Winsome Winnie and other New Nonsense Novels — Broken Barriers; or, Red Love on a Blue Island
V BROKEN BARRIERS
OR, RED LOVE ON A BLUE ISLAND
(_The kind of thing that has replaced the good Old Sea Story_) _V.
--Broken Barriers; or, Red Love on a Blue Island.
_ It was on a bright August afternoon that I stepped on board the steamer _Patagonia_ at Southampton outward bound for the West Indies and the Port of New Orleans.
I had at the time no presentiment of disaster.
I remember remarking to the ship's purser, as my things were being carried to my state-room, that I had never in all my travels entered upon any voyage with so little premonition of accident.
"Very good, Mr. Borus," he answered.
"You will find your state-room in the starboard aisle on the right."
I
distinctly recall remarking to the Captain that I had never, in any of my numerous seafarings, seen the sea of a more limpid blue.
He agreed with me so entirely, as I recollect it, that he did not even trouble to answer.
Had anyone told me on that bright summer afternoon that our ship would within a week be wrecked among the Dry Tortugas, I should have laughed.
Had anyone informed me that I should find myself alone on a raft in the Caribbean Sea, I should have gone into hysterics.
We had hardly entered the waters of the Caribbean when a storm of unprecedented violence broke upon us.
Even the Captain had never, so he said, seen anything to compare with it.
For two days and nights we encountered and endured the full fury of the sea.
Our soup plates were secured with racks and covered with lids.
In the smoking-room our glasses had to be set in brackets, and as our steward came and went, we were from moment to moment in imminent danger of seeing him washed overboard.
On the third morning just after daybreak the ship collided with something, probably either a floating rock or one of the dry Tortugas.
She blew out her four funnels, the bowsprit dropped out of its place, and the propeller came right off.
The Captain, after a brief consultation, decided to abandon her.
The boats were lowered, and, the sea being now quite calm, the passengers were emptied into them.
By what accident I was left behind I cannot tell.
I had been talking to the second mate and telling him of a rather similar experience of mine in the China Sea, and holding him by the coat as I did so, when quite suddenly he took me by the shoulders, and rushing me into the deserted smoking-room said, "Sit there, Mr. Borus, till I come back for you."
The fellow spoke in such a menacing way that I thought it wiser to comply.
When I came out they were all gone.
By good fortune I found one of the ship's rafts still lying on the deck.
I gathered together such articles as might be of use and contrived, though how I do not know, to launch it into the sea.
On my second morning on my raft I was sitting quietly polishing my boots and talking to myself when I became aware of an object floating in the sea close beside the raft.
Judge of my feelings when I realized it to be the inanimate body of a girl.
Hastily finishing my boots and stopping talking to myself, I made shift as best I could to draw the unhappy girl towards me with a hook.
After several ineffectual attempts I at last managed to obtain a hold of the girl's clothing and drew her on to the raft.
She was still unconscious.
The heavy lifebelt round her person must (so I divined) have kept her afloat after the wreck.
Her clothes were sodden, so I reasoned, with the sea-water.
On a handkerchief which was still sticking into the belt of her dress, I could see letters embroidered.
Realizing that this was no time for hesitation, and that the girl's life might depend on my reading her name, I plucked it forth.
It was Edith Croyden.
As vigorously as I could I now set to work to rub her hands.
My idea was (partly) to restore her circulation.
I next removed her boots, which were now rendered useless, as I argued, by the sea-water, and began to rub her feet.
I was just considering what to remove next, when the girl opened her eyes.
"Stop rubbing my feet," she said.
"Miss Croyden," I said, "you mistake me."
I rose, with a sense of pique which I did not trouble to conceal, and walked to the other end of the raft.
I turned my back upon the girl and stood looking out upon the leaden waters of the Caribbean Sea.
The ocean was now calm.
There was nothing in sight.
I was still searching the horizon when I heard a soft footstep on the raft behind me, and a light hand was laid upon my shoulder.
"Forgive me," said the girl's voice.
I turned about.
Miss Croyden was standing behind me.
She had, so I argued, removed her stockings and was standing in her bare feet.
There is something, I am free to confess, about a woman in her bare feet which hits me where I live.
With instinctive feminine taste the girl had twined a piece of seaweed in her hair.
Seaweed, as a rule, gets me every time.
But I checked myself.
"Miss Croyden," I said, "there is nothing to forgive."
At the mention of her name the girl blushed for a moment and seemed about to say something, but stopped.
"Where are we?"
she queried presently.
"I don't know," I answered, as cheerily as I could, "but I am going to find out."
"How brave you are!"
Miss Croyden exclaimed.
"Not at all," I said, putting as much heartiness into my voice as I was able to.
