Chapter IV--Joan Lackland

by Jack London

　　By the second day of the northwester, Sheldon was in collapse fromhis fever. It had taken an unfair advantage of his weak state, andthough it was only ordinary malarial fever, in forty-eight hours ithad run him as low as ten days of fever would have done when he wasin condition. But the dysentery had been swept away from Berande.A score of convalescents lingered in the hospital, but they wereimproving hourly. There had been but one more death--that of theman whose brother had wailed over him instead of brushing the fliesaway.

　　On the morning of the fourth day of his fever, Sheldon lay on theveranda, gazing dimly out over the raging ocean. The wind wasfalling, but a mighty sea was still thundering in on Berande beach,the flying spray reaching in as far as the flagstaff mounds, thefoaming wash creaming against the gate-posts. He had taken thirtygrains of quinine, and the drug was buzzing in his ears like a nestof hornets, making his hands and knees tremble, and causing asickening palpitation of the stomach. Once, opening his eyes, hesaw what he took to be an hallucination. Not far out, and comingin across the Jessie's anchorage, he saw a whale-boat's nose thrustskyward on a smoky crest and disappear naturally, as an actualwhale-boat's nose should disappear, as it slid down the back of thesea. He knew that no whale-boat should be out there, and he wasquite certain no men in the Solomons were mad enough to be abroadin such a storm.

　　But the hallucination persisted. A minute later, chancing to openhis eyes, he saw the whale-boat, full length, and saw right into itas it rose on the face of a wave. He saw six sweeps at work, andin the stern, clearly outlined against the overhanging wall ofwhite, a man who stood erect, gigantic, swaying with his weight onthe steering-sweep. This he saw, and an eighth man who crouched inthe bow and gazed shoreward. But what startled Sheldon was thesight of a woman in the stern-sheets, between the stroke-oar andthe steersman. A woman she was, for a braid of her hair wasflying, and she was just in the act of recapturing it and stowingit away beneath a hat that for all the world was like his own"Baden-Powell."

　　The boat disappeared behind the wave, and rose into view on theface of the following one. Again he looked into it. The men weredark-skinned, and larger than Solomon Islanders, but the woman, hecould plainly see, was white. Who she was, and what she was doingthere, were thoughts that drifted vaguely through hisconsciousness. He was too sick to be vitally interested, and,besides, he had a half feeling that it was all a dream; but henoted that the men were resting on their sweeps, while the womanand the steersman were intently watching the run of seas behindthem.

　　"Good boatmen," was Sheldon's verdict, as he saw the boat leapforward on the face of a huge breaker, the sweeps plying swiftly tokeep her on that front of the moving mountain of water that racedmadly for the shore. It was well done. Part full of water, theboat was flung upon the beach, the men springing out and draggingits nose to the gate-posts. Sheldon had called vainly to thehouse-boys, who, at the moment, were dosing the remaining patientsin the hospital. He knew he was unable to rise up and go down thepath to meet the newcomers, so he lay back in the steamer-chair,and watched for ages while they cared for the boat. The womanstood to one side, her hand resting on the gate. Occasionallysurges of sea water washed over her feet, which he could see wereencased in rubber sea-boots. She scrutinized the house sharply,and for some time she gazed at him steadily. At last, speaking totwo of the men, who turned and followed her, she started up thepath.

　　Sheldon attempted to rise, got half up out of his chair, and fellback helplessly. He was surprised at the size of the men, wholoomed like giants behind her. Both were six-footers, and theywere heavy in proportion. He had never seen islanders like them.They were not black like the Solomon Islanders, but light brown;and their features were larger, more regular, and even handsome.

　　The woman--or girl, rather, he decided--walked along the verandatoward him. The two men waited at the head of the steps, watchingcuriously. The girl was angry; he could see that. Her gray eyeswere flashing, and her lips were quivering. That she had a temper,was his thought. But the eyes were striking. He decided that theywere not gray after all, or, at least, not all gray. They werelarge and wide apart, and they looked at him from under levelbrows. Her face was cameo-like, so clear cut was it. There wereother striking things about her--the cowboy Stetson hat, the heavybraids of brown hair, and the long-barrelled 38 Colt's revolverthat hung in its holster on her hip.

　　"Pretty hospitality, I must say," was her greeting, "lettingstrangers sink or swim in your front yard."

　　"I--I beg your pardon," he stammered, by a supreme effort dragginghimself to his feet.

　　His legs wobbled under him, and with a suffocating sensation hebegan sinking to the floor. He was aware of a feeble gratificationas he saw solicitude leap into her eyes; then blackness smote him,and at the moment of smiting him his thought was that at last, andfor the first time in his life, he had fainted.

