Adventure stories; British -- Foreign countries -- Fiction; Islands -- Fiction; Love stories
‘The sea, the sea!’ cried Denny. A last
spurt landed them in a cave that bordered on the blue waters. What
they did on that I could by no means persuade them to tell; but had I
been there I should have thanked God and shaken hands; and thus, I
dare say, did they. And besides that, they lay there, dog-tired and
beaten, for an hour or more, in one of those despondent fits that
assail even brave men, making sure that I was dead or taken, and that
their own chances of escape were small, and, since I was dead or
taken, hardly worth the seeking.
They were roused by an old man, who suddenly entered the cave, bearing
a bundle of sticks in his arms. At sight of them he dropped his load
and turned to fly; but they were on him in an instant, seizing him and
crying to know who he was. He had as many questions for them; and when
he learned who they were and how they had come, he raised his hands in
wonder, and told Hogvardt, who alone could make him understand, that
their fears were well grounded. He had met a Neopalian but an hour
since, and the talk in all the island was of how the stranger had
killed Vlacho and been taken by Kortes, and would die on the next
day; for this was the early morning of the feast-day. Denny was for a
dash; but a dash meant certain death. Watkins was ready for the
venture, though the poor fellow could hardly crawl. Hogvardt held firm
to the chance that more cautious measures gave. The old man’s comrades
were away at their fishing-grounds, ten miles out at sea; but he had a
boat down on the beach. Thither they went, and set out under the
fisherman’s guidance, pulling in desperate perseverance, with numb
weary limbs, under the increasing heat of the sun. But their wills
asked too much of their bodies. Watkins dropped his oar with a groan;
Denny’s moved weakly and uselessly through the water that hardly
stirred under its blade; Hogvardt at last flung himself into the stern
with one groan of despair. The old fisherman cast resigned eyes up to
heaven, and the boat tossed motionlessly on the water. Thus they lay
while I fought my duel with Constantine Stefanopoulos on the other
side of Neopalia.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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