The girl watched my preparations with interest.
With the aid of a bent pin hoisted on a long pole I had no difficulty in ascertaining our latitude.
"Miss Croydon," I said, "I am now about to ascertain our longitude.
To do this I must lower myself down into the sea.
Pray do not be alarmed or anxious.
I shall soon be back."
With the help of a long line I lowered myself deep down into the sea until I was enabled to ascertain, approximately at any rate, our longitude.
A fierce thrill went through me at the thought that this longitude was our longitude, hers and mine.
On the way up, hand over hand, I observed a long shark looking at me.
Realizing that the fellow if voracious might prove dangerous, I lost but little time--indeed, I may say I lost absolutely no time--in coming up the rope.
The girl was waiting for me.
"Oh, I am so glad you have come back," she exclaimed, clasping her hands.
"It was nothing," I said, wiping the water from my ears, and speaking as melodiously as I could.
"Have you found our whereabouts?"
she asked.
"Yes," I answered.
"Our latitude is normal, but our longitude is, I fear, at least three degrees out of the plumb.
I am afraid, Miss Croyden," I added, speaking as mournfully as I knew how, "that you must reconcile your mind to spending a few days with me on this raft."
"Is it as bad as that?"
she murmured, her eyes upon the sea.
In the long day that followed, I busied myself as much as I could with my work upon the raft, so as to leave the girl as far as possible to herself.
It was, so I argued, absolutely necessary to let her feel that she was safe in my keeping.
Otherwise she might jump off the raft and I should lose her.
I sorted out my various cans and tins, tested the oil in my chronometer, arranged in neat order my various ropes and apparatus, and got my frying-pan into readiness for any emergency.
Of food we had for the present no lack.
With the approach of night I realized that it was necessary to make arrangements for the girl's comfort.
With the aid of a couple of upright poles I stretched a grey blanket across the raft so as to make a complete partition.
"Miss Croyden," I said, "this end of the raft is yours.
Here you may sleep in peace."
"How kind you are," the girl murmured.
"You will be quite safe from interference," I added.
"I give you my word that I will not obtrude upon you in any way."
"How chivalrous you are," she said.
"Not at all," I answered, as musically as I could.
"Understand me, I am now putting my head over this partition for the last time.
If there is anything you want, say so now."
"Nothing," she answered.
"There is a candle and matches beside you.
If there is anything that you want in the night, call me instantly.
Remember, at any hour I shall be here.
I promise it."
"Good night," she murmured.
In a few minutes her soft regular breathing told me that she was asleep.
I went forward and seated myself in a tar-bucket, with my head against the mast, to get what sleep I could.
But for some time--why, I do not know--sleep would not come.
The image of Edith Croyden filled my mind.
In vain I told myself that she was a stranger to me: that--beyond her longitude--I knew nothing of her.
In some strange way this girl had seized hold of me and dominated my senses.
The night was very calm and still, with great stars in a velvet sky.
In the darkness I could hear the water lapping the edge of the raft.
I remained thus in deep thought, sinking further and further into the tar-bucket.
By the time I reached the bottom of it I realized that I was in love with Edith Croyden.
Then the thought of my wife occurred to me and perplexed me.
Our unhappy marriage had taken place three years before.
We brought to one another youth, wealth and position.
Yet our marriage was a failure.
My wife--for what reason I cannot guess--seemed to find my society irksome.
In vain I tried to interest her with narratives of my travels.
They seemed--in some way that I could not divine--to fatigue her.
"Leave me for a little, Harold," she would say (I forgot to mention that my name is Harold Borus), "I have a pain in my neck."
At her own suggestion I had taken a trip around the world.
On my return she urged me to go round again.
I was going round for the third time when the wrecking of the steamer had interrupted my trip.
On my own part, too, I am free to confess that my wife's attitude had aroused in me a sense of pique, not to say injustice.
I am not in any way a vain man.
Yet her attitude wounded me.
I would no sooner begin, "When I was in the Himalayas hunting the humpo or humped buffalo," than she would interrupt and say, "Oh, Harold, would you mind going down to the billiard-room and seeing if I left my cigarettes under the billiard-table?"
When I returned, she was gone.
By agreement we had arranged for a divorce.
On my completion of my third voyage we were to meet in New Orleans.
Clara was to go there on a separate ship, giving me the choice of oceans.
Had I met Edith Croyden three months later I should have been a man free to woo and win her.
As it was I was bound.
I must put a clasp of iron on my feelings.
I must wear a mask.
Cheerful, helpful, and full of narrative, I must yet let fall no word of love to this defenceless girl.
After a great struggle I rose at last from the tar-bucket, feeling, if not a brighter, at least a cleaner man.
