Complete Works of Wilkie Collins (1785 page)

At ten, they put off; only one boat putting off at a time; another following in five minutes; both then lying on their oars until another followed.  Ahead of all, paddling his own outlandish little canoe without a sound, went the Sambo pilot, to take them safely outside the reef.  No light was shown but once, and that was in the commanding officer’s own hand.  I lighted the dark lantern for him, and he took it from me when he embarked.  They had blue lights and such like with them, but kept themselves as dark as Murder.

The expedition got away with wonderful quietness, and Christian George King soon came back dancing with joy.

“Yup, So-Jeer,” says he to myself in a very objectionable kind of convulsions, “Christian George King sar berry glad.  Pirates all be blown a-pieces.  Yup!  Yup!”

My reply to that cannibal was, “However glad you may be, hold your noise, and don’t dance jigs and slap your knees about it, for I can’t abear to see you do it.”

I was on duty then; we twelve who were left being divided into four watches of three each, three hours’ spell.  I was relieved at twelve.  A little before that time, I had challenged, and Miss Maryon and Mrs. Belltott had come in.

“Good Davis,” says Miss Maryon, “what is the matter?  Where is my brother?”

I told her what was the matter, and where her brother was.

“O Heaven help him!” says she, clasping her hands and looking up — she was close in front of me, and she looked most lovely to be sure; “he is not sufficiently recovered, not strong enough for such strife!”

“If you had seen him, miss,” I told her, “as I saw him when he volunteered, you would have known that his spirit is strong enough for any strife.  It will bear his body, miss, to wherever duty calls him.  It will always bear him to an honourable life, or a brave death.”

“Heaven bless you!” says she, touching my arm.  “I know it.  Heaven bless you!”

Mrs. Belltott surprised me by trembling and saying nothing.  They were still standing looking towards the sea and listening, after the relief had come round.  It continuing very dark, I asked to be allowed to take them back.  Miss Maryon thanked me, and she put her arm in mine, and I did take them back.  I have now got to make a confession that will appear singular.  After I had left them, I laid myself down on my face on the beach, and cried for the first time since I had frightened birds as a boy at Snorridge Bottom, to think what a poor, ignorant, low-placed, private soldier I was.

It was only for half a minute or so.  A man can’t at all times be quite master of himself, and it was only for half a minute or so.  Then I up and went to my hut, and turned into my hammock, and fell asleep with wet eyelashes, and a sore, sore heart.  Just as I had often done when I was a child, and had been worse used than usual.

I slept (as a child under those circumstances might) very sound, and yet very sore at heart all through my sleep.  I was awoke by the words, “He is a determined man.”  I had sprung out of my hammock, and had seized my firelock, and was standing on the ground, saying the words myself.  “He is a determined man.”  But, the curiosity of my state was, that I seemed to be repeating them after somebody, and to have been wonderfully startled by hearing them.

As soon as I came to myself, I went out of the hut, and away to where the guard was.  Charker challenged:

“Who goes there?”

“A friend.”

“Not Gill?” says he, as he shouldered his piece.

“Gill,” says I.

“Why, what the deuce do you do out of your hammock?” says he.

“Too hot for sleep,” says I; “is all right?”

“Right!” says Charker, “yes, yes; all’s right enough here; what should be wrong here?  It’s the boats that we want to know of.  Except for fire-flies twinkling about, and the lonesome splashes of great creatures as they drop into the water, there’s nothing going on here to ease a man’s mind from the boats.”

The moon was above the sea, and had risen, I should say, some half-an-hour.  As Charker spoke, with his face towards the sea, I, looking landward, suddenly laid my right hand on his breast, and said, “Don’t move.  Don’t turn.  Don’t raise your voice!  You never saw a Maltese face here?”

“No.  What do you mean?” he asks, staring at me.

“Nor yet, an English face, with one eye and a patch across the nose?”

“No.  What ails you?  What do you mean?”

