A DESPERATE ADVENTURE

Heroism is a plant of strange growth. It springs up suddenly, mysteriously, in unexpected places. A simple peasant girl, tending her flocks, hears a Voice; and she becomes a warrior, a leader of men, the saviour of her country. A maidservant, after a day of scrubbing floors and washing dishes, is darning stockings in the kitchen when she smells fire, rushes into the bedroom where the children are asleep, and carries them one by one through the flames into safety, at the cost of her own life.

Such opportunities fall to few. The most of us trudge a very unheroic journey through life. The road may be dusty, with ups and downs, dangerous corners and wearisome hills; but we plod along, keeping pretty closely to the highway, and taking great care at the crossings.

It is only the odd one here and there who, by what we call the accident of circ.u.mstance, or by some compelling adventurousness of spirit, strays into the golden fields of romance, and is transformed into the shining semblance of a hero.

Yet the capacity for heroism may be latent under many a sober coat or homely ap.r.o.n. The town girl who shudders at a cow, the country girl who trembles at the looming of a motor omnibus, may show under the stress of some high emotion, at the call of some great emergency, qualities that match her with Joan of Arc or Alice Ayres.

Elizabeth Westmacott's life had been very simple and uneventful. She had had nothing more difficult to cope with than the ordinary crosses and perplexities of the daily round at the farm. She had never come face to face with mortal peril, or felt any stern demand upon her courage and endurance. But as she returned along the tunnel with her sister a great resolution shaped itself within her mind. A white man was in danger of his life; she would at least try to save him.

She was very quiet when she rejoined the little party in the pit. It was Tommy who, quivering with excitement, related to Mary what she had seen. The younger girls deplored the hapless condition of the old missionary; they wished he could be saved, but they felt the vanity of wishing. Elizabeth sat in silence, thinking hard.

"I must go up and get a breath of air," she said at last.

"I'll come too," said Tommy.

"No, dear, not yet; I want to be alone."

There was something in her tone that set her sister wondering.

"You'll be careful, Bess?" said Mary.

"Yes, I must be careful," was the reply.

Elizabeth climbed up the ladder. She was gone some time; her return was announced by a slight rustling thud upon the ground; something had been thrown into the pit.

"What is that?" asked Tommy. "Are you all right, Bess?"

"Quite right," said Elizabeth as she descended. "It is only a lot of creepers. We are going to make another ladder."

"Another! We don't want another."

"The first isn't long enough or the right sort. I am going to release the poor missionary."

The girls were for the moment speechless with amazement. Then Tommy said--

"You are mad, Bess; it is impossible. Don't talk such absolute rubbish."

"It isn't rubbish, dear. The savages are asleep. We can let down a rope ladder. I will climb down and cut his bonds. He will be safe if we get him into the tunnel."

"Oh, how insane you are! We shan't let you do any such thing."

"You are bound to wake them, Bess," said Mary; "you know how lightly savages sleep. They are just like dogs, and wake at a whisper."

"Not when they have fuddled themselves. I _must_ do it, girls. I can't bear to leave the poor old man to his fate without trying to help him. It is possible, and you must help me."

Protest, entreaty, expostulation, were alike vain. Even when Tommy, with an air of triumph, exclaimed, "The hole isn't big enough for you to squeeze through," Elizabeth simply replied, "Then we must make it bigger."

Tommy knew from old experience that her elder sister was rather slow to make up her mind about anything; but when it was made up nothing would turn her. Some people called it firmness, I dare say there was a touch of obstinacy as well. It was evident that Elizabeth was thoroughly determined now, and the younger girls at length desisted from their attempts to dissuade her, and agreed to help.

Leaving Mary to a.s.sist Maku and Fangati in constructing a light ladder from the creepers she had gathered, Elizabeth set off with Tommy to return to the cave end of the tunnel. They had their knives with them.

On arriving at the hole, they saw that the natives were still asleep, and several of the torches were almost burnt out. The dimmer light favoured their work of enlarging the hole, which, as Tommy had said, was too narrow by several inches for Elizabeth to pa.s.s through, still less the rescued prisoner.

When Elizabeth said that the hole must be made bigger, she had no definite knowledge whether it was possible. It was characteristic of her to form a resolution and then bend everything towards its accomplishment. If she had had a favourite motto it would have been "Where there's a will there's a way." Nevertheless, it was with some anxiety that she examined the hole. One side of it was solid rock; it would be a week's work to make any impression on it with their knives.

But the other side was of a more friable character. It appeared to be formed of fragments that had settled down, and become compacted by the weight above. A tentative chipping at this with her knife showed Elizabeth that it would not be a difficult matter to sc.r.a.pe away enough to enlarge the hole by more than a foot.

There was danger in the task. Work as carefully as they might, it would be impossible to prevent some of the chips and dust from dropping into the cave. Luckily, none of the sleepers was immediately beneath the hole; and Elizabeth thought that by working carefully, collecting the larger chips and placing them on the floor of the tunnel, they might obviate the risk of awakening the men by the noise of falling stones.