Dawn was already breaking.
I looked about me.
As the sudden beams of the tropic sun illumined the placid sea, I saw immediately before me, only a hundred yards away, an island.
A sandy beach sloped back to a rocky eminence, broken with scrub and jungle.
I could see a little stream leaping among the rocks.
With eager haste I paddled the raft close to the shore till it ground in about ten inches of water.
I leaped into the water.
With the aid of a stout line, I soon made the raft fast to a rock.
Then as I turned I saw that Miss Croyden was standing upon the raft, fully dressed, and gazing at me.
The morning sunlight played in her hair, and her deep blue eyes were as soft as the Caribbean Sea itself.
"Don't attempt to wade ashore, Miss Croyden," I cried in agitation.
"Pray do nothing rash.
The waters are simply infested with bacilli."
"But how can I get ashore?"
she asked, with a smile which showed all, or nearly all, of her pearl-like teeth.
"Miss Croyden," I said, "there is only one way.
I must carry you."
In another moment I had walked back to the raft and lifted her as tenderly and reverently as if she had been my sister--indeed more so--in my arms.
Her weight seemed nothing.
When I get a girl like that in my arms I simply don't feel it.
Just for one moment as I clasped her thus in my arms, a fierce thrill ran through me.
But I let it run.
When I had carried her well up the sand close to the little stream, I set her down.
To my surprise, she sank down in a limp heap.
The girl had fainted.
I knew that it was no time for hesitation.
Running to the stream, I filled my hat with water and dashed it in her face.
Then I took up a handful of mud and threw it at her with all my force.
After that I beat her with my hat.
At length she opened her eyes and sat up.
"I must have fainted," she said, with a little shiver.
"I am cold.
Oh, if we could only have a fire."
"I will do my best to make one, Miss Croyden," I replied, speaking as gymnastically as I could.
"I will see what I can do with two dry sticks."
"With dry sticks?"
queried the girl.
"Can you light a fire with that?
How wonderful you are!"
"I have often seen it done," I replied thoughtfully; "when I was hunting the humpo, or humped buffalo, in the Himalayas, it was our usual method."
"Have you really hunted the humpo?"
she asked, her eyes large with interest.
"I have indeed," I said, "but you must rest; later on I will tell you about it."
"I wish you could tell me now," she said with a little moan.
Meantime I had managed to select from the driftwood on the beach two sticks that seemed absolutely dry.
Placing them carefully together, in Indian fashion, I then struck a match and found no difficulty in setting them on fire.
In a few moments the girl was warming herself beside a generous fire.
Together we breakfasted upon the beach beside the fire, discussing our plans like comrades.
Our meal over, I rose.
"I will leave you here a little," I said, "while I explore."
With no great difficulty I made my way through the scrub and climbed the eminence of tumbled rocks that shut in the view.
On my return Miss Croyden was still seated by the fire, her head in her hands.
"Miss Croyden," I said, "we are on an island."
"Is it inhabited?"
she asked.
"Once, perhaps, but not now.
It is one of the many keys of the West Indies.
Here, in old buccaneering days, the pirates landed and careened their ships."
"How did they do that?"
she asked, fascinated.
"I am not sure," I answered.
"I think with white-wash.
At any rate, they gave them a good careening.
But since then these solitudes are only the home of the sea-gull, the sea-mew, and the albatross."
The girl shuddered.
"How lonely!"
she said.
"Lonely or not," I said with a laugh (luckily I can speak with a laugh when I want to), "I must get to work."
I set myself to work to haul up and arrange our effects.
With a few stones I made a rude table and seats.
I took care to laugh and sing as much as possible while at my work.
The close of the day found me still busy with my labours.
"Miss Croyden," I said, "I must now arrange a place for you to sleep."
With the aid of four stakes driven deeply into the ground and with blankets strung upon them, I managed to fashion a sort of rude tent, roofless, but otherwise quite sheltered.
"Miss Croyden," I said when all was done, "go in there."
Then, with little straps which I had fastened to the blankets, I buckled her in reverently.
"Good night, Miss Croyden," I said.
"But you," she exclaimed, "where will you sleep?"
"Oh, I?"
I answered, speaking as exuberantly as I could, "I shall do very well on the ground.
But be sure to call me at the slightest sound."
Then I went out and lay down in a patch of cactus plants.
I need not dwell in detail upon the busy and arduous days that followed our landing upon the island.
I had much to do.
Each morning I took our latitude and longitude.
By this I then set my watch, cooked porridge, and picked flowers till Miss Croyden appeared.
With every day the girl came forth from her habitation as a new surprise in her radiant beauty.
