Mary of Marion Isle

Chapter XVIII Mary

As it chanced no great strain was put upon a patience which Andrew had determined should be infinite, since about ten minutes later he became aware that he was no longer alone—although he heard nothing. For this time there was no rushing, from which he concluded that the approach of Lady Crusoe (if it were she and not Robinson) must have been very stealthy, a fact which suggested that it might be Robinson upon evil purposes intent.

To settle this point he wheeled round swiftly upon his stone, to discover to his relief that his visitor was not of the male sex. For there between him and the cave mouth, standing in the full light of the fire, was the mysterious lady—somehow he never thought of her for a moment as otherwise than a lady—a little changed indeed, since she now wore a more tightly–fitting and closer buttoned, or rather tied, fur coat made from the whitish pelts of young seals. Also her thick chestnut hair had been combed and hung almost to her knees, in great tresses fastened at the ends of with little bows of grass fibre.

"Lady Crusoe in her Sunday best!" thought Andrew, who in his lighter moments had a flippant mind, then sat still admiring the general effect which, in that blue firelight with a background of black rocks, was in its way superb. Finally he rose, took off his hat, always an Englishman's first and last resource when embarrassed by the sudden appearance of a lady, and not knowing what to say, stood still. Indeed, it was she who began the conversation by pointing to Josky sleeping luxuriously before the fire and saying, with a triumphant nod of the head:

"Pussy–cat. Oh! yes, 'member ship, pussy–cat!"

Then she paused as though exhausted by the effort.

Andrew assented to the accuracy of this statement, then feeling that he must say something, added:

"What is your name?"

"What ees your name?" she repeated after him with a curious accent on each word and especially on "name," which she said with a very broad "a." Then, after profound thought, a kind of inspiration seemed to seize her, and flinging up her rounded arms, she exclaimed with a rapturous smile:

"Ma–ary."

Looking at her as she did these things, Andrew was thrilled all through his being and thought to himself that he had never seen so beautiful a creature. Of what did she put him in mind? He could not say, but wild roses and the first light of dawn and the last dying trill of a thrush's song at eve came into his thoughts as instances of things which were supremely pure and sweet and natural.

So overpowered was he that beyond repeating the word "Mary" after her to show that he understood, he said nothing. She, however, delighted with her success, made a further effort.

"You," she said, pointing an accusing finger at him, "name—what?"

"Andrew," he replied.

"Andrew, Andrew," she murmured several times. Then as though to make sure, began to spell—A n—An, d r u—dru."

"d r e w," he corrected.

"e w," she said, shaking her head. "No 'member 'w.'" Then added, "Old man, he name Tom."

"Indeed," answered Andrew, overcome by this piece of information, "I thought it must be Robinson." Then rising to the occasion and adapting himself to her limited vocabulary, he asked:

"Old man Tom, no see. Where he?" and he looked about him vaguely, then pointed to the cave.

Again she repeated his words to herself and again became filled with angelic inspiration, at least on her beautiful face it looked angelic, as she replied:

"Old man Tom, he―" Here words failed her, and she had recourse to pantomime, "he," and she pointed to the ground, then by an afterthought, up towards the sky.

"Dead," suggested Andrew.

"D e d," she spelt out, "ded! Yes, yes, he ded," and she clapped her hands delightedly. Then, as though realizing that this action might be misinterpreted, she sighed from her deep bosom, shook her head sadly and made a movement with her hand as though wiping tears from her eyes.

"I am jolly well glad of it," commented the unfeeling Andrew with a sympathetic sadness of countenance, for somehow he did not seem to wish for the society of "Old man Tom" whoever he might be, or have been.

Here their conversation came to a full stop, hers because language seemed to have exhausted its possibilities, his because he had so much to say and did not know how much she would understand.

As though some instinct told her that the situation was awkward, she proceeded to relieve it by action. First she collected the remains of the fish which he had been eating, holding them delicately in the rushes, and threw them away towards where the great birds still sat ghost–like in the gloom. Then she picked up the uneaten egg and, as though to show that it must not be wasted, with a movement of extraordinary grace flitted to the mouth of the cave and laid it down. Atalanta could not have lifted the golden apples with more charm, thought Andrew.

Returning, she stooped and stroked Josky, listening with pleasure to its purring and saying:

"An–drew, pussy–cat! Pussy–cat, Andrew!" Then suddenly she became solemn, almost mysteriously solemn.

"Night," she said, "night," pointing with raised hands to the darkness above them in which bright stars appeared. "Night. God in night, say prayer," and down she went upon her knees, motioning to Andrew to do likewise.

