Into the Primitive Part 19

"Then you believe that the situation looks more hopeful, Mr. Blake?"

"Well, we've at least got an extension on our note for a week or two.

But I'm not going to coddle you with a lot of lies, Miss Jenny. There's the fever coming, sure as fate. I may stave it off a while; you and Win, ten to one, will be down in a few days--and not a smell of quinine in our commissary. Then there'll be dysentery and snakes and wild beasts--No; we're not out of the woods yet, not by a--considerable."

"By Jove, Blake," muttered Winthrope, "I must say, you're not very encouraging."

"Didn't say I was trying to be."

"But, Mr. Blake, I am sure papa will offer a large reward when the steamer is reported as lost. There will be ships searching for us--"

"We're not in the British Channel, and I'll bet what few boats do coast along here don't nose about much among these coral reefs."

"I fancy it would do no harm to erect a signal," said Winthrope.

"Only thing that would make a show is Miss Leslie's skirt," replied Blake.

"There is the big leopard skin," persisted Winthrope. To his surprise the engineer took the suggestion under serious consideration.

"Well, I don't know," he said. "If we had a water background, now.

But against the rock and trees,--no; what we want is white. I'll tell you--when Miss Jenny sets to and makes herself a dress of that skin, I'll fly her skirt to the zephyrs."

"Mr. Blake! I really think that is cruel of you!"

"Oh, come now; that's not fair! I wouldn't have said a word, but you said you wanted to help."

"I beg your pardon, Mr. Blake. I--I did not quite understand you. I really do want to help--to do my share--"

"Now you're talking! You see, it's not only a question of the signal, but of clothes. We've got to figure anyway on needing new ones before long. Look at my pants and vest, and Win's too. Inside a month we'll all be in hide--or in hiding. That's a joke, Win, me b'y; see?"

"But in the meantime--" began Miss Leslie.

"In the meantime we're like to miss a chance or two of being picked up, just because we've failed to stick out a signal that'd catch the eye twice as far off as any other color than scarlet. Do you suppose I worked my way up from axeman to engineer, and didn't learn anything about flags?"

"But it is all really too absurd! I do not know the first thing about sewing, and I have neither thread nor needle."

"It's up to you, though, if you want to help. My sisters sewed mighty soon after they learned to toddle. 'Bout time you learned-- There, now; I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. You've made a fair stagger at cooking, and I bet you win out on the dressmaking. For needle you can use one of these long slim thorns--poke a hole, and then slip the thread through, like a shoemaker."

"Ah, yes; but the thread?" put in Winthrope.

"The cocoanut fibre would hardly do," said Miss Leslie, forgetting to dry her eyes.

"No. We could get fairly good fibres out of the palm leaves; but catgut will be a whole lot better. I'll slit up a lot for you, fine enough to sew with. And now, let's get down to tacks. No offence--but did either of you ever learn to do anything useful in all your blessed little lives?"

"Why, Mr. Blake, of course I--"

"Of course what?" demanded Blake, as Miss Leslie hesitated. "We know all about your cooking and sewing. What else?"

"I--I see what you meant. I fear that nothing of what I learned would be of service now."

"Boarding-school rot, eh? And you, Winthrope?"

"If you would kindly name over what you have in mind."

"Um!" grunted Blake. "Well, it's first of all a question of a practical--practical, mind you,--knowledge of metallurgy, ceramics, and how to stick an arrow through a beef roast."

"I--ah--I believe I intimated that I have some knowledge of archery. But I doubt--"

"Cut it out! You'll have enough else to do. Get busy over those bows and arrows, and don't quit till you've got them in shape. Leave my bow good and stiff. I can pull like a mule can kick. Well, Miss Jenny; what is it?"

"Is not--has not ceramics something to do with burning china?"

"Sure!--china, pottery, and all that. Know anything about it?"

"Why, I have a friend who amuses herself by painting china, and I know it has to be burned."

"And that's all!" grunted Blake. "Well, let me tell you. When I was a little kid I used to work in a pottery. All I can remember is that they'd take clay, shape it into a pot, dry it, and bake the thing in a kiln. We've got to work the same game somehow. This kind of eating will mean dysentery in short order. So there's going to be a bean-pot for our stews, or Tom Blake'll know the reason why. Nurse up that ankle of yours, Win. We'll trek it to-morrow--cocoanuts, and maybe something else. There's clay on the far bank of the river, and across from it I saw a streak that looked like brown haemat.i.te."

CHAPTER XII

SURVIVAL OF THE FITTEST

The next four days slipped by almost unheeded. Blake saw to it that not only himself but his companions had work to occupy every hour of daylight. When not engaged in cooking and fuel gathering, Miss Leslie was learning by painful experience the rudiments of dressmaking.

At the start she had all but ruined the beautiful skin of the mother leopard before Blake chanced to see her and took over the task of cutting it into shape for a skirt. But when it came to making a waist of the cub fur, he said that she would have to puzzle out the pattern from her other one. Between cooking three meals a day over an open fire, gathering several armfuls of wood, and making a dress with penknife, thorn, and catgut, the girl had little time to think of other matters than her work.

Winthrope had been gazetted as hunter in ordinary. His task was to keep Miss Leslie supplied with fresh eggs and each day to kill as many of the b.o.o.bies and cormorants as he could skin and split for drying.

Blake had changed his mind about taking him when he went for cocoanuts.

Instead, he had gone alone on several trips, bringing three or four loads of nuts, then a little salt from the seash.o.r.e, dirty but very welcome, and last of all a great lump of clay, wrapped in palm fronds.

With this clay he at once began experiments in the art of pottery. Having mixed and beaten a small quant.i.ty, he moulded it into little cups and bowls, and tried burning them over night in the watch-fire. A few came out without crack or flaw. Vastly elated by this success, he fashioned larger vessels from his clay, and within the week could brag of two pots suitable for cooking stews, and four large nondescript pieces which he called plates. What was more, all had a fairly good sand glaze, for he had been quick to observe a glaze on the bottoms of the first pots, and had reasoned out that it was due to the sand which had adhered while they stood drying in the sun.

He next turned his attention to metallurgy. The first move was to search the river bank for the brown bog iron ore which he believed he had seen from the farther side. After a dangerous and exhausting day's work in the mire and jungle, he came back with nothing more to show for his pains than an armful of creepers. Late in the afternoon, he had located the haemat.i.te, only to find it lying in a streak so thin that he could not hope to collect enough for practical purposes.

"Lucky we've got something to fall back on," he added, after telling of his failure. "Pa.s.s over those keys of yours, Win. Good! Now untangle those creepers. To-night we'll take turns knotting them up into some sort of a rope-ladder. I'm getting mighty weary of hoofing it all around the point every time I trot to the river. After this I'll go down the cliff at that end of the gully."

Winthrope, who had become very irritable and depressed during the last two days, turned on his heel, with the look of a fretful child.

To cover this undiplomatic rudeness, Miss Leslie spoke somewhat hurriedly. "But why should you return again to the river, Mr. Blake?

I'm sure you are risking the fever; and there must be savage beasts in the jungle."

"That's my business," growled Blake. He paused a moment, and added, rather less ungraciously, "Well, if you care, it's this way--I'm going to keep on looking for ore. Give me a little iron ore, and we'll mighty soon have a lot of steel knives and arrow-heads that'll amount to something. How're we going to bag anything worth while with bamboo tips on our arrows? Those boar tusks are a fizzle."

"So you will continue to risk your life for us? I think that is very brave and generous, Mr. Blake!"