　　The ringing of the big bell aroused him. He opened his eyes andfound that he was on the couch indoors. A glance at the clock toldhim that it was six, and from the direction the sun's rays streamedinto the room he knew that it was morning. At first he puzzledover something untoward he was sure had happened. Then on the wallhe saw a Stetson hat hanging, and beneath it a full cartridge-beltand a long-barrelled 38 Colt's revolver. The slender girth of thebelt told its feminine story, and he remembered the whale-boat ofthe day before and the gray eyes that flashed beneath the levelbrows. She it must have been who had just rung the bell. Thecares of the plantation rushed upon him, and he sat up in bed,clutching at the wall for support as the mosquito screen lurcheddizzily around him. He was still sitting there, holding on, witheyes closed, striving to master his giddiness, when he heard hervoice.

　　"You'll lie right down again, sir," she said.

　　It was sharply imperative, a voice used to command. At the sametime one hand pressed him back toward the pillow while the othercaught him from behind and eased him down.

　　"You've been unconscious for twenty-four hours now," she went on,"and I have taken charge. When I say the word you'll get up, andnot until then. Now, what medicine do you take?--quinine? Hereare ten grains. That's right. You'll make a good patient."

　　"My dear madame," he began.

　　"You musn't speak," she interrupted, "that is, in protest.Otherwise, you can talk."

　　"But the plantation--"

　　"A dead man is of no use on a plantation. Don't you want to knowabout me? My vanity is hurt. Here am I, just through my firstshipwreck; and here are you, not the least bit curious, talkingabout your miserable plantation. Can't you see that I am justbursting to tell somebody, anybody, about my shipwreck?"

　　He smiled; it was the first time in weeks. And he smiled, not somuch at what she said, as at the way she said it--the whimsicalexpression of her face, the laughter in her eyes, and the severaltiny lines of humour that drew in at the corners. He was curiouslywondering as to what her age was, as he said aloud:

　　"Yes, tell me, please."

　　"That I will not--not now," she retorted, with a toss of the head."I'll find somebody to tell my story to who does not have to beasked. Also, I want information. I managed to find out what timeto ring the bell to turn the hands to, and that is about all. Idon't understand the ridiculous speech of your people. What timedo they knock off?"

　　"At eleven--go on again at one."

　　"That will do, thank you. And now, where do you keep the key tothe provisions? I want to feed my men."

　　"Your men!" he gasped. "On tinned goods! No, no. Let them go outand eat with my boys."

　　Her eyes flashed as on the day before, and he saw again theimperative expression on her face.

　　"That I won't; my men are men. I've been out to your miserablebarracks and watched them eat. Faugh! Potatoes! Nothing butpotatoes! No salt! Nothing! Only potatoes! I may have beenmistaken, but I thought I understood them to say that that was allthey ever got to eat. Two meals a day and every day in the week?"

　　He nodded.

　　"Well, my men wouldn't stand that for a single day, much less awhole week. Where is the key?"

　　"Hanging on that clothes-hook under the clock."

　　He gave it easily enough, but as she was reaching down the key sheheard him say:

　　"Fancy niggers and tinned provisions."

　　This time she really was angry. The blood was in her cheeks as sheturned on him.

　　"My men are not niggers. The sooner you understand that the betterfor our acquaintance. As for the tinned goods, I'll pay for allthey eat. Please don't worry about that. Worry is not good foryou in your condition. And I won't stay any longer than I have to--just long enough to get you on your feet, and not go away with thefeeling of having deserted a white man."

　　"You're American, aren't you?" he asked quietly.

　　The question disconcerted her for the moment.

　　"Yes," she vouchsafed, with a defiant look. "Why?"

　　"Nothing. I merely thought so."

　　"Anything further?"

　　He shook his head.

　　"Why?" he asked.

　　"Oh, nothing. I thought you might have something pleasant to say."

　　"My name is Sheldon, David Sheldon," he said, with directrelevance, holding out a thin hand.

　　Her hand started out impulsively, then checked. "My name isLackland, Joan Lackland." The hand went out. "And let us befriends."

　　"It could not be otherwise--" he began lamely.

　　"And I can feed my men all the tinned goods I want?" she rushed on.

　　"Till the cows come home," he answered, attempting her ownlightness, then adding, "that is, to Berande. You see we don'thave any cows at Berande."

　　She fixed him coldly with her eyes.

　　"Is that a joke?" she demanded.

　　"I really don't know--I--I thought it was, but then, you see, I'msick."

　　"You're English, aren't you?" was her next query.

　　"Now that's too much, even for a sick man," he cried. "You knowwell enough that I am."

　　"Oh," she said absently, "then you are?"

　　He frowned, tightened his lips, then burst into laughter, in whichshe joined.

　　"It's my own fault," he confessed. "I shouldn't have baited you.I'll be careful in the future."

　　"In the meantime go on laughing, and I'll see about breakfast. Isthere anything you would fancy?"

　　He shook his head.

　　"It will do you good to eat something. Your fever has burned out,and you are merely weak. Wait a moment."

　　She hurried out of the room in the direction of the kitchen,tripped at the door in a pair of sandals several sizes too largefor her feet, and disappeared in rosy confusion.

　　"By Jove, those are my sandals," he thought to himself. "The girlhasn't a thing to wear except what she landed on the beach in, andshe certainly landed in sea-boots."