"Our Father," she began, and stopped, looking at him.

"Which art in Heaven," he added.

She nodded in her childish delight. Evidently she had forgotten these words which she repeated after him, and wanted him to help her out. So they went through the Lord's Prayer, she pausing wherever her memory failed her and he supplying the omission. It was a most curious and in a way a touching scene. She ended her petition with these words:

"God bless Mary, God bless Old man Tom," then as though by an afterthought she added, "God bless Andrew, God bless pussy–cat."

Really he could have wept when he heard this poor girl saying these things, so sweet did they seem both in their thought and in the broken prattle of her language. Also the simple piety of this lost one, preserved through heaven knew what circumstances, appealed to him.

Her orisons finished, Mary rose and yawned ostentatiously, revealing a most beautiful set of teeth in the firelight.

"Mary sleep," she said doubtfully, looking towards the cave. "Andrew sleep, and pussy–cat sleep," and she looked about her with a vague, interrogative air, obviously inviting suggestions.

Before he could make any, however, for the situation confused him, also he was wondering hard whether Old man Tom was or was not in that cave as her prayer seemed to indicate, she added with a look which was in itself a question:

"Andrew 'fraid bones?"

"Not at all," he replied, shaking his head.

Then once more inspiration seemed to seize her. Running back to the cave she returned presently with some torches made of the stems of dry grass neatly twisted together. Lighting one of them at the fire, she gave him another and beckoned to him to follow. Passing round another corner of rock about twenty yards away, they came to a second cave at the mouth of which she paused and uttered some words in a low voice that he could not understand; they sounded like an invocation or speech made to some one he was unable to see. Then she entered the cave, again beckoning him to follow.

It proved to be of moderate dimensions with a floor of sand which appeared to have been placed there, and at its end were two arms like to those of a cross; clearly like the rest of the place these were hollowed out by the action of water working on strata which were softer than the main rock of the cliff. One of these arms or recesses was closed in with a carefully constructed little fence of dried grass. She conducted him to this fence and pointed, holding down the torch so that he might see. There, lying very grim and solemn, he perceived the skeleton of a man whose grey hair still clung to his skull and whose arms were still clad in a tattered coat with brass naval buttons.

"Old man Tom!" she said, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.

Andrew started back, then recovered himself, reflecting with an unholy joy that he was glad Old man Tom reposed once and for all in Cave No. 2 and not in No. 1, where he had imagined him as crippled with rheumatism, or possibly drunk.

"Andrew sleep there?" she queried, pointing to the opposite arm of the cave.

"Oh! with pleasure," he answered, again nodding his head, and gathering his assent from this action, she turned and with a swallow–like motion sailed from the cave.

"Good night," he called after her.

She heard, and at its entrance wheeled round.

"Oh yes, 'member now. Good night. Good night, Andrew, good night, pussy–cat." Then, as he could see by the light of the torch which she held up, she smiled in the most heavenly fashion and broke into low, melodious laughter, the happiest he thought that he had ever heard, the sound of which accompanied her as she fled away, till at last it died in the silence like the echo of distant silver bells.

"Well, I'm bothered!" said Andrew. "Whoever would have thought that desert islands had such possibilities? Now I will go to sleep."

So, having disposed Josky by his side, he lay down on the sand and tried to fulfil this sensible intention. The effort proved quite futile; sleep was far from him. What was near to him was the thought of this wonderful woman whom he had discovered, this mysterious Mary, this beautiful wild rose of a creature, who apparently had lived here so long alone that she had almost forgotten how to speak, and yet remained a lady, refined in her thoughts and manners, English, too, he judged by the words she could utter. How did she come here? he wondered.

Well, the answer to that was clear. Doubtless in the same way that he had himself, as a survivor of a shipwreck. She was an ocean waif. Probably her companion in misfortune had been that Old man Tom who lay in his fenced grave but a few feet away from him. He wished that this girl did not interest him so strangely, since if the interest continued he felt that, circumstanced as they were, it might become awkward for him. He was obliged to confess to himself that had she been old and ugly, or coarse and horrible, or even young, uncomely and commonplace, he would not have felt towards her as he did, even if she proved to be the most estimable of persons.

A terrible idea took him. Supposing that he should fall in love with her—such a thing might chance on a desert island—what would happen then? Well, luckily that was impossible; Rose had made it impossible, since he was sure that no one falls in love twice. Also he was married, that is if Clara still survived, a point on which he had no information, and that made the thing doubly impossible. Therefore, so far as he was concerned, this contingency might be ruled out. Another occurred to him, however; suppose that in her general lack of experience she should chance to develop feelings for him that were warmer than those of mere casual fellowship?

