The Beach of Dreams: A Romance

  CHAPTER XXIII

  RAFT

  It took him three days to bring her back safe to life. It poured withrain during those three days but he managed to light little fires in oneof the caves with seal blubber and routing out the things in her cave hefound everything she had so carefully salved, the cups and plates, thetin of coffee, half empty now--everything, even to the tobacco the menhad taken from the cache, he found Bompard's tinder-box and the Swedishmatch box belonging to La Touche. He had given the woman life and shehad given him tobacco and sometimes, sitting in the adjoining cave andsmoking between nursing times, he would bring his big fist down on histhigh, just that.

  Here was a woman starving to death and dying of thirst with food enoughfor a ship's company at her elbow. And the tobacco! Where was theexplanation? She was able to speak a little now. She had spoken at firstin French, which he could not understand, then she spoke in English asgood as his; another mystery. A woman all gone to pieces that spoke twotongues and was different somehow from any woman he had ever known.

  Then the things she had said: "Who are you? I am not dreaming this? Areyou really, really, truly--Oh, _don't_ leave me." Crazy talk like that.And it was always "Oh, don't leave me." Then he would lay his pipe downcarefully on the sand of the cave and pass through the sheeting rain tohave a look at her. Sometimes she would have dozed off and he could getback to his pipe, sometimes she was awake and then he would have to sitdown beside her and hold her hand and stroke it or play with her fingersjust as one plays with the fingers of a child. At these moments he wastransformed, he was no longer a man, he was a mother, and the hand thatcould break down the resistance of a bellying sail was the hand of achild. He no longer thought of her as the "poor woman," an infant issexless, so did she seem, or so would she have seemed had he thought ofthe matter. He didn't. As a matter of fact thought was not his strongsuit in the game of life. He was a man from the world of Things. Thatwas why, perhaps, he made such a good sick nurse. He did not fuss, nortalk, his touch was firm, firm as his determination to "get food intoher" and his hand, big as a ham, was delicate because it was the hand ofa perfect steersman. It was used to handling women in the form of threethousand ton ships, coaxing them, humouring them--up to a point.

  He fed her now from one of the tin cups. Every two hours of the day,unless she was asleep, half a cupful of food went into her whether sheliked it or not; "hot stuff," for though the firewood was done he foundthat the blubber alone was the best fuel in the world.

  On the second day she was able to raise herself up, and once when hecame in he found that she had been moving about the cave and that shehad rearranged the blanket that did for a pillow.

  Then on the morning when the blessed sun shone she was able to come outand sit on a patch of sand with one of the blankets for a rug.

  She looked old and worn, but no longer terrible, and as she sat with herthin hands folded in her lap watching the great sea bulls and the cows,as if contemplating them for the first time, the man who had helped herout and placed her there was at a loss--she was a sight to inspire pityin a savage. He took his seat beside her on a piece of rock and rollingsome tobacco in his hand stuffed his pipe.

  "You're all right now," said he.

  She nodded her head and smiled.

  "Yes," she said, "this is good."

  "Lucky I came along," he said, "wouldn't have seen you only an old tinhit my eye."

  He put the pipe in his pocket, got up, went to the cave where he did thecooking and came back with a cup half full of coffee and half a biscuit.

  "Dip it in," said he.

  She did as she was bid. It was the first time he had given her coffeeand the stimulant brought a flush to her cheeks and cheered her heartso that she began to talk.

  "There are more biscuits in a place down the beach," she said, "and downthere," she nodded to the left, "there are a lot of things hidden undera heap of stones. It's beyond the river on the left."

  Then the empty cup began to shake in her hand and he took it from her.

  "You're not over strong yet," said he, "but you'll be better in a bitwith this sun. Y'aren't afraid of the sea cows, are you?"

  She shook her head.

  "Thought you wouldn't be," said he, "there's no harm in them. Well, I'llbe moving about. I'll go and have a look down the beach and see what'sto be found."

  He hung for a moment with the cup in his hand shading his eyes andlooking seaward, then he turned towards the cave to put the cup back.

  "What is your name?" she said, suddenly, bringing him to a halt.

  "Raft," said he.

  "Raft," she repeated the name several times in a low voice as ifcommitting it to memory or turning it over in her mind.

  "How long might you have been here?" he asked, standing in a doubtfulmanner, as though debating in his mind the wisdom of allowing her tostrain her strength answering questions.

  "I don't know," said she, "a long while. I was wrecked with two men froma yacht. The _Gaston de Paris_. We came here in a boat. They are bothdead."

  At the name _Gaston de Paris_ Raft nodded his head. Already a suspicionthat she might be one of the yacht's crowd had come into his mind, sothe news came scarcely as a surprise.

  "It was us you hit," said he, "I'm one of the chaps from the oldhooker."

  "The _Albatross_?"

  "That's her."

  She said nothing for a moment, looking away over at the islands. Shecould see the name, still, written as if on the night. Then sheremembered the boat sail she had seen when adrift with Bompard and LaTouche.

