Complete Works of Wilkie Collins (1733 page)

At night the men waited their orders, expecting to be sent after their captain in one of the boats. The intense darkness, the airless heat, and a second shock of earthquake (just felt in the ship at her present distance from the land) warned the mate to be cautious. ‘I smell mischief in the air,’ said Mr. Duncalf. ‘The captain must wait till I am surer of the weather.’

Still no change came with the new day. The dead calm continued, and the airless heat. As the day declined, another ominous appearance became visible. A thin line of smoke was discovered through the telescope, ascending from the topmost peak of the mountain on the main island. Was the volcano threatening an eruption? The mate, for one, entertained no doubt of it. ‘By the Lord, the place is going to burst up!’ said Mr. Duncalf. ‘Come what may of it, we must find the captain to-night!’

V.

W
HAT
was the captain doing? and what chance had the crew of finding him that night?

He had committed himself to his desperate adventure, without forming any plan for the preservation of his own safety; without giving even a momentary consideration to the consequences that might follow. The charming picture that he had seen through his telescope had haunted him night and day. The image of the innocent creature, secluded from humanity in her island-solitude, was the one image that filled his mind. A man, passing a woman in the street, acts on the impulse to turn and follow her, and in that one thoughtless moment shapes the destiny of his future life. The captain, seeing the canoe on the beach, acted on a similar impulse, when he took the paddle and shaped his reckless course for the tabooed island.

Reaching the shore while it was still dark, he did one sensible thing — he hid the canoe so that it might not betray him when the daylight came. That done, he waited for the morning on the outskirts of the forest.

The trembling light of dawn revealed the mysterious solitude around him. Following the outer limits of the trees, first in one direction, then in another, and finding no trace of any living creature, he decided on penetrating to the interior of the island. He entered the forest.

An hour of walking brought him to rising ground. Continuing the ascent, he got clear of the trees, and stood on the grassy top of a broad cliff which overlooked the sea. An open hut was on the cliff. He cautiously looked in, and discovered that it was empty. The few household utensils left about, and the simple bed of leaves in a corner, were covered with fine sandy dust. Night-birds flew blundering out of inner cavities in the roof, and took refuge in the shadows of the forest below. It was plain that the hut had not been inhabited for some time past.

Standing at the open doorway and considering what he should do next, the captain saw a bird flying towards him out of the forest. It was a turtle-dove, so tame that it fluttered close up to him. At the same moment the sound of sweet laughter became audible among the trees. His heart beat fast; he advanced a few steps and stopped. In a moment more the nymph of the island appeared, in her white robe, ascending the cliff in pursuit of her truant bird. She saw him, and suddenly stood still; struck motionless by the amazing discovery that had burst upon her. The captain approached, smiling and holding out his hand. She never moved; she stood before him in helpless wonderment — her lovely black eyes fixed on him spell-bound; her dusky bosom palpitating above the fallen folds of her robe; her rich red lips parted in mute astonishment. Spell-bound on his side, feasting his eyes on her beauty in silence, the captain after a while recovered himself. He ventured to speak to her in the language of the main island. The sound of his voice, addressing her in the language that she knew, roused the lovely creature to action. She started, stepped close up to him, and dropped on her knees at his feet.

‘My father worships invisible deities,’ she said, softly. ‘Are you a visible deity? Has my mother sent you?’ She pointed as she spoke to the deserted hut behind them. ‘You appear to me,’ she went on, ‘in the place where my mother died. Is it for her sake that you show yourself to her child? Beautiful deity, come to the Temple — come to my father!’

The captain gently raised her from the ground. If her father saw him, he was a doomed man. Infatuated as he was, he had sense enough left to announce himself plainly in his own character, as a mortal creature arriving from a far-distant land. The girl instantly drew back from him with a look of terror.

‘He is not like my father,’ she said to herself; ‘he is not like me. Is he the lying demon of the prophecy? Is he the predestined destroyer of our island?’

The captain’s experience of the sex showed him the only sure way out of the awkward position in which he was now placed. He appealed to his personal appearance.

‘Do I look like a demon?’ he asked.

Her eyes met his. A half-smile trembled on her lips. The captain ventured on asking what she meant by the predestined destruction of the island. She held up her hand solemnly, and repeated the prophecy.

The Holy Island was threatened with destruction by an evil being, who would one day appear on its shores. To avert the fatality the place had been sanctified and set apart, under the protection of the gods and their priest. Here was the reason for the taboo, and for the extraordinary strictness with which it was enforced. Listening attentively to his charming companion, the captain took her hand and pressed it gently.

‘Do I feel like a demon?’ he whispered.

Her slim brown fingers closed frankly on his hand. ‘You feel soft and friendly,’ she said with the fearless candour of a child. ‘Squeeze me again. I like it!’

The next moment she snatched her hand away from him; the sense of his danger had suddenly forced itself on her mind. ‘If my father sees you,’ she said, ‘he will light the signal-fire at the Temple, and the people from over yonder will come here and put you to death. Where is your canoe? No! It is broad daylight. My father may see you on the water.’ She considered for a moment, and, approaching him, laid her hands on his shoulders. ‘Stay here till nightfall,’ she said. ‘My father never comes this way. The sight of the place where my mother died is horrible to him. You are safe here. Promise to stay where you are till night-time.’