Well, fortunately that too was practically impossible. No one had ever fallen in love with him and he did not suppose that anyone would, even on a desert island. Also on the first occasion, that is as soon as he could teach her to understand him, he would take an opportunity to tell her all about Clara, which would settle the business. And if he were wrong in any of these suppositions, he could go back to his hut and leave her in her cave.

Oh! he would think no more about her and her wonderful eyes and grace and smile. What could he think of? Old man Tom seemed the most imminent subject, much too imminent indeed. Why was he destined to be companioned by the dead in this place? At the hut yonder he had Jacks for a fellow, and here it was Old man Tom, who was not even decently buried, and really a skeleton was not an agreeable bed partner. The cave was not large enough for both of them, and then and there he made up his mind that on the morrow either Tom should go out of it, or he would. He became absurdly nervous, being by nature of that temperament. He thought that he heard Tom rattling his bones on the further side of the fence, and was not consoled when his agitation spread to Josky which woke up and mewed, and finally insisted upon creeping into his pocket, where however it continued to mew.

As he could not sleep he determined to smoke, reflecting that he could do so without extravagance, since there was a great quantity of tobacco among the stores at the hut, enough for twenty men for a year or more. So he lit his pipe, turning his head towards the cave wall as he did so, for fear, as his conscience told him, although he found other reasons for the act, lest the flare of the match should reveal Tom looking at him over his grass fence. Such thoughts were shameful in a doctor, but what between weariness and emotion his nerves had been upset and there they were. Moreover, the experiment was useless, since he could not taste the tobacco in the dark.

At length he felt that he could bear no more of Tom's society, and rising, by the help of the light of another match, he crept down the cave till he came to its entrance. Here, sheltered by some stones and rough bushes that grew there, he lay down again where he could see the brilliant stars and in the end fell asleep, to dream that the skeleton of Old man Tom arrayed in the tattered naval uniform, was standing over him, while from the bony jaws issued a lecture upon his duty towards this young woman whom chance had brought into his life.

He woke very cold, just as the sun was rising, for its first rays struck upon the snow–tipped peak of the other island which he had noted upon the previous evening. As a matter of fact, it was Prince Edward Island and the one on which they were was Marion Isle, though this he did not know. Walking to the crest of the little ridge that screened the mouth of the cave he found that thence he had a magnificent view of the sea. As the sun rose higher the mist on its surface cleared, and he saw that near to the beach immediately in front of the cave, was a kind of natural harbour protected by a ring of rocks with an entrance in them through which the tide flowed in and out. The water was deep in the centre of this harbour, but appeared to shallow at the edge of the rocks, for there other rocks appeared above its surface.

While he was studying these things, he saw something swimming at a distance of about two hundred yards from where he was standing, which he took to be a seal. Just then, however, a sunbeam struck it, and he perceived that it was no seal but the auburn–haired Mary taking a morning bathe. At first he was frightened for her safety, but remembering that the water was too cold for sharks, also that probably she knew its dangers, he stood still and watched her.

With swift, strong strokes she swam to a certain point in the rocks where, from the motions of her white arms, she appeared to be untying ropes. Then holding these in one hand, she turned and headed shorewards, till presently she disappeared behind an intervening boulder.

Following her example, Andrew went to the edge of the sea and washed as well as he was able, though to swim he did not attempt because it was too cold. How strong this girl must be, he reflected, that she could immerse herself for so long a time in that icy water at the break of day. Then he went back to the cave mouth and waited a while, till presently he heard the sound of running feet—she always seemed to move at a run—and aglow with health and beauty, Mary appeared round the corner of the rock.

"Morning!" she cried with a little outburst of bubbling, silvery laughter. "Yes, yes, 'member. Morning," and to his dismay she ran to him, halted, and held up her face to be kissed!

For a moment he stood helpless. Then, as she did not move and really explanations were impossible, he took what seemed the only way out of the difficulty, and kissed her lightly on the raised cheek, reflecting confusedly that doubtless such was the habit of Old man Tom.

"Thank you!" she exclaimed in her childlike way; indeed all her innocent actions and prattle were those of a little child. Then she picked up Josky, which was watching these proceedings with a kind of sullen indifference, kissed it, and beckoning to him to follow her, ran off again with Josky in her arms, Andrew trotting behind.

