my anxiety to know the worst and to see for myself the extent of the damage done was so great that it was hurriedly arranged I should be carried down to the shipyard upon a stretcher, on the following day; and the stretcher having been knocked together with a piece of canvas firmly nailed to a couple of poles, Oldroyd commandeered a party of natives to bring the contrivance up to the ruins and carry me down to the Basin upon it.

It was a sorry sight that met my gaze when we emerged from the tunnel, and the native village lay before me. The inhabitants had got to work on the morning after the hurricane broke, and much of the minor damage was already repaired, but a great deal still remained to be done, some thirty to forty houses being without roofs, while I counted nine that had been to all intents and purposes demolished.

But it was not until we reached the beach that the catastrophic effect of the hurricane upon the fortunes of us white folk became apparent. The hulk, lying broadside-on to the beach, was almost high and dry; and—worst of all—the framework of our new cutter was reduced to a confused heap of wreckage, much of it so splintered and broken as to be valueless.

To do a second time, what had already been once done was a wearisome task; yet it was not altogether without its advantages, for the collapse of the framework had revealed here and there certain defects, not important enough to merit serious consideration, but quite worth rectifying, now that we had the opportunity, and we rectified them accordingly.

I think we were beginning to slow down a little in our work when we started our building operations for the second time; the climate had got into our blood, infecting us with a disposition to ask ourselves and each other—“What need is there for all this hurry? Let us take things quietly, our work will be of all the better quality it if is not rushed,”—when an event occurred of a sufficiently alarming character not only to dissipate any tendency toward slackness but to spur us to a condition of such concentration and activity as we had never yet manifested since our arrival at the island.

We had reached and passed the point of progress at which we had arrived when the hurricane intervened to destroy all our efforts, and had just begun the operation of planking-up, when, late on a certain night, when we had all retired to our several cells and were fast asleep, we were startled into alarmed wakefulness by loud subterranean rumblings, accompanied by violent earth tremors which set the ruined monastery rocking like a ship riding a ground-swell, while several crashes distinctly heard above the rumbling sounds, apprised us that masonry was falling here and there. With one accord we sprang from our couches and rushed to the ancient refectory, which had now become our common living room.

Glancing round to see whether or not we were all present, my eye encountered Anthea’s, and she instantly rushed up to me and exclaimed—

“Oh, Jack, what is it that is happening?”

“It is an earthquake,” I answered. “We must all get into the open at once. Out there we shall be comparatively safe; in here we are liable to be overwhelmed at any moment. Come!” And, snatching ’Thea by the hand, I made a dash for the door, rushed along the passage, down the steps, and so into the open air, the others following close upon my heels.

Once there, it dawned upon us that the earth tremors had ceased. It was a glorious night; there was not the faintest breath of wind, the moon, nearly at the full, rode high in a sky bare of the smallest shred of cloud, and the only sound audible was the roar of the surf upon the reefs enclosing the two lagoons, which seemed to me to be unusually loud just now. I made a remark to that effect to Oldroyd who was standing near me.