[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
having been rolled twenty to twenty-five yards ashore by storms and
neap tides, the piles rested, isolated in a field of rank grasses that
extended far back to the dark edge of the forest. Sun, rain, and salt
air had weathered the wood to a silver-gray, some indication of how
long they had rested there undisturbed. Again, he had been thrown
onto a land untamed in all its aspects, from the high, white peaks to
the tumbled boulders of its coasts. There was no visible evidence of
men yet. That was a boon for now, but he must prepare to meet the
savages that inhabited the land.
The stony shore on which he had landed, he guessed, should be
farther to the south; and he was surprised to find it after walking only
a half-hour in that direction. There was nothing to be seen farther down
the beach. The canoe had not yet washed in. It could not have drifted
too far in the few hours he had been on land. He would have to wait.
The first rays of the sun overtopped the mountain crests and spread
a clear dawn over a wild coast. Green waves rose in glinting detail and
dashed toward his feet. Dense swathes of trees to the north and south
reached close to the milky surf. There were old snags in the forest but
not one small opening that might have been cleared by an ax. Thomas
searched it all for any mark of the savages. He saw no paths worn into
the soil and grass. They might only come there at certain seasons and
he might not meet them before he had repaired his canoe and sailed
up the coast.
By the increasing light he discovered his paddle had washed in
with the waves. The lanyard that held it to the canoe had parted. He
spotted the canoe itself yet farther to the south. It was drifting in
MOTOO EETEE 381
upside down. As he approached, he saw that the long line and his
clothes tied in it were being rolled inshore and out with each wave.
Thomas waded in, seized the line and pulled the canoe higher on the
beach as each wave partially lifted it. The mast had snapped and the
rigging was a tangle, but it was repairable. All the bindings on the
boomkins and spar still held firmly. Once he found food he would
start his repairs.
He did not doubt sailing was the swiftest way to the Strait. Travel
on the land would mean crossing rivers, scaling cliffs, and breaking a
way through tangled forests. If he came upon the Indians, they might
make a slave or a meal of him.
Thomas freed his pants and jacket, wrung the water out, and spread
them on the grass to dry. The canoe must serve him again, and he
meant to get it farther above the reach of the waves, though for now
it was safe.
He made another trip up to the puddle and discovered by the dawn
light that in the darkness he had been drinking water that was black
as coffee. It was standing water, with an infusion of all the rotting
leaves lying in and around it. He was disgusted with its appearance.
Drink much more, he thought, and it would tan his guts. At once he
went off looking for something better. Farther across the flat he found
a small stream that fed into the inlet. It was slow-moving and tinged
brown, but it had less taste of the leaves and was satisfying as it went
down his throat.
Thomas wandered back to the shore and stood there with his feet
in the wash of the waves and facing into the wind. A rush of thoughts
came to him. He, the last of the entire crew, had survived by the mer-
est chance. How fortunate he was to be alive there in the early light,
even though naked and shaking with cold. His hair hung in damp
strings. His lips were swollen and split, and in the splits, he felt beads
of dried blood. Flakes of skin were peeling from his burned nose. Did
they make a more frightful appearance, he wondered, than the paint
or tattoos such as the Indians wore on the island? He was alive. What
did it matter that he looked more of a savage than they did?
382 MOTOO EETEE
Out there, far beyond the meeting of the sky and sea, were the
shattered remnants of the little island and the remains of every per-
son who had sailed with him on the Dove. Christopher would always
be the first to be remembered, the one quietly seeking the peaceable
way, always seeing the better side of all. Even that mound in which
he had buried him must have been carried away, and perhaps there
was nothing left on which he could place a stone. The ghastly vision
of Christopher s face as he lay in the grave burst into his mind. Poor
Harrison had done his best and lighted the train, even knowing it
might be faulty, yet hoping the blast would draw the officers away.
There was no way to repay that great sacrifice, save by telling his story
back home. That would be little enough. Funerals and memorials were
for those who survived, for they did small good for the dead. He felt
a warmth rising in his eyes. The horizon he had stared at for so many
long days ceased to be that sharp, inviolable division between the
darker colors of the ocean and the paler blues of the lower sky. It
blurred. Closer before him, the green walls of the rising waves and
the white of the surf swarmed together.
He knew he would have many more trials before he stepped ashore
in Stonington. Such was the lot of men who risked their lives for their
wages. Those of great fortune need not know such danger and hard-
ship. It was the way of the world.
What a story there would be to tell if he reached home.
M GLOSSARY N
Argo/Argo Navis An old constellation now divided into the smaller
Vela, Puppis, and Carina groups.
Barque A three-masted vessel, square-rigged on the fore-
and mainmasts, but not on the mizzen.
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