She led him down to the shore of the bay at a point opposite the mouth of her cave but at some distance from it, for between the water and the cave lay the flat stretch of rich land formed by the decomposition of the lava rocks above, which, it would seem, she cultivated. Just here a brook of fresh water ran into the bay, and at its mouth was a deep pool.

Putting down Josky she seized a grass rope which was fastened to a stone, and began to pull, Andrew helping her, till presently on the surface of the water appeared the edge of an undoubted lobster–pot made of the peeled stalks of bushes, which they dragged ashore. In it were three great creatures of the lobster tribe, also two large crabs, at seeing which Mary clapped her hands. Leaving the pot on the shore, again she beckoned him to follow her and went to some more cords tied to a stone. Pulling at these she drew in a net, and in the net a lot of fine fish. It was this net that she had swum out to fetch, it having been set at a certain spot in the bay where fish always travelled and were to be caught.

Andrew had noticed that when they saw her going down to the shore, several penguins waddled after her. Also came the great albatross, which he was sure was the same that had guided him to the island. To these birds, which were quite tame, although some of them did not seem to like the look of Josky, she threw the smaller of the fish, also a larger one to the albatross.

Then, carrying their spoils in a big basket, made like the net, of grass fibre, they returned to the cave. Here Mary, having cleaned one of the fish by help of a sharp stone, much as the cave–dwellers must have done tens of thousands of years ago, went to a trench filled with hot ashes in which she raked a hollow with a stick. Then she took clay, whereof a heap ready damped lay to hand, plastered it over the fish which, when it was prepared, she set in the trench, piling the hot ashes over it.

This done, she visited the cave and returned with an enamelled tin vessel that looked as if it might have been the baler of a boat, which she washed very carefully in the stream, for evidently the article was precious to her. Next she went to that corner of rock round which Andrew had come when first he saw her, and called in a crooning voice, whereon a number of goats appeared. One of these, which like everything else seemed to be perfectly tame, she proceeded to milk into the tin vessel, Andrew, in obedience to her directions which she made by signs, holding its kid which tried to get its head into the bowl.

When she had sufficient milk they returned to the cave mouth and made ready to breakfast. Out of the cave she fetched two flat platters of lava that had been laboriously chipped round the edge to the shape of plates; also a larger platter of the same material that served as a dish, and four roasted penguins' eggs. Then going to the hole she glanced at the sun, presumably to see if she had allowed sufficient time for the cooking of the fish, also at where its rays fell upon the face of the cliff, which, as he discovered afterwards, served her as a clock, and nodding wisely, extracted the fish with the help of the stick and a stone, and proceeded to break away the clay envelope. There inside it lay the fish most wonderfully cooked; indeed, never did Andrew eat anything more delicious than that fish fresh from the sea, washed down with goat's milk. Moreover, Mary made another journey to the cave and reappeared carrying oatcakes. They were rather thick and coarse, but still, to a man who had not tasted anything of the sort for a long while, most excellent.

Their meal finished, she washed up and cleared away. Both processes were elementary, consisting of dipping the platters into the stream and throwing the fragments of the meal, after Josky had partaken, to the expectant birds which sat about like a row of chaperones against a ballroom wall.

Still, reflected Andrew, here were the beginnings of all domesticity. The difference between Mary's establishment on her desert isle and that of a duchess in Park Lane, or, let us say, his own in Cavendish Square, was merely a matter of degree. The same principles pervaded both, except that here the housekeeper was also the cultivator and the catcher of the food. Personally he preferred the simpler form.

Then began the day's busy round. With some broken words and occasional bubblings of laughter, Mary showed him everything. First there was her field of oats, fenced about with a stone wall that must have been built by degrees and with infinite labour, and had bushes set upon its top to break the winds and keep out the goats. This measured about an acre and a half, and in the rich lava soil which, as he learned afterwards, she manured with guano, the oats were springing wonderfully well (later in the day and often afterwards he had the pleasure of assisting to weed them). Attached to this enclosure was another that contained a garden wherein she cultivated the Kerguelen cabbage, which in that soil and situation grew magnificently, as did a large patch of beans, together with some herbs. The most sheltered part of it also was devoted to flowers and ferns, which evidently she had collected from the moors and crannies.