One morning she had bound a cluster of wild arbutus about her brow.
Another day she had twisted a band of convolvulus around her waist.
On a third she had wound herself up in a mat of bulrushes.
With her bare feet and wild bulrushes all around her, she looked as a cave woman might have looked, her eyes radiant with the Caribbean dawn.
My whole frame thrilled at the sight of her.
At times it was all I could do not to tear the bulrushes off her and beat her with the heads of them.
But I schooled myself to restraint, and handed her a rock to sit upon, and passed her her porridge on the end of a shovel with the calm politeness of a friend.
Our breakfast over, my more serious labours of the day began.
I busied myself with hauling rocks or boulders along the sand to build us a house against the rainy season.
With some tackle from the raft I had made myself a set of harness, by means of which I hitched myself to a boulder.
By getting Miss Croyden to beat me over the back with a stick, I found that I made fair progress.
But even as I worked thus for our common comfort, my mind was fiercely filled with the thought of Edith Croyden.
I knew that if once the barriers broke everything would be swept away.
Heaven alone knows the effort that it cost me.
At times nothing but the sternest resolution could hold my fierce impulses in check.
Once I came upon the girl writing in the sand with a stick.
I looked to see what she had written.
I read my own name "Harold."
With a wild cry I leapt into the sea and dived to the bottom of it.
When I came up I was calmer.
Edith came towards me; all dripping as I was, she placed her hands upon my shoulders.
"How grand you are!"
she said.
"I am," I answered; then I added, "Miss Croyden, for Heaven's sake don't touch me on the ear.
I
can't stand it."
I turned from her and looked out over the sea.
Presently I heard something like a groan behind me.
The girl had thrown herself on the sand and was coiled up in a hoop.
"Miss Croyden," I said, "for God's sake don't coil up in a hoop."
I rushed to the beach and rubbed gravel on my face.
With such activities, alternated with wild bursts of restraint, our life on the island passed as rapidly as in a dream.
Had I not taken care to notch the days upon a stick and then cover the stick with tar, I could not have known the passage of the time.
The wearing out of our clothing had threatened a serious difficulty.
But by good fortune I had seen a large black and white goat wandering among the rocks and had chased it to a standstill.
From its skin, leaving the fur still on, Edith had fashioned us clothes.
Our boots we had replaced with alligator hide.
I
had, by a lucky chance, found an alligator upon the beach, and attaching a string to the fellow's neck I had led him to our camp.
I had then poisoned the fellow with tinned salmon and removed his hide.
Our costume was now brought into harmony with our surroundings.
For myself, garbed in goatskin with the hair outside, with alligator sandals on my feet and with whiskers at least six inches long, I have no doubt that I resembled the beau ideal of a cave man.
With the open-air life a new agility seemed to have come into my limbs.
With a single leap in my alligator sandals I was enabled to spring into a coco-nut tree.
As for Edith Croyden, I can only say that as she stood beside me on the beach in her suit of black goatskin (she had chosen the black spots) there were times when I felt like seizing her in the frenzy of my passion and hurling her into the sea.
Fur always acts on me just like that.
It was at the opening of the fifth week of our life upon the island that a new and more surprising turn was given to our adventure.
It arose out of a certain curiosity, harmless enough, on Edith Croyden's part.
"Mr. Borus," she said one morning, "I should like so much to see the rest of our island.
Can we?"
"Alas, Miss Croyden," I said, "I fear that there is but little to see.
Our island, so far as I can judge, is merely one of the uninhabited keys of the West Indies.
It is nothing but rock and sand and scrub.
There is no life upon it.
I fear," I added, speaking as jauntily as I could, "that unless we are taken off it we are destined to stay on it."
"Still I should like to see it," she persisted.
"Come on, then," I answered, "if you are good for a climb we can take a look over the ridge of rocks where I went up on the first day."
We made our way across the sand of the beach, among the rocks and through the close matted scrub, beyond which an eminence of rugged boulders shut out the further view.
Making our way to the top of this we obtained a wide look over the sea.
The island stretched away to a considerable distance to the eastward, widening as it went, the complete view of it being shut off by similar and higher ridges of rock.
But it was the nearer view, the foreground, that at once arrested our attention.
Edith seized my arm.
"Look, oh, look!"
she said.
Down just below us on the right hand was a similar beach to the one that we had left.
A rude hut had been erected on it and various articles lay strewn about.
Seated on a rock with their backs towards us were a man and a woman.
The man was dressed in goatskins, and his whiskers, so I inferred from what I could see of them from the side, were at least as exuberant as mine.
The woman was in white fur with a fillet of seaweed round her head.
They were sitting close together as if in earnest colloquy.