They set to work very quietly, not daring even to whisper to each other. By making boring movements with the points of their knives they brought away a good deal of fine dust, which they took in their hands as far as possible and cast at their feet. Whenever they found that a piece of rock of any considerable size was becoming loosened they ceased work altogether with their knives and worried it out with their fingers. At such times the fall of a certain quant.i.ty of dust into the cave could not be avoided, and more than once they stopped, holding their breath as they listened for some signs of disturbance below. But all went well. All that troubled them was the terrible slowness of the work. They were certainly enlarging the hole, but every inch seemed to take an hour. Elizabeth wondered anxiously whether they would have finished before daylight, when it would be too late to go further with her plan.

Thinking of this, her attention strayed for a moment from her work; and before she could do anything to prevent it, a large fragment of rock became detached, and fell with a crash upon the floor of the cave. The girls started back, a cold shiver running through them. They heard voices, but not so loud or excited as they expected. They dared not look out at the hole, in case they were spied from below; but they guessed that only a few of the sleepers had been awakened, and when, after some minutes, the sounds diminished and ceased altogether, they drew breath again.

Apparently the natives had not been alarmed; such falls of rock from the roof of the cave were probably not uncommon. After an interval they resumed their work with renewed courage, not, however, presuming on their immunity, but taking even more care than before. A second fall might not pa.s.s so easily.

They continued at the task for hours. The torches in the cave went out one by one. When only one was left alight Elizabeth looked at her watch. It was past four o'clock. The hole seemed to her now wide enough to admit any ordinary man: but clearly it was too late to attempt the more difficult part of her plan. She was tired out. It would take some time to fetch the rope ladder from the pit, and before the prisoner could be released and brought up into the tunnel, daylight might be upon them. Besides, the feasters would have slept off the effect of their orgy, and there would be a perilous risk of their awakening. She thought it best to return to the pit and sleep. If Maku was right, there was still more than thirty hours' respite, and she would need all her strength and composure of mind for the final effort.

The two girls dragged themselves wearily through the tunnel. Half-way they heard footsteps approaching them.

"Who's that?" cried Tommy.

"I'm so glad you are safe," replied Mary. "We have finished the ladder, though it wasn't easy to make it in the dark, and I was getting anxious about you."

"We shall have to put it off until to-night," said Elizabeth. "The hole is large enough now, but it is too late to do any more. We are dead-beat and so terribly thirsty."

They returned to the pit and refreshed themselves with cocoa-nut juice.

But this was a poor subst.i.tute for water, and when Fangati heard them say how they longed for water to drink, and to bathe their hands and faces, she volunteered to climb up and bring full cups from the stream that ran hard by. There was still an hour of darkness left, so Elizabeth agreed, and the young girl clambered up the ladder, carrying two of their tin cups. She returned very quickly, and made the journey a second time: the girls, after bathing their heads with wet handkerchiefs, lay down and slept the sleep of exhaustion.

It was high noon when they awoke, ravenously hungry. Elizabeth carried the new ladder out into the pit, where there was sufficient light to examine it. Considering that it had been made in darkness it proved a wonderfully successful piece of work, and only needed strengthening here and there.

"How will you fix it at the hole, Bess?" asked Tommy. "There is nothing to fasten it to."

"I had thought of that. The only way is to bind the top end of it to a long cane or stem--too long to pa.s.s through the hole. That will do it, I think. I wish we had our boat-hook."

"Suppose it should break?"

"I am sure that the ladder won't break: those creepers are extraordinarily tough, as you know. And half the strain will be borne by the wall, so that the pole ought not to snap. With G.o.d's help we shall succeed, dear."

"I am dreadfully afraid, Bess."

"The only thing I'm afraid of is the savages finding this pit. If they should come to it they would certainly notice the newly-trampled ground, and I don't think anything could save us then. But we must hope for the best."

The day pa.s.sed all too slowly. How they longed for night to come!

They could not feel easy in mind until they were sure that their hiding-place was not discovered. Yet the younger girls dreaded the night equally, for though the first part of Elizabeth's plan was safely accomplished, they could not think without horror of their sister descending among the savages. Elizabeth's quiet confidence amazed them. All that disturbed her was the fear that the prisoner might not be spared until nightfall.

Several times during the day she went to the end of the tunnel and looked over into the cave. On one of these occasions the place was empty except for the prisoner, who lay where she had seen him before, motionless. Was he still alive? Had his captors given him food and drink? She felt an intense compa.s.sion for the poor man. Would there be time, she wondered, to set him free now, before the savages returned? She blamed herself for not bringing the ladder with her; but reflected that she could not have known that the cave would be deserted. Probably by the time she had fetched the ladder and come back with Maku and some of the others to a.s.sist her, the opportunity would have pa.s.sed.

But she might speak to the prisoner and let him know that an attempt would be made to save him. She looked anxiously towards the mouth of the cave. n.o.body was in sight. No sound came from the exterior. She might at least venture to make a sound that would attract the attention of the prisoner and yet not arouse suspicion if it were heard by the natives. Leaning slightly over the ledge, she gave a low whistle. The prisoner did not stir. There was no sign that the sound had been heard, either by him or by another. She whistled again rather more loudly. Still no sign. Taking courage she bent still lower, and called in a low, clear tone--

"White man!"