Then came what might be called her farmyard, which consisted of a herd of goats, ten or twelve in number. These had a kraal of their own where they slept during the winter, when they were fed with hay that she made in the summer months, also with dried fish–heads, whereof she showed him a large pile covered over with stones to protect them from sea–birds. At this season of the year, however, they were grazing about on the moor above the cliff. There was a place on a bare rock where she dried fish to make her winter food, cutting them open and leaving them to cure in the sun. This was close to the cave–mouth and ingeniously protected with bushes to keep the sea–birds from stealing the fish. Also there was a pit in which she laid down penguins' eggs together with those of gulls, covering them with sea sand mixed with evaporated brine to serve as salt that she gathered from certain spots. These too were for winter food, and the process of collecting the eggs was now going on.

Thus the morning went by and for Andrew it was full of wonder. About midday they rested a while and for the first time tried to talk. With difficulty he made her understand that he did not care for the society of Old man Tom at night.

She nodded her head sagaciously and went through a kind of pantomime, covering her face with a corner of her robe and uttering blood–curdling groans. Suddenly it struck Andrew that she was trying to convey to him that she supposed him to have seen Tom's ghost, or at least was asking him if this were so. He nodded vaguely in assent, although in fact he had done nothing of the sort, whereon she put her hand to her head and thought for a while. Presently she came to a decision and, pointing first towards his cave and then to the sea, fetched the basket in which she carried fish, together with some of her grass torches, and signed to him to follow her.

Off she ran to the cave, Andrew being under the impression that she meant to collect earth and buy Old Tom therein. This, however, was not her idea, for when they reached its mouth she indicated that he must light the torches, pointing to his pocket whence she had observed him take matches when he wished to smoke. He did so, she watching the process with delight, and they went into the cave. Arriving at the niche, she pulled away the grass fence and kneeling down solemnly kissed Old Tom's skull. Then she put it in her basket, also his leg and arm bones. The rest of him, namely, his ribs and backbone which the basket would not hold, she made it clear to Andrew that he must carry in the remnants of the coat.

He obeyed though without enthusiasm, and when she had seen that not one scrap of bone was left behind, they went out of the cave carrying their ghastly burden. She led him for some way to a spot where the sea water had eaten into the cliff face, making a shadowed pool which was very deep and still, since the channel connecting it with the bay was quite narrow. Here she emptied her basket of remains on to the rock and made Andrew put down his bundle. This done, with her strong fingers she twisted the gilt buttons with an anchor on them off the rotten garment and placed them in a sealskin pouch she had, whence a few days later they reappeared on a new fur coat of her own. Then, while Andrew watched amazed, she rearranged Old Tom's skeleton very nicely upon a flat piece of rock, making sure that every bone was in its place and smiling at her own cleverness. This completed, once more she knelt down and kissed the dead man's skull, then suddenly threw it into the pool, and after it with great swiftness and accuracy, all the rest of him, finishing up with the decayed coat which floated a little before it sank.

When it had vanished she remarked, as a child does that has finished its food:

"All done! Say prayer," and plumped down on to her knees.

Here, however, Andrew came in. In his pocket was poor Jacks' Church–service. This he produced and, dimly hoping that it might conciliate Old Tom, who after all, being a sailor, should be glad to rest in the deep, for the second time on that island he read the Burial Office over a dead man.

Mary watched and listened, enormously impressed, especially when he collected some dust, and threw it on to the water. This action seemed to puzzle her, but it was clear that she quite understood the rest, since she nodded her head at intervals and from time to time murmured, "Our Father, 'liver us from evil. Amen."

When all was finished, first she sighed, then clapped her hands and laughed as though glad to be rid of an unpleasant business, and trotted off back to Andrew's cave. On her way, however, she took from her store a great double armful of the dried seaweed, making Andrew do likewise. Arriving at the cave she signed to him to relight the torches, and entered. Then she lifted the skins, or what remained of them, upon which Old Tom had lain, putting dried seaweed underneath and above them, and throwing the grass fence on to the top. When everything was arranged to her satisfaction, she fired the pile and led Andrew from the cave.

About an hour later she returned there with a brush made of rushes and her basket, and by their aid collected the ashes which she threw away outside. Also, with much vigour she brushed out the cave and especially that niche of it where Andrew slept, sprinkling water to keep down the dust. Finally, she ran off and reappeared with a big bundle of sealskins mixed with a few taken from goats, all of which had been in some way brayed soft. These she arranged upon a mattress of dried seaweed into a very comfortable bed, saying triumphantly when she had finished:

"Andrew sleep. Old man Tom, no."

All of which things Andrew watched with amazement that amounted wellnigh to stupefaction.

There too he slept in due course, and very snugly indeed, nor did Tom ever return to trouble him.