The Island Queen, R. M. Ballantyne [sight word readers .txt] 📗

“Got no name that I know of; as far as I know it’s uninhabited, and, probably, unknown. Only three of us here—wrecked like yourselves. If you have boats, lower them, and I’ll pilot you to land.”

“Ohone!” groaned Mrs Lynch, in solemn despair, as she tried to see the speaker, whom darkness rendered almost invisible. “An unbeknown island, uninhabited by nobody. Boys, we are done for intirely. Didn’t I say this would be the end of it, when we made up our minds to go to say?”

No one seemed inclined just then to dispute the prophetic reminiscences of the widow, for the order had been given to get ready one of the boats. Turning to the emigrants, who were now clustering on the fore part of the vessel, Malines, condescending to adopt a more respectful tone, addressed them as follows:—

“Now, let me tell you, one and all, that your voyage has come to an end sooner than I expected. Our ship is wrecked, but we’re out of danger, and must go ashore an’ live as best we can, or die if we can’t live. Where we are, I don’t know, and don’t care, for it don’t much matter. It’s an island, it seems, and three people who have been wrecked before us are all its population. As it is too dark to go ashore comfortably to-night, I would advise you to go below again, an’ turn in till daylight. You may make your minds easy, for there’s no fear of our going to the bottom now.”

“Sure, an’ you’re right there,” murmured Teddy Malone, “for aren’t we at the bottom already?”

“You may all do as you please, however,” continued the mate, after a low-toned remark from one of the crew, “for my command has come to an end with the loss of the ship.”

When the mate ceased speaking, there was a brief pause, for the unfortunate emigrants had been so long accustomed to conform to the strict discipline of the ship that they felt like sheep suddenly deprived of a shepherd, or soldiers bereft of their officers when thus left to think for themselves. Then the self-sufficient and officious among them began to give advice, and to dispute noisily as to what they should do, so that in a few minutes their voices, mingling with the gale and the cries of terrified children, caused such a din that the strong spirit of the widow Lynch was stirred within her, inducing her to raise her masculine voice in a shout that silenced nearly all the rest.

“That’s right, mother,” cried young Malone, “howld yer tongues, boys, and let’s hear what the widdy has to say. Isn’t it herself has got the great mind—not to mintion the body?”

“Shut your murphy-trap, Teddy,” retorted the widow, “an’ here’s what I’ve got to say. We must have only wan man to guide us if we are to get on at all. Too many cooks, ye knows well enough, is sure to spile the broth. Let Joe Binney speak, and the rest of ’ee howld yer tongues, if ye can.”

Thus invited, modest Joe gave it as his opinion that the emigrants could not do better than follow the advice of Muster Malines—go below, turn in, and wait till daylight. He added further that he would count it a favour if Muster Malines would continue in command of the party, at least till they all got ashore.

This little compliment to the man whom he had so recently defied had a softening influence on the mate, and the proposal was well received by the people, who, even during the few minutes of anarchy which had prevailed, were led to appreciate the value of order and government.

“You are right, Binney,” said the mate. “I would advise you all, good people, to go below and rest as well as you can, while I, and those who choose to act under me, will go ashore and make the best possible arrangements for your landing in the morning.”

“Now, why don’t ye do what ye’er towld at wanst?” cried Mrs Lynch, who had evidently made up her mind that the reins of government were not to be entirely given up to the mate. “It’s not wishin’, are ye, to get wetter than ye are, a’ready? Go below, ivery wan of ye.”

Like a meek flock, the women and children obeyed the mandate, being absolutely in bodily fear of the woman, while most of the men followed them with a laugh, or a little chaff, according to temperament.

Before the latter had left the deck, Malines suggested that Joe Binney and his brother David should accompany him on shore that night, to represent the emigrants, as it were, and assist him in the proposed arrangements.

“Besides,” he added, “there is just the possibility that we may fall into a trap. We know nothing about the man who has come off to us except his voice, so that it will be wise to land with some of our best men armed.”

Of course the brothers had no objection to this plan, and accordingly they, with the mate and four of the ship’s crew—all armed with cutlasses and pistols—got into one of the boats and were lowered into the water on the lee side of the vessel, where Dominick and Otto had been quietly awaiting the end of the foregoing discussions.

In a few minutes they reached the shore, and then Dominick shook hands with them, and welcomed them to the islands, “which,” he said, “we have named ‘Refuge Islands.’”