I had seen both, looking at us round the stem of a cocoa-nut tree, where the moon struck them.  I had seen that Sambo Pilot, with one hand laid on the stem of the tree, drawing them back into the heavy shadow.  I had seen their naked cutlasses twinkle and shine, like bits of the moonshine in the water that had got blown ashore among the trees by the light wind.  I had seen it all, in a moment.  And I saw in a moment (as any man would), that the signalled move of the pirates on the mainland was a plot and a feint; that the leak had been made to disable the sloop; that the boats had been tempted away, to leave the Island unprotected; that the pirates had landed by some secreted way at the back; and that Christian George King was a double-dyed traitor, and a most infernal villain.

I considered, still all in one and the same moment, that Charker was a brave man, but not quick with his head; and that Sergeant Drooce, with a much better head, was close by.  All I said to Charker was, “I am afraid we are betrayed.  Turn your back full to the moonlight on the sea, and cover the stem of the cocoa-nut tree which will then be right before you, at the height of a man’s heart.  Are you right?”

“I am right,” says Charker, turning instantly, and falling into the position with a nerve of iron; “and right ain’t left.  Is it, Gill?”

A few seconds brought me to Sergeant Drooce’s hut.  He was fast asleep, and being a heavy sleeper, I had to lay my hand upon him to rouse him.  The instant I touched him he came rolling out of his hammock, and upon me like a tiger.  And a tiger he was, except that he knew what he was up to, in his utmost heat, as well as any man.

I had to struggle with him pretty hard to bring him to his senses, panting all the while (for he gave me a breather), “Sergeant, I am Gill Davis!  Treachery!  Pirates on the Island!”

The last words brought him round, and he took his hands of.  “I have seen two of them within this minute,” said I.  And so I told him what I had told Harry Charker.

His soldierly, though tyrannical, head was clear in an instant.  He didn’t waste one word, even of surprise.  “Order the guard,” says he, “to draw off quietly into the Fort.”  (They called the enclosure I have before mentioned, the Fort, though it was not much of that.)  “Then get you to the Fort as quick as you can, rouse up every soul there, and fasten the gate.  I will bring in all those who are at the Signal Hill.  If we are surrounded before we can join you, you must make a sally and cut us out if you can.  The word among our men is, ‘Women and children!’”

He burst away, like fire going before the wind over dry reeds.  He roused up the seven men who were off duty, and had them bursting away with him, before they know they were not asleep.  I reported orders to Charker, and ran to the Fort, as I have never run at any other time in all my life: no, not even in a dream.

The gate was not fast, and had no good fastening: only a double wooden bar, a poor chain, and a bad lock.  Those, I secured as well as they could be secured in a few seconds by one pair of hands, and so ran to that part of the building where Miss Maryon lived.  I called to her loudly by her name until she answered.  I then called loudly all the names I knew — Mrs. Macey (Miss Maryon’s married sister), Mr. Macey, Mrs. Venning, Mr. and Mrs. Fisher, even Mr. and Mrs. Pordage.  Then I called out, “All you gentlemen here, get up and defend the place!  We are caught in a trap.  Pirates have landed.  We are attacked!”

At the terrible word “Pirates!” — for, those villains had done such deeds in those seas as never can be told in writing, and can scarcely be so much as thought of — cries and screams rose up from every part of the place.  Quickly lights moved about from window to window, and the cries moved about with them, and men, women, and children came flying down into the square.  I remarked to myself, even then, what a number of things I seemed to see at once.  I noticed Mrs. Macey coming towards me, carrying all her three children together.  I noticed Mr. Pordage in the greatest terror, in vain trying to get on his Diplomatic coat; and Mr. Kitten respectfully tying his pocket-handkerchief over Mrs. Pordage’s nightcap.  I noticed Mrs. Belltott run out screaming, and shrink upon the ground near me, and cover her face in her hands, and lie all of a bundle, shivering.  But, what I noticed with the greatest pleasure was, the determined eyes with which those men of the Mine that I had thought fine gentlemen, came round me with what arms they had: to the full as cool and resolute as I could be, for my life — ay, and for my soul, too, into the bargain!

