White Fire Part 44

There came a roaring from the sea the like of which was never heard before. A mighty wall of water came rushing on the land to overwhelm it. It leaped high over the ridge of rocks that lay like a protecting arm round the nearer curve of the lagoon. The jets of it went rocketting up to heaven, and the mighty ridged crest bristled like an avalanche.

Blair sprang upright instinctively, to face the danger standing, and dug his fingers deep into the cracks of the rocks in front of him.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Blair sprang upright instinctively.]

The great wave broke on the solid earth with the crash of an earthquake. It was half-way up the hillside, and the opposite hill was suddenly shortened, and stood in the open sea. The valley was a boiling waterway of hideous and inexpressible confusion.

"It is the end of the world," gasped Aunt Jannet, and sank down, and looked no more.

"My G.o.d! My G.o.d!" groaned Cathie.

"G.o.d help us all!" said Blair, and the rain whipped his face till it seemed as hard and set as the neighbouring rocks.

They spent the night there in extremest misery, sodden through and through, chilled to the bone, faint with hunger. Even Kenni-Kenni was damp, though two protecting bodies did their best to shelter him. And all night long the only sounds in their ears were the hiss and rush and roar of many waters, as the terrible sea went back to its deeps, and the clouds discharged their ceaseless torrents, and the troubled land got rid of its torment.

And over and above the weariness of their bodies, their hearts were sick within them at thought of the destruction of all their work and all their hopes. For whether a soul besides themselves was left alive they knew not.

CHAPTER x.x.x

WIPED OUT

Jean and Aunt Jannet were dozing fitfully, fairly spent with the strain and misery of it all. Cathie's grey beard was on his chest, but whether he slept Blair could not tell.

He himself sat on his rock, chilled to the marrow of his bones, and watched with heavy eyes the slow birth of new life after the deadly horrors of the night. And his heart was as cold as his body.

He wrestled manfully with that which was in him, but surely man's faith and courage were rarely put to sorer test. He had striven so hard, and toiled so ceaselessly, at utmost stretch of hand and heart and brain, and here, just as the harvest was ripening, it was all dashed into nothing, as though by the stroke of an angry hand. Oh, it was hard, hard, hard!

But he fought out his fight singlehanded, and found himself--where steadfast faith and undaunted courage have always firm footing. And a spark of hope struggled up in him to meet the sun. The beginnings of things had always had a charm for him. And here must be a new beginning. They were back at first principles and the elementary facts of life. But, truly, there is a mighty difference between a beginning and a beginning again, and it calls for the best that is in a man to begin again with the heart with which he began before.

The rain ceased towards morning, the wind slackened, and when the sun rose behind the hills the western sky shone opalescent, and the sea below it was a cold, dark blue. The rollers were still of mighty size, but the reef was spouting foam again, and the lagoon was heaving within its usual bounds.

But everything else was changed--everything except the bare ridge on which they crouched.

The village--gone as though wiped with a sponge off a slate. The mission-houses, schools, church--not a plank left. And somewhere below the smiling face of the lagoon lay all that was left of the ships and the men who had been in them.

Not all below, after all, for from his perch he could see the beach strewn with fragments, human and otherwise. Right below him on the hillside, John MacNeil's waterwheel turned busily in fruitless labour, and its bare nakedness and useless fussiness added to the sense of desolation and discomfort.

Then the sun topped the hills, and cheered their chilled senses somewhat. Blair and Cathie straightened themselves wearily, but neither dared as yet look into the other's face, lest he should find there only confirmation of his own worst fears.

Kenni-Kenni, who had fared better than any of them, and was conscious of nothing more than bodily discomfort, gave a hungry cry which woke response in Cathie's breast.

"Let us go down," he said. "Maybe we'll find something to eat," and the two men scrambled down to the level, and walked over the soft mud where the houses had stood, and searched with anxious eyes for something that might stay their more pressing necessities.

Blair turned up towards the valley. Cathie, with more prescience, sought the beach, and presently a shout from him brought the two together again. When they met, the captain was carrying the body of a drowned kid under one arm, and a bundle of wood under the other.

"Here's breakfast," he said, and did not think it well to mention that he had found the kid lying between the bodies of two dead men, one brown, the other white.

The matches in their metal cases were all damp, but a few minutes'

exposure to the sun put that right, and they soon had fire, and kid steaks grilling over it on pointed sticks. Then they helped the ladies down and were presently eating, though, in spite of their hunger, each one of them felt like choking at every mouthful. And there was no talk among them, for they were sitting on the grave of their hopes.

More than once Jean stopped feeding her boy and glanced questioningly at the men, and then, as they ate stolidly, weighted with their thoughts, she went on with her work.

It was only when they had all quite finished, and sat as though dreading what might come next, that she said--

"Are we all that are left, Ken? I thought I heard a cry just now."

"Did you, dear? It is possible. There must surely be others. We will go and see," and he and Cathie went off again towards the beach.

"How's it up the valley?" asked the captain briefly.

"Drowned out."

The beach was a pitiful sight. Every step spoke of the catastrophe.

Bodies uncountable, white and brown, men, women, and children, pigs and goats, broken coco-nuts, bruised fruit, wreckage from the ships and plantations and houses.

"By G.o.d! Mr. Blair, I cannot understand it," broke out Cathie in a paroxysm, as he stood over the bodies of two of his men from the _Torch_. "What had we done to deserve this?"

"Cathie, Cathie! Come to your senses, man! This is no punishment of G.o.d's. Rather let us be thankful we are still alive."

"I'd almost as lieve be dead," said Cathie stubbornly. "Ships gone, men gone, everything gone, and all our work undone. Say what you will, Mr. Blair, it's bitter hard."

"These," said Blair, raising his hands reverently over the dead at their feet, "have gone home--beyond the reach of storms. The ships can be replaced. If there are any people left, the work can be rebuilt.

If they are all gone, they are the better off, and they have gone further than if we had never come here."

"It's bitter hard, all the same----"

And then a faint, m.u.f.fled cry reached them, apparently from the ragged hillside whose debris lay all over the beach, and they both ran towards it.

The cries were repeated, and led them at last to an out-jutting rock round which the sliding earth had flowed and settled.

"Where are you?" cried Blair.

"Here!" came from under their feet, and they spied a small hole in the earth, and set to work at once to enlarge it with their hands.

Cathie ran down to the beach and came back with some pieces of wood which made the work go quicker. The cries from the inside had ceased, and they worked the harder, and at last they had the hole large enough for Blair to get his head and shoulders in.

With his hand he felt the body of a man fallen in a heap, and by great exertions managed to drag it out through the hole.

It was the body of Captain Pym, white and senseless. They carried him down to the beach and dashed water in his face, and presently he came to, and lay for a minute looking dazedly up at them. Then he sat up.

"I apologise," he said, with an attempt at cheerfulness. "Been dead and buried all night--thought of coming to life again bowled me out.

Saw you in the distance, and shouted and shouted--like being in a coffin--just room to stand, but couldn't move, and been holding up that hill all night. My G.o.d!" as it all came back on him. "What a horror it has been! Are you the only ones left?"

"I hope not," said Blair. "Can you walk? We've got a fire over there and something to eat."

"Bit shaky yet," said Pym, as he staggered along on their arms. "Never expected to walk again in this life."