Mother Carey's Chicken Part 53

But the heat--oh, the heat!"

"And you couldn't crawl out?"

"No, sir; couldn't move--couldn't raise a hand; and I lay there till I couldn't bear it no longer, and tried to shriek out to the Malay chaps to come and put me out of my misery, for I wanted to die then; and I'd waited too long, for I couldn't even make a sound."

"And what happened next?" asked Mark, for the man had ceased speaking.

"Dunno, sir. One moment it was all fiery and scorching, the next I seemed to go to sleep like, and didn't feel any more pain till I woke."

"Till you woke?" said the major.

"Well, yes, sir. It was like waking up, to find it was all dark, and the wind blowing, and the rain coming down. Then the sea was roaring horribly; and after lying perished with cold there and helpless for a long time, I suppose I went to sleep again. Oh, dear me!"

The major and Mark exchanged glances, for the poor fellow put his hand to his head and stared about him for a few moments as if unconscious of their presence.

"But you got safe to land?" said Mark at last.

"Eh?"

"I say you escaped," said Mark.

"Did I, sir?"

"Yes, of course. You are here."

"Oh, yes--I'm here, sir! but I don't know hardly how it was."

"Can't you recollect?"

"Yes, I think I can, sir, only my head's so tight just now. I think this handkerchief I tied round when it bled does it, but I'm afraid to take it off."

"Wait a bit and we'll do that," said the major kindly.

"Will you, sir? Thank ye, sir."

"But how did you get ash.o.r.e?" said Mark.

"In the ship, sir. I suppose the rain and the waves must have put out the fire, and what's left of her went b.u.mping over rocks and knocking about, making my head ache horribly till I went to sleep again; and when I woke it was all bright and fine, and the half-burned ship close to the sands in shallow water, so as when the tide's down you can walk ash.o.r.e."

"The ship here?"

"Yes; round there, sir," said the poor fellow wearily. "There's some half-burned biscuit in her, and I've been living on that and some kind of fruit I found in the woods when I could get ash.o.r.e. I brought this thing for a walking-stick."

"Then the ship is ash.o.r.e here?" cried the major joyfully.

"Yes, sir; but she's not good for anything but firewood," said the stowaway sadly.

"Ah! we shall see about that," said the major. "I'm glad you've escaped, my lad."

"And has everybody else, sir?" said the man.

"No, not everybody," said Mark; "but my father and the ladies and the officers are safe."

"Don't say as Billy Widgeon isn't saved, sir," cried the man piteously.

"No, because he is," replied Mark.

"That's a comfort," said the stowaway.

"Look here, my man," said the major, "how far is it to the ship?"

"I don't know, sir. I'd come a long way when I heard guns, and walked on till I saw you; and I thought I should have dropped when I lost sight of you again."

"Ah, you're very weak," said the major.

"'Taint only that, sir; for it's enough to frighten a man to death or send him mad to be all alone here in a place like this."

"Why, it's a very beautiful place, Jimpny."

"Yes, sir, to look at; but as soon as you go into the woods to find fruit there's things flies at you, and every now and then in the night there's a great bull roaring thing that makes a horrid noise."

"Indeed!" said the major, exchanging glances with Mark.

"Yes; something dreadful, sir."

"Ah, well! we needn't talk about that now," said the major. "We will not go on to the ship, but get back to camp--eh, Mark?"

"Yes, sir: the news will be glorious," cried Mark.

"And what are you going to do?" said the major drily. "Go back to the ship?"

"Go back to the ship, sir!" cried the stowaway wildly. "No, no, sir!

Pray don't leave me alone! I can't bear it, sir--I can't indeed--it's too awful! Mr Mark, sir, don't let him leave me! Say a kind word for me! I'd sooner lie down and die at once!"

He flung himself upon his knees, the spear falling beside him on the sand, as he joined his hands together and the weak tears began to stream down his cheeks.

"Get up!" said the major roughly, "and act like a man. Don't be such a whimpering cur!"

"No, sir, please, sir, I won't, sir; but I'm very weak and ill, sir.

Take me with you, please, sir, and I'll do anything you like, sir."

"Why, you ought to be ashamed of yourself," said the major sharply, "for thinking that two English gentlemen would be such brutes as to leave a sick and wounded man alone in a place like this. Eh, Mark?"

"Yes, sir," said the lad, flushing at being called an English gentleman.

"But he is very weak and ill."

"That's it, sir--that's it," cried the man piteously. "You will take me, then?"

"Of course. Come along," said the major. "Confound that monkey!"