The chief person being Mr. Macey, I told him how the three men of the guard would be at the gate directly, if they were not already there, and how Sergeant Drooce and the other seven were gone to bring in the outlying part of the people of Silver-Store.  I next urged him, for the love of all who were dear to him, to trust no Sambo, and, above all, if he could got any good chance at Christian George King, not to lose it, but to put him out of the world.

“I will follow your advice to the letter, Davis,” says he; “what next?”

My answer was, “I think, sir, I would recommend you next, to order down such heavy furniture and lumber as can be moved, and make a barricade within the gate.”

“That’s good again,” says he: “will you see it done?”

“I’ll willingly help to do it,” says I, “unless or until my superior, Sergeant Drooce, gives me other orders.”

He shook me by the hand, and having told off some of his companions to help me, bestirred himself to look to the arms and ammunition.  A proper quick, brave, steady, ready gentleman!

One of their three little children was deaf and dumb, Miss Maryon had been from the first with all the children, soothing them, and dressing them (poor little things, they had been brought out of their beds), and making them believe that it was a game of play, so that some of them were now even laughing.  I had been working hard with the others at the barricade, and had got up a pretty good breastwork within the gate.  Drooce and the seven men had come back, bringing in the people from the Signal Hill, and had worked along with us: but, I had not so much as spoken a word to Drooce, nor had Drooce so much as spoken a word to me, for we were both too busy.  The breastwork was now finished, and I found Miss Maryon at my side, with a child in her arms.  Her dark hair was fastened round her head with a band.  She had a quantity of it, and it looked even richer and more precious, put up hastily out of her way, than I had seen it look when it was carefully arranged.  She was very pale, but extraordinarily quiet and still.

“Dear good Davis,” said she, “I have been waiting to speak one word to you.”

I turned to her directly.  If I had received a musket-ball in the heart, and she had stood there, I almost believe I should have turned to her before I dropped.

“This pretty little creature,” said she, kissing the child in her arms, who was playing with her hair and trying to pull it down, “cannot hear what we say — can hear nothing.  I trust you so much, and have such great confidence in you, that I want you to make me a promise.”

“What is it, Miss?”

“That if we are defeated, and you are absolutely sure of my being taken, you will kill me.”

“I shall not be alive to do it, Miss.  I shall have died in your defence before it comes to that.  They must step across my body to lay a hand on you.”

“But, if you are alive, you brave soldier.”  How she looked at me!  “And if you cannot save me from the Pirates, living, you will save me, dead.  Tell me so.”

Well!  I told her I would do that at the last, if all else failed.  She took my hand — my rough, coarse hand — and put it to her lips.  She put it to the child’s lips, and the child kissed it.  I believe I had the strength of half a dozen men in me, from that moment, until the fight was over.

All this time, Mr. Commissioner Pordage had been wanting to make a Proclamation to the Pirates to lay down their arms and go away; and everybody had been hustling him about and tumbling over him, while he was calling for pen and ink to write it with.  Mrs. Pordage, too, had some curious ideas about the British respectability of her nightcap (which had as many frills to it, growing in layers one inside another, as if it was a white vegetable of the artichoke sort), and she wouldn’t take the nightcap off, and would be angry when it got crushed by the other ladies who were handing things about, and, in short, she gave as much trouble as her husband did.  But, as we were now forming for the defence of the place, they were both poked out of the way with no ceremony.  The children and ladies were got into the little trench which surrounded the silver-house (we were afraid of leaving them in any of the light buildings, lest they should be set on fire), and we made the best disposition we could.  There was a pretty good store, in point of amount, of tolerable swords and cutlasses.  Those were issued.  There were, also, perhaps a score or so of spare muskets.  Those were brought out.  To my astonishment, little Mrs. Fisher that I had taken for a doll and a baby, was not only very active in that service, but volunteered to load the spare arms.