“Run up to the cave, Otto,” he whispered, while the party was engaged in drawing up the boat. “Stir up the fire and rouse Pina,—tell her to prepare to receive company.”

“She’ll be as much puzzled as if I told her to prepare to receive cavalry,” muttered the boy as he ran up to the cave.

“Hallo! Pina! rouse up, old girl,” he shouted, bursting into the cave, and falling on his knees before the embers of the fire, which he soon blew up into a flame. “I say, Pina! hallo! Pina! Pi–i–i–i–na!”

“Dear me, Otto, what is wrong?” asked the sleepy voice of Pauline from behind her screen.

“Wrong?” cried her brother, “nothing’s wrong—that is, everything’s wrong; but don’t be afraid, old girl, all’s right. Dress as fast as you can, and prepare for company!”

“What do you mean?” cried the girl, by that time thoroughly aroused, and somewhat alarmed by Otto’s words and excitement.

“Can’t explain. No time. Get up, make yourself presentable, and come out of your den.”

As he spoke Pauline lifted the curtain door of her apartment and stepped into the outer cave, which was by that time all aglow with the ruddy blaze.

“Do you call yourself presentable?” asked Otto, laughing; “why your hair is raised like the back of a wild cat.”

It is only right to say that the boy did not do his sister justice. An old shawl thrown hastily on, and descending in confused folds around her slight, graceful figure, invested her with an air of classic simplicity, while her pretty face, surrounded by a wealth of dishevelled, but beautiful, hair, was suggestive of something very much the reverse of a wild cat.

“Are you prepared, sister, for a stunning surprise?” said Otto, quickly, for he heard the approaching footsteps of the party.

“I’m prepared for anything,” said Pauline, her lustrous eyes and her little mouth opening simultaneously, for she also heard the numerous footfalls outside.

“’Tis well!” cried Otto, starting up, and assuming a heroic attitude as he waved his right hand toward the door of the cavern, “no time to explain. Enter Dominick, with band of robbers, headed by their captain, amid shrieking wind, forked lightning, and peals of thunder!”

As he spoke, Pauline, despite her surprise, could scarcely refrain from laughter, for Otto’s words were fulfilled almost to the letter. Amid a strife of elements that caused their frail erections to tremble, the little door burst open, and Dominick, stooping low to save his head, entered. He was followed by the gaunt, dark form of Malines, who, in rough garments and long fishermen’s boots, with pistols in belt, and cutlass by his side, was a particularly good representative of a robber-captain. Following him came the still more gigantic Joe Binney, and his equally huge brother David, after which trooped in the boat’s crew one by one.

As each man entered he stood stock still—dumb, petrified with astonishment—as he gazed, saucer-eyed, at Pauline. Bereft of speech and motion, she returned the gaze with interest.

Oh! it was a rare treat to Otto! His little bosom heaved with delight as he watched the shipwrecked men enter one after another and become petrefactions! Some of the sailors even dropped their lower jaws with wonder.

Dominick, who, in the bustle of action, had not thought of the surprise in store for his visitors, burst into a hearty fit of laughter.

“It was well got up, Otto,” he said at last.

“No, it wasn’t, Dom. I do assure you it was not got up at all, but came about in the most natural manner.”

“Well, got up or not,” returned Dominick, “here you are, friends, in what we have styled our golden cave, and this is my sister Pauline—allow me to introduce you, Pina, to part of a shipwrecked crew.”

The youth’s laughter, and the introduction which followed, seemed to disenchant the mariners, who, recovering self-possession with a deep sigh, became sheepish in bearing, and seemed inclined to beat a retreat, but our heroine quickly put them at their ease. With a natural tact and grace of manner which had the appearance of, but was not meant for, dignity, she advanced and offered her little hand to Malines, who seemed to fear that he might crush it unintentionally, so slight was the shake he gave it.

“You are heartily welcome to our cavern,” she said. “I’m so grieved to hear that you have been wrecked.”

“Don’t mention it, Miss. Not worth speaking of, I assure you; we’re quite used to it,” replied Malines, not knowing very well what he said.

The ice, however, was broken. From this point all went on, as Otto said, swimmingly. The mate began to relate the circumstances of the recent wreck, while Pauline and Otto spread the remains of their supper before the men, and set about roasting the fowls that had been intended for the morrow’s breakfast.

Before long the gale began to abate, and the sailors went out with Dominick to select a spot on which the emigrants might encamp, being aided in this work by a struggling and fitful moonlight. After that Malines went back with his party to the ship, and Dominick returned with Otto to court slumber in the golden cave.