The captain gave his promise. Freed from anxiety so far, the girl’s mobile southern temperament recovered its native cheerfulness — its sweet gaiety and spirit. She admired the beautiful stranger as she might have admired a new bird that had flown to her to be fondled with the rest. She patted his fair white skin, and wished she had a skin like it. She lifted the great glossy folds of her long black hair, and compared it with the captain’s bright curly locks, and wished she could change colour with him from the bottom of her heart. His dress was a wonder to her; his watch was a new revelation. She rested her head on his shoulder to listen delightedly to the ticking, as he held the watch to her ear. Her fragrant breath played on his face, her warm, supple figure rested against him softly. The captain’s arm stole round her waist, and the captain’s lips gently touched hers. She lifted her head with a look of pleased surprise. ‘Thank you,’ said the child of Nature, simply. ‘Kiss me again; I like it. May I kiss you?’ The tame turtle-dove perched on her shoulder as she gave the captain her first kiss, and diverted her thoughts to the pets that she had left, in pursuit of the truant dove.

‘Come,’ she said, ‘and see my birds. I keep them on this side of the forest. There is no danger, so long as you don’t show yourself on the other side. My name is Aimata; Aimata will take care of you. Oh, what a beautiful white neck you have!’ She put her arm admiringly round his neck. The captain’s arm held her tenderly to him. Slowly the two descended the cliff, and were lost in the leafy solitudes of the forest. And the tame dove fluttered before them, a winged messenger of love, cooing to his mate.

VI.

T
HE
night had come, and the captain had not left the island. Aimata’s resolution to send him away in the darkness was a forgotten resolution already. She had let him persuade her that he was in no danger, so long as he remained in the hut on the cliff; and she had promised, at parting, to return to him while the Priest was still sleeping, at the dawn of day.

He was alone in the hut. The thought of the innocent creature whom he loved was sorrowfully as well as tenderly present to his mind. He almost regretted his rash visit to the island. ‘I will take her with me to England,’ he said to himself. ‘What do I care for the opinion of the world? Aimata shall be my wife.’

The intense heat oppressed him. He stepped out on the cliff, towards midnight, in search of a breath of air. The first shock of earthquake (felt in the ship while she was inside the reef) shook the ground he stood on. He instantly thought of the volcano on the main island. Had he been mistaken in supposing the crater to be extinct? Was the shock that he had just felt a warning from the volcano, communicated through a submarine connection between the two islands? He waited and watched through the hours of darkness, with a vague sense of apprehension, which was not to be reasoned away. With the first rays of daybreak he descended into the forest, and saw the lovely being whose safety was already precious to him as his own, hurrying to meet him through the trees.

She waved her hand distractedly as she approached him. ‘Go!’ she cried; ‘go away in your canoe before the island is destroyed!’

He did his best to quiet her alarm. Was it the shock of earthquake that had frightened her? It was not only the shock of earthquake, it was something more ominous still which had followed the shock. There was a lake near the Temple, the waters of which were supposed to be heated by subterranean fires. The lake had risen with the earthquake, had bubbled furiously, and had then melted away in the night. Her father, viewing the portent with horror, had gone to the cape to watch the volcano on the main island, and to implore by prayers and sacrifices the protection of the gods. Hearing this, the captain entreated Aimata to let him see the emptied lake, in the absence of the Priest. She hesitated; but his influence was all-powerful. He prevailed on her to turn back with him through the forest.

Reaching the farthest limit of the trees, they came out upon open, rocky ground that sloped gently downward towards the centre of the island. Having crossed this space, they arrived at a natural amphitheatre of rock. On one side of it the Temple appeared, partly excavated, partly formed by a natural cavern. In one of the lateral branches of the cavern was the dwelling of the Priest and his daughter. The mouth of it looked out on the rocky basin of the lake. Stooping over the edge, the captain discovered, far down in the empty depths, a light cloud of steam. Not a drop of water was visible anywhere.

‘Does
that
mean nothing?’ said Aimata, pointing to the abyss. She shuddered and hid her face on the captain’s bosom. ‘My father says,’ she whispered, ‘that it is
your
doing.’

The captain started. ‘Does your father know that I am on the island?’

She looked up at him with a quick glance of reproach. ‘Do you think I would tell him, and put your life in peril?’ she asked. ‘My father felt the destroyer of the island in the earthquake; my father saw the coming destruction in the disappearance of the lake.’ Her eyes rested on him with a loving languor. ‘Are you indeed the demon of the prophecy?’ she said, winding his hair round her finger. ‘I am not afraid of you, if you are. I am a girl bewitched; I love the demon.’ She kissed him passionately. ‘I don’t care if I die,’ she whispered between the kisses, ‘if I only die with you!’

The captain made no attempt to reason with her. He took the wiser way — he appealed to her feelings.

‘You will come with me to my own country,’ he said. ‘My ship is waiting. I will take you home with me, and make you my wife.’

She sprang to her feet, and clapped her hands for joy. Then she thought of her father, and sat down again in tears.

The captain understood her. ‘Let us leave this dreary place,’ he said. ‘We will talk about it in the cool glades of the forest, where you first said you loved me.’

She gave him her hand. ‘Where I first said I loved you!’ she repeated, smiling tenderly an thoughtfully as she looked at him. They left the lake together.

VII.

T
HE
darkness had fallen again. The ship was still becalmed at sea.

Mr. Duncalf came on deck after his supper. The thin line of smoke, seen rising from the peak of the mountain that evening, was now succeeded by ominous flashes of fire from the same quarter, intermittently visible. The faint, hot breeze from the land was felt once more. ‘There’s just an air of wind,’ the mate remarked. ‘We will try for the captain while we have the chance.’