  "There were four of us got off," said he, "we struck them islands overthere and put in but there was nothing but rocks in that part. Next daywe put out, but got blown down the coast; we got smashed landing; allbut a chap named Ponting and me went under, but one chap's body was hoveup and we stripped him. I've got his boots and his knife in that bundleover there in the cave, and Ponting's. We saved a bag of bread."

  He took his seat again on the rock and, placing the cup beside him, tookthe pipe from his pocket, but he did not light it. He held it, rubbingthe bowl reflectively. He seemed to have come to an end of his story.

  "Did the other man die?" she asked.

  "He went getting gulls' eggs one day," said Raft, "and slipped over thecliff. They're big, the cliffs, down there. I found him all broke up onthe rocks. He didn't live more than a minute when I got to him and I hadto leave him; the tide was coming up."

  "Poor man," said she.

  He rose up and, taking the cup, stood for a moment again lookingseaward.

  "Well, I'll be off down the beach," said he, "you won't be frightened tobe here by yourself?"

  "No," she replied, "but don't go very far."

  "I'll keep in sight," said Raft.

  He put the cup in the cave and off he went whilst she sat watching him;everything, life itself, seemed centred in him. A terrible feeling cameover her at moments that he might vanish, that, looking away for amoment and turning again she might find him gone and nothing but thebeach and the gulls.

  Beyond the river he turned and saw her watching him and waved his handas if to reassure her. She waved in reply and then sat watching till hereached the figure-head and stood to examine it.

  He seemed very small from here. She saw him standing and looking inland,he had seen the cache, no doubt, and he would want to go to it; if hedid that he would disappear from sight. But he did not go to it, he kepton always in view, exploring the rocks and the sands and stopping nowand then as if to look back.

  It seemed to her that he could read her mind and feel her terror ofbeing left alone. Then her mind went back over the last few days.

  She had been very near death. She had drunk the last of the water in thetin and had been too feeble to go for more. What had brought her to thatpass? It seemed to her that the rocks, the sea and the sky had slowlysucked her vitality away from her till at last she could not eat, couldnot walk, could not think. All that time her mind had never thought ofloneliness, t
he thing that was killing her had veiled itself by numbingher brain and weakening her body. But near death her mind had clearedand the great grief of desolation stood before her. Then God-sent, aform had pushed the grief aside and a hand had taken her lonely hand anda finger had moistened her lips. But it was the knowledge that the handwas a real hand that gave her the first lead back to life.

  Then the last three days. The feeling of extreme helplessness andsickness and the knowledge that she was watched over and cared for andthought for--there was no word to express what all that meant. It turnedthe great rough figure to a spirit, great and tender and benign.

  He was coming along back now carrying something he had picked up amongstthe rocks. It was a crab.

  A great satisfactory two pound crab bound up in kelp ribbon so craftilythat it could neither bite nor escape. He put it on the sand for her tolook at before taking it off to boil.

  The sun was hot and as he stood whilst she admired his prize: "Don't youfeel the sun to your head?" asked he.

  "No," she replied, "I like it. I had a hat--a sou'wester but it's in acave away down the beach. There's a dead man there."

  "A dead man?" said Raft.

  "Yes. I killed him."

  "Killed him?"

  "It was partly accident. He was one of the sailors. He was a bad man.The other sailor got lost and never came back and I was left alone withthis man. He nearly frightened me to death."

  "Swab," said Raft.

  "Then one night he crawled into my cave in the dark and I struck outwith the knife and it killed him--he's lying there now. I didn't mean tokill him, but he frightened me."

  "Swab," said Raft, two tones deeper. Then he laughed as if to himself."Well, that's a go," said he. He took a pull at his beard as hecontemplated this slayer of men seated on her blankets at his feet. Sheglanced up and saw that he was laughing and a wan smile came around hereyes, it seemed to him like a glimmer of sunshine from inside of her.Then bending down he pulled up the blanket that had slipped from herleft shoulder and settled it in its place.

  "I'll tell you all about it some time," said she, "when I feelstronger."

  "Ay, ay," said Raft. Then he went off with the crab to boil it.

  As he attended to this business in the cave, half-sitting, half-kneelingbefore the little fire, he chuckled to himself now and then, and now andthen he would bring his great hand down on his thigh with a slap.

  The idea of her killing a man seemed to him the height of humour. Hedidn't put much store on men's lives in general, and none at all on thelife of an unknown swab who deserved his gruel. Then he was of the typethat admires a fighting thing much more than a peaceful and placidthing, and he felt the pleasure of a man who has rescued a seeminglyweak and inoffensive creature only to find that it has pluck and teethof its own.

  She had gone up a lot in his estimation. Besides, her feebleness andforlorn condition had wounded him in a great soft part of his naturewhere the hurt felt queer. This new knowledge somehow eased the hurt. Hecould think of her now apart from her condition and think more kindly ofher, for the strange fact remains that the very weakness and forlornnessthat had wakened his boundless compassion had antagonized him. When hehad found the crab the idea had come to him that here was some differentsort of food to "put into her;" he was thinking that same thought nowbut with more enthusiasm. Yes, she had gone up a lot in his estimation.